March 10th, 2009
The Cindy Sheehan Domestic Terrorist Warfare Facility, 6 AM
"Okay sunshine, time to get up," a black-clad guard screamed through the small opening in the thick cell door. "I hope you enjoyed your day of rest yesterday. Gotta let that hand of yours heal up a bit before the fun starts, you know. But the good news is, you get to spend all day with me, now won’t that be fun?"
"What? What time is it?" Johnnie asked, again realizing where he was.
"It’s torture time!" the guard responded. "I just love it when I get to deprive someone of sleep. It always starts my day off right! All part of today’s agenda you know. Now stand up, turn around, hands behind your back."
Johnnie obediently obeyed, suddenly realizing what lay ahead of him and beginning to feel sick.
The burly guard unlocked and opened the door, entered and again zipped the cuffs around Johnnie’s wrists.
"Where’re we going?" Johnnie half demanded, already knowing.
"We’re just going for a little walk, you know, get some fresh air, maybe see some sights," the guard replied, an evil smile cutting across his face.
"You aren’t going to torture me, are you?" Johnnie hesitantly asked.
"Of course we are! We’ve already started, with sleep depravation…"
It's six AM, numb nuts. I got plenty of sleep last night, Johnnie thought.
"…that is, unless you want to tell us everything you know," the guard said, smiling sadistically.
Johnnie took a moment, debating whether it was really worth being tortured for something that now seemed so trivial. I mean, he thought, maybe having the Government run everything wouldn’t be so bad. At least I’d still be in one piece, as visions of the Inquisition and the rack shot through his head. No, he finally concluded, there’re too many people who fought and died for my freedom. No, I’ll face my destiny, he melodramatically concluded.
The smiling guard led Johnnie out from his cell and down the cool hall. Then they walked down three flights of stairs to the basement, Johnnie’s slippers shuffling against each of the cold concrete steps.
"What’re we doing down here?" Johnnie asked when they had reached the bottom.
"Oh, we torture everyone down here. See the sound can’t travel very far," the guard happily explained. "Man, you wouldn’t believe the screaming that goes on down here sometimes. It’s enough to get you right here," the guard said, pointing between his eyes.
"But I didn’t do anything?" Johnnie protested, being led into a small room and seeing a well-worn table with a rusting wash tub on the floor, at the far end.
"That’s okay! I wouldn’t worry about it. Hey, you ever been water boarded?"
"No!"
"Well, today’s your lucky day. Why I just knew it was going to be a good day!" the guard said in his sing-song style, removing the cuffs and forcing Johnnie to lie down on the table, face up.
As the guard began lifting the thick leather straps across Johnnie’s prone body and cinching them tight, hearing the leather stretch and complain, Chief Club walked in, also smiling.
"Good morning Bob," he said to the guard. "How are you today?"
"Just fine warden," Bob happily replied, "just fine," as he threaded a thick leather strap through one of the buckles.
"Good, glad to hear it. How’s the wife and kids?"
"Aw, Bob Jr.’s flunking algebra."
"Oh, sorry to hear that; thought about a tutor?"
"Yeah, Jackie’s looking into it," the guard nonchalantly replied, reaching for another of the leather straps.
"Hey!" Johnnie screamed, lifting his head, "what about me?"
"Oh yes, good morning Mr. Dough. I hope you enjoyed your day of rest and slept well," Chief Club cheerily said, "Big day ahead!"
Then walking over and looking down at Johnnie said, "Johnnie, have you reconsidered your position? Would you like to answer my questions now?"
"No, but I’ll take that ham and cheese sandwich!"
Chief Club and Bob immediately broke out laughing, Johnnie did too. Then Chief Club became serious.
"Okay, shall we get to it then? Bob, lower the head of the table forty-five degrees."
"Yes sir," Bob responded, and then began turning a handle beneath the table, lowering Johnnie’s head.
"So Johnnie, ever been water boarded?" Chief Club asked.
"No, and stop asking me that!" Johnnie answered, feeling his blood rush to his head, beginning to get dizzy.
"Well, you’re in for a real treat. Why did you know that this is how we broke the leader of the attacks on 9-11, Khalid Sheik Mohammed? We don’t like to publicize that too much, you know, politics."
"But I’m a US citizen!"
"Yes you are," Chief Club answered, also very musical. "Bob, please put the rag over Mr. Dough’s face and fill the water buckets," he said, turning towards Bob.
"Yes sir!" Bob answered, still smiling.
Bob walked over and placed a white rag on top of Johnnie’s face, completely covering it, as Johnnie’s rapid breathing began to suck in and blow the rag up, outlining his mouth.
"Okay Johnnie, one last time. Are you ready to answer my questions?" Chief Club asked, again.
Johnnie now heard water splashing into the metal buckets.
