By Mark W. Fowler

“It gives [us] a pleasure to see officialdom and the upper classes getting a kick up the backside.” —Charlie Chaplin on satire

The senior senator from Vermont arose slowly from his seat. He was still drunk and hungover from the previous night’s “fighting for the working class” in a hot tub with a lobbyist 35 years younger than he. He despised her, for he fancied she was ignorant and naïve, but attractive. In fact, she had a degree from Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She despised him. Whenever they talked, he just stared at her chest. Joining him in the hot tub was just about the most repulsive thing she had ever done. But she needed his vote on a bill and the time was late. The senator was facing a contested election. He needed a gimmick.

“Madam President,” he said, forgetting the Senate president pro tempore was Frank Leghorn. “I rise today to announce a bill to address the critical shortage of yachts for the working class.” He croaked. “Too many hardworking, decent Americans lack basic access to a yacht for vacation, while corporate fat cats and billionaires have yachts subsidized through tax breaks. It is time for this travesty to end.”

“My bill provides subsidies for hardworking, decent Americans to have access to yachts. This bill will provide well-paying union jobs for millions of hardworking, decent Americans, increase their happiness, save the faltering luxury yacht industry, and decrease global warming.” The senior senator loved to say “hardworking, decent Americans.” He did not actually know any hardworking, decent Americans, but he liked the way it sounded.

“How, you ask? Each yacht will have a motor powered from fuel derived from household garbage. Experts in the field [a campaign contributor named Vito who was president of a garbage business] say we are on the verge of a breakthrough in this new, exciting, and renewable energy source. My bill includes subsidies for research into technology that will make garbage fuel cheap and readily available.” He hoped this sop to Vito would produce another contribution.

He continued, as brevity was not a gift with which he was blessed. “It is important to show the world that America does provide the same amenities enjoyed by rich people all over the globe. Moreover, this matter promotes equity, giving opportunities for a higher quality of life that is now prevented by the unfair tax system. I anticipate getting 67 cosponsors representing a filibuster-proof majority of the 108 senators representing 54 states in this great nation.” Something seemed off to him, but he was sure he had heard the president talking about campaigning in all 54 states. I shouldn’t drink so much, he thought.

“Further, I am reaching across the aisle to the 47 members of the opposing party to join me in this historic effort.” He was dimly aware that his vote count might not make sense, but he was on a roll.

Not one to be exclusive, he rambled on: “This bill requires contractors to protect the rights of transgendered boatwrights, women, minorities, union members, and undocumented workers.” That seemed fairly inclusive, he mused. “Wages will be guaranteed to be 10% higher than industry standards.” Why not? he thought. It’s government money. He paused to gather his thoughts, such as they were, and to review to see if he had covered every constituency of his party. His memory flickered briefly.

“This bill includes prison reform, as eligible prisoners may apply for work release and have a chance to learn a skill, earn for their families, and become productive members of society.” No way to lose on this idea, he thought to himself.

“My friends on the other side of the aisle will object to the cost. I say to them: This bill is completely paid for by a 32% tax on 65 companies presently paying no taxes at all.” This was a complete fiction. The bill had no such provision, and the IRS could only identify 23 corporations that might conceivably be subject to the tax. But, as one of his more notorious colleagues pointed out, it was better to be morally right than semantically factually correct.

The president pro tempore cleared his throat. The senior senator from Vermont, not quite hearing well, interjected, “Madam President, please allow me to continue!” Leghorn was not himself either. He was preoccupied with an FBI investigation into his finances, which might reveal he had a Chinese lobbyist on his payroll whose work might be charitably described as “undercover.” “Yes, the senator may proceed.”

“Madame President, this endeavor will require a new cabinet-level secretary to oversee it. In that posture, I intend to suggest the president nominate a transgender woman of color.” This, he thought , would guarantee a Newsweek cover. “Thank you, Madame President. I yield back my time.”

Senator Leghorn, still preoccupied with the pending humiliation over this Chinese thing, sprung into parliamentarian mode. “Yes. Is there a second? There is a second, and a call for a vote on the motion. All in favor say ‘Aye.’ The ayes have it.” Now there was no motion, no second, and no vote; indeed, there were only two senators in the chamber, but Leghorn was a stickler for procedure.

The senior senator lurched awake. When he came to himself, he muttered: “Foolish idea. Subsidies for yachts. Still, the framework seems really tight. Maybe electric cars…”

Mark W. Fowler is a former attorney and board-certified physician. He can be reached at [email protected].