Well, well, well, so it's come to this, has it? The Kingdom of Ozbama, which at one point in history was highly celebrated as a most democratic kingdom, is quickly turning into a Socialist state, complete with its own version of the Politburo and KGB. The plethora of Czars and Czarinas is fast approaching the population of a small city.
It is morning in the Kingdom and the Wizard has just finished breakfast with his Wizardess, Dorothea.
"Ah, Dorothea, that was a most delicious breakfast." The Wizard wiped his mouth on his monogrammed napkin, stretched, and stood up.
" I didn't make it---we have chefs, you know!" Dorothea sounded quite indignant.
"I know that, dearest, but still . . . you are here with me, enjoying the full brightness of my countenance as I gaze at your lovely face." He kissed his wife on the cheek, swept up his robes and walked out of the Royal Kitchen, into the Throne Room to await the day's meetings.
"So, Beasley, what's on the agenda for today?" asked the Wizard as he practiced his golf swing.
"My name isn't Beasley, your Wizardry. It's Nottingham, sire." The Sheriff looked quite put out at the Wizard's lack of memory for names.
"Oh, sorry, Notts. Now, what dull personage do I have to meet with today?"
"The Wicked Witch of the Way-out West, your Wizardry. She would like to discuss the new Health Bill that has just been signed but not passed yet."
"Where is this Health Bill anyway, Notts? Can I see it before we discuss it?" the Wizard asked as he straightened his crown.
"Of course, your Wizardry. Page, bring in the Health Bill at once!" ordered the Sheriff. Suddenly the doors opened and a page brought in the Health Bill, which was brought in by four gold-clad wheelbarrows. It weighed no less than 465lbs and consisted of one million pages.
"You expect me to read all that?????" cried the Wizard.
"Well, yes, sire---you really should read the entire thing before meeting with the Witch and actually passing the Bill," offered the Sheriff.
"NONSENSE!! I refuse to read that whole thing! I'll just read the first couple pages--that should be enough." The Wizard grabbed the first page and skimmed over it, took up the second page, glanced at it, then put it back in the pile of papers.
"Ok, I read it. Where's the Royal Seal?"
"But, your Wizardry, you have hardly looked at the Bill--how can you pass this?" asked the Sheriff. "And you haven't discussed this with the Wicked Witch of the Way-out West."
"I can do anything I want because I am the Wizard of Ozbama and don't you forget it!" boomed the Wizard. "I run this Kingdom! I make the laws! No one dares to challenge me! Now give me that Royal Seal!" The Wizard grabbed the Royal Seal out of the Sheriff's hand and applied it to the Health Bill.
"There---it's done." The Wizard handed the Royal Seal back to the Sheriff and used some disinfecting hand cleaner. The Sheriff looked around the room at the others who were gathered there for this momentous occasion. Their faces spoke volumes, some with gaping mouths and others staring incredulously at the brazen attitude of the Wizard.
The Sheriff cleared his throat and asked, "Your Wizardry, what do we do with the subjects who refuse to buy health insurance?"
"Oh, that's an easy one---we'll round them up and throw them into the Royal Prison. Just imagine that there are people in my kingdom who refuse to buy health insurance, even if they can't afford it or aren't working. They are evil, crazy. Prison is where they belong."
"What about the people who buy Health Insurance, your Wizardry? Will they be rewarded?" asked the Sheriff.
"Rewarded??? Rewarded?? You have GOT to be joking, Notts. We're going to squeeze every last penny out of our subjects for this Health Bill and put it into the 'Save the Kingdom Fund.' That way I will ensure many, many more years of living comfortably off with a few of my cronies and Czars, while the masses will be frantically searching for loose change in their sofas. You know--keep 'em begging for the Wizard and Co. to come to their rescue. They will look up to us as their only salvation, and at long last, we will have them where we want them. Meeting's adjourned."
And with a flourish, the Wizard of Ozbama retired to his Royal Bedroom for a short nap before his next round of meetings and a quick trip to a tropical country to do some duty-free shopping . . .
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Wizard's Cop-out Speech
The scene opens up at the World Forum of Wizards in Vladivostock. The Wizard of Ozbama walks up to the podium, wearing his crown and gown, carrying his sceptre, with his pet mongoose Attila following close behind.
