FNP: W.’S SECRET ADVISER

Faux News Press (FNP)_Washington, DC: For several years now the whispers amongst the best positioned observers of Washington’s political scene was that there was a “secret adviser” to the President. “Old hands” had noticed that policies issuing from the White House were not consistent with the known views held by the President’s appointed Executive leadership, such as Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, Secretary of Defense Robert Gates, and the others at the Cabinet level. Nor were the policies consistent with the known views of White House staff aides and advisers. Pundits have been scratching their heads for years, trying to unravel the tangled clues in regard to the real origins of President Bush’s policies.

FNP reporters have been in the forefront of the “secret war” to “out” this adviser. The people of America have a right to know who is the actual pilot of the ship of state, according to the charting of its course. It is with considerable satisfaction that FNP announces that the “secret adviser” has been discovered. Here is the story:

Six years ago, FNP executives invited Kitty Calhoun, the mother of Chad Clint and Q.T. Calhoun, to Washington, D.C., which she agreed to do. FNP requested that she arrive in Washington in a disguise, so her arrival would not be noted by other reporters, and to proceed to a “safe house” owned by an executive of our news organization. This she did.

At a tense meeting with our executive staff, Kitty Calhoun agreed to “worm her way” into the White House staff. She had always distrusted W.’s “conversion”  and believed him to be a “Britopalian” or, worse still, a “PresBriterian.” Kitty confided her controversial view that W. was “half Jew and half Royal, and neither was American.” She told the FNP executives that W. had no idea of her suspicions, and her kids were totally unaware of her fears. For God and Country she would become a spy for FNP. Her son, Chad Clint Calhoun, could get her a position in the White House, as an aide to Laura.

A few months after the secret, critical meeting with FNP executives, Ms. Kitty Calhoun was appointed to the personal staff of Laura Bush. Her duties included overseeing the personal living quarters of the Bush family at the White House. She had immediately suggested to Laura that Texas wild flowers be flown to Washington twice-a-week to place in the Bush’s private rooms. She has confided to Laura: “Honey, we’re Texans; let’s make this House feel like home.” Laura enthusiastically agreed and gained W.’s hardy approval.

As time went by, Kitty Calhoun became a comfortable White House fixture. She was virtually loved by the White House complement of workers in the mundane roles of keeping the White House well-ordered. She was an enthusiastic worker and kindly overseer to such workers. She taught them the names of the various Texas wild flowers. She even onced pinned a Texas wild flower to the lapel of a Secret Service agent. This serious, tough group of men and women had become comfortable with her Texas ways – even a little soft -and Kitty moved easily about the White House. Sometimes she would have Chad over for a private lunch. Even Q.T. would fly up to Washington for lunch “with Mom.”

As Kitty and Laura became close friends, Laura came to rely on this sharp ally, whose cunning was always packaged innocuously and warmly in her comfortable Texas twang. Laura asked Kitty to live at the White House in an apartment that she would set aside for Kitty. Laura often called Kitty in the dead of night to “talk over” things. “Wouldn’t it be better if I could just knock at your door?” she implored. Kitty agreed, and soon was living permanently at the White House.

Nevertheless, as a “deep mole” of FNP, she was “taking notes” – mental notes – of the President and the people who seemed to have his ear. She could discover no one who was not a well-known, public figure, at least well-known to experienced members of the Washington newshounds’ fraternity, which is always in session at the National Press Club.

As part of her duties Kitty would occasionally be asked to walk, or otherwise care for, the Bush’s pet dog, “Sammy,”  who had been given to the Bush’s by the Israeli head of state, Olmert, upon George’s 2000 election victory.  Sammy had been a puppy then, and was very fuzzy and cute. No one was likely to notice anything unusual about this dear little doggie. Now Sammy was all grown up and in the prime of his vigor, and Laura compaired George and Sammy on that point. At a gala in Dallas in 2003 she had laughed to Kitty: “Now we got two devil’s in the White House.”

Kitty had almost an instinctive dislike of Sammy, but she hid her feelings and always cheerfully “walked the dog,” when needed. There was something intense about Sammy. When he looked at her, his gaze chilled her soul. Did he perceive her? Thank God! she thought, that he cannot speak.

