The Slacker's Guide to U.S. History: The Bare Minimum on Discovering America, the Boston Tea Party, the California Gold Rush, and Lots of Other Stuff Dead White Guys Did (39 page)

Born without fanfare on April 23, 1968, Timothy McVeigh entered the world like all white males do, with considerable advantages over women and minorities. He parlayed these advantages into a relatively distinguished yet short military career in the U.S. Army from 1988 until 1991. Highlighting his service was his tour of duty during the Gulf War. During his days of basic training, Timothy met up with another white male who was born under the paparazzi radar, Terry Nichols. Nichols was an unsuccessful husband whose second marriage was to a mail-order bride seeking a green card. Despite Nichols' issues within his own household, he proved, unfortunately, to be a capable wingman in domestic terrorism.

The domestic terrorism tandem of Tim and Terry claimed that the government's handling of the Branch Davidian situation at Waco warranted a response. Hiding behind their radical beliefs in their version of God and the Second Amendment, the BDs stockpiled a large amount of weapons at their religious compound. After being tipped off by a UPS driver turned honorable and responsible crime stopper, Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms agents paid a visit to the organization's facility near Waco, Texas. With the welcome mat rolled up, a fifty-one day standoff ensued. The conflict ended when seventy-six followers of the Branch Davidians died inside the compound from a self-inflicted fire set by the weapon stockpilers themselves. For Tim and Terry, the government was to blame.

After months of planning and bomb building, Timothy rented a Ryder Truck in Junction City, Kansas, under the fictitious name of Robert D. Kling, smartly opting for the damage-waiver option on the vehicle. Over the next few days, McVeigh and Nichols loaded the truck up with 7,000 pounds of deadly explosives. As a frame of reference for what 7,000 pounds of explosives looks like, it is the equivalent of thirty-five Oprah Winfrey's, circa 2008.

On April 19, 1995, with Timothy in the driver's seat and Nichols electing not to ride shotgun, the American-born terrorist parked the explosive-filled truck in the underground parking lot of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. At 9:02 a.m., as Timothy calmly made his way to the getaway car parked a few blocks away, the rental truck exploded. The blast was so significant that the front of the building was completely blown away and the explosion itself was felt over fifty-five miles away. The damage was catastrophic and at the end of the day, 168 people were dead and more than 800 were injured.

Less than two hours after the deadly attack, Timothy was picked up by an Oklahoma state trooper.
HIS ALLEGED OFFENSE WAS DRIVING THE GETAWAY CAR WITHOUT A TAG AND FOR HAVING A CONCEALED WEAPON ON HIM, PLAXICO BURRESS — STYLE.
As the FBI was piecing together McVeigh's guilt, a couple of days later Nichols turned himself in and agreed to turn on Timothy as quickly as he was asked.

With a mountain of evidence against him and his wingman chirping, Timothy was sentenced to death by lethal injection. The deadly needle was inserted on April 19, 1995. For his trouble, Nichols received 168 consecutive life sentences, making him eligible for parole sometime long after his death.

Sure, being president of the United States is a cool job. But coming off the shenanigans of a Clinton administration, it rivaled the casting director's job at Vivid Videos. Impeachment aside, the Clinton years showed us that even when your wife is pissed about you dropping bombs on small but overpopulated African countries, you can still find young, overweight interns willing to offer up late-night oral.

For George W. Bush and Al Gore, the opportunity to intimidate nearly defenseless foreign countries that had yet to embrace democracy was overwhelming. They garnered the support of their wealthy friends and made promises they never intended to keep for the opportunity to see how far their sexual mojo would take them with their own staff of willing young interns.

Everything leading up to Election Day, November 7, 2000, pointed to an extremely close result and record voter turnout. Not because Americans were excited about the candidates, but because for the first time in election history voters received goody bags filled with candy, condoms, and scratch-off tickets. As polls closed on the East Coast, and results began to filter in, it became apparent that Florida's twenty-five Electoral College votes would determine the election.
AT STAKE WAS THE RIGHT TO INVITE FRIENDS AND CAMPAIGN CONTRIBUTORS TO SLEEP IN THE LINCOLN BEDROOM, AS WELL AS THE POWER TO GIVE OUT MEANINGLESS, WELL-PAYING GOVERNMENT JOBS TO UNQUALIFIED COLLEGE FRIENDS OVER THE NEXT FOUR YEARS.

