Army of Fun


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Saturday, January 25, 2003

Army of Fun's Weekend Kids Page Presents
Fun Facts About International Sex Symbol Hans Blix

Hey, Kids! On Monday International Sex Symbol Hans Blix presents his interim report on the disarmament of all around bad man and Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein to the UN Security Council. Here are some fun facts about the Chief UN Weapons Inspector.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, is a master of Ironhead Style Shaolin Kung Fu.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, can melt glaciers with his personal warmth.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, makes very good sushi.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, has served as a judge for several Miss Universe Pagents.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, showers with VX nerve gas and starts off each morning with a steaming cup of botulinum toxin.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, gives one hell of a massage.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, was the inspiration for the films "Maid in Manhattan" and "Kangaroo Jack".

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, is the creator of Blixos, Sweden's answer to Legos.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, holds the record for the world's most luscious eyelashes.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, has actively broken up more than two dozen marriages. His mere existence is responsible for the dissolution of countless relationships.

Hans Blix, International Sex Symbol, is an International Sex Symbol.

Fyrste, 4:56 PM

Friday, January 24, 2003

So much with the politics lately. And while the politics is kind of important, I apologize to those of you, okay, okay the one person, who comes to this site for the flat jokes, half-assed witticisms, ill-conceived satire and news of my foundering relationship with Lara Flynn Boyle. And oh my god is that relationship on the rocks. Sure, she's a cheap date--I've never seen her eat more than one of those single pats of butter that come with the free bread at any decent restaurant--and she's always holding, but lately she's been going around the bend.

I'm sure you all saw her at the Golden Globe awards. I sure did. I couldn't make it myself but she told me to be sure to watch because she had a surprise for me. Imagine my crushing disappointment and embarrassment when the surprise turned out to be that horrid ballerina outfit. I immediately turned off the television and crawled into bed for a couple days emerging only to post to this fine site. Meanwhile, my phone was, of course, ringing off the hook as she tried desperately to contact me. There was no way I was going to answer it or even check the messages as I was pretty sure she was in full-blown Mariahesque meltdown mode.

My fears were confirmed early Wednesday morning when I was jarred awake by incredibly loud banging on my door accompanied by incoherent screaming. I tried to ignore her but eventually she broke a window to gain entry. Let me tell you there are not many things as distressing as being confronted by a bloodied Lara Flynn Boyle dressed as a Munchkin at two in the morning. I managed to calm her down long enough to tend to her wounds, but as soon as I had her bandaged up she started up again and regrettably nothing was going to calm her down but a round of J. Fyrste style loving. I say regrettably because the combination of her wild energy, protruding pelvic bones and penchant for reverse cowgirl have left me badly bruised and walking with a gait reminiscent of a man simultaneously afflicted with both hemmorhoids and an enlarged prostate. I must get out of this relationship. Any day now she's going to go Oompah-Loompah on me and, well, words fail me.
Fyrste, 8:24 PM

Oh, blah. Events, you know that whole war thing, dictate that I write about politics again

Chuck "The Thousand-Pound" Krauthammer creaks into Op/Ed pages across the land today on his Axles of Evil to lecture us about the need to enforce the "Bush Doctrine" by attacking Iraq. While I find a lot to disagree with--his characterization of the North Korean crisis, the gist of his entire argument (because in a fit of pique we said we would, by the way), etc--one line in particular stands out to me.

And having said [referring to statements by Pres. Bush], again correctly, that the possession of weapons of mass destruction by Saddam is an intolerable threat to the security of the United States, there is no logical way to rationalize walking away.

The idea that these weapons are "an intolerable threat" to the US is precisely what I've been puzzling over the last couple of days. How, exactly, is that?

As best as I can recall the historical record leading to this point goes something like this:

1983-1988: Iraq uses chemical weapons against Iran and the Iraqi Kurds during the Iran-Iraq War. The response of the US and it Western Allies, who backed Iraq in the war was, during this period, let us say less than emphatic. To be fair, the attack on the Kurds eventually got some attention, but not much became of it.

1990: Iraq invades Kuwait. Led by the US much of the world agrees that the invasion "will not stand".

1991: Operation Desert Storm commences. Dick Cheney warns U.S. will retaliate if Iraq uses chemical or unconventional weapons. Iraq having been whupped withdraws from Kuwait. Cease-fire signed which includes provisions for destruction of CBWs.

1991-1998: Hide and go seek between UN inspectors and Iraq. Some weapons destroyed others presumably not.

1998: UN inspectors withdraw. Bombing commences. Continues on and off to the present.