"My dear people of the world, it is my great pleasure to address you this evening about the role the Kingdom of Ozbama has had in shaping world history.
First of all, I would like to apologize for being such a strong kingdom, so willing to help all those minor kingdoms in distress. What were we thinking back in WWII? I mean, heck, sure we entered the war toward the end, but still, whoa! All that help we gave, I'm SO SORRY. We shouldn't have interfered, we just should have let you carry on to the best of your abilities, to fend for yourself and let those Bosch and Nips annihilate you. How could we have been so--so---altruistic? I mean, heck, you guys didn't need us, we butt in, uninvited. And now look. All that help we gave you---I'm so embarrassed. You are SO RIGHT to blame us for everything wrong in the world today. If we hadn't been so eager to promote democracy, to rid the world of Fascism, Communism, and all those isms, why, who knows what state you'd be in today! You might have much less freedom, no medical or scientific advances, no industries, no little truck-stop cafes on the sides of the roads in France . . . . in short, you'd all be under One Government, controlling everything without you having to lift your little fingers or to think for yourselves. Imagine---not having to think! What have we done??????
And my dear friends, the Saudis . . . . I bow to you a thousand times. You are Our Dear Friends for Life. It doesn't matter that most of the terrorists that piloted the planes that hit our World Trade Center in New York were Saudis . . .they were just misdirected youth. They had bad childhoods, that's all. Not their faults at all----we take the blame, it is our own fault that we were attacked. Thank you, thank you, thank you, your oil is our god, we worship you with all our hearts. Except for worshiping me, that is. After all, I am the Great Wizard Ozbama, the leader of the Most Powerful Kingdom in the Universe. I make and break laws, I spurn our enemies right, left and center, I do what I want, say what I want.
In conclusion, I want to apologize one more time, to let all the world know what idiots we have been and no longer will we do the right thing, but we shall always do the Politically Correct thing, which is usually the wrong thing but it's politically correct, and that's what really counts! Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heavy heart. And now, the Wizardess would like to say a few words . . ." The Wizard walks off the stage, his loyal mongoose trotting close behind, and on walks Dorothea, the Wizardess, wearing a Moschino hot pink mini skirt with matching cropped jacket, lime green platform sandals and matching hat and handbag. The crowd cheers wildly for their fashion icon . . . she is much loved by all.
"Hello, all you happy people! Yes, I'm here. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This isn't going to be a long speech, I just wanted to thank you for being so loyal to us both, for your love and never-ending devotion. We love you, too! Yes! We do! We do! Our daughters love you! Our pets love you! Our servants love you! You will always be in our hearts as long as you do as we say! We will never again spoil the world with our goodwill, but will let everything fall apart naturally! We're sorry! We're sorry! Please forgive us and love us again! We need your love, your support! We'll do anything you want, as long as we thought of it first! Yes! Yes! We bow down to you but you have to bow down to us first! We will isolate ourselves and never again help anyone! We promise! Thank you, thank you, good people of the world! Thank you!" The Wizardess walks off the stage amidst a torrent of applause; she waves one more time, and disappears. The Forum comes to an end, and all the delegates go home.
Backstage, the Wizard and Wizardess congratulate themselves on a job well done, change into their travelling clothes, and board their private jet to Bora Bora, where they have an extended vacation. The world goes on . . . . .
"My dear people of the world, it is my great pleasure to address you this evening about the role the Kingdom of Ozbama has had in shaping world history.
First of all, I would like to apologize for being such a strong kingdom, so willing to help all those minor kingdoms in distress. What were we thinking back in WWII? I mean, heck, sure we entered the war toward the end, but still, whoa! All that help we gave, I'm SO SORRY. We shouldn't have interfered, we just should have let you carry on to the best of your abilities, to fend for yourself and let those Bosch and Nips annihilate you. How could we have been so--so---altruistic? I mean, heck, you guys didn't need us, we butt in, uninvited. And now look. All that help we gave you---I'm so embarrassed. You are SO RIGHT to blame us for everything wrong in the world today. If we hadn't been so eager to promote democracy, to rid the world of Fascism, Communism, and all those isms, why, who knows what state you'd be in today! You might have much less freedom, no medical or scientific advances, no industries, no little truck-stop cafes on the sides of the roads in France . . . . in short, you'd all be under One Government, controlling everything without you having to lift your little fingers or to think for yourselves. Imagine---not having to think! What have we done??????
