Boldly choosing not to follow in the footsteps of the U.S. government--who opted to show their support for the arts by distributing postmodernist photographs taken of their enemies' assassinated bodies (heralded by the NY Crimes as being as bold and moving as "Piss Christ")--Prime Minister Ariel Sharon benevolently announced on October 27, that Israel had no plans to murder Yasser Arafat (thereby throwing off any potential future premeditated

murder charges).

The announcement was prompted by rumor-mill chatter begun at a meeting of lawmakers. Israel's Cabinet had decided to "remove" Arafat from office and gossip quickly spread that "remove" was a euphemism for expulsion or kill. Unrelated to Arafat's blatantly continuing to live problem, gossip also spread at the meeting that the pâté being served was actually a cheese whiz and Spam concoction and that French President Jacques Chirac wears dentures. 

Sharon was quoted as saying, "I don't see any plans to kill him," and then he immediately reached for his reading glasses and began searching for plans that had gone missing from his desk. 

Hailed as the new world trendsetters by nobody in particular, Israel's "who, me?" stance on Arafat's currently unplanned assassination has prompted copycats. Recently, Canada, Denmark and Switzerland unanimously announced, "We have no enemies. But if we did intend to assassinate anyone, it wouldn't be planned." The U.S. chimed in with a similar tune, "We never plan anything." - G. S. Lewis

For the second time this month, I found myself in some serious trouble on my stroll downtown.  As I took the last noisy sip from my 64oz Diet Coke, I spotted a nearby dumpster to throw it into.

As I walked up, I took note of how well this dumpster had been maintained and thought to myself there is some kind of motivational speech in this somewhere "... even a garbage man can be proud to do his work well", or "one man's dumpster is another mans castle..." etc.

I squared off with a sidewalk crack and launched myself into a double-pump three pointer and executed a flawless shot into the belly of the iron box.  Quite satisfied I turned and walked away as a very loud voice came at me saying "What the fuck is up buddy?!"  I suddenly found myself surrounded by a roving gang of angry, mulleted masculine men in wife beaters. 

As I proceeded to get the ever living shit kicked out of me, I was thrown against the dumpster and in between punches I realized it had an emblem on it that read "Chevy Avalanche"   - J Dill

Canadians Fear Nuclear Reprisal

Ottawa, Canada- Millions of Canadians this week are preparing for an all-out nuclear attack on the country. Fear of a possible nuclear strike and the resulting devastation, has Canadians reliving the tense situation that existed during the 1950’s and 60’s. This was the era when the threat of a surprise nuclear attack on the West from the Soviet Union was on everyone’s mind.

Although a few decades have since passed, the fear is back, but this time not from the Soviets. Intelligence reports point to the threat coming from Canada’s closest neighbor and long time ally, the United States of America.

Although the two countries have been on friendly terms for nearly two centuries, recent trade disputes and other events following September 11^th, 2001 have driven a wedge between the two nations.

A growing mistrust between the Canada and the US such as accusations from some American politicians implying that Canada is an open haven for terrorist groups has Prime Minister Jean Chretien and other political leaders privately fuming. "If we do not get an official apology from them, then we stop all shipments of maple syrup and hockey sticks." The PM was quoted as saying.

Sources near the President say the final straw came when the Prime Minister’s Director of Communications, Francoise Ducros was overheard telling a reporter that President Bush was a ‘moron’. Mr. Bush was furious that she was not terminated immediately and no official apology came from the Prime Minister’s office. Prime Minister Chretien is overheard to have said "I don’t know what all the fuss is about, it is no big deal. Why doesn’t he( President Bush)just remember the old saying; Sticks and stones…"

Leaks from White House officials say the President has moved Canada up on his ‘Nuke this Nation’ list, being squeezed inbetween Iraq and North Korea.  

