The wheels of bureaucracy turn painfully slow. It is a good thing the wheel was invented thousands of years ago, or it might never have got rolling in today's bureaucratic climate. Can you imagine if you tried to reinvent the wheel today?

The regulatory agencies would demand an environmental impact report and the Sierra Club would protest that the wheel, if used on farm implements, might destroy the natural habitat of the endangered redheaded, three-toed thudpucker.

The Surgeon General would do a study on what happens when rats get behind the wheel and determine that wheels could hurt humans. There wouldn't be enough room on compact cars and trucks to print all the warning labels he'd demand, so vehicles would be made much larger. Then the bleeding heart environmeddleists would get mad.

Banks wouldn't loan money on the new venture because it would be too risky, preferring instead to loan money to some flat tire in a third world country. Big business wouldn't make the wheel because they'd be too busy merging and conglomerating, and the small guys had all been acquired, regulated out of business, vaporized by the big boys, or were in chapter eleven.

OSHA would produce sled loads of memos about the safety hazards created by the wheel, and the head of OSHA would require that anyone contemplating the use of even the smallest wheel be fully licensed and accredited on a semi-annual basis by an approved institution, preferably the one run by his wife and kids.

As you'd expect, liability insurance would cost a fortune. Do you know how many lawsuits could result from bicycles, skateboards and automobiles? This potential would excite the lawyer lobby and they would immediately begin suing anyone in any way connected with the invention of the wheel.

"Just follow the red tape for proper permits, plans and licenses," would say the sign down at the bureaucrats' offices. An executive paper pusher, who wouldn't know it if a wheel ran over him, would stifle the mother of invention by studying the plans of the wheel for seven years. In road tests the wheel would be found to get a thousand pounds of paperwork to the mile.

Somewhere along the line, a high-paid consultant who used to be employed by the U.S. government would leave his tread marks on the project. He would suggest that the wheel could be made cheaper overseas by one of his clients. The consultant would recommend test marketing the wheel for several years, or just long enough for the Japanese to steal the idea.

A movie star fronting for an animal rights group would try to derail the wheel because dogs might chase them and get run over in the process.

"60 Minutes", "20/20" and Geraldo Rivera would simultaneously investigate the possibility that television shows about the many dangers of wheels just might increase their sagging ratings and reputations.

A shady, anonymous figure would come forward with a promise to expedite the approval of the wheel instead of going through all the proper channels. His extortionist fee is high, but you must act before his next reelection bid for Congress. A small campaign contribution would also be appreciated, of course. A national wheel trade organization would also be formed to further grease the skids in Congress.

Local, county, state, and federal big wheel bureaucrats would fight you every step of the way in getting your wheel approved. After undergoing all their proposed changes, the wheel would be square in shape, which would slow it down considerably. And if you did happen to make any money from the manufacture and sale of your wheel, those very same bureaucrats would gladly tax you till there was nothing left.