At 7:48 P.m., NBC declared friend of Mother Earth, Al Gore, the winner in Florida. Two minutes later, CBS and CNN followed suit, and by 8:02, all five major networks declared Gore the winner. But like Paris Hilton's publicist, Gore couldn't catch a break.

He had to deal with the fact that the governor of Florida was Bush's younger brother, and Florida's secretary of state, Katherine Harris (who appeared to have an epic crush on the Bush brothers), was responsible for certifying Florida's election results. Hours later, in an ironic twist, big brother George W. was announced the winner of Florida and bottles of nonalcoholic champagne began popping as the Texas governor and recovering alcoholic was announced the president-elect.

UNFORTUNATELY FOR BUSH, HIS ANNOUNCED MARGIN OF VICTORY WAS KATE MOSS THIN, AND AN AUTOMATIC RECOUNT WAS ORDERED.
As a result, a time-out was called and the verdict as to the winner of the 2000 presidential election was delayed for thirty days.

Even though Gore had clearly won the national popular vote, it is the Electoral College that actually determines the presidency. Unlike regular college, where truckloads of alcohol contribute to questionable decision making, including, but not limited to, participation in post-party threesomes, the Electoral College is not really a college at all. No campus, no classes, no degrees to be earned. Instead, it is an organization responsible for making sure the poor and poorly informed do not get in the way of the perceived right of those with more money to elect the president.

The Electoral College vote was so close that the Democratic Party requested that Katherine Harris delay certifying the election results until a manual hand recount could be completed.

Unfortunately for the Democrats, Harris was one of eight cochairs for the Republican Party's Florida election, and granting the request would make it nearly impossible for her to marry into the Bush family at a later date. She quickly dismissed their request and planned to certify Bush the winner and hand him the magical twenty-five remaining electoral votes. With no cooperation from Harris, Democrats quickly looked to the Florida Supreme Court for relief. And relief is what they got.

The Florida Supreme Court ruled that watching election officials debate the differences between hanging chads and pregnant chads in determining voter intent made for hilarious television viewing and that the election should not be certified until manual recounts were completed. However, realizing this decision would likely reverse Bush's lead and crown Gore the winner, Republicans filed suit with the United States Supreme Court, arguing that network television already provided hilarious programming, and that the comedy surrounding the manual recount was redundant and should be stopped.

After more than 100 million Americans inconvenienced themselves to vote, the only votes that counted were those of the six white guys, two white woman, and the black man sitting on the United States Supreme Court. Not exactly a cross section of our diverse nation.

Resting comfortably on their lifetime appointments, the nine Supreme Court justices brought partisan politics to the forefront and voted 5–4 down party lines to stop the manual recount in Florida. Once again, bottles of nonalcoholic champagne began popping as the Supreme Court effectively handed George W. the presidency.

To Republicans, it did not matter that every vote in Florida was not counted. It only mattered that more Republican votes were counted. They did not care if Daddy Bush pulled some strings or whether Brother Bush promised Harris any late-night favors. George W. was their guy, even if he was one whiskey sour from falling off the wagon.

Democrats, on the other hand, were left with mixed emotions. Although furious over the manner in which they lost the White House, they were ecstatic about the job they did in winning the popular vote with one of the least likeable candidates in history. They ran a cardboard cutout against the son of a former president and actually got more votes.

As for the rest of us, we just rolled with it. George W. gave us lower taxes and higher carbon monoxide levels. Al probably would have given us higher taxes and more green space. At the end of the day, we moved on.
FOR MOST AMERICANS, IT DOESN'T REALLY MATTER WHO IS TAPPING THE ASS OF THE INTERNS IN THE OVAL OFFICE, JUST AS LONG AS SOMEONE IS.