Beating Around the Bush (16 page)

Ethel seemed disturbed. “Do you think after the breakup they will still be good friends?”

“It’s hard to remain friends with someone after living in a trunk together for so long. You know too much about each other.”

“They never did get married?”

“No,” I said, “but rumor has it that one night they got plastered in Las Vegas, got married and had it annulled the next day. It was kept secret because Mattel didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

“Thousands of little girls bought Barbie wedding gowns but never used them,” Ethel said.

“People bought a lot of things that their daughters never used. How about when she pretended she was an astronaut?”

“Well, it is a whole new ball game,” Ethel said.

“You can say that again. Barbie is going to use her maiden name.”

OKAY, I AM GOING TO SAY IT one more time. I did not kill Jesus Christ. I might not have even mentioned it except that Mel
Gibson’s film,
The Passion of the Christ
, has become a happening. The picture deals with the last twelve hours of Jesus’ life and is based on the Gospels.

According to the Gospels, the Jewish priests were responsible for his death, even though Christ was Jewish.

Everyone is entitled to interpret the Bible as he sees it—and even make a movie of it—but unfortunately
The Passion
has once again stirred up the old prejudices on the subject.

For centuries the word was out that the Jews had killed Jesus because they wouldn’t accept him as the Son of God. All sorts of attacks have been made on them through the ages because of this. Ever since I was a boy I have had to defend the fact that I did not have anything to do with it. In the schoolyard Italian kids, Irish kids, and choirboys from Our Lady of Mercy School accused me of the crime.

Most of them were bigger than I was. The daily conversation went like this.

“Who killed Christ?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. You killed Christ.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. If you don’t admit you did we will break your nose.”

“Okay, I killed Christ. Now will you get off me and let me go home?”

Sometimes the confession was enough. Other times I got a bloody nose—if I was lucky.

It got no better as I grew up. I have to admit that everyone believed I was at the Crucifixion, particularly at Christmas and Easter. Those are the times when the churchgoers mentioned it and I had to defend myself against the charges.

I was always on guard because at any time someone could call me a Christ-killer.

I didn’t realize how virulent the subject was until I grew up. Everywhere I went people eventually let their real feelings out.

At a dinner party the other evening someone said, “Why haven’t the Jews accepted our Lord as their savior?”

I replied, “I really don’t know. I can’t think of a people who have suffered so much because of not accepting Him as the Messiah.”

“I am going to ask you once again. Did you kill Christ?”

“I have been saying it all my life. No! I wasn’t even there.”

“Well, if you didn’t who did?”

“It could have been anybody. Look, I thought Jesus was a great man—a man who preached love and forgiveness. His teachings have been passed down through the generations. But people have used his crucifixion as an excuse to kill other people. That isn’t what Christ had in mind.”

“Do you think Mel Gibson should have made his movie?”

“Why not? As long as people don’t walk away from it saying I killed Christ.”

“They won’t. We live in modern times and we know that the Passion took place long, long ago.”

“I hope you are right.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can join our country club.”

“It’s no big deal because I don’t play golf.”

OFF SHORE JOBS—we hear it more and more. It means jobs are leaving this country because labor is so much cheaper overseas
than it is in the United States. Written by a Chinese person, this column would cost only 50 cents. It scares the heck out of me.

There are now companies specializing in outsourcing American jobs.

“Marvelous Jobs Overseas Incorporated. How can I help you?”

“This is the Great American Sweatshirt Company. We want to print two million, five hundred shirts with President Bush’s picture on the front and ‘God Bless America’ on the back. Where can I have them done?”

“Singapore makes lovely ‘God Bless America’ sweatshirts. You can get them for 25¢.”

“We need them before the conventions.”

“We’ll put a rush order on them. What else?”

“The Democrats want the American flag on the back and a picture of Kerry serving in Viet Nam.”

“Will do.”

“Hello. This is the Patriot Sneaker Company. You know, the one who has had its factory in Rhode Island for 100 years. We decided to close it up when we found out we could get the shoes made overseas for half the price and no health insurance costs or Christmas turkeys.”