2001: Terrorist unaffiliated with Iraq attack New York City and Washington DC.

2002: UN inspectors return to Iraq.

2003: US must attack Iraq as "intolerable threat" to US security.

It seems to me that something is missing there. Some key point that makes Iraqs presumed possession of CBW's such an "intolerable threat" to the USA that we must attack them alone if need be. Especially considering that UN inspectors are in the country at this very moment. One would think that this in itself would constitute a reduction of the threat. A threat, mind you, that was not so intolerable at the time of Desert Storm, when we were fighting Iraq, that the US needed to topple Saddam Hussein.

While Iraq's possession of chemical and biological certainly should concern the world war seems an extreme reaction to the threat considering that Iraq has no way to deploy these weapons unless we go to them. And no good reason to deploy them except under the same circumstance. Surely, the leaders of Iraq know that if they shared such weapons with terrorists, and there is no evidence that they have done so, Iraq would suffer the severest of consequences. Evidence that the leaders of Iraq have taken such a course of action is the only way I can imagine Iraq constituting an "intolerable threat". The Bush Administration while making assertions left and right doesn't even seem to be pretending, at least not very well, to have such evidence. Unless such evidence is presented I'm afraid I've got to side with the French and Germans against waging this war at the present and for continuing containment.
Fyrste, 8:07 PM
My favorite game in the world is "What Do You Have In Your Attic". It's best to play when my "opponent" is out of town. Often you don't even know I've made my move or if you do then you don't know that I'm the one you're playing against.

Another great thing about "What Do You Have In Your Attic" is that I can use the game pieces in my second favorite game, "Selling Your Stuff On E-Bay".
Fyrste, 11:11 AM

Thursday, January 23, 2003

Even a fabulist has to surface from beneath the rippling waves of imagination from time to time and breathe the stale air of reality. Given my choice I would have stayed under longer and I shall return to those blissful benthic depths as quickly as I can, but before I do let me address, inspired by the January 23 post of Mr. Suckfuldotcom, a few real world issues. Just give me a second while I swap the hat of high literary style for the hat of Op/Ed. Goddamn it, I can never find anything around here. Looks like I'll have to go with the hat of not so much with the high literary style. I don't remember what it does exactly but here it goes.

Oh, man, dude this hat is like so awesome. Not like our stupid, blowsuck economy that sucks so much right now? I even heard that it might like double-scoop or something. Except that instead of 31 flavors there'll only be one and that flavor will be ass. Cause like the President? It's like he's all like whatever dudes. And I know that people are always bitching about how much credit or blame the president gets for the economy, but still. Can't you be graded on what you do? Like whether you inspire confidence or like this or like this? Seriously, that dude really needs to get his shit together, but he's still all like, hey I gots other things on my plate yo.

And that other plate? Like war on the Iraqians or whatever? What's up with that? Cause the Bush people are like well we kinda haven't decided yet but still they're totally sending like 150,000 troops to the Middle East plus a whole bunch of British guys too. And they're all, hey UN inspector guys give us your report now, and the UN guys are like hold on, and then the administration goes well whatever cause anyways Saddam has to prove he doesn't have weapons? But then they say that doesn't matter cause they have proof that Saddam's in violation. But then it's like but we can't tell anyone about it for whatever? And they're all well we'll make our case or well we made our case, one of those and anyways this is like a faith-based invasion so whatever, if you're not for it you're like a wussie-islamic-commie-traitor-playa'hater, but like everyone else in the entire world is like oh my god, what the fuck, can we talk about this please. And we're all like no. And the french are like okay then, nous ne allons pas aider vous. And the germans are like, ja wir sind mit die frankenreichers. Wir nicht machen der krieg mit Sie. Keine Weg. And we're like, way. And then they're all, keine Weg. And then we're all, way. And they're still, keine Weg. So we're all, whatever, it doesn't matter what the French and Germans think cause they're so gay.

So gay? That's not appropriate. I have totally got to remove this gay hat. Oh my god. Damn it, it's totally stuck. This sucks, dude. Ow, okay got it.

So, yeah, there's all that stuff I tried to express above, plus the packing of advisory panels and the judiciary with hard-right ideologues in what I can only assume is a continuing attempt to destroy America. It sucks. It's depressing. It's so 1991.

To quote our cranky, nap-needing President, who proves that irony is dead at least at the White House:
"This looks to me like a re-run of a bad movie and I'm not interested in watching it." Yeah, join the club chimp-boy.
Unfortunately for the rest of us, we're a captive audience.

