The Three ‘Bares’ Go To Washington

Once upon a time there were three bears — a papa bear, a mama bear, and a baby bear.

Papa Bear had invested heavily in the stock market. He had become rich and had put aside several million dollars, but he didn’t have a way to spend it in the forest. “I’ve got money,” he said, “so I’ll run for Congress.” And he did.

His opponent was a wise four-legged creature that liked to scale mountains. The creature’s campaign theme was “I’m baaaaaaaa-d, I’m fast, and I’m smart.”

Papa Bear, feeling that he might lose the election, launched a barrage of Swift Goat ads and was eventually proclaimed the winner. It was only then that he realized he couldn’t do all his representing from the forest. He asked Brother and Sister Bear how he could possibly handle business from home.

But his kinfolks said, “Bear, move away from there. They said, Washingtonie is the place you ought to be,” so he loaded up the truck and moved to Dee Cee.

Papa Bear had a hard time in Congress. First, he was criticized for shedding on the furniture. Next, when asked whether he was a donkey or an elephant, he said, “No, sir, I’m a bear.” Again, he was criticized, until members of the parties realized they needed his vote, so he became the target of the two-party lobbyist effort controlled by large corporations, which he didn’t mind, for his popularity among them grew.

Mama Bear was having troubles of her own. She didn’t like the traffic and Baby Bear  was constantly the subject of Show and Tell at school. The cub had found a friend, a little girl named Goldilocks, a bed-hopping, porridge-slopping glutton, who liked to break chairs by jumping on them. Mama Bear was worried that Baby Bear would pick up some bad habits, but was glad that Baby Bear had found a chum.

Being new to Congress, Papa Bear sought counsel regarding protocol, which came in abundance.

First, he was told by a Democrat, “You must always vote against an issue first. Then, after the bill  is revised, vote for it. That way, when you get back home and no matter who you talk to you can say in all honesty you cast a vote that your constituency will approve of, one way or the other.”

A Republican Congressman quickly added, “That’s called a Kerryism.”

The Democrat scowled.

The Republican offered this advice: “Get yourself a press secretary. That way you don’t have to answer the hard questions, and if the PR guy happens to blunder on your behalf and it is embarrassingly discovered later, you can simply claim that he was misinformed. ‘Misinformed’ is a favorite governmental word these days.

“And, oh yes, never ever question the authenticity of the 9/11 attacks. It’s not proper. I realize there is no way an airliner would ever fit in the hole made in the Pentagon, but some things are best left undiscussed. National security, you know. Wouldn’t want to ruffle the feathers of the Big Man at the national bank.”

The Democrat picked up on an earlier point, “Kerryism? The Republicans coined the word and the technique. They also call it flip-flopping, which is what happened when the Republican Party abandoned its ideals of fiscal responsibility and became the biggest spenders known to man and beast.”

“Wait,” said the Republican, “that’s not true. Our party simply attempted to adjust the balance of wealth to correct a long-standing wrong. You see, those with wealth, like yourself, Congressman Bear, are best at determining how to invest it. The peons get what they deserve, which is usually very little. You see, we steal from them at every opportunity. That’s why God created the caste system. And never be mistaken, God speaks to the Republican Party.”

The Democrat was shaking his head. “The Republicans are well known for appointing their friends and business associates to high places. Just look at the vast majority of Bush’s appointees — friends, business associates, and most importantly, oil barrons.”

Now the Republican was shaking his head. “And Obama’s appointees,” he said, “ — Wall Street geek elites who are actually his rulers. They put him in and he knows they can take him out.  All Democrats are rubberstamped by the greatest of thieves, the Fed, and your rubber stamp, Mr. Bear, is being prepared.”

“We could argue all day,” said the Democrat, “but what it comes down to is that as a Congressman you are in an elite group and must maintain that stature. Screw the little guy every chance you get, only tell him it’s in his best interests, and throw a war in so that he will blindly and, hhrmph, patriotically, go along.

“For you, my friend Mr. Bear, the most important thing to remember is that you should never visit a zoo, for obvious reasons. You see, the real world is a zoo and you wouldn’t want to be mistaken for one of its inhabitants.”

The bear departed, dazed.

When he got home, he told Mama Bear what he had learned.

“So, you see, there apparently are two worlds, one real and one not. Right now, the Washington world is real to us; the other one is not.”

Mama Bear had misgivings about what was said, fearing Papa Bear had been brainwashed.

“Here’s how I am going to look at it,” she finally said. “It’s all part of the same world and, in a way, we are all part of the United States….

“But Washington, D.C. is not a state. It is a state of mind. That’s a bare fact!”