Army of Fun


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Friday, February 28, 2003

Ladies and Gentleman, I have been to the future and returned with future news.

Anti-Americanism Reaches New Peaks

By Quentin Travers
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, November 3, 2004; Page A01

In a stunning display of anti-Americanism voters yesterday sought to replace President Bush with Democratic rival Howard Dean.

With most votes counted in the forty-nine states where elections were held, Florida cancelled it's elections a week ago and polls never opened there, it would appear that Governor Dean has carried the day. However, the Administration has signaled that it will not take this affront to its honor and dignity lying down. A Senior Administration Official has told The Washington Post that the White House is planning to call for a nationwide recount as well as other steps to "rectify this brazen attack against this President, the American people and God."

The citizens of California and New York, or "New-raq", as Administration insiders have taken to calling the state, have particularly raised the ire of the President, according to Bush's advisors. "Given the treasonous behavior of the Californians and New-raqis the President considers it within his power to declare them enemy combatants and thereby disqualify their votes," said one Senior Official, "Our position is, you cannot let these people trample the will of patriotic Americans."

At a White House briefing Ari Fleischer faced some difficult questions including the following exchange.*

"Isn't the President disrespecting the Constitution?"
"No. The President has a great respect for the freedom of religion, the 2nd Amendment, the separation of powers, presidential authority and the Electoral College. So I think it's disingenuous to say our President disrespects the Constitution."
"What about the constitutional right of citizens to have their voices heard?"
"The constitution provides for the Electoral College."
"So citizens' votes don't count?"
"I think I've answered your question, Helen. Guards!"

In Florida, Governor Bush defended his decision not to open the polls following pre-election numbers running 3-2 in favor of the anti-American candidate and the resulting potential for "terroristic voting". Despite several outbursts of civil unrest, Governor Bush maintained, in an appearance late last night, that his decision was the correct one saying, "I do feel vindicated. This is [an election] result only the French or Al Qaida could love."

Florida's Secretary of State said that in lieu of an election the State Legislature would select Florida's delegates to the Electoral College. Amid a flurry of winking and nudging at a joint press conference early this morning, both the Governor and the Secretary of State said they were sure the Legislature's choices would be the "proper ones".

The Washington Post sought Governor Dean's comments on the Bush Administration's response to yesterday's results, but neither the Governor nor any member of his campaign staff could be reached. Reports that the apparent President-Elect was hustled away from his campaign headquarters by armed men and is currently languishing in cage at the Guantanamo Naval Station could not, as yet, be confirmed.

In a related story, House Majority Leader Tom DeLay remains in an undisclosed location following his attack on Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi. Representative Pelosi died this weekend after Rep. DeLay ripped her throat out with his "freedom teeth".

Today spokesmen for Rep. DeLay held a press conference during which they brandished a preliminary pathology report, which they said showed that Rep. Pelosi was in possession of biological weapons. The report indicated that Rep. Pelosi's intestinal tract was infested with the deadly bacteria e. coli. DeLay's spokesmen dismissed Democratic contentions that such an infestation was normal for all human beings and to be expected.

DeLay's spokesmen maintained that the late Minority Leader was "nothing but a bag of bio-weaponry," pointing out that Rep. Pelosi had within her body "enough of this bacteria to sicken or even kill an entire kindergarten class,"

"Considering that America was one Fleet Enema away from a national tragedy we should be applauding Tom DeLay for taking such courageous actions to avert a nightmarish biological attack on our children. He is truly a national hero," one the spokesmen concluded.

*Just kidding, the WaPo would never report such an exchange under any circumstances.

Fyrste, 1:48 PM

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

I may be covered in slop but I've got some inside info on the CBS Saddam interview, so please read on. Go ahead, do it.

Okay, so I was finishing up my shift at Red Lobster (doling out "lobster" and "butter", or as we call it "I Can't Believe It's Not Rancid" to glazed-eyed slack-jawed low-tipping ingrates, but it could be worse, I could be stuck in the kitchen all day filleting nutrias (the other other white meat) and jamming the greasy flesh into ceramic faux-lobster carapaces) when I noticed that someone had left behind some papers in one of those clear plastic binders. Normally, I would have just chucked it-- because I hate every single person that comes into that hell-hole and whenever they leave something behind I'll either steal it if it's valuable or chuck it just out of spite if it's worthless to me and then deny ever seeing it, and believe me someone's forgotten work product no matter how much they might value it is falls into my worthless crap category-- but this was stamped property of CBS News so I stashed it under my ort spattered apron so I could peruse it after I got home and squeegeed the grease and nutria filth off of my beleaguered body. And so, this is I found myself in possession of a transcript detailing the off-camera preliminaries of Dan Rather's interview with Saddam Hussein parts of which I reproduce immediately below.

