PART TWO

 

What’s happened so far: The regular members of the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club were sitting around the round oak table at the center of Sarah’s diner, when an interloper known only by the alias of Wildman, entered. Due to his enrollment in a witness protection program, he was supposed to be secretive and shrouded in stealth– but felt otherwise compelled to share his story of working for a special government organization.

“STUPID is an acronym, explained the man hiding behind his newspaper in the corner booth. “ It stands for the Significant Terms and Unrelated Political Identification Department. STUPID is the officially unrecognized agency for governmental name calling.”

“You mean calling names, like when that one guy, Whats-her-name’s former boss, said, ‘I don’t know all the facts, but the cops acted stupidly’?” asked Jimmy.

“No. He means when the guy with a whole lot of weird hair and a whole lot more money calls somebody ‘Lyin’ What’s-his-name’ or ‘Crooked What’s-her-name’,” corrected Harry (not because he thought he was right, but because he felt the need to argue against Jimmy).

“Nope. I’m thinking he’s talking about when someone in one political party jumps up and down, saying everyone in the other party wants to push grandma off a cliff in her wheelchair,” chimed in Big John Hudson – unwilling to let Jimmy and Harry be the only ones carrying on this ridiculous conversation.

“Gentlemen,” chided the strange man hiding behind his newspaper. “We aren’t having this conversation, and I am not really here.”

Wildman felt the need to remind them that he was in a witness protection program that had somehow gone awry, and that he should remain incognito – even as he continued with his dissertation.

“I’m talking about how all the governments – federal, state, city, home owners associations – come up with the names for whatever lame-brain program that comes along.”

With this, he tentatively peered over his paper, looking like Wilson, the next-door neighbor on Home Improvement.

“STUPID came up with names that sounded like one thing, but were really something completely different.”

“Such as?” asked Tommy, somewhat interested in what the crackpot behind the newspaper had to say.

“The Department of the Interior,” offered the Wildman. “Interior means inside – indoors stuff, warm and dry, cozy and fuzzy.”

A knowing smile crossed his lips.

“Instead that bunch is all about controlling the great outdoors – national parks, ocean energy, fish and wildlife, mines and reclamation, Indians – nothing indoorsy about any of that, except for where all the bureaucrats hole up in their offices. They tell people what they can and cannot do on public land – and then they grab up more land, make it public land, and then tell folks it’s not open to the public.”

“Can we say, ‘Indians’, anymore?” asked Mort, concerned about political correctness and a plethora of other things that require too much thought. “Aren’t they Native Americans, now?”

“It’s still called the Bureau of Indian Affairs, isn’t it?” asked Wildman with a derisive snort.

“The guy’s got a point,” mumbled Tommy, followed by murmured agreement and harmonic head nodding from the other members of the Circular Congregation.

“Veteran’s Affairs is another one,” sighed Wildman, no longer bothering to shelter behind his newspaper. “I have tried and tried, but not one of those nurses at the VA is willing to have an affair with me.”

A slight twinkle in his right eye accompanied a sly smile and a raised eyebrow.

“So what’s all this about some cockamamie witness protection program?”

Harry wasn’t about to bite on the whole VA nurses thing – but there was something about Wildman’s tale that kept him from his usual desire to argue with Jimmy about all things trivial.

“There’s some pretty peeved people out there and they are out to get me. I’m the one that came up with the word ‘Affordable’ in the Affordable Health Care Act. Talk about calling something one thing when it really meant something completely different.”