Often of a crisp fall evening here in the nation's capital, your W Team will while away a pleasant hour or two huddled together in contemplation of bounteous nature: the descending dusk, the rustle of fallen leaves, and in the distant hills, the lonely howl of the impotent Democrat.
 
At such times we burrow ever more deeply into our Respectable Republican Cloth Coats, throw another copy of the Constitution on the fire, and rhetorically query: "Whither, America?"
 
As always, the answer is found somewhere between "hither" and "yon," and we nod in sage satisfaction and continue to dream our dreams of the halcyon days of the 19^th century, and of our eventual return to them.
 
As is known to all men-and even more women-we presently teeter on the brink of another mid-term congressional election, and are once again presented with the ages-old choice between malfeasance and incompetence. Although our deliberations this year will be more complex, as we are offered more than the usual number of fainthearts, scalawags and cutpurses.
 
While this year's races may not be as exciting as those in the days of the two party system, there is still much to recommend them to our attention. In this election we face a multitude of challenging issues. The fate of the nation may well depend on the electoral acumen of the American voter-a thought that doth murder sleep.
 
Among the issues crying out for resolution are: a failing economy; corporate greed and political scandal; rising unemployment, poverty and homelessness; a crumbling national infrastructure; plummeting public confidence in our core institutions; a deteriorating environment; stratospheric medical costs; substandard schools and classroom violence; rising street crime; foreign and domestic terrorism; and war in the Middle East.
 
All of which are totally irrelevant, of course, because only one question occupies the national semi-consciousness these days: how long before we get to kick some serious Iraqi butt?
 
Economy, schmonomy, man: there's a war on!
 
If memory serves, as it so often does not, it was the urban poet, Edwin Starr (no relation to Ringo), who asked:
   War! (Hunh!)
   What is it good for?
   (Hunh!)
 
And immediately answered:
   Abso-lutely noth-in'!
   (Hunh!)
 
Wise words indeed, but Mr. Starr (hunh!) seems not to have appreciated war's most salient and useful characteristic: its ability to divert the public's attention from those issues it can do something about, and to refocus it on those that it cannot.
 
This technique has been artfully refined under the present administration. In the remarkably short period of less than two months, the White House has steered the national dialogue away from growing conjecture about presidential peculation, toward a safer, albeit obsessive, debate over a mystifying new war. Once again Karl Rove has pulled the presidential chestnuts from the flames.
 
As is to be expected, the adroitness with this transformation was accomplished has driven Liberals mimsy with outrage. Liberals, as you will know, are that species defined by a shared fantasy that, given world enough and time, reasonable argument will prevail over hysteria. The fact that this has never happened in the history of humankind has not deterred the hope that springs eternal. And thus one frequently finds substantial numbers of these deluded visionaries gathered together in a hopeful convocation of the bewildered, where they seek reasons why no one is listening to them.
 
We witnessed the most recent such circumstance in this past weekend's Anti-War March on the White House. It may surprise you to learn that we would attend such an event, but an important part of Team W's mission-and the only part that we have so far actually identified--is to keep tabs on Liberals. Thus we are on occasion required to go into the field to observe them in their natural habitat-which is anywhere Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and Susan Sarandon are likely to appear together.
 
It had been raining tabbies and bow-wows all during the week preceding the event, and march organizers were by now nearly suicidal with pessimism. But, as if by miracle, the actual day dawned bright and sniper-less.
 
By eleven o'clock, when we arrived at the pre-march rally near the Vietnam War Memorial, there was already a sizeable crowd, and it continued to grow throughout the day. City officials place attendance at more than one hundred thousand (street value: two hundred thousand,) well exceeding the organizers' wildest surmise.
 
The affair presented very few surprises. As expected, The Reverend Sharpton spoke for a considerably longer time than anyone else-just up to the point where strong men fainted from ennui--then left the podium. Then a short while later, realizing that he had omitted an entire page of pacifistic cliches and muddled quotations, he returned to extend his remarks.
 
There was of course the requisite Lady with the Guitar--only this time she was not Joan Baez, and a plethora of clever signs, ranging from the exhortatory "Regime change begins at home: vote!" to the absurdist "God loves hysteria!"
 
One particularly heartfelt placard especially caught our attention: it read "F*** you, Bush! You..." and went on to express the sign-holder's contention that the President routinely engaged in acts that, if not anatomically improbable, were at least illegal in many of these United States.
 
One aspect of the assemblage that might conceivably disturb conservative sang-froid, was the number of gray-haired and first-time protesters; signs that, coming as they do before the war, might herald the birth of a significant anti-war movement.
 
After more than three hours of waiting for the speeches to end-or for the Last Trumpet to sound, whichever came first--a sizeable splinter group of benumbed protesters deserted the rally and launched a spontaneous and preemptive march on the White House (these are Liberals, after all). We went with them expecting that at last there would be Trouble. But it was not to be--not that the Capital and Park Police weren't ready for it if it came. The area surrounding the rear of the White House was festooned with concrete barriers, gaily decorative steel fencing and grim-visaged constables swaddled in riot gear and communications technology.
 
No black helicopters, however.
 
Shortly thereafter, the main contingent of protesters came marching around the Treasury Building toward the front of the White House, chanting with joyous determination-men, women, black, white, young, old, well-off, impoverished, quick and halt. We wondered what administration officials were thinking at that moment.
 
As for our assessment, we'd have to admit that from a Liberal perspective the march was a smashing success. The only fact that might have dimmed progressive exultation was the pointed and mystifying absence of Democratic elected officials, save Representative Cynthia McKinney, who had already lost her seat.
 
But we think Liberals have little cause for concern. As we see it, Democratic legislators are so opposed to violence that they will shun functions at which the word "war' is even mentioned-say, for example, at peace rallies.
 
                * * * * *
That's the breaking news from the Potomac, W Rangers. We have to go get ready for the Halloween party. This year we're going as the Supreme Court-unless young children will be present.
 
'Bye, and don't take any wooden butterfly ballots.
 
Hank