Chapter Twelve: Angry Gods The Spaniards now devoted themselves to building Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz. On a plain half a league from Quiahuitztlan (qwee-ah-weets-tlan), a fort was erected with high wooden walls and watchtowers, followed by a church, market place, arsenals, barracks, and officers’ quarters. Cortez himself was the first to work, digging trenches and hauling foundation stones. Cajoling his officers to join him, they all set to work, as did all the soldiers at whatever task they could do ? making bricks, nails, and lumber, working the lime kilns ? while over a thousand Totonacs labored with them. Within less than three weeks it was habitable enough for the colony to be formally founded (1). A few days after "Villa Rica" had been established, a delegation of Mesheeka nobles arrived, led by a military commander named Motelchiuh (mo-tell’-chee-you), and including two of Montezuma’s nephews. Motelchiuh grandly presented Cortez with the gilded helmet requested by Tendile at the sand encampment of San Juan de Ulua. It was now filled with gold dust ? as Cortez had requested.

OK, now that I’ve gotten the outrageousness of the Miers nomination off my chest, let me tell you a story about a wonderful guy named Howard Papush. In 1980, Howard had one of the all-time coolest jobs in Hollywood. As the “talent coordinator” for the Tonight Show, Howard was a primary gatekeeper deciding who got to be a guest and sit in that chair talking to Johnny Carson on national television. Let me tell you how Howard reminds me of Harriet Miers.

Shortly after Bernal resumed his post as look-out over the sandy dunes of the camp, he spotted five native men walking on the beach. With smiles and bows they approached, and their gestures made it clear they wanted to be taken into the camp. Bernal sent a messenger to bring Do񡠍arina and Aguilar to the tent of Captain Cortez, while Bernal took the five men to the Captain himself. Bernal had never seen such men. While they cut their hair and wore their loincloths differently than the Mesheeka, it was their lip plugs that distinguished them. They all had a large hole in their lower lips, filled with heavy stone disks of turquoise or covered with thin sheets of gold ? so heavy that they pulled the lip down over the chin exposing the teeth and lower gums. Their ears lobes were also pierced with large holes also filled with turquoise or gold-covered stone disks ? but it was the hideous lip plugs that repelled Bernal. "Lope Luzio, Lope Luzio!" they cried out as they bowed deeply to Cortez while rubbing dirt on their foreheads as a sign of supplication and respect.

Harriet Miers tears it for me with George Bush. It’s the last straw. John Roberts was no straw at all. Clearly a conservative constitutionalist, overwhelmingly brilliant and qualified, he was an inspired choice. Objections to him by certain conservatives were paranoid. But we are going from the sublime to the ridiculous with Miss Miers. This ludicrous nomination is the bottom of Bush’s barrel. It is as ludicrous for Bush to claim that she is more qualified to be a Supreme Court Justice than J. Harvie Wilkinson, Janice Rogers Brown, or any of a score of distinguished conservative candidates, as it is unbelievable for him to claim that he “knows her heart” but has never discussed abortion with her. Yet there is good to come of it: in the form of a conservative Congressional rebellion. The good that is coming out of Bush’s inept Katrina performance is an end to profligate spending, and deep (hopefully real deep) cuts in both discretionary and mandated programs.In his press conference today (the 4th), Bush predicted Miers will do well in her Senate hearings. She may never get to them. The outcry from Republicans on Capitol Hill may get so loud so quick that Bush may be forced to withdraw her nomination. That will provide the chance to rebuild the Bush Presidency.

“Jack, what's wrong with W? It seems he has a serious deficit of energy and strength. Maybe it's just me, but he doesn't seem right, and hasn't for some months. I’m worried.”This inquiry by TTPer Paul Rosenberg is typical of many I’ve been receiving. It’s obvious to Paul and lots of others that the Bush Presidency is running out of steam. The deficit in question is not, however, physical - as anyone who tries to keep up with W on a mountain bike at the Crawford Ranch can attest - it’s mental.Which means neurochemical.

Jean Buridan (1300-1358) was a 14th century medieval French philosopher famous for his paradox known as Buridan’s Ass. If a perfectly rational ass or donkey were placed exactly equidistant between two bales of hay exactly the same, there would be no reason to choose one over the other - and given no reason to choose, the ass would be unable to do so and starve to death.Buridan meant for his thought experiment to demonstrate the irrational barrenness of pure reason and the superiority of emotion to rationality. How medieval.Yet it is just the position of Buridan’s Ass that the German electorate has placed itself in, exactly equidistant between the free market solutions required for their economic survival and the government subsidies to which they have become addicted.

