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And if there’s one thing I’m certain of, there’s a triage a-comin’. The American public will be turning off the life support system on this administration faster than you can say “Jack Splat Kevorkian.”

So hack away, Ms. Norton—last I heard, trees grow back! Bombs away, Mr. Rumsfeld and General Powell—we’re all out of Sergeant McVeighs for you to pin medals on! Drill away, Mr. Abraham—we’ll have you parking those big gas hogs at the Grosse Pointe Yacht Club before you know it!

Soon, like good Saint Jeffords of Vermont, the elephants will be jumping from the sinking ship. The rest of us will just sit back and enjoy the show while contemplating how to make next month’s house payment, and where to take cover as the remains of Antonin Scalia rain down upon us like a cold shower in January. Hey, dammit—wait! IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO RAIN IN JANUARY!

So the panic builds. The media can turn and look the other way if they want, and the pundits can keep trying to sell their lies by repeating them so often that they start seeming true. But we millions of Americans aren’t going to fall for the deception. The stock market isn’t just going through a “natural cycle.” There’s nothing beneficial about “genetically enhanced beef.” The bank doesn’t want to “work with you” to help you catch up. And the cable guy isn’t coming “between 8 A.M. and 5 PM.”—or any other time, for that matter. It’s all a bunch of hooey, from top to bottom, and as soon as they recognize we’re onto them, the sooner we’ll get our country back.

Today I took my year-old car, with less than 4,000 miles on it, into the repair shop at the dealership where I bought it. Why? Seems that every other time I go to start the car, it won’t start. I’ve replaced the starter, the battery, the fuse, the computer chip. But none of that has solved the problem.

When I told the service manager all this, he looked at me with a witheringly vacant stare. “Oh, these new Beetles—they don’t start unless you drive them every day.”

I thought for sure I must have heard him wrong—after all, he was speaking perfect English. So I asked him again what the problem was.

“You see,” he said, shaking his head in pity, “these VWs are run by a computer system, and if the computer hasn’t read any activity—namely, you turning it on and driving it every day or so—then the computer assumes the battery is dead or something, and just shuts down the whole car. Is there any way you or someone you know can go down to the garage and start it once a day?”

I didn’t know what to say. “If you don’t start the car every day, it will die”—what is this, 1901? Am I being arrogant to expect that a car I spent $20,000 on is supposed to start whenever I put the key in the ignition? There aren’t many sure things left in the world these days: the sun still sets in the west, the Pope still says Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, Strom Thurmond still comes back to life whenever there’s an ex-First Lady around to grope. I would have thought I could cling to at least this one last article of faith: a brand-new car always starts—period!

“Like ninety-five percent of the customers you’ve sold these new Beetles to,” I said, “I live in Manhattan. Do you know anybody in Manhattan who drives their car every day?”

“Yes, sir, we understand. Nobody in the city drives a car every day. They use the subways! I don’t know why they even sell these cars in the city. It’s really a shame. Have you tried writing to Volkswagen? Is there a kid on your block you can get to start it for a few minutes every day or so?”

So I’m stuck with a car that doesn’t run, in a country where nothing works, everything sucks, and it’s every man, woman, and state-tested child for themselves. Survival of the richest—no more lifeboats for you, or you, or you!

There’s got to be a better way...

Stupid White Men

ONE

A Very American Coup

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE WAS INTERCEPTED BY U.N. FORCES ON 9/1/01, AT 0600 HOURS, FROM SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT

I am a citizen