Xmas. And Xmas gifts. They're close. I can almost smell them. No, I take it back. That's the Usinger sausage and cheese platte rthat should have been refrigerated immediately. But instead of sneaking into people's closets and rattling the boxes, let's just see what everybody should be getting under their tree tomorrow in another episode of Will Durst's annual Xma$ Gift Wi$h Li$t.

For Strom Thurmond: At least two more terms. Because God knows you can't have a really effective government without at least one 112-year-old guy in the mix.

For Bill Gates: A sign for his desk that says "the bucks stop here."

For Newt Gingrich: The Republicans go down in flames and he has to put his cape and tights back on and save them.

For Charlton Heston: A .357 magnum with armor piercing explosive nose bullets he can give to school teachers to fight back.

For Kenneth Starr: A tan.

For Linda Tripp: A best friend just like her.

For Bob Dole: Enough Viagra to last him through Liddy's campaign.

George W. Bush: A yellow stripe for the middle of his forehead indicating the depths of his compassionate conservatism.

For James Carville: A new boss.

For Spice Girls: A sixteenth minute.

Frequently Asked Questions About Impeachment.

Q. What is impeachment?
A. Impeachment is when Congress decides the President has been too uppity and they attempt to bring him down to their level.

Q. What's the worst part of impeachment?
A. A nation torn asunder at the seams by a contentious internal political struggle.

Q. What's the best part of impeachment?
A. During the trial, the Senators have to write their questions down and aren't allowed to talk.

Q. What did Clinton do that has Republicans in both houses of Congress twitching like hamsters duct taped to rotor tillers?
A. He made Newt Gingrich go home.

Q. What's the big deal about a President lying? What's that make: 42 in a row?
A. Good point. Besides, he lied about cheating on his wife. That's why it's called cheating on your wife. You're supposed to lie. It's in the manual. If you tell the truth it's a totally different thing. I think it's actual title is: Wilt Chamberlain's autobiography.

Q. What's the difference between Henry Hyde, Dan Burton and Bob Livingston getting caught cheating on their wives and Clinton getting caught?
A. Clinton's lag time wasn't long enough.

Q. Do the Republicans and Clinton hate each other so much they're willing to destroy the country just to take each other out?
A. Just think of the American public as innocent victims in an extremely ugly custody case.

To be continued.

Frequently Asked Questions About Impeachment. Part two.

Q. What Was That Whole Foot Stomping Thing With The Bombing Of Iraq? Congress looked like a bunch of third graders whose field trip to Candyland got postponed. "But I wanted to impeach him today! Who died and made him President?"
A. Bob Dole.

Q. Why is everybody so against Censure?
A. They want Clinton to pay for crimes committed by Jimmy Carter.

Q. Why did Democrats march to the White House after the vote?
A. Just a typical pep rally to put a positive spin on the Impeachment.

Q. What was Hillary's presence on Capitol Hill during the vote meant to indicate?
A. Think of the brother showing up from Italy at the trial in "Godfather II."

Q. How did Hugh Shelton become Commander of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?
A. He replaced a General who removed himself from consideration after it was revealed he had an affair.

Q. The heck is going on here?
A. Good question.

Q. Is Matt Drudge the journalist of the future?
A. No, Larry Flynt is.

Q. What does the term split screen Presidency mean?
A. People in Washington could watch Clinton end the bombing in Iraq and the Redskins game at the same time.

Frequently Asked Questions About Impeachment.

Q. Can Clinton prevail?
A. If anybody can, it's him. He gets involved in an inappropriate relationship with a girl 27 years his junior, gets caught lying to a grand jury and what happens, two Republican Speakers quit.

Q. How come almost everybody in the world reluctantly supported the bombing except Trent Lott, the Chinese, French and Russians?
A. I don't know about Trent, but Saddam probably owes all those other guys money.

Q. Why did Clinton choose such a critical time to bomb Iraq?
A. Name a non critical time for Clinton since January 21st.

Q. Does Saddam really have the world's 4th largest army?
A. You have to understand there's a big drop off between numbers three and four.

Q. Who said "America gets the leaders it deserves"?
A. Thomas Jefferson. One of the forefathers of our country and, as it turns out, the original Godfather of soul.

Q. What does the quotation mean?
A. We must have been a very naughty nation recently.

Frequently Asked Questions About Impeachment.

Q. Could the President avoid impeachment by apologizing?
A. Doubt it. He's already apologized to everybody for everything including El Niño, the substandard maple syrup crop and that whole Billy Ray Cyrus thing.

Q. Any chance he'll resign?
A. About the same chance we'll see the moon fall out of the sky and lab rats grow wings, with flocks of them blocking out the sun.

Q. Does the President have an enemies list?
A. If so, his name must be at the very top.

Q. What about Hillary?
A. What about her?

Q. That's not an answer.
A. Like that was a question?

Q. Is it true when she got that dog neutered, she checked around for a two for one deal?
A. No, but understand she has to hang with Bill. Politics is like real estate: location, location, location. It's not like they divorce, she gets the House. Although, I bet she checked.

Q. How much credibility does Bill have left?
A. Well, the credibility dipstick is pretty dry, but he could try to explain when he waggled his finger and scolded the American public, "I never had sexual relations with that woman" he was actually pointing at Helen Thomas.

It's funny. Well, unless you were taking a midnight stroll on a hill overlooking the Tigris River, then maybe it wasn't so funny.But the same arguments the pro and con impeachment forces are using, could be translated directly to the pro and con Saddam forces.
"Yes he did."
"No he didn't."
"He lied."
"He parsed."
"He's a weasel with no sense of shame."
"Just trying to hold off the conspiracy against him."
"You say tomato and I say tomahto. Let's call the whole thing off."
"Boom!"
The White House is calling the strike on Iraq, "Desert Fox", which, correct me if I'm wrong, was the name the Allies gave to Rommel during WWII, aka, the Big One. Of course, Clinton, also aka, the Big One, might as well have called it "Smoke and Mirrors" for all the good it did. Trent Lott, who apparently mislaid the "close ranks in time of war" memo said that Clinton was trying to distract America by a timely bombing. Although, right now, I don't think America would put up much of a fight if Clinton decided to launch Tomahawk Missiles at the Republican side of Congress. After all, they're viable within a few inches aren't they?

"Desert Storm II. This time... it's personal." Theyhad logos and a theme song. It was like watching a playoff game."You're looking live at Baghdad, Iraq where the perennialfavorites, the USA are taking on the upset minded hordes of Hussein."I kept expecting John Madden to show up with his video chalkstick."There's the coin toss, and Saddam elects to receive... andreceive... and receive." Fourth largest army in the worldhunh? My only guess is there must be a big drop off between numbersthree and four. Talk about surreal. Watching live coverage ofa surprise attack. At one point, Bernie Shaw asked ChristianeAmanpour what the smoke smelled like and she said, "smellslike smoke." Republicans cried Clinton picked a criticaltime to bomb Iraq. Yeah,since January 21st, name a non criticaltime in the Clinton administration. What did everybody think thosetwo Carrier groups were doing lurking in the Gulf? Practicingwind sprints? Rescuing oil encrusted terns? Republicans reactedlike third graders whose field trip to Candyland was postponed."But I wanted to impeach him today! Who died and made himPresident?" Unh, Bob Dole. The only true non believers wereTrent Lott, the Chinese, the French and the Russians. I don'tknow about Trent, but the reason for the reluctance on those otherguys was pretty obvious. Saddam owes them money.

Aah, Xmas. The magical moment which comes but once a year. So,okay... it takes up three whole months now. But still. It's asacred celebration where we honor the birth of our Lord and SaviorJesus Christ by purchasing large amounts of stuff we don't needwhile eating and drinking to such excess, clothes we receive fromAunts we can't remember don't fit anymore and we're free to exchangethem for other worthless crap we'll rip out of its overpackagedplastic bubble wrap and never look at again. I get goosebumpsjust thinking about it. So here goes with our annual index ofwho really deserves what under their tree this Friday, aka; WillDurst's Tenth Annual 1998 Xma$ Gift Wi$h Li$t.

* For Bill Clinton: A pogo stick, so he can keep bounce and bounce and bounce around the truth.
* For Hillary Clinton: A Nobel Peace Prize for not belting Bill with a lamp everytime they're seen in public.
* For Monica Lewinsky: An all expenses paid year's sabbatical in Antarctica.
* For Saddam Hussein: A Stealth Bunker somewhere near the gates of hell.
* For Larry Flynt: A Pulitzer.
* For new Los Angeles Dodger Kevin Brown: A private island where he can spend his early October vacation.

Let's face it, it's all about gifts. Buying, selling, giving,getting. Santa keeps a list and checks it twice, and so do we.We were in the midst of giving out presents to a bunch of folkswho deserved them, even if they didn't even know they deservedthem but we know they do, so in the spirit of the holiday, let'skeep it up. Here goes with part two of Will Durst's 1998 Xma$Gift Wi$h Li$t.

* For Dominique Moceanu: Her own MTV series titled "How To Ground Your Parents."
* For Latrell Sprewell: A phone with Johnny Cochran's number preset into all the speed dialer positions.
* For The Bosnian People: The discovery of vast pools of oil.
* For Al Gore: A strobe light to use at Press Conferences giving the appearance of movement.
* For Bob Livingston: His own Calendar deal where he can pose in all his favorite outfits.
* For Baby Boomers Who Still Think Social Security Will Be Around When They Retire: Pixie Dust to stay forever young.
* For Dick Armey: A Nickname.
* For the NBA Players Association: A round trip ticket on the clue train.
* For Mike Tyson: A couple of tenderized appetizers before the main entree.
* For Carolyn Starr: Enough luck at Stanford to never get Chelsea Clinton as a lab partner.

Thankful? Hey, I got your thankful right here. I am so damn fullof thanks for so many things. Can you even imagine what I'm thankfulfor? No, of course not, that's why you're reading this. To findout exactly what it is that a middle aged married childless guygives thanks for, right? So here I go with my extremely personalitemized list of objects, sights and experiences that make lifejust a tiny bit more worthwhile.

* An undiscovered pair of clean underwear after a two week camping trip.
* A debris sandwich at Mother's in New Orleans.
* Sleeping until noon.
* Pez.
* Diana Rigg in the original Avengers.
* Confusing all the kids as we race up the stairs to the waterslide.
* Toasting those same kids with Bloody Marys at the swim up bar of the Hilton   Waikoloa on the west side of the Big Island during sunset.
* Vests.
* Kenneth Starr, Don King and Jesse "the Body" Ventura.
* Diana Rigg in anything.
* Scrambled eggs with lox on a Sunday morning when my baby wakes up before I do.
* Doing eighty five down Highway 395 in a convertible hunk of Detroit iron with the radio cranked up to eleven.
* Diana's meat pie at Hunan in San Francisco.
* That I'm no longer working graveyard shift at the foundry.
* Luchese boots after about a year.

Hey guys, guess what? The Good Samaritan law passed earlier thisfall to goose corporate firms into sharing information and technologywith each other to help fight the Y2K problem has been deemeda failure. Who would have thunk? Next you'll tell me the RepublicanCongressional leadership isn't shelling out the big bucks in contributionsto the Clinton Impeachment defense fund. The Y2K glitch, for thoseof you who have spent the last couple of years as Ted Kascinsky'sweird hermit neighbor, is where computers get stupider than arejected Jerry Springer guest and think when the date changesto the year 2000, it's actually the start of a four month periodin the fifteenth century and it tries to hide its operating systemin the South of France in order to avoid the Spanish Inquisition.Or something like that. But nobody wants to share informationbecause lawyers have warned them they'll be liable in case theypass on bad info even though the bill says they won't. Of coursenobody will really know if it is or isn't a problem until themillennium rolls around in 385 days. And it we'll be able to seeexactly what's going down by watching the countries across theInternational Dateline. So for the first time in our history,we'll be able to say, "as goes New Zealand, so goes the world."

Confused about sex? Turns out you are not alone, my friend. Congress,not to mention the President and a whole bunch of judges and lawyersand journalists happen to be baffled about the whole damn thingas well. Perplexed you might say. I'd go so far as to say puzzledeven. Journalists of course, you expect it from. But was it sexor was it all just a big misunderstanding? See, it depends onyour perspective. Now for a guy, well simply put; this is notwhat the my buds back in high school would have referred to as"getting laid." This was more like extreme third base.A triple with the bases full. Of course to a girl's mom this wasa whole lot more than getting laid. This was the dreaded "perversion."A gateway leading directly to the wearing of fishnet stockings.To a guy's dad, this would have meant a walk past the woodshedaccompanied by a bogus warning tinged with a proud smirk. Afterall, this was arm punching proof his little boy was a real man.The boys down at the plant got to hear about this one. To a girl'sdad, this would have meant a furious session in the dark changingthe gun metal finish on his automatic weapons collection chromeplated.

So, let me get this straight. In order to get a moment's peace,Clinton feels like he has to escape to the relative quiet of theGaza Strip. Maybe while he's over there, he'll establish an EasternWhite House in Sarajevo. Just for a couple of months or so. Untilthings die down to a low boil over here. Which looks to be aboutJanuary. Of the year 2001. He still denies he committed perjury,and intimated that before he quits we'll see the moon fall outof the sky and lab rats grow wings, with flocks of them blockingout the sun. Its turned into a test of wills. Will Bill crackor will the Republicans cut their own throats just to bleed onhim? Of course, the Republicans maintain there won't be a backlashin their singleminded quest to oust the President because we'retoo stupid to remember this whole witch hunt a full two yearsfrom now. I love it when they underestimate our intelligence.Just like in November when they convinced themselves everybody's"giveashit" was broke and they lost seats in Congressduring a midterm election for the first time since the NorthernHemisphere cooled. They're still hoping beyond hope if they turnover enough rocks a monster will crawl out from under one. Andthey're willing to bet the monster won't be a public more pissedoff than Sean Penn with a bunch of sticks up his butt. Wrong.

COAL MIND
Quarter mile in, the light faded. I scuttled forward on my butt,right foot on the north rail; back against the wall. Maybe I couldsalvage the suit coat. "One step closer and the whole placegoes, asshole!" He had a point. It was a coal mine. Smartdicks don't chase suspects 1/ 4 mile into 360 degrees of flammablematerial. A light flashed and we were both blind. The fuse's flickeringsizzle held our attention like a broken cyanide capsule on thetongue. I screamed "Hillary", hoping he'd throw toosoon. I heard it arc right. Three ties and half the rail againaway. Legs braced, I leapt. Left knee cracked on south rail. Twodreamy crawls and it was mine. Slick, sinister and scary. Sirenic.An awkward underhanded toss, thegering pinball lope off wallstowards faint glimmer of light. Sudden loud and immense hot. Hurledagainst jagged hard. Slow rise. Okay, forget the coat.

PINK TWIST
We were naked. She had me by the shortest of hairs. I was heralibi when her brother died. And the cops had arrested the cabdriver who found him. I knew now, nothing was as it appeared.First off, she wasn't his sister. She was his brother. And thegun she pointed at me was at least three quarters cannon. "Can'tblame this on the cab driver Patti, or is Patrick?" "Actually,Big Boy, it's Dimitri. Yvgeny, or as you called him, Patti, islying in a sheet metal drawer down at the morgue." "Ah,the old Ukrainian twin transvestite triple switch." "Yeah,but how often have you heard it done with a hollowed out bowlingpin?" "Only once. On my Langley roommate. Geneva. 83."Her mouth relaxed into that resigned smile you only see on reallyold Russians and she lowered the artillery as the Fibs knockeddown the door. The crime scene negs cost me eight grand.

What They Say/ What They Mean
The Iraqi Weapons Inspection Crisis Version pitting the Mother of All swarthy Iraqi strongman versus the American President who's smoother than rayon pajamas on silk sheets in zero gravity.

WTS: "We're looking forward to going back into Iraq and being allowed to do our job."
WTM: "Those frequent flyer miles are adding up."

WTS: "Clinton's statement is a flagrant violation of International law."
WTM: "Totally different International laws than Saddam is breaking."

WTS: "We are not advocating the overthrow of Saddam's regime."
WTM: "But we might be willing to kick in a couple of bucks if someone else is willing to get their hands dirty. How does an ante of $97 million sound?"

WTS: "Iraq has backed down."
WTM: "The coin came up heads."

WTS: "America, the demon oppressor, has backed down ."
WTM: "Whew!"

WTS: "I don't believe any additional warning is required."
WTM: "Linda Tripp is standing by to be airlifted in."

WTS: "It's just a pesticide factory."
WTM: "We seem to attract extremely large bugs around here. And most of them are bipeds."

WTS: "We Russians sympathize with the plight of the Iraqi people."
WTM: "We originated the whole broke and hungry thing."

WTS: "We lost all the chemical and biological weapon documentation."
WTM: "The dog ate our homework."