Two years ago, in Afghan Poppies: What The Bush White House Should Really Be Afraid Of, I told you about CIA collusion and incompetence regarding opium production in Afghanistan. That was in 2003. Since then, Afghanistan’s poppy crop has exploded. According to Robert Charles, in his capacity as chief counternarcotics official at the State Department, the poppy crop went from 152,000 acres in 2003 to 515,000 acres in 2004 - producing $7 billion in opium and heroin money. This money is financing Al Qaeda, Abu Musab al Zarqawi in Iraq, and international Moslem terrorism - yet the CIA is too impossibly incompetent to stop it, and the Pentagon simply refuses to.

Malinali and Bernal returned to the camp to find all the Spaniards assembled in front of Cortez’s tent, talking loudly and arguing amongst themselves. In response to Malinali’s questioning glance, Bernal smiled. “Ah, the Captain’s trap is being sprung.”Taking her aside, he explained. “Remember that I told you my cousin, Don Diego Velasquez, was governor of Cuba? The truth is that he is a greedy fat man who has many friends and many enemies - and our soldiers here are made up of both. Those who are friends of Velasquez want to return to their haciendas in Cuba. They think that Velasquez will share most of the gold Montezuma has given us with them. The enemies of Velasquez want to stay and found a colony with lands and haciendas of their own. They will get nothing from Velasquez if they return to Cuba.”“And which side is Captain Cortez on?” Malinali wanted to know.Bernal laughed long and hard. “Ah, Doña Marina, the stories of Cortez and Don Diego are already legendary in Cuba! I must tell them to you someday, then you will laugh as well. No, Cortez made such a fool of Don Diego that he has no thought of returning to Cuba. That is why a few days ago he asked for my help, which I was happy to give.

Chapter Nine: Malinali’s Prayer When Malinali finished her story, Cortez spoke to her directly. She had learned enough Spanish to mostly understand him. “Doña Marina, you know now that I am a man, and not this Mesheeka god, yes?” She nodded. “Yet the Mesheeka king does not think I am a man just like him - he believes instead that I could actually be one of his gods?” She nodded again. Cortez crossed himself. He looked at Aguilar. “These Mesheeka are stranger and more evil than I thought possible, Jeronimo. Their religion is the worship of Satan himself, the gods they worship are devils - except for one god, this Quetzacoatl, who preaches good not evil. And it is him they are afraid of, it is him they have somehow confused with me. What is it they are afraid of?” Aguilar shrugged. Cortez’s dark eyes shifted to Malinali.

This week, the Catholic World News leaked word of an “Instruction” to be issued by the Vatican next month banning the admission of homosexuals to Catholic seminaries. This will come as no surprise to you, as you learned in To The Point last April this was coming in The De-Homosexualization of the Catholic Church . Approved by Pope Benedict XVI three weeks ago, the Instruction argues that: “homosexual men should not be admitted to seminaries even if they are celibate, because their condition suggests a serious personality disorder which detracts from their ability to serve” the Church.

It was certainly no coincidence that on the 4th anniversary of 9/11 last Sunday, front page headlines appeared in the nation’s newspapers entitled Pentagon Revises Nuclear Strike Plan . It was a public shot across the Jihadi Terrorists’ bow, meant to make them and folks in Mecca nervous. You know why, since you read Mad in Mecca in To The Point back in October, 2004, and George Bush and the Sword of Damocles: Why There Hasn’t Been Another 9/11 last January. It’s the clearest sign yet that Mecca is being held as a nuclear hostage.

Now that Bush has utterly outfoxed the Dems on his first Supreme Court nomination - John Roberts is a done deal for Chief Justice - everyone inside the Beltway is handicapping his next choice. He has confided in no one, including me. Maybe Laura knows, but she’s only given hints. Those hints and everything else points to a feminine direction. The next nominee, replacing Sandra Day O’Connor, almost has to be a woman.It could be Priscilla Owen, it could be Edith Jones, but I am crossing my fingers for Janice Rogers Brown.

Chapter Eight: MalincheAguilar found Malinali cowering in the lee of large sand dune. Perspiration was pouring off her, her chest was heaving with rapid breaths, and her eyes were glazed with panic and terror. “Doña Marina!” he cried, “What is wrong?!” He got a wet cloth and patted her brow. Her eyes slowly focused on him. Finally, she stammered “I… must talk… to Captain Cortez…”Aguilar was startled. Nonetheless, he said he would relay her request. A few moments later he returned and beckoned, bringing her to the Captain’s tent. Cortez was sitting in his chair and looked up at her. Malinali stood still, legs quivering, desperately trying to subdue her breathing and her emotions. Cortez quickly saw the girl was abjectly terrified. He motioned for Aguilar to bring her a drink of water.“Doña Marina,” said Aguilar, “What is it that you wish to speak of to the Captain?”Malinali closed her eyes to listen to her father’s voice. “Ixkakuk!” she heard her father say, “a true queen is always in command of her feelings and fears!” As she opened her eyes, Cortez saw her transformed into a different person. Instead of a shaking slave girl scared out of her wits, suddenly standing before him was a regally erect woman of extraordinary beauty, poise, and calm. A woman who looked directly into his eyes as she said to Aguilar:“I must ask Captain Cortez if he is a man or a god.”

