Jim Henson's White House

In watching John Ashcroft and the White House hopelessly bungle their "dirty bomb" announcement, does anyone else feel like they're getting to watch some sort of Muppets Meet the Twilight Zone?

On Monday, Ashcroft played the stiff, hawk-nosed Sam the Eagle when he announced, brow-furrowed, that the Justice Department had "disrupted an unfolding terrorist plot to attack the United States by exploding a radioactive dirty bomb."

The day after, Fozzie Bear, disguised as Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz, stepped up to the stage to calm the crowd. "I don't think there was actually a plot beyond some fairly loose talk," he said.

Nice try, Fozzie: The tomato-throwing claque hurled their fruit anyway. This morning, we've got Dems suspicious that Ashcroft timed his announcement for maximum political gain. (Duh.) We've got British security sources pointing out in the Independent that "no evidence has been produced to show that he had access to the radioactive material needed to build the bomb, or indeed that he had even worked out a time or place to launch the attack." (Double duh.) And we've got many more wondering, just as legitimately, whether due process will be abandoned for the entire course of the indefatigable War on Terror.

Dr. Bunsen Honeydou and Beaker are making their own appearances, in the form of experts of dubious quality making all kinds of pronouncements about dirty bombs. Depending on which sources you've read, dirty bombs are either easy to make, with radioactive material freely available in "hundreds of medical and commercial facilities across the country," or it's an onerous task, well beyond the mental capacity of someone like suspected-plotter Jose Padilla. Then, we've had competing stories about how much a damage a dirty bomb could do. A dirty bomb might either kill a few and cause panic, or it might kill thousands and cause panic. (For the record, Wired did publish a decent online piece summarizing the disparate assessments.)

For his part, President Bush decided to shelve temporarily his Swedish chef impression–"Vergoofin der flicke stoobin mit der børk-børk yubetcha!"–and instead announce a full-scale manhunt for any poor sap who ever gave Padilla the time of day.

What we all need in these tumultuous, confusing times is to throw on our Gonzo noses and dance on tapioca. As quoted on his personal Web page, "No parachute? Wow! This is so cool!"

Jan, strike up the band!