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Your reporters of the Views of a Foreigner have seen a lot of Mother Earth, but nothing surprises them more than Washington D.C., as overheard on a terrace overlooking the Potomac in Georgetown.

“I’m happy that NASA has stopped roaming Mars because the White House has blown its budget with broccoliramacare,” Mars Man said, “but using Russian rockets to power supplies to the International Space Station really beats me. No wonder they explode; they run on vodka.”

“And then to know that your Space Scooter One runs on purified sublimated ethanol,” the other reporter said. “Did you ever tell them?”

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“Of course I did, as a friendly gesture from Mars, but they don’t want to listen to me because I don’t belong to their crony capitalist club.”

“But you are not against further space exploration, are you?” the reporter asked.

“As long as it is done within reason and not to submit other cultures living in space to the follies of Mother Earth. Americans were good going to the moon because nobody lives there, and I have no issue with sending space shuttles to do scientific research and experiments. But since the White House started firing up Air-Force one instead, they have only been polluting the air, something their government is always lamenting about. Now Americans have to pay 70 million dollars to get a seat on a Russian space craft. Don’t you think Americans find this humiliating?”

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“Mars Man, looking at TV and the newspapers, Americans are mostly concerned about getting or keeping their jobs or getting  them back, if ever, and keeping illegals and that crazy disease from West Africa outside their borders. They are least concerned about  some Russian astronauts in the Space Station getting their vodka resupplied.”

“So, what would an American do when someone of higher authority came to their door asking for either of two things: one, you must pay one hundred dollars to fire up Air Force One or two, get audited by the IRS?’

“Get audited by the IRS, I suppose, because Americans haven’t got any money left anyway. And there is a good chance that the IRS computers have lost their tax return. They paid close to one hundred million in refunds to dead people.”

“Holy Halloween!” Mars Man exclaimed. “When you look at that White House it seems more and more like a haunted castle in this dark fall weather. Does anyone live there? Is that what these fence jumpers want to find out?”

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“According to my sources, it appears that the main tenant is always out campaigning and his spouse has been forced to do the same because nobody likes him anymore. The kids are left alone with the disappointed Obama Girl, eating veggies from the yard.”

“Why is the White House so silent about what they plan to do?” Mars Man asked. “Everything seems postponed until after the elections. Don’t they have to come clean? On Mars everybody is given a blackboard with the main promises to vote for and then check it off.”

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“Don’t try to understand American politics, Mars. It all boils down to whether your baseball cap says it’s made in Honduras, China or the USA, the wife is a man eater and has the constitutional right to beat up her spouse and demand equal pay, and if a black congressman is black enough.”

“What about the economy, their paycheck, illegals, health premiums, and those islamofacists?” Mars Man asked, sounding perplexed.

“Again, according to my sources — which are based on official leaks from czars you see hiding behind the burning curtains — when the main tenant returns from campaigning, he will rule by ball pen order and cellphone, and only on domestic politics to reset his failing legacy.”

“Ball pen order?” Mars Man’s mouth hung open for at least a minute, stupefied. “What’s that?”

“Sort of executive fiat, or executive order, emperor-like. Something that was done in Europe in the Middle Ages,”  the reporter clarified, seemingly not expecting that Mars Man would understand a iota of that.

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“But didn’t they have revolutions about that in Europe?” Mars Man asked, understandably confused.

“They sure did, but all that’s forgotten here because they are not taught history in school, and if they are it is only about the Messiah who came to transform America.”

“Wouldn’t  you vote against that?” Mars Man asked.

“Of course I would, but I don’t have a vote, only a green card. Besides, if a Republican votes for a Republican, a vote for a Democrat jumps out of the machine.”

“They have voter fraud in America? I thought only banana republics had that problem and that they send

former President Carter and his outfit to keep an eye on that.”

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“I hear that they are planning to invite the Carter Institute to oversee the election here next week but since he is a Democrat it may only get worse.”

“You know that a printer on Mars was invited to bid for the manufacturing of ten million green cards? Don’t they have anybody here who can do that?”

“You see! They want to keep it secret, that’s why. As soon as the elections are over, the main tenant in the White House will give them away to illegals, on the condition that the beneficiaries vote Democrat.  He says that’s better than Voter ID and it’s constitutional because he taught Constitution at Harvard.”

“But why don’t you go vote then with your green card if they mix it up at the polling station anyway?”

“Because I am a Moron.”

“Moron?”

“Somebody who votes for the Giants thinking they are Congress.”

Mars Man gave the reporter a blank stare. “What’s gone wrong with America?” he was thinking aloud.