<<MSTing: "Windmills of the Gods">>

--- Part 2 of 4 ---
 
[OPEN ON: Theater.  Mike and Bots file back in.]
 
TOM: So what was the final tally?
MIKE: I think the motion was officially pantsed.
CROW: Whoo-hoo!
 
> 2
>
> Paul Ellison said, "I'm going to need a lot of help from you, old
>friend."
 
CROW: Wow, that's way more than President McCartney got by with.
 
> "You'll get it," Stanton Rogers replied quietly.
> They were seated in the Oval Office, the President at his desk with
> the American flag behind him.
 
TOM: Hey, that's the flag George Bush wrapped himself up in!
CROW: No, it's the flag Bill Clinton spat on as a covert KGB agent 
   in the 60's.
MIKE: That's it, no more Pat Robertson newsletters for you.
 
>It was their first meeting together in this office, and President Ellison
> was uncomfortable.
 
MIKE: Would it help if we used your full name a lot?
 
> If Stanton hadn't made that one mistake, Paul Ellison thought, he
> would be sitting at this desk instead of me.
 
CROW: Yeah, yeah, we read the first chapter, OK? We get it.
 
MIKE: The President may as well have turned on a flashing neon
   sign saying "IRONY!!! All you can eat!"
 
> As though reading his mind, Stanton Rogers said, "I have a
> confession to make. The day you were nominated for the presidency,
 
TOM: -satire died.
 
>-I was jealous as hell, Paul. It was my dream, and you were living it.
 
MIKE (laughs like The Amazing Colossal Man): They call this living!
 
>But do you know something? I finally came to realize that if I couldn't
> sit in the chair,
 
CROW: -I'd stand on it and do a striptease!
 
>-there was no one else in the world I would want to sit there but you.
> That chair suits you."
> Paul Ellison smiled at his friend and said, "To tell you the truth,
> Stan, this room scares the hell out of me. I feel the ghosts of
> Washington and Lincoln and Jefferson."
 
MIKE (scared laughter like Shaggy): Zoinks! Huh-huh! Like, I just
   remembered, I gotta attend a deposition for our suit against 
   Jabberjaw, Spirit of '76, and Josie and the Pussycats!
 
> "We've also had Presidents who-"
> "I know, but it's the great ones we have to try to live up to."
> He pressed the button on his desk, and seconds later-
 
CROW: Detroit was in ruins.
TOM: Like they could tell. Heh-heh.
 
>-a white-jacketed steward came into the room.
> "Yes, Mr. President?"
> Paul Ellison turned to Rogers. "Coffee?"
> "Sounds good."
> "Want anything with it?"
 
MIKE: Yeah, your job, nipple-dip.
 
> "No thanks. Barbara wants me to watch my waistline."
 
TOM (as preppy): Don't you have people for that, old man?
 
> The President nodded to Henry, the steward, and he quietly left the
> room.
> Barbara. She had surprised everyone. The gossip around Washington
> was that the marriage would not last out the first year. But it had
> been almost fifteen years now, and it was a success. Stanton Rogers had
> built up a prestigious law practice in Washington, and Barbara had
> earned the reputation of being a gracious hostess.
 
CROW (as Barbara): Welcome to our damn home. What a lovely damn dress.
   Would you care for a damn hors d'ouerve?
 
> Paul Ellison rose and began to pace. "My people-to-people speech
> seems to have caused quite an uproar.
 
MIKE: You mean the part where you bit the head off a live bat? 
   That ruled, man!
 
>I suppose you've seen all the newspapers."
 
TOM: Oh, can anyone ever really see all the newspapers?
 
> Stanton Rogers shrugged. "You know how they are. They love to
> build up heroes so they can knock them down."
> "Frankly, I don't give a damn what the papers say.
 
CROW: Oh, Rhett!
 
>I'm interested in what people are saying."
 
TOM: Ha, ha! No you're not.
 
> "Quite candidly you're scaring the hell out of a lot of people,
> Paul.
 
CROW (as wife): Next time, take the avocado-oatmeal mask off before
   giving a major speech!
 
>The armed forces are against your plan and some powerful movers and
> shakers would like to see you fail."
 
MIKE: Movers and Shakers? That's U-Haul and the Pennsylvania Dutch, 
   what do they care?
 
CROW: I don't know, what do any of us care?
 
> "It's not going to fail." He leaned back in his chair. "Do you
> know the biggest problem with the world today?
 
TOM: AIDS? World hunger? Overconsumption by the industrialized West?
 
> There are no more statesmen.
 
TOM: Oh, of course, how shallow of me.
 
> Countries are being run by politicians. There was a time not too long
> ago when this earth was peopled by giants.
 
MIKE: HBO presents President Shelly Duvall's Faerie Tale Theater!
 
>Some were good, and some were evil- but by God, they were giants.
 
TOM: President Lawrence Taylor reminisces.
 
CROW (sings, Tom sings counterpoint): They Might Be Giants! (boy) 
   They Might Be Giants!
 
> Roosevelt, Churchill, Hitler, and Mussolini, Charles de Gaulle and Joseph
> Stalin. Why did they all live at that one particular time?
 
TOM: Well, if they lived at all times, they'd be Billy Pilgrim!
 
> Why aren't there any statesman today?"
> "It's pretty hard to be a world giant on a twenty-one inch screen."
 
MIKE: So your poor leadership skills, overt partisanship, and lack of
   vision are all due to television.
CROW: Well TV does shorten attention spans.
MIKE: I find that hard to believe.
CROW (confused): Huh?  You find what hard to believe?
MIKE: D'oh!
 
