Fiction

A Very Tall Patriot Has Something to Tell You

Let me just start by saying that in no way, shape, or form do I believe, even for a nanosecond, that the Bush administration has lied to or misled the American public regarding any aspects whatsoever about the war in Iraq, and that I am 407 feet and two inches tall.

Go ahead and scoff, but it’s the truth. I simply don’t believe the outlandish and tilted accusations of the media, or those of the diabolical 9/11 Commission. I am a very rational, extremely tall person who is capable of assessing a situation and drawing logical conclusions from it. And this so-called evidence of misrepresentation, prevarication, false findings, or whatever name you want to slap on it, well it’s just not there. At least not from my vantage point—and, admittedly, I’ve got a pretty good vantage point.

Some people might call it naivety, but I tend to take things at face value—call a 407-foot-tall man a 407-foot-tall man, if you will. So when the President, the Vice President, the old Secretary of Defense, and the new Secretary of Defense all adamantly insist that the Iraq/al-Qaeda connection is real, I’m prone to believe them. Do you know why? Because I’m not behind the scenes like they are, with all their intelligence and secret goings-on and what not. That’s four people! I, on the other hand, am but one man, albeit a gigantic one. Should my opinion be considered proportionate to my unfathomably large body mass? I think not.

The government knows about this stuff—it’s their job to—and calling them liars would be a little presumptuous, in my opinion. You think just because I can jump off the Sears Tower without so much as spraining an ankle that I can afford to be presumptuous? I don’t know these people. Heck, why shouldn’t I believe them?

Take me, for instance: you don’t know me. So when I tell you something seemingly absurd—say, that I’m just a smidgen over 407 feet tall—are you going to make a snap judgment and automatically assume that I’m lying? Have you ever met me? Are you aware of the behind-the-scenes intelligence and secret goings-on of my pituitary gland? No, you’re not. Therefore you might be wise to give me and the fine, normal-sized individuals running this country the benefit of the doubt.

Hang on. Here, let me get that for you.

We are at war. It is not our job to question these things, as some commie left-wing liberal nut jobs might claim, nor is it our right, as the Constitution might claim. One false move and the terrorists will have us in check faster than you can say “the 407-foot-tall man is a very smart, patriotic American and you should listen to him.” That’s pretty fast—even for me, a guy who can run a mile in 14 seconds and uses a coastal redwood as a podium.

I know there are others out there who, like me, love this country with all 4,886 vertical inches of their being. It is my hope that all you other likeminded individuals will come to the defense of our great government, who are being unfairly castigated for doing what this 40-story-large guy thinks is one hell of a job.

Now stop straining and just let me grab that down from there. I’m pretty sure I can reach it.