Got a note from my friend from graduate school, Smoky Joe, now a Senior Good Fellow over at Rooster Foundation: Crowing in the New American Century. He was writing in response to my offer of $10 for any thinker from a certified think tank, or for that matter from a reputable K-Street lobbying firm, who would post on a blog or comment at Gifthub on serving Donor Intent, how we can, why we should. Joe emailed me as follows:
O for Christ's sake, Phil, get off my aching back. You know damn well I only write for big money, and for $10 I wouldn't write a postcard to my mother, much less a blog post. As for doing it on my own time as - you make me laugh - a citizen, I have better things to do, as a volunteer for my charity of choice, Smoking Hunks, mentoring young men and boys in the finer points of blowing smoke for profit. Look, to be honest with you, my mental health is not good. Years of writing dreck for Candidia, faithful to her every intention, kissing her boots, buffing them; after decades it takes its toll. I can't blog against Candidia or I would lose my job. And I sure as hell am not going to blog her talking points for free. My psychiatrist says I have to take it easy; I have lost my sense, he says, of right and wrong, now he says my I am on the verge of psychosis. I know you think I am just some kind of sock puppet for the rich, but believe me I do have feelings. I was once a reputable person, as you well know, from our days together reading literature and philosophy with Amy Kass. The soul dies hard. God, the night sweats! Anyway, keep the money, Phil. You are a good and brave man. Better than I have become. How long you will last, I don't know. I hear the NSA has you under surveillance, but Jesus you write like an angel. I wish I still had it in me. God bless you, my friend. Try to think well of me. I have my own demons. "Myself am hell, nor am I out of it," as Faust said, in Marlowe. Remember? How did it all come to this? "Was it for this the grass grew tall?" I too care about this great country. But what can I do? I serve Candidia. My hand's are tied. Besides, I don't feel so good. I gotta lay off the sauce. Jesus, my hands are shaking.
Your friend,
Joe
Think we could get Jack Abramoff to talk on serving Donor Intent? They say his billing rate for charitable activity was $600 an hour, but maybe it has come down recently.
I could use that $10 myself, though that's more out of reflex than genuine need. But still. Here's an idea: I can help Smoky Joe learn a new trade. I have six vans all set up for house-call pet grooming. I'm getting ready to buy two more. One of them could be Smoky Joe's. Your $10 covers his training. I'll eat the rest of the cost out of the goodness of my heart. He could go from ass kissing to horse currying.
Posted by: P.I. Tchitchikoff | January 08, 2006 at 05:51 PM
Poodle grooming out call service would suit him well. He can model the intended results as well as achieve them.
Posted by: Phil | January 08, 2006 at 07:51 PM
My guess is that Anrahanoff lives and dies by the motto "strategic is as stratgic does".
Posted by: KK Commoner | January 11, 2006 at 07:19 PM
My guess is that Abrahamoff lives and dies by the motto "strategic is as strategic does".
Posted by: KK Commoner | January 11, 2006 at 07:20 PM
Jack is the exception apparently, given how quickly his old allies are distancing themselves from him.
Posted by: Phil | January 11, 2006 at 10:28 PM