> The steward appeared, bearing a silver tray with a pot of coffee and
> two cups, each imprinted with the presidential seal.
 
ALL: Arp! Arp! Arp!
 
> He skillfully poured the coffee. "Can I get you something else, Mr.
> President?"
> "No. That's it Henry. Thank you."
> The President waited until the steward had gone. "I want to talk to
> you about finding the right ambassador to Romania."
 
TOM: Norm MacDonald?
MIKE: Gilbert Gottfried?
CROW: David Spade? Oh please send David Spade...
 
> "Right."
> "I don't have to tell you how important this is. I want you to move
> on it as quickly as possible."
> Stanton Rogers took a sip of coffee and rose to his feet. "I'll get
> State on it right away."
 
MIKE: What? If you didn't want coffee, why did you waste Hank's time?!
TOM: This may explain why the budget deficit and profits for Starbucks 
   are so closely linked.
 
> * * *
> In the little suburb of Neuilly, it was two A.M.
 
CROW: Or as those of us who didn't cut English know it, 2:00 A.M.
 
> Marin Groza's villa lay in ebon darkness, the moon nested in a thick
> layer of-
 
MIKE: -rich milk chocolate.
 
> storm clouds. The streets were hushed at this hour, with only the sound
> of an occasional passerby rippling the silence.
 
TOM (as studious boy reading book): Do you enjoy rippling?
CROW (as young flirt): I don't know, you naughty boy, I've never rippled.
 
>A black-clad figure moved noiselessly through the trees toward the brick
> wall that surrounded the villa. Over one shoulder he carried a rope and
> a blanket, and in his arms was cradled an Uzi with a silencer and a dart
> gun.
 
MIKE: Oh, man, it's OJ! Can you autograph my golf ball? OJ?
 
>When he reached to wall, he stopped and listened. He waited, motionless,
> for five minutes.
 
TOM: Yeah, and I'll betcha Sheldon stopped and counted to 300 before 
   he resumed typing!
 
> Finally, satisfied, he uncoiled the nylon rope and tossed the scaling
> hook attached to the end of it upward until it caught the far edge of
> the wall. Swiftly, the man began to climb.
 
CROW: Is this what happens when you hang up on a telemarketer?
MIKE (shudders): There's a thought I could do without.
 
> When he reached the top of the wall, he hung the blanket across it to
> protect himself against the poison-tipped metal spikes embedded on top.
 
MIKE: It was an asbestos blanket, and he died of lung cancer on the 
   way down.
 
>He stopped again to listen. He reversed the hook, shifting the rope to
> the inside of the wall, and slid down onto the ground. He checked the
> balisong at his waist, the deadly Filipino folding knife that could be
> flipped open or closed with one hand.
 
TOM: Then he was shot, and died. Meanwhile, back in Perho...
 
> The attack dogs would be next. The intruder crouched there, waiting
> for them to pick up his scent.
 
CROW (as if on $25,000 Pyramid, Mike imitates clock): Um...
   Shakespeare... Hitchcock... uh, Dashell Hammet...
TOM: Oh! People Who On Their Best Day Created Fewer Cliches Than Appear
   On This Page Alone!
MIKE: Yes! Next!
 
>There were three Dobermans, trained to kill.
 
ALL: GOOD!
 
> But they were only the first obstacle. The grounds and the villa were
> filled with electronic devices,
 
MIKE (as little girl): Can't say which ones. That'd be telling.
 
>-and continuously monitored by television cameras. All mail and packages
>were received at the gatehouse and opened there by the guards.
 
TOM (as panicked guard): It's a fruitcake! Everybody down!
 
>The doors of the villa were bombproof. The villa had its own water
> supply, and Marin Groza had a food taster.
 
CROW: Shouldn't you really have two food tasters? 'Cuz when the first 
   one goes...
MIKE: We got it, Crow. We know.
 
>The villa was impregnable. Supposedly.
 
MIKE: Yeah, you teenagers think you're impregnable, but all it takes 
   is one time!
 
> The figure in black was here this night to prove that it was not.
> He heard the sounds of the dogs rushing at him before he saw them.
 
TOM: Kittes'n'Flesh, Kittles'n'Flesh, I'm gonna get me some
Kittles'n'Flesh!
 
>They came flying out of the darkness, charging at his throat.
 
CROW (like Willard): TEAR HIM APART!!!
TOM: Ha! Good Willard, Crow.
CROW: Huh? I'm not doing Willard, I'm just saying, TEAR HIM APART!!!
 
>There were two of them. He aimed the dart gun and shot the nearest one
> on his left first,
 
MIKE: Call Betty White!
 
>-and then the one on his right,
 
TOM: Call PETA!
 
>-dodging out of the way of their hurtling bodies. He spun around, alert
> for the third dog,
 
CROW: -whom he finally met on a Ferris wheel in Vienna.
TOM (as Orson Wells): The cuckoo clock!
 
>-and when it came, he fired again, and then there was only stillness.
 
MIKE (as dying dog): Ruff... Beware the man with... with... with...
   with... with... with....
 
> The intruder knew where the sonic traps were buried in the ground,
> and he skirted them.
 
CROW (Scottish): Ach, 'tain't no skirt, it's a kilt ya festering yob!
 
>He silently glided through the areas of the grounds that the television
>cameras did not cover,
 
MIKE: Well what was the point of the cameras then?
TOM: Ivory Soap Security. 99 44/100% safe!
 
