Don’t Pardon Abramoff
No matter how tempting the proposition is, you tell Abramoff that you’re going to have to pass on the library. Abramoff looks a bit more frail than usual, so you invite him to join you on your daily 3K jog—he could use some fresh air. He opts not to join you and exits, still disappointed that you rejected his bribe.
After putting on your sweats and sneakers, you begin your jog and soon notice an unkempt man just outside the White House fence. It is none other than former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. You slow down and look into the cup on the ground in front of him—at least three dollars in change.
Illustration by Angela Dominguez
He looks up at you, pleadingly. “Mr. President?”
You tell him you’re sorry but you don’t carry your wallet when you go for your morning jog. Rumsfeld pulls out an attaché case, opens it and reveals an aerial photo of Tehran and a red button, the button, with a security keypad.
“Enter your code and push the button,” he begs as he swats away a couple of flies. “Let’s finish what we started.”
Do you:
Murder millions of innocent Iraqis?
OR
Pinch yourself to see if this is all one giant nightmare?
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