Former CIA Director Doesn’t Know Sports

h, baby, there’s being a girl and then there’s being a girl—know what I’m saying? Take as an example former CIA Director George Tenet, the man who complains in his new book At the Center of the Storm that he became a poster boy for the fuck-up in Iraq and that his comment "It’s a Slam Dunk, Mr. President," was used as grounds for the Iraqi invasion and taken out of context. Now it turns out that, according to Tenet’s new book, the problem is trying to use sports terminology in the workplace without knowing shit about sports.

Like a lot of women out there, this reporter only watches sports for the unspoken erotic tension between the players and the frequent male touching. But honey, at least I watch. Which leaves straight boys like George Tenet trying to fumble (another sports term) around the office to describe international situations in a language the president can understand. If he don’t know sports and the president don’t know international politics, they might as well be speaking Swahili and German to each other, sweetie.

In Tenet’s new book, the freshest alibi that testifies he’s someone else who didn’t do shit to cause the unpopular war in Iraq, the former CIA Director tells how he responded to the president’s question about the intelligence that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction (WMD is so 2003 now), to which Tenet replied with the damned expression "Slam Dunk." But Tenet says the case against him is not so clear.

"The president likes to receive all of his briefings in language that the public can understand," Tenet wrote of his former boss and frequent sly critic. "This makes it easier for the razor-sharp mind of President Bush to prepare information for his press conferences—with so many things on his plate like writing a balanced budget, researching the privatization of health care, and his late-night situation meetings, sports terminology can get the point home to the American people without the president complicating the matter with the convoluted jargon familiar to President Bush, but strange to our ears.

"In this matter, I incorrectly clarified the intelligence case for Iraq’s possession of weapons of mass destruction as a ’Slam Dunk.’ I have very rarely ever seen a football game, so using this terminology was my mistake. I should have gone with ’home run,’ which is at least familiar to me because of dating slang. I did not mean that the ball was knocked out of the park. I meant that that thing happens where—what’s the term for when a player pretends to throw the ball, but you’re not sure he did, and any player could have or not have the ball? A ’clusterfuck,’ maybe? Whatever that thing is, that’s what I meant to say. Boy, I must have really messed up my sports lingo, though."

Tenet’s book further criticizes politicians out there, including the White House, for making him the scapegoat for the war because of the "Slam Dunk" comment. When the intelligence for Iraq was revealed as faulty, detractors pointed to Tenet as the face for the flawed intelligence system and put the burden on him and his people for a war that many accusers say was initiated only by the president’s interests. Tenet goes on to describe the process as "just plain mean."

Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice was uncharacteristically frank in her response to Tenet’s charges in her response with Wolf Blitzer on CNN Sunday.

"George screwed the pooch and he knows it," said Rice. "That’s not a sports term, so maybe I won’t have to translate it for him. We should send him to the penalty box for his knocking us over it all, but he wouldn’t know where the fuck it is anyway."

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I was an avid comic collector when I was younger. Which means I was a kid who stole.

I loved comics, and couldn't keep my hands off them. At least that's what the judge said. In my defense, I only borrowed them so I could read them, bag them, and keep them for a long time to see if they went up in value. That was a lousy defense. I never should have defended myself. But I was only 10, I don't know what the court was thinking. And they called me the idiot.

That's why I love to watch comic book movies. And why the movie theater always throws me out for not having a ticket. There's a lot of comic book movies coming out this year. I'm already gathering ticket stubs to get into see the big ones. Like the new Batman movie. And there's also a Fantastic Four movie. I think Cinderella Man was a comic book character, too, but I'm not gay, so I didn't read it. Not that I wasn't tempted, mind you.

When I was a kid I wanted to be in the Fantastic Four. My biggest problem, besides having no super-powers, was that I never knew which one I wanted to kill and take the place of. Probably the girl. Not that I hate women, 'cause I don't, but it would be real awkward hanging out with a married guy, his wife, and someone else. I'd be like a fourth wheel. Maybe that could be my power—all my married friends and the guy they hang out with say I'm good at it.

If I could have any super-power in the world, that would be a tough choice. I think it would be the power to make people forget I borrowed money from them. 'Cause that's something I need all the time. We'd corner this super-villain in a bank vault, me and the rest of the Fantastic Four, who I now lead, and I could just borrow all the money from him. Tell him I'm late with the rent or something, or my mom needs hangnail surgery. Some cool story. Then, he defeats the rest of them and asks for the money back, and I'm all like, "Dude, I paid that back to you weeks ago." And he gets real mad, but he believes it, and has no choice but to go to jail. I haven't worked all of it out, but I think I'm on the right track.