At a late night “knock-at-the-door” meeting with Laura, she learned that W. was talking to Sammy, hanging out the window almost. Laura giggled that when he had had a particularly difficult day at the ofice, George would play with Sammy to relax and work off “animal energy.” They would talk, too. Usually, W. would talk in the loud, carefree fashion of a Yalie scion, and Sammy would “bark” in delight. At other times, W. would put his arm around the shoulder of his fuzzy friend and speak softly, so that even people nearby could not discern W.’s words. Sammy could be observed gazing intently into W.’s eyes, nodding occasionally or sounding a muted arf, woof, bark, or even growl. W. had suggested to Laura that a doghouse be placed in their family quarters, so that Sammy could be nearer to them. Laura opposed this idea, and W. was content to build a “bungalow” for Sammy beneath his bedroom window.

 The Secret Service was forbidden to come any nearer than twenty yards of Sammy’s compound, and also W. advised that no listening devices should be employed by them at or near this compound beneath his window. An elevator was constructed to the side of W.’s window in case an emergency developed and either he would need to get down to the compound fast,  or Sammy might need to see him. “Dogs get lonesome too,” he told Laura.

Although the Secret Service was forbidden to “eaves drop” on Sammy, Kitty Calhoun had not been so forbidden.

An ingenious communications code had been developed at the FNP Innovation Department, using colors. By employing a set of sixteen colors – each standing for an alphabetical series that included no vowels - words and phrases could be indicated over time. A new series of thought would be indicated by the use of a new hat. Everyone knew that Kitty Calhoun loved hats. No one would “raise an eyebrow,” as she paraded about in still another new hat. Kitty Calhoun was considered a “Texas fashion plate.” The brilliant plan of the FNP executives had always depended on such a woman.

Beyond this “color code” developed for “the mole” – whoever she turned out to be – was a minature listening device that had been fashioned to appear like a very small “tick.” There were other disguises for these listening devices. At the meeting in Washington between the FNP executives and Kitty Calhoun – at which she agreed to become a FNP “mole” in the White House, she was presented with an array of “dead” listening devices. She was instructed to intone “moo” for precisely ten seconds. This sound then was encoded in the processor within each device. After she had set these devices in prospective locations at the White House, she would intone “moo” for ten seconds. The recording devices would begin to record. She was given a code to use to “beam up” recorded data to an earring she kept among hundreds of earrings. By putting the earring on her ear and intoning “oom” the uploaded recording would begin to play to her middle ear. To ordinary people nearby there would be no discerned sound.

Shortly after moving to her apartment at the White House, Kitty Calhoun began to casually check for advantageous locations to “bug.” Over time, she had secured many of the devices. Her uploading and listening sessions at night, as she lay in her bed, proved frustrating, as only usual sorts of chatter was heard – often her own. She had been apprised by Laura that W. was “crazy about that dog.”

One day, while walking Sammy, she was inspired. Although Sammy did not seem to like her, he submitted to her pats and scratches on his back, head and ears. Kitty was aware, also, that only a week ago Sammy had undergone a veterinary physical examination and had been pronounced “fit as a fiddle.” The thick, fuzzy fur that Sammy sported would make discovery of a tiny “tick bug” difficult at best. While scratching and playfully tickling Sammy’s ear, Kitty inserted a “tick bug” deep within his hairy ears - one in each ear. Then loudly she laughed, “I’m going to teach Sammy how Texas “doggies” bark.” Then she intoned “moo” precisely ten seconds, using the one-thousand-and-one, one-thousand-and-two, one-thousand-and-three method which was spoken in her mind. She had practiced this many times with a stopwatch and had the count grooved in her mind. That night she planned to upload it, checking to confirm that it was in working order.

The war casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan were worrisome to W. Laura had confided to Kitty one night that George didn’t seem himself anymore. “Terrorism has changed our world,” she confided further. “It’s also changed my W.”

As with Tiberius Caesar in the latter days of his rule, so with W. A darkening of his spirit had occurred. There was a new, quietly desperate and cruel vibration given off by this action-oriented president. He spent long hours either brooding or schmoozing with Sammy. Kitty had noticed that Sammy seemed to dominate W. He would bark, and W. would hurry down, and they’d go walking. Laura chuckled as she related a comment from Dick Cheney that he wished he had W.’s ear the way that Sammy does.

Hence, whoever the President was confiding in must be living at the White House, and not a Cabinet member or appointed aide. Kitty had slowly realised this, and quietly considered chefs, valets, porters, and even Secret Service personnel. None seemed to be “the adviser.”

Although she had become as certain as FNP reporters that a “secret adviser” existed, Kitty was frustrated with her lack of results. The night of her inclusion of Sammy as a “listening device,” she retired to her bed as usual. She had slept alone for all the days of her White House stay. Sometimes that bothered her. What if W. climbed into her bed, as LBJ was reputed to have done with visiting women? Should she submit to Executive Privilege?

