Mercs just want to have Funds

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Someone Left a Cake Out in Iran

The biggest mystery of the Iran-Contra affair is why the press has suddenly become so outspoken against Ronnie. For six years the share-croppers of the fifth estate blithely swallowed everything cooked, up by their master in the big white house. No scenario was too absurd to merit unquestioning repetition. No photo op too corny for adoration. Contradictions disappeared in a blur of images consigned to yesterday's news; breaches of appearance labeled misperception. But ever since November, the journalistic profession has outdone itself in its zeal to set record straight

What is the cause of this sudden about-face? The sheer outrageousness of supplying arms to Iran? A resurgence of liberalism? Watergate nostalgia? A political seven-year itch?

There is a simpler explanation: The War on Drugs is finally taking effect! For the first time in two decades a significant portion of the electorate is without a trace of cannabis, cocaine or opiate in its bloodstream. Americans have regained their short-term memories. They can remember what the president said and when he said it. Small wonder, then, that the administration slashed anti-drug funding in its latest budget.

Because drugs first gained mass acceptance in the 60s, they are often associated with 60s politics. But consider the record. As drugs replaced protest as the vocation of youth, Republicans replaced Democrats in the White House. The 1970s, a decade notable for its political apathy, were also notable for the enormous quantities of chemicals consumed in middle schools, discos and shag-carpeted vans alike.

Many drug users report difficulty in distinguishing reality from illusion. In the 80s this fear was compounded by the advent of a president who seemed to share the difficulty.

Thus, the Reagan administration has fallen victim to its own prohibitionist hysteria. Far from constituting a national threat, the continued consumption of drugs is the only way to insure the kind of faith in our elected officials without which democracy must surely falter. As society sheds its trust in images, its leaders lose their image of trust. Those who do not wish to return to the self-questioning and doubt of our liberal past must work to get America stoned again.

The task will not be simple. Just saying No becomes as much a habit as the vices it refuses. A nation of naysayers will not be easily persuaded to resume the substance-positive attitudes of yesteryear. What we need is a new set of drugs, not identified with the amoral hedonism of the past, drugs that promote the values of a bold and patriotic America. Here are some suggestions:

National Heroin: Experience the gall within you.

Poindexedrine: Forget what you know and when you knew it.

TylenOllie: Low-intensity relief.

NSC: Sense of omnipotence. Access to
ineffable secrets.

Trickle Downers: Achieve bottom-line consciousness.

SDI: Delusions of invulnerability.

Lebanese Rehash: Get bombed 24 hours a day.

South African Gold: Go with the cash flow.

Muammar's Little Helpers: Induces a terrorist state.

Meesecaline: Heightened sexual awareness. No release.

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Breakfast at Murdermer's

The advent of Homicide Chic has made it difficult for unindicted guests to get a table at many of Manhattan's more elegant eateries. Not every restaurant can boast a Claus, a Crispo, or a Carl Andre among its clientele, but as the pages of the Social Register and the New York Post converge, none is without its coterie of upscale miscreants.

Murdermer's, the watering hole for ladies and gentlemen of the first rank who stand accused in the first degree, has become a pre-trial institution for new offenders and recidivists alike. On Sunday morning the room fills with faces whose mug shots have just hit the tabloids - the window corner reserved for the defendant with the highest TV-rights sale of the week. Those parties favored by a Barbara Walters exclusive merely flash their charged cards and head for the Bloody Marys. The rest cover their faces with their coats while their lawyers plea-bargain for a good table. Allegations must be up to snuff for the accused to be bound over for brunch:

I'm sorry," the maitre d' informed the attorney ahead of me as I stood in
line last weekend, "but manslaughter only gets a table by the wall."

"My client is willing to implicate himself in a string of unsolved slayings in exchange for a seat near the window."

"That section is overcrowded. However, the kitchen will entertain a plea of
Murder Two -- if you plan to order a la carte."

My press card earned me a seat in the character assasination section close to the men's room. Around me sat the student drug dealers and white collar hopefuls who had not yet made the Exhibit A list of one of the better grand juries. An automaker whose entrapment video had done some heavy CNN rotation glowered in the corner. 'Today anyone can be framed-up for fifteen minutes,' I overheard him snarl.

