The odious Scott Pruitt left the federal Environmental Protection Agency a few weeks ago, amid countless investigations of his misconduct. Most observers opined that his latest misdeeds triggered his demise, after he started shaking down companies to give jobs to his family and friends. But that could merely be the cover story.
The real story may have heated up a few months ago when I decided to clear out vegetation from a small manmade wetland in my back yard, pictured above. Technically I might be considered to be dredging and filling in “Waters of the US” without Section 401 and 404 permits, but the affected area was so small that typically environmental agencies would waive jurisdiction.
I had dug out considerable amount of wapato, an aggressive water plant that had begun to fill up my wetlands with dense roots. Out of control Rushes and lily pads also completely covered the water’s surface, curtailing aeration, and I removed some of those also.
The result was that I opened up a modest area of open water. Immediately, the fish seemed to school in the cleared areas, and several large dragonflies began patrolling the wetland. The lilies responded happily to the additional space; I had 22 lilies flowering yesterday, double the prior record. The bees flocked to the new lily flowers. So I saw my wetlands work as a net improvement.
But Pruitt, who was the attorney general for Oklahoma before he was appointed Head Administrator of the EPA, had hated me for some time.
My problems with Pruitt started several years ago after I had cobbled together a motley group we called the Gulf Coast Environmental Labor Coalition, and we showed up at an important hearing in Oklahoma to fight against air pollution.
The hearing’s subject was the Oklahoma utilities’ several large and very dirty coal fired power plants, who then-Oklahoma Attorney General Pruitt claimed were “grandfathered” because they started operations before the air pollution laws took effect. Pruitt argued the power plants didn’t need any additional pollution controls.
But our coalition loudly objected, and we called for the utilities to install advanced, (and expensive) scrubbers and filters to remove 99% of the plants’ pollution. This really pissed Pruitt off. He came up to me when I was leaving and started screaming in my face, spittle flying, and his eyeballs seeming to bounce in his head in the most disturbing fashion.
He had vowed revenge against me, and years later, here was his chance to prosecute me for a trivial wetlands violation.
He’d filed the charges against me in the Tribunal of Herpetological Jurisdiction, Protection and Investigation, known colloquially as “Frog Court.”
I showed up in Frog Court at the appointed hour, and sure enough, there was Pruitt, sneering, handling the case himself just to twist the knife in my back.
I nodded hello to the Court Reporter.
“Hi, Camille,” I said.
“Hi Six,” she replied, “Thanks for the wine last month.” I knew Camille.
I sat down at a table facing the Judge’s bench, but there was no judge.
Camille stood up.
“Gentlemen this hearing is only for the purpose of taking statements for the record. Frog Court has no judges available, so all that will take place this morning is that I will transcribe whatever your witnesses say, for the judge to peruse when one becomes available,” She said. Then she sat down and positioned herself at the transcribing machine.
Pruitt stood up.
“Our witness will testify through usage of a Doolittle Sensor Translator,” he said,then turning and addressing me directly.
“Do you know what that is?” he concluded sarcastically.
I did know. I had been to Frog Court before, more often that I’ll admit. I’d also brought a paralegal who knew the workings of the Translator.
One of Pruitt’s minions, a skinny man with acne and a poorly fitting suit, brought up a bullfrog in a cage and set it on the witness chair.
“The hell is this?” Camille shouted.
Pruitt slipped into an impossibly condescending tone, “The Translator is named for Dr. Doolittle, and it monitors an animal’s sounds, brain waves, blood pressure and other sources, to translate the animal grunts, indeed its very thoughts, into language we can understand. It will translate the frog’s thoughts on this matter.”
Pruitt snapped his fingers loudly and his minion turned the gauge on the front of the translator, which was a dull steel box the size of a carry-on bag.
An odd husky voice sounded, “I….. lose…lost ... habitat………….bog….runed ruined, it ...violated Sections 401 … and 4… 404 of the US Code.”
“Take that down, missy,” Pruitt insisted loudly, “The bullfrog is objecting to the loss of habitat caused by the defendant.”
I glanced over at Pruitt’s table. His minion was actually playing a tape recording, and they were pretending that the recorded sounds were the frog’s “voice” coming from the Translator.
My paralegal, who had admirable ventriquilsm skills, coughed ” Pruitt is a poop head” and his voice seemed to come from the Translator, too.
“What was that?” a outraged Pruitt yelled.
“Enough,” interjected Camille,”Any more testimony?”
“Yes, Camille,” I said, “I’ve got a few critters ready to testify on my behalf.”
You’d have paid money to see the expression on Pruitt’s face when I said that.
“First,” I exclaimed,”Let’s tune up the Doolittle translator.”
My paralegal pulled out a fist-sized crystal of rose quartz.
