The Snooper-in-Chief, Magic Umbrella, and Spoonful of Sugar

BO BinocularsOnce upon a time, the Snooper-in-Chief suffered through a series of unsettling and absolutely terrible events (none of his own making, of course), including bumbling through a speech without his ever-present teleprompter and/or podium notes.
As usual, he sought comfort from the one source he trusted above all others.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, how can I snoop and snooker them all?”
The Snooper-in-Chief rubbed his eyes in disbelief as a laid-back image appeared in the mirror. “Who are you?”
“I’m from the temp agency, fillin’ in for the mirror lady. She’s playing a gig: IRS Convention in Vegas.
The Snooper-in-Chief wrinkled his brow. “Will she be back . . . um . . . soon?”
Dude rolled his eyes. “She gets back when she gets back. You got a problem with me? Think I’m not magically endowed ’cause I’m not decked out in a cape, wand, or sparkly tiara? You profiling me ’cause I’m a pasty white guy?”
Then he laughed, “Mellow out bro. I’m just messin’ with your head.”
Dude rubbed his hands together in happy anticipation. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”
“Benghazi fairy tale?
IRS leakers about to finger you?
Reporter surveillance fiasco?
Illegal maneuvers by your Department of Justice?
Citizen anger over phone tapping, internet snooping, and tracking?
Those mega-gadzillion emails stored in Utah?
Spy-for-hire whistle blower?
Being dubbed “The Lyin King?
Third term run against Hilary?”
The Snooper-in-Chief rubbed his troubled brow. “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t. My adoring followers don’t seem to adore me so much. I . . . um . . . could use some advice about dealing with their anger because of my administration’s blanket trolling for terrorists and all that. But honestly though, I wasn’t doing anything Bush didn’t do. We’re the same-o, same-o. I just took up where he left off.”
“Of course I knew about the surveillance (and so did congress, more or less). Of course I approved of it. Of course I tweaked the law just a little bit, in a balanced sort of way. I am THE President, after all.”
“Here’s the problem. “I don’t know how to trick . . . um . . . I mean . . . um . . . persuade my followers (including those turncoat reporters) to trust me again so my side will triumph in the 2014 congressional elections.”
Dude replied. “I get your drift. You wanna’ make ‘um feel all happy because you’re snooping in their private junk so they’ll vote for your comrades. Right?”
 “Exactly! I want them to feel gratitude because they have such a responsible and fearless leader, a great and powerful king who rules with . . .”
Dude interrupted, “Tut! Tut! Wouldn’t putter around with that king stuff if I were you. Your subjects think you got waaaay too much power already. How about shifting back to your fail-safe excuse that always works?”
“Ah . . . um . . . and that would be?” The Snooper-in-Chief looked puzzled. “How about a little hint?”
Dude rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Starts with National and ends with Security.”
The Snooper-in-Chief grinned from ear to ear. “Ah, National Security. My favorite! I’ll delivery my teleprompter speeches to my union pals. I’ll sell ‘um on my brilliant Keep-America-Safe program and make sure they understand I can’t find the needle in the haystack without looking through the entire stack.”
Dude pumped his fist. “Kawabunga! Now you’re thinking like THE man. However, just this once, you might want to think more like the lady with the umbrella.”
“The who with the what?”
“The nanny with the magic umbrella and satchel of tricks, who added sugar to bitter medicine so it would go down in the most delightful way.
The Snooper-in-Chief frowned, “You’re suggesting that I, THE President, hold my own umbrella and carry a satchel? Dispense sugar? Michele would kill me!”
Dude sighed heavily. “I’m talkin’ about holdin’ the attitude. Reinvent yourself, this time as the oh-so-sweet and loving Protector-in-Chief with the magic cure to take care of the bad guys. Even if it means modest encroachment in order to buff up national security and protect mommies and daddies and children and puppies.”
Dude leaned closer. “Sell your story. Convince ‘um how you had to keep all this surveillance stuff secret so the terrorists would continue to make calls on their tracked cell phones and would continue to share bomb recipes via their Prism-scanned email accounts.”
The Snooper-in-Chief puffed up his chest. “And I’ll remind ‘um about how well this has worked in the past.”
Dude said, “HAHAHA. You’re kidding me, right? Between you and me and the magic umbrella, what about the Boston Marathon screwups and everything your blanket surveillance totally missed? Like welfare payments going to the bad guys? The terrorist alert from Russia? Fingering the bombers through a retail store camera? An alert homeowner discovering the surviving killer?”
Dude smiled. “But, neveryoumind. That’s water under the bridge. Speakin’ of water, surf’s up. I’m like . . . outta here.”
His image faded as he said, “Become one with the umbrella and the attitude.”
And so it became that the Snooper-in-Chief began his “Spoonful of Sugar Tour” to snooker and bamboozle citizens about how he’d so bravely–and all by his lonesome–shouldered the heavy burden of surveillance in the name of national security.
P.S. Did the natives forgive and forget about the massive and ever expanding government intrusion into their lives? Did they slip back into snooze control expecting to live happily ever after?
That story continues to unfold. Stay tuned!


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