ollowing former chief U.S. weapons inspector David Kay's admission pre-war intelligence was practically "all wrong," officials in the Bush administration came forward with announcements everyone was, ostensibly, "shocked."

Staff members ranking as high as the vice president and "president" issued statements on how "shocked" (quote-unquote) everyone in government was about the lack of chemical or biological weapons in Iraq after the fall of Saddam Hussein's regime. Press secretary Scott McClellan said the president himself sort of "dismayed" and "curious" about the "failure" of prewar intelligence. When asked by reporters if the White House planned a probe into the intelligence problem, McClellan restrained a smile and promised someone would get on that "right away."

Conservative news agencies posed questions to McClellan on how the president viewed intelligence and homeland security in the wake of the discovery, while more liberal news agencies questioned the press secretary on the legitimacy of the Iraq war if intelligence has proven faulty. Meanwhile, in the back of the room, one man screamed at the top of the lungs that the president knew, of course he knew, goddammit, everyone in the administration had to have known and they rode into the fucking White House looking for the first excuse to head into Iraq with guns blazing just like daddy did, Jesus Christ, has everyone else on the fucking planet gone so deaf and blind they can't even see the president's a lousy fucking liar? But McClellan did not take questions at that time.

Statements from the White House were seen by many as damage control after Kay's Wednesday admission to a congressional committee early Iraq intelligence claiming Saddam Hussein was developing a program of weapons of mass destruction (or WMD, as the kids are saying) was incorrect. Kay described the "lapse" as a massive intelligence failure, and painted the president as much a victim of the fuck-up as the hundreds of Iraqis lying dead under rubble and blown up by landmines.

"Boy, did we screw the pooch on this one," laughed Kay, to an unforgiving congressional audience. "Yikes. Tough room. But seriously, folks, you know who we should give it up for? Mr. Bush. That's right, the president. I know it's not popular to say so, but I think he's doing a bang-up job and plainly he just wanted to do the right thing and had no idea how shitty this intelligence was. Really, we're talking Pig Latin intelligence or something. Waaaay off, no kidding. I think they were even in Iceland—hey! You gotta give me that one. C'mon. Show the love."

Friday Bush followed the administration's campaign for getting over this as quick as possible by releasing an official statement ripe with quotation marks.

"Obviously we would have done things 'differently' if the intelligence had been more accurate. Assuming that it was accurate—I still say, really, there's no way of telling if anybody's got weapons of mass destruction on them or not. You can hide them anywhere. I've got mustard gas, hidden in a tree house from when I was 12 years old, little gift from dad, nobody ever found it. You telling me Saddam can't hide something in all of Iraq? But I'm getting off message here. We're obviously facing a 'failure' of intelligence here. Everybody here in this administration wants 'peace,' no one more so than me. But if I had it all to do over again, knowing the 'threat' Saddam Hussein poses to the world, I would have done things very much the same. Our 'coalition' in Iraq is 'ready' to 'hand over' the 'country' in the 'next few months,' give or take two or three years."

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At one time a distant relative of mine told a timid and anxious nation that we have nothing to fear but fear itself. And mostly I agree with that, except I thought I'd ammend it since it's a different world today.

For one, first and foremost, in the wake of recent events, there is a renewedfear of bio-terrorism. Anthrax, anthrax everywhere! Sure, it would seem likewe're not in any immediate danger if we don't work for politicians or newspeople, but now they say that crap can rub off on other mail just by being mixed together. Whoa-ho! That ought to send a chill creeping right up your spine.

Let's not forget what started all this panic. We have to admit that we have terrorist attacks and retaliation to fear. More specifically, we have crazy hijackers commandeering planes and flying them into national monuments and highly-populated tourist attractions to fear. Not to mention long-standing favorite terrorist actions, like driving exploding trucks or cars into populated buildings or planting undetectable bombs where we can't find them to fear. That's pretty scary shit.

Then there's the whole idea of Muslim retaliation from foreign countries and militant groups that side with terrorists. They could rip apart global alliances or even, in most drastic situations, start a holy war with our country. Jesus damn! How did this shit get started? You're goddamn right we have that to fear, even if not as much as some of the other stuff first. And everybody's got a nuclear bomb these days. What if some nutjob decides to set it off? Or the president gets really pissed off or we elect some senial nut like Reagan, remember the '80s when every day you woke up thinking today is going to be the day that wrinkled fascist thinks he's he's buzzing his secretary and BOOM! Fucking Ameritoast. So even if we don't get bombed by our enemies we could explode ourselves into smithereens, thank you very much, Mr. As-Yet-Unknown Senial President of the Future.

Oh, shit, I didn't even mention trying to get on a plane. If you think those college dropouts laid off from the McDonald's are going to check your bag well enough to find any potential weapon, good luck to you. These guys are lucky to dress themselves in the morning, I bet. Or they'll be so busy checking for Arabs with boxcutters they'll let Johnny Militia and his constituency of fruitcakes through the metal detectors with Ryder truck manure bombs strapped to their fucking back. Remember, it wasn't so long ago when young white Americans were the biggest enemy to freedom you'd ever fucking seen. These assholes are so worried about the threat the U.N. poses to us they must have missed, oh, I guess the part of the Constitution that says don't blow up your own fucking country, you dumbasses.

