
The president has sole authority to launch America’s nuclear arsenal. He is not required to get approval from Congress, his cabinet, or anyone else. In fact, neither Congress nor his Cabinet has authority to override his order to launch the missiles, even if they tried.
The launch codes are with the President at all times. Once he gives the order, and it is verified electronically that the order came from him, the military is required to launch the missiles.
As in, “That’s an order, soldier. If you don’t push that button, I’ll shoot you and push it myself.”
The outcome could be anything from the vaporization of a Russian military base to the end of humanity, or anything in between.
From the time the President gives the order to the time the missiles are in the air without the possibility of recalling them is a matter of minutes. That’s by design. We don’t want to dither for hours while first-strike missiles from an adversary land on our cities and obliterate us.
Our adversaries know about this Mutually Assured Destruction strategy. It has enabled us to avoid Armageddon for most of a century.
Now, let’s say a person just woke up, Rip Van Winkle-style, from a long, long nap. Say this person went to bed in the Truman or Eisenhower administration, or even the Bush or Clinton administration. This person might reasonably say to me, “Tell me about this President of yours, this guy who has the keys to Armageddon.”
“Well,” I reply, “He has a spray-on tan.”
The impersonator’s brow wrinkles.
“He has funny hair that he seems quite proud of. Orange it is, I think.”
The impersonator’s brow is deeply furrowed. Me, I’m hitting my stride. “He closed the Kennedy Center because his hand-picked appointees weren’t allowed to rename it after him. He’s planning to build a triumphal arch in D.C.”
“Oh? Then at least he triumphed in some wars!”
“Well, he beat, um, Venezuela.”
My guest is a little puzzled. “He wants to build a triumphal arch because he beat . . . Venezuela?”
“Well, we also went to war with Iran.”
“OK, that’s not exactly Nazi Germany, but it’s something. He triumphed over Iran.”
I fall quiet.
“He did win in Iran, right?”
“Well, he didn’t lose,” I try to recover. “The triumphal arch I told you about? He calls it a triumphal arc. So, I guess it’s not actually an arch, and maybe it’s not intended to be triumphal. It’s more like a stalemate arch. Er, arc. But he says it’ll be big. And beautiful.”
“Is he young?”
“80 years old.”
“Fit?”
“Maybe 40 pounds overweight.”
“Strong?”
“Well, he plays golf.” Under my breath I whisper, “with a cart. He doesn’t cheat, much.”
“OK, what else?”
Changing the subject, I enthuse, “We just had the Midterm elections.”
“And?”
“Um, we lost eight seats in the Senate, and maybe nine, and scores in the House. Both houses of Congress now belong to the other side. They say they’re going to impeach this President.”
“Oh, boy. Has he or his family or friends committed any high crimes or misdemeanors?”
“Sorta. The ones he was charged with before his election were all bogus. But there’s some stuff by him and his family after he was elected. Money stuff.”
“How much money?”
“Uh, ten figures.”
My somnolent friend counts his fingers until he realizes that ten figures amounts to a billion dollars. “And that’s not including money for his friends, right?”
I reassure him, “Oh, nooooo! He doesn’t have any friends.”
“Oh, c’mon! Who does he pal around with? What’s he do at 2 am?”
“He pals around with people who brown-nose him. And at 2 am, he’s sending out boisterous political tweets that call people names.”
“Hmm. I would tell him to find an attractive wife to amuse him in bed . . . . ” He catches himself and moves on. “How’d he ever get the GOP nomination?”
“In a debate, he made fun of another candidate’s penis size.”
“OMG! How did he even know the other candidate’s penis size?”
“He judged by his hands. You know . . . . “
He waved my explanation away. Then a long pause. “OK, well surely you changed that rule where the President, and the President alone, can incinerate and irradiate the world by launching America’s nuclear arsenal.”
I’m silent again.
“You did, right? . . . RIGHT?”