So the deal is, K-Tel Records may be decertified by NASDAQ for being underfunded, and I may have the answer here. Late night commercials hawking the Tripp-Lewinsky tapes. "Not available in stores. White House operators now on duty. " After eleven months we finally got to hear the intern's sirenic voice, and enh... I guess you could say it's sexy in a Raphaelesqe under-grad Banana Republic sort of way. Of course now the deluge begins. We're going to get more tired of hearing her talk than Bill is, if that's possible. After turning down what her lawyer claimed were offers of more than $5 million, yeah, right, and formica is edible; Ms. Lewinsky signed a book deal for a $600,000 advance from St. Martin's Press. She'll also talk to Barbara Walters and tape a shot on a British talk show for a cut of the world wide take, which may be more than a million bucks. So she's come out of this, well if not smelling like a rose, at least able to afford a nice rose scent cologne. What with Paula Jones and Kathleen Willey waiting in the wings, I think we have a brand new cottage industry on our hands. The Oval Office Harlequin romance line.

As a public service, I watched the Impeachment hearings so that you didn't have to. And I got to be honest here. You owe me money. Oh, it was riveting television. A lot like listening to golf on the radio in Mandarin. Like watching varnish harden on a closet baseboard by a ten watt light bulb. I don't mean to say Kenneth Starr was boring but his own staff was nodding off behind him. He has to be the whitest human on the face of the planet. Beyond white. He's translucent. A man to whom the term "pasty" is but a dream. Envious of diaphanous. And it's an absolute wonder how he's able to be so incredibly patient with us. Because we are so stupid. Don't we get it? My God, it's like trying to explain quantum physics to a rabbit hutch. Not only did the man lie, but then he lied about lying. Yeah, sure, maybe his staff intimidated Monica Lewinsky by a threat of 27 years in jail if she tried to talk to her lawyer. He was just following normal prosecutorial procedure. And sure, he can't remember a lot of stuff. So what? Didn't Clinton use the same ruse? And don't give me that birds of a feather crap, there's a big difference between the two of them. It's so obvious. Starr is on the side of right.

The older you get the more you realize it's mostly the little things you should be giving thanks for. I am older. Although mostly physically, not so much mentally. Anyhow, here's a partial listing of things I'm thankful for.

*The Christmas ads only start the week before Thanksgiving and not the week after the Fourth of July.

*For those glorious days when most of my motor functions are up around 80%.

*Finally driving a car with a working cigarette lighter and an antenna that needs neither duct tape or a wire hanger.

*The guy who invented the double cheeseburger with ketchup and onions only.

*Freezer strength zip-lock baggies.

*Anchor Steam Christmas Ale.

*Rats don't have wings, except for Saddam's Air Force.

*Crass use of cheap nationalis waving.

*Newt Gingrich, Martha Stewart and Dick Armey, just for focus.

*Hotel shower heads missing those stupid water conserving washers.

*Co workers who understand they can't talk to me until after I've had my first cigarette and third cup of coffee.

*Win-win situations like the US Justice Department versus Microsoft.

*Relaxed fit jeans.

*Just the thought of Maui.

*Just the thought of Annette Benning in "The Grifters."

*Just the thought of my lovely wife Debi Ann sleeping on my shoulder.

*Crass use of cheap holiday sentimentality.

Before we were so rudely interrupted, I was talking about how the aging process tends to clarify the brain. Or perhaps distill is a better term. Yes, I'm sure it has something to do with distilling. And my appreciation of the little things in life has risen like a yeast pie floating on a hot springs. So here's a further listing of things I'm going to spend this week being thankful for.

*A perfectly turned 6-4-3 double play on a crisp April afternoon with a polish dog in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

*Endlessly engagable snooze alarms.

*Four legged free range turkeys.

*$1.29 for a gallon of gas.

*Monica Lewinsky, H. Ross Perot and Rush Limbaugh.

*Movies where shit blows up real good seen on a wide screen in THX sound.

*When you're stuck out in the boonies and you need a quick fix and still, I'm embarrassed to say it; the USA Today.

*Jujy Fruits.

*Air conditioning cranked up to the point where icicles form on your eyelids.

*Oh yeah, CFC free air conditioning cranked up to the point where icicles form on your eyelids.

*That six year old t-shirt with more holes in it than the Albert Hall.

*Kids who know who the Beatles are.

They got the word from on high. And I'm talking highest on high. Even Janet Reno wouldn't argue with them. They can't censure Clinton. All the big time Constitutional scholars say so. Even Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr., which is like saying God's smarter little brother, said so. It's impeachment or nothing. There's a lot of other things they are Constitutionally prohibited to do to Bill Clinton and here's a couple of them.

* They are only allowed to poke him with their bony little fingers and make loud "tsk tsk" noises when the cameras have already gone.

* They can't force him to say "Paula Jones got a big ol butt", but James Carville is still fair game.

* While being lectured by Strom Thurmon, he now can sit far enough away so he isn't slobbered on.

* He can get up off his knees and doesn't have to kiss Trent Lott'sring. Even though Trent has promised not to put it in his back pocketanymore.

* No longer going to require him sit with his family and watch all the "Ernest" movies in an endless rotation.

* Are forbidden to make him roll in hairgel and coffee grounds before addressing Congress.

* Can't put him in the same room with brother Roger and let Roger laugh and laugh and laugh anymore.

"Our next movie is a virtual remake by director John Hughes of one of his previous smash hits. It's called 'Newt Gingrich's Day Off' and it once again stars Matthew Broderick in the title role as an irrepressible troublemaker with a heart of gold. Here's a scene where Newt cons his replacement as Speaker of the House, Bob Livingston into granting him a lifetime pass to Disney World." "Bob, Bob, Bob, you got to go with me here. We got an opportunity to make an impression on these kids early. Oh wait, is that Richard Gephart handing out pamphlets to the line for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride?" (Livingston does a double take, then slams the door shut, knocking Hillary Clinton, who's listening on the extension phone, out the window. Cut to long shot of First Lady dangling from the third floor of the Dirksen Senate Building by phone cord hanging onto the receiver screaming. Gingrich snickers, while Mia Sara rubs his back.) "I don't know about you Gene but I loved it. It was cheeky whimsical fun, with characters more colorful than a GOPAC fund raiser, and it made me realize how much we all miss the old Newtster." "I'm with you on this one Roger. This meave been as full of wacky zany antics as the 105th Congress, but it sure is the feel good comedy of the holiday season, and for once I'm glad they left room for a sequel. Let the rehabilitation begin."

"B-B-Back in the rude Iraqi bars. You don't know how lucky you are boys. Back... in the rude Iraqi bars." Those lucky UN Inspectors, AKA, the Yo-Yo Gang, are on the job again playing Saddam's weird version of the Shell Game. You know, the one where if you pick the right shell, you have to leave the room. "Anything over there?" "No. Go look." "Okay, anything over behind the dresser?" "Nope. Go ahead, have a peek." "How bout under the sink?" "You must get out now." We were a mere half hour from launching Tomahawk missiles and igniting Desert Storm II; "This Time It's Personal." And after canceling it, Bill had to puff up like a blowfish with a helium nozzle for the benefit of our disappointed boys. "We will renew plans for airstrikes if Saddam breaks his promise." If Saddam breaks his promise? If? Isn't that like saying "if a wounded cornered weasel growls?" "If Don King gets accused of shady business practices?" "If Stephen King writes another book where weird stuff goes down?" "If Larry King gets divorced?" I wouldn't trust this guy as far as I could throw hot glue. Hussein, not King.

Election night is over and the only thing weirder than finding a picnic table in your glove compartment has to be the news that Jesse "The Body" Ventura won the Governor's race in the state of Minnesota. Poor Hubert "Skip" Humphrey. First his old man loses the Presidency to Richard Nixon; now he loses the Governorship to a former professional wrestler. I guess those Humphrey boys don't have a whole lot of luck with subanthropoidal mutants. Just shows you the people of Minnesota respect professional wrestlers more than they do professional politicians. "Hey, at least these guys work out." The new motto of the Gopher State: "Our Governor can put your governor's eyes out with his pecs" How long before Hulk Hogan challenges him to a steel cage match, no holds barred, for the rights to govern. Or Jesse negotiates a settlement in the state legislature by slamming a chair over the head of the Speaker of the House. Then he coerces an arbitration agreement out of state labor leaders by slamming their collective bargaining heads into the turnbuckle. And of course, you got the race in Tennessee, where a state senate candidate who legally changed his name to Byron (Low Tax) Looper stands accused of shooting his opponent, the incumbent, Tom Burks, dead. Talk about negative campaigning. If you ask me, that's taking the whole idea of term limits a little too seriously. Admittedly hampered in his campaigning by being imprisoned, Loopy lost to Tom Burks' widow in a write in vote, by a margin of 97 to 3. Sometimes, America makes you proud at the same time you're appalled.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This. Election Edition.

* The best news for Al Gore is not that Gray Davis is Governor of California during a redistricting period, but rather when he stands next to Davis he looks like he's outlined in neon and dancing across the stage like Mick Jagger.

* The New York Senate race where Charles Shumer beat Al D'Amato cost $36 million. Just goes to prove that politics and money go together like pork rinds and cholesterol. And are just as good for you too.

* A full 4% of our states are now being governed by Bush brothers. Thank god Barbara didn't have any more kids.

* The major issue that swept the country this time around was... there wasn't one. The Dow is still hovering around 9000 and we're fat and happy like a school of pirhana in a raw meat swimming pool.

* As usual there were more strange races out there than reasons not to watch the WB Network. Okay, maybe not that many. In Southern California, seeking the office of the highest paid elected official in the country at a salary of $234,016 a year, LA County Sheriff Sherman Block lost his re-election bid against Division Chief Lee Baca. Sheriff Block's edge, he was the incumbent. His drawback: he was dead. He'd would have gotten my vote. How much harm could he do?

Well, it finally happened. Newt Gingrich quit and packed up his little Speaker's gavel and went home. He's nothing but a big girl. "You guys don't like me anymore." Hey Newt, we never liked you. And what took you so long? Just goes to prove, when the going gets tough, the tough go home. He was perfectly cast as the brick throwing back bencher. But as a bona fide leader he became a target bigger than a blue bull in a bathtub. Real similar to a baboon's butt. The higher he climbed the tree, the harder it was to look at him. You know who you got to feel sorry for? All those guys who donated money to his Congressional race only to have him serve zero days before running back home and hiding under the covers. And it probably doesn't help that Clinton's Monica Strategy worked. The very event that was going to strike down the President boomeranged. How ironic is it that? Lewinsky goes down on Bill and Newt loses his job. It's the weirdest turn of events in the history of partisan politics. Clinton gets a blow job and Newt is the one who goes down for it. Proving that not only is Bill the luckiest guy on the face of the earth but also the ultimate CEO. But the biggest loss is also his, and I'm sure he's shopping for a new villain right now.

So, it turns out Thomas Jefferson was not only one of the forefathers of our country but also the original Godfather of soul. Good Gawd y'all. Powder my wig. What I don't understand is why anybody cares if the third President of the United States did or did not have an affair with Sally Hemings, a slave at Monticello, his Virginia estate. Who also happened to be his late wife's racially mixed half-sister. And both of whose father was a plantation owner. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Say no more. Say no more. So, the family obviously had some experience with the same sort of situation. I'm just saying we're talking about a man who was one of the smartest humans on the face of the planet. Who cares if he discreetly assuaged his loneliness with a friend of the family. A good lucking one as well by all accounts. Historians of course have poo poohed the idea for years, because he was such a moral upstanding guy. Shows you what kind of faith you should put in historians. Male historians. Every woman on the face of the planet could have told you he was capable of it. He was a guy.

Latrell Sprewell, who was suspended by the NBA for 68 games for choking his coach like a circus chicken, is suing his agent Arn Tellem for failing to negotiate a salary protection clause in his contract with the Golden State Warriors. Apparently there was no clause calling for an annual psychiatric study either. Sprewell's lawyer said the shooting guard insists on this action partly because of the vast public ridicule he's received. My only thought here is he must have come to like it. And since my Brewtown homeboy obviously needs help, I thought I'd come up with a list of other potential litigants he can pursue in his quest for universal scorn.

* Michael Jordan for setting an unachievable standard.

* His parents for gifting him with hands that could wrap around a refrigerator.

* His third grade gym teacher for not setting the same level of provocation PJ Carlesimo did.

* Dick Armey for being so butt ugly.

* His lawyer for not talking him out of suing everybody and his brother.

* His lawyer's brother.

* Tony Serra's brother for not talking him into taking his case.

* The Warrior Girls for not being there to distract him.

* Bill Clinton for just being, well... Bill.

Now let me get this straight, we got school districts all over America banning Halloween observations on religious grounds. What religious grounds? Are they concerned the distribution of free candy is just phase one of a clever Druid recruitment program? What about trees? The Druids worshipped them. Is that what the timber companies are trying to accomplish with their policy of clearcutting; religious freedom? Perhaps these goody goody two shoes are worried Halloween is a gateway holiday. Sure, if we don't maintain an eternal vigilance, kids will sneak off to dark alleys and start sacrificing goats for Saturnalia. Until they eventually become Republicans and are willing to sacrifice the elderly for tax cuts. Well, how bout Thanksgiving. Just who do you suppose they were giving thanks to? And picnics? Aren't they another feeding ritual meant to honor the Sun God Ra? Obviously the next target in the sites of the thought police will come in Spring. That's right, the Easter Bunny is going to end up roasted on a cafeteria spit and served with mint jelly to prove to kids that colored eggs and chocolate duckies have no place in public schools. A lot like fun.

In one week the Tobacco industry pumped $8,000,000 into California to defeat prop 10 which would add fifty cents to each pack of cigarettes to pay for child development. Wait a minute, I'm not sure you got that; I said one week. But they're having problems telling us exactly why we should vote against it. The big argument in their latest ad is; "because none of your money will go to Project Head Start or our schools." Yeah, so, neither does any of the money go to the catering wing of the PLO. None of the money goes to Cousins of Children of Adult Cheesaholics. What's your point? Children in Bangladesh are starving and not a single penny goes to them, either. Besides, big tobacco companies worried about Project Head Start. Give me a break. What's wrong with this picture? That's like a guy who makes his living dumping toxic waste into a river all worried about the little tadpoles. "Prop Ten would take money away from breast cancer research." That's a quote from one of their ads. The hell is that supposed to mean? HOW is charging an additional fifty cents a pack cigarette tax going to take money away from breast cancer research? Why don't they just cut to the quick, and accuse Rob Reiner of being a big stupid ham fisted meathead with the acting skills of a bloaty toad. And "North" was a crappy movie. So there.

Yesterday was one of those political news days that should require comics like me to wear lobster bibs to catch the drool. Matt Fong's campaign manager actually said out loud in front of people with microphones, "this is an amazing election", which is real similar to calling an winter solstice Antarctic excursion- chilly. C'mon, amazing is what you call a poodle in a tutu, this is more like a rhino in G string. With mere hours left, a couple of polls are showing the Senator's race tightening with that all important momentum switching sides faster than the free shrimp disappear at a journalists' holiday buffet. Then you factor in margins of error, the terminally undecided, and the precarious nature of those who are chronically stupid on Tuesdays, and we're back to Nowheresvillecity. I know a lot of people think anybody who can be elected Senator shouldn't be, but this isn't about the evil of two lessors, this is about your insignificant future. So get off your lazy couch potato butts, and exercise your electoral duty by voting. If you don't vote, you can't bitch. And remember, it ain't over till the fat lady goes back to her dressing room and changes into street clothes. Go. Do. Be. Besides, if it weren't for voting, how would we ever know how close the polls actually were?
By voting early, often and for different people, Will Durst cancels himself out.

The US Government opened its anti-trust assault on Microsoft by accusing Bill Gates of orchestrating an illegal effort to crush competitors like hand painted porcelain beads under a steel boot and extend Microsoft's dominance to the Internet. They fell short of blaming him for The Fox Network's disastrous fall season, the failure of the entire San Diego Padre relief staff and blue food but that will probably come up later. They not only accused Gates of "predatory pricing", or making his products too cheap in an effort to vaporize other software companies but also of making excessive profits. To which I got to say, "Hey, make up your mind." The gnome without a comb himself may be missing, but he's still pulling off a pretty good Sergeant Schultz impression with his "I don't know nothing" refrain. One of the major accusations the 20 state attorney generals and Justice Department make is Microsoft made an illegal overture to Netscape for the two companies to divide the Internet browser market though Microsoft claims it was simply a meeting to discuss a strategic partnership. "Yeah, that's it copper. We was just having us some ice cream when all of a sudden this body falls right out of the sky and lands on my knife. Sure, sure, that's how it happened."

Why Wye? Because Camp David had more ghosts than an entire season of Scooby Doo. Hard to live up to your big brothers' expectations when the big brothers are Hall of Famers like Anwar Sadat, Menachem Begin and Jimmy Carter. And you know Netanyahu, Arafat and Clinton would rather be covered in paper cuts and dipped in tabasco sauce than be held up to the outline of the big boys even with King Hussein added to the mix. Arafat hasn't slept in the same place two nights in a row since he was fooling around with training bombs and Clinton has him hunkered down in a top bunk on some Plantation in Eastern Maryland because the Democrats need a nice foreign policy coup before the election. So these guys aren't leaving until they agree on something and since small stumbling blocks remain like the Palestinian Liberation Organization unwillingness to give up its charter declaration calling for the total destruction of Israel, I have some fail safe fallback promises they can keep.