With apologies to John Fogerty and Credence Clearwater Revival: I see the bad Palestinian moon arising. I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightning. I see bad Gaza times today. Don't go around in Gaza tonight, Well, it's bound to take your life, There's a bad Palestinian moon on the rise.

With people dying from infected water in New Orleans, which won’t be drained for weeks, it is critically important to disinfect the flood water as quickly and efficiently as possible.The Army Corps of Engineers has many years of institutional experience at safely chlorinating sewer water. They can scale up that experience for the “Sewer City” that New Orleans has become.Chlorine is a standard treatment for disinfecting sewage. It would take a few railroad tank cars of liquid chlorine for the job.

What’s the difference between a disaster and an election in New Orleans?The buses run during an election.Why isn’t New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin worried about all the dead people being found in Katrina’s aftermath?Because they’ll keep right on voting anyway.Tasteless? Here’s what really tasteless: Cleaning up New Orleans physically without cleaning it up politically. Not draining New Orleans’ political cesspool of organized crime and corruption. Not evacuating Mayor Ray Nagin and every city official and police officer on the take before they get their greasy hands on all those billions of taxpayer dollars to rebuild the place.

Chapter Seven: QUETZACOATLDon Alonso was unlike any of her previous masters. True she had never been abused or raped either by her Xicalanca captors or the rulers of Pontochan. But Don Alonso exhibited a courtesy to her, treated her with a dignity, that the others had not. Was it because he recognized her royal birth, or did he and the other Spaniards treat women differently in general?To her Pontochan masters, she didn’t really exist in a certain way. She had been invisible to them - an invisibility Malinali strove consciously to maintain. She did all she could to hide her beauty, for example. She didn’t walk straight, tall, and proudly - she compressed herself and slunk around the palace doing her chores.She decided to abandon this shrunken invisibility with the Spaniards. She no longer wore her cloak over her head. Her bountiful long black hair was now free to glisten in the sun. She carried herself as her father taught, tall and proud, head high. She was never insolent and obediently did as she was asked without resentment. She could do this because Don Alonso always made requests of her, not dismissive demands. He treated her as an individual person, not an invisible non-entity.Now being so clearly visible, Don Alonso could not help noticing Malinali’s beauty.

“My third set of masters,” Malinali thought to herself. These people, these “Spaniards” were different from any others she had known or even imagined. They seemed to her to almost be not of this earth. Perhaps they were from the stars, she thought.

“Are you afraid of them, Little Miss Dry Grass?” she asked herself, summoning her courage, her sense of humor, and the memory of her father all at once. Yes, a part of her was afraid, of course. Who wouldn’t be? Then she heard her father’s counsel: “What reason do you have to be afraid? Have these strangers shown themselves to be cruel and unmerciful, or kind and forgiving? They are impossibly fierce in battle, yet impossibly generous in victory. Use your intelligence, learn how to gain the respect of these Spaniards. Never forget, Malinali, you are a still a Queen! Never show any fear!”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the words of the stranger who spoke Mayan. He addressed them all assembled on the floor of this great floating home.

Out of the mouths of babes and crackpots� There's no doubt Pat Robertson has a penchant for saying manically crackpot things like warning the city of Orlando, Florida in 1998 that if it allowed a Gay Pride parade, God would punish the city by sending “earthquakes, tornadoes, and possibly a meteor.” The press has had a field day this week reciting past wacky Patisms in an attempt to deride his call for the assassination of Venezuela’s Marxist dictator Hugo Chavez. And yes, the point is well made that Christian ministers are not the sort of folks who should advocate such things. But what Pat said is nonetheless true. Of course, we or somebody, anybody, should knock off Chavez. Doing so would be one of the greatest contributions to peace and freedom in the world today.

