The President, speaking before a joint session of congress, pointed to the unconscionable rebuilding of Paris as the most striking example to date of how subversives manage to thwart the noblest plans of even the greatest patriots. Indeed, even as he was speaking, suggestion were still coming in as to what should be put in the place of Paris. There's still time to get yours in, though now, of course, it can only be placed on a "Wish List" (you can mail it to The New Paris, c/o P.O. Box USA, Washington, DC 20002). The winning entry won't be drawn until the death mask that someone had the foresight to make hardens and a plain large enough to hold the cast can be secured. Negotiations are currently underway with the Chilean government to spread it along the Atacama Desert. The Gobi Desert was originally considered, but talks broke off when the Chinese insisted on sifting through the remains for state secrets. Early contacts with the Russians proved futile when they claimed Paris to have been one of their cities anyway. In any event, one thing is certain: Asa will definitely remain in town long enough to draw the winning entry. (Incidentally, his personal preference for Paris is to have a museum featuring the wonders of high-technology, surrounded by a mammoth military-industrial complex dedicated to the pursuit of peace and happiness for all humanity worthy of the name.)
"What about all those bones? Won't they fall out when the cast is moved?" Ava inquired of her husband, demonstrating once again her deep concern for her fellow man. "I wouldn't want some decent God-fearing person to be hit on the head by a dead Frenchman."
"Not to worry, dear," Asa assured his wife, "the vast majority of bones were evaporated upon impact. Those that weren't, I quite assure you, are buried so tightly in the rubble you couldn't pry them out with a bulldozer."
"I just wish one thing," Ava mused. "I wish they'd showed pictures on TV so I could knit you a sweater to commemorate the destruction of that terrible place."
"Use your imagination," Asa advised with a sly wink. Ava smiled demurely.
And that precisely is the wonderful thing about this beautiful couple: they are not given to exorbitant flights of fancy; they well know that an "imagination" is a curse, not a blessing, because it can make one vulnerable to subversive propaganda. As Asa so rightly concluded long ago, if we could somehow eliminate imagination from the realm of human activity we could construct a perfect world; a world at once orderly and law abiding; a world truly respectful of and truly committed to tradition, conventions and the mores of the day: a perfect world.
Unfortunately, Asa's great dream may go unrealized: man will have his imagination, come what may. To give an example (as if examples further than the rebuilding of Paris were needed), a group of Jews let their imaginations run so wild that it took an act of Congress to avert a potential catastrophe. But I'll let the pros on the nightly news tell you all about it.
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Anchorpersons Sonja Beale and Bertram Mertz replete with sparkling repartee. "Sone," said Bert the Mert, "this was a banner day for the news." "Really, Bert? How so?" "Like this," replied Bert, unfurling a huge purple banner with the word "NEWS" printed on it in big white letters. The camera shook with laughter like a bowel full of jelly.
"Today," Sonja Beale reported, "in Bonn, West Germany, the Jewish group dedicated to the capture of ex-Nazi's announced it had definite evidence linking every single war criminal to the government of Paraguay. Many of those ex-Nazi's still reside in Paraguay, though the majority have died. The Jewish group is said to be planning a commando-style raid on Asuncion. The State Department is reportedly looking into the situation. The Secretary, according to sources, has refused comment. The Undersecretary allegedly called the Paraguayan ambassador in for an urgent meeting. The Paraguayan embassy could not be reached for comment. Now this."
"Those Jews never quit, do they?" Asa observed as he watched the nightly news - but he waited till the commercial was over just in case something he needed was being advertised. "Why can't they just leave well enough alone? Let bygones be bygones. Leave the dead to rest in peace."
"Where's Paraguay?" asked Ava. "I like the sound of it. It must be a lovely little country."
"One of the loveliest God ever put on this good green earth," Asa explained. "And, more to the point: one of the staunchest supporters America has in the western hemisphere. You won't hear any 'Yankee go home!' down there."
"Down there?"
"It's in South America, tucked away amidst a veritable hornet's nest of anti-Americanism. Our truest, most trusted Latin ally - and the Jews, for no better reason than playing cops and robbers - want to jeopardize all that."