* The sand stays.
* Breakfast is definitely the most important meal.
* This Y2K thing could be a bitch.
* Summer colds are the worst.
* The 98 Yankees couldn't carry the 27 Yankees' jockstraps.
* Those candy corn kernels are a crummy Halloween treat.
* Scariest Halloween movie: Halloween. The first one.
* Yellow may be more visible but fire trucks should be red.
* That Nicole Kidman is a fox.
* Pork sucks.

First the smart money had the Democrats getting stomped like premature robin eggs on the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field during a playoff game because of the Presidential sex scandal. Then it looked like the Republicans might suffer a backlash because they spent more time focused on Mr. Clinton's groin than the famous Ms. Lewinsky. Now nobody knows. In previous off elections which occur in the middle of a Presidential term, the Party in charge of the White House usually shoots a veritable platoon of Congresspersons onto the unemployment rolls. Why? Nobody knows. Probably has more than a little something to do with that old adage of familiarity breeding comtempt. So the Republican gains in the House were initially expected to be around thirty.-timate has been downgraded to around a dozen. Truly a bear market. In the Senate, the big push for the GOP was to win a gain of five seats to a fillibuster proof 60. Now three seats seems to be the goal. So anything less than these figures will be considered a defeat. Clever positioning by the Democrats. They've set it up so the Republicans could be perceived as losers even though they win. Of course, since they are all politicians, the real losers will most likely be us.

It's sadder than a politician without a mirror. Because of the NBA strike/ lockout/ gang pout, small children in $150 shoes are being exposed to the grisly image of professional basketball players penniless and standing in line for soup kitchens. Even the most heartless of us, ie; Trent Lott, has to go all weepy at the sight of these highly tuned athletes on urban street corners holding hand made signs: "Will Set A Pick For Food." With an average salary of $2.6 million, the grown men in brightly colored short pants are losing more than $30,000 a game. Of course Michael Jordan has the most to lose considering his $33 million salary, so I imagine the mood in his private jet is one of major moping and basic brooding while he's forced to portion out this week's ration of food stamps to his retinue of hangers on. And the owners. Who among us doesn't feel a twinge of poignant anguish as they continue to be denied the simple joy of adding height to the top of their pile of money. Of course the big losers again are the fans as we no longer are allowed to fork over obscene amounts of money to pay these people's salaries. Oh lord, please end this ugly trial soon. Okay, not too soon.

Here's what I'm alarmed about. Okay, alarmed is a strong word; concerned. Well not really concerned, more like distressed or troubled. Yeah, that's it, I'm troubled. What troubles me, although admittedly I'm not losing a ton of sleep over it, is; sure we view Clinton as an insufferable oaf with the social grace of a flatulent musk ox in a Symphony Box, but should he really be impeached for it? And if so, aren't we in danger of lowering the bar on impeachable offenses? Perhaps focusing too hard on the last word of that whole "high crimes and misdemeanors" deal? If this rogue coup is successful, can't you just see a pattern of rival majority parties impeaching Chief Executives for a successively trivial series of offenses such as:

• Bad table manners.
• Wears thong underwear.
• Seen exiting limo parked in handicapped zone.
• High squeaky voice makes dogs and Sam Donaldson laugh.
• Forged mother's signature on permission slip to get out of high school gym class.
• Head lice the size of catchers mitts.
• Found responsible for making rude hand shadows during sex-ed film in sixth grade.
• Annoying facial tics.
• Personally oversaw selling of arms to enemy state then tried to cover it up.
• Blew a 1-3-7 split in last frame of father-son Congressional bowling tournament.
• Watches PBS.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• Here's hoping new Chief of Staff John Podesta is getting paid per denial.
• Salman Rushdie is celebrating his freedom by hanging out at remote locations without crowds, like Bill Clinton support rallies.
• Scientists report the ozone hole over the Antarctica is getting bigger. Bad news for the penguin population. The nearest outlet for sunscreen is 1800 miles away.
• Mike Tyson's psychiatric report call him a people person. But enough about his appetite.
• More and more companies are allowing their employees to take naps. Of course there's a fine line between a well rested worker and a civil service employee.
• Archaeologists have discovered worm trails a billion years old. The finding's significance will allow a more precise study of the evolution of politicians.
• Halloween is right around the corner. When hollow creatures without souls come knocking at your door in droves, it can only mean one thing. The following Tuesday is an election day.
• An Arkansas man developed a device that will filter out foul language from TV programs. This will allow the impeachment hearings to be aired live at schools.
• The Pentagon has budgeted 50 million dollars for Viagra next year. But it could end up saving money. It most likely will result in shorter less costly missiles.
• If Congress conclusively proves Clinton lied, do you think they'll follow normal procedure and elect him Speaker Of The House?

• The Spice Girls are thinking of creating their own line of perfume. That's what I call progress. Not the perfume deal; the fact that now they're thinking.
• With Clinton setting a precedent by providing the Office of Independent Prosecutor a sample of his DNA, I think we can rest assured that Kenneth Starr finally got what he wanted all along: blood.
• After the shooting in the Capitol, security has been beefed up to the point where the only way to gain access to a Congressman is to sneak in disguised as a bribe.
• Considering the price of a World Series ticket, Major League Baseball should award this year's trophy for stealing to Bud Selig, the Commissioner.
• A drug ring was found to be operating out of the Gary, Indiana government building. I wonder if the feds were suspicious when everybody who received a key to the city also got a pound of cut.
• I don't know why the Dodgers are having such a hard time finding a new manager.
• You'd think there'd be plenty of guys who would want a position that would guarantee Octobers off.
• Congress has okayed the establishment of a commission that will oversee commercial space travel. Now all we got to do is get them to volunteer to man the maiden voyage.

Alright, now let me see if I got this straight. Fir Jones just wanted an apology and no money. Clinton's people laughed and said we ain't admitting The Man even met Missy Trailer Trash. Then Paula said okay Mister Smarty Pants, how bout a couple of bucks and an admission that something happened but nothing worth apologizing for, and Clinton said "what do we have for her Johnny. Absolutely nothing. Say it again." Then some minor unpleasantness ensued and the President's people said "Hey! Who wants a half a million to shut up and go away?" And Paula and her new set of lawyers said "Hah! Nice try schmoo head, but now we want a cool million." Then, in the age old spirit of negotiating while getting their butts whipped, the Clinton people upped their ante to 700 grand. And she said, "Unh... like my nose job cost more than that." Then this guy from out of nowhere, Abe Hirschfield, said nobody needs this crap and he, Mister Big Shot New York Real Estate Dude, was going to give her the million just so we and Bill and everybody else on the god damn planet can get on with our friggin lives. Then Clinton's people said, "No one asked you dickweed, so butt out." And Paula's first lawyers said "Hey, what about the 800 thousand she owes us?" So now Paula wants 2 million. The million from the real estate dude and a million from Bill. And that's where we are today. And so much more unpleasantness is about to ensue.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• Let me get this straight: Mike Tyson is undergoing a series of psychiatric examinations to determine if he's sane enough to box professionally. I would say he's only qualified if he fails, but then what do I know? I wear a Timex.
• Poor Florida. $300 million in damage by Hurricane Georges right on the heels of the Florida Marlins. State's new name should be "Disasters R Us."
• Scientists have developed a more humane way of testing chemicals on lab animals. As a result they will longer happier lives stuffed into their little cages.
• Things are pretty bad at Soldier Field. The most formidable line at a Bears game this football season is the one to the exit.
• A new report says college kids drink to get drunk. The biggest surprise is they found researchers who didn't already know this.
• Concord University in Los Angeles is offering an on line law degree. Of course if you get caught lying or cheating, you are automatically put on the Dean's List.
• I'm not saying that Clinton shouldn't be feeling a little skitterish, but having the Marine Band play "Hail To The Temp" seems a bit like rubbing it in.
• There are worse gigs in the world than caterer at a Supermodels Convention. "Who ordered the one house salad with 52 forks?"

Hey everybody. Guess what? We got ourselves a surplus. More money coming in than going out. First time since 1969. Whoo hooo! I'm tingling down to my toes with waves of excitement just thinking what it means to me personally. The United States ended the fiscal year on September 30th with a $70 billion surplus. Of course Clinton and Congress are climbing over each other like crabs in a seafood display case to claim credit for it. And they're planning even worse things figuring out how to get rid of it. It's drool buckets o' plenty with $70 billion having just been found in the country's pants pockets. Clinton wants to use it to make sure social security is taken care of with maybe a couple billion diverted to pet projects like... his defense fund. Congressional Republicans have typically splintered into the American governmental version of Yugoslavia. You got your deficit hawks carved from granite who would rather slit their wrists than drop a single penny vs the supply-side tax-cutting fairies who still live in Reagan's mythical trickle down land. And oh yeah, there are still 11 appropriations bills to pass until the first stopgap measure to finance most of the Government runs out. Or as they say at the beginning of much more organized sporting matches than this: "Let's get ready to rumble!"

Since the Republicans are just making up the rules as they go along in this whole Impeachment thing, I thought we should assist them and update historical slices and popular phrases as they would have been if the times were like they are now here, there and then.

• I may not know anything about impeachable offenses, but I know what I like.
• My only regret is I have but one Democratic President to impeach for my country.
• It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that sting.
• The Office of the Independent Counsel is dead! Long live the Office of the Independent Counsel!
• Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy House Vote.
• Remember the Watergate!
• Give a man a Judiciary Committee appointment and you will have fed him for a day, but teach a man to organize a witch hunt and you will have fed him for a lifetime.
• There's Something About Kenneth.
• Ask not what your country can do for you, ask who you can impeach for your country.
• Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to spew and lie.
• Impeach and the world impeaches with you. Censure and you censure alone.
• How many toads must one man face down, before they call him a fully served two term Democratic President?
• I have only begun to impeach.

AT&T, God's phone service, has figured out the best way to attract young consumers who would rather chew gravel than align themselves with a corporate behemoth like Ma Bell's favorite son. Wear a disguise. In offering their new dial around service, they're posing as a hip and fun company called Lucky Dog in a naked attempt to appeal to the young and anti establishment. AT&T is posturing as anti establishment? Now that's sacrilege. Isn't that a lot like Bob Dole skateboarding in cut offs? Or Alan Greenspan with a Mohawk wading into the mosh pit of a Primus concert. Called "stealth branding", this wolf in Chihuahua's clothing stuff is nothing new. Miller Brewing, which is to microbrew what Godzilla is to guppies has been cashing in on the small is better craze for years with a boutique label called Red Dog. Makes you wonder if Matt Damon is really just Tom Hanks with a lot of makeup. And in the same vein, German media conglomerate BERTLESMANN AG is paying $200 million for a 50% stake in BARNESANDNOBLE.COM even though they're still running their own online service. I'm not sure I get this whole competing with yourself strategy. Not only do you lose even when you win, but often not only do you lose but you also lose as well. Nothing stockholders love more than a lose lose situation.

"Mr. Speaker, I would like to take the thirty seconds my revered mentor acceded to me, and yield it to my distinguished colleagues on this side of the aisle from Georgia, California, Alaska, Florida and Texas to be meted out in six second increments."
"Yeah, okay, whatever."
"Mr. Speaker, distinguished members of the gallery, and my honorable fellow congressmen, it is a truly grave matter that..."
"Time's up. Next."
"Yo. Newt. Guys. Gals. Whew! This is heavy man. Isn't this whole thing a little like forming a firing squad in a circle? We..."
"Let's keep it moving people. six seconds is six seconds. Alaska, go to it."
"You want blame? I'll tell you who's to blame. It's those tree hugging eco freaks with their pitiful striped muskrat stories. Ozone, schmozone..."
"Thank you Don. Bobbie?"
"He's a sinner! Dirty disgusting horrible child corrupting degradation. We should all get down on our knees and..."
"Isn't that how this whole problem got started. Head em out. Move em on."
"Well now. I think it's natural to get a little on the side, but with a 21 year old? When I think of that smooth taut flesh..."
"Thank you Congressman. Lunch."

The heart of the holiday season for some unfathomable reason started yesterday with Columbus Day. Which I still can't figure out. The hell kinda holiday is this? For no apparent reason on a Monday in October, no mail, the banks are closed. Yee hah! Yeah, I partied all night. Let me get this straight- Columbus, no idea where he was going, couldn't figure out where he was, did it all on borrowed money. I guess that is an American hero. We should call it Pentagon Day. Or the Office of Independent Counsel Day. Of course Columbus's epic is the perfect story for school kids to truly learn about America. See, he ran aground on a reef off the coast of Hispaniola and was rescued by the native inhabitants, the Arawaks. Stupid move on their part. The Arawaks wore some tiny gold ornaments and after declaring himself governor, Columbus forced the "Indians" (because he assumed he was in India) to bring him gold, and cut off the hands of those unfortunates who couldn't come up with their quotas. So, kiddies, what important lessons have we learned? In America, it doesn't matter how many people you kill or ships you crash as long as you go for the gold, and watch out for quotas.

Just try curling this stray thought around your upper wrinkled grey matter for a moment: he skates. And it's not that far fetched, because no matter what you think of Bill Clinton, you got to admit he's slippery. Soaped up Arkansas swamp eel springs to mind. And since he didn't sprout horns or cloven hooves and his nose refused to Pinnochio as advertised by the Judiciary Committee Republicans in the infamous Grand Jury tape, this becomes more distinct a possibility than the entire GOP committing mass suicide by their continual picking on poor ole Bubba. They tried to shoot the moon and in their typically Newtonian way ended up shooting themselves in the foot. So let us for the sake of argument say he does walk. That he takes their best shot and still survives. He'd be impervious to Congressional Kryptonite from then on and would have total Carte Blanche. Think of it. The White House, AKA, Party Central. He could disappear with Madelaine Albright for two weeks in a Days Inn no questions asked. Emerge from Air Force One handcuffed to Drew Barrymore. French kiss Barbara Walters on 20/20 without fear of a discouraging word. Hugh Downs even. All the while protected by the entirely American concept of Double Jeopardy. It would be stunningly thrilling.

According to lifetime Professional Alan Greenspan watchers, the volatility of the Dow in the past couple days was due to his comments before the Senate Budget Committee, including: "I do not think we underestimate the severity of the problems with which we are dealing." Which of course means the Fed is going to drop interest rates, either Tuesday or... later, but probably no later than November, maybe. We think. He never says anything out loud. Just ambiguously intimates it. Sort of a wink wink nudge nudge, "will we or won't we" kind of a deal. I know this is heresy, but seems to me, the Chairman of the Federal Reserve is nothing but a big tease. And of course the new $20 bills were released yesterday. They've been redesigned with plastic security threads and microscopic printing and color shifting ink which causes sterility and invisible tracking devices. Just kidding. Spending too much time on the conspiracy website. The reverse shows the North view of the White House instead of the South view on the old bills. A new view of the White House. Something we all could use right about now. The front of the new double sawbuck now features a larger younger picture of Andrew Jackson. Getting a face lift after you've been dead for over a hundred years. Ain't that America.

In an example rarer than a dramatic reading of Anais Nin at a pre-school, Congress actually took time out from its busy witch hunt and tried to get something done the other day. The Senate voted to toughen Bankruptcy laws, 97 to 1. I want to know who was the one? And what his objection to making it tougher to get a bankruptcy? Does one wing of his family keep sticking him with bad gambling debts? Or was he just being Mr. Contrary? You know there's always one guy in every group. "No. I don't think so. Unh Unh. Nope. No. No. No. No. No. No. Nosireenieroo. I'm sorry, but that's a big Negativo." All right, it was... Senator Paul Wellstone of Minnesota and the reasoning he used to vote against it was because it was a great deal for credit card companies and a lousy one for working families. Blah blah blah. We all know what he really meant was... "No!" Lousy deal for working families. Who's this guy trying to kid? A politician actually concerned about working families. Right. What next? A congressman standing up against the clear cut ravaging of our environment by big business? A real bi-partisan movement to reform campaign finances? I guess it could happen. But then we'd need 100 Wellstones wouldn't we?

Good evening (ladies and gentlemen of the press/ distinguished members of the Grand Jury/ your Honor), I, (candidate's name here) hereby acknowledge that indeed I did/ did not (cross out one) have an affair with (name or names or name of team) way back in (year or month or last week or this morning) and I am terribly terribly terribly sorry (3 "terribly's" is usually enough but feel free to pile on) and am (A) full of remorse. (B) consumed with reproach. (C) contrite as hell. (D) confused by my shoes. But I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations has expired on my youthful indiscretions even though at the time I was (age here- end at "indiscretions" if under thirty-five). My situation is totally unlike the President's predicament in that I (never/ rarely and never under oath/ rarely under oath) lied about it, and only kept it secret to protect my (wife/ husband/ girlfriend/ boyfriend- pick only one-note- use of opposite gender a must, except in San Francisco and Madison, Wisconsin). It is now past time for my opponent to stop listening to (his partisan advisors/ the polls/ satan's whispers), and leave this tawdry discussion to move on to the campaign issues the electorate is clamoring to talk about such as (the baseball playoffs/ education/ crime/ the environment/ Ally McBeal/ social security/ FEMA/ etc.- pick at least two). I would like to thank the thousands of (supporters/ defense witnesses/ bail bondsman) who believed in me and we'll see you at the (victory party/ parole hearing/ arraignment).

