Beating Around the Bush (10 page)

I got my first Spam message the day I bought my computer.
When I turned it on, it said, “Art, Nancy has a very important message for you.”

I didn’t know any Nancy, but I meet a lot of people I don’t know who call me by my first name.

I opened the message and it read: “Art, whatever mortgage rate you are paying now, I can do better. Just click here for more information. And have a nice day.”

I was about to call Nancy when Tom, Dick and Mary sent me messages claiming they had the lowest mortgage rates.

In a week, I started to hear from everyone. I was offered an all-expense-paid trip to Florida to buy a house, 50 percent off for a package deal to Las Vegas and a free sample of Viagra.

I couldn’t wait to get home every night and find out what someone was offering me.

I made the mistake one evening of clicking on “New Club Members.” Nothing serious there, I thought, but the next time I turned the computer on I was locked onto a pornography Web site. Apparently when I hit “New Club Members,” I was immediately connected to porn. Porn is not my bag and does nothing for me. I tried to get it off my hard drive but it was impossible.

I talked to AOL, Yahoo and Google, but they said they couldn’t help me. Once Spam gets into your computer, it has a memory all its own.

Everyone has to receive junk mail, and if you don’t like it, tough luck.

The worst part about Spam is that all the politicians are now using it to send their messages to the voters. Although political campaign messages are better than porn, who is to say that when your name is sold to someone running for office it can’t also be sold to any other group?

Because I am busy, sometimes I don’t read all my Spam.

Sometimes I’ll hear from a publisher informing me that I have won a million dollars, but before I can collect I have to subscribe to one of its publications.

I guess the Spam that is the most intriguing is the kind that reads, “Find out all about your friends and relatives. We will tell you their secrets and things you never knew about them before.” CLICK.

Even though I’m getting wise to queries on the screen reading, “Do you know the sender of this e-mail?” it’s hard for me to say, particularly when Nancy writes, “Hi, Art.”

I AM WRITING the next James Bond movie. The opening scene is with M calling James while he is resting with Nicole Kidman in a monastery in Tibet.

M tells him to get back right away. The next scene shows Bond in M’s office.

“This is important. The Prime Minister wants you to go to Iraq and find weapons of mass destruction. He told the British people Iraq had them, and that is why we joined the U.S. in a preemptive war against Saddam Hussein.”

“Why can’t the CIA do that?”

“They assured President Bush that Iraq had the weapons, but now they just can’t find any. The president is a big fan of yours and Don Rumsfeld has told him if anyone can find the WMD, Bond can.”

The next scene shows Bond on an Air France plane. The beautiful stewardess (Juliette Binoche) says to him, “Why do the British hate us?”

Bond says, “We don’t hate you. The Americans hate you. I’ll explain it to you when we get to the Baghdad Hilton, room 25.”

When he gets to his hotel, a CIA agent (Harrison Ford) who works as a room clerk, meets him in the lobby. “Welcome to the land of democracy. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for weapons of mass destruction.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Our people say that the CIA people assured Bush and Blair they were here.”

“That’s what they wanted to hear.”

“Well, Blair could lose the election if we don’t find any.”

The CIA agent says, “Bush doesn’t have that problem. He says Saddam has them hidden somewhere, or he destroyed them, or sold them to Syria. And he’ll get re-elected even if we don’t find any.”

Bond says, “I think I’ll take a shower. If a beautiful French stewardess asks for me let her up, and send two dry martinis, a bottle of Dom Perignon, and a pound of foie gras.”

“Are we supposed to charge it to MI6?” the CIA agent asks.

Bond replies, “Charge it to the CIA. You people have more money than we do.”

The next scene shows Bond getting out of the shower wearing nothing but a bath towel.

There is a knock on the door. It is Juliette Binoche. She is wearing a leather jacket and leather pants from Christian Dior. The champagne arrives a few minutes later. Bond tips the waiter and as soon as he leaves he gives the stewardess a long kiss. They fall on the bed.

