Recently I gave a speech from the Oval Office concerning the oil crisis in the Gulf of Mexico in which I used some strong phrasing, some might even say martial language. And by "some" I mean Glenn Beck and George Stephenopoulos. Yeah, ok, I aimed for military imagery to try to convey a concerted government effort to solve the problem and hold those responsible accountable, but maybe Beck has the right idea. Maybe I'll leave all that ineffectual, crisis-manufacturing language of us un-American spend-o-crats at the door and actually declare war against the oil spill. And for your inspiring article, Mr. Beck, I'm promoting you to General and putting you on the front lines.

Now, I can't just send you into battle without training, General Beck. Seeing as you've never done any actual service to this country, you'll naturally have to undergo some boot camp. This won't be traditional boot camp, though, because as you and I both know we aren't fighting a traditional enemy. This enemy doesn't fight with guns and bombs. It is a gushing mass of thick, brown crude. So, a big part of your training will take place with you covered in various kinds of viscous muck. Your eyes will burn, your nostrils will fill with scents so noxious you will likely pass out and you will be unable to get clean no matter how many showers you take, but you will be sustained by your dedication to your country.

You should know that I'm making a lot of exceptions for you, General Beck. I'm using my supreme authority as the Commander in Chief of the United States military to get around a lot of our regulations. Our nation's policies about arming individuals like yourself, by which I mean drug addict alcoholics with diagnosed psychological disorders, with heavy munitions is pretty clear. We normally just don't do it, but I think you can handle it, Beck. If my commanders brought me a file that said "History of marijuana, cocaine and alcohol abuse with acute Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder" I would have rejected it outright. I would have said to my staffers, "What the hell are you giving me this file for? This guy is more likely to shoot off his own foot or lob a grenade into a fuel depot than be effective in combat!" Ah, but if they told me that this unmanageable soup of neurochemicals, illicit substances and deep psychological agony was Glenn freaking Beck, I'd reach into my desk and grab my big, rubber stamp that says NOT AN INSANE LIABILITY THAT SHOULD BE KEPT FROM ANY POSITION OF POWER OR AUTHORITY WHATSOEVER. Yeah, I've got a stamp that says that and I keep it around for just such an occasion.

My thinking is that you'll deploy some time in the next week or two, whenever you've had sufficient training. I'll be giving you a division of rubber rafts and enough K rations to last you a solid month. Once at the Gulf I'll assume that you won't come home until the job is done. That's why I won't be giving you any communication equipment. You obviously won't need it and I wouldn't want to spend more money than I absolutely have to, which I know is a problem with us Democrats. I won't need word from you, Beck, because I'll know we've won against that oil when the air is fresh and the fish themselves emerge from the water to sing your praises. This task won't be easy and not everyone involved will make it out alive, but I believe in you, General Beck. Go get 'em!