So Mr. GAO is strolling down the street, and he sees his buddy Mr. State Department chatting with some guy named Mr. DynCorp. And he walks up to Mr. State Department and says "Hey, man, wassup? How're things going with that $1,200,000,000 I gave you?"
And Mr. State Department kinda looks at his shoes and scuffs his toe in the dirt and says "Well, uh, I gave it to my bro, Mr. DynCorp here, 'cuz he said he knew someone who could get the job done."
And Mr. GAO looks at the other guy, and says "'Sup with my cash, bro?"
Mr. DynCorp looks like a deer caught in the headlights, makes a big production of fishing through his pockets, and comes up with some lint, a Swiss Army knife, an Aerosmith concert ticket stub, and some dried chewing gum wrapped in a couple of old Blackwater and Triple Canopy receipts, and stammers defensively "Uh, dude, Baghdad is its own arena. Contract control has been a major shortcoming across the board."
On most any street corner in America this lame excuse would result in Mr. GAO's fist activating Mr. DynCorp's dental plan. We'll see how it plays out inside the beltway.