>-and in less than two minutes after he had gone over the wall, he was at
> the back door of the villa.
 
CROW (as teenager): Whoa, now all I gotta do is tiptoe into bed, an'
   mom'll never know I broke curfew!
 
> As he reached for the handle of the door, he was caught in the
> sudden glare of the footlights. A voice called out, "Freeze! Drop your
> gun and raise your hands."
 
MIKE: Oh, no, the community theater police!
TOM (through bullhorn): Put your hands behind your head and sing
   "Everything's Coming Up Roses"!
 
> The figure in black carefully dropped his gun and looked up. There
>were half a dozen men spread out on the roof, with a variety of weapons
>pointed at him.
 
CROW: Oh, look. Tylenol, a Suzuki Samurai, undercooked chicken, 
   an apple coated with alar...
 
> The man in black growled, "What took you so long? I never should
> have gotten this far!"
> "You didn't," the head guard informed him. "We started tracking you
> before you got over the wall."
 
TOM: We let you kill the dogs because we were out of paté!
 
> Lev Pasternak was not mollified. "Then you should have stopped me
> sooner. I could have been on a suicide mission with a load of grenades
> or a goddamn mortar."
 
MIKE (whining): I could have pricked myself on the rosebush and got
   tetanus. Then you'd be sorry!
 
>I want a meeting of the entire staff tomorrow morning, eight o'clock
> sharp. The dogs have been stunned. Have someone keep an eye on them
> until they wake up."
 
CROW: Don't want them playin' any of them sneaky dog tricks on us.
 
>Lev Pasternak prided himself on being the best security guard in the
> world. He had been a pilot in the Israeli Six-Day War, and after the
> war had become a top agent in the Mossad, one of Israel's five secret services.
 
TOM: The other four are for keeping track of the holidays.
 
> He would never forget the morning, two years earlier, when his
> colonel had called him into his office.
> "Lev, someone wants to borrow you for a few weeks."
> "I hope it's a blonde," Lev quipped.
 
MIKE: Why yes- John Tesh!
 
> "It's Marin Groza."
> Mossad had a complete file on the Romanian dissident.
 
TOM: Which they could access if Windows 95 would stop giving them that
   damn blue screen!
 
> Groza had been the leader of a popular Romanian movement to depose
> Alexandru Ionescu and was about to stage a coup when he was betrayed by
> one of his men.
 
MIKE: Boy, Ted Kycynski's brother sure gets around.
 
> More than two dozen underground fighters had been executed, and Groza
> had barely escaped the country with his life. France had given him
> sanctuary.
 
CROW: Then immediately turned him over.
MIKE: Running to France to escape betrayal is like diving into the 
   ocean to escape a flood.
 
> Ionescu denounced Marin Groza as a traitor to his country and put a price
> on his head. So far half a dozen attempts to assassinate Groza had
> failed, but he had been wounded in the latest attack.
> "What does he want with me?" Pasternak asked. "He has government
> protection."
> "Not good enough. He needs someone to set up a foolproof security
> system.
 
TOM: Preferably a fool.
 
>He came to us. I recommended you."
> "I'd have to go to France?"
> "It will only take you a few weeks."
 
MIKE: And don't bathe- you'll arouse suspicion.
 
> "I don't-"
> "Lev, we're talking about a mensch. He's the guy with the white hat.
 
CROW: A Good Humor man! He'll wait... and wait... and wait!
 
>Our information is that he has enough popular support in his home country
> to knock over Ionescu. When the timing is right, he'll make his move.
> Meanwhile, we have to keep the man alive."
 
TOM: Hey, cryogenics! We could cut his head off and stick it in the
   freezer!
MIKE: Nah, we're out of Reynolds Wrap.
 
> Lev Pasternak thought about it. "A few weeks, you said?"
> "That's all."
> The colonel had been wrong about the time, but he had been right
> about Marin Groza. He was a thin, fragile-looking man with an ascetic
> air about him and a face etched in sorrow. He had an aquiline nose, a
> firm chin, and a broad forehead, topped by a spray of white hair.
 
MIKE: Oh, no, even beneficent rebels are using spray-on hair!
TOM: Hair in a can. Because life's too short for dignity.
 
> He had deep black eyes, and when he spoke, they blazed with passion.
> "I don't give a damn whether I live or die," he told Lev at their
> first meeting.
 
TOM: Good, neither do I.
CROW: It's nice having a boss you see eye-to-eye with.
 
>"We're all going to die. It's the when that I'm concerned about. I have
> to stay alive another year or two.
 
TOM: I've got to see the new Star Wars prequel!
 
>That's all the time I need to drive Ionescu out of the country." He ran
> his hand absently across a livid scar on his cheek.
 
MIKE: There's a sentence you won't find in Beatrix Potter.
 
>"No man has the right to enslave a country.
 
CROW: -though lord knows Newt Gingrich is trying.
 
> We have to free Romania and let the people decide their own fate."
 
TOM: Groza should just go on Larry King and take over this country.
 
> Lev Pasternak went to work on the security system at the villa in
> Neuilly. He used some of his own men, and the outsiders he hired were
> checked out thoroughly. Every single piece of equipment was state of the
> art.
 
MIKE: There's the Van Gogh communications system- the left speaker's
   shot.
CROW: That's the Jackson Pollack radar over there- kinda hard to read.
TOM: The Roy Lichtenstein alarm is in the shop- damn thing would rather
   die than call Brad for help.
 