Dan Rather: So, Mr. President, I must ask why you chose me for this exclusive interview.

Saddam Hussein: I will be honest. Wolf Blitzer asked first and we said yes, but when he showed up he was very nervous and his beard was slicked with flop sweat...

DR: Hah! I knew when it came to it that Blitzer would fall apart faster than a flapjack condom.

SH: Er, whatever. No, you see, naturally the flop sweat of Blitzer made us suspicious. So we searched him and discovered he was wired...

DR: For sound? It is an interview after all?

SH: No, with explosives.

DR: Oh, wow. Color me more surprised than a sheep at a West Virginia frat house.

SH: Uh, yeah. At first we thought it was a CIA plot, but when we checked the bomb we saw that it was a totally amateurish job. Probably I would have escaped unscathed if covered in Blitzer bits. We confronted him and he admitted he had acted solo. He figured that if he had succeeded his ratings would have been obscene.

DR: But, so, you just let him go?

SH: Of course. I understood entirely. Who doesn't want good ratings? He would have killed across all key demographics.

DR: True.

SH: But, yes, believe me I am more happy to do this interview with you. The man who succeeded Cronkite, who was like a father to us all. A man we could turn to, the man who made us all feel like we had walked on the moon with the astronauts of Apollo. How I miss his soothing but authoritative voice. Is Walter as magnificent in person as he was on our screens?

DR: Oh yes indeed.

SH: I knew it must be so. I try to model myself after him you know.

DR: As do I.

SH: See, then we have very much in common. But, tell me, what was it like to step into those hallowed shoes.

DR: It was a great honor, of course, but also a little overwhelming. For a while there I was crazier than a coon in a moonshine still.

SH: Is that some kind of racist joke?

DR: No, no. A raccoon.

SH: I do not understand.

DR: Small mammal native to North America. Ring tailed, black circles around eyes. They're always knocking over trash and stuff. Getting in more trouble than Roman Polanski at a teen-age slumber party.

SH: (unintelligible)

DR: Excuse me? I didn't catch that.

SH: I said you are the mother of all cornpone adages. I know, I know, it's hacky, but it's my bit. If Jay Leno can do it why can't I?

DR: No reason.

SH: Are you okay? You seem anxious.

DR: Well, you know, homicidal dictator and all.

SH: What homicidal dictator?

DR: Uh, you?

SH: What? Who told you that?

DR: It's what everyone says.

SH: Who? Who's everyone?

DR: I don't know. Everybody.

SH: Everybody?

DR: Everybody.

SH: Damn.

DR: Oh, jeez. Now I've just made it worse. I'm more anxious than a midget hooker in an NBA locker room.

SH: What is it with the racial jokes?

DR: No, it's not. I was just...

SH: Oh come on. The NBA has many black players and it is a well-known chestnut around the world that black men are well-endowed.

DR: I just meant...

SH: I know what you meant.

DR: There are white NBA players.

SH: Yes, but no one makes sexual jokes about them unless it is to mock them for having the small penis. In which case why would the midget hooker be anxious?

DR: Okay, okay. I'm sorrier than...

SH: No, no more of this "more this than that". Do it one more time and not only is this interview over but I will throw you in the dungeon and let Uday rape you.

DR: Rape me?

SH: It's his new thing. He saw it on Kingpin. It was not a very good show but it had some good torture scenes that the boys and I really enjoyed. I don't necessarily approve of Uday's new taste for the man raping, but I think it's just a phase. He's very easily influenced.

DR: Rape me?

SH: Saddam does not repeat himself, but I think you understand me. Okay, let's do this thing.

Fyrste, 12:41 PM

Monday, February 24, 2003

Often I have so many thoughts running through my mind I am paralysed by their very multiplicity. Or maybe that's just what I tell myself. Maybe that sound in my head isn't the incessant buzzing of a hive of thoughts but instead the dull roar of the void. Sometimes I just don't know. In all likelihood my confusion over the state of my mind dates back to my decidedly odd childhood. Typically, the French have a turn of phrase that describes the nature of my upbringing but of course it is difficult to render it properly into English. So while a Frenchman would instantly understand exactly what I meant if I told him "je suis élevé par les ours" the literal English translation "I was elevated to strike price the bear" doesn't make much sense and the more colloquial form "I was raised by bears" just doesn't have the power of the original. In any case, raised by bears I was.

