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Thorough cynic that I am, I now expect gratuitous product placement in movies. In fact, I am surprised that old films are not being reedited to accommodate commercial endorsements….

For instance, imagine this addition to “Spartacus”:

Julius Caesar: How can you crucify 6000 slaves?
Crassus: You can accomplish all your carpentry needs with just one stop at Home Depot! By the way, you look great in that toga.
Caesar: It’s Hanes!

Nonetheless, last Saturday I witnessed what may have been the newest and most diabolical form of product placement. The characters in “Little Miss Sunshine” just had to let you know that they drank Sprite. Of course, these characters happen to be grotesque. If they drank Sprite, you would be inclined to avoid that product. Either someone in Sprite’s marketing department is a complete imbecile…or someone in Seven-Up’s marketing department is an evil genius.

Yes, perhaps Seven-Up paid to poison the image of its competitor. “Sprite–the drink preferred by misfits and failures. The lemon-lime for losers.”

Well, two can play that game. In Tom Cruise’s next film, “Valkyrie”, expect Hitler to be drinking Seven-Up.

“BUSH ALTERS RULES FOR C.I.A. INTERROGATIONS”

Here are the administration’s guidelines:

Waterboarding is not torture

BUT

Testifying under oath is.

A number of German officers presented Adolf Hitler with a retirement package…actually it was a briefcase. Of course, Prussian subtlety is an oxymoron, so it never occurred to those Junkers that Adolf might have preferred being coaxed rather than assassinated.

Let’s face it, tyrants are not that easy to fire. (Okay, Mussolini was. The Fascist Board of Directors could have ousted him by simply hiding his Gucci boots.) Hitler would have needed positive reenforcement, pro-active proactivities, and all the other HR gibberish. A Fuhrer wants his perks.

First, to cope with the shock of retirement, Adolf might need counseling. Carl Jung would have been available. (The rest of the psychiatric community seemed to be ethnically incompatible.)

Then, Hitler should have been enticed to take a vacation. Destroying civilization can be exhausting. He might have enjoyed a world cruise in a U-Boat. Charles Lindbergh could have flown him to Argentina, where Juan and Evita were awaiting with open and heiling arms. Joseph Kennedy had a guest cottage at Hyannisport (but he probably would have tried hitting on Eva Braun). Pius XII would have enjoyed the sound of yodeling in the Vatican. There were many places where Adolf could get away from it all.

Finally, a relatively young man like Adolf might want a second career. The man certainly was eminently qualified for any number of positions: celebrity spokesman for Mercedes-Benz, host of the Bayreuth Opera broadcasts, or Dean of Students at Dartmouth.

These offers should have been in Hitler’s retirement package rather than just an insufficient amount of explosives. No wonder he felt snubbed and refused to take a hint. If only the Wehrmacht had been run by MBAs, they would have known the German for “golden parachute.”

Of course, a MBA-run army would have avoided this entire situation by losing the war to Poland in 1939.

On July 19, 1870 France declared war on Prussia, starting the Franco-Prussian War.

Louis Napoleon evidently had his own Neo-Conservatives who guaranteed that the French army would Can-Can its way to Berlin.

In fact, the Emperor decided to lead the chorus line himself. Unfortunately, the charming bumbler had delusions of competence; he inherited the name Bonaparte but none of his uncle’s military genius. His army of 120.000 soldiers never got further than Sedan, where the entire force was captured by the Germans. And this French army was supposed to be rescuing another French army that was trapped at Metz.

To Bismarck’s amazement, the French weren’t getting the hint. Having lost the Emperor, the French government now proclaimed itself a republic and vowed to continue the war. The French raised five more armies, which meant that the Germans had to take the trouble to crush four more of them. (The fifth army survived by fleeing to Switzerland.) Paris fortified itself and withstood a siege for three months; before the Parisians finally surrendered, they ate the animals in the city zoo.

Bismarck certainly was making the best of the situation. He had used the war to coalesce the German states into one unified–under Prussian hegemony–empire. The new Kaiser was vacationing at Versailles, while Bismarck was enjoying even more luxury as the uninvited guest at the Rothschild estate outside of Paris. Bismarck himself had turned down Versailles, quipping “Why live like a King when you can live like a God.”

And the Chancellor was keeping a running tab of the expenses, and he had every intention of making France pay. Had France surrendered along with its hapless Emperor, Bismarck would have been satisfied with minor border adjustments. But after 10 months of war, Bismarck now demanded Alsace and Lorraine and a staggering indemnity of 6 billion gold Francs.