> Pasternak saw the Romanian rebel leader every day, and the more time
> he spent with him, the more he came to admire him. When Marin Groza
> asked Pasternak to stay on as his security chief, Pasternak did not
> hesitate.
> "I'll do it," he said, "until you're ready to make your move. Then
> I'll return to Israel."
 
CROW: As Michael Flathly- Lord of the Dance!
 
> They struck a deal.
> At irregular intervals, Pasternak staged surprise attacks on the
> villa, testing its security. Now, he thought, some of the guards are
> getting careless. I'll have to replace them.
 
MIKE: Oh yeah, and the gutters. Definitely time to replace the gutters.
 
> He walked through the hallways, carefully checking the heat sensors,
>the electronic warning system, and the infrared beams at the sill of each
>door. As he reached Marin Groza's bedroom, he heard a loud crash, and a
>moment later Groza began screaming in agony.
> Lev Pasternak passed Groza's room and kept walking.
 
TOM: Man, it is so sad what he does for attention.
CROW: You gonna die now, baby, huh? Go on and die. 1-2-3, die!
 
>
> 3
>
> Headquarters for the Central Intelligence Agency is located across
> the Potomac River in Langley, Virginia, seven miles northwest of
> Washington, D.C.
 
MIKE: Three blocks from Stuckey's.
 
>At the approach road to the agency is a flashing red beacon on top of a
>gate.
 
CROW: So the CIA's in the red light district. Bravo, "Reinventing
   Government".
 
TOM (as Gore): Before we moved to the red light district, lunch hours 
   took half a day.
MIKE (as Clinton): Now we save taxpayers $300,000 a year by maintaining 
   a full staff of hygienic, professional whores.
 
>The gatehouse is guarded twenty-four hours a day, and authorized visitors
> are issued colored badges giving them access only to the particular
> department with which they have business.
 
MIKE: I have a Technicolor yawn badge?
TOM (secretary): Senator Kennedy will be with you in a moment, sir.
 
> Outside the gray seven-level headquarters building, whimsically called
> the Toy Factory,
 
CROW: That's where Buzz Lightyear's from!
TOM: Naw, that's that stupid movie where Robin Williams and Joan Cusak 
   are stuck in a Renee Magritte painting.
MIKE (French): "C'est non cine."
CROW: Could we now perhaps stop riffing for anorexic bohemians in 
   Doc Martins, please?
MIKE: Sheesh. Sorry.
 
>-is a large statue of Nathan Hale.
 
MIKE: Oh, Nathan Hale! He hung out with Thomas Hardy!
 
>Inside, on the ground floor, a glass corridor wall faces an inner
> courtyard with a landscape garden dotted with magnolia trees. Above the
> reception desk a verse is carved in marble:
> "And ye shall know the truth and
> the truth shall set ye free"
 
TOM: All truths are equal, but some are more equal than others.
CROW: Oh, please, if the CIA brushed against the truth, they'd need a
   gallon of hydrocortisone to treat the rash.
 
>The public is never admitted inside the building, and there are no
> facilities for visitors.
 
MIKE (whining): But I gotta go real bad!
 
>For those who wish to enter the compound "black"-
 
CROW (indignant): I'll enter "African American", thank you!
 
>-unseen- there is a tunnel that emerges onto a foyer facing a mahogany
>elevator door, watched around the clock by a squad of gray flanneled
>sentries.
 
TOM (singing): Gray flanneled sentries, seven swans a-swimming...
 
> In the seventh floor conference room, guarded by security aides
> armed with snub-nosed thirty-eight revolvers under their business suits,
 
MIKE: Are thirty-eight revolvers really safer than one revolver?
TOM: Well, provided you don't trip...
 
>-the Monday morning executive staff meeting was under way. Seated around
> the large oak table were Ned Tillingast, director of the CIA; General
> Oliver Brooks, Army Chief of Staff; Secretary of State Floyd Baker; Pete
> Connors, chief of counterintelligence;
 
CROW: -Rose Marie, and Maury Amsterdam!
 
>and Stanton Rogers.
 
[All groan, bored and disappointed.] 
TOM (harsh whisper): I thought we weren't inviting that pantload!
CROW (female whisper): We didn't! He must've found out from Susan, the
   little witch!
 
> Ned Tillingast, the CIA director, was in his sixties, a cold,
> taciturn man, burdened with maleficent secrets.
 
MIKE (maleficently): Soylent green is made from people, heh-heh!
 
> There is a light branch and a dark branch of the CIA.
 
TOM (as Yoda): The light branch is my ally- a powerful friend it is.
 
>The dark branch handles clandestine operations, and the past seven years,
>Tillingast had been in charge of the forty-five hundred employees working
> in that section.
 
MIKE: With four weeks dark vacation, lots of dark overtime, and
   comprehensive dark dental coverage.
 
> General Oliver Brooks was a West Point soldier who conducted his
> personal and professional life by the book.
 
CROW: So did Tim McVeigh.
 
> He was a company man, and the company he worked for was the United States
> Army.
 
MIKE: Well I'm with an army, and the army I work for is the NRA!
 
> Floyd Baker, the secretary of state, was an anachronism, a throwback
> to an earlier era. He was of Southern vintage, tall, silver-haired, and
> distinguished-looking, with an old-fashioned gallantry.
 
TOM (old genteel Southerner): You may burn the first cross, sir.
MIKE (same): No, no, I went first at the lynching, you'll recall.
CROW (as belle): Why oh why do the Yankees denigrate our culture?
 