The next shot pans to a rumpled bed where Juliette is smoking a Gauloise cigarette. She says, “That was fantastic. Why does the coalition hate the French people?”

“The coalition doesn’t hate only the French people—it hates anyone in the UN who did not support us when we went to war.”

Juliette goes to her purse and takes out a pistol. “First you make love—then you die. I am really a member of the Baath Party and you are an infidel.”

Bond has his hands up, “I knew you weren’t an airline stewardess when I saw a picture of Saddam in the washroom. Tell me one thing. Does Iraq have weapons of mass destruction?”

“I don’t know. I am only in charge of assassinations.”

Juliette pours herself a glass of champagne, and while she is putting foie gras on her toast, Bond grabs her pistol. They wrestle on the floor. The CIA room clerk comes in with three agents and takes her away.

The phone rings. Bond answers it. He tells M, “I think I found the WMD. They are on the 18th hole at the Baghdad Country Club, where the U.S. army failed to look.”

M says, “That’s good. Now Tony Blair won’t have to resign.”

IN SPITE OF THE MEDICARE BILL, private health insurance is now a bigger gamble than ever before. The health insurance companies are betting you will not get sick. And you are betting you will.

The health insurers are like bookies. They all want their cut.

Here is a typical scene.

MAN: I would like to place a bet that I might get sick.

HEALTH INSURANCE UNDERWRITER: We will be happy to take the bet. If we lose we pay off within thirty days.

A year goes by.

MAN: I was sick and you lost our bet. I’m still waiting to get paid.

INSURANCE CLAIM ADJUSTER: Not so fast wise guy. How do we know you were sick?

MAN: I had a herniated disc and it had to be operated on. I have all the bills from the hospital to show you.

ADJUSTER: Everyone has bills from the hospital. You have to prove your operation was necessary.

MAN: You can speak to my doctor.

ADJUSTER: Doctors don’t always tell the truth. If they didn’t operate they wouldn’t make any money.

MAN: So how do I get you to pay off?

ADJUSTER: We have a girl named Francesca in the claims department. She decides whether you have had a necessary operation or not.

MAN: Is she a doctor?

ADJUSTER: No, but she graduated from high school with B average.

MAN: See here, mister. We made a bet and you lost and you are trying to get out of paying me.

ADJUSTER: Did you read the fine print on your policy? It says, “In case of illness, the insurance company of the first part does not have to give the party of the second part (the client) money for five years after the policy goes into effect. All premiums collected during that period go to lawyers in case the party of the second part decides to sue the party of the first part.”

MAN: I couldn’t read the small print because it was too small.

ADJUSTER: I can sell you a policy for people with weak eyes.

MAN: I don’t think you want to pay me.

ADJUSTER: That is not true. The other day we paid off on a policy for a lady who fell down the stairs in a department store and we settled with her for one thousand dollars as long as she doesn’t tell anyone about it.

MAN: I’m getting the runaround from people I trusted and put my heart and soul in. How can you do this to somebody?

ADJUSTER: We have to make a profit too. We can’t let deadbeats steal money out of the mouths of the stockholders.

MAN: Do you have a policy for people who are afraid that insurance companies will defraud them?

ADJUSTER: No, because it would be too expensive for us to pay off.

IRAQ WILL NEVER get on its feet unless it has a stock market.

Geoffrey Bottomly, an expert in finance, went over to Baghdad to give the Iraqis some advice.

“In order to have a democratic society you have to have a stock market so people can invest in the future.”

“Yes,” said Adama Adama, “I understand that. The U.S. fought a war so we could become part of the capitalistic system. But how do we do this?”

“You have to have private companies that make goods for the global market. To do this people have to own shares. The more shares you have the richer you become.”

“I read something about it in the
Wall Street Journal
,” Adama said. “But aren’t some of the people in America who run these companies guilty of dirty tricks?”