Although the unwelcomed guest of the French Rothschilds, Bismarck generally was more deferential to the family. Their man in Berlin, Gerson Bleichroder, was Bismarck’s banker and financial advisor. As you would gather from his name, Gerson was not exactly an Aryan aristocrat. Bleichroder played a role in the negotiations between a vanquished France and a vindictive Prussia. When informed of Germany’s demand for six billion gold Francs, the head of the French delegation protested, “If we started counting from the time of Jesus Christ, we would not reach such a sum.” Bismarck retorted–in French–“That’s why I have Bleichroder. He started counting long before Jesus Christ.”

After three ghastly years of war with cousin Willy, the royal family of Britain felt pressured to change its name. Saxe-Coburg-Gotha sounded unpatriotic. Indeed, the British royal family was quite German. Although born in London, Queen Mary was Teck-nically German. The mother of King George was (mercifully) Danish, but his paternal ancestry was almost completely Deutsch. (There had been a Scottish/Danish great (etc.)-grandmother almost three hundred years earlier.) The family decided to rename itself the impeccably anglophile guise of Windsor.

I have done a calculation of the British ancestry of the Royal family. You may need a microscope.

George V was 3/32768 English. By comparison, he was much more Scottish: 3/4096. The rest of his ancestors were German or Danish. However, George VI actually married a nice British girl. But then his daughter had to marry ein Battenberg (even if the family tactfully translated it to Mountbatten).

It is ironic but British law does not require the monarch to be British. The sole requirement is that he or she be Protestant.  At the penalty of disinheritance, a member of the Royal Family is prohibited from marrying a Catholic.

However, the prohibition does not apply to other religions. So, in theory, Prince Charles could have married Nigella Lawson (Levinson actually) or Rachel Weisz.

Here are seven new clues for Jeopardy. What are—

Chichen Itza (Yucatan, Mexico)
Christ Redeemer (Rio de Janiero)
Colosseum (Rome)
Great Wall (China)
Machu Picchu (Peru)
Petra (Jordan)
Taj Mahal (Agra, India)

Of course, I know that you share my indignation over the omission of Disneyland. The world is just jealous!

I will admit that the Great Wall is impressive; it did succeed in keeping the Mexicans out. And I suppose that Machu Picchu was a prototype for Aspen, although archaeologists have yet to find the ski lifts.

But what is the big deal about the other so-called wonders? Chichen Itza only proves that the Japanese didn’t invent plagiarism; Egypt should sue. The Taj Mahal certainly could use some American ingenuity: we would have added a casino.

And it is too soon to declare the Colosseum a wonder! Shouldn’t we wait until it is finished? We could do that by just adding the facades from Petra. Of course, the Colosseum still would need some stellar entertainment. Rome doesn’t seem ready for baseball, so move the Christ Redeemer there. But first, the statue would have to be upgraded. We could turn it into a ride: a Holy Roller Coaster. Better yet, with a little help from Disney or Universal Studios, we can animate the statue so that it moves, talks and has scheduled fights with the Colosseum’ animatronic lions. So, we have combined three dubious wonders into one genuine tourist attraction.

True, we then would have only Five Wonders. So we would have to include Disneyland! As for the seventh, any nominations? .

In a move condemned by Pres. Bush as a betrayal of America’s security, “The New York Times” reported that “Hamlet” was a play and not a meat dish.

Although “The Wall Street Journal” and “The Chicago Tribune” have also revealed that fact, Press Secretary Tony Snow said those newspapers didn’t count. “Terrorists only read the New York Times. As long as terrorists thought Hamlet was a pork dish, they would have avoided high school English classes.

“But because of The New York Time’s latest betrayal, in its long litany of treason that also includes listing our state capitals, our families are in danger.

“Why does The New York Times hate our children?”

In 1789 France was greatest country in Europe. Wealthy, sophisticated, in the forefront of art, intellect and fashion, it was the paragon of western civilization. And all these achievements were despite a government of remarkable incompetence.

The French monarchy was an anachronism. It had modern pomp but medieval circumstances. The government faced 18th century expenses with a 14th century income. A king, on the whims of his mistress, could plunge France into a calamitous war, but he could not raise the taxes to pay for it. The king did not have to answer for his vanity, lust, bigotry or mistakes; but he had to borrow the money for them.

The Crown had been bankrupt throughout most of the 18th century. Much of the treasury actually had been lost in a stock market crash of 1720. The monarchy simply borrowed money to meet its expenses and then borrowed more money to pay off its debts. The deficits grew but the monarchy continued its profligate ways.

By 1778, France could not even afford to win a war; but the prospect of subsidizing the American rebellion against Britain seemed an irresistible revenge for a century of French defeats. In fact, France was so eager that its treaty with the Americans made no provision for repayment or the restoration of lost French territories in America. France proved to be generous to a default. The new debts precipitated a financial crisis. There just wasn’t enough money to borrow. The Crown had to raise taxes; ironically, it did not have that authority.

