Cuckoo D'Etat: What Really Happened at Blagojevich's Impeachment Hearing

 It has come to AlterNet's attention that the final day of Gov. Rod Blagojevich's stormy tenure ended in a much different way than the public has been led to believe. Rather than broadcasting the live events from the Capital building, for fear of causing widespread riots, panic and confusion, not to mention the possibility of incurring untold billions in obscenity fines from the FCC, the Illinois state government and media instead conspired to create a computer-generated, plausibly ridiculous farewell video tape, with "Blagojevich" delivering a rambling 47-minute defense that was scripted by Aaron Sorkin, and leaving before the vote.

What actually happened inside the Capital Building was much more disturbing. A detailed description of what transpired was leaked to us by a sympathetic custodian. Wishing to protect his job, since cleaning up political trash in Illinois is a growth industry, he chooses to use only the pseudonym Scours Mopgood. Read on for the AlterNet exclusive.

Springfield, Illinois. Inside the packed Illinois Capital Building. Five wheelchair-bound citizens roll in, four with tubas and one on piccolo, playing an impassioned version of "Imperial Death March 2 (Love Theme from Darth Vader's Honeymoon)."

The impeachment proceedings of Governor Rod Blagojevich, presided over by Illinois Supreme Court Chief Justice Thomas Fitzgerald, come grinding to a halt.


Following the musicians is ubiquitous boxing emcee Michael Buffer, in tuxedo. A shiny, old-timey microphone drops down from the ceiling on a micro-thin filament.

BUFFER: (grabbing mic) All rise, and show some love for the Gov!

Buffer grandly gesticulates that all should rise, so most of the lawmakers, baffled, do. The microphone shoots back up to the top of the Rotunda.

Blagojevich enters, in a gold lame jumpsuit, with his face painted red white and blue, exactly in the style of Shepard Fairey's "Hope" portrait of President Obama. The embattled governor has ketchup on the front and back of his hands, in the manner of stigmata. Two roller-skating cheerleaders hold up a banner behind him that reads "Frame-Up Accomplished."

BLAGOJEVICH: (to the tuba players) Of course, you guys don't have to rise. (chuckles) But by the end of my term you sure as (bleep) will. As long as these (bleep)ers running this kangaroo crucifixion don't try to jam me up like on my other pet projects. Famine Health care with medical peyote Un-tappable (bleep)ing phones.

Blagojevich digs into the pocket of his jumpsuit, and pulls out some loose change, tossing it with a loud clatter into the bell of the tubas. He playfully musses the hair of one of the tuba-players, getting ketchup all over them.

FITZGERALD: Mr. Blagojevich, what is the meaning of this? If you're here for your hearing, you know full well the proceedings began on Monday.

BLAGOJEVICH: Blagoya-who? I don't go by my 'slave name' no more, Mr. "The Man." It's Bla-rod Omammavich from now on. Got it? You hear that, Chicago Tribune?

CHIEF JUSTICE: Very well. (sighs) Mr. Omammavich, there are 13 articles of impeachment currently being presented against you in the House. Do you wish to address the legislature in your defense?

BLAGOJEVICH: (snorts) Does a (bleep)-ing (bleep) like to (bleep) until it (bleep)s (bleep-bleep) under the pale moonlight? Hit it Buffer!

BUFFER: (grabs mic which descends from Rotunda instantaneously) "Let's get ready to be hummmmmbled!"

Buffer and the handicapped brass section then exit the chamber, the band playing Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," and waving goodbye to Blagojevich.

BLAGOJEVICH: (to his departing entourage) Later gators! (to legislature) I've got them on an hourly. You'd be surprised, but (bleep)ing "Good Morning America" does NOT pay very well. Even after you find the executive producer's precious pocket dog accidentally locked in the trunk of your courtesy car, and you learn that the good old-fashioned American system of rewarding a hero has apparently been gang-(bleep)ed by the (bleep) (bleep)ing penny-pinchers in network TV.

I don't want all my supporters--the working stiffs and the grimy-faced street urchins to worry, though. The makers of "Pants-Off Dance-Off" seem a little more amenable to my recommended gubernatorial offerings, and I think we may come to some kind of agreement in the weeks to come.

CHIEF JUSTICE: Mr. Ommamavich, this is not a circus. This is not one of your farcical TV appearances. As such, perhaps you would like a moment in the washroom to clean up a bit?

The Judge motions toward his face, indicating Blagojevich's red-white-and-blue face paint.

BLAGOJEVICH: Your dis-Honor, that is outrage #13! Not only does this half-baked witch-hunt seek to indict me for a dozen highly questionable "charges" including expanding (bleep)ing health care, purchasing (bleep)ing flu shots and demanding that the (bleeping) Girl Scouts stock more (bleep)ing boxes of Thin (bleep)ing Mints than the other flavors, but now you persecute me because of the various colors of my skin?!

CHIEF JUSTICE FITZGERALD: Sir, that's in no way true. I was only trying to--

BLAGOJEVICH: --Balder(bleeping)dash! The media elite has mocked my hair, and now this! I'll have you know, as a complex individual with a complexion to match, I am the proud, founding member of True Man Group, a post-modern ensemble of truth-tellers and percussionists that is hoping to book dates on cruise ships, preferably ones that sail exclusively in international waters. Scooter Libby and Ted Haggard are in, too, and we're also in talks with Barry Bonds's people.

CHIEF JUSTICE FITZGERALD: Sir, let's try to focus. While shamelessly plugging your new venture, you said there were already twelve highly dubious charges. Not thirteen. Does that mean you don't wish to address your attempt to sell the Senate seat vacated by President Obama, and the numerous tape-recorded phone conversations you had regarding that matter?

BLAGOJEVICH: This whole thing reminds me of a saying they had in the Wild West. 'You can lead a horse to a trough filled with golden things, but it always comes back to (bleep)ing politics. Look, you guys know how things get done in this world--we're political creatures doing political things. If you want to make a health-care omelette, sometimes you just have to induce labor in the golden goose.

And besides that, just think about the local economy. If you get rid of me, what happens to the families of all the (bleep)ing cronies and (bleep)ing wiretappers and (bleep)ing censors who'll be out of work? D'ja ever (bleep)ing thinking of them?

On the way over here today in my flying hybrid Hummer, I was talking about this whole crazy thing with some buddies--Gandhi, Joan of Arc, Paul Blart Mall Cop. I pointed out how there was no proof whatsoever that I'm willing to acknowledge. And one of them, I think it was Gandhi, said 'Proof? Screw that, I'll just take the pudding!' No, wait a minute, it may've been Blart."

With those words, Blagojevich fell fast asleep at his podium, and the vote was called. The articles of impeachment passed, 59-0, as the self-proclaimed Bla-Rod Omammavich was wheeled out of the chamber strapped to a dolly, a la Hannibal Lechter.

As he was wheeled out, former Merrill Lynch CEO John Thain wandered in with a business card, seemingly lost.

THAIN: Maybe you folks can help me. I'm looking for a "Rod the Plumber"?

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