I. A BRIEF EXCURSION INTO THE INTERIOR LIFE OF "SCOOTER" LIBBY, AFTER READING THAT HE WROTE A SEX NOVEL THAT INCLUDED, AMONGST OTHER THINGS, A SCENE WITH A DEER
Knock at the door, and in comes a doe.
She found the lettuce taped to my door.
I offer a seat, which she wobbles upon,
while I check to see if the door's locked,
unlatch the phone from the receiver, pull
down the blinds (should have done that sooner),
they could play a bet on my heart in Kentuckey,
and, hey, it'd probably win (read: it's racing.)
Anyway, I ask her if she wants something to drink.
Make myself some tea. Ginseng: the tea of dear
lovers, I quip. She doesn't laugh. Nervous,
I ask if I can massage her feet, for-
getting these hands can't work wonders on hooves.
I'd like to do to you what Thumper does
to that log, I say, and hold up some sugar cubes.
She bleats, and tries to nibble my hair. This is love.
-- Dick Cheney.
-- George W. Bush.
III. Can the President Bury Someone Alive?
This was a question asked to John Yoo:
Can the President bury someone alive?
And if you or I were behind the microphone,
the first reaction would be simple: What?
What are you talking about? Alive?
He's the President. Are you out of your mind?
How outrageous a question. No. Obviously.
The problem is, Yoo didn't say "Yes" or "No."
He hemmed and hawed. And to see-saw
on a question like that, to say, Well, it depends.
I don't think I've ever given advice --
and the questioner interrupts, says, No.
That's not what I'm asking. Well, Yoo says,
I don't think he'd ever have to do that, but --
-- to give as vague an answer as that means
only one thing: legs twitching from beneath
the carpet in the Oval Office: He already has.
About the author:
Evan Fleischer lives.
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