Throughout the 17th century, Cardinal Richelieu and Louis XIV had amassed and consolidated the powers of the monarchy. Yet, they had either overlooked or whimsically chosen to preserve one medieval constraint: the power to create new taxes.

That was the prerogative of the Estates General. Since the 14th France had this rudimentary and frequently neglected form of a general assembly.  It could be summoned only at the king’s discretions, and the French kings proved very discreet. The Estates General was usually summoned in the event of an emergency. When Louis XVI found the crown overwhelmed by its debts, he reluctantly summoned the Estates General to convene in 1789. (The last previous Estates General had met in 1614.)

The Estates General was comprised of three estates that represented the people and classes of France. The First Estate was the clergy and the Second was the aristocracy. The Third Estate was everyone else but particularly the affluent, educated and vociferous bourgeoisie. Since the first two Estates were generally exempt from taxes, the Third Estate would bear most of any new financial burden.

Louis XVI expected the assembly to comply with his requests for new taxes. Louis XIV might have awed such concessions from the deputies. Louix XV might have charmed them. However, Louis XVI lacked his ancestors’ majesty. The 34 year-old was corpulent, awkward and maladroit. Certain merchants in Alsace might have described him as a “schlub.” Louis could not command the Assembly’s acquiescence. Perhaps no one could. The Third Estate wanted concessions in return for its money. Of course, one might expect that from commoners. However, the majority of the First Estate and even a significant number of the aristocrats sided with the demand for reforms, in particular the establishment of a permanent general assembly for legislation.  The French may have hated the British but they liked the idea of a government a l’anglais.

The King and his equally obtuse advisers were shocked by this impertinence. They first tried ignoring the Assembly’s demands. The Crown then resorted to petty intimidation. It locked the doors of the chambers where the Estates General had been meeting. The dispossessed deputies simply moved to a nearby tennis court where they voted to demand a permanent legislature. Faced with this opposition, the dithering King was finally ready to concede to the Estates’ first requests. But, after six weeks of evasions, ploys and intimidation, the aggravated Assembly had increased the tenor and extent of its demands.

Louis was rarely decisive but, when he was, it was a consistent disaster. He now ordered troops from their posts along the border to march on Paris. The king seemed to think his subjects were more of an enemy than any foreign power. If he was hoping to intimidate the Estates General, he only succeeded in igniting riots. The populace of Paris rose in rebellion, desperate to arm itself against any royal suppression. On the morning of July 14, 1789, the militants looted the arsenal at Les Invalides. The mob then attacked the Bastille, a fortress that now served as a royal prison.

Responding to an armed rabble on a rampage, the Civil Guard of Paris mustered its troops and its artillery and marched to the site of the riot. The Civil Guard should have had no trouble dispersing the disorganized mob: it would have been a slaughter. However, when the cannons and muskets of the Guard fired, they fired on the Bastille. Against this united front, the Bastille soon fell.

The news reached the King the following morning. The dismayed Louis asked, “Is this a rebellion?”

“No sire,” a wiser courtier replied. “It is a revolution.”

Using a new method to number military casualties, the White House has announced that no American soldiers have been killed in Iraq. While handing out “Yea Surge” T-shirts, Assistant Press Secretary Deigna Pariah explained the actuarial enhancement.

“We will only count the soldiers killed by scimitars. You find those curly swords only in the Middle East. However, bullets and bombs are everywhere. How do we really know that our soldiers wouldn’t have been shot or blown up in Kansas or Greenland even if they had never gone to Iraq! So only scimitars count and, so far, they haven’t hurt a single soldier.”

This new accounting was approved by the Supreme Court in a 5 to 4 decision.

On this day in 1793, Jean Paul Marat was caught taking a bath.

The French government immediately disassociated itself with the late doctor. Press Secretary Antoine Neige denounced the act of hygiene. “We would never ask anyone to bathe just for Bastille Day.” Neige also denied that Maximilien Robespierre and Marat had been more than vague acquaintances. “There are so many people on the Guillotine & Homecoming Committee that Directeur Robespierre can’t know them all. Being a likable and folksy leader, Robespierre gives many people nicknames. I am sure that Marat was delighted to be called Doc Scabby, but let’s not read more into it than that.”

Hoping to quell French outrage over the scandal, political operatives of the Jacobins immediately began to skew the story to their perspective. As they explained on Faux News, “Marat was thrown into that bathtub by elitist Austrian terrorists; finding himself in soap and water, the French patriot probably stabbed himself to death.”