[Put here by popular demand ... well, from one kind German poster.
]
It was a dark and stormy night. The President looked at his cities in riot, wondering why in the face of a profitable and victorious campaign against its enemy -- an enemy that launched an unprovoked war, killing tens of thousands before the tide was turned -- why they now ruined themselves in anger. To call off the war now before the job was finished would be to invite further and perhaps stronger attacks next time. To continue the war would leave city after city in chaos ... or worse: Forced luxury, like so many pigs begging to be slaughtered in the sauces of their own bloody anti-war sentiments.
Then, too, was the corruption. The President had developed an inside joke among his closest Cabinet members: "If the city is far enough away to warrant an new zip code, it's far enough away to burn it to Hell." So exasperated was The President at his own people's greed.
The science reports fared no better. Double, triple, quadruple our science spending! The President had pounded into the heads of those who control the budget. For surely, The President reasoned, 4 times the spending should yield at least twice the technological edge over other nations. But as if the hand of God himself defied the Laws of Nature, progress came in a slow and measured pace no matter the piles of money set to change all that.
"Report from the front, Mr. President."
"Go ahead."
"2 Tank divisions on the Eastern Front were annihilated today."
"By God! What have they got left to fight us with?! Were they holding back some secret deadly weapon?"
"No, sir. Three high school kids picked up some pointed sticks. It was touch and go for a while, but they annihilated our tanks."
"Well what of our 20 unit garrison just West of there?"
"You mean in Osaka? Oh, that city flipped sir. We lost everything."
"Flipped!? What the hell do you mean flipped?"
"Mr. President, the people there were impressed with the ruins of their imminent defeat and simply took our 20 units hostage. We think they sold them to buy more pointy sticks."
"Oh, God..."
"Yes, Mr. President. More pointy sticks could mean big trouble for our planned bombing runs."
And so it went. And just as it seemed nothing could possibly get any worse than this, another knock at the door:
"Mr. President: You need to sign these Pollution Orders. Toxic waste is running rampant and even threatens the capital. Here they are, Sir. All 150 of them."
"150? You mean I need to sign the same order 150 times!?"
"Well, I'm sure there will be more soon to follow."
"Christ! Why can't I just issue the order once and be done with it. How do you expect a man to survive the tedium of doing something so mindless 150 times?"
"Good question, Sir. Shall I order the workers shot?"
"No, they probably have pointy sticks just waiting for us ..."
Tune in for next week's installment: "My Domestic Advisor Recommends a Hearty Breakfast."