(for Icarus)

Have you ever heard that the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus is “The Greatest Show On Earth”? Well, where there is a ‘greatest’ circus show, there has to be a ‘worst’ circus show. I worked at the worst circus show on Earth for sixteen years. That would be the Department of Energy’s (DOE) Test Site. Not only does it hold the title of Worst Show on Earth, it boasts the additional certification as the Most Crooked Show on Earth, since the founding of Reverend Son Myong Moon’s Unification church. Their Mothers must certainly be proud, yes. The Test Site holds the national record for squandering the most tax dollars per capita, of all government entities in existence.

It holds by far the most ‘fixed carnival features’ from the east to left coast. Step right up and try your luck. Win a prize. Impress your girl… and bring plenty of money, cuz you’re going to play the shovel-the-cash-into-the black-hole game over, and over, and over. Ride the roller coaster whose cars will derail at the first hill crest. Enter the fun house, the house of mirrors, make the bell ring with the giant wooden mallet. Win a stuffed panda for your biotch girlfriend. It’s all crooked. It’s all fixed. It’s all a sham to suck tax revenue out of the heart of America, and spit back a mediocre-sized lump of carbon.

I can’t count the number of times a customer told me, with regard to the urgency of his project: “Money is no object.” Well, I always chuckled and insisted: “Welcome to the DOE Test Site; I think you better sit down.” From there it was always a torrent of tumult, a maelstrom of misery, a labyrinth of lies, and a sucking ass-wound of money waste. Waste, waste, waste: waste not; want not. Haste makes waste. Test Site wastes money. Advantage: Test Site! Taxpayers: zero–FAIL!!

In my harrowing hate for the politics and management of the Test Site, I distanced myself from the grind, moving more and more forward away from the giant suck, into the depths of the land parcels where few dared to venture. Escape, is what it was. I lived it. I loved it. I recount a chunk of it to you now:

I flew along the pavement at *over* 90 miles per hour in the 55 MPH speed limit, far in a remote area of the already remote DOE Test Site. It was in these remote areas where I had assembled my powerful empire of generic support corollary for any and all measure of research and development work, if for nothing more than eventuality.

Everything I massed exuded sterility, so as to potentially fit any requirement for some bizarre R&D project, from wherever and why ever it may come. Out there, most folks who work at the Test Site are just plain scared to go: it’s too far, too hot, too remote, too… scary! Heat trumps all the reasons; once out there, well it just didn’t look that hot in the pictures.

That’s right, I ruled that far-off land, where other white men feared to fool. I did 90 in the 55 MPH speed limit, because there wasn’t anybody out there except me, my support infrastructure, God, and God’s creatures. I saw them all the time: wild horses, donkeys, coyotes, eagles, hawks, owls, bobcats, mountain lions, antelope… the list goes on. Me, I just fancied being in a truck doing 90 MPH; in a place that big, you just couldn’t get any work done doing 55–feel me dawg?