The Intercom rang. “What is it, Michael?”
“Uh, Sir, I…uh, think we may have a situation here.”
God heaved a sigh. “Okay, my calendar’s clear for the next split millenium. C’mon in.”
There was a knock at the Door, and a winged angel quietly stepped in. A piece of Paper was clutched in his hand.
“What is it this time, Michael? Frothy Mix step in it again?”
“No, Sir. It’s worse. Crazy Eyes didn’t vet her staffers very well. Again.”
God gestured at the Paper. “Let’s see it.”
It seemed that Peter Waldron wasn’t the nice, well-organized campaign staffer that Michele Bachmann hired him to be. Waldron spent February 2006 in jail in Uganda under arrest for terorism. He was caught with possession of assault rifles and ammunition, with intent to distribute. The local police thought he might have been planning to help local militias hunt down and capture Joseph Kony, a warlord with a $1.7 million bounty on his head. Others suspected the timing of the arms importation, just before the first free elections in Uganda in 20 years. Waldron was released and deported after pressure was applied to the Ugandan government from the Bush Administration.
Others thought Waldron was trying to set up his own political powerbase with the idea of turning Uganda into a “Christian nation”. Waldon is good friends with Martin Ssempa, a Ugandan evangelist who has been spearheading the move to make homosexuality a crime in Uganda (and in some cases a capital crime).
Waldron is now a high-level Michele Bachmann staffer, reportedly working in the faith-based support campaigns in Iowa and South Carolina. He…
“Oh, for Son’s Sake!” God slapped the Paper down on His Desk. “Where do these idiots find these idiots??!”
Michael shuffled uncomfortably.
God stared out His Office Window for a moment. “First it was Huckabee and his ‘coming back to God’. Then it was Perry trying to summon My Presence at that rally of pinheaded religionists in Texas. Now it’s Bachmann. What the hell has happened to My Faithful?”
Michael cleared his throat. “Uh, Sir, what about releasing a plague or something…”
“No, no. Aren’t the American people suffering enough as it is? Besides, that would just make martyrs out of those morons.”
God heaved a sigh. “I’d do the Burning Bush thing on Perry’s head, but that ugly animal hide on his head would just go up like a torch.” Pause. “I’m just going to let things ride, I think. Bachmann will try to weasel out of this, as usual, and I’m not inclined to save her ass.”
Michael started to leave, but just then his cell rang. He picked up, listened for a moment, turned back to God who was still staring out the Window, and murmured, “Uh, sir, Christine O’Donnell just walked out of an interview on CNN, and she’s on the horn…”
Without looking up God interrupted, “Her I’ll burn! She’s a witch, anyway.”