K.M - Ottowa, Canada

In one of the closest races since Iraq has begun holding free elections, military strongman leader Saddam Hussein is barley managing to cling to power. With ninety-nine percent of the votes tallied, the ballots indicate a virtual tie with the ‘yes to Saddam’ voters counting 49 per cent and the ‘no I don’t care if I die’ voters receiving the same, with two percent undecided. Before the election, straw polls indicated the Iraqi leader would win by a landslide and senior Iraqi officials even hinted at a possible one hundred percent vote backing the Iraqi leader. The race being virtually tied at this point has the Iraqi regime concerned and visibly upset.

Mekilla Uloser an embarrassed spokesman for the Iraqi government tried to explain the reasons why the election was dead- locked. "We believe that poorly designed paper ballots make it difficult for Saddam’s supporters to read the choices." He went on to state that many of the ballots contained hanging chads making them invalid after being run through voting machines recently purchased from the state of Florida.

If Saddam ‘s regime wins the election, it would allow the military leader to remain in power for at least another seven years. If he loses, the election will be held again with those people voting ‘no’ being asked to visit the leader privately to express their concerns. A tie means that the election will be decided by the magistrate of the holy Iraqi Supreme Court.

The peoples’ favored opposition candidate, a bearded,  Almosta Algora was not available for comment and has not been seen in public since the election started.

K.M - Ottowa, Canada

Andy Rooney, CBS humorist and commentator for the popular news broadcast show Sixty Minutes, stunned the nation in an interview today with popular ABC 20/20 host Barbara Walters. Mr. Rooney was invited to do an interview with Ms Walters following statements he recently made concerning women sports commentators on the sidelines of NFL football games. Mr. Rooney had expressed the controversial view that women who know nothing about the physical and sometimes brutal sport should not be commenting or interviewing players during the game. "Those women and are just a real nuisance."

Mr. Rooney endured a grueling thirty minute interview conducted by Barbara Walters in which he was subjected to probing questions about his upbringing as well as questions concerning his manhood.

Nearing the end of the interview, Barbara Walters posed the question. "Mr. Rooney, how is it that you can justify your statements about these professional women who have worked so hard to overcome bias and obstacles at every turn of the way. Aren’t you a little bit ashamed of yourself?" "Well, a little bit I guess" Mr. Rooney replied softly.

"Mr. Rooney, you may have just set women’s rights back thirty or forty years. Don’t you owe the women of America an apology? Asked Ms Walters in a stern voice. "Well, since you put it that way," he said, wiping his eye with his sleeve.

Unrelenting, Ms Walters continued, "Mr. Rooney, you can’t look at yourself in the mirror and truly consider yourself a real man after this now, can you?". "OK! OK! Enough is enough, stop it! I can’t take any more of this. I’ll show you what I look like in front of the mirror." Mr. Rooney’s was furious and erupted only managing to say "This is what am" while simultaneously ripping open his jacket and shirt exposing two enormous breasts, supported by a wired push up bra. "Are you happy now!!!? Is America happy now!!!? Sobbing uncontrollably, he managed to blurt out "Thanks for ruining my whole career, it’s all over now, I’ll never work again."

Sympathetically Ms Walters replied. "There, there Andy, please don’t take it so hard. All my guests cry when I interview them. There’s no need to be ashamed of yourself. In fact I know many women who would be proud to have a set the size of those ones." Wiping away tears, Mr. Rooney managed a slight smile. Ms. Walters replied by saying only "Maybe you should cover yourself up now."

K.M. - Ottowa, Canada

Kidnappings - Thanks Media!

Once again, the media has fed ideas into the sick minded, twisted, worthless piece of shit psychos across the nation.

The mega coverage of a recent kidnapping was a chain of “feel sorry for the victim” reports – continually describing the innocence and beauty of the victim – which triggers the thoughts of the sick fuckers who would commit these sickening acts.

