Mix Equal Amounts of Civil Liberties and Homeland Security
Here’s what I did.
I created a new Web site, all in the open. I used my credit card to get a domain name, AuntMaudeKnowsBest.com, and rent space on a Web server in Santa Monica. Then I created a plain vanilla home page with nothing on it except the following text:
Chapter One
The quick little MoveOn.org, who was not as fat as Michael Moore but whose breath smelled like fuel oil after an all night vigil with Get Out of Iraq Now!, jumped over the ACLU subway turnstile and bought a gallon of ammonium nitrate from the airport gift shop located in the Holland Tunnel before passing through the TSA security checkpoint and trying to force the lock on a chemical plant gate under the George Washington Bridge, near a hole in the fence at the Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico where they do research on nuclear weapons.
Before I went to bed, I submitted AuntMaudeKnowsBest.com to Google’s search engine database. I opened a Google Ad Sense account so that Google ads would appear next to my text and earn money from AuntMaudeKnowsBest.com visitors who clicked on the ads.
I slept late the next morning and then had a leisurely breakfast. Eventually, I logged onto the Santa Monica server to see if Aunt Maude had been visited by anyone yet.
Well! Gag me with a spoon. In less than 12 hours Aunt Maude had received 110,000 unique visitors. I quickly logged into my Google Ad Sense account. Wow! My visitors were clicking on the Google ads at a furious pace. I had already earned $56.45.
There’s nothing like instant success to spur you onward.
Chapter Two
(On a new page linked to Chapter One)
A George Soros look alike with a two-day stubble of jihadist’s beard sat on a bench in Lafayette Park across Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House (where the Great Satan Bush oppresses the world’s poor with help from his lackey Cheney) dozing and dreaming about RPGs, IEDs, C4, washing machine timers, and the Olson twins — particularly the twin with the eating disorder who wants to work at the CIA but might have to settle for a job as an Arabic translator at the NSA instead — until a member of Impeach Bush Now! sat down beside him on the bench and handed over a map showing the location of the secret cache of radioactive horse manure just outside the gates of Camp David that could be used by Support Our Troops — Bring Them Home to form smelly bricks used to build dirty patios that are certain to bomb with consumers, most of whom chant, “No Blood for Oil!”
By Day Three, I was closing in on 1 million visitors and had already earned $367.79 from Goggle ads. I hadn’t a clue who the visitors to the site might be.
To help me think about Chapter Three, I decided to walk to the supermarket for milk and several boxes of sugar-frosted Mini-Wheats, which is the only thing I eat anymore.
I saw a black Chevy Suburban parked at the curb but thought nothing of it until I heard its engine start after I’d walked a few paces. By the time I reached the store, it was clear the Suburban was tailing me. As I opened the door, I glanced over my shoulder. Through Suburban’s smoky windows I could make out the dim outlines of two Men in Black. They tailed me home as I trudged along with my milk and cereal.
Chapter Three
( On a new page linked to Chapter Two)
The secret weekly meeting of Get the Jews Out of Israel Now! was held in Karl Rove’s basement even though there was a bag of ammonium nitrate under the fuel oil tank for the furnace and a small leak was dripping the oil onto the fertilizer, creating an in situ explosive device even as Rove, Condoleezza Rice, Donald Rumsfeld, and Ariel Sharon sat in the living room upstairs plotting whether using nuclear weapons on Iran might lead to more suicide bombers in the subways of Islamabad as the madrassas churn out more terrorists with no where to plant their bombs and whether Jeb Bush or Bill Frist should be appointed president in 2008 after the Joint Chiefs cancel the election, order God’s return to government, and launch Operation Blood for Oil at Any Cost.
By the end of Day Five, total visitors to Aunt Maude had surpassed 2 million and my Google ad earnings had topped $900.
The Chevy Suburban was still parked outside. I now made a point of going outside every eight hours to watch the Men in Black shift change and wave to the new duo. Sometimes they waved back, though so far no words had been exchanged.
When I arose on the morning of Day Six, AuntMaudeKnowsBest.com had disappeared from the Web. At first I thought there was something wrong with my Internet connection, but WhiteHosue.gov was still there, along with FristSenate.gov. Clearly, the world had not ended.
I tried logging into my Aunt Maude account at the server farm. The account had disappeared. Next, I called tech support. After a 20-minute wait listening to the same 12 bars of All My Exes Live in Texas, a human informed me that the problem was very simple. My account had been terminated because it surpassed its quota of allowed Patriot Act violations.
A few minutes after I hung up, my land line phone went dead, along with my broadband Internet connection. Not long after that, my cell phone stopped receiving a signal. I peeked out the window. Now, two Chevy Suburbans sat at the curb. I looked in the refrigerator: a gallon of milk and a month’s worth of cereal.
So here I sit, a prisoner in the gulag, denied an audience and writing for the drawer, hoping that when my bones are dust my work will be discovered. Surely, I will be hailed as a citizen patriot.
Chapter Four
The last surviving member of Bring Back SCOTUS Now! sat disconsolately on the steps of the Supreme Court building, holding his head in one hand and fingering the pin on his last hand grenade with the other hand. He wondered if he had enough change in his pocket for a Double Frappe Latte Tornado Delight at Starbucks…