Editorials
Reagan Battled The Press Too
By I. Fester Auspice, Former Reagan Staffer
Mar 2, 2007 - 11:01:00 PM

" I. Fester, you know....well, freedom isn't free. Well, I guess what I am trying to tell you is freedom comes with a price, a little over $100.00...I think......but the news media is out there telling all our secrets!"   President Reagan said to me one day as he and I walked along the Rose Garden. The day was a gorgeous day - the cherry blossoms were blooming and their scent was all around - as Reagan and I walked, talked, and took in the beauty that is America .  The aroma of the blooming flowers and cherry trees was suddenly replaced by a rancid odor that burned in my nostrils.

"Incoming!"  President Reagan yelled out, as he cocked his magnificent right leg and farted once more. I knew then whence the rancid odor had been based. Yes, except this time, the rancid odor had a twinge of putrid about it.

"A free press has to know that the Contras are like our founding fathers....well, except these guys shoot nuns to get their point across." He added, as his right leg slowly made its way back to the ground. I looked at him as he spoke and I knew I was standing beside greatness. His words were like a healing balm to my young 54 year old brain.

As Reagan stood there, and as I stood by him, I realized my life was indeed blessed. I thought of his words, I looked into his eyes - those blue eyes - that could radiate through any object were now fixed on me. His words, those eyes, and damn....that damn smell!

I thought about freedom and Reagan's view of freedom. I thought about our founding fathers, Contras, nuns, and of course, the Iranians that supplied the guns to those Contras. Then, I thought about that lovely, sexy secretary, over in the White House typing pool. "Gosh, freedom....umm, yeah and her." I mumbled under my breath. I could feel my skin tingling with goose bumps as I thought about freedom, then I could feel my pride welling up - due to the words of Reagan - and I could feel my manhood becoming rigid with the thoughts of that sexy ass over in the typing pool.

"What if there was a magic bullet? Or, maybe a giant shield that protected America from missiles? And, I guess, while I am thinking about things, what about a giant man that would stand in the ocean to protect our shores? And that giant man had a giant shield and a magic bullet, wouldn't that be great?   I guess....hey, I remember a movie once where I played a giant that lived in a valley.  In that valley grew the best, freshest, vegetables. And I wore this outfit and stood over  some of the fields, with a big club in my hands. "Ho-ho-ho," I would say." Reagan then looked away towards the roses.

 "Ah, sir.....I think that was the Green Giant commercials," I softly said.

 "Green Giant!" that is it! Ho-ho-ho, Green Giant!" Reagan yelled.

I tried to get Reagan's superb mind back on to the press. We had really taken a beating by the New York Times over the Contras. I knew that if I could get Reagan to be Reagan, then everything would work out for the best.

"Sir, what should we say about the Contras? Should we be up-front with the American people, come clean - so to speak - about the arms for hostages?" I asked Reagan as he lay down upon the green grass of the White House lawn.

"Ho-ho-ho...Green Giant....." He replied. "I think I won an Oyster for that role...I'm not sure....but hostages without arms is down right cruel!" he added.

"Oscar, sir" I remarked.

"Oscar who?" Reagan asked as his eyes - those blue eyes - became fixed on me.

"You said, Oyster and I was asking if you if you meant, Oscar." I answered.

"Reagan laid there on that green grass, rolled over on his belly, farted two farts and said, "Damn it! Hostages that have no arms! I think that is just horrible! I mean, we catch flack from the liberals for not having ramps and other shit for  crippled people in our public buildings! And another thing, who in then hell is this Oscar guy you keeping asking about?"

Reagan then slowly got to his feet. I looked at him to answer his questions, but his head wobbled to and fro - in that way only Reagan could do - and then he walked away. I knew then what he was trying to teach me. The Press and their pals, the liberals, would complain about anything he did, it was best to let Reagan be Reagan. I knew then, as Reagan leaned up against the big oak tree and fall fast asleep, that he knew how to handle the Press.

I walked over to where he slept and I recited this poem that I had written for him:

                         Oh Reagan, Oh Reagan

  Oh Reagan, oh Reagan, whence do thee know?
  Is your mind dreaming of great things that you might do?
  Or, are you dreaming about clipping the nails on your toes?
  Questions, questions, questions
  Oh Reagan, oh Reagan, will star wars really fly?
  Will there be a great missile shield,
   or will it be just another pie in the sky?
   Ho-ho-ho, you jolly green giant of old
   sleep now, old bastard before you mold

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