"But what can anyone do? You know how determined those Jews are once they set their minds to something!" Ava reminded her husband.
"Oh, I think I know a little something about determination myself!" replied Asa.
And, indeed, he most certainly does know "a little something about determination." More than a little, I'd venture to say. Don't forget, it was Asa who, after everyone else had given up and gone home, continued pursuing the person seen distributing subversive pamphlets in front of Highland Park's volunteer firehouse - pamphlets calling on firemen to fight even the fires of those who had not made their annual donations. Through his efforts, the person was captured and thrown into a burning building so as to demonstrate once and for all the danger of playing with fire and why volunteers should not risk themselves saving an unpaid property: such properties are usually not as sturdy nor as fireproof as those whose owners have the money to pay. Asa was made an honorary fire chief for his efforts.
No, there'll be no grass growing under Asa's feet. In fact, at this very moment he's on the phone speaking to the President.
"Now, Mr. President," he is explaining, "I'm no more anti-semetic than the next guy - or 'anti' anything but subversion - but where national security is concerned, quite frankly, Mr. President, I will gladly risk offending a few Jews rather than see one of America's most loyal neighbors become the object of a vicious hate campaign. The good people of Paraguay have never given us a moment's trouble, you know that. Can we in good conscience stand idly by while they're systematically destroyed? Because, make no mistake: to accuse even one Paraguayan patriot is to accuse them all of being Nazi's. Surely we cannot allow so simple-minded an approach to international diplomacy right under our very noses - practically in our own back yard! If we allow the Zionists to accuse Paraguay of harboring war criminals, how long till they start accusing us? I say, Mr. President, we stop this madness right here and now, before it goes any farther."
"Well, what do you suggest, Asa?" the President is asking, for he knows in his heart of hearts that whatever Asa recommends will be fair and humane, and will play very well in Peoria.
"I'd like to sleep on this one, Mr. President, if I may."
The President chuckled. "Better clear that with Ava first," he quipped. Ava looked up from her knitting and, sensing from the look on her husband's face that something oh so risqué was said, blushed. "Why I bet you the little woman's blushing right now, eh Asa?"
Asa smiled. "You know us like a book, Mr. President," he owned.
"I know good Americans when I see them," the President said with deep conviction. "In fact, just to show you how much the nation appreciates patriots like yourselves, I'm ordering a 21-gun salute for tomorrow at six A.M."
Always the voice of reason and modesty, Asa dissuaded the President from his plan. "Perhaps you should hold the salute, Mr. President. Those 21 guns might be needed in Paraguay if the madness I fear comes to pass."
"God love you, Asa, I will do just that. Sounds like good advice."
Good advice indeed - and then some, in light of subsequent developments. For, the very next day, as Asa was walking to the Capitol to attend a reception in his honor, he spied something which made him realize just how widespread and potentially explosive this Zionist conspiracy he uncovered actually was. What he saw was a secret meeting between Zionists and a group of individuals so unsavory they could only have been terrorists. The meeting took place in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. The Zionists, easily recognizable to Asa through their distinctive facial characteristics, were conversing with a group of raggedly dressed and disheveled ruffians who carried dirty shopping bags. It was immediately clear to Asa that weapons were being concealed in those bags, just as identities were being concealed underneath those ragged clothes.
"Be at this address no later than 9 P.M.," the Zionists said as they handed papers to the terrorists. "Remember: you must be inside by 9 o'clock. The doors will be locked at 9 and, if you're not in, you won't get in."
Overhearing this, Asa sensed deep trouble for America's friends in Asuncion. "So," he mused, "the attack will take place much sooner than anyone realized. I was hoping I'd have time to come up with a carefully thought-out plan, but it looks as if I'll have to rely on my intuition."
I might add that, as Asa's intuition as never failed him yet, he's on pretty safe ground relying on it now. He proceeded to the Capitol - calmly, as always, for if there is any one trait of Asa's that stands out it is his aplomb - where, to his dismay, he found only members of Congress; no one from the Administration was in attendance, the President having called an emergency cabinet meeting to deal with an impending recall of all government pens, which had been found to contain indelible ink and, accordingly, posed a threat to the efficient carrying out of government business.