Ah, well, enough of that. The next entry will return to the irregularly scheduled cavalcade of whimsy. Unless the war starts sooner than I expect.
Fyrste, 1:33 PM

Monday, January 20, 2003

Paxil, I believe, is the finest drug known to man. Sadly, I don't have any. I mention this by way of explaining the lapse in my publishing at this fine site in particular the difficulty I am having completing my expose of my secret relationship with Dick Cheney. But please, do not despair. The story is coming. I am just bogged down in the details, drowning beneath of sea of illuminated words, struggling to obtain fleeting moments of clarity or at least a couple of wry-smile-inducing bons mots. So again, do not despair. I plumb the depths for you and you alone. Besides. I despair enough for us both.

Paxil, I maintain, is the finest drug known to man. Regrettably, my prescription lapsed long ago. I mention this by way of explaining the compounding dread I feel upon waking each and every morning, or afternoon, or evening (I take a lot of naps). It is a dread not contingent on any of the many unfolding horrors currently, er, unfolding in the world. Were I a soldier stationed in a windswept, desolate corner of the Middle East awaiting war--waking up to cold desert skies in a constricting, sweat-soaked sleeping bag, the silicate grit chafing my damp inner thighs heralding another day of painful forced marches through blinding sandstorms in my anti-CBW suit that smells like high school locker-room all the while tormented by painful, itching welts inflicted on me by insatiable sandfleas--then, then my dread would be understandable. As it is my feelings of doom are inexplicable and possibly even perversely self-indulgent.

Paxil is, I insist, the finest drug known to man. Unhappily, I go without its comforts. I mention this by of explaining the deer caught in the headlights expression I adopt in any social situation. I mention this by way of acknowledging my recent slowness of wit and my difficulty in holding up my end of a conversation whether the social situation is a job interview or a party (incidentally, I went to a party this weekend and while I was in no shape to enjoy it I did manage to refrain from fleeing in terror thanks to several glass of wine and sumptious array of pot-infused confections).

Paxil is, I repeat, the finest drug known to man. Woefully, I am bereft of it. I mention this by way of explaining my failure as of yet to have married a woman of fantastic inherited wealth. If by chance you are a woman of fantastic inherited wealth then let me commend myself to you. I am reasonably good-looking, can still be reasonably described as a young man, and if kept in Paxil reasonably entertaining. Entertaining enough at any rate to keep you distracted from the terrible burden of all that money. No longer would you spend endless lonely nights worrying that your life long exposure to all that money has made you indifferent to the real problems of this world; that you are nothing but an emotionally cold, selfish, expensive shell of a woman. When we gather together with your equally wealthy friends and you all begin to fret that the burden of all that money has, perhaps, left you feeling that you are better than other people, I will point out that you all clearly behave in exactly that manner, and my pointing out of that flaw will be your and their salvation. By Jove, you're right, they'll say. We are flawed just like other people. Here, have some money. With me as your confessor and acrobatic sexual companion you will once again be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of fantastic inherited wealth. We'll race down the Florida coast in an expensive speed-boat smiling and laughing heartily and never once thinking about all that money. When you ask, in a manner not at all haughty or in any way fraught with the cadences of all that money, for a turn at the wheel, I'll throttle our ridiculously pricey speed-boat down and put her into a turn that sends up a cascading sheet of water that, in conjuction with the blazing sun, bathes you in a radiant glow more splendid than anything you could buy even with all that money. And then the water will come crashing down upon us, and you'll clap and giggle with the innocence of an idiot child or someone with fantastic inherited wealth, and my love for you will grow. And when you take the wheel, after we pound a bottle of champagne so rare less than a thousand people in this whole wide world know of its existence, and mow down a gentle, lolling manatee in your innocent glee and drunkenness, I will take you in my arms and wipe away your tears and reassure you. I will tell you that with all that money you can buy a million, no ten million acres of manatee-infested shoals and set up a boat-free manatee preserve that will ensure their survival for another thousand years. Really, you'll say, through your charming, guilty snivelling. Really, I'll say, and you'll be happy and clap like an idiot again, and even do a little happy dance that sets ajiggle that twenty pounds you gained since our wedding (and about which you worry makes me think you're fat but that I really think makes you look better, less like a starving child and more like a woman), and I'll get up and dance with you, and then lay you back against one of the plush, calf-leather seats and we'll make slow, Paxilated love for hours as our boat gently rocks amid a slick of blood and offal.

Army of Fun would like to thank the good people at SmithKline Beecham, purveyors of Paxil, for their generous endowment
Fyrste, 6:09 PM