And that ain't it, no sirs. Let's not forget the big G, the Creator, the Man Upstairs, His Holy Capitalized Self. He's always giving us the shit: Tornadoes, Hurricanes, Earthquakes—check that out, wake up for a nice day of going to work and making some bread and the fucking ground opens up under you! Holy shit! Forgot to mention that part in the Bible, eh, Your Holy Groundripper, Sir? I don't know what apostle was supposed too get that shit into the Bible but he sure fucked up big time.

Then there's always the dumb shit. Getting hit by lightning, falling off the house while re-shingling it, the real dumb stuff the obituary columns won't even print 'cause it looks so retarded. And then there's car accidents up the whazoo. Car accidents claim more people in a regular year than any terrorist attacks do.

And disease and cancer and getting shot by some random dumbass who thinks you flipped him off in traffic. Shit, you know what, I don't even want to get up in the morning anymore. Nothing to fear but fear itself? Yeah, that's kind of right, ol' Mr. Roosevelt. Although I think you forgot to mention, oh, EVERYTHING. Thank you very fucking much.

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The next time you're out fly-fishing on the open sea, and out of nowhere a deep rumbling beneath you swells into the thunderous surfacing of a mighty beast, a whale of elephantine proportions that promptly explodes in a cacophony of catastrophic gore, remember that you have Lewis Captain to thank. If it weren't for one of the greatest and most unlikely American inventors of all time, you wouldn't be frantically bailing dog-sized hunks of hot whale meat out of your boat as it rapidly capsized into the ocean. And as you're clinging to a Styrofoam cooler while what's left of your boat slowly descends down towards Davey Jones' locker, you'll know that you have just experienced the magic of Sonar.

Sonar was invented in 1918 by Captain Lewis Captain, a man who spent his entire life nurturing a powerful hatred of whales. This hatred would eventually lead him to develop the world's most powerful whale-killing technology, which had the unintended side-effect of helping sailors navigate underwater environs.

Captain's last name was actually pronounced CAP-tayne, like it rhymed with plantain. But back then people didn't know what plantains were either, so they just pronounced it "captain" and made fun of the fact that he couldn't even swim. Throughout history, people have had a hard time accepting anyone named Captain who didn't pilot a boat or at least wear one of those white hats around the office.

Growing up, Captain had no interest in the sea beyond his virulent hatred of whales, an animal which he had never seen. His reasons for hating whales so violently are a matter of folk legend, with popular explanations ranging from a whale eating his prized marble collection when he was a boy to Captain being agonized by a persistent stench in his college dormitory, which some passing neer-do-well described as "smelling like a whale's bung." Captain only learned to sail because people were tired of hearing him complain about whales when he had never been out to sea.

After earning a Bachelor of Sailing degree from the Maritime Institute in Massachusetts, Captain set out on several unsuccessful whale-hunting expeditions from 1915 to 1918. Some blamed his lack of success on his aversion to harpoons and his preference for putting various foods that whales might find delicious on a gigantic hook, which he attached to an oversized fishing pole. Captain never did catch a whale this way, though he did land several passing fishing vessels using these innovative methods.

Eventually Captain tired of his inefficient whale-eradication techniques. In 1918 he was inspired by the incessant screech a neighbor's highly-annoying big band record to develop a special underwater speaker, which could be used to taunt whales with big band music, possibly driving them to suicide. He also developed an underwater microphone with which he could gleefully monitor the whales' tortured Chewbacca cries of "Turn down that racket!" and "For the love of God, we're trying to sleep here!"

The system was largely ineffective until turned up to near-deafening levels, at which point it began working like gangbusters. The noises freaked out whales and various other undersea creatures, causing them to surface in a panic and explode when gasses in their bloodstreams, trapped by deep-sea pressures, sought egress like a shook-up Diet Shasta. Captain loved that shit, and soon orchestrated the exploding marine creature displays as if they were Fourth of July fireworks.

During one of these expeditions, or "Safaris" as Captain liked to call them, crewman Paul Langévin noticed that the microphone was picking up reflected echos of the big band music in such a way to allow the virtual mapping of the ocean's floor by timing the reflections received from various directions. Captain greeted this news by giving less than two thirds of a shit, but Langévin filed away the knowledge and used it to develop the world's first functioning "Sonar" system. The system was named for the first narwhal Captain exploded in 1918, and went on to be used extensively in the naval operations of WWII.

Over the next fifty years, Captain did his best at adjusting to a world that grew gradually less open to the wholesale slaughter of marine creatures. Toward the end of his life he was arrested while trying to blow up the trick-performing show whales at Sea World, who were beloved by children and weird maritime perverts the world over. Though he only succeeded in giving Shamu mild vertigo and a touch of performance anxiety with his hand-held Sonar device, Captain was ordered by the courts to attend several weeks of marine abuse-prevention counseling. He stubbornly died shortly thereafter, leaving behind a legacy of innovation and insane nautical enmity that will marvel and bemuse the world for generations.

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