Often, there are so many compelling potential subjects to write about in my Web Log that I must make some pretty tough decisions – being as busy as I am, I can’t spend all day, every day, writing about every single one, which is what I’d have to do, actually, to cover them all adequately. But then, there would be no time for me to make a living having the experiences I mostly write about here.
And this week, I must confess, there were plenty of interesting experiences for me to choose from – consultations with diplomats from the Armenian embassy who wanted to talk about what a bunch of murdering, genocidal perverts the Turks are; visits from their counterparts at the Turkish embassy, who wanted to talk about what unprincipled, scheming, amoral, compulsive liars the Armenians are; visits from Greeks who are mad at the Germans for not wanting to bail them out of their economic crisis; visits from Germans who think the Greeks are nothing but lazy, dishonest deadbeats who don’t deserve the privilege of spending Euros and should go back to using lumps of copper with pictures of Alexis Zorba on them; incensed Dutch and irate English, seething at the outcome of the recent Icelandic plebescite on paying them back all the money IceSave Bank ripped them off for; and, of course, self-righteous Icelanders claiming that England and Holland should bite the bullet and move on, already. Plus scads more, but the hands-down favorite for posting here this week has got to be a particular telephone consultation I performed on Wednesday morning.
“Mr. Collins,” Gretchen informed me over Line Two, obviously quite annoyed, “I have a… person… holding on Line Three. He called us, and when I didn’t immediately recognize his voice, he started cussing a blue streak at me – ‘What do you [expletive] mean, you don’t know who the [expletive] I am, you [expletive] [expletive]?’ he says. ‘Everybody in [Expletive]-nuts-ville knows who the [expletive] I [expletive] am! Let me talk to [expletive] Tom [expletive] Collins, you [expletive] [expletive], or I’ll wring your neck like a [expletive] kosher chicken, you dumb [expletive]!’ Mr. Collins, have you started a psychological practice or something without telling me?”
“No,” I replied, “That wouldn’t do any good anyway, you know. Most of the insane people here in Washington are beyond help. Because they hold well-paid, prestigious positions in the federal government, none of them realize they’re bat-spit crazy.”
“Any idea,” she inquired, “who this particular lunatic is?”
“Oh, yeah,” I assured her. “He assumed you would immediately recognized his voice, promptly lost his temper when you didn’t and then threatened to kill you. Based on those criteria, it can be none other than White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. Please put him through.”
“Gladly,” Gretchen grumbled in that cute, petulant tone she adopts when realizing that tolerating yet another outrageous inconvenience or indignity is simply part of her job.
Emanuel: Collins, you [expletive] [expletive] [expletive]! How [expletive] dare you keep me waiting on [expletive] hold?
Tom: I’m sorry, sir, but you have, in fact, called me eight and one-half minutes early, and I am, in fact, with another client now.
Emanuel: So? Get rid of that useless, retarded [expletive] [expletive] bastard, you [expletive] [expletive] pasta-stuffing wop greaser!
Tom: I think he’s ascertained the salient parameters of the situation, actually; he’s leaving now. And I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from impugning my Italian heritage.
Emanuel: [Expletive] my [expletive] [expletive] in a leaky [expletive] [expletive] with a rusty [expletive] [expletive] [expletive] up an horse’s [expletive], Tom [expletive] Collins [expletive] Martini!
Tom: I would observe, sir, that your suggestion is not only socially inappropriate, politically incorrect, and morally absurd, it is also physically impossible.
Emanuel: You know what, Collins? I [expletive] like you!
Tom: Of course. As everybody in Washington, DC…
Emanuel: You mean, [Expletive]-nuts-ville!
Tom: Yes, certainly. As everyone in “[Expletive]-nuts-ville” knows, the more Rahm Emanuel insults you, the more he likes you.
Emanuel: Right! And I like you one [expletive] of a lot, you [expletive] [expletive]-kissing [expletive]-grabbing [expletive]-sucking [expletive] [expletive].
