The International Writers Magazine:REALITY CHECK
"KARL ROVE IS INNOCENT" FAVOR RENDERED
and a pair of shoes....
was supposed to be a searing tribute to the bravery and resilience
of the British citizenry, whose generations have endured more
than a half century of bombardment and terrorism, and last week
took a hit in London from al Qaeda or some other rogue Islamic
outfit trying to cash in on the publicity of the citys Olympic
bid win or some other bullshit about Iraq.
I was going to
wax poetic on the resolve and character of the English, how they bested
Hitlers Blitzkrieg and the random violence of the Irish Republican
Army. But thats all by the boards now. Friendship has taken precedence
over the planned Anglo-gushing. A friendship, however warped and tainted
it may be, which has been called to duty this week.
Georgetown, our resident GOP snitch, has made the request I know he
despised making. He needs a favor. A favor you ask? What could he elicit
that would make a respectable journalist such as myself waste precious
column space to entertain.
"You have to come to Karl Roves defense," he demanded.
"Remember The Meeting."
It was a favor I knew one day would have to be returned - The Meeting.
It was, after all, Georgetown who got me into a clandestine summit of
Rove and the Fancy Boys that balmy summer night in DC five long years
ago, when George W. Bush was a pretender from the Lone Star State and
everyone was pretty sure that whatever carcass Al Gore left behind in
Bill Bradley, it was merely a warm up act to wiping the campaign trail
with our beloved Captain Shoo-In. Rove had gotten a kick out of my barrage
of e-mails, which claimed, one after one, that I possessed compromising
photographs of the vice president playing carnal games with farm animals
and a detailed document claiming that Tipper had twice been to rehab
in Westchester, NY for "substance abuse". I was later to report
she had been mainlining Ajax cut with Diet Rite Cola and Jim Beam, but
that is neither here nor there.
What is in question now is how I will handle Mr. Roves latest
battle to stay inside The Loop on Pennsylvania Avenue now that his name
has been implicated as the "high ranking source" that leaked
the name of an upitty CIA operative to syndicated columnist Robert Novak,
a federal crime carrying a ten-year sentence. "Karl is a pussy,"
Georgetown continued. "Hell die in prison. He doesnt
have the facility for male sex that Gordon Liddy did." There was
no allaying his fears. There were many and they were varied. He was
anxious. It was easy to see there was no way out for me. I would have
to pen something akin to Old Soldiers Never Die or a Thomas Paine
knock-off. I could do it. I have done it many times for less. This was
a "high ranking official" of our government. Im a literary
jester at best, a sniveling bilge merchant at worst. But the piper had
his hand out. I had danced. Now I needed to pay. "Campion, god
damn it!" my highly agitated friend intoned sternly.
"This is important! None of your cheap jokes this time! A mans
life is at stake here - a very important man. Hes not like the
rest of us. Karl Rove is...different." It was the way he whispered
the word "different" that set me off. It was creepily reverent,
and it disgusted me.
"Jesus Christ, man!" I screamed back at him. "You do
realize they are tossing journalists in jail now. I will give you up,
and Rove and Novak and every damn one of you pusillanimous dregs before
I let that happen to me! Youre all guilty of something!"
"The only one who is guilty is that miserable bastard, Novak,"
he simmered. "He would sell his grandmother to organ thieves for
a decent column. Hes a hack and he has sold out our soul for a
"I wont let you abuse the name of anyone in the Fourth Estate,"
I fought back. "Least of all for a binge drinker like Rove."
"Karl Rove is a Christian and a great American genius, and like
that other Great American Genius, Jacko, he cannot go to prison. The
man saved us from John Kerry!"
"That may be so, but he tipped the bottle one time too many, and
worse still, trusted the wrong man, one who is all-too sober and mean
and had it in for the CIA for making the president look like a stone-faced
liar and caused Scott McClellan to weakly blather excuses like a goober."
"But its Karl Rove were talking about. The man is a
saint. He loves his mother and Jesus and he wears all the right clothes!"
"Rove? What do we really know about this guy? The last time I saw
him he shook me down for hooker money, and then after hed had
his way with the poor girl he sent her to me to replace her shoes!"
"Thats a damned lie, Campion!"
"I still get the shutters every time I think of what Rove did with
a working girls pumps, and now you expect me to endure this horrible
assignment!" He had no answer for my charges. He knew about the
hookers shoes. They all did, McClellan, Chaney, that chubby fop
who writes copy for FOX News. There was fury behind his solicitation,
but Georgetown knew, as always, I would be his bitch, if only to fill
space and be left alone. But he also knew more than anyone what Roves
ouster would mean to the bedrock of religious freaks he drove to the
polls last November. How would they react when their shining light is
dragged into court like a common criminal to explain why this fuck-awful
farce the administration has run into the ground in Iraq for the past
two years could lead to corrupting the law?
But enough about that nonsense, I am a man of my word, if nothing else.
So I shall do my part and fulfill my end of the bargain.
Karl Rove is innocent.
© James Campion July 16th 2005
Fidel Castro must Die!
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