|The Nossiter Net
The net that shall enmesh them all
Edited, Written, and Published by Josh Nossiter
|The Morning Mendacity
Thursday, September 15th, 2005
|The Nossiter Net is cast to snare some of the riper rascalities of the day. Comments? email@example.com|
|The confessional is a sacred place, and the interchange between priest and confessor is protected by rules of confidentiality that answer to a higher power. But the secrecy of the confessional can also impose an intolerable burden on the average priest. The confessor spills his guts and feels better for doing so; the priest is obligated to live with truths that he must suppress for all time. Sometimes a priest cracks up from the strain. Such was the case of Father –, of St. –‘s Church in Washington, D.C. Shortly after defrocking himself and joining an ashram in Bengal, Father – sent the following notes to his bishop by way of explanation for his flight:
From the last confession of Judge John Roberts: Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I am an odious, sanctimonious, mealy-mouthed, hypocritical little prat, and I will soon be the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. I have been the catspaw and lickspittle of every corporate interest whose case has come before me. I have successfully brown-nosed every powerful and well-connected person I have ever met. And look where it has gotten me today.
My beliefs, which I have successfully concealed from the public by filibustering and evading the questions of the Senate Judiciary Committee, center around the inalienable right of rich, successful, white men like me to continue to be rich and successful. My mentors included the repulsive Chief Justice Rehnquist, the vicious old segregationist who presided over the single most harmful decision the Supreme Court has ever handed down, Bush v. Gore, 2000. Also the even more repulsive Kenneth Starr, mastermind of the Clinton impeachment, an episode that succeeded in dragging our debased political system from the gutter right into the sewer.
As a Chief Justice who may well serve for forty years, I will do everything in my power to weaken civil rights, erode social justice, expand the power of the Executive branch, and protect the right of big business to exploit workers and consumers, to poison the environment, and to corrupt the political system with cash and favors. And not only will I get away with all this, I will be feted and celebrated and honored throughout the land. If it wasn’t such a crime, it would be a miracle. Amen.
From the last confession of former FEMA Director Michael D. Brown: Forgive me father, for I have sinned. But not nearly as much as my former bosses, Chertoff, Card, and Bush. Dammit, I told them New Orleans was going to hell in a hand-basket. I kept calling them, trying to get some action.* I explained to them that local efforts to control the situation were completely inadequate, that we needed the army and the navy and the air force and the coast guard, and maybe the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny as well, and they just ignored me.
Card said the President was busy and he’d get back to me. Busy! The SOB was fishing, for chrissakes, and didn’t want his vacation spoiled, and his own chief of staff was too chicken to interrupt him**. Chertoff told me to take a chill pill. To get a life. To stop and smell the roses. People were dying like flies, an entire city was underwater, and the goddam Director of Homeland Security was telling me to relax. Gives you a lot of confidence in your leaders, doesn’t it? When I finally got through to the President, all he said was “huh?”
Or maybe it was “duh.” The connection wasn’t too good.
©Joshua C. Nossiter, 2005
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