The media continually repeats detailed descriptions of the girls – these are the virtues and such, which sickos want to take away.  Each time these warped bastards turn on the TV or radio – they receive more “temptations”

Don’t get me wrong, my heart goes out to the victims and families more than I could ever convey.  I have felt physically ill thinking about the horror they must have endured.

The Solution:

Listen up media.  Take the “America’s Most Wanted” approach, not the “touching, saddening, victims” approach.

When these things happen, attach the kidnappers/murderers/rapists.  Insult their self worth, keep your focus on what a vile, disgusting, rotten piece of shit the asshole is that did this.

Instead of selling the nation (and sickos along with the rest of us real people) on what a beautiful and pure girl it was that was taken or victimized, feed the nation with bitter hatred toward the type of people who would do this.

Don’t build up what demented psychotic people want to take away from others, build up the absolutely disgusting, repulsive, foul and worthless qualities of these psychos.

Think I’m Wrong?

The NEWS covers stories of terrible situations nightly – reporting facts.  America’s Most Wanted, Police shows and ‘Crime Science’ shows cover these things continually, but…

No spree of these crimes breaks out.

Why?

The focus is either on facts or making the criminal into a worthless pile of shit – pointing out their flaws and stupidity.

But when a nationwide effort is launched – not to report facts or to make the criminal look bad, but to conjure and feed the emotions of viewers for ratings – the by-product of this is what we’ve seen since:

An outbreak of sick, twisted fuckers kidnapping and violating girls across the country.

Thanks Media!

  - J Dill

Mother Goose Pro Choice

Mother Goose believes in the freedom of choice for all creatures.  In an act to show her right to choose Mother Goose has destroyed her eggs.

Jack Horner, press spokesman for the Nursery Rhyme mogul, released this short statement yesterday while standing in the corner of the main conference room at MG Publishers INC., a Maryland based company who’s headquarters resembles an old, worn out high top shoe with no laces.  This statement sent a wave of shock to the assembled, which thought the short press conference, had been called to unveil a new Nursery Rhyme. 

"It’s a sad day,” commented James Doyle, one of the visibly shaken reporters on hand.  “I thought I was going to go home tonight and share with my children a new wonderful display of the spoken word. Now look what things have come to.” Holding back tears, “How could she?”  These sentiments seemed to be shared by most of the assembled. 

When questioned Horner would only say, “The eggs have been destroyed at an early stage in development, however, Mrs. Goose, has not authorized me to comment on how this was done.” 

“We don’t need to know.” interrupted Shelly Zivin, mother of 6, and spokeswoman of Mothers Against Nursery Rhymes.   “We don’t need to know how this act was done. All we need to know as M.A.N. members is we were right.”  After five minutes of what can be described only as incoherent chanting and babbling, [Zivin] closed by saying. “I knew that old goose bitch was the spawn of Satin.”  This prompted other M.A.N. members to begin the chant, “Keep them shut winged slut.” 

There has been some support among the sea of recent negativity toward Mother Goose. A small Manhattan based group, “People In Strong Support of Roe Vs. Wade,” released a short statement in support of her actions. “The men and woman at P.I.S.S.R applaud Mrs. Goose.  We too believe that all earth creatures, not only humans should have the right to choose.” 

P.E.T.A has chosen not to comment specifically on the actions of Mother Goose, yet have publicly stated their dislike of Tonight Show host Jay Leno.”   This comes after he was asked his thoughts about recent events, and the controversy it has created, on a talk show hosted by Phil Donohue.   In response Leno smiled, then said, “Well, it is hard to make an omelet with out first breaking a few eggs.” 

When further pressed on the whereabouts of Mother Goose, [Horner] would only say that Mother Goose is currently undergoing treatment for depression she usually suffers in the springtime. The only fabled character from Nursery Rhyme, which has been reached for comment, is Miss Muffet. Who got off her tuffet long enough to say, “Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.” The world famous, and beloved by children everywhere,  [Muffet], crabbed her crotch, spat, then sat back down.