“No. There are a few guys on top who dip into their company’s pension funds or skim money through Panama and Lichtenstein, but we don’t believe Iraq will do that because you are honest and law-abiding people. At least you will be after you get a police force.”

Adama said, “If anybody steals from our people we cut off his hands.”

“Let me give you an example of Western capitalism. You are the president of Infidel Saddam Gas and Oil Company. Everyone wants your gas and oil, but Americans will give you the best price for it. Oil is not why we invaded your country—in spite of what the French say,” Bottomly tells Adama.

“What happens if my company loses money?” Adama asks.

“Your shareholders will be furious. And in order to placate them you, as CEO, will fire half your workers and give yourself a raise.”

“You mean in America you don’t cut off the hand of the CEO?”

“You don’t have to. The more people you lay off the more your stock will go up.”

“I’m a Shiite. Should I sell shares to the Sunnis and Kurds?”

“No, to prevent tribal war you can have a Shiite stock market, a Sunni market and a Kurdish market.”

Bottomly continued, “Now this is the interesting part—if your company goes belly-up the CEO resigns.”

“And that is when I cut off my own hand?”

“No, instead when you resign you get a $20 million severance pay, thousands of stock options, bonuses, a house in Greenwich Connecticut and a helicopter twice the size of the Black Hawks that are flying all over Iraq.”

“Who gives me all this?”

“Your board of directors who helped you bankrupt the company. It’s better to be a director than an investor.”

“Can we cut off the hands of the board directors?”

“No, the directors will still have jobs as consultants to advise how to get the company out of the mess they made in the first place.”

“That means no one goes to jail.”

Bottomly said, “The most important thing you must do when investing in the Iraq Stock Market is not pay taxes. We have shelters in the U.S. similar to the shelters in Baghdad. As soon as the Iraqi Tax Service comes sniffing around you hide in one of your shelters.”

“When do I cut off someone’s hand?”

“We prefer to cut interest rates instead.”

KELSEY KEMPER VALENTINE, the twelve-year-old daughter of a friend of mine, asked me, “Why does President Bush say at the end of his speech, ‘God bless America’ instead of ‘God bless the world’?”

It was a very interesting question and deserved an answer.

I told her, “It’s because he doesn’t want God to bless everyone in the world. There are a lot of people and places he doesn’t want God to bless.”

“Why not?”

“When the president gets mad at someone he wants God to
know about it. For example, he certainly doesn’t want God to bless Osama bin Laden or Saddam Hussein, if they are still alive.”

Kelsey was listening to every word.

I continued. “And he doesn’t want God to bless Castro, the Taliban or Hamas in Palestine.”

Kelsey asked, “How does Bush decide who God should not bless?”

I replied, “He meets with his top advisors and they brief him on who God should bless. For example, he doesn’t want anyone in the UN that voted against America to be blessed. You never heard Bush say, ‘God bless France’ or Germany or Russia or Iran. Once the decision is made—that’s it.”

Kelsey looked perplexed.

“Now it’s obvious the president doesn’t want God to bless terrorists. He consults with the CIA and Attorney General Ashcroft. The only time he wants God to bless them is when they have had a military trial and are going to be executed.”

Kelsey nodded as I continued, “This is important. When Bush says ‘God bless America,’ he is not talking about
all
Americans. He is only asking God to bless Republicans, conservative supporters and Vice President Cheney. He also doesn’t want God to bless liberal members of the media, and naturally, the Americans who did not support him in Iraq as well as traitors who still think there are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.”

Kelsey asked, “How does God know who the president really wants him to bless?”

“God knows Bush very well. He knows what is really in his heart. That is what makes him a great president.”

“How does God have time to do everything Mr. Bush wants him to do?”

“He makes time. America is one of his favorite causes. He
always answers President Bush’s calls and never puts him on hold. Bush has a red phone on his desk, and it’s a special line that no one else uses.”

“Doesn’t he have a cell phone when he is traveling?” Kelsey asked.