Of course, the ultimate social currency at Murdermers is a capital offense. All eyes centered on the drop-dead glamour of the front room. At the best tables, I recognized several up-and-coming suspects, as well as the tried-and-true but still appealing regulars. Jean Harris tweeds predominated, though a trendy few had taken advantage of their notoriety to leather up. Waiters for the accused scurried among the diners, often having to resubmit an order to which a lawyer had objected. Crime makes for hearty appetites, and I noticed several brunchers not only clean their plates but wipe them free of fingerprints as well.

I had just ordered some eggs Sunny-side up when a commotion broke out up front. News had just arrived that a major celebrity sociopath had won his appeal. The unfortunate fellow was summarily evicted. The best may lack all conviction, but at Murdermer's the greatest faux pas is acquittal.

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Barnum & Beirut II

Mass Mediation

For those still confused by the bloody tangle of Lebanese politics, here is an up-to-date synopsis.

ABC camera crews have taken the airport. No one goes near the plane of interview the hostages on-board without their permission.

CBS has deployed minicams throughout West Beirut in a house-to-house search for militants not yet signed by the other networks.

NBC controls the bar of the Beirut Hilton, John Chancellor's monologues having driven out the competition.

Meanwhile the CNN camp is overcrowded with refugees from the Big Three. Commanded by shadowy strongman Ted Turner, its guerrillas roam the streets with Portapaks and phony securities, itching for a hostile takeover.

The feuding erupted into open warfare during the Iranian Hostage Crisis. In a bold series of Quantel moves, ABC's prime time forces under Ted Koppel succeeded in advancing their night line. Armed with sophisticated video graphics and satellite technology, they seized control of the ratings, deposing NBC from the peacock throne.

Flanking actions by the other network's late night new teams failed to dislodge ABC. In the meantime, militant young anchormen, abandoning their blow dryers for Koppel tactics and coiffure, have grown restless to test themselves in the heat of hostage crisis.

So long as the ratings war flares, there will be enough solid entertainment to last through the summer reruns. The only fear is some act of retaliation by Aaron Spelling. The news cannot challenge the supremacy of the miniseries and expect to go unpunished.

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Barnum & Beirut I

Jihad is my Copilot

As the latest hijacking demonstrates, aspiring terrorists ought to spend less time at commando camp and more time at flight attendant school. The service provided TWA passengers was nothing short of atrocious!

Imagine flying back and forth between Athens, Algiers and Beirut with only one in-flight film! Passengers are used to complying with the request to fasten seatbelts, but when buckling up involves ropes and blindfolds, the gag's gone a bit too far. Of course the decidedly macho stance of the Arab world precludes the solicitous male stewards to which we Westerners have grown accustomed. Still it seems needlessly discourteous to greet a passenger's inability to decide between Salisbury steak and creamed chicken with a rifle butt to the solar plexus.

Customer service improved at Beirut Intn'l., where though denied access to the duty-free shop, hostages were offered free accommodations and beach trips. Perhaps Amal leader and former Michigan gas stationist Nabih Berri had remembered his "service with a smile" credo.

It suggests a possible solution to the Lebanese bloodbath. Why not give each of the bickering factions its own airline, thus transforming the holy war into a price war? Travelers could decide for themselves whether to fly the hostile skies of Pan Amal, Airafat, People's Militia Express, or just hop a Druse jet. Once aloft, nattily attired terror-tendants would brandish grenades and AK-47s while the captain explained the safety features. In the unlikely even that it became necessary to shoot some hostages, blindfolds would automatically appear above their seats.

Though passengers could never be sure of their ultimate destination, advance booking would allow them to plan for unexpected detours and lengthy negotiations. Planes could be cleared for takeover at regular intervals, avoiding the situation where hijacked jets must circle Beirut for hours while rival terrorists hog the runways.

Of course, the big problem would still be transportation to and from the airport -- make sure your cab's not on suicide run.

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