>He was a man who wore mental spats.
 
ALL (hysterical): WHAT???
TOM: He's got athlete's head!
CROW: I bet Stanton Rogers got one of them Nike Air Heads you pump up
   before meetings.
 
> He owned a chain of influential newspapers around the country, and was
> reputed to be enormously wealthy.
 
MIKE: Oh, great, it's Citizen Kane II.
 
> There was no one in Washington with a keener political sense, and Baker's
> antennae were constantly tuned to the changing signals around the halls
> of Congress.
 
CROW (like antenna picking up signal): Beep-be-deep-deep... Protect
   incumbency.
TOM: Beep-be-de-beep... Pay raise!
MIKE: Beep-beep-beep... Secretary's butt!
ALL (excited): Secretary's butt? Secretary's butt! Secretary's butt!
 
> Pete Connors was black-Irish, a stubborn bulldog of a man, hard-
> drinking and fearless. This was his last year with the CIA. He faced
> compulsory retirement in June. Connors was chief of the
> counterintelligence staff,
 
TOM: Shouldn't counterintelligence be a polite word for stupidity?
MIKE: One would think.
 
>-the most secret, highly compartmentalized branch of the CIA.
 
CROW: Except for the branch that makes Waffle Crisp cereal.
 
> He had worked his was up through the various intelligence divisions, and
> had been around in the good old days when CIA agents were the golden
> boys.
 
MIKE (as a wrestler): Da Golden Boys will take all comers! Our labors
   will not stop until the Tag Team belt is ours!
 
>Pete Connors had been a golden boy himself.
 
TOM (annoyed): Wait- you can't be a golden boy in the dark branch!
   It's counterintelligent!
 
> He had taken part in a coup that restored the Shah to the Peacock Throne
> in Iran,
 
MIKE: And look how great that turned out!
 
>and had been involved in Operation Mongoose, the attempt to topple
> Castro's government in 1961.
 
CROW: He also fired Archibald Cox, designed the Denver Airport luggage
   system, and ran safety inspections for Space Shuttle Challenger.

> "After the Bay of Pigs, everything changed," Pete would mourn from
> time to time.
 
TOM: Record buyers became more susceptible to fads, and less loyal 
   to particular artists.
 
>The length of his diatribe usually depended upon how drunk he was.
 
MIKE: In direct or inverse proportion?
TOM: Algorithmic or linear progression?
CROW: Could we run a Fourier analysis on that relationship?
 
> "The bleeding hearts attacked us on the front pages of newspaper in the
> world. They called us a bunch of lying, sneaking clowns who couldn't get
> out of our own way.
 
CROW: Espionage is a dark, dark circus.
 
> Some anti-CIA bastard published the names of our agents, and Dick Walsh,
> our chief of station in Athens, was murdered."
 
MIKE: Greek dancing accident... took a plate to the head, poor bastard.
 
> Pete Connors had gone through three miserable marriages because of
> the pressures and secrecy of his work, but as far as he was concerned,
> no sacrifice was too great to make for his country.
 
CROW (as secretary): Pete, we're out of coffee.
TOM: What?! Screw this, I'm defecting!
 
> Now, in the middle of the meeting, his face was red with anger. "If
> we let the President get away with his people-to-people program, he's
> going to give the country away.
 
MIKE: Wow, that's the congregation's best church raffle prize ever!
 
> We can't allow-"
> Floyd Baker interrupted. "The President has been in office less
> than a week. We're all here to carry out his policies and-"
> "I'm not here to hand over my country to the damn Commies, mister.
 
TOM: I'm here to hand it over to McDonnell Douglas!
 
> The President never even mentioned his plan before his speech. He sprang
> it on all of us. We didn't have a chance to get together a rebuttal."
> "Perhaps that's what he had in mind," Baker suggested.
> Pete Connors stared at him. "By God, you agree with it!"
> "He's my President," Floyd Baker said firmly. "Just as he's yours."
 
MIKE (Minniwegan mom): It's so nice the kids have learned to share 
   their President.
 
CROW (same): Oh yah, ya know Margie and Frank's kids fought so much they
   wound up buyin' each of'em their own President. That put a pretty 
   crimp in their budget, I tell ya.
 
> Ned Tillingast turned to Stanton Rogers. "Connors has a point. The
> President is actually planning to invite Romania, Albania, Bulgaria, and
> the other Communist countries to send their spies here posing as
> cultural attaches and chauffeurs and secretaries and maids.
 
MIKE: Russia's notorious covert temps.
 
> We're spending billions of dollars to guard the back door, and the
> President wants to throw open the front door."
 
TOM: Close that door this instant young man! American taxpayers are not
   working ten hours a day to heat the outside!
 
> General Brooks nodded in agreement. "I wasn't consulted, either.
 
MIKE: And I'm lonely!
 
> In my opinion, the President's plan could damn well destroy this
> country."
 
TOM (singing as Groucho Marx): Whatever it is, I'm against it!
 
> Stanton Rogers said, "Gentlemen, some of us may disagree with the
>President, but let's not forget that the people voted for Paul Ellison to
> run this country." His eyes flicked across the men seated around him.
 
CROW: Mike, I don't get it. Where's the mad German scientist in the
   wheelchair?
TOM: Welcome to the master's chambers, we've gathered for our feast.
   Steely knife?
 
>"We're all part of the President's team, and we have to follow his lead
> and support him in every way we can."
 
MIKE: Hoo boy, this is where he sells chocolate bars for his kids at
   school.
 