So let us talk now of cabbages and kings and cigars. For one thing, Clinton will never be able to be seen in public smoking one. Ever. Again. As a matter of fact, they will probably be banned from all Democratic Photo-ops from now on. Unless some smart ass diplomat shows up with specially designed cigar tongs. "Thanks a lot, but I'll just save this for later." I imagine at State Dinners even breadsticks, celery stalks and kosher dill pickles will come under excruciatingly close scrutiny. So along with everything else, Bill has managed to screw up the White House catering department as well. Asparagus spears? I don't think so. "Does this look like Hollandaise Sauce to you?" The person you have to feel sorry for is Monica, because Starr, AKA Javert, has ruined the kid's book deal. What amazes me is the report is 455 pages long and only mentions Whitewater twice and one of the references is to the stain on the dress. And speaking of which, what's the deal with Monica saving it? Did she plan on parading it in front of her friends, waiting for them to remark upon it? "What, this old thing?" Maybe she was preparing to use it as collateral for a loan.

Bill Clinton and Kenneth Starr do not like each other. This is not new news. Kind of like saying sharpened pungii sticks don't mix well with mylar balloons. Or that different Slovak clans should be separated at the dinner table. Or burning embers and gasoline soaked rags do not make good between meal snacks. One of the reasons they hate each other is their mutual obsession has ruined their respective lives. Mr. Starr once had a dream of becoming a Supreme Court Justice and now that's about as likely as a sequel to the Avengers movie. Clinton's dream was to leave a legacy as President known for kicking and dragging the Democratic Party into the last half of the twentieth century; not as man who will be linked forever to cigar jokes and stained dresses. But now they've killed each other off and the whole country is about to get caught in the juvenile crossfire of a couple of doomed high school jocks fighting over the constantly virginal hand of public opinion. These guys hate each other so much, they plan on taking out their aggravation on us just to piss each other off. We're just the innocent victims in a custody case.

He wins! He loses! He's a lying cretinous toad! He's the beleaguered victim of a political witch hunt! He should quit! He should have the FBI surgically remove Kenneth Starr's subpoenas. There was no smoking gun. The guy wove a rope long enough to hang the entire Democratic Party with. He's 2... 2... 2... Chief Executives in one. Whatever you want him to be. A shape shifting President now with new improved Teflon II. The quicker picker upper. The biggest problem with the videotape, besides the lighting lifted straight from "The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari", is it didn't live up to Republican raw meat advance publicity. Where was the famous Clinton temper we were promised? Where was the storming out? Where was the X-rated greased oil re- enactment with Ron Jeremy and Ginger Lynn? But no, all we got was our boy Bill being his normal self; coy and charming and about as unpinnable as a mold worm dipped in motor oil as he slalomed through the chicken wire of Special Counsel questioning. If we're going to impeach him on the basis of this tape, I'm sure all we have to do is look around hard enough until we find a couple of tapes lying around that would give us the chance to execute Reagan.

The splinter group of the IRA claiming responsibility for the most recent bombing in Northern Ireland calls itself the Real IRA and just declared a truce to its terror campaign. Similar to the truce called earlier by the original IRA. Of course what's going to happen now is a splinter group of the splinter group will emerge calling itself the Realest IRA. And since we know this is going to happen, in the interest of efficiency it might come in handy if we name the groups in advance like with hurricanes. That's where I come in. No need to thank me, I'm here to help.

The Only De Facto Bona Fide Legitimate Valid IRA.

The Bugger Off You Bloody Poofters IRA.

The Absolut IRA.

The Stolichnaya IRA.

The Daniel Day Lewis/ Coca Cola Classic/ British Telecom IRA.

The Hey, We're Not Fucking Around Here IRA.

The We're Real Slimy Bastards IRA.

The We Got Glass Tubes Up Our Urethras IRA.

Booo! The Just Kidding IRA.

Not Your Father's IRA.

The You'd Better Not Be Laughing, Or You're Going To Be Real Sorry IRA.

The Shove This Up Your Account IRA.

The Huge Penalty For Lack Of Withdrawal IRA.

The AAARGH, We're Pirates IRA.

The No, Really, We're Serious, You Got To Believe Us, We're Not Kidding Now IRA.

Now that Inflato Boy has finally broken Maris' record, the big deal is every yellow blooded journalist worth his carpal tunnel syndrome is babbling incessantly about this groundskeeper guy who retrieved the ball and then just gave it to McGwire for zip, zero, nada, nothing. Not even a signed empty 55 gallon drum of Androstenedione. Even though some other village idiot had made a blanket offer of a million dollars for the ball. Obviously the scarlet retriever is an employee of the Cardinals and lives in St. Louis and cognizant that he and his family would be about as popular as a wallpaper paste pancake covered in sterno syrup if he had sold the ball, but then again, we are talking a cool million bucks here. You know, ten to the sixth. Fifty grand a year guaranteed in a money market account for crum's sake. Maybe a hundred grand with a halfway decent blue chip portfolio. Not enough to retire to the Cayman Islands but a double wide on any Missouri River floodplain for sure. To add insult to imprudence, the IRS intimated that whoever ended up with the ball would be slapped with a tax of as much as 40% of the ball's perceived value. Then, when they were universally denounced as being poisonous carnivorous dung ants at a day care picnic, they recanted. Of course, now the kid should claim a million dollar gift deduction. So should Big Mac. And stick the Baseball Hall of Fame with the bill. But these days, I'm into payback.

Well, it looks like the Comeback Kid has gone too far, and is now in danger of becoming the third ring in an election circus featuring lots of trumpeting elephants. And mute donkeys. Meanwhile the husband of Hillary is in the process of apologizing to anybody he runs into for everything he can think of, including his behavior, El Nino, the weird grillwork on South Beach condo balconies and Midwestern sushi. He's in emergency wretched desperation defcon 1 mode to stem the bleeding, but I'm not sure the entire Mayo clinic could apply a tourniquet big enough using tricks learned from Will Rogers and all the rope in Wyoming. Henry Hyde, the chair of the Judiciary Committee is saying all the correct bipartisan "blah blah blah" but you know what he really means is "heh heh heh." Meanwhile, Big Bubba is the lamest of lame ducks in a distinguished line of lame duck Presidents. What he needs now is a distraction along the lines of an assassination attempt, but I'm sure suspicion would immediately focus on the 468 democrats running for Congress as prime suspects. Not to mention the woman scorned. Which brings up a question: if they get divorced, can she keep the house?

So, here's the deal; I don't care. Yes, I know Ken Starr's $40 million Government Penthouse Letters Report is tawdry and distasteful and makes you want to scrub your television screen with steel wool, but the truth of the matter is... I don't care. I don't care if the President of the United States videotapes himself dressed up like Shirley Temple lip-syncing "Good Ship Lollipop." I don't care if he sneaks out at night clad in nothing but a thin layer of petroleum jelly and stiletto heels and aerates the South Lawn. I don't care if plays choo choo train with a pair of Turkish prison guards, acting as both engine and caboose. Go ahead, ask me if I care. Funny you should ask. NO! The guy lied about cheating on his wife. Okay, he's an oaf. A toad. Your hand under the rock, the maggoty remains of a marsupial. But is Congress sure it wants to set the precedent of eliminating everybody from government who's an oaf? I would think self preservation would intercede. Sources say he's kicking himself for being so stubborn and stupid. And being the equal partner she is, I bet Hillary is helping. And steel toed hobnailed boots are not out of the question. And you know what, I still don't care. Who knows, maybe that's how they like it.

I think the reason people are making weenie noises over the graphic nature of Ken Starr's Report like a possum being dangled from the tail by a Grizzly is that the Independent Counsel killed everybody else's shot at a book deal. He pre-empted them. And besides, the Starr Man obviously gets off on this stuff. Cigar, indeed. He's going to spend the rest of his life in Afghanistan giving the Taliban prude lessons. One of the big arguments for impeachment or censure or public flogging or big hunks of red hot liquid steel poured down underwear is America will lose the respect of other world leaders. I just want to know one itty bitty thing. What other world leaders? Name two. It's not like the Earth is brimming over with multiple great leaders. I'm sorry folks, but Bill, battered and bloody as he may be, is it. Yeltsin? Yeah, right; like he's paying attention to anything besides who's buying the next round, and is someone he can trust behind the wheel of the Zugli for a quick getaway. The Japanese? Exactly who is their prime minister this week and how many have they had since Clinton took over? 40? Does anybody in the State Department know or care? The Pope. If he knows what's good for him, he'd better respect Clinton, since Bill puts the moves on anything in a dress.

You know ol' Brillo Haid has to be happier right now to be speechifying in a foreign country than a maggot attending a high school reunion in a fresh mass grave. He managed to be gone cat gone when rumors of another intern rose like lipstick on underwear and the economy has sunk faster than an anvil in pudding. And although his timing has been impeccable, I imagine he might be rethinking his destination a wee small tad, since the visual coupling of him and Boris Yeltsin brings to mind captions like "Lame Duck and Lamer Duck", and "Lame Duck And Lame Ducker" and "Are We Dead Yet?" His trip isn't a complete success with all our former little Red Friends either. Ultranationalist Vladimir Zhironovsky, a man with the personality of a badger with a barbecue fork stuck in his eye, stopped in front of Clinton's hotel and yelled insults at it. This was nationally televised. Our politicians never yell insults at hotels. Although for all the good they do, they might as well be. It also doesn't help that Bill and Boris are chowing down caviar and vodka while ordinary Russians are eating dirt soup and mud and bark sandwiches. A situation we hope is not reversed when Yeltsin comes to summit over here.

So it's Labor Day... already. The runt of the holiday litter. I don't know why the first Monday of September is the Rodney Dangerfield of vacation days. Probably got something to do with our biological clocks still running on elementary school time, and that last barbecue means the approaching unseen dread has finally arrived and it's time to return to whatever scholastic penitentiary we've been sentenced to that particular semester. The final nail in the coffin of summer. But growing up I never really paid attention to what the words Labor Day meant. Simply, a day to honor the American worker. Seems like a gesture emptier than the candy counter after a weekend matinee of the Lion King these days when lean and mean is all the rage. In a time where Al "Chainsaw" Dunlap gets canned for being too wussy. Get the feeling people like Al would like to limit all the Labor Day parade permits to subterranean caves full of poisoned bat guano? Now I don't think its necessary for me to repeat that old chestnut that without blue collars there wouldn't be any white collars much less $2000 Brioni suits and we'd all be living in a frontier, boiling river water for our nightly meal of beans and spuds and roots and moss. But we should never foreget, America is its people. Except for the guests on the Jerry Springer show. And America's people don't think "work ethic" is a dirty word. Or a dirty two words. Or whatever. This day is to honor us. And I'm sorry, there's no fireworks to watch or turkey to carve or bunnies to steal chocolate covered marshmallow eggs from. Just one day off. For the regular folk working nine to five trying to support 2.3 kids while still striving to cover the monthly cable bill with at least one premium channel. A day to honor heroes. The real American heroes. You and me. Ok. Mostly you.

When the going gets tough, the tough go golfing. Welcome to Clinton's summer getaway, Martha's Vineyard, where Bill plans to take the pulse of America amongst normal folks. Yeah, right! A lot like trick or treating at the Vatican. Or checking an opera program for baseball box scores. We're talking about an enclave where the normal folks have summer homes with names. Where the talk around the pickle barrel includes comparative arguments about the chauffeur's dog's current psychotherapist. Where your typical guest cottage has more bathrooms than Candlestick Park. Ah yes, he's going to mix with the hoitiest of the hoi polloi. The First Family arrived at the tiny island airport with Hillary wearing dark glasses after having said she forgave her husband but "was misled." Sounds like Lewis blaming Clark for going down the wrong river. Supposedly, the Prez is going to spend his time examining ways to regain the public trust. Ways other than telling the truth that is. After all, he's looking for a political solution, not a real one. Hopefully he can find some quiet time to wander down a beach and maybe a few unguarded moments to check out the Black Dog restaurant and buy a couple more gifts for Monica. I imagine a novelty ball gag could catch his attention.

Oh come on, get real people. The timing of the bombing strikes on terrorist bases in Afghanistan and Sudan had nothing to do with Clinton's, shall we say sticky, problems back home. And roasted cigarette filters on cream cheese make tasty h'or doerves. And the Warner Brothers Network is destined to replace the BBC for sophisticated adult programming. And the Black Republican Caucus is going to draft the party's year 2000 platform. In a phone booth. Clinton claimed he was trying to pre-empt other terrorist attacks and had "compelling information they were planning additional" ones. Of which I have no doubt. I'm just wondering which maniacal despot he's talking about: Osama bin Laden, or Kenneth Starr. Bin Laden is the moneyman behind the World Islamic Front for Jihad Against Jews and Crusaders, which needs a new name like Al Gore needs immunity. I guess that means we here in the US are Crusaders. Alright! Time to put on our chain mail and search for the Holy Grail. We've already proved we will respond to wanton slaughter with wanton slaughter. Sounds like the Crusades to me. This isn't Wag the Dog; this is more like Good Will Hunting or Desperately Seeking Saddam. Runs the risk though of looking like Dumb and Dumber.

When I watch TV, I'm happy. I sit in that eerie phosphorescent tubal glow and lounge becalmed, thinking about the microwave emissions being bombarded into outer space like a gazillion ambassadors of tacky schlock. Suppose intelligent life is out there, which admittedly is a leap since we have yet to prove intelligent life exists in Washington, D.C. This means aliens' first glimpse of our culture is going to be our television programming. Well, hell, no wonder we haven't been contacted yet. They're scared out of their little alien wits of us. They must think everyone on Planet Earth is a junkie, a cop, recovering from massive gunshot wounds, or stand up comics who not only don't want anything but then have no idea what not to do with it once they don't get it. Who can blame our little green buddies for hovering around the Utah night playing long distance "Dissect the Cow Organ" instead of offering us the secret to eternal youth in an easy to use capsule form? "Your results may vary!" But what if they're not so friendly? What if they're hostile carnivorous eggplants the size of railroad container cars, looking for docile herd animals to enslave and use as rotisserie appetizers with a honey mustard glaze? Would you approach a society you knew to worship angst ridden doctors, corrupt lawyers and various subgenuses of surly private detectives? You know. Fat detectives. Bald detectives. Buxom blonde bikini clad detectives. Old lady detectives. Detectives with birds. Detectives who wear shorts. Detectives with lots of guns. Detectives with big guns. Buxom blonde bikini clad detectives with lots of big guns and birds.

We're probably known around the universe as the obnoxious noisy blue planet with the expanding hole in its roof and are blamed for bringing down property values in this quadrant of the solar system. All because of TV. The proof there is intelligent life elsewhere in the universe is they've obviously chosen not to contact us. I wouldn't be surprised to find yellow luminous police tape draped across the dark side of the moon cautioning, "Do Not Enter. Severe Tire Damage." The reason they call television the idiot box is because that's how anyone who doesn't wear a suit or a badge is portrayed on it. The rest of us are merely loveable dorks lacking the mental or physical dexterity to properly manipulate forks without ending up with a face looking like the red zone turf after a Niners-Packers playoff game. Nerds, goofs, victims and dweebs. Yes! We need us some humanities grants to keep the WB and UPN networks pumping out more product and we need it quick. I'm only talking about the fate of the Human race here. Maybe meeting a mortgage and balancing a checkbook doesn't make for good theater. I don't know. Maybe the dog breath network executives don't think we'd be interested in watching or listening to people like us. Obviously they aren't. I do know I'm glad normal people are represented by Hollywood as nothing more than brain dead bigoted bloaty globs of cellulite, incapable of communicating through anything more complicated than a series of rude grunts and belches and I hope they continue to ignore the vast majority of normal Americans who are trying to maintain that precarious perch of making a living and having a life. It's that or a future locked in a one foot by two foot feeding trough not able to move our little heads. Of course if the pens were equipped with overhead monitors tuned to the 24 hour Buxom Blonde Bikini Clad Detectives With Lots Of Big Guns And Birds Channel, I don't imagine you'd hear that many complaints.

According to a new poll by Louis Harris and Associates, San Francisco replaced New York City as the town most Americans want to live in or near or by or under. Last year the Big Apple was numero uno and the City by the Bay was fifth. To all you fine folks who long to leave your heart here in San Francisco, let me give you some valuable advice: BIG MISTAKE. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOMES. STAY WHERE YOU ARE. There are more reasons why a move to the 415 area code is a bad idea than there are banana slugs wearing tasseled loafers disguised as tobacco lobbyists. Here are just the ones that don't involve flesh eating leeches the size of footstools.

NOT THE REAL WORLD. San Francisco fits in with the rest of the country like a feathered boa with sequins in a steel foundry. Like a stiletto on a catwalk. One of the unknown facets of the 415 area code is we're forbidden to have children. Our bridge toll booths mask huge Rumanian made sterilizers.

JUST PLAIN CRAZY. The last resting place for anything loose that rolls west. Even our city planners were quite mad. Union Square is nowhere near Union Street, but don't let that worry your pretty little head because Washington Square is on Union Street but ten blocks away from Washington Street. North Beach? There's no beach and it's on the East side of town. And not just crazy white people. Short, gay, purple, it doesn't matter. Our mayor has a fedora super glued to his head, for crum's sake.

We were talking about why it would be better for you to contract chronic lice the size of dimes than move to San Francisco.