Jim Kuta

Being A Gangster: 101

Yesterday, a 12 year old boy attending a church activity and barbecue, was resting his head on his mother's shoulder - when a stray bullet from a gang shootout hit him in the head.  He is now dead.

Rather than taking the approach of the police and other officials, we would like to approach gang members directly with three lessons that should never be forgotten.

1- The Godfather

2- Scarface

3- John Gotti

Why in the world would we do such a thing?

Americans have largely accepted the presence of organized crime in our country.  In fact, we have a certain romance toward the classic image of a "Gangster"  We are drawn to their lifestyle, power, money, and their system of respect.

"Soldiers" who participate know the risks and made the choice to take on those risks.  Civilians are untouchable - they are to be considered the pure, the virtuous - at least, not at the level of corruption of those who chose the fragile life of being involved in organized crime.  Real organized crime heads know and accept this.  Were it not this way, they would not receive respect, and would not have any real power.  Permanent power is achieved through respect, temporary power is achieved through fear.

Lesson 1: The Godfather.

No civilians - Even Solazo, a vicious cold blooded killer who wanted the Corleone family dead, once they would not agree to fund his drug operation...would not lay a finger on Don Corleone's own son, Michael.  Why?  Because he was a civilian.  Untouchable.  Had he done anything to him, the other families would have seen to it that he was taken out.  It's that simple.

Lesson 2: Scarface.

"No Women, No Kids" said Tony Montana, who was as brutal and cold as one could imagine.

A Columbian drug lord sent a paid assassin to kill a man who would make a powerful speech that could halt the drug lord's export of cocaine into the United States.

When the assassin chose a car bomb to get rid of the man - a problem arose.  The man picked up his wife and two little children.  Tony Montana (Scarface) told him again, "No Women, No Kids"  The assassin would not listen.  As a result, his brain ended up being sprayed all over the inside of the car from a point blank blast from Tony's gun.  He then violently proceeded to tell the corpse how stupid he was.

Lesson 3: John Gotti

There are countless lessons you could learn from The Godfather.  Though it is entirely fiction, the system holds true in real life.  Look at the recently passed "Teflon Don" John Gotti.  He committed, or had others commit violent, brutal acts.  But these acts involved those who made a choice - to accept that risk in becoming involved with organized crime.  "The People" absolutely loved Gotti - a real life "mob boss" who "loved his people" and upheld the "Corleone standard of respect"  Had he simply gone out killing innocent people - he would never have risen to the level of power he did.  He would have simply been snuffed out like some other thug or gang member.

We aren't trying to say these people did the right things, or were actually worthy of the praise and romance so many carry for them.  We aren't trying to justify the presence of gangs and organized crime.

What we are saying is this:

If you're going to play that game, play it right.  Otherwise, you and innocent people will just be dead - and that benefits no one.

We know organized crime will continue to have a presence in our country.  Nothing can stop that.

But we plead, think about this 12 year old boy, and the thousands of others like him that died for no reason other than ignorance, pride and egotism.

Do it right - and right or wrong, people will respect you, or at least let you be.  Do it wrong and you'll either end up dead or being raped in prison...not drinking Roederer Cristal.

  - J Dill

My name is Caterina Christakos and I will be your tour guide and advice columnist on your journey through, what some call the fiery pits of hell, and others simply refer to as dating. We will begin with a three part series on my first dating dating experience. Please feel free to write in and share your own dating experiences, or your questions. I am always prepared with a shoulder to cry on, some down home advice and if need be a strong valium. That said, dive on in and prepare to feel a little bit better about your own love life.

Dice, The Next Generation

CHANCE MEETING
Have you ever been totally and completely in love? Love so intense that your hands shake, your heart pounds and you can feel cold sweat trickle from your armpits down your sides, as you pray that there are no accompanying odors? I have and for me it was like watching a really gory horror flick from between widely spread fingers. A part of me was completely repulsed yet at the same time felt compelled to follow it to it's bloody end.

