Get Your Logic Pretzels Right Here!

A columnist for the WaPo with the improbable name of Sebastian Mallaby, admits that Obama is lying about the roots of the current financial crisis, but that, nonetheless, is deservedly ahead in the polls, because he is “more thoughtful” on the economy (H/T: Captain Heinrichs). The contradictions inherent in this line of reasoning were so great, that Mr. Mallaby was summoned to Paco Tower to explain himself.

* * *

The Captain of Industry was puttering about the penthouse balcony, watering his venus flytraps, pitcher plants and sundews, when Spurgeon the butler advanced in state across the flagstones, carrying in his right hand what appeared to be a canvas sack, which he deposited at the feet of his master rather in the manner of Drake laying a bag of Spanish gold before Good Queen Bess.

The sack quickly resolved itself into the personage of Sebastian Mallaby, who stood somewhat uncertainly before the tycoon, blinking in the bright afternoon sunshine. Mallaby was dressed in a linen suit, considerably wrinkled from his having been unceremoniously toted from the garage by two of the magnate’s associates, before being passed on to Spurgeon for the last leg of his journey. He was a droopy figure, of middling height and pasty complexion, whose deep-set blue eyes looked like two marbles dropped by a mischievous boy into his sister’s bowl of oatmeal. His chin resembled a garden spade, and his hair was withdrawing in good order across a bulbous head toward its inevitable defeat before the relentless assault of male pattern baldness. The Captain of Industry eyed him with benevolent eye.

“I’m so glad you were able to accept my invitation, Mr. Mallaby! There are few things I enjoy more than a frank exchange of views with a gentleman of the Press.”

“Invitation?”, Mallaby croaked. “Two goons in baggy suits and fedoras grabbed me off the street!”

“They’re by way of being my calling cards. Now, Mallaby, I’ll come to the point. I read your article in the Post in which you admit that Senator Obama is lying about the root causes of our economic crisis – playing the Judas goat, as it were, leading our lambs of voters into the dipping pen of ignorance – yet you rejoice at this man’s electoral prospects. That doesn’t sound like right reasoning to me, sir. You can do better.”

Mallaby was about to respond, when he saw a strange smile spread over the face of his host. A common housefly, exhibiting that audacity of hope which so animated the reporter’s favorite presidential candidate, had entered the airspace of the balcony, and was flying in circles over the tycoon’s glass of Drambuie, preparatory to landing. In a move that was almost too quick for the human eye, the magnate’s arm shot out and he grasped the fly in his fist. He held his hand to his ear for a moment, listening to his minute prisoner’s agitated buzzing.

“As I was saying, Mallaby, you’d do better to apply more logic when you write your editorials. Unless, of course, you’d care to return for another little chat.” He lowered his hand, and shook the insect into the gaping maw of a venus flytrap, which snapped shut like a prison door. He then turned his beaming face upon the reporter. “That would, of course, give me enormous pleasure. Good-bye, Mr. Mallaby. My associates will be only too happy to give you a lift back to your office. Spurgeon, please escort our guest to the garage.”

Later that afternoon, Sebastian Mallaby’s editor came storming into his office. “Mallaby, you were supposed to have that article to me an hour ago…What are you doing?”

Mallaby was ransacking the drawers of his desk and shoving his personal effects into a large box. “Oh, er, hi, chief! I’m sorry about the short notice, but I just accepted a job on the staff of the Banff Crag & Canyon; writing wildlife articles. Well, gotta go! See you around, chief!”