 She put on her earring and turned off the lights. She intoned “oom.” She had mentioned to Secret Service personnel that she was “into” Eastern Meditation,” so no one would be suspicious of her “chant.” It was gratifying to realise that the “tick bugs” were working. She tried to relax, as she listened. There were many minutes that passed without any meaningful sound or communication. Then she heard the unmistakable voice of the President. He was almost pleading with Sammy, “Do I have to nuke Iran?”

Kitty listened carefully, but the accent of the person speaking to the President was difficult to understand. She thought she heard the expression: “Beshairt.”

She heard the President sigh, then say: “I’ll tell Dick.”

The strange voice then replied: “Groyse macher!”

The President was heard to respond: “Dick’s got chutzpah. He’s ok.”

Kitty strained to hear the gruff voice respond. Then it came. ” Shlepping shlemiel.”

The President’s voice was earnest, as he pled: “Must we kill all the Ayatollahs? Some are secretly working for us.”

 Kitty held her breath, not wanting any sound to interfer with her listening. She heard the word “Chazzers.” She wondered what it meant. It didn’t sound complimentary. She continued to listen to the recording.

The President said: “All must die?”

The gruff voice almost seemed to shrug, as it intoned: “Schlemazels.”

“Why not just buy them?” asked the President.

The gruff voice replied: “Gelt? A loch in kopp!”

Kitty had been taking notes, hoping that her phonetic spelling would prove acceptable to her friends at FNP. The tape became very low and muffled sounds predominated, as if W.’s lips were on the OUTSIDE of Sammy ears. Finally, she heard the President say: “The yenta? Are you talking about Kitty? She’s our friend.”

Kitty’s heart had leaped into her throat as she listened to the President’s words. Her pen had slipped almost unnoticed from her hand. She heard the gruff voice:

“Shmutz toochess! Meshuga Kvetch!” growled the strange voice.

W. tried to defend Kitty before the stranger: “She just has kvell in her Texas roots. She doesn’t mean any harm. She never disses you”

There was a pause. Then the reply: “Meshuga yenta–a loch in kopp!”

The President pled: “Kitty is keniner horra. She’s not a problem.”

Kitty could barely hear for the thumping of her heart.

The President’s voice was flat as he said to the stranger: “Let me have 24 hours to consider your advice. We’ll talk tomorrow at the usual time. My good friend, thank you for your advice. Tell our friends that our blood is one, our mission one, and our future one,”

“Mazol tov,” replied the stranger.

“Mazel!” said W. with a cocky Tezas tone.

“Mazel,” replied the stranger.

Kitty rested on her pillow, as her thoughts dashed about. I must collect myself, she thought. I must resign from the staff. I’ll just say I miss Texas and want to return to my own home. She got out of bed and wrote a note of resignation to give to Laura. She would leave for Texas as soon as possible. After completing the note and placing it in a fine bonded envelope, addressed to Laura Bush, Kitty composed a terse and pointed note. After translating it into FNP’s color code, she carefully laid out her clothing for that new day not far from dawning. The colors selected would advise FNP of “danger,” of “Texas,” “of “home,” and of “FNP debriefing.” They would figure out where to go. Now, Kitty fell back in bed, hoping to sleep a few hours.

The weeks that Kitty had been back home in Texas had steadied her and returned her resolution. Laura had expressed genuine sadness at her departure. W., ever the gentleman, had talked of “doin a que” sometime soon in good old Texas. Kitty missed some of her lifestyle and friends in the White House too. She had even thought of saying “good-bye” to Sammy, but Laura advised her that Sammy was being treated for a tick infestation and was at the veterinary hospital.

On the third day of her return to Texas, a discreet meeting was held at a house of a mutual friend of Kitty Calhoun and FNP spokesperson, Norwood Knott. There, in a relaxed environment, Kitty – sometimes referring to notes – told the executives and key reporters of all she had been able to learn in regard to the “secret adviser.” Everyone was disappointed that the identity of the “secret adviser” had not been revealed, but there was much satisfaction in realising that FNP had been vindicated in its long-held belief in a “secret adviser.” There was firm evidence from the notes taken by Kitty from the “tick bug” uploads, although the earrings that contained the recording device had somehow gotten lost. The transcribed conversation would be studied for clues to the identity of the stranger who is apparently W.’s “secret adviser.”

FNP pledges to continue its fearless reporting. To our many readers we pledge to find and identify the “secret adviser.” The public has the right to know.

All rights reserved. Nomoonnight, 2008.