I met him freshman year of college. He was large - even then. Not in the Java the Hut, flesh rolling as he walked kind of way but in the six foot seven - and still growing, white version of a cross between Michael Jordan and Mohammed Ali. My five foot two, a hundred and ten pound frame was wobbling along, on crutches, carting two tons of books from the school bookstore, when our eyes met. My baby browns met his steel grey and two seconds later I was sprawled at his feet, books scattered or thrown into the campus lake, as I mumbled some inane reply, while he knelt to rectify some of the carnage.

Perhaps, if I had taken the prerequisite religion course or even been into the whole New Age, karma, crystal toting set, I might have taken this as a sign of things to come. Instead I invited him to my dorm room for a Coke, as a thank you for carting the remains the rest of the way. Even now I am amazed at how difficult it was for me to form coherent sentences - me with my motor mouth, that could turn tornadoes green with envy. Yet that was how it was for the first day and even the first month that we dated. But I get ahead of myself.

After agonizing minutes, where we stood shifting from foot to foot, attempting to think of something fascinating to say and ending up exchanging majors, he left. I did not see him again for several weeks, though I found myself scanning the campus for the sight of his tussled brown curls or at eye level his six pack of a stomach. I finally bumped into him in the cafeteria, with his buddies. This was right after I had just started and finished dating the first boy I had ever kissed. After that experience, I had just about decided to give up on the whole kissing institution. He was wet and sloppy and I always ended up wiping his saliva off of my chin- not that he noticed. Needless to say when my lakeside savior strode up to my table and asked me out, I was wary.

THE FIRST DATE
For me, first dates are like the anticipation of climbing the first hill of a roller coaster, and the nausea that inevitably ensues. This first of firsts was no exception.
After spending several hours teasing my hair into a follicular sculpture which would rival the masterpieces of any Vidal Sassoon and searching the deepest, most uncharted recesses of my closet to find the perfect pale blue pumps, which flawlessly matched the carefully selected pair of panties for the evening- not that he had any chance of seeing them - nevertheless this fastidious sense of matching gave me a great sense of inner comfort, you can imagine my sheer delight in being driven to the Discount Dollar Movie Plex and having my prince charming whip out his newly acquired free passes for our evening's entertainment. One would think with a body as large as his, there would be plenty of room for a brain. Time and experience proved the error in jumping to such a far fetched conclusion.

There we sat, chair to chair, his hand resting on my arm, as his thumb roamed in little circles on the top of my wrist. As the lights dimmed, I leaned forward, anticipating a romance or light hearted comedy. What I got was the flare of guns, car chases, and the spill of blood, as inner city gangs fought over drug territory and prostitutes. As I sat quaking in horror, my simple minded Lathareo leaned over and questioned -" Good movie, huh?"

About to blast him into Arctic territories, yet unseen by man or seal, I had the misfortune of looking into those big, soulful eyes and lost my ability to speak, let alone blame him for the night's disaster. And when he asked why I kept flexing my hand throughout the movie, I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth - that his thoughtful thumb massage had put my hand to sleep. No, one look from him or one simple touch and I would make Marcell Marcieux sound like Chatty Kathy.
Weeks turned into months and at last I regained my ability to speak. Unfortunately, I began to resemble my namesake in Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. In all due fairness, it wasn't necessarily the things he did that set me off - although his growing collection of vodka bottles on the wall and the overpowering stench of month old laundry didn't help- but the innate differences between us. I lived for Tennyson's sonnets and he for Jug's Magazine. Don't get me wrong, when things were good between us, there was no greater high, like the time he hired a gondola to take us around a nearby lake or those moments cuddled in his arms when he would sing to me in a voice angels would envy, but when the pains of reality, such as his friends bursting in on us without notice or knocking - hoping to get an eyeful, came into play, the fires of hell would have been a welcome reprieve.

Caterina Christakos