THE HILLS. A clutch has a life expectancy of three months, tops. Shorter, if you persist on driving up streets as well as down. And walking, HAH, you make me laugh. Periodicals devoted to articles on "shin splints" will become your dearest friends. We have 59 words that mean "cramp". And get used to going barefoot. Shoes are illegal.

EARTHQUAKES. NO, I SAID EARTHQUAKES. People here like them. Encourage the Big One to hit so rest of the country slides into the Atlantic. Make Reno the East Coast. And the problem is not just the ground opening up, a chasm appears, you fall in, it slams shut. In the last decade, we've had droughts, fires, floods, mudslides and earthquakes. Only a matter of time before a rain of frogs is spotted on the Doppler Radar. And people keep coming here for what, the climate? There was an actual movement to change the name from San Francisco to Satan's Drive-By. Okay, by me.

EXORBITANT. Wanna buy a house? Own a diamond mine? Average rent for a two bedroom apartment is approximately the same cost as a small subdivision in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Need a three dollar cup of coffee to wash down that fibrous four dollar cookie? Plenty of places.

SUMMER. No such thing. While the rest of the country is now basking in splendid seasonal normalcy, San Francisco is covered with a thick grey frosty fog, mocking the poor dazed tourists wandering Fisherman's Wharf with their blue shivering thighs and white starchy children. Some years, it doesn't get above 40. The whole year.

No, my friends, I beg of you, PLEASE, don't move here. You'll take up my parking spot.

So the deal is, we think our boy Bill is going to try to slime his way around his testimony today by telling the real truth about the loopholes he used to tell the sort of truth the last time around. See the definition for sex that Bill was working under in the Paula Jones deposition was as murky as the hold of a fishing boat entering the Golden Gate at midnight on a new moon in July. "A person engages in sexual relations when the person knowingly engages in or causes contact with the genitalia, anus, groin, breast, inner thigh or buttocks of any person with an intent to arouse or gratify the sexual desire of any person." Get it? He didn't engage nothing. He just sat there, or stood there, or hung from the eagle at the top of the Presidential flag pole with his pants around his ankles there. He didn't cause no contact. "Honest, boys and girls of the grand jury, I simply walked out of the bathroom trying to zip up my pants when suddenly this mop of big hair attached itself to my groinal area. Worried I might damage her or others in the 202 area code by the dangerous hment of what by now was a lethal weapon, I just dismally weathered the inevitable. That happened approximately 37 times, and that's the truth. For now."

In a address to the country he is ostensibly leading that was shorter than Baby Spice's skirt, the President of the United States tangentially admitted he had an "inappropriate relationship" with Monica Lewinsky. Kind of vague. A lot of things are inappropriate between two people. Which was he guilty of? Did he direct her to scrub the manifold of his limo with a pair of Trent Lott's underwear? Was she instructed to secrete the White House cheese slicer in a Chesapeake Bay cave? Did they play chess with Serbian guerilla fighters as pawns? You couldn't quite call it an apology; more like an admission; to some it might even seem like bragging. "Yeah, I had her. So what?" He did blame himself for a "critical lapse of judgement and personal failure which was wrong." A lot like saying "hey, I'm human, so sue me", or "Get off my dick!" Old Brillo Head also said the situation is none of our business and is "between my wife, our daughter and our God." And so what if it turns out his god is Dionysus? Aren't we a polytheistic society? In a convenient break reminiscent of a bell rung at the count of nine, the First Family leaves on Tuesday for a twelve day vacation. How convenient. To paraphrase the Chief Executive with a trouser snake first cousin to Godzilla; "even presidents have private parts."

It looks like the Republican leadership has finally figured out how to handle this whole Clinton- Lewinsky thing. They held back criticizing because of a complicated modern Washington tradition known as high poll numbers. Now they are focusing on what seems to be the old "we just want him to tell the truth" tactic. I'm guessing before somebody decided on this potentially risky strategy they did a focus group to find out if people, and if so how many, are in favor of this odd approach "Senator... I'm sorry sir. I didn't know you were counting. Who hoo indeed sir. You're drooling sir. Let me get that. Yes sir, she's back at the hotel. No I must admit, she doesn't look a day over 16. Yes, you're right sir, we're going to pin his slippery ass to the wall this time. Pardon me? Ah yes. With a nail gun sir. I have the survey numbers you requested right here. 35% of people do indeed believe telling the truth is good. 20% don't. 18% can't remember what the truth is. 9% remember the truth but not why it's so damn important all of a sudden. 8% never tell the truth and think you'd have a better chance of finding a factory installed CD player in a Studebaker than anybody else in Washington who does. 4% are waiting for the TV movie of the week to make up their minds and 6% think the truth is a slippery thing that no one can ever be sure of. As a matter of fact, the sample did come from Northern California. Good call sir. Yes sir, I'll take that. Lugano is beautiful this time of year."

Don't get me wrong. I'm no fan of Hooters' restaurants. Ate there twice. Both times I felt like I had felt someone up without their consent. And the wings were just okay. Did not agree when Hooters waitresses sued, saying they knew the uniforms were provocative, but didn't expect the sexual harassment. The hell did they expect? True love? MacArthur genius grants? Carefully formulated queries about sub atomic particle research? It's called Hooters, for crum's sake. It might as well be "Tits R Us" with a giant nipple on the backwards "R". Oh yeah, the logo is OWL EYES. "Owl eyes" capable of lactation. Now a federal appeals court is considering the case of 4 Chicago guys whose applications for waiter positions were turned down. I'm thinking, if guys with really tight buns who looked good in cut off t shirts filled out applications, they might have been hired. Some battles are worth going down for. This case rates a .0001 on that list. Do we really want to set a precedent allowing Dr. Ruth Westheimer to file a discrimination suit for being denied the opportunity to start as Chicago Bulls point guard? Does anybody foresee a grass roots campaign petitioning Playgirl on behalf of Ernest Borgnine's bid for a photo spread? Next thing you know, Michael Bolton is going to demand Grammy Award accreditation in the male singer category. Does crowbarring the lid off of Pandora's box have any meaning here?

"Monica talks!" Not quite "Garbo Talks", but you and me and Hard Copy are going to have to settle for it right now. Still don't know what Ms. Lewinsky said. But you can bet your ass that our boy Bill is going to know exactly how many times she coughed and how many separate particles of spit expectorated from her mouth when she did cough before he testifies on August 17. Wonder if Monica's voice is squeaky or smokey or seductive? Hard to believe we've lived with this lady for so long and still haven't heard her speak. Also hard to believe the only way to tell the difference between the Jerry Springer Show and CBS Evening News these days is Dan Rather doesn't wears glasses. Hardest of all to believe is Mr. Starr's witch hunt has gone on longer than the Civil War. You really got to feel sorry for the 23 men and women on the grand jury who for six months have been hearing the most salacious things possible about the leader of the free world, the leader of the leader of the free world, an intern and her best friend. Wouldn't blame any of those grand jurors who responded to their public service by moving to the Yukon interior.

The Oval Office good news is ol' Brillo Head has more distractions to hide behind than dwarf squirrels in a Redwood forest during day camp for the blind. He plans on blowing off a Gray "And That's A Gross Exaggeration" Davis California fundraiser on Tuesday to comfort grieving families of the victims of the African Embassy bombings. About the only thing that makes you appear more Presidential than comforting terrorist bombing victim families is shaking hands with Middle Eastern Leaders but right now that's about as likely as Bill receiving the Heritage Foundation Husband of the Year Award. Kenneth Starr got his hand slapped for leaking grand jury testimony and was told to straighten up and fly right or he'd have to pay the 50 bucks and pick up the garbage. In another arena, the Democratic Leadership Council, also known as Republicans With Guilt, and the AFL/ CIO have decided to bury the hatchet and not in each other. In an attempt to keep from undermining the party between now and the election, the two groups agreed to abide by a nonaggression pact and forge common positions. Hopefully vertical. I hope this means they'll agree to Fast Track but only if it applies to sentencing Congressional lobbyists.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• A hospital in San Francisco is looking for 63 volunteers for a marijuana study. An expected side effect will find the test group actually looking forward to hospital food.
• Al Gore visited the Chernobyl nuclear plant. Actually the two have in common the fact that they both put out the same amount of high voltage electricity.
• White House Spokesman Mike McCurry is leaving his post to reportedly write about his years in the Clinton White House. I'm guessing he won't call it, "Going Down In History."
• No truth to the rumor, Apple is releasing a Clinton version of the iMac that has an eight inch hard drive and no memory.
• George Foreman is going to fight Larry Holmes in January. I imagine it'll be a limited purse, as the winner can only make so much and still receive social security.
• The big new fall back to school fashion statement this year is Kevlar. "I'm going to study hall: cover me!"
• Wondering when the Carnival Cruise ship Ecstasy caught fire, if the activities director announced a rafting race. And did the buffet feature a Cajun theme?
• A live action Scooby Doo film is in the works. Going to be tough casting the lovable crime fighting dog. Hmmm. Wonder if Linda Tripp's calendar is free?
• Will Durst is very sorry for that last one, and even though he's promised before, this time he really means it when he says it won't happen again. Honest. No kidding this time. Really.

Tried this before: the whole thing about making top 100 lists. Got a lot of response. If I had known you guys preferred this over wry incisive political wit, I would have started a long time ago. Genius idea. Lets go with colors today.

Top 100 colors.

No. 1. Blue. No. 2. Red. No. 3. Yellow. No. 4. Green. No. 5. Black. No. 6. White. No. 7. Brown. No. 8. Grey. No. 9. Purple. No. 10. Pink. No. 11. Orange. No. 12. Violet. No. 13. Maroon. No. 14. Olive. No. 15. Tan. No. 16. Silver. No. 17. Gold. No. 18. Bronze. No. 19. Crimson. No. 20. Pine. No. 21. Royal blue. No. 22. Sky blue. No. 23. Midnight blue. No. 24. Navy blue. No. 25. Indigo. No. 26. Scarlet. No. 27. Lime. No. 28. Grape. No. 29. Pumpkin. No. 30. Eggplant. No. 31. Forest. No. 32. Blonde. No. 33. Peach. No. 34. Plum. No. 35. Day glo. No. 36. Gray. No. 37. Dark brown. No. 38. Khaki. No. 39. Light brown. No. 40. Baby poop brown. No. 41. Chocolate. No. 42. Beige. No. 43. Mustard. No. 44. Burnt Sienna. No. 45. Cream. No. 46. Sepia. No. 47. Butter. No. 48. Off white. No. 49. Near white. No. 50. White only less than. No. 51. Ivory. No. 52. Bone. No. 53. Eggshell. No. 54. Sand. No. 55. Champagne. No. 56. Pearl. No. 57. Parchment. No. 58. Vanilla. No. 59. Taupe. No. 60. Stone. No. 61. Buff. No. 62. Mauve. No. 63. Ice. No. 64. Watermelon. No. 65. Hemp. No. 66. Turquoise. No. 67. Cinnamon. No. 68. Periwinkle. No. 69. Tortoise shell. No. 70. Charcoal. No. 71. Vermilion. No. 72. Rust. No. 73. Cayenne. No. 74. Cilantro. No. 75. Raspberry. No. 76. Lavender. No. 77. Persimmon. No. 78. Espresso. No. 79. Merlot. No. 80. Burgundy. No. 81. Rose. No. 82. Beaujolais. No. 83. Sage. No. 84. Blush. No. 85. Hyacinth. No. 86. Yellow green. No. 87. Green yellow. No. 88. Moss. No. 89. Brick. No. 90. Coral. No. 91. Aqua. No. 92 Chrome. No. 93. Jade. No. 94. Ruby. No. 95. Emerald. No. 96. Mahogany. No. 97. Licorice. No. 98. Puce. No. 99. Fuchsia. No. 100. Cerise.

Tomorrow, the top 100 string instruments and not one of them is G.

Hey, guess what everybody... the semen stained dress is back. Alright! Which means a couple of things. Defcon 4 at the White House and comedians celebrating like a container load of squirrels dumped in the Blue Diamond almond sorting warehouse. Expect a lot of late night double entendres involving dry cleaning fluid, withholding evidence and hosing the dress down repeatedly. But I don't think Monica Lewinsky is celebrating. Sure, she got immunity for both her and her mother in return for a Grand Jury grilling by Kenneth Starr, the love child of Joe McCarthy and J. Edgar Hoover, but think of what life is going be like afterwards. If she says what we think she said she was going to say, she'll never be able to go out on a date again. "Fine, obviously those kneepads only work when there's a Presidential Seal embossed into the rug. What's the matter, ain't I old or fat enough for you?"I don't know what the big deal is anyhow. Oh, you mean, a President lied? What a shock. Well, I guess that makes 42 in a row. Besides, Clinton said he was going to create jobs, I guess we just didn't expect them to have the first names of blow and nose.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• Before the first couple went on vacation, Hillary finished a tour to save US landmarks. Here's hoping she skipped Strom Thurmond.
• I can't help wondering if Bill and Hillary will bump into each other. Of course he must be excited. Gives him a chance to sleep on a different couch.
• Oh please please please let it be a mayonnaise stain.
• Studies show that marijuana helps stroke victims. Not so much in terms of regaining motor skills as helping them not really care as much.
• The Atlanta Falcons just signed 44 year old quarterback Steve DeBerg. Of course they're very worried he test positive for Metamucil.
• America West was fined $5 million for lax maintenance. I suppose we should be encouraged that there was maintenance.
• The remaining Spice Girls say they're still friends with Ginger and have no plans for any other departures. The four say they'll stay together as a trio because double acts can travel as easy as four solo acts.
• You can always tell Lawrence Phillips' car in the parking lot of whatever NFL team is about to kick him out. The license plate says, "I MADE THIS."
• A California woman just became pregnant from the sperm of her dead husband. If this catches on, singles bars are going to become even more depressing.
  

With the heat Peter Arnett is taking you'd think he'd broadcast live coverage of puppy beheadings. All the guy did was report a story on CNN about the US trying to kill defectors with nerve gas during the Vietnam War. Definitely not a good thing, but isn't it just the thing you'd expect Nixon to do? Now CNN has retracted the piece and fired a couple of the piece's producers. Of course the Pentagon was outraged by the allegation, which they deny. And folks are saying that Arnett should resign. Poppycock. I like it when the Pentagon gets outraged. It usually means something horribly horribly awry is going on. Of course the Pentagon being outraged is like Polar Bears being white. When it doesn't happen is when you should start worrying. Just like they were outraged 28 years ago when accused of waging a war in Laos, which it turned out... they were. Just like they were outraged when Persian Gulf War veterans claimed to be suffering from mysterious ailments caused by exposure to chemical weapons. And it turns out... they were. Just like they were outraged when it was suggested they had complicity in the JFK assassination, and it turns out... oh.

Celebrating the start of his Gubernatorial election with a headlong stumble towards the political equivalent of the World Trade Center rooftop railing, Attorney General Dan Lungren got his hand slapped by Superior Court Judge Raymond Williamson for allowing the sale of assault weapons in California beyond the legislature's cut off date. This will probably shore up his far right base but could be used by a skillful opponent as a poison pill for the swing vote. Fortunately for him, his opponent is Grey "And that's a gross exaggeration" Davis. Lungren's response was and you got to love him for this; "the law was unclear and the deadline not absolute". The Attorney General said this. The state's top cop. Didn't understand a law, so he ignored it. Which I guess means, now we can all cop that gig.

• Speeding. "The sign was obviously pointed towards the right lane and I was in the left."
• Arson: "It was starting to get chilly out."
• Resisting Arrest: "We was only dancing."
• Tax Evasion. "What's the big deal? I gave them money last year."
• Perjury: "I'm a politician."
• Forgery: "I was just practicing his penmanship."
• Hijacking: "They don't go there, so I scheduled my own flight."
• Bank Fraud. "The numbers are the same. They're just in different places."
• Bribery: "I'm a politician."
• Homicide. "I'm an ex football star." Of course that would be plagiarism.

Recently, there's been not just a spate but a veritable plethora of top 100 lists, where big time professionals make a list of the top books, movies or sit com episodes ever. I think they're mostly written by guys getting paid by the word, and you can tell they're bored because most of them peter out near the end. Admittedly, they take a lot of time to compile and involve a whole mess of research to find so I thought I'd save both you readers and you fancy historians a little time by offering up the top 100 years in American history as according to Will Durst an example of my committment to public service. No thanks necessary. I'm here to help.

Top 100 US years.