And my dear friends, the Saudis . . . . I bow to you a thousand times. You are Our Dear Friends for Life. It doesn't matter that most of the terrorists that piloted the planes that hit our World Trade Center in New York were Saudis . . .they were just misdirected youth. They had bad childhoods, that's all. Not their faults at all----we take the blame, it is our own fault that we were attacked. Thank you, thank you, thank you, your oil is our god, we worship you with all our hearts. Except for worshiping me, that is. After all, I am the Great Wizard Ozbama, the leader of the Most Powerful Kingdom in the Universe. I make and break laws, I spurn our enemies right, left and center, I do what I want, say what I want.
In conclusion, I want to apologize one more time, to let all the world know what idiots we have been and no longer will we do the right thing, but we shall always do the Politically Correct thing, which is usually the wrong thing but it's politically correct, and that's what really counts! Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heavy heart. And now, the Wizardess would like to say a few words . . ." The Wizard walks off the stage, his loyal mongoose trotting close behind, and on walks Dorothea, the Wizardess, wearing a Moschino hot pink mini skirt with matching cropped jacket, lime green platform sandals and matching hat and handbag. The crowd cheers wildly for their fashion icon . . . she is much loved by all.
"Hello, all you happy people! Yes, I'm here. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This isn't going to be a long speech, I just wanted to thank you for being so loyal to us both, for your love and never-ending devotion. We love you, too! Yes! We do! We do! Our daughters love you! Our pets love you! Our servants love you! You will always be in our hearts as long as you do as we say! We will never again spoil the world with our goodwill, but will let everything fall apart naturally! We're sorry! We're sorry! Please forgive us and love us again! We need your love, your support! We'll do anything you want, as long as we thought of it first! Yes! Yes! We bow down to you but you have to bow down to us first! We will isolate ourselves and never again help anyone! We promise! Thank you, thank you, good people of the world! Thank you!" The Wizardess walks off the stage amidst a torrent of applause; she waves one more time, and disappears. The Forum comes to an end, and all the delegates go home.
Backstage, the Wizard and Wizardess congratulate themselves on a job well done, change into their travelling clothes, and board their private jet to Bora Bora, where they have an extended vacation. The world goes on . . . . .
Monday, March 9, 2009
Novus Ordo Saeculorum
The Wizard was up one cloudy rainy morning, eating his Wheaties, when in marched the Sheriff of Nottingham.
"So sorry to bother Your Wizardry during his breakfast, but something has come up." Nottingham sat down before the Wizard allowed him.
"HEY! YOU can't sit down until I tell you that you can!" The Wizard was very angry.
"Oh, sorry, Your Highness, I forgot." Nottingham quickly stood up; the Wizard then told him that he could sit down.
"So, what is so important that you interrupt my breakfast, Notts?" asked the Wizard.
"Sire, the economy is in a bad state, and your wife, the Wizardess, is off shopping at Valentino in Beverly Hills" announced the Sheriff.
"So what? I told her she could have a little shopping expedition if she managed to save her allowance, and she obviously did. I'm proud of her---even though I know she had to break that piggy bank I got her for Christmas. Maybe she'll buy something that looks nice on her this time." The Wizard took a huge scoopful of cereal and munched away.
"No, Sire, you just don't understand. She has already spent over $1.2 million in one week. We can't afford this, especially with the recent fallout from that Vernie Makoff caper. And you've only been the Wizard for three months!" The Sheriff bit off another one of his nails.
"Vernie Makoff? That guy doesn't have anything to do with our economic situation! He was a private embezzler, nothing to do with the Kingdom's money. And besides---"
"Your Majesty just doesn't understand. Many of the people who's money he stole were supporting our economy. Now they have lost their entire life savings, can't go shopping anymore and keep our Kingdom out of the Great Recession! It's an unmitigated disaster, if you don't mind me saying so." Nottingham waited for a response from Ozbama. The Wizard slurped the last bit of milk from his cereal bowl, burped, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"Listen, Nottingham, you get whoever is in charge of finances for the Kingdom and tell them to just crank out some more money. It's easy! Then one, two, three, we've got no recession. See? There's always a way out." Ozbama stood up, stretched, and then said:
"By the way, Nottingham, I'm going out tonight, so you're in charge of the Grey Palace until I get back, which should be around 4:00 a.m."