I could be called the Borrower. It's better than Thieving Asshole, and I think that's taken already anyway.

I wouldn't want any of the other Fantastic Four's powers. The Thing is all made of rocks. Dude, have you ever been hit with a rock? That shit hurts. So whenever he punches anyone it's like someone threw a rock at his hand. Great idea, Eisenstein. And there's the Invisible Chick… so what, big deal. I go to parties and people already can't see me there. Got that power. Then there's the Human Blowtorch. He uses his power to burn all his clothes off. I've tried that before, trust me, it's a dead end street. You just end up having to buy more clothes and neighbors file a complaint with the police department.

Then there's Dr. Fantastic, who has the greatest powers in that team. He can stretch over and pick things up. Can you imagine that? Throw the remote control out the window, who needs it? No more are the chips out of reach… ever! I wonder if that feels like work, to stretch real far. I hope not.

If I had that power… well, let's just say I've solved the problem that's always bothered mankind. No more waiting for the commercial to go to the bathroom. Sweet.

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That Jerry Nascar is a dangerous motherfucker. Dangerous as in smart. And, he plays with fireworks and only has a total of seven fingers. But I wasn't talking about that at all—I just mean he's smart.

My trial started three weeks ago, the libel case, where I'm being sued by Jayme Kristofson for calling her words I shouldn't repeat here. Not until I win, and can say them wherever I damn well please. It's an inevitability with Jerry Nascar as my attorney. This guy must have taken every law class they have at Pine Bluffs Community College, 'cause he knows all the tricks. He parked his car in a handicapped space in front of the courthouse and then put a sign on it saying "no engine." How ingenious is that? Technically, the car is handicapped now. That's what lawyers call a "loophole." And Jerry's got more holes than he knows what to do with.

It was Jerry's idea I wear the neckbrace—which I would have done if I had gone to court for a traffic accident, I'm no dummy, but Jerry says you can get neck injuries from anything, even emotional stress, and it never hurts to get crowd sympathy. The judge has even gotten mad at Jerry because he talks to the gallery instead of her, turning to the large number of people and saying stuff like, "You can see what all this huss'n'fuss has done to my client's verbitry—her neck is all outta a-whackment."

Jerry loves surprise witnesses. Sometimes I think they're more for his sake than for mine. He calls people out of the phone book ahead of time and gets them to show up, but they have no idea why. That's the surprise. So they get up there and Jerry asks them questions about what they do, what's their area of expertise. Then the questions get real juicy—do you own any sexy underwear? Have you gone all the way on the first date? You would be surprised how far he gets before the judge says the witness has no relevancy. But you gotta admire his guts.

But he's doing Jayme some damage, too. He somehow wrangled it where Jayme had to wear the Metallichick costume on the stand, and then asked her if she thought she had the figure to pull it off. Under oath, she completely broke down and admitted she didn't. That's got to help the case, if the Honor can look at the big picture.

Jerry may have finally crossed the line last week when he announced he was calling witnesses from the Kennedy assassination to "put this whole mess to rest, once and for all." The judge told him she was sick of his bullshit, so to speak, and demanded he make his final arguments for this particular case, after which she was going to talk to the Bar Association and find out just what bar they held their meetings at. But that was all fine, a bit of a slump for Jerry, but he started into the final summary of the case.

When Jerry launched his closing arguments, brilliance is the only word that comes to mind. He approached the jury and his hands clapped together, then moved to his waist, then waved in the air, then clapped together again. And his words were good, too. He said something like, "What is a 'dildo,' ladies and gentleman of the jury? Who doesn't like a dildo? Tell me that. I fail to see where my client's compliment can even be misconstructed as an insult. Plus, I think if you knew her, you would have called her dildo. Everyone knows she's a pain in the ass."

At that point the judge had to tell Jerry it wasn't a jury trial, and he was delivering his closing remarks to the plaintiff table. Jayme didn't look none too happy, but was too busy crying to tell him off. It's all incidental, I'm sure. I got a good feeling this thing's going to go my way, if the judge ever gets back from deliberating. Or maybe she did, while I was writing this column—do any of you dildos have the time?

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