Wordsmoker

On October 8, 2010, a phone call was placed from former Vice President, Nobel laureate and Oscar-winner Al Gore, to the relatively new President of the Republic of Hungary, Pal Schmitt, who also happens to be a two-time Olympic Fencing Champion, but doesn’t like to make a big deal out of it. Due to an expired wiretap that was awarded by the FISA Court under the former Bush Administration, but was inadvertently left active, a digital recording of that conversation has recently emerged. The following is a transcript of that recording:

Unidentified Male: “Please hold for Vice President Albert Gore, Mister President.”

Al Gore: “Hello.”

Pal Schmitt: “Hello, Mr. Gore. To what do I owe the pleasure of this telephone call? I would not expect you to be up at this hour. It must be—”

AG: “Call me, Owl. Hoot, Hoot.” (Raucous  laughter) “You get it, Schmitty?”

PS: “I am not sure that I do.”

AG: “I’m up late and ‘owl’ sounds kind of like ‘Al.’ Anyway, sorry, I’ve been drinking owl juice.” (More laughter then muffled voice) “Hand me that bottle of Grand Marnier, G-Money… sorry, I’m back. So, I hear you have some red sludge you might be looking to get rid of. How’s that all going?”

PS: “Yes, it is a terrible tragedy. So far seven people have died; there may be more. Many have been injured and are sick. Not to mention that the sludge has now seeped into the Danube. I am afraid—”

AG: “How much you got left?”

PS: “How much of what? How much red sludge is still on land? Conservatively two hundred million barrels.”

AG: “And this stuff is really bad I hear?”

PS: “Oh, yes. I can assure you that the effects are quite terrible. It is very toxic—”

AG: “Oh boy!” (Loudly) “He says really bad, boys! This is better than we hoped! Hey, put that down.”

PS: “Pardon?”

AG: “How much does it cost?”

PS: “We have received estimates from a few companies that have offered to charge as low as €3.oo per gallon. I know that in the United States such a sum must seem very small, but in Hungary—”

AG: (Loudly, possibly to others in the room.) “He’s saying €3.00 a gallon.” (Normal voice.) “Schmitty, I’m willing to go as high as €3.25 a gallon.”

PS: “Mr. Gore—”

AG: “Al.”

PS: “Yes, Al, I am a fan of your work with the environment—”

AG: “Me too.”

PS: “But it would be unreasonable for me to pay you a premium just because of your celebrity status. I am responsible to the people of Hungary.”

AG: “Hee hee, Schmitty, have you been sipping the owl juice or what?”

PS: “No, I have not. I rarely drink and it is 11:00 AM here.”

AG: “They want to pay you €3.oo a gallon for the sludge. I want to pay you €3.50. I know I said €3.25, but I like you, Schmitty. This sludge better be the schizzle, Schmitty. Hey, that kind of rhymes front ways. That’s why it’s funny. Things that rhyme up front are funny.” (Laughter from several people.) “You got that? I’ll pay €3.50 per, plus the collection, but this sludge better be disco shit.”

PS: “Mist… Al, I have no idea what it is you are talking about. Red sludge is a valueless byproduct from Alumin—”

AG: “€4.00, but that is my final offer, and you have to throw in a massage when I come to Istanbul. Not from you, I mean from a woman.”

PS: “Budapest.”

AG: “Is that like a Thai massage?” (Muffled) “Any of you boys ever have a ‘Budapest’ massage?” (Louder) “My crew’s never heard of that.”

PS: “I meant that… never mind. What do you want with this sludge? You cannot use it for anything.”

AG: “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone. For realsies, okey?”

PS: “All right.”

AG: “Say it.”

PS: “Say what exactly?”

AG: “Say, ‘Al, I promise I won’t tell anyone for realsies.’”

PS: “I promise, but the price just went up to €4.50 per gallon.”

AG: “You’re a shrewd mother fucker, Schmitty. Fine, whatever, it’s not like you could do it yourself anyway. I’m going to create the world’s first Red Sludge Credit Market. I’m basing it on the idea for carbon credits, but red sludge is better because you can hold it.”

PS: “You most certainly cannot hold it! This idea is absolutely preposterous. I’m hanging up now.”

AG: “€5.00 a gallon. That’s a cool billion in your country’s hip pocket.”

PS: “I can not believe that I’m saying this, but go on.”

AG: “We haven’t worked out all the details, but we really think that there’s a market for this. You said it yourself, baby: red sludge is toxic, really toxic, right? Naturally people are going to feel guilty about their personal red sludge stocks and they’re going to want to buy credits to offset it.”

PS: “I’m sure that’s a fine idea, but most people don’t have a red sludge stock. It’s usually found at aluminum processing plants, the management of which does not feel an iota of guilt. It is one of the reasons that I have a sea of it coating a section of my country. They do not care.”

AG: “Hungary, right?”

PS: (Unintelligible muttering)

AG: “Anyway, that’s the beauty of our plan, Schmitty baby. People don’t have red sludge yet, but guess who’s about to have two hundred million gallons of it ready for sale? (Shouting) ME! AL GORE!”

PS: “This is madness. No one, and I do mean no one, wants to own red sludge—”

AG: “They will, if that’s the only way that they can participate in the Red Sludge Offset Credit Marketplace. You see, Schotty—”

PS: “Schmitty, I mean my name is ‘Pal Schmitt.’ You were referring to me as ‘Schmitty’ before.”

AG: “Oh. You see, Schmitty, the problem that I have with the Carbon Credit Offset Market is that someone else is making the carbon. We control one end of the market, but Big Coal and Big Oil control the other part. With red sludge, we’ll control it all. There won’t be a kid with sludge in his lunch pail that isn’t in a Gore jar and offset by a fistful of Red Sludge Dollars.”

PS: (Muttering) “This is absolutely insane.” (Louder) “Here is my condition. You don’t get one drop of our precious sludge until the money is deposited in our treasury. If you or any of your environmental goons set one foot in Budapest—”

AG: “Istanbul.”

PS: (Long pause) “Hungary. The. Entire. Fucking. Country. You don’t come here until you pay half in advance.”

AG: “So we have a deal?”

PS: “Tentatively. I need to discuss this with my advisors.”

AG: “Goody.”

PS: “Quite. Have you thought about where you are going to store this all while you, ummm, develop your market? I mean, you don’t have buyers lined up yet, do you?”

AG: “One of my partners has a ranch in Crawford, Texas. He has a battery of underground nuclear missile silos there that can hold a shitload of liquid. He kind of owes me one anyway. We’re going to keep it there.”

PS: Well, then if we have no further business—”

AG: “So, you won a couple of gold medals in men’s sword fighting?”

PS: “Fencing, yes. Épée.”

AG: “I’m probably going to get some of them. I mean I have the Oscar and the Nobel. Why not some gold medals. It probably won’t be fencing though. That’s a little ‘European,’ if you know what I mean. Maybe in a man’s sport like bowling or weightlifting or something. I’m kind of a sports badass.”

PS: “I am sure you’ll do well.”

AG: “I gotta go. Me and the boys are going to pick up Bristol for a DWTS after-party. Bye.” (Fading Voice) “Hey, don’t hog all of the whippets. I said share—”

Line Disconnected.

Click here for another Al Gore recorded phone conversation.