“I hit paysoil.”
“You mean paydirt?”
“There you go again.”
“Okay, stop and tell me what’s going on.”
He looked up as he hit “send” on my laptop. “Can’t stop now. Too many orders. Just listen.” He scrolled with the mouse and tapped a few keys. “Way to go Sean Hannity,” he said. Once again he had assumed the shape of Archie the Third, one of his favorites. His blue blazer with its “Young Republicans” insignia lay on the couch as he pounded furiously on the keyboard.
“C.W.,” I said, raising my voice to command level. “What business have you started and what is does it have to do with Sean Hannity?”
He didn’t look up. “It’s called,” he said while studying the monitor, “Selective Paradigm Instant Truth.” He fiddled with the mouse and began typing. “It is a ‘fact depository’ and Sean Hannity is my best customer.”
Since we don’t allow that name, as a rule, to be mentioned in our house, much less in the context of a business relationship, I felt the moment demanded action. Not being a physical person by nature, but being more than a match for an alien posing as a “trust fund baby,” I swung into it. I snatched the laptop from the table and retreated to a nearby chair to view the screen.
There, to my amazement, was a large photograph of the daughters of the President of the United States reading books in the Rose Garden. Underneath was an official looking communique stating that this was a photo of the President’s daughters studying the Koran by his command, listing a "source." A message, accompanied by an official-looking SPIT logo, stated, “Sean. Hope this is what you needed. Thank you, as always, for your ord..”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Finally, I managed a “What the hell?”
“Please return the laptop to me,” he said.
“Please explain,” I said. “This is monstrous.”
“There you go again,” he said. “Laboring under your ‘reality paradigm.’”
“Okay,” I said. “Explain.”
“I don’t have much time,” he said. “The Rush Limbaugh show starts in a few moments and they need some material.”
“Just give me the short version.”
“Well,” he said. “Suppose you are a pundit.”
“May I please not?”
“Okay, say you are the editor of the New York Post.”
“You are making me feel nauseated,” I said.
“The director of Fox News?”
I made a retching gesture.
“A CNN reporter?”
“Okay, we’ll go with that.”
“Fine,” he said. “So you have decided what you will say, report, disclose, reveal, …whatever.”
“I decide what I’ll say first?”
“Of course.” He fidgeted slightly. “So you need a fact to back you up.”
“Okay, I’ll go along.”
“So you contact me,” he said. “You tell me what you need and …”
“Hit ‘source’ on the screen.”
I did and immediately a directory appeared listing “anonymous, government, inside, professional, reliable, and usual.” I looked back at him.
“So you provide a ‘fact’ and a ‘source’ for the customer to use.”
“Yes, but I call them clients. You've heard of Rand Paul, I suppose. He's one of mine.”
“C.W.,” I said as I scrolled. “These aren’t facts at all.”
“There you go again.”
“Will you stop channeling Ronald Reagan?”
“Why? He said, expressing indignation. “Don’t you remember his famous line, ‘Facts are stupid things?’”
|There is a lot more money|
in lies than there is
in truth. So, enjoy! - C.W.
“I think he was befuddled and simply misquoted John Adams,” I said.
“There you go again,” he said. “Confusing facts with proof.”