> His words were followed by a reluctant silence. "All right, then. The
> President wants an immediate update on the current situation in Romania.
> Everything you have."
> "Including our covert stuff?" Pete Connors asked.
 
CROW: Well seeing as how he's President and all...
 
> "Everything. Give it to me straight. What's the situation in
> Romania with Alexandru Ionescu."
 
TOM: He's insisting we call him Al.
MIKE: Commie bastard. I say we nuke him back to his full name!
 
> "Ionescu's riding high in the saddle," Ned Tillingast replied.
> "Once he got rid of the Ceausescu family, all of Ceausescu's allies were
> assassinated, jailed, or exiled.
 
CROW: Or forced to listen to Dr. Laura Schlesinger.
 
> Since he seized power, Ionescu's been bleeding the country dry. The
> people hate his guts."
> "What about the prospects for revolution?"
 
ALL (rock their heads and sing): Ya say ya want a revolution...
TOM (as Monty Python): One dozen Communist revolutions!
 
> Tillingast said, "Ah. That's rather interesting. Remember a couple
> of years back when Marin Groza almost toppled the Ionescu government?"
 
MIKE: Oh, you mean when he pulled the cigarette lighter instead of a 
   gun and the cabinet almost laughed themselves to death?
 
> "Yes. Groza got out of the country by the skin of his butt."
 
CROW: His silky smooth, lusciously tight butt. Mm!
 
> "With our help. Our information is that there's a popular ground
> swell to bring him back.
 
TOM: So they can tape a "Kick Me" sign to his back and expel him again.
 
> Groza would be good for Romania, and if he got in, it would be good for
> us. We're keeping a close watch on the situation."
> Stanton Rogers turned to the secretary of state. "Do you have that
> list of candidates for the Romanian post?"
 
CROW: Why isn't Secretary of State capitalized?
TOM: It would remind us that he should outrank Stanton Rogers. And this
   cannot be so.
MIKE (Stanton): Yeah, you may be Secretary of State, but I'm Stanton 
   Rogers pal!  Did I tell ya I could have been President?
 
> Floyd Baker opened a leather attache case, took some papers from it,
> and handed a copy to Rogers. "These are our top prospects. They're all
> qualified career diplomats. Each one of them has been cleared.
 
TOM: Each one has been hand-painted with the care of a craftsman, 
   numbered and signed by the artist.
 
> No security problems, no financial problems, no embarrassing skeletons 
> in the closet."
 
MIKE: All their skeletons are proudly displayed on their coat of arms.
CROW: Now these skeletons they don't have, are they John Tower skeletons,
   Clarence Thomas skeletons, or Zoe Baird skeletons?

> As Stanton Rogers took the list, the secretary of state added,
>"Naturally, the State Department favors a career diplomat, rather than a
>political appointee. Someone who's been trained for this kind of job.
 
TOM: Nah, too expensive. We'll just get some student au pair from
   England.
 
> In this situation, particularly, Romania is an extremely sensitive post.
> It has to be handled very carefully."
> "I agree." Stanton Rogers rose to his feet.
 
MIKE: Couldn't he just stand? Show-off.
 
>"I'll discuss these names with the President and get back to you. He's
> anxious to fill the appointment as quickly as possible."
> As the others got up to leave, Ned Tillingast said, "Stay here,
> Pete. I want to talk to you."
 
TOM: Whoap, a first name! I feel palpable homoerotic overtones here!
 
> When Tillingast and Connors were alone, Tillingast said, "You came
> on pretty strong, Pete."
 
CROW: You used to talk to me like that. What happened to us, Pete?
Where'd the love go?
 
> "But I'm right," Pete Connors said stubbornly. "The President is
> trying to sell out the country. What are we supposed to do?"
 
MIKE: Make a midnight run on the waffle house?
 
> "Keep your mouth shut."
> "Ned, we're trained to find the enemy and kill him. What if the
> enemy is behind our lines, sitting in the Oval Office?"
 
CROW: Makes our job a hell of a lot easier, ay?
 
> "Be careful. Be very careful."
> Tillingast had been around longer than Pete Connors.
 
TOM: And he's starting to turn. Pfew!
 
>He had been a member of Wild Bill Donovan's OSS before it became the CIA.
 
MIKE (Old West drawl): When it was still Old Timer Billy Slater's Junior
   Rodeo.
 
>He too hated what the bleeding hearts in Congress were doing to the
>organization he loved.
 
CROW: No land mines, no chemical weapons, no selling drugs to Los 
   Angeles schoolkids, it's a madhouse I tell ya!
 
> In fact, there was a deep split within the ranks of the CIA between the
> hard-liners and those who believed the Russian bear could be tamed into
> a harmless pet.
 
TOM: Hm, Machiavelli meets Tomagatchi.
 
>We have to fight for every single dollar, Tillingast thought. In Moscow,
> the Komitet Gosudarsetvennoy Bezopasnosti-the KGB- trains a thousand
> agents at a time.
 
MIKE: Now that's hardly an efficient class size, pedagogically speaking.
CROW: If I had a class of 1,000 students, my final would be a take-home
   test on their ability to write a personal check for $100.
 
> Ned Tillingast had recruited Pete Connors out of college, and
> Connors had turned out to be one of the best. But in the last few
> years, Connors had become a cowboy-
 
CROW: Oh, so that's where all the cowboys went!
TOM (sings): I will do the dishes, while you swipe Castro's beard.
 