He opened the back of the Translator, and fastened the crystal to the circuit boards with alligator clips and thin wires.
I pulled out a knob from my briefcase, with a flourish.
“Now we’ll replace that volume knob,” I said, as my paralegal worked on the Translator,”The old knob only goes to 10. This one goes to 11!”
Finaly, I held up the loose extension cord so that Camille could see it.
“It helps if you plug it in,” I said, waving the plug at Pruitt. and then connecting the power.
In a few minutes we had the Translator rewired, and I brought a bowl of water to the witness stand, which contained goldfish from my wetland.
The Translator began to broadcast the fishes’ wee voices, ”Ooh, we love the open water. We can see the bugs and eat them much more easily. We get to roll around in the sun and show off our pretty colors to our prospective mates. The extra sun helps promote photosynthesis and underwater plant growth.”
As Camille transcribed the fishes’ remarks, I took away the fish bowl and motioned to the back of the room. A sparrow flew up and took the witness stand.
“We love the open water,” the sparrow broadcast through the Translator in a high chirpy voice. “Now we can hop from lily pad to lily pad and sip water and eat bugs.”
“Thank you,” I said to the sparrow, as it flew away and perched in the back of the hearings room.
“Next witness,” I called, and a large red dragonfly buzzed into the room and grabbed hold of an arm of the witness’ chair.
“Well, I was disturbed at first at the plant clearance,” the dragonfly’s voice buzzed from the speaker, ”But there’s still a corner of the wetland with tall lilies and a Rush. I always sit in the rush stem, which is still the tallest plant in the wetland.”
“Thank you,” I responded, and the dragonfly took off out the window.
Next, a Great Blue Heron flew in the window, and crouched on the witness chair.
“Please proceed,” I urged the Heron.
“I am a close observer of the wetland in question,” the Heron began,”I spend a lot of time staring into its waters. You might says it’s my meat and potatoes, Gawk,” the Heron chuckled, I think.
“I’m fully in support of the plant clearance activity. Heck, get rid of all of the danged plants!” He Heron squawked, its eyes flashing, “Let me at those yummy goldfish. Oops,” the Heron paused.
Other sounds began blaring from the Translator’s speaker. A tinny voice said,”The goldfish would like to withdraw their support of the project, in light of the Heron’s testimony.”
Pruitt jumped to his feet.
“I move to strike the goldfish’s testimony.”
Then Camille stood up.
“Let me tell you something, ace. There’s no judge here, so there’s no motions and no objections. There’s just me typing and those darned animals talking.”
Pruitt screwed his face into a scowl.
“We’d like a short break.”
“Knock yourselves out,” Camille responded.
Pruitt and his two identically and poorly dressed assistants walked past the witness stand, and out into the hall of the Federal building.
“Come on, I arranged a place where The Intruders cannot read my mind,” Pruitt said, and directed the others down the hall to the Drug Enforcement Agency, where they convened in the evidence vault.
“How can we get a judge into our Frog Court hearing,” Pruitt complained.
“It’s tricky, sir, there’s some odd typo in the enabling legislation, it says only a “...frog...” can be a judge in Frog Court,” his assistant stammered.
Pruitt began stalking around the room. His angry gaze fell on a small bottle. He picked it up.
“What’s this?”
A DEA agent looked up from reading a file. “Ha, that’s some gypsy drug. She mixed it right up in her sink. It smells like turpentine and looks like India Ink,” he replied.
Pruitt closed his eyes and held his nose, and took a drink. He didn’t know if it was day or night.
As his assistant watched, speechless, Pruitt’s clothes fell to the floor, and he hopped out of the pile. But now Pruitt was a bullfrog that had Pruitt’s face.
“Bwahaha,” Pruitt croaked, “Now I can be a judge in Frog Court!”
And Pruitt hopped back into the courtroom, Right past the Great Blue Heron, who grabbed the frog in its beak, croaked loudly, pooped a gallon of whitewash onto the witness chair, and flew out the window, carrying the frog.
“Dear God, the Heron ate the Administrator,” cried Pruitt’s assistant.
“He’s not eaten, the Heron just took him,” I corrected.
As we watched in horror, the Heron flew out over Lake Merritt. But as its beak closed on the frog it got a taste of Pruitt. His essence was bitter beyond description, and the Heron spit him out. Fortunately, he fell into the water in his frog form, and swam to shore. There, his human form returned as the elixir wore off. Meanwhile, his aides had faxed in his resignation. Now they hustled him into a waiting car.
AFTERWARD
Part of my motive of clearing the pond was to roust a ruthlessly efficient and clever bullfrog hiding there, that was depleting both my goldfish and the native frogs. But with the tall vegetation gone, the bullfrog actually left on its own, or at least vanished, to my great relief.
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