My six-year-old "son," whom I've yet to name, tossed and turned in the dresser drawer I'd converted into a bed. "What's wrong boy-I-refuse-to-acknowledge-as-mine-without-a-proper-paternity-test?" "Oh, nothing daddy," he said precociously, "just having trouble sleeping." "Well then," I said warmly, "why don't I read you a bedtime story?" My almost-son's eyes widened and a giant grin spread across his face. "That sounds great, daddy! What story?" "It's a new one," I told him, "just picked it up today."
"Hold on," the little boy interrupted. "Just so I'm clear, when you say his 'mean parents wouldn't allow him,' you're talking about international law, right? Like, it's international law that forbids
"Waterboarding, daddy? Is that like boogie-boarding, or surfing?" "Hahaha. My goodness, that's rich, what a precocious little notion. But no. Waterboarding is in no way like boogie-boarding, surfboarding or anything else you have ever or will ever experience in your sheltered, pampered life."
"So," the boy said, "they went to some outside consultants to decipher the anti-torture laws?" "Not consultants," I corrected, "a two headed monster." "Right... two-headed monster. But what if the two-headed monster was wrong in its interpretation? Or worse, deliberately wrong? Like corrupt, what if the two-headed monster was corrupt?" "Oh ho ho, you precocious little so-and-so, let's read on and find out!"
"Okay," said the boy, "this... I already have a problem with this."
"Nope," the boy said, "no, no, no. Uh uh. Nope." "Calm down, you precocious thing," I said. "It's just a fairy tale."
"Slow down for a second, daddy, this is... there's a lot, here. So, no one would be held accountable?" "According to Uncle Dicky's plan." "How would Uncle Dicky know to do that in advance? How would Uncle Dicky know to make a list with so much built-in wiggle room? And how would he know that Bybee Bradbury would see things his way? It all seems so convoluted. It just requires such tremendous foresight." Look at that vocabulary. Six-years-old. No way this kid's mine. "Well, son, in the way that a talented engineer can look at a broken computer and know exactly what to do to make it work, or in the way that Michelangelo can look at a slab of marble and in it see the magnificent Statue of David, Uncle Dicky can look at a terrorist, some crooked lawyers and a poorly-written international law regarding torture and see in it an airtight, effective plan for covering the collective ass of his administration." The boy scratched his head. "Did...Â did you just compare Dick Cheney to
"The end," I said, shutting the book. "Hold on, did it work? The waterboarding, I mean, was it worth it? What kind of information did we get out of Zubayah?" I mussed the boy's hair and laughed heartily. "Well someone's about to OD on precociousness, am I right? But, no, we don't know if it was worth it. The investigation as to whether or not we learned anything from Zubayah, as well as the usefulness of said knowledge, is ongoing. Some think the interrogation yielded some useful info that was integral in preventing several potentially dangerous terrorist attacks, but some high-ranking members of the intelligence community genuinely believe that Zubayah was certifiably insane and his involvement in al-Qaida didn't extend beyond making bombs and organizing transportation, and therefore couldn't possibly have any useful information to begin with." "
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.