An Interview With a Captain of Industry

Brad Smilo, reporter for Paco World News Daily (PWNd), joins J. Packington Paco III in his penthouse suite, high atop Paco Tower. They are seated in J.P.’s library, before a cozy fire fueled by specially-imported Brazilian-rainforest logs.

Brad: J.P., it’s good to see you again.

J.P: Delighted, my boy, simply delighted! May I offer you some refreshments? Spurgeon, the French Roast espresso, made from my bottled Himalayan glacier water, if you please.

Spurgeon: Very good, sir.

Brad: J.P., President Obama has definitely charted a new economic course for America, one that features a far greater role for government than in the past, and far greater deficits to support it. Do you find this worrisome?

J.P: Not at all, Brad. Even a wrecked ship frequently offers much in the way of salvage value.

Brad: Let’s start with cap-and-trade. Many people see this as just a huge tax increase on the middle class.

J.P: And so it is. Sigh. Going to be tough for the poor devils, no doubt about it.

Brad: But it doesn’t worry you?

J.P: Oh, no, my boy! Pots of money in it.

Brad: How so?

J.P: I’m an issuer and a market-maker in Perfectly Authentic Carbon Offset certificates. Why, I print the things up by the thousand. Here, let me show you one. [Searches through some papers on a side-table] Ah! Here we are. Have you ever seen a finer piece of work?

Brad [examines the sheet of heavy, parchment-like paper] Say, that is nice! It looks just like a stock certificate. Can you explain the symbolic significance of the images engraved on this document?

J.P: With pleasure, old fellow! Note, in the background, a factory. See the tall smokestack with a giant cork jammed in the top? Self-explanatory, I think. And here, in the foreground, a bevy of scantily-clad young women dancing in wanton abandon. Er, Gaia’s handmaidens, if you will.

Brad: Hubba hubba!

J.P: Hubba hubba, indeed, Brad.

Brad: What’s that thing the girls are dancing around? It looks like a cigar-store Indian.

J.P: No, no. That’s Al Gore.

Brad: Oh. Yes…yes, I see it, now. So, what does a purchaser of your carbon-offset certificates get for his money?

J.P: A lifetime sense of smug moral superiority and preening self-satisfaction.

Brad: But I see that the certificates are issued at ten thousand dollars apiece. That seems kind of high.

J.P: A liberal’s desire to look down his nose at his fellows is always at a premium. And it is a vast and growing market.

Spurgeon enters noiselessly carrying a silver tray, laden with a silver coffee pot, a silver sugar bowl, and exquisitely delicate china demitasse-cups

Spurgeon: I regret to report, sir, that your last bottle of Himalayan glacier water was contaminated with what appeared to be a few strands of yeti hair. I substituted the melted Arctic iceberg water. I trust you will find it satisfactory.

J.P: I’m sure it is excellent, Spurgeon. Thank you.

Brad: Let’s move on to health care. Do the various Democratic bills floating around out there give you cause for concern?

J.P: Ah, health care! Another splendid money-making opportunity. There is a tremendous demand for death-panel reprieves, and they’re a steal at only five thousand dollars.

Brad: Death-panel reprieves? But…will they be honored?

J.P: Why shouldn’t they be? They are all signed by the chief physician of the hospital I own in Costa Rica.

Brad: You own a hospital in Costa Rica?

J.P: I certainly do.

Brad: Well, that seems very philanthropic of you, J.P. How many beds are there in this hospital?

J.P: One.

Brad: Er…one?

J.P: Yes. That’s all I’ll need. Oh, I offered Spurgeon the opportunity to avail himself of the hospital’s services, but he politely declined. Said it would be taking a liberty.

Brad: Well, thank you, J.P. As always, it’s been fascinating.

J.P: Come again, Brad, anytime. Say, my dear fellow, are you feeling quite well?

Brad: Who, me? Sure, I’m in tip-top condition. Why?

J.P: You appear to be a bit anemic. And there’s a sort of…I don’t know…jaundiced look about the eyes. And what’s that thing on your neck?

Brad: I haven’t got five thousand dollars, J.P.

J.P: Ah. Well, now that I take a second look, I’m sure it’s probably just the lighting in here. Take care of yourself, Brad!