"May one ask where one is going, Your Highness?" asked the Sheriff.
"You may, but I'm not telling you! ha ha! Just a little jaunt in my new Maserroti. " The Wizard strode out of the Royal Kitchen, leaving the Sheriff shell-shocked. Didn't this leader understand that he couldn't buy such expensive play things while the rest of the country is lining up in soup kitchens? The Sheriff knew that he couldn't tell the Ministry of Finance to just "crank out" some more money---that wouldn't solve anything. The problem was with big investors, pocketing private citizens' hard-earned cash. A morality problem. The Sheriff was in a precarious position, not knowing which way to turn.
One thing was for certain: He had to contact the Wizardess in Beverly Hills, to order her to stop spending money immediately and return to the Grey Palace pronto. Of course she had to take their private jet, but no one expects the wife of the leader of the Kingdom to travel in a prop-plane. On the way out of the Royal Kitchen, the Sheriff noticed a piece of paper that had fallen out of the pocket of the Wizard's morning coat. On it was written: " Vernie Makoff-- midnight, The Rocket Cafe." Suddenly Notthingham felt sick. He folded the paper, stashed it in his pocket, and left the room in a hurry.
"So sorry to bother Your Wizardry during his breakfast, but something has come up." Nottingham sat down before the Wizard allowed him.
"HEY! YOU can't sit down until I tell you that you can!" The Wizard was very angry.
"Oh, sorry, Your Highness, I forgot." Nottingham quickly stood up; the Wizard then told him that he could sit down.
"So, what is so important that you interrupt my breakfast, Notts?" asked the Wizard.
"Sire, the economy is in a bad state, and your wife, the Wizardess, is off shopping at Valentino in Beverly Hills" announced the Sheriff.
"So what? I told her she could have a little shopping expedition if she managed to save her allowance, and she obviously did. I'm proud of her---even though I know she had to break that piggy bank I got her for Christmas. Maybe she'll buy something that looks nice on her this time." The Wizard took a huge scoopful of cereal and munched away.
"No, Sire, you just don't understand. She has already spent over $1.2 million in one week. We can't afford this, especially with the recent fallout from that Vernie Makoff caper. And you've only been the Wizard for three months!" The Sheriff bit off another one of his nails.
"Vernie Makoff? That guy doesn't have anything to do with our economic situation! He was a private embezzler, nothing to do with the Kingdom's money. And besides---"
"Your Majesty just doesn't understand. Many of the people who's money he stole were supporting our economy. Now they have lost their entire life savings, can't go shopping anymore and keep our Kingdom out of the Great Recession! It's an unmitigated disaster, if you don't mind me saying so." Nottingham waited for a response from Ozbama. The Wizard slurped the last bit of milk from his cereal bowl, burped, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"Listen, Nottingham, you get whoever is in charge of finances for the Kingdom and tell them to just crank out some more money. It's easy! Then one, two, three, we've got no recession. See? There's always a way out." Ozbama stood up, stretched, and then said:
"By the way, Nottingham, I'm going out tonight, so you're in charge of the Grey Palace until I get back, which should be around 4:00 a.m."
"May one ask where one is going, Your Highness?" asked the Sheriff.
"You may, but I'm not telling you! ha ha! Just a little jaunt in my new Maserroti. " The Wizard strode out of the Royal Kitchen, leaving the Sheriff shell-shocked. Didn't this leader understand that he couldn't buy such expensive play things while the rest of the country is lining up in soup kitchens? The Sheriff knew that he couldn't tell the Ministry of Finance to just "crank out" some more money---that wouldn't solve anything. The problem was with big investors, pocketing private citizens' hard-earned cash. A morality problem. The Sheriff was in a precarious position, not knowing which way to turn.
