Me: Well, yeah, but I was kidding.
T the B: Right, and the data spelunkers at the NSA are probably experts in the nuances of satire. Nothing to be worried about, I am sure.
Me: One statement isn’t going to ...
T the B:
Have you researched your footprint on the Web? I have. So I guess you think the NSA won’t alert on your advocating terrorism through exposure of law enforcement personnel to biohazards?
T the B: You suggested that a good way to protest the Supreme Court’s relaxed strip-search guidelines for police would be to comply with all commands (“drop trou, squat and cough”) and then poop. On the floor.
Me: That was ...
T the B: Sure. Satire! Just like when you urged that Wayne LaPierre, the NRA guy, be castrated by gunfire.
Me: I never said that! A fair reader of my online poem about Wayne would conclude I was merely noting the likelihood that, prior to dispatching him to a well-deserved eternity in Hell, the Celestial Authorities will mess with his head little: “A toast then, to our friend Wayne LaPierre / For whom gun deaths have been a lucky totem / Methinks St. Peter will espy him, standing there / And smile, and aim a 30-30 at his scrotum.” In short, I never said Ol’ Pete would pull the trigger, and any suggestion that I did is calumny.
T the B: Want to talk about inciting religious intolerance?
Me: I never did any such thing.
T the B: Quoting you on Twitter: “Let’s face it, Jesus was just a little messianic, don’t you think?”
Me: That was a joke! Many of my Christian friends thought it was funny! Or I’m sure they would have, if I had any.
T the B: Another time you linked to a photo of a dog’s butt that looks like Jesus in robes.
Me: Well, it does!
T the B:
Tell that to the inquisitors. The NSA no doubt knows you want to kill Arlo Guthrie with a hammer.
Nonsense. While it is true that I was peeved at the folk singer for becoming a Republican, my musing about what I would do “if I had a hammer” was a literary music-genre reference and not a step in the furtherance of a conspiracy. (I did not, in fact, at any time afterward, procure a hammer.)
T the B: I’m sure they understand, because they are sophisticated people, that it is possible to still be a loyal American even if you trash the Pledge of Allegiance.
Me: I didn’t exactly “trash” it.
T the B:
You called it a loyalty oath extracted from innocent youths “who are required to parrot incomprehensible ideological declarations in disgraceful, authoritarian public displays of thought control” customarily recited en masse “in a rolling grumble indistinguishable from intestinal gas,” an oath that is “as legally moot and unenforceable as the mooing of a cow.”
Me: It is a well-established rule of satire that no comparison involving “mooing” can be taken seriously.
T the B:
You wrote that in journalism school you took a mandatory class in “how to give aid and comfort to America’s enemies at home and abroad,” and “a seminar in how to disrespect the memories of our fallen heroes.”
Me: I didn’t even GO to journalism school.
T the B:
Me: I was actually attending a madrassa in Peshawar at the time. HA-HA-HA! THAT IS A JOKE AND VERY NOT TRUE.
T the B: I am sure the NSA will take note of that.
Me: I am toast.
Tom: Burnt toast.
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