Tom: I’m flattered.
Emanuel: Well, you [expletive] ought to be, you [expletive]-splattered, [expletive]-drenched, pig-[expletive], dog-[expletive], duck-[expletive], sheep-[expletive][expletive] son of a donkey-[expletive] [expletive], train-pulling, two-dollar whore!
Tom: Gee whiz, thanks. Now, how can I help you today?
Emanuel: It’s my [expletive] image!
Tom: Your image? Really? Whatever could be the problem with that?
Emanuel: [Expletive], I sure as hell don’t [expletive] know. But it’s pretty obvious I’ve got a [expletive] image problem! Last night, for instance, that [expletive] [expletive] [expletive] David Letterman did “Top Ten Signs Rahm Emanuel is Nuts!”
Tom: That was just a bit of good-natured ribbing, I’m sure.
Emanuel: [Expletive] no! Does “Every morning takes a leak off the Truman Balcony” sound like [expletive] “good-natured ribbing” to you? And that was only [expletive] Number Ten! And then there’s all these [expletive] [expletive] calling for my resignation, too!
Tom: But you’ve done a very good job responding to them, what with Dana Milbank at the Washington Post writing that the Obama Administration’s first year ended up an embarrassing fiasco because he didn’t follow your sage advice about issues like health care, economic recovery, Israel and the terrorists at Guantánamo Bay. According to your supporters at the Post, you’re the only factor preventing Barack Obama from becoming the next Jimmy Carter.
Emanuel: And that [expletive] is exactly [expletive] correct, too! And how come, I ask you, did that [expletive] school-marm, Jimmy Carter, not listen to his White House Chief of Staff?
Tom: Perhaps because that particular fellow, Hamilton Jordan, came to Washington and acquired a reputation for behaving like a crude, nasty, boorish, uncouth potty-mouthed oaf?
Emanuel: He did?
Tom: Yeah, sure. They’re still talking about how old Ham would get stinking drunk in upscale Georgetown bars, then try to pick up women by regaling them with proclamations about who he was; and if they refused to go back to his place with him when he was done, he’d spit ice-cold cocktails down their cleavage.
Emanuel: He did?
Tom: Yep. Sure did.
Emanuel: Jesus [expletive] Christ! What a [expletive] [expletive] [expletive] that [expletive] retard Hamilton Jordan was!
Tom: Yeah, seriously, I tell you, some people, they have absolutely no class at all, and, what’s more, haven’t a clue how to get any, either.
Emanuel: I’ll tell you [expletive] what – that’s just [expletive] pathetic, that’s what that [expletive] is!
Tom: And you know how he ended up, don’t you?
Emanuel: How?
Tom: Working on the H. Ross Perot campaign. So, of course, the moral of that story is, don’t give your unprincipled detractors…
Emanuel: Like that [expletive] [expletive] David Broder!
Tom: Yeah, like David Broder; don’t supply people like that with any brickbats to throw at you. I mean, it’s not entirely obvious to, ah, you know, the… general public, for example, that your unique, personal way of showing affection and respect for others is to swear at them. Maybe a more conventional approach would be more… appropriate.
Emanuel: Really? You think so, huh?
Tom: It might be worth a try, anyway. And by the same token, I sort of doubt most folks are fully aware that when you threaten to kill them, it’s just, um… metaphorical.
Emanuel: Sure, I sent that pollster a dead fish in the mail, and okay, that’s a well-known way of threatening to “make them sleep with the fishes,” or, all right, kill them. And yeah, I took out a knife at a social function and stabbed at the names on a list of people who I was angry with, yelling “dead, dead, dead,” and I did it front of several witnesses, but [expletive] holy [expletive], that was a long time ago. I mean, really, I haven’t [expletive] threatened to [expletive] kill anybody lately, have I?