“Thailand makes nifty sneakers. Most of the good American footwear is made in Bangkok. Are the people in Rhode Island going to make a stink?”

“No. They understand it’s business and not something personal.”

“This is the University Testing Institute. We want to have our student tests marked overseas. Would you recommend a country where we could send our multiple choice questions for scoring?”

“Burma is famous for out-sourcing college exams. Their people can do it for 13¢ per hour. They have a contract to handle all the U.S. Social Security paperwork. We can also recommend Bangladesh who does all the tests for Harvard.”

“This is the Home of the Brave Canteen Company. We are bidding to supply all the canteens for the U.S. Army for four billion dollars. The rules are that only American companies can bid on the contract. We are looking for a subcontractor in a foreign country that could actually manufacture the canteens.”

“This may surprise you, but Ho Chi Minh City has one of the best canteen makers in the world. The company was started by a consortium of Viet Cong businessmen. After the canteens are made they are shipped to Hong Kong where workers stamp on them, ‘Made in America.’ Then they are shipped to Iraq.”

“How about American taxes?”

“You don’t have to pay any if you set up a tax shelter in Panama.”

“Thank you. We’ll call you back if we get the contract.”

“This is the Betsy Ross Girl Scout Chocolate Cookie Company. We recently closed our chocolate cookie factory in the United States and opened a bakery in Nigeria, which saved us five million dollars a month.

“The bad news is Congress is holding hearings on American jobs fleeing overseas. We are being called to testify. What should we say?”

“Take the Fifth and tell them that anything you say about jobs abroad will incriminate you.”

“Good idea.”

“As part of our service we supply a damage control team who will issue press releases saying that unemployment is part of the American Dream.”

UP UNTIL RECENTLY, Americans knew little about Canada except that the people there play hockey and occasionally blow out the lights in the northeast part of the United States.

One of the reasons there was no interest is that Canada rarely does anything to provoke us. The country was never listed by Bush in the Axis of Evil or as an enemy, like the United Nations (even though half of Canada speaks French.)

At best no one ever took Canada seriously until recently, when Canada went into the prescription drug business. It was not planned, but an accident.

A senior citizen went to Canada to visit a cousin on the tundra and take photos of moose. As he crossed the border he remembered he had forgotten his antidepressant Zoloft. A snappy Mountie on a horse directed him to a pharmacy in Winnipeg. The senior told the druggist, “I don’t have a prescription,” and the druggist said, “You don’t need one. We are not a third-rate Central American country.”

After the druggist gave him the drugs he said, “That will be half the price of what you pay for it in the United States.”

“How can the drug companies sell the same drugs in Canada for half the price?”

“They don’t have to pay for advertising or marketing. Also, drug companies charge whatever the market will bear. In China they are even cheaper than here. What has the senior citizens really screwed is that in your country under the Medicare rules, you still have to pay double what you do up here.”

“Why?”

“Your president lied to you about what they cost and the drug lobbyists lied to him.”

When the senior citizen got back home he told all his friends how cheap drugs were in Canada. They immediately started to go there. Even with the high cost of gas the drugs were still cheaper than in the United States.

American citizens with high blood pressure, arthritis and a need for antibiotics traveled to Canada. They started collecting trading cards of Canadian hockey stars. It was the golden age of Canadian-American relations.

Then Canada came up with a stellar idea. Instead of Americans going up there to buy their meds, they can now buy them on the Web—even Viagra. Any prescription drug advertised on the evening news and
American Idol
can be purchased north of the border with one click of your mouse.

A Canadian friend of mine, Norman Richler, said, “You need us more than we need you.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” I said. “If the American drug companies lowered their prices no one would buy anything except Kleenex from Canada.”

Norman said, “Well, it would be a miracle. Drug companies
don’t lower prices, they raise them. We also win the price war on generic drugs. It if wasn’t for Canada, many of your people couldn’t afford to take Prozac.”

“Right, but instead of needling me you should thank us for what we are doing for your economy.”