Oberst Olbermann, of The Court Jestery

Ruminant With A View

by Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

The following column is excerpted from the first edition of my collected “Ruminant” columns, and ran online in 2007 . . .  when I still had all the hope in the world that Hillary, or Barack, would have us out of Afghanistan and Iraq in no time, health care for us all would become a reality, gays could serve freely (and live to tell of it) in the military, and pigs would fly. With a very few emendations, I offer it up again for your consideration. (PS The second paragraph comprises one, 202-word-long sentence: Henry James, alone, would’ve loved I . . . .)

TEANECK, NJ— (Weekly Hubris)—11/22/10—You’ll have to forgive me: I’m not getting a lot of sleep these days.

I wake up at about 3:00 a.m. every morning and, unable to make myself stop thinking about the Dow and the dollar (right-wing Israel’s lunatic approach to the peace talks; Congress’s votes on China, and everything else; images from “The People of Wal-Mart”; the price of gas; why, at 59, I can’t seem to learn Sanskrit; whether Prozac would suffice as a defense were I to whack Glenn Beck; whether insomnia and Prozac together would suffice; what I’ll do if the Republicans somehow manage to “win” bigger in 2012—after two rigged-in-Florida-and-Ohio-elections, I would be very unsurprised, if on my way to Canada—permanently—; and whether or not there might be something worth watching this particular morning on our 600-plus channels of TV downstairs) I finally get up and, having determined that, no, as usual, there’s nothing but reality-emergency-room shows on TV, and I’ve read every book and magazine in the house, I turn to my computer . . . and get what I deserve, awake at 3:00 a.m.: e-mail (there’s a euphemism) from Domingo O. Pittman, Jan Z. Vickers, Mac H. Justice, Mollie I. Gee and Lorrie A. Hope, amongst a host of many other triple-decker-monikered strangers . . .

. . . aka Spam.

OK, OK: I realize that Domingo, Jan, Mac, Mollie et al are, in reality, all one seriously ill but successful marketing guy in Des Moines (actually, I’ve forgotten this guy’s real name and address, but he’s a fellow American, and he’s as unstoppable as, apparently, Katrina, when it comes to generating effluvia).

Early, early every morning, whatever he’s calling himself, he has something to tell me, and it all goes something like this (there will be lots of asterisks in the following subject lines): “F**k her with driving force when you enlarge your c**k”; “Keep her in the mood when you hang out your new whopper” (well, that might refer to a hamburger, so I’ve eschewed asterisk-ing it); “You’ll be surprised with your bigger p***s” (there’s an understatement); “You will score with ease if you enlarge your d**k”; and, “Does she have to wait forever to get some real sex?”(she does, if she’s looking for it from me).

Erma Bombeck’s head would have exploded into a million tiny pieces had she lived into this century.

So, I turn off my computer, and I sit back on the sofa and muse for a while, thinking up novel solutions to the international nightmare that American government remains, in my estimation. This usually puts me back to sleep but, last night, I think I hit on something truly positive, and even do-able: the creation of a new, cabinet-level post.

Court Jester.

In fact, because no single person would be up to the exacting demands of being The Presidential Court Jester, I propose a quadrennially appointed (NOT by the President; perhaps by me, myself) Court Jestery, comprising, in its initial configuration: Keith Olbermann, Jon Stewart, Rachel Maddow, Mark Shields, Lewis Black, Stephen Colbert (if he’s not elected President), Dennis Kucinich (ditto), Michael Moore, Chris Rock and Ed Schultz, in no particular order, except that Mr. Olbermann would begin as the first Oberst (Oberst Olbermann), and Mark Shields, the first Obersleutnant).

I intend, you see, to model the Cabinet Level Court Jestery upon The Vatican’s Swiss Guard, complete with nifty blue, red, orange and yellow Renaissance uniforms, helmets topped by an ostrich plume (red, white, yellow, black and purple), plus “weapons and regalia” including a halberd on a four-sided pole, a command baton, a partisan, a flamberge (oh, look this all up on Wikipedia), and, in the case of whoever is serving the President on any given particular day, an inflatable bladder for making rude noises, a noise-maker of the sort used at children’s birthday parties, and a whistle.

Oberst Olbermann should look fetching accompanying Barack (or whomever, in the future) to ALL daily functions—press conferences, cabinet meetings, TV interviews with heads of state, war council briefings—halberd and bladder at the ready. Because, you see, we just can’t go on as we did during the Bush years. We cannot have a Moron in Chief sidle up to the lectern, smirk, and then fail to answer any of the reporters’ questions. We can’t have a First Doofus lie to us on TV with a straight face, over and over and over again, without a member of The Court Jestery stepping up and smacking him/her with a whoopee cushion or a Special Comment, on the spot.

No more of this waiting for the talking heads, the pundits, to ramble on and on after the fact. No more waiting till the next election to throw out a particular batch of congresspeople. No more leeway for idiocy-in-our-faces. We need a group of Americans with demonstrated abilities in the brains-and-no-bull***t division right there, front and center, representing our interests.

Just imagine if Bush had had to go on the tube and announce our incursion into Iraq with Mark Shields, in full Swiss Guard regalia, standing right next to him and correcting his facts whilst smacking him with a halberd (or flamberge).

Or if Rumsfeld and Bush had had to deal with Keith Olbermann hovering over them at the podium when they told us what a walk in the park the war would be.

Or if Lewis Black, on a related detail, had been able to get in there between George Tenet and Colin Powell at the UN and say, “You guys have GOT to be kidding??!!,” in his inimitable my-hair’s-on-fire Lewis Black voice.

Of course, there are still a lot of details that need ironing out. CAN the Oberst of the moment actually USE her/his halberd if a President gets too ridiculous? Turn him or her over his or her knee during a Rose Garden moment? Call a “time-out”?

WILL the Commander in Chief be allowed to go ANYWHERE unaccompanied by a Jester: the bathroom, the bedroom, the Oval Office in off-hours? (In the case of a President such as Bill Clinton, a Jestery Ankle Bracelet fitted with microphone and GPD might be in order . . . even if Hillary’s elected in 2012.)

When I’m up again, in the wee hours, I’ve got some further planning to consider, but one thing is for certain: I wish to God this idea of mine were retroactive.