No. 1. 1776. No. 2. 1492. No. 3. 1945. No. 4. 1781. No. 5. 1789. No. 6. 1968. No. 7. 1918. No. 8. 1865. No. 9. 1939. No. 10. 1952. No. 11. 1933. No. 12. 1783. No. 13. 1803. No. 14. 1790. No. 15. 1963. No. 16. 1981. No. 17. 1900. No. 18. 1820. No. 19. 1796. No. 20. 1941. No. 21. 1946. No. 22. 1964. No. 23. 1913. No. 24. 1812. No. 25. 1927. No. 26. 1787. No. 27. 1857. No. 28. 1863. No. 29. 1919. No. 30. 1846. No. 31. 1777. No. 32. 1886. No. 33. 1974. No. 34. 1969. No. 35. 1936. No. 36. 1921. No. 37. 1971. No. 38. 1892. No. 39. 1922. No. 40. 1923. No. 41. 1924. No. 42. 1925. No. 43. 1926. No. 44. 1821. No. 45. 1822. No. 46. 1823. No. 47. 1824. No. 48. 1825. No. 49. 1826. No. 50. 1868. No. 51. 1901. No. 52. 1903. No. 53. 1972. No. 54. 1973. No. 55. 1985. No. 56. 1986. No. 57. 1987. No. 58. 1988. No. 59. 1989. No. 60. 1872. No. 61. 1990. No. 62. 1998. No. 63. 1893. No. 64. 1894. No. 65. 1795. No. 66. 1796. No. 67. 1897. No. 68. 1997. No. 69. 1898. No. 70. 1799. No. 71. 1800. No. 72. 1493. No. 73. 1494. No. 74. 1612. No. 75. 1613. No. 76. 1614. No. 77. 1491. No. 78. 1830. No. 79. 1930. No. 80. 1840. No. 81. 1940. No. 82. 1750. No. 83. 1850. No. 84. 1950. No. 85. 1951. No. 86. 1851. No. 87. 1751. No. 88. 1651. No. 89. 1551. No. 90. 1451. No. 91. 1351. No. 92. 1251. No. 93. 1151. No. 94. 1152. No. 95. 1154. No. 96. 1164. No. 97. 1860. No. 98. 1860. No. 99. 1960. No. 100. 1060.

Next, the top 100 colors.

San Francisco is not the real world. We all know that. Sure, it's the best place on the face of the planet to live. It's not just us who think so. Check out where Star Fleet Headquarters is. The 415 area code. See, its a futuristic universal thing. But compared to the country as a whole, we're a glass pinata at a backyard barbecue. A patent leather shoe in a pool hall or fettucini Alfredo on a bun. We believe in PBS, white wine and discussion. The rest of the country puts its trust in "The Jerry Springer Show", Lite beer from Miller, and beating their kids in the checkout lanes at the Winn-Dixie until security is called but doesn't do anything since everyone is related. No big deal. We can deal with that. Because most of us left there to come here. San Francisco is not so much a destination as it is a state of mind. Tolerance is not just tolerated, its mandatory; and negligence of it, is punishable by non invitation to parties of a monochromatic nature. Political correctness in this town is more than a way of life, it's the wind that turns the turbine of acceptance. Even though it starts at Columbus Square, we call our October celebration, the Indigenous Peoples Parade. Only in San Francisco, do the panhandlers ask for $3.95 to purchase the latest issue of Atlantic Monthly. Race the fog.

This is good. Typical Congressional crap. More to the point, typical Republican Congressional crap, which is a lot like typical Congressional crap, only crappier. Think runny. See, the deal is, House Majority Whip Tom De-Lay doesn't like Clinton's order barring discrimination against gays in the federal work force. He thinks it's too permissive, indulgent and I don't know, reasonable. Apparently, in the spirit of leveling the playing field, the GOP, representing that grand old group of unreasonable Americans who want to discriminate against gays in the workplace, intends to add an amendment to an appropriations bill barring the use of funds to implement Clinton's order. And here's where the crap really needs a chemical toilet. The bill they plan to add the amendment to, is sponsored by Jim Kolbe of Arizona, the only openly gay Republican in Congress. When asked, the key sponsor of the measure, Joel Hefley, R Colo said he paid no attention to Kolbe's sexual orientation when he drafted the amendment. "I didn't think of Kolbe being a gay Republican congressman, I just think of him being a Republican congressman." Ding! Ding! Ding! No more calls, I think we have a winner. Hefley, you idiot, that's the point. Now keep repeating the same damn thing over and over while walk around your little cocktail parties with your little tasseled loafer pals and we won't ever need that order.

We think we're so smart. But throughout history, innovations and pre emptive strikes have been held over food. The power lunch in nothing new. Just the yellow tie, as I intend to demonstrate in this issue of Famous Power Lunches, the A To Z Version.

• Arnold Schwarzenegger At His First Kennedy Family Barbecue.
• Backstage At The Rat Pack's Debut At The Sands.
• Clinton At Mickey D's On 39 Cheeseburger Day.
• Dagwood And Wimpy.
• Egg And The Chicken.
• First Fish With Legs Who Liked The Taste Of Grass.
• George Bush And The Japanese Prime Minister.
• Harry And Sally At The Carnegie Deli.
• Initial Christians/ Lions Buffet.
• Jurassic Park T Rex And The Lawyer.
• Kenneth Starr And The Devil.
• Leopold And Loeb.
• Martin Luther's Last Communion.
• NYPD Officer And Michael Corleone.
• Oswald, Nixon And Stone.
• Party Thrown By The Donners.
• Queen Elizabeth's First Lunch With Fergie.
• Roy Cohn And J. Edgar Hoover At The DC Sadie Hawkins Brunch.
• Serpent, Eve And The Apple.
• Tripp And Lewinsky.
• Under an overhanging palm, the first guy to eat an oyster convinces the second guy.
• Vendella, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell and a grape.
• Wedding Banquet With Jesus In Charge Of The Water.
• Xena And Hercules Eating Yak Tartare Al Fresco.
• Yan Can Cook's First Wok.
• Zee Donald And Ivana Trump's Settlement Luncheon At Lutece.

Here's the deal. They decided to extend BART, the Bay Area Rapid Transit to the airport, which should have been done thirty years ago, but wasn't because of the cost. So it turns out the 8.7 mile extension, scheduled to open in the year 2001 originally was priced at $1.2 billion. Only about two hundred gazillion times what it would have cost when the system was built, but let's not cry over spilt money shall we. Otherwise, the Potomac and the Sacramento would both be salt rivers. With our red hot economy, the cost overruns are now estimated at 10%, so the extra expense is being passed on to the consumer making the fare for a trip from downtown to the airport an estimated $4.50. Now that's cheap public transportation for you. Hey, you get change from your five. 400% of the national average for a similar run. And the way they'll make the exorbitant fare seem reasonable is jack up the short term parking rates at SFO again. Which they've already done five times in the last two years. You know how I hate to be the monkey wrench in the works, but aren't the airlines making quarterly profits on the order of annual gross national product of Germany? Why don't they chip in? Or is that like asking the pusher to subsidize the junkies cab ride?

You think you had a bad day. In Stockholm, a stunt man set himself on fire and dived into a swimming pool but missed the water and plummeted 30 feet to the ground. This would be tragic if the guy hadn't survived but he did making him much more suitable joke fodder than the Tsunami in Papua New Guinea. Imagine for a minute you got a gig that's going to grease the chutes for you to slide into the bigtime. What would cause you to miss a swimming pool? What distracted him? In the interest of International relations, I've come up with a couple of ideas he could float to the press of why he screwed up.

* Scanned the crowd and saw an ex girlfriend making out with his grandpa.

* The pool moved.

* Still disturbed over ABBA's breakup.

* Got confused by the smoke and had a hard time telling his ass from blue ceramic tile.

* Publicist convinced him non splash would translate into big splash.

* "Let's get ready to rumble" guy mumbled.

* Maybe just one six pack would have settle the nerves better.

* Worried about that whole NATO expansion thing.

* Oh, camera right, I thought you meant stage right.

* Damn discount wind socks.

So, it's July, and nothing's happening. Congress is safely back in their home districts making the world safe for we, the poor unfortunate slobs they represent. For the longest time I assumed they had the best gig in the world. Wear nice clothes, fly first class and make like an expert about stuff you know less about than steel pastry shelving knows about Sixth District Federal Appeals Court rulings. But now I'm pretty sure the guy with the best gig in the world is a man named Michael Buffer. He's the guy who gets flown to all the major sporting events and wails into the microphone "Let's get ready to rumble!" That's it. That's all he does. Five words. He has to do it, because nobody else is allowed to say it. I'm sure someone else tried, and Mr. Buffer figured he had to cover his butt, so he went out and trademarked it. We'd probably get in trouble for trying to say "Let's get ready to grumble." Or "Vets wreck Hetty Lou bubble" I imagine New York sportscasters live in mortal fear of accidentally being caught on tape intimating the "Jets get ready to fumble." So, I'm thinking, that's what I need: a buzzphrase. I'm hoping "Sex pet heavy blue gumbo!" is going to work out. Can't you just see me opening the seventh game of the World Series; "Sex pet heavy blue gumbo! Okay, maybe it needs work.

A group called the Nevada Citizen Alert is claiming the casks carrying radioactive waste being shipped across the country to an Idaho storage site could be leakier than a cardboard skylight in a hurricane. The official response from the US Department Of Energy is "geez pete, c'mon man, they're just fine, why do you keep sweating us", even though they reluctantly admit a full scale test has never actually been done. Oh sure, the 16 foot long 26 ton casks with steel and lead walls eight inches thick full of highly radioactive bomb grade uranium from spent South Korean nuclear fuel rods can survive a 2,000 foot fall from a helicopter or a crash by a train going 80 mph. But these were virtual tests used on dummy loads with quarter scale casks. I think more dummy loads might still be in Washington if someone wants to interview them. Just ask at any desk inside the Department of Energy. You'll recognize them by their quarter scale intellects. Government experts claim the casks can survive any conceivable accident along the route which includes the landslide prone Feather River Canyon. If they are so certain, maybe we should assign one member from the Cabinet staff to accompany each cask on its little trip. Use the good old fashioned buddy system. Then you could be sure the tests would be exhaustive and painstaking.

Displaying a slight annoyance with life during the worst economic crisis in a half century, Japan's voters gave its governing party an old fashioned brutal head drubbing in Sunday's parliamentary elections. Pimp slapped their little Liberal Democratic skulls until raw and bloody and leaving scarlet trails on the nice rice paper screens. In response, Prime Minister Ryutaro Hashimoto said "the results are mostly attributable to my lack of ability", and then he resigned. Who is this guy, and can't we get him to run for something over here? City councilman or state senator. Nothing real pivotal since he doesn't seem to be all that blessed with leadership qualities, but he does have this whole acceptance of guilt thing down. Something that most American politicians are about as close to as a Wyoming bush ferret is to fresh sea scallops. American experts are afraid the Prime Minister job will go from a man who exhibited little authority to a rival who has shown none, which sounds like they expect Newt Gingrich to get the gig. In a country that specializes in faceless leaders, leading contender Foreign Minister Keizo Obuchi makes Perry Como look wired. Of course maybe we could convince Oakland to ship them Jerry Brown. He could single handedly drag their economy kicking and screaming into the twenty third century. Or the nineteenth.

Summer. Barefoot at a barbecue. Sinfully skinny tan lines. Sand under the elastic of your underwear. Men obviously bereft of mirrors naked from the waist up. Ice cream dripping down the sugar cone onto your fingers. Lemonade so tart it makes your toes pucker. The tinny mantra of a baseball game on an AM radio. It started Sunday but not really. Oh sure the solstice ostensibly began at 10:03 am EDT Father's Day, when the sun was at its furthest point from the equator. Solstice: from the Latin for "stand still", featured the longest day of the year. Yes, this may be the astronomical beginning of the season of summer for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, but we're already a goodly way into it's clammy depths. We've just been experiencing that weird cuspal convergence of summer and spring: Sprummer. Because true summer is not a fixed date, it's a state of mind. An altered state of mind. As an adult, it means Memorial Day and the ability to wear white shoes sans impunity not to mention lawn furniture. It means fresh cut grass and the soft stirring of a hammock complete with snoring noises. It means the smell of burning flesh, both from barbecues and the shoulders of the pigmentally challenged at the beach.

Summer is not just mercurial, it's geographic. If you're from the upper Midwest, it's a two week period quickly celebrated during the end of July while dodging winged insects the size of footstools. An old Wisconsin saying: "I remember summer last year, it was a Wednesday I think." In my part of the world, summer means a cool cleansing blanket of fog, or as Mark Twain once said: "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco". For fans in the stands, summer starts with the first pitch of the regular season, immediately following the end of spring training. Which must be an odd phrase to anybody who's never lived in the North and doesn't realize you can't just jump into spring. You got ease on into it like a Polish Dog sliding onto a grilled bun. And even though it's only thirteen days away, the Fourth of July is undeniable dead solid summer. A red white and blue holiday when we celebrate America's birthday by blowing stuff up real good. Because that's another important characteristic of summer; it's loud. When you're a kid, summer is flexible like a garden hose left tangled in an August attic in Phoenix. But that doesn't mean you can't pinpoint the exact minute of its birth. It starts at 3:01 on the last day of school and it lasts until 8 am the Tuesday after Labor Day, which is when we all know summer ends. Except apparently for the astronomers who stubbornly insist the season lasts until the 23rd of September. Which is right around when summer begins in San Francisco. And lingers for maybe six weeks. Sumtumn. Or is it Autmmer?

Now let me get this straight. The World Cup is the most exciting sporting event in the world, right? So that would have to make Seniors Tour Knitting Circles number two. With Supermodels Filling In Crossword Puzzles With Ink a close third. "And Firdley passes it to Rodriguez who passes it back to Firdley who passes it to Rodriguez, who stands still for at least twenty seconds. Genius tactical move. He's put the attack back on the full boil now. Rodriguez passes it back to Firdley who takes a shot and it's . . . no, it bounces off the crossbar, and so, late in the second stoppage time, the score remains, nil, nil." Nobody ever knows what time it is and the only camera angle they got is the one where the lens is attached to the inside rim of the Mir Space Station. Then they give out these red and yellow cards to players who have the audacity to get in the way of other players and attempt to alter their effectiveness. The hell is that? These guys would last about fifteen seconds in the NFL. Of course Americans don't understand any sport that doesn't involve eighth of a ton no neck brain dead behemoth pieces of premium beef tearing each other apart like the last hamburger at a mad dog picnic. And after all, in soccer, that's the fans job.

It's always been the great American tradition to take the string of weasels dangling from our chins, and develop new jewelry trends from them in a red white and blue tendency I like to call Find The Brightside. So let us now help people around the country celebrate the anniversary of our country's birth by Finding The Brightside.

1. Clinton Plays Down Talk About Human Rights While In China.

A. A lot fewer annoying interviews with dissidents on NPR.

B. Rooms with better views for his staff.

2. Large Amount Of Animals Dying At Disney's Animal Kingdom.

A. They're much more approachable this way.

B. Veterinary pathology students are excited.

3. Giant Meteor To Destroy Earth In 2028.

A. Time to cash in that second mortgage and head to Vegas.

B. No longer need to obsessively check expiration dates on Twinkies packages.

4. Florida Fires Continue To Rage.

A. Diminished vision of seniors now shared by all residents.

B. Developers able to offer deals that are "smoking" while abiding by the truth in advertising constraints.

5. Campaign Finance Reform Goes Down Again.

A. Lots of catering money still free to spread around to DC based relatives.

B. World won't come to an end.

6. Minority Teenagers Are Smoking More.

A. The tobacco industry's commitment to diversity is finally paying dividends.

B. Hey, all right. Some one is doing studies on minorities.

Summer. Barefoot at a barbecue. Sinfully skinny tan lines. Sand under the elastic of your underwear. Men obviously bereft of mirrors naked from the waist up. Ice cream dripping down the sugar cone onto your fingers. Lemonade so tart it makes your toes pucker. The tinny mantra of a baseball game on an AM radio. It started Sunday but not really. Oh sure the solstice ostensibly began at 10:03 am EDT Father's Day, when the sun was at its furthest point from the equator. Solstice: from the Latin for "stand still", featured the longest day of the year. Yes, this may be the astronomical beginning of the season of summer for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, but we're already a goodly way into it's clammy depths. We've just been experiencing that weird cuspal convergence of summer and spring: Sprummer. Because true summer is not a fixed date, it's a state of mind. An altered state of mind. As an adult, it means Memorial Day and the ability to wear white shoes sans impunity not to mention lawn furniture. It means fresh cut grass and the soft stirring of a hammock complete with snoring noises. It means the smell of burning flesh, both from barbecues and the shoulders of the pigmentally challenged at the beach.

Summer is not just mercurial, it's geographic. If you're from the upper Midwest, it's a two week period quickly celebrated during the end of July while dodging winged insects the size of footstools. An old Wisconsin saying: "I remember summer last year, it was a Wednesday I think." In my part of the world, summer means a cool cleansing blanket of fog, or as Mark Twain once said: "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco". For fans in the stands, summer starts with the first pitch of the regular season, immediately following the end of spring training. Which must be an odd phrase to anybody who's never lived in the North and doesn't realize you can't just jump into spring. You got ease on into it like a Polish Dog sliding onto a grilled bun. And even though it's only thirteen days away, the Fourth of July is undeniable dead solid summer. A red white and blue holiday when we celebrate America's birthday by blowing stuff up real good. Because that's another important characteristic of summer; it's loud. When you're a kid, summer is flexible like a garden hose left tangled in an August attic in Phoenix. But that doesn't mean you can't pinpoint the exact minute of its birth. It starts at 3:01 on the last day of school and it lasts until 8 am the Tuesday after Labor Day, which is when we all know summer ends. Except apparently for the astronomers who stubbornly insist the season lasts until the 23rd of September. Which is right around when summer begins in San Francisco. And lingers for maybe six weeks. Sumtumn. Or is it Autmmer?