The leader of the strangers stood underneath the big ceiba tree he had slashed with his sword. He addressed the sub-chiefs assembled in front of him through the stranger who spoke Maya.“I come to you from the greatest king in the world, His Majesty Don Carlos of Spain. The mighty country of Spain lies on the other side of the Great Ocean, and we have crossed it to trade peacefully with you and to instruct you in the religion of the One True God.“His Majesty Dos Carlos commands us to come in peace, yet you attacked us and tried to kill us for no reason. We do not understand why you attacked us, but you must understand that if you try to attack us again we will kill you. You saw yesterday the power of our lightning-bearers. The lightning-bearers are still angry with you, and it is hard for us to control the death-fire they carry in their bellies…”Without warning, one of the huge metal tubes lined up on the edge of the square went off with an enormous explosion and belch of fire. No one was hurt, but just the same, Malinali fell to the ground terrified like all the sub-chiefs, who proceeded to call out to the strangers’ leader asking his forgiveness for their aggression and disobedience.

You saw the above-the-fold front page headlines, saw the prime time television news stories late last week about Adam Kidan being arrested by federal agents for wire fraud, right? What’s that? You never heard of Adam Kidan? Of course you haven’t because he’s a nobody. That’s why the feds politely called his lawyer and asked he show up at their offices in Florida at a convenient time for him. The fellow you read about on the front page and saw getting busted on national TV was Kidan’s business partner - someone the Washington Post and the New York Times have spent years demonizing, the infamous Jack Abramoff.

And so Malinali trudged through the forest and swamps to Pontochan, where Forearms sold her to the King and she moved into the palace - living in a palace again, but now as a slave and not a princess.Malinali became very appreciative of Ciuacuatl’s lessons, for with her skills at sewing, cooking, and medicine, she was assigned to the household staff and not put out into the maize or cacao fields for manual drudgery.Five winters passed. She became fluent in Maya, and learned how to do her work well and quietly, so as to be noticed as little as possible. She listened attentively, however, and began hearing talk of mysterious strangers who lived in gigantic war canoes. No one knew where they came from. Their skin was light and they had hair on their faces. Some wore metal on their bodies. Their canoes had carried them across the salt water from the south. They stopped at the mouth of the Pontochan River and talked to a group of Mayas but no one could understand what they were saying. They continued across the water to the north and were never seen again.

One of the most frequently asked questions we get at To The Point is: Where’s Osama? Why haven’t we found and killed him?We’ve gotten another flurry because of the recent claims that “mercs” or mercenaries, “professional soldiers for paramilitary corporations that attend the annual Soldier of Fortune convention in Las Vegas” know where he is - a hidden valley called Dir in northwest Pakistan.I’ve known Col. Bob Brown, the publisher of Soldier of Fortune magazine for almost 30 years. We almost got ourselves blown up together in Afghanistan with the Mujahaddin back in the 1980s. I told Bob about this claim and he laughed his head off.“The last Soldier of Fortune convention we had was back in 2000,” he told me. “You should know, Wheeler, you were our keynote speaker! No one in the world is in touch with “mercs” more than me. They would have one simple word for these Elvis sightings of Osama: (expletive). The guy making this claim, Paul Williams, is an (expletive).” Bob doesn’t mince words.The claim that OBL has been in Dir “since he escaped from Tora Bora in December 2001” is laughable. Williams has, of course, never been remotely close to the place. I’ve been all over the area, from Peshawar through Dir to Chitral in the Hindu Kush, and know it would be easy to get him if he’s there. He’s not in Dir.Osama is in....

Chapter Three: SLAVE After Teteotcingo’s funeral, Queen Cimatl asked to see her daughter. “Malinali, there is something you must know,” the Queen said. “A kingdom requires a king - and now Paynala no longer has one. So I have decided to marry the brother of my sister’s husband, Cohuixin. I must, you realize, always put the interests of Paynala and its people first.” Malinali was so stunned she lost her composure and blurted, “The Lizard-Man? You are going to marry the Lizard-Man!? (Cohuixin meant “lizard” - obviously Malinali was not very fond of him.) Mother - how can you insult our people, insult me - insult yourself! - and insult the memory of King Teteotcingo this way?” Queen Cimatl insouciantly responded. “It will soon be King Cohuixin - and he will be your king, and your father. The decision is done.” Malinali exploded. “You are only fooling yourself, Mother, if you think I will ever regard the Lizard-Man as my King - much less my Father!” Suddenly, though, the young Princess saw the image of her father in her mind, and thought, “My father would not lose his temper in such a situation - calm down and think clearly, Malinali - right now!”

Up until recently, if you heard of the African country of Niger, you’d think of Yellowcake Joe Wilson and his CIA bimbo wife Valerie Plame with their phony scandal trying to get Karl Rove. By now, however, you may have heard that Niger faces famine after a prolonged drought and a locust plague of biblical proportions. In January 2003, I led a Trans-Sahara expedition across the entire length of Niger. I found it to be one of our world’s special places, of achingly lonely beauty, of fascinating and friendly peoples, and mysterious lost cities, hidden oases, and camel salt caravans.