>-a little too independent, a little too quick on the trigger. Dangerous.
> "Pete- have you heard anything about an underground organization
> calling itself Patriots for Freedom?" Tillingast asked.
 
TOM: Sure. Parcells founded it so he could coach the Jets.
 
> Connors frowned. "No. Can't say that I have. Who are they?"
> "So far they're just a rumor. All I have is smoke.
 
CROW: Oh, Ned. Admitting you have this addiction is the first step
   towards getting help!
 
> See if you can get a lead on them."
> "Will do."
>
> An hour later, Pete Connors was making a public phone call from a
> public booth at Hains Point.
> "I have a message for Odin."
> "This is Odin," General Oliver Brooks said.
 
MIKE: Well this is your neighbor. Your damn kid threw his hammer into 
   my yard again!
 
> Riding back to the office in his limousine, Stanton Rogers opened
> the envelope containing the names of the candidates for the
> Ambassadorship and studied them.
 
TOM: Luscious Vixxxen... Candi Cantalopes... Sighs O'Plenty?! What 
   the hell?!
 
>It was an excellent list. The secretary of state had done his homework.
 
CROW: In ebonics. They're looking for one phat homeboy diplomat.

>The candidates had all served in Eastern and Western European countries,
> and a few of them had additional experience in the Far East and Africa.
> The President's going to be pleased, Stanton thought.
 
TOM (theme): Ba-da-da-dup, ba-da-dup, da-da-dup, ba!
MIKE: Gilligan, I'm not pleased!
 
> "They're dinosaurs," Paul Ellison snapped. He threw the list on his
> desk. "Every one of them."
 
CROW: Sabertooth tiger's a mammal, sir.
MIKE: Shut up!
 
> "Paul," Stanton protested, "these people are all experienced career
> diplomats."
> "And hidebound by State Department tradition.
 
TOM (as Topol): As shaky as a fiddler on the roof!
 
>You remember how we lost Romania three years ago? Our experienced career
>diplomat in Bucharest screwed up and we were out in the cold.
 
MIKE: A clueless inexperienced jerk like me would never have made that
   mistake!
 
>The pinstriped boys worry me.
 
CROW: Yeah, the Yanks lost two games last week. Torre's gotta go.
 
>They're all out to cover their asses.
 
TOM: Asses should fly free and proud! Rogers, drop your pants!
 
> When I talked about a people-to-people program, I meant every word of 
> it.  We need to make a positive impression on a country that at this 
> moment is very wary of us."
 
MIKE: Yeah, let's allay their fears by giving this vital post to 
   someone they've never heard of.
 
> "But if you put an amateur in there-someone with no experience-
> you're taking a big risk."
> "Maybe we need someone with a different kind of experience.
 
ALL: Ewwww!
 
> Romania is going to be a test case, Stan. A pilot run for my whole
> program,if you will."
 
TOM (laughing): And you won't.
 
> He hesitated. "I'm not kidding myself. My credibility is on the line.
> I know that there are a lot of powerful people who don't want to see
> this work.
 
CROW: Shaquille O'Neill, Cory Everson, Pocket Hercules...
 
>If it fails, I'm going to get cut off at the knees.
 
TOM: That's a foot below where they cut you off, Stanton Rogers! Ha ha!
MIKE: Very funny, old friend President Paul Ellison sir.
 
>I'll have to forget about Bulgaria, Albania, Czechoslovakia, and the rest
> of the iron curtain countries. And I don't intend for that to happen."
 
CROW: I'm going to shop at Gum, damn it!
TOM: No, that's "Dad-gummit".
CROW: Oh.
 
> "I can check out some of our political appointees who-"
> President Ellison shook his head. "Same problem. I want someone
> with a completely fresh point of view. Someone who can thaw the ice.
> The opposite of the ugly American."
 
MIKE: A beautiful Swede?
TOM: Oh, the bikini team from the beer commercials!
CROW: That's the bestest idea in history ever, sir!
 
> Stan Rogers was studying the President, puzzled. "Paul- I get the
>impression that you have someone in mind. Do you?"
> The President took a cigar from the humidor on his desk and lit it.
>"As a matter of fact," he said slowly, "I think I may have."
 
TOM: I believe you know him as- Biz Markie!
 
> "Who is he?"
> "She. Did you happen to see the article in the current issue of
> Foreign Affairs magazine called 'Detente Now'?"
> "Yes."
> "What did you think of it?'
 
CROW: She uses polysporadic-- poblybuslabbic-- she uses big words sir.
 
> "I thought it was interesting.
 
ALL (as Arte Johnson): But stupid!
 
>The author believes we're in a position to try to seduce the Communist
>countries into coming into our camp by offering them economic and-" He
> broke off. "It was a lot like your inaugural speech."
 
TOM: Except for the words and the concept and she wasn't wearing a
   propeller beanie.
 
> "Only it was written six months earlier. She's published brilliant
> articles in "Commentary" and "Public Affairs".
 
CROW: And just check out this letter to Penthouse!
 
> Last year I read a book of hers on Eastern European politics,
 
MIKE: "Dick and Jane and Crime and Punishment"
 
>-and I must admit, it helped clarify some of my ideas."
> "All right. So she agrees with your theories. That's no reason to
>consider her for a post as imp-"
 
CROW: How can you post a position for an imp?
TOM: Maybe she gave one HELL of an interview! Ha! HELL! Cuz' it's 
   Satan and imps and...

