The Pentagon budget and me - Secular Humorism

Humanist, Sept-Oct, 2003 by Louis Phillips

The other day--last Saturday morning to be precise--I trudged to my New York City mailbox where I found awaiting me a check for $396,100,000,000. That's correct! I held in my hands a check for nearly $400 billion, give or take a few billion or so. The check was made out "payable to bearer."

No, I'm not a major league baseball player collecting my weekly pay stub, nor am I a winner in one of those multistate lotteries. I'm merely the beneficiary of a new Republican policy of circumventing bureaucracies (such as Congress) and going directly to a select few solid citizens for guidance. Postmodern democracy, is, I believe the descriptive phrase. This new check represents an increase of $45.3 billion since 2002. Thank goodness! I thought the United States was growing soft. ($45.3 billion, by the way, represents the entire military budget of Japan.)

After contemplating my windfall, I reached the conclusion that I had been chosen, by lottery, to manage the Pentagon's budget for 2003. Now let's not panic. It isn't as if $400 billion is a lot of money these days. It barely pays the lunch for Enron executives. Also, let us humbly remember that for decades the Pentagon--with its labyrinth of bribes, under-the-table payments, and cost overruns--has wasted billions, perhaps trillions, of Americans' hard-earned tax dollars. How much worse could I do?

Of course, my first order of business was to find a suitable place to keep the check until my local liquor store opened. A check for $396 billion or so isn't something a person sticks in a book or places inside a desk drawer. No. A check like that should be invested. But if so, where? How much interest can I accrue? Does some portion of it go into a mutual fund or what? The interest alone on a simple savings account might keep the schools in Oregon open for several more weeks or it might fund the college education of thousands of deserving students. At the very least, it could finance a new precision bomb.

After careful consideration, and after the liquor store owner refused to cash my check in spite of the fact that I have ample identification, I decided to go to the Federal Reserve Bank of New York and purchase treasury bills. I felt this was a wise course of action because I would be reinvesting the United States' own money in the United States (does the Pentagon do that?), and I would be able to get the interest up front.

Once I had the interest in hand, I contacted all the leading war ministers of China, France, Iran, Japan, Palestine, Russia, and others and--for a paltry $4 billion a year, with a digital video disk (DVD) player tossed in--each government readily signed an agreement not to wage war for a period of five years. This seemed like a good deal to me and to them.

Since there was still money left over, I next decided to place a small wager on a horse named Dainty Clout, a gelding that was to run in the second race at Santa Anita Park in California. I put $4.8 million on the horse to place, and $10 on the horse to show (I didn't wish to be too extravagant with the United States' resources). Dainty Clout won by three lengths and paid $20.40, $9.40, and $5.60. Thus, I managed to increase my surplus funds by nearly $40 million. This money has been earmarked to build gambling casinos throughout North Korea, because people who gamble all day are less likely to go to war.

However, I must confess that upon writing this--in spite of my success in achieving world peace and increasing the Pentagon's operating budget--there appears to be a few million dollars not completely accounted for. What I think happened is the following. Yesterday morning my wife appeared in our kitchen to request grocery money. I asked: "How much do you need?"

"Oh, let's see--we need a loaf of whole wheat bread, so $700,000 should do."

"Seven hundred thousand dollars for a loaf of bread?"

"Well, the baker has heard you are managing our defense budget, and so his prices have gone up a bit."

"Let's go to another bakery."

"We can't do that. Don't you remember you signed an exclusive contract with him last night? Don't worry, dear. I'm sure he'll toss in a few hard rolls and a hammer."

"Very well. Anything else?"

"Our twin sons need some sneakers.

"A pair of sneakers will cost about $3 million per pair."

"No problem."

Getting into the spirit of things, I wrote her a check for $6.7 million. I then ordered a new wastepaper basket (or as the generals refer to it, a circular file system) for $2,098,987. I know that sounds extravagant but I assure all taxpayers that it is the top of the line and will last at least a year. Besides, in this case particularly, it's only a drop in the bucket. Moreover, I hear there are some Van Gogh paintings coming up for auction soon. If I use the Pentagon's budget to buy them for investment purposes, the United States should be in good fiscal shape by the time World War III rolls around.

As you can see, with a bit of creative accounting I can now straighten out any small discrepancies that might appear on the books. Meanwhile, I want to let my fellow citizens know that the Pentagon's check is in safe hands and that I am open to suggestions. In writing to me, however, please keep in mind that $400 billion or so doesn't go quite as far as it used to.