Naturally, I am not a bear but a human being. It's just that I had the misfortune to be brought into this world by a pair of flaky, crunchy hippies. Less than a year after I was born, the exact dates are hazy in everybodys' memories, my parents took me on a marijuana inspired trip across the country. We were in Yosemite when fate and the effects of too many drugs intervened to change my life forever. That day my parents decided to "drop" some Happy Hippy Sunshine Acid and take a nature walk. At first everything seemed fine. They admired the nature around us impressed by the sensuousness of the colors they percieved, and imagined that the embodied spirits of the forest frolicked unseen behind the nearest trees. Unfortunately we soon got lost, as will happen often to drug-addled hippies hiking through the forest, which further unhinged my barely rational parents. They wandered on fitfully, starting first in this direction then in another, until we came across a patch of blueberries where they decided to sit down and collect themselves. While they tried to get oriented and stem their rising acid panic I gorged myself on berries. Maybe if I hadn't eaten the berries and maybe if hadn't ended up stained a deep purple over most of face and body then things would have been different, but I suppose that given their state of mind I should just be grateful that what my parents thought were blueberries actually were blueberries and not some poison and that I did not die a twitching, effluvia spewing death on a bed of mouldering pine needles.

Still, it's not as if things turned out well at all. A reconstruction of the moments leading up to my abandonment in the wilds would go something like this:

Me: Coo, slurp, argle.
My Mother: Look at him eat those berries. He's like a little bear.
My Father: (eyes narrowing) Like a bear? Maybe he is a bear.
My Mother: Our little bear.
My Father: (increasingly agitated) I think he is a goddamned bear.
Me: Gurgle, rarnf.
My Mother: Bear!
My Father: (completely pixilated) I know. Why do we have a bear?
My Mother: (pointing) No. A bear!
Bear: Growl. Roar. Gnash.
My Father: (panicked, grabbing my mother's hand) Run! A bear!
My Mother: Our baby!
My Father: (off his nut, negligent) No, he's a bear. The bear wants the bear.
Sounds of hippies crashing through the underbrush.
Bear: Gruh?
Me: Coogle?
Bear: Nuzzle.
Me: Coogle.

And so this bear, who was a momma bear, took me home to the rest of her cubs and I became a bear, but at first not a very good one. I gamboled poorly and was easily bruised by the other cubs. I couldn't scramble up a tree to save my life. I couldn't rend flesh with my teeth because I didn't have many teeth. My sense of smell was inferior. I was a sub-par bear. I was, in short, a bear-tard.

Happily, as I grew older I became a better bear. I learned to climb trees. With my prehensile paws I could fish as many, if not more, salmon from a stream as any other bear. Thanks to my odd proportions, at least from a bearish viewpoint, I was far sneakier than the average bear and soon held the record for purloining picinic baskets. And while I didn't have the brute strength to tear open a car my upright posture allowed me to carry loot back to my den. Among my fellow bears I was a sought after foraging companion.

Yes, for awhile there it was all gravy and it just kept getting better. Pubery hit and new vistas of ursine pleasure opened before me. My new alluring odors and well provisioned tree-hole had the females flocking to my den. For a time I was the young bear stud to mate with. And mate I did and with wild abandon. Every day and every night the forest would echo with the rapturous growls of myself and my consort of the hour.

Alas, it could not last. In time it became apparent that for all my furious thrusting I could engender no offspring. Despite my mastery of bestial technique I was eventually shunned by all but the most slatternly she-beasts.

In my new found free time I found myself more and more often lurking at the edges of campsites listening to the strange human grunts, so different from those of us bears, emanating therefrom. I became intrigued with the wierd patterns on the inedible packaging humans wrapped their food in. Somewhere deep inside the linguistic center of my brain connections were being forged. I would try to make human noises and did my best to turn into meaningful sounds the wierd patterns on the paper and plastic strewn about my den. Always I hid these efforts from the other bears though I did not know why I did so. One day I forgot myself and in front of my fellow bears I uttered my first word, a guttural, griding "Hershey". That kind of freaked the bears out and I was ostracized further from the only society I had ever known, the society of bears.

Then one day I was spotted by some humans during a foraging raid on their encampment. "Hey kid, get away from those bears," some one said, and I knew they were talking to me. I turned and howled, "No, I bear," but the damage had already been done and my life as a bear would soon come to an end.

The people reported their sighting of me to the park rangers. As it happened, there had be occassional reports of a wild bear boy down through the years, but this was the first sighting that involved contact. The authorities decided it was time to take action and they sent out teams of rangers to track me down. I eluded them for days but finally I was cornered. I did my best to scare them off with an elaborate, slavering display of ferocious aggression. I pawed the earth, punched and shook trees, and drew myself up to my full height. It was all to no avail. I could not scare them off and so I did what any good bear would do. I made a mad charge at them determined to maul as many of them as possible. And I was brought down by a hail of tranquiliser darts.

Thusly, I re-entered the fold of humanity and began the long, and as yet incomplete, process of becoming a fully functioning human being. But that is another and much longer story.

Fyrste, 3:55 PM