Truth or Consequences

The Oval Office. President Obama has summoned Henry Waxman and Bart Stupak to discuss some troubling fallout from passage of the health care bill

The intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“Mr. President, Congressmen Waxman and Stupak are here for the two o’clock meeting.”

“Send them in.” Obama winced. He didn’t mind speaking to Waxman over the telephone, but face-to-face encounters always made him queasy. Waxman’s physiognomy reminded him of the vampire in that silent film Michelle had dragged him off to see shortly after they were married – What was the name of that movie? Something faintly Jewish…Nosh for Us, Too? Whatever - Anyway, it looked like he was in for another night of scary dreams.

The two representatives entered. Waxman stopped abruptly and held his hands in front of his face.

“The sunlight, Mr. President! Could you draw the shades, please?”

Obama, startled by the request, rose and closed the curtains. He made a mental note to equip himself with some small crucifixes – just in case.

“Please, gentlemen, be seated. Oh, before we get started, I wanted to tell you, Bart, that I’m not sure that executive order on abortion funding is going to hold up.”

Stupak held the back of his right hand to his forehead and intoned, melodramatically, “Put not your faith in princes…”

“Bart!”

Stupak chuckled. “Just joking, Mr. President. I’ve got to keep in practice for the yokels back home.”

“Ok. Well, the main reason I called you both here today is to talk about some news reports I’ve been reading over the last few days: large corporations claiming that they’ll have to take huge hits to cover health care expenses; long lines anticipated as a result of millions of new people getting insurance, combined with a coming shortage of family practitioners. I don’t remember seeing any of that stuff in the bill.”

Waxman spoke up. “Those things are not actually in the bill, Mr. President. They seem to be consequences of the bill. That’s why I’ve called for the CEOs of some of these big companies to respond in writing, and to appear at hearings. These guys have obviously read the legislation, and I want to find out what’s in it, myself.”

“What?” the President gasped. “Henry, do you mean you haven’t read the bill?”

“No, sir. I’d venture to say Bart, here, hasn’t, either.”

“That’s right, Mr. President. Er…have you read it?”

Obama frowned and scratched his head. “Hunh. Come to think of it, no. But if people were going to be worried about costs and long lines, why didn’t you guys put provisions in the bill saying ‘costs won’t go up’ and ‘no waiting’?”

Waxman made a snuffling noise (emanating from those celebrated nostrils, the sound put the president in mind of a pig that has detected a truffle). “We can’t dictate results. If we could, why not simply put in a paragraph guaranteeing universal health care at no cost whatsoever?”

“You mean you didn’t? That’s a missed opportunity, Henry. Think about slipping it in next time. Meanwhile, we’ve obviously got some fires to put out. I’ll get Axelrod working on a plan to discredit the bill’s critics. Let’s see…the racism theme seems to be wearing kind of thin… ‘Teabaggers’ has lost its sting…How about calling them ‘rootless cosmopolitans’? Or maybe ‘kulaks’?”

Stupak’s face took on a pensive look. “Those pejoratives were used by Stalin, Mr. President; and, considering their provenance, their use by Democrats might prove to be a tad…embarrassing, right now. How about ‘bloodsuckers’?”

“I object to that!” Waxman blurted. “Um, what I mean is, heh, it sounds too shrill; plus it’s out of date. Why not stick with the old reliable: ‘Republicans’?”

The president scoffed. “For one thing, they’re ahead of us in generic polling. We can’t very well go around saying, ‘Vote for Democrats. In your heart, you know they’re worse.’” Anyhow, I’ll put it to Axelrod; that’s his job. Thanks for coming by, Henry, Bart. Say, hold up a minute. I’ve got Netanyahu cooling his heels in the Blue Room; do you want to join me for lunch, so we can keep him waiting a little longer? We’ve got chicken in garlic sauce.”

“Garlic?!?” With a shriek, Waxman ran from the room.

“You know, Bart,” the president said, “I’m beginning to think that guy sleeps in a coffin filled with his native soil.”

“Well, that would certainly explain why dirt falls out of his cuffs every time he crosses his legs.”

(Thanks to Rebecca for the Nosferatu inspiration)