Pass Me the Aspirin Storytime

So Secret Squirrel sends her hubby, Ambassador Blabbermouth, off to sit by the pool in Nigeria and ‘find da truthiness’ about the yellowcake.  The Ambassador brings back such a meaningful and insightful report that the CIA—sticklers for detail and good recordkeeping that they are—take his report in a half-hour oral debriefing.  Only.

Ambassador Blabberpen then gives his already written, sooper sekret report that no one wants—slightly edited—to the NYT.

Ambassador Blabb also brags to every massage therapist, doorman and cabbie about his wifey-poo the Secret Squirrel, because it makes him feel like he’s living a Grisham novel.

Time passes.  Leaves fall from the calendar.

Somehow, somewhere, someone figgers out the above and someone *cough*Armitage*cough* mentions it to Robert Novak who also writes it all up.  All of a sudden hue and cry goes up about the “outing” of Secret Squirrel—she with her name on her parking place at CIA HQ.  Much scurrying and posturing ensues.  Outcries of “federal crime” and “national security risk” and “endangering lives” were heard throughout the land, necessitating the appointment of a spacial [short bus] prosecutor to “investigate.”

Mister Spacial [short bus] Prosecutor—having all the powers and funding of a Henry VII—discovers absolutely zero evidence about zero people, doing zero federal endangering security risk type crimes.  Secret Squirrel and Ambassador Bookwriter get a cutsey spread in a magazine and bunches of TV face time.  [Their publicist puts in a pool.  At both new homes.]

In a news conference anticipated with more glee than fifteen Bacchanalias, Mister Spacial [SB] Prosecutor announces, “err… nevermiind.” As the deflated hopes of the masses blow him backwards out of the spotlight, he cries “But wait!!”

“I have evidence that that feller over there—the one who works for the embodiment of All That Is Frustrating To You, the one who *cough*Marc Rich*cough* made me look like retard with a box-top J.D.—that fella may have LIED when he said he ...uh, forgot a date.  ...er sumpthin. Git ‘im!!!!”

Circus Trial ensues placating the piranha - or boring them sufficiently to seek new prey.  But that fella with the funny name ends up with a gazillion year federal rap for doing precisely and exactly what umpty-bump politicos before him have done *cough*KennedyClintonBerger*cough*:  saying “I forget” when he clearly, maybe, remembered.

Still no charges - much less convictions - on the federal endangering security risk crime dealio.  No word from the CIA itself on the legal status of Secret Squirrel.  No judicial opinion on same.  Nuttin.’

Today, Secret Squirrel goes to Congress for her tongue bath voluntary testimony before the Oversight Committee.  [appropriately enough as that’s what she’s been feeling like of late] Under oath [to Congress—big dealio, they tell us] Secret Squirrel states:  “I was a covert officer for the CIA.”

It is important to note here that SS was decked out in lovely Armani [even if too newly outdated to qualify as vintage* and, unfortunately, badly fitted and paired, apparently, with Kalid Sheik Mohammad’s old undershirt] which will play quite well on Katie Holmes in the Warner filim currently being produced.

Unfortunately, SS added to her troweled-on testimony, “politics and ideology must be stripped from our intelligence services.” The hooting laughter from the Beltway was so loud as to preclude anyone hearing the rest of her statement.

So.....  I’m cornfuzzed.  Will Fitz now go after Plame for perjury before Congress?  What’d I miss?

Elvis

.

*iSigh*
Make mine a double, wouldja?