To the editor:
There once was a rogue named John Bullard who captained a U-boat named Special Interest.
He was commissioned by a band of scurvy dogs in Washington, D.C., to roam the Atlantic seaboard to take down all fishing vessels hailing from a historic port named Gloucester.
Bullard loved to shout, “Up periscope” to his crew of seasick bureaucrats with NOAA patches on their uniforms and yellow streaks down their backs. There, in the crosshairs, lay a seasoned seaworthy ship with Gloucestermen hard at work, struggling against wind and waves to feed their families and other folk’s families.
“Torpedoes ready,” John barked, positioning his government-issued submarine, hidden under a sea of lies he so professionally navigated.
“Fire Obama 1!” came the command. “1 away.” Pausing to sneakily smile, “Fire Obama 2!” “2 away.”
Eyes fixed like a mangy coyote set to pounce on an unsuspecting rabbit, Bullard traced the foamy white trail the torpedoes carved destined to splinter the hull of his nautical quarry. JB seemed happy to send the Gloucester fishermen to their financial doom — and anxious to return to port for his favorite scallop and Pacific cod dinner.
“Thar she blows!” the sportcoated pirate bellowed as both torpedoes found their mark.
Bullard reached for his Department of Commerce souvenir knife to cut notch 201 in the gray metal paint of the periscope as another Gloucester vessel sank beneath the political waves.
“Survivors sir?” a crewmate queried. “Standing order. Report no survivors,” John replied.
“Damn fools questioned our statistics,” he added. “Let them count cod in the depths of the Atlantic!”