One thing was for certain: He had to contact the Wizardess in Beverly Hills, to order her to stop spending money immediately and return to the Grey Palace pronto. Of course she had to take their private jet, but no one expects the wife of the leader of the Kingdom to travel in a prop-plane. On the way out of the Royal Kitchen, the Sheriff noticed a piece of paper that had fallen out of the pocket of the Wizard's morning coat. On it was written: " Vernie Makoff-- midnight, The Rocket Cafe." Suddenly Notthingham felt sick. He folded the paper, stashed it in his pocket, and left the room in a hurry.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Part 4 Life Goes On
The wedding was the social event of the year. The bride wore a Jean Paul Gautier yellow silk shantung long sleeved dress with pink pigskin ankle boots and matching handbag. The groom wore an Armani tuxedo, in sky blue, with matching top hat. As they made their way out of the church, the comments were flying swift and sure: "My, don't they look STUNNING!" "What a BEAUTIFUL couple!" "OUR KINGDOM IS SAVED!"
SOON the children were born, two lovely girls. They were growing up into nice, young ladies.
But this story isn't really about THEM.
Things were changing in the kingdom; 50 Cent got bumped out by Tim Geithner as the new Secretary of the Treasury; there were other appointees who seemed not to fit their roles, but the people of Ozbama accepted these appointments with the kind of resignation that only comes from years of frustration trying to buck the system. Once upon a time they would have been accused of dumb insolence, but no longer----their king/wizard/president was proving himself to be a Great Leader, even though most of the time he hid behind a curtain and projected his image onto a screen, in order to frighten his subjects into submission. He was spending less time on the balcony and more time in his chambers, making new proclamations that didn't mean anything, and enjoying more and more sweet potato pie. His increasing girth was the cause of much concern with his cabinet.
Therefore, a new member of the team was recruited: The Royal Waist-Watcher, in the form of Jack la Lanne.
"C'mon, Your Majesty! Just look at me. I'm 140 years old and look at me! Slim and trim like I was in my 20's. You CAN DO IT! Remember your battle cry when you wanted to be elected Wizard for Life? Then use it to lose it, baby! YOU CAN DO IT!! We've got to cut out all those sweet potato pies you've been devouring in your private chambers, and replace them with salads."
"You've GOT to be joking, la Lanne! I LOVE sweet potato pie, can't live without it!" cried the Wizard.
"Sorry, Oz, but the way back to a slim, trim body is NO sweets, LOTS of exercise every day. We'll start our regime tomorrow, so be ready at 8:00 in the morning for an hour of rigorous exercise. First we'll do one hundred push-ups followed by two hundred jumping jacks; then three hundred sit-ups. You'll be in shape in no time. Bye!!" And with a wave of his hand, The Waist-Watcher left, backing out of the door. The Wizard just stood there, staring at the door. He was so deflated at this news. Looking at himself in a full-length mirror, he agreed that he had put on quite a bit of weight and knew that Theadora was not happy with this extra-added fat. So in order to please her, he decided then and there to make another royal decree: No sweet potato pies would be allowed in the kingdom as long as he was the Wizard.
The next day the Waist-Watcher showed up as scheduled; the Wizard when through the motions of each exercise but nearly collapsed with exhaustion. Afterward he had a shower, sauna and massage, then wrote out his decree against sweet potato pies. He then informed his cabinet that he would make this announcement at 12:00 on the balcony, and they in turn informed the kingdom that they were to be outside the Palace at noon. He donned his royal robes and proceeded to the appointed place.
"Good people of the Kingdom of Ozbama, I hereby give you Royal Decree No. 19, 760. From now on, there shall be no more sweet potato pies allowed in the kingdom. That means the growing of sweet potatoes shall be forbidden, any by-products of this shall not be made, no bakeries shall produce pies or other sweets from sweet potatoes. All sweet potatoes that are now in the ground shall be pulled up and tossed into the Royal Dumping Grounds and burned immediately. Anyone caught with a sweet pototo in his or her possession, shall be incarcerated by the fullest extent of the law of Ozbama. And that means thrown into the Royal Prison. I hope I have made myself clear. Thank you, good people, thank you." And with that, the Wizard swept back into his room off the balcony and closed the French doors.
The crowds dispersed, mumbling to themselves and each other. This was not the type of royal decree that they wished to hear. Many people made their living by growing sweet potatoes and were thrown into a panic. What were they to do? It was their livlihood being stripped away from them, their very reason for existence. The alternatives were depressing: either grow another crop or die from hunger. The former was anethema, the latter unthinkable. So . . . it was then that a mutinous gathering of once-loyal subjects began their plot to overthrow the Wizard and his government.