Asa was warmly welcomed by both the House and Senate. Upon being toasted by the Speaker of the House, he requested that all pages not having security clearance be sent home. Then he broke the news, giving the exact location of the meeting he witnessed. When it was explained to him that the building in question was a shelter for the homeless and was being closed to make way for a parking garage, it was as if the final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place; his worst fears were confirmed.
"Gentlemen," he asked, "who but a terrorist has no home? Who else is it that no country will claim as its own? Homeless? Don't be fooled by knee-jerk liberal propaganda. In America, no one is ever homeless unless he's up to no good. No, gentlemen, what we're dealing with here is an international Zionist conspiracy to undermine America's national security by pitting us against our own allies. Tonight at 9 o'clock it'll be too late. We must act now. The very foundation of freedom is at stake."
"What do you recommend?" the Speaker asked.
"Nothing less than an Act of Congress," Asa replied, noting that, as the President was unavailable, an executive order was out of the question. "It's up to you, members of the House and Senate, to save this great nation we love so dearly. You must move now to prevent the destruction of Paraguay. There is time neither for debate nor dissent, let alone filibuster."
"Who but a subversive could think of filibuster at a time like this?" the Speaker inquired - rhetorically, since he already knew the answer. "Gentlemen," he addressed the Congress, "we have a bill to vote on. Asa," he said, "will you draft it for us?"
"I'd be honored, Mr. Speaker," came Asa's patriotic and respectful reply - patriotic, because there can be no other way; respectful, because Congress is being called upon to do what it does best: take a strong, swift stand on an issue of crucial significance.
Asa was led to a large, well-lit, open-spaced room where all bills were drafted and where the whole world could watch him drafting Bill Number 1986Z, the anti-Zionist measure without which the world as we know it could very well become a thing of the past. I will not look over his shoulder, however, to relate what the bill contained; I will leave that to the pros in the newsroom.
Newsnotes, Special Edition. Brought to you at no extra cost by the Leaders of the Western World. For all the things you do, and all the ways you do them: Thanks to all of you, from all of us. Because it's a tough job making the world go 'round. Your obedience makes it just a little easier. And remember: every rule we make...we make for you.
Special anchorperson Bobo Ornfield called back from the giant tortoise roundup at Pango Pango to give you the latest poop. "There was an old Jew from Zion," he is telling you, "who spent all his time a-spyin'. He thought he saw Nazi's before and behind him. So he started a war, on Paraguay's shore. And when it was done, he laid down his gun. And found Uncle Sam there a-dyin'."
"And that, folks, just about sums it up," Bo the O is explaining. "The soft underbelly of these United States, which is its excessive generosity, manifested most clearly in its extreme love of liberty, is in danger of being shot through with holes. Why? Because an old Zionist insists upon rounding up anyone who so much as even looks like a Nazi. But wait: there's hope. Yep: hope. In the person of the United States Congress, which at this very moment is voting on a bill - drafted, we're told, by none other than Aza, the super patriot from the Motor City - designed to once and for all put an end to the Zionist menace. The language of the bill - Number 1986Z - reads like a who's who of great American documents. We quote in part from the Invocation: 'Merciful God, just God, God of all gods, hear us we implore you; make the world safe from the vengeful and the wrong-headed.' Quite a stunner, huh? We'll keep you posted with special bulletins every fifteen minutes until this crisis is over. In fact, we may keep on with the bulletins even after the crisis is over! So good night dear hearts, wherever you are."
"I don't like the sound of this," Asa observed gravely. "I'm not 'Aza' and I'm not from the 'Motor City.' I'm Asa and I'm from Highland Park, a fully independent city."
"What do you make of it?" asked Ava, glancing up from her knitting.
"I suspect, behind this Bobo Ornfield you'll find an Ornfeld lurking somewhere," Asa replied.
