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Scam-a-lot (Part II) Not long after the Warren Commission came the conspiracy theorists, topped off by the biggest conspiracy theorists of them all—the 95th United States Congress. In a watershed event for American democracy that was extinguished faster than John McCain’s primary run, the US House of Representatives Select Committee on Assassinations concluded that the undoctored autopsy photos, the laws of physics, and the Dealy Plaza witnesses—whose life expectancies were ultimately dwarfed by those of asbestos workers and minefield sweepers—might have meant something was rotten in Dallas after all. They then proceeded to seal the records for fifty years. The year 2029 is a long time to wait for an answer. Michael Jackson will be out of prison by then. And way, way out of nasal cartilage. Friends will be in its final season. The number one TV show in the country will be Joe Homicidal Maniac. We’ll know what really happened in Roswell and what’s stashed in Area 51, because the aliens will have told us. And the people who sealed the JFK records will finally be what they deserve to be, which is dead. So much for standing behind your work. Personally, I plan to be alive, and I’m relying on my burning desire to stomp on the Warren Commission report to help me beat renal failure, arteriosclerosis, and prostate cancer, or at least stave them off. Don’t tell the IRS, but on principal, I’ve considered withholding taxes till the same year. In the meantime, living a lie is the law of the land. Though we’re not ready for the facts, we are ready for the rape of our natural resources, suspension of civil rights, and the return of hundreds of our soldiers in bodybags. Make no mistake—we will deny any truth, bury any breakthrough, squash any probe, discourage any inquiry. Maybe this sad reality explains why I’ve seen the Zapruder film more times than my own honeymoon video. Why I’ve listened to Revolution 9 backwards more times than I’ve listened to the Star Spangled Banner forward. Why I’ll still believe Paul is dead even when he’s the only Beatle still alive. Ish bin ein skeptic. My generation was the first in American history not to have a good old days. And for that, I’d like to thank the CIA, the Mafia, and LBJ. Yes, Scam-a-lot really did a number on those of us caught between the baby boomers and Generation X. Just in case one-and-a-half-year-olds like myself couldn’t quite comprehend the carnage we saw on the black and white Motorola TV screen, they kept reinventing it. Back in the 60s, you could practically set your watch to the assassination of inspirational political mavericks. That’s a lesson that turned a generation of potential leaders into a bunch of day traders, divorce lawyers, and infomercial producers. Today’s mavericks figure out new ways to download MP3 files and hack into corporate websites. The only profession that suffered more than statesman was book depository worker. My childhood was a cynics sandwich on a Watergate-and-grassy-knoll roll. Ironically, it’s folks like Karl Rove and Donald Rumsfeld who keep me feeling young. And patient. Between the 9/11 briefings and the minutes from Dick Cheney’s meeting with the oil companies, DuPont can hardly crank out the time capsules fast enough. And that is why sometimes it takes home movies from Camelot to make me forget, for just a frame or two, about Scam-a-lot. There are three moments in 20th Century American history that bring even hardened conspiracy theorists to tears: VJ Day in Times Square, the last scene in It’s a Wonderful Life, and John-John’s salute at his father’s funeral. Anyone who can stay dry through that one has probably also been sealed till 2029. Click here to rant back. |