Just Another Day at the Office
'Dispatch. Conger ...
"Sorry, big guy. We're stretched thin. Biblosquad's on retreat in Iceland. Yeah, the heat in Florida really sapped them. They're curled up with virgin Marys, highlighting heresies in The Da Vinci Code. Don't worry, they'll come back stoked. The convocation's theme is 'Death: When nihilists cross over and find St. Peter smirking on the other side.' Incoming, hold on.
'Activists up to organizing extra rabblerousing ornery times in CA' ...
"No bodies to round up, scout. They've all gone camping in Arizona. Hey, it's not my fault. The Zonies really stirred the blood with this one. We were outplanned, outhustled and outrecruited. At least they're keeping Iraq off the front pages. They must've had this in development longer
than it took Victoria's Secrets to make a weightless bra. Huh? Two years.
"Sure, we've got some irons in the fire, but you've got to get us more recruits. What do you mean, how?
"You ever see that TV commercial with Digger, the toenail fungus? Well, imagine walking around all day with a cartoon character in your head, screaming about cracked, yellow toes. California's loaded with them 18 million voters, all in a pussed-off mood because the United State of Me doesn't worship at their feet. Look, it's not the Clinton era of recruiting with a more congenial hate. This is war. Your job is to convince folks that we're the antidote to what's gotten under their skin. Hold on.
"Conger, 'Activists up to' ... whoa, cussin' me won't get your cabbage digested, sissie. That's better. So, your Social Insecurities need an outing. Music to my ears. Nothing worse than rabbles with no rouse, I always say, except maybe the sports nuts. You see the game opening day? It's a waste of time trying to agitate San Diego fans.
"Here we go. Sactown squad needs face time with the TV cameras. The sissies can help spread the rumor that taxes are being gutted for the death industry. I'm not kidding candlesticks to coffins, exempt from all state taxes. That'll twist the knickers of the radical chic. Our mantra is: Why tax a devout industry to death just because it's in a boom era? Tell the sissies it'll mean cheaper funerals. And make sure to give 'em our generic 'It's the patriotic thing to do' placards. Hold on.
"Still with me, big guy? Look, the grocery bag tax you came up in Frisco was genius. Won't be long until the old hippies who can't hug caribou in Alaska are wrapped in oil-based plastic, marching across the state like Trojans, thinking they're fighting to save ANWAR.
"But we need backfires, too. Put it out there the governor's going to change the state flag. Hello, bulldozer, goodbye grizzly bear. Or play the oceans-are-dying ecocard. Every March puts the lobster in Red Lobster Month, right? How many more years before lobsters are the next abalone?
"Think, man. We've got to keep the Abby bin-Hoffmans agitated to the point of distraction. We can't get complacent in So-SoCal. It's not enough to keep red bloods bleeding true blue. We have to keep the radicals splintered. I'll see my daughter in Afghanistan before I let the
'Flowers in Your Hair' gang start with that 'Give Peace a Chance' crap again. Hold on.
"Sissie. No, I didn't forget you. We're gonna spring for charter buses. Yes, they'll be heated. Just do me a favor. Stay away from that beef ranch in the Central Valley. They're still mad as a wet hen over last winter's debacle. Who knew the vegetarians would try to put raincoats on
a herd of Guernseys, up to their udders in mud? It's cost us a bundle in TV ads to convince the ag people we really, really believe that happy cows come from California."
Published July 2005