Tom: My private secretary told me…
Emanuel: Her? She’s just your secretary! I’m talking about me threatening to kill people who [expletive] matter – people who count, okay? You have to admit, I haven’t done that in a long, long [expletive] time, have I?
Tom: No, I suppose not. There’s also the behavior issue, however. The recent incident with Representative Eric Massa of New York, in particular.
Emanuel: That [expletive] Navy homo? All I did was talk to him about the President’s budget bill. Stupid [expletive] [expletive] wasn’t going to vote for it.
Tom: Yes, I understand that, but you must concede that your choice of venue was…
Emanuel: Look, Collins, I’m from Chicago, and I do politics Chicago style, okay? You want to make an impression, then you corner your target in his birthday suit in the locker room shower and state your case.
Tom: But Massa says you weren’t even wearing a towel.
Emanuel: [Expletive] no, I wasn’t wearing a [expletive] towel! My style is pure psych-out, Collins! When I’m wearing my clothes, I flip the [expletive] [expletive] off with my missing middle finger and when I’m not, I show them that baby’s arm holding an apple!
Tom: Oh, my goodness! I heard that Massa said you poked him in the chest, but…
Emanuel: [Expletive]-A, I poked him in the chest, Collins! [Expletive], yeah! And I told him, “Look [expletive], you’re a [expletive] Democrat, you [expletive] [expletive] retard, and either you [expletive] vote with the [expletive] President or you get the [expletive] out of [expletive] Dodge!” And then I poked him in the chest again – with that baby’s arm holding an apple!
Tom: Gracious!
Emanuel: Then I put him in a head lock, tousled his hair, tickled him until he giggled like a school girl and spanked his [expletive] pink as a ruby grapefruit, at which point, guess what he [expletive] said?
Tom: Oh my God, that’s a hard one…
Emanuel: Right! [Expletive] congratulations, Collins, you [expletive] guessed exactly what he [expletive] said!
Tom: Guess you showed him.
Emanuel: In a [expletive] manner of speaking, yeah, I [expletive] guess I sure [expletive] did! And that’s how we do [expletive] politics in [expletive] Chicago, Collins! Like real [expletive] men, that’s [expletive] how!
Tom: It’s the dance training, isn’t it?
Emanuel: The dance training? What do you mean “the dance training?” Yeah, I’m a fully qualified ballet dancer, so what?
Tom: George Balanchine or Alvin Ailey?
Emanuel: Well, it’s not really an either-or situation, you know, but I understand the question – so, Balanchine.
Tom: Baryshnikov, Nureyev or Nijinsky?
Emanuel: No [expletive] contest – Nureyev, all the [expletive] way.
Tom: You know, it occurs to me just now that all of these things – the swearing, the bullying, the death threats, the baby’s arm holding an apple in the shower, the naked poke in the chest… all that stuff; it’s because of the ballet dancing, isn’t it?
Emanuel: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?
Tom: Tell me the truth – if you didn’t attend ballet school, if you didn’t know Balanchine from Ballantine’s or Nureyev from the New York Nicks, would you really be running around spewing profanity in everybody’s face, flipping them off with that missing finger you detached with a meat slicer at Arby’s when you were a kid, threatening to kill them when they displease you, or verbally abusing them while naked in the men’s locker room shower while sporting a raging woodie?
Emanuel: You [expletive] saying this is all some [expletive] Freudian [expletive]-up in my [expletive] brain because of some kind of [expletive] deep-seated insecurities about my [expletive] masculinity due to ballet training?
Tom: Stranger things have happened. A couple of years ago, I discovered that wearing diapers makes astronauts behave like babies.
Emanuel: Damnation. [Expletive]. Look, I… I gotta go. Maybe I’ll think about that [expletive] you just said, I donno.
Tom: Sure, take your time. Have a nice day in [Expletive]-nuts-ville, Mr. White House Chief of Staff.
Emanuel: Uh-huh. ‘Bye.