The August Conspiracy

And so it came to pass that the Lord God looked down from the Heavens upon the United States, and what He saw was Not Good.

“They fuss!” the Lord rumbled. “They feud, fight and fumble!” he thundered. “They talk much but accomplish little!” he pealed with lightning-flash emphasis.

“Yes, Lord,” said Archangel Gabriel. He seldom said more when God was in one of these moods.

“’Yes, Lord!’” God mocked. “’Yes, Lord!’ Gabriel, I want plans! I want action! If I wanted a parrot, I’d make one!”

“Yes, Lor..” Gabriel started, then remembered being an archangel was lots better than being a parrot. “Forgive me, I meant to say we’re staffing those issues as we speak and we’ll be back to you shortly Lord!”

Well, you could judge that a lie if you were a Commandments Strict Constructionist. But Gabriel followed the Liberal Activist view and told himself that since he was a member of the staff and was obviously considering what God wanted, one could certainly argue that his statement was a truth-in-development.

“Or a parrot in development!” the Lord interjected. “Now git! And don’t come back until it’s fixed!”

Gabriel got. That all-knowing stuff could be a real nuisance.

By the time he got to the Archangel Headquarters, Michael, Raphael and Uriel were waiting in Conference Room A, where a Moving Finger had just etched the white board with “Break The American Deadlock!” in letters of fire.

“Took you long enough!” snapped Michael, the most senior among these equals. Gabriel offered an Economy-of-Fingers salute and slid into his chair. “I suppose you guys have some ideas?” Gabriel smirked. He looked to Uriel. “Uri?”

“So maybe a flood we should send them,” said Uriel. “A flood like what no other, a flood...”

“It’s been done,” Michael cut him off. “And it didn’t work then, either, Uri I think what we need is bold, decisive action. Cost and loss control. Wipe that slate clean and repopulate with better stock.”

“Cool, dude!” cooed Raphael around his lip studs. “Massive! But I guess I must have spaced out about telling The Man the stuff He created in His Image wasn’t the righteous goods.”

“Well!” Michael and Uriel both started explaining, but, stopped goggling short when Gabriel materialized his trumpet and puckered.

“No dude!” Rafael shouted. “You promised”

“You did!” echoed both Michael and Uriel. Biblical citation aside, Gabriel suffered from the Thin/Tin Trumpet Syndrome – thin lip, tin ear. Anyone who heard him play once worked hard to avoid twice.

“Maybe a little ‘What A Wonderful World’ guys?” Gabriel said, pulling a white silk hankie out of his sleeve.

“Not if you play it, it won’t be” Michael said. “Besides, as you above all should know, we’re here to solve a problem,” Michael added, pointing to the still-glowing white board.

“Ohhh, yeahhhh!” Gabriel smiled, lifting the horn to his lips, but pausing to look around the room. Michael had hands over his ears already, Uri was edging toward the door and Raphael was stuffing note paper in his ears, working hard to get it around multiple studs.

Gabriel lowered the horn ever so slightly. “Or maybe you’d like to hear about this idea I had?”

“Yes! Please!” the other archangels roared. “Please!” they begged, with Raphael adding “Just no horn, man, OK?”

“Well,” said Gabriel smiling, “it goes like this. . .”

To Be Continued. . .

###