And, sure enough, as usual, Asa was right on target. The Ornfields had indeed at one time been Ornfelds - no less a person than Bobo's next door neighbor confirmed it. At Asa's suggestion, a trail of mazza balls was laid from the studio to Bobo's townhouse. Bobo was caught red-handed. He was sent back to Pango Pango, where he was tied to a giant tortoise and carried out to sea, thus giving the junior special anchorperson, Clive Hoboken, the honor of informing the nation's capital of the passage of bill 1986Z, which came to be known as the "Home Away from Home Bill." This Bill, in essence, and with requisite safeguards, declared Zionists to be "Homeless Wanderers on an Endless Trek"; or, more simply, vagrants. The Bill, further, made it a federal crime - a felony - to be a vagrant (but only a misdemeanor for children under the age of 6). The penalties for suspicion of vagrancy varied, from a simple fine for those whose assets made it clear they would eventually cease their "wandering" to a maximum of twenty years in prison for those "with no visible means of support." In no time at all every vacancy in every prison in every state was filled - indeed, many prisons came to be known colloquially as "Little Israel." There was talk of converting unused synagogues into prisons; but since many synagogues were in some of the better neighborhoods, it was decided that, in the interest of maintaining property values, they should be converted to either enclosed shopping malls or fine restaurants instead. A consortium of Arab oil sheiks created a chain of Ethiopian restaurants; a fundamentalist religious sect opened a string of flower marts; a German banker put together several theme parks; a Swiss industrialist started a line of day care centers. No grass grew beneath a single synagogue. Still, the matter of overcrowded prisons remained.
The President, having finally gotten all the indelible ink out of government pens, telephoned Asa. "I'll come right to the point," he said after congratulating Asa on his first Act of Congress. "We simply cannot continue to house these Zionists in our prisons when so many blacks and hillbillies and faggots and what-not need someplace to go. Realistically, Asa, is there anything you can do? And feel free to speak your mind. No decent patriot could ever question your motives, so you needn't fear candor, Asa."
"Mr. President, "Asa replied, "just as you were speaking, a thought came to me."
"Your mind is like a steel trap, Asa. If only more men were as quick-witted, what a world this would be. What's your idea?"
"In a word, Mr. President: Paris."
"But Asa," the President reminded, "there is no more Paris."
"But there is a plaster cast of the remains, Mr. President. And what is plaster if not the very stuff of a dwelling? What I'm thinking is this, Mr. President: we punch holes in the plaster - they don't have to be big, just big enough for a man or a family - and ship all the Zionists - all the homeless for that matter - over there and drop them in. That way you solve two problems at once: you shelter the homeless and imprison the terrorists - who are, of course, one and the same anyway. Besides which, it saves you the trouble of negotiating a deal to have Paris relocated."
"But Asa: what about your dream of a museum? Or, for that matter, the contest?"
"Oh, I think every good American will understand. National security comes before contests, dreams or anything else."
"God bless you Asa. Give me ten men like you and I could save the human race."
A team of engineers were sent to Paris to drill for housing. Then a massive airlift peopled the plaster with those seeking a home. Zionism was stopped. Asuncion was saved. The free world remained free. The giant mount was dubbed "A New Face in France"; it became a delightful tourist attraction. People came from all over to feed the homeless; to try and catch a glimpse of heads popping from the holes to get a breath of air; and just in general to have a good old time. You could pack a picnic lunch or dine at one of the fine ethnic restaurants. And, of course, all major credit cards were accepted.
Incidentally, in gratitude for Asa's many efforts, the Republic of Paraguay bestowed the title of "Our Lady of Asuncion" on his lovely wife. She was given a quilt made by the wives of the ex-Nazi's to commemorate the event; it read "Viva Ava!" Hollywood asked Asa if it might do a movie depicting his humanitarian efforts to help the homeless.
"I'd rather not," he told them. That's just the kind of man he is.
(Of course, all his humanitarian efforts went for nothing when, behind his back, Paris was rebuilt. But the world still talks about that one shining moment in history when the good book's injunction to "shelter the homeless" was finally fulfilled, thanks to the efforts of one simple patriot.)