"Moe"
"What was that?"
"Moe!"
"Oh, you mean no! Sometimes it’s hard to understand what people are saying with that rag over their mouths. Bob, bring those water buckets over here."
"Yes sir!" Bob replied, carrying the first bucket over, splashing some of the water on the cold concrete floor.
"Okay, Mr. Dough, better hold your breath!"
Johnnie was now in complete terror. Sweat poured from his body, staining his orange jump suit. His breathing was more like a pant, in out, in out.
"Bob, pour the first bucket!"
Johnnie said a quick prayer, took a deep breath and prepared himself for the watery-onslaught.
Then it began. Johnnie heard the torrent of water splashing into the rusting wash tub, knowing that in an instant it would tumble over him, stealing his breath, suffocating him.
It didn’t.
"Whaf da vuk?" he said.
"You ready to talk now?" Chief Club asked.
"Buf yu didn’t pour da wa-ver on me!" Johnny said, his words muffled by the rag.
"Damn-it," Chief Club cried, the music now gone from his voice. "I knew this wouldn’t work; frig’in politicians! Take that damn rag off him Bob!"
"Yes sir," Bob immediately responded, disappointed, lifting the dry rag from Johnnie’s head.
"Hey, what the hell’s going on?" Johnnie screamed; looking up at Chief’s Club’s now frustrated face.
"Ah, damn-it, ever since the President started investigating the enhanced interrogation techniques of the previous administration, we’re not allowed to actually water board anyone. We can’t even use a faucet. Wouldn’t look good you know, hypocritically speaking," Chief Club said, looking down at the floor.
Johnnie burst out laughing, then Chief Club and Bob did too.
"Shit!" Johnnie finally said, regaining his composure. "You really had me going there; thought I was going to pee my pants!"
"Yeah, frig’in politicians ruined all our fun!" Bob said. "Damn shame too!"
"Well Johnnie, guess you’re not going to answer any questions, are you," Chief Club said.
"No, I guess I’m not," Johnnie replied, laughing again.
"Ah, it was worth a shot. Guess we’ll have to use the approved techniques," Chief Club said.
"Approved techniques?" Johnnie asked, beginning to get scared again.
"Yup, okay Bob, get Mr. Dough off that table and strap him in the chair."
"Yes sir!" Bob replied, quickly un-strapping Johnnie, tossing the now free leather straps across the table then guided him over to a chair, finally pushing him into it and strapping him down.
"Okay Bob, bring in the Bose Wave Machine."
"What, I’m going to listen to hours of blaring rock music now?" Johnnie asked.
"Yeah," Chief Club answered, "something like that," as Bob wheeled in the music machine and extra large speakers, stopping the contraption in front of Johnnie.
"Hey Bob, how about a little classical, Beethoven’s Ninth, if you please!" Johnnie laughed and said.
"Okay Johnnie, are you ready to answer my questions now?" Chief Club asked.
"Hell no!"
"Damn-it," Chief Club yelled again, "I knew these new torture techniques wouldn’t work. Damn waste of time, frig’in politicians!" Then calming down he turned to Bob saying, "Okay Bob, put his ear protectors on."
"Yes sir!" Bob dutifully answered, grabbing the large blue sound protection device.
"What?" Johnnie exclaimed. "What’s going on?"
"Oh, well we wouldn’t want you to lose your hearing," Chief Club said, "gotta follow the OSHA regulations, you know."
"Are you kidding me?"
"I wish I were, frig’in politicians," Chief Club stated. "Okay, we’re going to blast music until you crack and tell us everything you know. You’ll be getting a fifteen minute break every four hours and a thirty minute lunch break, unpaid of course."
"What? What do you mean by that?"
"Didn’t I mention it? You’re on the job!"
"What job?"
"It’s part of the President’s economic stimulus package, frig’in politicians!" Chief Club spat out.
"What’s my job title?"
"Quality Control Tester, and you get paid minimum wage too, gotta follow the Department of Labor’s work place rules you know, frig’in politicians! Shit, you even get benefits!"
"Why, I’ve never heard of anything so crazy in my life!" Johnnie exclaimed.
"Yeah, me too," Chief Club said. "See, this way the President can claim he’s creating jobs!" Then turning to Bob said, "Okay Bob, ready to begin the torture?"
"Yes sir!"
"Oh, and one more thing, Johnnie," Chief Club began, "after today’s session, we’d like to talk to you about joining the Shoehorn party, strictly off the record of course, since we’re supposed to torture that information from you; wouldn’t want that to get out, you understand."
"Ah, sure, I’d be happy too," Johnnie replied, as Bob slipped the ear protection over Johnnie’s head and then turned on the soothing sounds of the seventies soft rock band, Bread. Johnnie happily tapping his foot to Baby I’m a Want You.
***
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