Now let me get this straight. The World Cup is the most exciting sporting event in the world, right? So that would have to make Seniors Tour Knitting Circles number two. With Supermodels Filling In Crossword Puzzles With Ink a close third. "And Firdley passes it to Rodriguez who passes it back to Firdley who passes it to Rodriguez, who stands still for at least twenty seconds. Genius tactical move. He's put the attack back on the full boil now. Rodriguez passes it back to Firdley who takes a shot and it's . . . no, it bounces off the crossbar, and so, late in the second stoppage time, the score remains, nil, nil." Nobody ever knows what time it is and the only camera angle they got is the one where the lens is attached to the inside rim of the Mir Space Station. Then they give out these red and yellow cards to players who have the audacity to get in the way of other players and attempt to alter their effectiveness. The hell is that? These guys would last about fifteen seconds in the NFL. Of course Americans don't understand any sport that doesn't involve eighth of a ton no neck brain dead behemoth pieces of premium beef tearing each other apart like the last hamburger at a mad dog picnic. And after all, in soccer, that's the fans job.

It's always been the great American tradition to take the string of weasels dangling from our chins, and develop new jewelry trends from them in a red white and blue tendency I like to call Find The Brightside. So let us now help people around the country celebrate the anniversary of our country's birth by Finding The Brightside.

1. Clinton Plays Down Talk About Human Rights While In China.

A. A lot fewer annoying interviews with dissidents on NPR.

B. Rooms with better views for his staff.

2. Large Amount Of Animals Dying At Disney's Animal Kingdom.

A. They're much more approachable this way.

B. Veterinary pathology students are excited.

3. Giant Meteor To Destroy Earth In 2028.

A. Time to cash in that second mortgage and head to Vegas.

B. No longer need to obsessively check expiration dates on Twinkies packages.

4. Florida Fires Continue To Rage.

A. Diminished vision of seniors now shared by all residents.

B. Developers able to offer deals that are "smoking" while abiding by the truth in advertising constraints.

5. Campaign Finance Reform Goes Down Again.

A. Lots of catering money still free to spread around to DC based relatives.

B. World won't come to an end.

6. Minority Teenagers Are Smoking More.

A. The tobacco industry's commitment to diversity is finally paying dividends.

B. Hey, all right. Some one is doing studies on minorities.

HAH! AAAIIIIEEEE! BRIIFFFKK! I only wish I could make a noise that would jump right off the page and into your brain like explosive shards of righteous freakazoid fury. It comes from the other day when Senate Majority Leader, Trent Lott, the dufus in charge of the Senate, has gone above and beyond the call of duty of numbskulled determination in his attempt to drag us kicking and screaming back to the 50's, with his characterization of homosexuality as a sin like kleptomania that is curable. It doesn't matter that for all of recorded history, 10% of the population has been and is gay. It doesn't matter that nobody but nobody should be able to tell nobody else what to do when they're alone and nobody gets hurt. It doesn't matter that discrimination is something Jesus preached against. All that matters is Trent Lotts of BS so you can smell it 2,000 miles away, is sucking up to his right wing base by lashing out against an entire group of people because... get ready for this because apparently its important- they are different. One can only thankfully remember that America is great for many reasons; one of them being the national cure for the asinine. It's called defeat at the polls.

The Carl's Jr's. fast food chain has a new slogan promoting how messy its hamburgers are, which I hope is a pitch at how much you get for your money. A value scam instead of a slob scam. "If it doesn't get all over the place, it doesn't belong in your face." Now, I know the art of advertising is mostly hyperbole and exaggeration, but this phrase has a logic glitch the size of one of Jupiter's moons. I can think of many things that get all over the place that don't belong in my face, but that's not quite the contention, is it? Rather, they are proposing that unless it DOES get all over the place, then you have no business ingesting it. Can that be true? So that would mean carrots are bad and cheese fondue eaten with your fingers is good. They have another commercial featuring a guy who pretends to tell some other guy's fortune by reading the glop falling out of the burger like tea leaves and he ends up eating the whole thing predicting the poor sap is destined to be hungry. The message I get from this ad is total jerks and saps favor Carl's Jr's. I'm sure the advertising agencies have done extensive studies and can provide data proving total jerks have more disposable income and can afford buying container cars full of messy hamburgers, and that's why they are being targeted. Same strategy Trent Lott seems to favor.

You can't make stuff up like this.

• Now, Kenneth Starr wants voice samples of Monica Lewinsky. Wow, are you telling me, we now have the technology to determine invasive DNA from an audio readout?
• George Karl, fired from the Seattle Supersonics, might leave the world of professional athletics and become coach of the Denver Nuggets.
• Reports say Viagra may cause vision problems. Probably similar to alcohol. Take a few too many, and everybody looks good.
• Baywatch plans on replacing its entire female cast next season. Which puts the pressure on the writers. Not only do they have to write scripts that introduce a slew of new characters, but they have to write them so they can be read phonetically.
• Ellen Degeneres and Anne Heche have announced plans to marry. ABC, always on the cutting edge has already given Ellen away.
• Pentagon reaction to the female officer who posed for Playboy has been mixed. 20% of the military brass is calling for a court martial and the rest are calling for the proof sheet.
• Because production costs have spiraled out of control, Nicholas Cage's no cut contract calls for him being paid $17 million for not playing Superman. I'm thinking of calling up the producers to let them know I'm not available either. They should have called me; I'd be willing to not play Superman for a lot less than that.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This

• Loved the Republicans adding all those amendments to the tobacco legislation, and then defeating it because there were too many amendments attached. A lot like stapling saddlebags to a pigeon and then shooting it because it can't fly.
• With the success of Godzilla, producers are preparing to film other monsters terrorizing New York. I think they should start with the Rush Limbaugh Story.
• Rolling Stone guitarist Keith Richards injured some ribs in a fall and doctors prescribed pain killers. Talk about redundant.
• The US and 20 states continue to sue Microsoft for around a billion dollars. For Bill Gates, it's a case that could be settled in small claims court.
• The X Files movie racked up $31 million over the weekend amidst claims that it's more than a big screen version of the TV show. $7.50 more.
• The US Government is conducting a study of the Y2K, the year 2000 computer bug. What do you want to bet the study is going to take three years?
• Did you ever think that Kenneth Starr, love child of Joe McCarthy and J. Edgar Hoover, is just trying to do to Clinton what Clinton allegedly did to Gennifer Flowers?
• Will Durst wonders if the void left by Ginger Spice will be equal to the void created by Ginger Spice.

The Southern Baptist Convention amended its statement of beliefs for the first time in 35 years to include a statement that says women should "submit graciously" to their husbands. Cool. I'm hoping that means if I convert to Baptism or whatever, I don't have to do dishes any more. Debi, the heathen pagan, stubbornly disagrees. Of course, it'll take awhile for her to adopt those good Baptist beliefs. Like 9,000 light years. You watch. She'll burn. You got to love these guys. First they hold their annual convention in Salt Lake City in a snotty attempt to kick holier than thou sand in the Mormons face, and then they make a decision to drag themselves kicking and screaming into the 13th century by declaring 51% of the population subservient to the other 49%. Proponents of the Baptists declaration argue that without such a Biblical structure, civilized society is in jeopardy. Maybe civilized society is in greater jeopardy if it keeps ascribing to a centuries old system of rigid moral authority rather than realizing that the whole idea is not to hurt other people on purpose. And not starting wars based on which comic book character you believe in.

It's that time of the season, when all these big time entertainers and heavy schtarkers are picking up the big bucks by giving graduation speeches at colleges they got kicked out of. So I thought I'd jump in with my two cents worth.

When you mosh down the bleached green hedges of a college campus these days, elbowing your way past creased flannel and the pierced chin clefts and quick frozen cynicism of the halls, the first question that pops in my head is the echoing bass beat of my weird uncle Bud's refrain, "to what grotesque length will the progeny of these poseurs be forced to adopt, in order to induce a requisite parental outrage response?" And will you, Generation Y, be forced to a rebellious wave that springs from an even more sheltered enclave than Seattle? Maybe it'll rise from Bozeman, Montana, in the form of concentric body gouging. Or Singapore caning welts framed in frayed black denim. Who knows, in 20 years, music videos could be showcasing disaffected white adolescent bands wearing bibbed overalls with barbed wire suspenders eerily warbling their hormonally poisoned poetry through distended vocal cords stretched by skull head mosaic tribal neck rings. And of course, the whole movement will be crushed when JC Penney's co-opts the images in their catalogue featuring the newest fashion line, "Grudge Rock." What I'm saying here is who cares? Go for it. Break down those fashion walls. You got to start somewhere. But stay out of my way. And someone give me a beer. Time you got some practice at your future profession.

Moses runs the NRA. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Yes, he's going to lead Conservatives out of the wilderness and into the promised land of high poll numbers. Going to turn around the image of the organization, about as easy a task as taming a wounded weasel with a raw meat stick. Besides, I'm not sure we should be giving this kind of responsibility to a man who was traumatized by apes in two movies. First Ronald Reagan is President of the United States, and now Charlton Heston is President of the NRA, so I guess that means pretty soon Jack Palance is going to head the Red Cross. Then, Ed Asner will run the ACLU, although he did have a shot at the Screen Actors Guild which is close. Heston said, "Mr. Clinton, America didn't trust you with our health care system... America doesn't trust you with our 21 year old daughters, and we sure, Lord, don't trust you with our guns!" The great communicator is alive and loud and speaking from the Mount after hearing from the burning bush, and I don't mean George W. either. He called the recent school shootings a "child issue, not a gun issue." I disagree, I think it's a school issue. Get rid of schools, get rid of school shootings. It's so simple.

Special Prosecutor Kenneth Starr, also known to many as Mediocre Prosecutor Kenneth Starr, is taking heavy heat for admitting to Brill's Content magazine that he and his chief deputy may have briefed a couple of reporters during his Presidential witch hunt, unh, I mean, investigation. Supposedly, he timed his leaks to put pressure on potential witnesses in his probe of Bill Clinton's many flaws and moral openings. Federal law prohibits prosecutors from disclosing "matters before the grand jury", but Starr maintains his actions were to protect his office from attacks that undermined public confidence in his work. He later was unable to provide any proof that there had been any confidence in his work to begin with. He also suggested some of the information was "what witnesses tell FBI agents before they testify before the grand jury". So it's not real testimony... yet. Senator Orin Hatch, Republican from Utah, and chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee leapt to Starr's defense. But he's about as impartial as Hillary would be to a public flogging of Chelsea. Now the White House is calling for an independent investigation of the Special Investigator. And then Kenneth Starr could investigate the investigator who was investigating him, the investigator. Hey, this could be fun. Nah, then again, probably not.

Murphy's Stout sponsored a comedy festival in Kilkenny, Ireland and invited a bunch of us Yank comics over to amuse the troops. At least they said it was a comedy festival. It was mostly a beer festival with chairs. To say the Irish drink, is like saying nitroglycerine is a bad substance to fill overhanging crib mobiles with. This is the country where the swimmer, Michele Smith, was suspected of blood doping because her urine had enough whiskey in it to kill a small hippopotamus. The overwhelming response from her countrymen was, "Hey, what's the problem, she's Irish". You don't test her urine for strength, you test it for origin. If we're talking Scotch Whiskey, its obviously a fake. As long as it smells like an Irish Whiskey distillery, I don't know if we have the right to make a value judgment on how much the young lady cares to drink. Maybe she just needs something to keep her warm in all those strange pools. Or maybe she just spent a weekend in Kilkenny and tried to keep up with one of the eighteen year old thugs there. You guys will forgive me, but I have to go and iron my liver. Try and fill some of those larger perforations, with that special freeze dried Guinness spackling compound I picked up.

You can call us many things here in the Golden Plated state of California, but we're about as predictable as a rhinestone canoe in a freight elevator. Our Democratic Gubernatorial suitors spent $64 million cozying up to us for Tuesday's primary, and what do we do, but go and nominate the goober who bought us a corsage the size of a golf ball dimple. Grey "And That's A Gross Exaggeration" Davis, beat both Al "Checkbook With A Smirk" Checci, and Jane "I Am A Woman Dammit" Harman for the honor of facing Dan "Darth" Lungren in November's race for Governor of us, the world's Seventh largest economy. Now, of course, the next five months is going to be easy. The two of them will stomp each other like daisies on a fifty yard line claiming that all important moderate middle as a fumble recovery and blast the other for being so far out of the mainstream, they got grass stains on their butts. According to which playbook you're reading, it'll either be Mister Compassion versus the Steel Nazi or Mister Responsible versus the Stone Hippie. Or another way of putting it, for us in California, its $64 million down and a bajillion to go.

In elections of national note here in the leftist of all coasts, Prop 226 probably caused the most commotion. It said unions can't do what corporations do, that is, influence elections; unless they got one signed note from every member, and another from their mothers, saying that they cleaned their rooms. Losing 53 to 47, it was called the "Payroll Protection Act"; a lot like calling a giant sinkhole in your driveway- a garage extender. Defeating the bill, the unions outspent their opponents four to one leaving them broke for November, making Dan Lungren an unintended benefactor. I'm sure he'll return the favor. Down in SOCAL, Bob Dornan won the right to a rematch with Loretta Sanchez, who defeated him by 984 votes in 96, amidst incredibly loud whining of illegally cast ballots, a charge which gained some credence when a Hispanic group was accused of registering ineligible voters. However, the Republican controlled House of Reps threw out his complaint anyway on the "oh, get a life" platform. Prop 227, ended bilingual education, followed in the very successful and shallow footsteps of Props 187 & 209. Then, in another blistering example of why our state is nationally beloved as a propane leak in fireworks factory, 41st district US Representative Jay Kim was hobbled in his re-election bid by the ankle bracelet keeping him back in DC unable to campaign. See, a federal judge imposed it as partial penalty for accepting $250,000 in illegal campaign contributions. Just proving what we've always suspected: when the going gets tough, the tough decline all media requests. The good news, he lost.

The Supreme Court rebuffed Independent Counsel Kenneth W. Starr's request for a rare summer session and a bypass of the normal appellate channels in his desire to get some real mean dogs with sharp teeth involved in his witch hunt. His request for fast tracking a couple of judgments on Clinton's client attorney and Secret Service privileges was based on a claim this was an emergency on the order of Watergate or the national steel strike of 52. The Justices however, seemed to agree that it's an emergency more on the order of a broken chaise lounge or a missing lug nut. In essence they said, "hey, Mr. Special Prosecutor, you're not all that special, and should play by the same rules all the other boys and girls have to play by". The guy has been leisurely strolling for four years and forty million dollars and suddenly he's in such a hurry, he makes The Flash look like the Man of Molasses. The Court of Appeals was remanded by the Supreme Court to proceed expeditiously and we can only hope that Kenneth Starr will do the same. Otherwise, at $30,000 a day for 1400 days, I'm pretty sure we can get Mr. Starr charged in Federal Court for overbilling.

Defense Secretary William Cohen ordered an inquiry into allegations that special US forces used nerve gas to target American military defectors during the Vietnam War. He also said his understanding is "this would have violated our own policy at the time". At the time? At the time?!? What the hell does that mean? At the time. I guess that means now its okay. Oh yeah, I suppose everybody knows it's standard operating procedure. Easy as pie. Now. But before, no. Not such a good idea. The so called Operation Tailwind, and doesn't it stink like one, was approved by the Nixon White House, according to former military officials who participated in the September 1970 raid. Gosh, I can't imagine that. Nixon involved in something shady. Surely these gentlemen must be mistaken. Cohen said he is going to ask the military services to search records for any information that might substantiate the allegations. And you can bet he's going to find stacks and stacks of records. Immediately. Probably just sitting there right on top in a big file titled "Nerve Gas: Our Own People". Yeah, right, and then we'll open up that other file with the big black magic marker heading: "JFK: the Real Murderers." Of course, that'll end up being Nixon's fault too. Might as well blame him for everything.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This:

• The good news is Jerry Tarkanian settled his lawsuit with the NCAA for a cool $2.5 million, is he now has enough money to bail out his starting five.
  
  
• The Democrats in Congress want to ban high capacity ammunition clip probably wouldn't impact how postal workers do their jobs, but it would help make kids' backpacks a lot lighter.
  
  
• The UPN Network has announced it will increase its TV schedule this fall to five nights. They also hope to add a fifth viewer.
  
  
• Nike has announced reforms in its asian factories. Wonder if this means they're going to discontinue the "take your parents to work" day.
  
  
• Jerry Springer says his guests don't follow a script. Well, obviously, that would require his staff book guests who can read.
  
  
• Disney's Animal Kingdom has just opened in Orlando. It's supposed to be just like going to Africa. Only more expensive.
  
  
• You know why I love watching the Home Shopping Network? Because there's no commercials.
  
  
• I don't know how they kill Godzilla in the movie, but they should have just given him lower box seats at Yankee Stadium. Or maybe they're saving it up for the sequel when he fights another dinosaur: AMTRAK.

We should have seen this one coming like the return of the Chicken Flu, or that weird summer rash that gets under your belt and doesn't go away until your family leaves after Thanksgiving. The Speaker of the House wants to keep his options open to run for President in campaign 2000, so he is now in the process of renovating his image. Like a lizard shedding his skin, this recidivistic event has become anticipated in Washington like Cherry Blossom Blight or herpes. The new Newt. The newest Newt. The Newtest Newt. You know, I'm thinking, in order to really impress the money people he's serious this time, Mister G is going to have to take himself a new tact. What this Georgia Peach needs is a slogan. And if you're thinking, I'm just the guy to give him one, you're right.

