Listening to the Voices
Warning: This is a dangerous post. But sometimes, you've just got to do what you've just got to do.
And let me be clear: it's not my fault.
It started yesterday on the art curator thread when Biodun noted that Dick Cheney is "stopping everywhere he can abroad, anything to delay his return to the States. I wonder what he’s afraid of back home." It continued this morning on the Condi thread when Redshift took it a step further, talking about what Cheney's scheduler might be thinking, trying to balance the jury with the Shooter's . . . ahem . . . diplomatic . . . ahem . . . travel options: “How long can they keep deliberating? I’m running out of countries!”
I know it calls for speculation, it depends on facts not in evidence, and is the ultimate in hearsay, but still: Don't you just wonder what others in DC are doing while they wait for the jury to come back?
For example, where's Karl Rove? He hasn't been seen or heard from in I don't know how long. But I heard from my friend the Senior Administration Official Who Only Speaks on Deep Background about him. Seems he's been measuring the drapes in Cheney's undisclosed location, so as to make his own UL a bit more cozy. It's still under construction, but the GSA is hoping to have it completed before the jury comes back.
Tim Russert? I heard from a Media Source that Tim's polishing up his whiteboard, to be ready to describe how the 11 jurors voted. "It all comes down to Florida. Err . . . Fitzgerald." What media source, you ask? Why, I couldn't tell you that. Every time I talk to the media, I treat the conversation as off the record unless they say otherwise. Clergy-penitent privilege, you know.
What about Judy, Judy, Judy? Custodial staffers have found bags and bags underneath her desk of crumpled up balls of paper. They all have these drawings of mountains, ski lifts, and trees with little initials and hearts carved into the trunks. Whose initials, you ask? Now, now – I don't diss and tell.
The head of Walter Reed is really anxious for the verdict to come back. "Please be a juicy story! Anything to take us off the front page!"
FBI Agent Deborah Bond is making a list and checking it twice, preparing for Fitz's next act: "My name is Bond. Deborah Bond. We've got a few questions we'd like to ask you . . ." (And Yes, Virginia, I think Marcy's right – Fitz has more up his sleeve.)
And then there's David Shuster. He's been doing good stuff, but he's got to be thinking ahead to his next big gig. He's not worried about job security, not with this administration, but it's more like looking at a the menu in a great restaurant: "What to choose? War profiteering? Abramoff fallout? US Attorneys being fired? Decisions, decisions." Don't worry, David — you'll find something.
So, what do you hear, when you put on your tinfoil hat and listen to the voices in DC as they wait for the jury? Who's polishing up their resumes? Who's building up their defense funds? Who is obsessively but surreptitiously checking out FDL and refreshing their screen every fifteen seconds, and what are they saying to the screen?
Crank up the snark, prepare the rimshots, and remember to set down your coffee and other beverages. You have been warned.
(tip of the tinfoil to the good folks at MIT for the photo)