John D. Negroponte sat at his desk with the thick report sitting in front of him. There was a red Parker pen on the face page which Negroponte placed there as if to keep the report closed. He was irritated with the report. The report’s writers had concluded that the war in Iraq had emboldened terrorists from around the world because Iraq had made it crystal clear to everyone that the United States had limits, to put it mildly. Limits mean weakness, and it is that perceived weakness that makes everyone want to be a terrorist. So, the writers stated, the United States is dealing with a far more dangerous situation than it otherwise would have been if it had simply limited its reaction to September 11th to the Afghanistan War rather than expanding it to Iraq.
Politics is politics, and Negroponte had to deal with this problem that sat in front of him. Nancy Pelosi was already running at the mouth about how the report reflected a flawed foreign policy. Adn of course Harry Reid was vomiting some nonsense over in the Senate about Bush. But Pelosi and Reid were the least of the problems. Republicans were not happy as well, and they were starting to get uncomfortable. Thank god the price of oil had slipped below $60 per barrel. That last bit of news might just keep the upcoming November election from being a blood bath. If oil could just remain on a downward trend, all Negroponte had to do was come up with some kind of response to this damn intelligence report.
The thick report sat on his desk like a big fat white woman on a beach soaking up sun, holding the light, attracting attention. But that was the point, wasn’t it. The report was huge. It ran to over 500 pages. OK, so everyone reads the last few pages to learn the conclusions. No one reads the whole thing. Except he did. Negroponte did. And it was not pretty. But that is not the point. No one fucks the big fat woman on the beach, either. But Negroponte would fuck anyone for his President. Negroponte would do anything for President Bush. And so, if he told the public that the big fat white woman on the beach was a real peach in bed, that no one could possibly imagine how great a lover she was unless you tried her yourself, then, well, it becomes a fact. At a minimum, it becomes an opinion. And that was the point, wasn’t it. It was a matter of opinion. It was a matter of taste. And Negroponte just loves big fat white women, because he would be the only one would actually make love to that large white thing.
So here was the political solution. The Bush Administration would say that the report, that big fat report that sat in front of Negroponte, was a complex assembly of facts which defied any simple conclusions. That the writers being writers wanted to simplify things, and try to seem smart, and certainly Nancy Pelosi and that idiot Harry Reid in the Senate would simplify things, but that the Bush Administration was smarter than all of them. The Bush Administration was sober, and would read that big report like it was making love to that big fat woman on the beach, and would report back to the world the truth. That the report was filled with joy for Bush’s foreign policy. And they would have to believe it, because no one was going to read this report. No one. That big fat white woman on the beach would remain untouched by anyone except for John Negroponte. And therefore, everyone would have to take Negroponte’s word for it. She was great in bed.