In that crowd of onlookers, the Sheriff of Nottingham stood, disguised as a Benedictine Monk. Knowing which side of his bread was buttered, but also eager to be a hero to the people, he walked away to contemplate his next move . . . .
SOON the children were born, two lovely girls. They were growing up into nice, young ladies.
But this story isn't really about THEM.
Things were changing in the kingdom; 50 Cent got bumped out by Tim Geithner as the new Secretary of the Treasury; there were other appointees who seemed not to fit their roles, but the people of Ozbama accepted these appointments with the kind of resignation that only comes from years of frustration trying to buck the system. Once upon a time they would have been accused of dumb insolence, but no longer----their king/wizard/president was proving himself to be a Great Leader, even though most of the time he hid behind a curtain and projected his image onto a screen, in order to frighten his subjects into submission. He was spending less time on the balcony and more time in his chambers, making new proclamations that didn't mean anything, and enjoying more and more sweet potato pie. His increasing girth was the cause of much concern with his cabinet.
Therefore, a new member of the team was recruited: The Royal Waist-Watcher, in the form of Jack la Lanne.
"C'mon, Your Majesty! Just look at me. I'm 140 years old and look at me! Slim and trim like I was in my 20's. You CAN DO IT! Remember your battle cry when you wanted to be elected Wizard for Life? Then use it to lose it, baby! YOU CAN DO IT!! We've got to cut out all those sweet potato pies you've been devouring in your private chambers, and replace them with salads."
"You've GOT to be joking, la Lanne! I LOVE sweet potato pie, can't live without it!" cried the Wizard.
"Sorry, Oz, but the way back to a slim, trim body is NO sweets, LOTS of exercise every day. We'll start our regime tomorrow, so be ready at 8:00 in the morning for an hour of rigorous exercise. First we'll do one hundred push-ups followed by two hundred jumping jacks; then three hundred sit-ups. You'll be in shape in no time. Bye!!" And with a wave of his hand, The Waist-Watcher left, backing out of the door. The Wizard just stood there, staring at the door. He was so deflated at this news. Looking at himself in a full-length mirror, he agreed that he had put on quite a bit of weight and knew that Theadora was not happy with this extra-added fat. So in order to please her, he decided then and there to make another royal decree: No sweet potato pies would be allowed in the kingdom as long as he was the Wizard.
The next day the Waist-Watcher showed up as scheduled; the Wizard when through the motions of each exercise but nearly collapsed with exhaustion. Afterward he had a shower, sauna and massage, then wrote out his decree against sweet potato pies. He then informed his cabinet that he would make this announcement at 12:00 on the balcony, and they in turn informed the kingdom that they were to be outside the Palace at noon. He donned his royal robes and proceeded to the appointed place.
"Good people of the Kingdom of Ozbama, I hereby give you Royal Decree No. 19, 760. From now on, there shall be no more sweet potato pies allowed in the kingdom. That means the growing of sweet potatoes shall be forbidden, any by-products of this shall not be made, no bakeries shall produce pies or other sweets from sweet potatoes. All sweet potatoes that are now in the ground shall be pulled up and tossed into the Royal Dumping Grounds and burned immediately. Anyone caught with a sweet pototo in his or her possession, shall be incarcerated by the fullest extent of the law of Ozbama. And that means thrown into the Royal Prison. I hope I have made myself clear. Thank you, good people, thank you." And with that, the Wizard swept back into his room off the balcony and closed the French doors.
The crowds dispersed, mumbling to themselves and each other. This was not the type of royal decree that they wished to hear. Many people made their living by growing sweet potatoes and were thrown into a panic. What were they to do? It was their livlihood being stripped away from them, their very reason for existence. The alternatives were depressing: either grow another crop or die from hunger. The former was anethema, the latter unthinkable. So . . . it was then that a mutinous gathering of once-loyal subjects began their plot to overthrow the Wizard and his government.
In that crowd of onlookers, the Sheriff of Nottingham stood, disguised as a Benedictine Monk. Knowing which side of his bread was buttered, but also eager to be a hero to the people, he walked away to contemplate his next move . . . .
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