> "Stan- she went further than my theory. She outlined a detailed plan
> that's brilliant. She wants to take the four major world economic 
> pacts and combine them."
> "How can we-?"
> "It would take time, but it could be done. Look. You know that in
> 1949 the Eastern bloc countries formed a pact for mutual economic
> assistance, called COMECON, and in 1958 the other European countries
> formed EEC- the Common Market."
> "Right."
 
MIKE: Then Umbrella Man left the grassy knoll, but not before being
   caught by Zapruder's camera...
 
> "We have the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development,
> which includes the United States, some Western bloc countries, and
> Yugoslavia. And don't forget the Third World countries have formed a
> non-aligned movement the excludes us."
 
TOM: And don't forget the Maine! And don't forget the Alamo!
   And don't forget Pearl Harbor!
MIKE: Don't forget your wallet! Don't forget to write!
CROW: Don't forget the thing by the place with the stuff and 
   the... thing.
 
> The President's voice was charged with excitement. "Think of the
> possibilities. If we could combine all these plans and form one big
> marketplace- my God, it could be awesome!
 
CROW: EXTREME CAPITALISM! WHOOOOO!
 
> It would mean real world trade. And it could bring peace."
> Stanton Rogers said cautiously,
 
TOM: You've got the IQ of a dog turd, you flatulent prat! I should be
president, not a half-witted French cheese of a brain like you! Shut up
shut up SHUT UP!!!
 
>"It's an interesting idea, but it's a long way off."
> "You know the old Chinese saying, "A journey of a thousand miles
> must begin with a single step.'"
 
MIKE: Isn't that, "The crushing of a thousand heads begins with a 
   single tank"?
TOM: Well, it depends on the translation.
 
> "She's an amateur, Paul."
> "Some of our finest ambassadors have been amateurs. Anne Armstrong,
> the former ambassador to Great Britain, was an educator with no 
> political experience. Perle Mesta was appointed to Luxembourg, Clare 
> Booth Luce was ambassador to Italy. John Gavin, an actor, was the 
> ambassador to Mexico.
 
CROW: But those are countries we don't care about!
TOM: We're America, damn it! Name a country we do care about, 
   including our own!
 
> One third of our current ambassadors are what you call amateurs."
 
MIKE: And what the world calls flunkies!
 
>"But you don't know anything about this woman."
 
TOM: I know she's stacked.
 
> "Except that she's damned bright and that we're on the same
> wavelength. I want you to find out everything you can about her." He
> picked up a copy of Foreign Affairs. "Her name is Mary Ashley."
 
MIKE: Oh man, it's so awkward when the President's in puppy love.
CROW: Passing notes about her in Cabinet meetings, staring deep into 
   Tony Blair's eyes and wistfully telling him about how perfectly 
   small her nose is.
 
> Two days later, President Ellison and Stanton Rogers breakfasted
> together.
 
MIKE: Waiter, a pitcher of Bloody Maries please, and a Sam Adams. 
   Oh, and bring the wine list!
 
> "I got the information you asked for."
> Stanton Rogers pulled a paper from his pocket. "Mary Elizabeth
> Ashley, Twenty-seven Old Milford Road,
 
CROW: Shouldn't there be something for addresses like the phony 555 
   prefix for telephone numbers? Whoever lives at 27 Milford Road's 
   gonna be awfully ticked.
 
>-Junction City, Kansas. Age, almost thirty-five,
 
TOM: Thirty-four. Damn it, thirty-four! No impersonal government 
   profile says "almost thirty-five"! (starts crying) I mean, does 
   Sheldon even care? Are we nothing to him? Are we just a bunch of 
   bumbling, barely sentient tamarinds who happened to randomly walk
   into a bookstore and accidentally have $5.95 fall out of our 
   wallets to buy a copy of... of...
MIKE: Tom?
TOM (hysterical): WINDMILLS OF THE GODS! AAAAAUGH! 
CROW (breaks down like young warrior in "The Seven Samurai"): Nooooo!
   Dead, all dead!
MIKE: Guys, c'mon! We're almost to the break! Crow, tell Tom it's 
   gonna be all right.
CROW (unsteady, regaining composure): It's all right, honey-bunny.
MIKE: Tell him you love him.
CROW: I love you, honey-bunny.
 
>-married to Dr. Edward Ashley- two children, Beth twelve and Tim ten.
 
MIKE: Just keep riffing. Like: Beth Twelve? What, are these Harry
   Mudd's android servant children?
CROW: Heh. OK- Um... How are you today, Beth Twelve?
TOM (robotic): Suboptimal, Mother Unit Mary Two. Please inform 
   Brother Unit Tim Ten he is a boogerbutt.
MIKE: See, Tom? You can make it!
TOM (weakly): Hahahaaa, it's fun!
 
>Chairwoman of the Junction City Chapter of the League of Women Voters.
>Assistant Professor, East European political science, Kansas State
>University.
 
CROW: Featherweight champion in mud wrestling... I think we've found 
   our diplomat, sir!
[All rise to leave.]
TOM: Thank god, we can go! What happens in the League of Women Voters
   anyway?
MIKE: I think they play the League of He-Man Woman-Hater Voters in
   November.
CROW: Seven-game playoff, I'm guessing.
 
> Grandfather born in Romania." He looked up thoughtfully. "I must admit
> she sounds interesting."
> "I think so too. I'd like to have a full security check run on
> her."
> "I'll see that it's done."
 
[Logo. Commercials. 10-321 has changed to 10-10-321, but nothing's 
 really changed- ain't that the truth.]
 
--- End Part 2 ---
 
Mom always did like your e-mail best!
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