Y Tu Rumsfeld Tambien (Part 2)

"I will not sit on your lap," I said to the Secretary of Defense.

The cattle who live next door to the Rumsfeld manse in Taos wandered through the apartment. Their hooves chopped against the hardwood floor. I watched to make sure they did not come near my food dish.

"Then I'll go to sleep in the bathtub," Rumsfeld said.

I imagined the Prince of Darkness shuffling his aged, murderous frame past the cattle to the bathroom. Envisioned him clambering into my tub. Go ahead, Rumsy, make like you own the place. I looked into the horrifying sheen of his forehead.

His fingers tapped like sordid mouse feet on the arm of the sofa. He picked a scab from his chin and swallowed it. Welcome to my nightmare.

"The animals love me, Shimmy." he said. Rumsfeld's mousey fingers, the dizzy clatter of hooves. He let me bite him a few times. He cackled when I broke the skin.

"You are rapacious," I said. "Yesterday, you told me not to be afraid of you. But today you threatened to sleep in my bathtub."

"Shimmy, I believe what I said yesterday. I don't know what I said. But I know what I think. And, well, I assume it's what I said."

I yawned. Stole a quick glance at the radiator in case a stupid chipmunk crawled out. I said, "Charles Stimson, the U.S. Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Detainee Affairs, says that 'waterboarding' will be taken out of the revised edition of the U.S. Army Field Manual."

He scratched his left cheek. I was terrified.

I added, "Raoul Vaneigem says that the crumbling away of human values under the influence of exchange mechanisms leads to the crumbling of exchange itself."

"Shimmy, death has a tendency to encourage a depressing view of war."