• The Speaker of the House: He Looks Out For No. 1.
  
  
• Newt Gingrich: No Ethics Violations In Months.
  
  
• You Don't Have To Trust Him To Admire Him.
  
  
• Newter Than He Wants To Be.
  
  
• He's Not As Weasely As He Looks.
  
  
• The New Newt: Hasn't Abandoned A Wife While She Was Recuperating From Cancer Surgery Since The First One.
  
  
• Don't Worry: He's Not Contagious.
  
  
• The Newtmeister: Sleaze Does Matter.
  
  
• No He Doesn't Always Make Sense, But He's Loud.
  
  
• He May Be An Asshole, But He's Our Asshole.
  

Say what you will about those wacky Indians, they just proved they possess International cajones the size of The Great Barrier Reef by joining the We Can Really Screw Things Up Big Time Club. We're not even done yelling at them for the three nukes they set off on Monday and what do they do: immediately go and test themselves two more underground blasts. You'd think they'd have the simple common courtesy to wait until we've finished drawing our angry line in the sand before walking past us like we're not even there. To say Washington is a little pissed off is like saying the Seinfeld publicity machine is running on all four cylinders. Oh, their next door neighbors, the Pakistanis, are happier than a refrigeration convention in hell without duct tape. They called the New Delhi action something "gone berserk". Of course you got to remember they get along with the Indians a lot like sugar get along with carburetors. They would probably call an Indian satellite transmission of the Disney channel the first manifestation of Great Satan's rule. Of course they wouldn't be too wrong. Too bad, Rudy Guiliani didn't feel the same way and left Times Square to Satan and not Disney.

According to the New York Daily News, which means it has to be true, New York City Yellow Cabs went on strike yesterday because of strict new regulations that Mayor Rudolph Giuliani has proposed to the Taxi Commission, which votes on May 28th. Averring they would be driven out of business, the cabbies protested the onerous new rules, which include barring the drivers from smoking, playing loud music and fines for ignoring or cursing costumers. They would also mandate drug tests for new drivers, raise insurance liability requirements, and raise fines up to $1000 for reckless driving and other traffic violations. What does Giuliani think he's doing? New York City without dirty rude cab drivers is like Los Angeles with clean air. It's like a winter in Minneapolis wearing shorts. When you go to Tijuana and the federales refuse your bribe, you're pissed, right? So why is Rudy trying to screw with American preconceptions of New York? Next thing you know, he'll make personal hygiene a requirement for entering the 212 area code. Maybe we can elect him to national office and have him work on the 202 area code. Make graft and corruption a extraditable offense. Of course then all our Representatives would have to commit their carnage from home. And then the rest of us could strike. At the ballot box. Nah, that's too easy.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This

• National Secretaries Day was last month. I'm wondering what Clinton's secretary got. Probably a dozen subpoenas.
  
  
• You know if Bill Clinton does invade Iraq, his legacy might read "Make Love And War."
  
  
• Larry Holmes is going to fight George Foreman. Sponsors for the heaviest of heavyweight bouts haven't been announced yet, but I have to assume they'll include Meatmucil and Depends. It's good to see Boxing get a Seniors Tour.
  
  
• I imagine the US State Department is telling the Indian government, "of course we'll treat you like adults. It's just that unless you start to behave more like we say, not only will you lose another month's allowance, but you'll be grounded until the millennium and sent to bed without any curry."
  
  
• Don't ask me how he did it, but I'm absolutely convinced that somehow Jerry Seinfeld is responsible for killing Frank Sinatra.
  
  
• Looks like Bill Gates and Janet Reno have a real love hate relationship going on here. She'd better trod carefully or Microsoft is going to buy the Justice Department and put her at a customer service desk in Redmond. Either that or Microsoft will test an underground nuke near the Canadian border.
  
  
• Nobody knows what Bill Clinton wants to do after his second term is over, but I have a feeling Ambassador to Sweden might be in the picture.
  
  
• The triple crown racing season is going on at the same time as the NBA Playoffs. One difference between the two is thoroughbreds are expected to act like three year olds.

You know what crunches my granola? Well, I mean besides that spooky dancing baby on Ally McBeal? This full employment economy of ours. Don't get me wrong, It's not that I don't think people deserve to make a living. Yes indeed, everybody deserves a job. Just not always the ones they have. Different jobs, maybe. Jobs that don't include a lot of figurin'. Because unemployment is at an all time low, some folks have landed themselves occupations in which it is safe to say they are less qualified than goldfish running snowblowers. Or a weasel driving a bus and no I'm not just talking about Kenneth Starr. I'm talking about people who are confused by their shoes who have keys. Managers to whom the term clueless is an aspiration. People who think a nametag gives them the cloak of logic armor. Clerks trying to push buttons on cash registers with fingernails the size of small boogie boards. Government employees who can't speak English. And I'm not talking about government employees in France, either. No, what I mean to say is government employees in our very own country who can't speak English. And the ones who ostensibly can speak English refuse to communicate in it. The only way to get something done, is to resort to the weird grunts, snorts and whistles they seem to understand. Of course with what I'm usually trying to tell them, perhaps it's better they don't understand me.

Justice. We all know about justice. It will prevail. It's blind and its wheels turn slowly. There are many different kinds of justice; frontier, instant, karma. There's even David Justice who got divorced from Halle Berry, which doesn't sound very just to me. But what we say about justice and what we do about it are two different things.

WHAT THEY SAY: you have the right to remain silent.
WHAT THEY MEAN: although you might find yourself saying "ow" on occasion.

WHAT THEY SAY: in America, you are innocent until proven guilty.
WHAT THEY MEAN: in America, you are innocent until proven broke.

WHAT THEY SAY: all men are created equal.
WHAT THEY MEAN: then, most of them end up with public defenders.

WHAT THEY SAY: the law has always been color blind.
WHAT THEY MEAN: unless that color is green.

WHAT THEY SAY: you have the right to a speedy trial.
WHAT THEY MEAN: before we hang you.

WHAT THEY SAY: justice delayed is justice denied.
WHAT THEY MEAN: take a number.

WHAT THEY SAY: all men are created equal.
WHAT THEY MEAN: with Viagra they are.

WHAT THEY SAY: you have a choice.
WHAT THEY MEAN: your wallet or your life.

WHAT THEY SAY: anything you say will be used against you.
WHAT THEY MEAN: you might not want to say "steel toed boots".

German industrial giant Daimler-Benz A.G., the maker of Mercedes-Benz automobiles announced it's going to acquire the Chrysler Corporation in a $38 billion merger deal with global implications. You know what's going to happen now; nobody will be anybody unless they have their own huge American conglomerate to muck around with. It's like the Japanese penchant for everything American. You know like how they pay thousands of dollars for old Converse tennis shoes. Which could go a long way to explain their recent financial crisis. Hey guys, those things are only thirty bucks new, you know. We could clean up here. All we have to do is hire real good public relations firms to plug outdated or worthless industries and suck foreign conglomerates into buying them taking them off our hands. Giorgio Armani is free to merge with Oshkosh B'Gosh to produce high fashion slouch overhauls. The state of California can sell Chico State to the French as Sorbonne West. Hopefully we can somehow convince the BBC to buy the WB and have Buffy the Vampire Killer become a member of Parliament. That way she could fight the heinous demon monster that is Tony Blair. And then move over here to take care of the source of all evil himself, Bill Clinton.

You know, the next time I think I've heard it all, I'm going to have to remember to beat my head against a wall until one or the other starts denting. All right, so here's the new deal that is going to make you break out in hives the size of ocean liners. First the airlines take my cigarettes away and now they want my peanuts as well. Some people have been calling the airlines demanding the elimination of peanuts because of their allergies. Now the airline companies, which are so sensitive to the threat of lawsuits they can smell a lawyer's fingerprints on a press release, have said they can't guarantee peanut-free flights. They counsel people to take early flights when nobody serves anything, or switch to another carrier like American which is pretzel territory. Yeah, I got some counsel for these folks as well. Walk. Or take a bus. Drive. Did you ever hear of AMTRAK? You know somebody's going to allergic to the foam in the seats and we'll be forced to sit on wooden pews. Or how bout all those of us whose religion objects to rivets and have an intense fear of metal alloys. Don't we have a right to representation? Hey man, don't ignore my needs.

The impossible has happened. The unthinkable has been thunk. Members of Jacques Cousteau's underwater film team claim the renowned French oceanographer faked scenes in his documentaries. Pshaw. Poppycock. Bushwa. In one case, footage of an octopus scrambling out of a tank and hopping overboard was supposedly obtained by pouring bleach in the tank. Yeah, so? I'd hop out overboard if bleach were poured in my tank too. What's your point? How would you go about motivating an octopus? Vague murmurs of warm currents? Eau de flounder? Saucy sketches of plankton? Then some guy says Cousteau told him he had to spend three hours in a decompression chamber because Cousteau was afraid he had the bends. If I were this guy, I'd spend less time whining about his lost three hours in a cozy capsule and more time thanking my lucky stars that the captain was looking out for my welfare. Real nice guys, destroying a dead guy's reputation. I suppose the next expose we'll be privy to is Mother Teresa didn't really care for lepers, they were just folks with bad head colds. Then we'll find out Marlin Perkins didn't even like Jim. And the Skipper abused Gilligan every night in the hut.

PBS is getting a measure of heat lately for marketing The Teletubbies to fill that all important 1 to 2 year old niche in the toy market. What's the big problem? America today is not about making things, it's about buying them. And what better time to start nurturing a consumer mentality in children than when they have yet begun to speak. Like they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Pre toddlers don't have to unlearn any bad foreign buying habits. Old enough to breathe, old enough to brand. They're going to watch TV anyhow; would you rather they learn their peer group behavior from "All My Children"? As a matter of fact, why stop at age 1? Coming soon from a savvy marketer near you: Crib TV. Lot's of brightly colored lights in the form of a Swoosh and subliminal commercial voices extolling the benefits of Gerbers Baby Food over those other "yucky" brands. And all right, I know this is stretching a little but how about some fiber optic messages right through the fallopian tube. Just flashes of lights, maybe in morse code. Internal womb tattoos might be too painful to be worth their while, but think of the rights fees. I'm working on it.

This whole Viagra thing is getting out of hand. So to speak. The San Francisco Chronicle featured the headline... "Viagra: Big And Getting Bigger." And Newsweek followed with "Rising To The Occasion." Can't wait for George Magazine to follow up with; "I Got Your Executive Privilege Right Here." Hey guys, it's not a miracle drug. Pfizer's new pill just sends a bunch of extra blood down to the pelvis area for about an hour. At ten bucks a throw, time is going to be at a premium here. Modern foreplay is going to end up shorter than Mike Tyson's remorse. Think David Caruso's film career and divide by two. Of course, there are rumors that unforeseen side effects may exhibit themselves at some latter date. You know what, speaking as a forty six year old male, I don't think anybody who has to resort to this thing cares if the side effects include a third arm sprouting out of their forehead. I imagine the partners involved wouldn't mind either. Of course being a guy, and having a tiny insight into our complex and intricate thinking, I'm pretty sure we would only consider it being a Godsend for allowing us to make love while at the same time hanging onto a beer.

I bet a lot of you shake yourselves awake at night thinking I got myself a cruise gig here. And you'd be right. There are worse ways to make a living than by attempting to make people laugh out loud on purpose against their will. And I must admit these days, I rarely break a sweat. Merely transcribing the latest follies of our so called representatives is enough to put a smirk on most of the stone statues in the Rotunda. It's a lot like spearfishing in a Motel 6 sink. Penalty kicking behind the goalie. Getting greased in New Orleans. But I'm working stone cracking hard time compared to the lucky folks who earn their livelihood reviewing movies. Look in any paper, and you'll see nice things said about movies that you'd rather poke your eyes out with jagged pieces of rusty aluminum than watch. Believe it or not, someone even said nice things about Speed 2. Not only do you get to see movies for free but you also gain that sixth sense only viable in Hollywood that enables you to hear a free oyster fall in the snow. Hey, Siskel and Ebert do it, how hard can it be?

Go ahead, have a drink. Today is the darkest day in America. A stain on the calendar. April 15th. The day we part with our hard earned money and give it to the government. I'm talking about perfectly good money that could be used to buy beer. And what nice little sheep we are to just give it al away. "Here Mr. Pentagon: take three months of my take home pay and buy yourself a hammer". You pay taxes and I pay taxes. The difference is you don't pay enough and I pay way too much. And I'm sure you feel the same.Even the President pays taxes. For 1997, the Clintons had a gross adjusted income of $569,511 and paid $91,964 in federal taxes and $19,745 in state and local taxes, about half of what they paid last year, mostly because Hillary's book "It Takes A Village" tanked from the best seller lists like a boxer wearing trunks made out of Quaalude patches. They're getting a refund of $3,040 from the IRS and gave away $270,725 to charities but refused to say who got the contributions. I don't know about you but I have a feeling the National Rifle Association saw about as much of that money as you and I did. Wonder if copies of "Leaves in the Grass" were tax-deductible?

I'm sure like me, you were saddened to hear about Tammy Wynette. Of course we all know what caused her untimely death. El Nino. El Nino has been blamed for everything from the poor box-office of "Primary Colors" to the substandard quality of strip bars around the New Orleans airport. The only good news is El Nino is about to check out with a gasping whimper, but lurking in the shadow of her brother's demise is the second act; La Nina. La Nina is reported to be the opposite of El Nino; a huge body of Pacific cold water which will bring deluges to the areas previously affected by drought and verse visa. This doesn't even begin to cover the other members of the Nino family out there waiting to wreak havoc on us unsuspecting mainlanders including a lurking bowl full of El Pintoes about to attack rice fields somewhere near the Santa Maria beach.

El Tio, their uncle who will bring waves of indecision and noxious gases to coastal areas surrounded by mountains.

La Tia, their aunt who is the bearer of much wind.

El Abuelo, grandpa without any sense of direction will bounce aimlessly from continent to continent bringing incontinency to all.

Tati Danielle, a mad maelstrom that shows up uninvited and stays until you buy her a airline ticket to your brother's house in Atlanta.

A study commissioned by the National Cable Television Association found that violence on TV was so bad, they had to avert their eyes when they sent out the results. Their conclusion? Don't watch TV, but if you have to, don't watch cable TV, except Xena. And if you have to watch cable besides Xena, whatever you do, please, please, don't get HBO. Of course a lot of times, even people who get HBO, don't get it, especially Dennis Miller. But the ones who do, see a lot of violence. Think of Saturday afternoon at a K-Mart check out line during shift change, only worse. The NCTA study found 92% of pay cable networks contained violent content, and that probably doesn't include any of the fights that Don King promoted. The study also concluded that age based TV ratings don't provide adequate information about the violence, and in the case of Jerry Springer it doesn't even come close to explaining the psychic damage of seeing relatives talk about your bowel movements in front of a studio audience carrying notes from their therapists. Let's be honest here, TV doesn't make kids violent, it just teaches them better techniques. It's a learning tool.

"We here at YourBank know you must be a little worried about all these big mergers going on. And well you should be. So let us put your mind at rest by insisting these changes are not for us, they're designed with you, our valued customers in mind. Just trying to streamline operations to make it easier for you, our most precious collateral. We know you don't need a lot of perplexing 'choices' to slow down your day, so here at YourBank, we're doing our best to make sure that when the smoke clears, we'll remain standing as your one and only choice when seeking financial security. We'd also like to take this time to introduce the new 'One-Rate' ATM fees from YourBank. Aren't you tired of all those confusing charges for automated banking? Who wouldn't be? One institution tacks on an outrageous fee for each on line service dial up, while another establishment nails you for even more, just for using their ATM. Well, at YourBank, we've taken the guesswork out of banking. Each transaction is the same special low user friendly price of... five dollars. That way you'll know you're getting the same beneficial easy to remember rate each and every time you do business with us. No hassles. No confusion. Just the same convenient price. Any time. Anywhere. For Anything. You'll never have to wonder if you're being ripped off again. Remember, at YourBank, we're working harder, to make your money... our money."

Car alarm magnate turned California Republican US Senate Candidate Darrell Issa, in either a fit of passionate outrage or in the midst of a brain blunder bubble the size of the Hindenberg called President Bill Clinton a "slut". Wow, I guess we've skipped the two week serious discussion of issues and jumped right into the catapult guano flinging stage of the election. Actually, it was his wife who called Clinton a "slut", but Issa, obviously sucking up to that huge henpecked voting segment said he could not disagree with her. Issa gives flippo units a bad name. This guy is a loose cannon on a 24 degree tilting deck in high winds. To say Mr. Viper car alarm is not ready for prime time is like saying you won't see many mopeds at the Indianapolis 500. He also apologized for saying Clinton's criticism of 80's greed was class warfare, which is wrong, "whether it's Hitler and the Jews or Clinton and the millionaires club", but still stands by his statement that America is a place where "you have a right and almost an obligation" to own a gun. Good timing, Dare. I imagine the Democratic incumbent, Barbara Boxer, is salivating like a wino at a distillery spill. She won the seat six years ago facing extremist Bruce Hershenson, who advocated the death penalty for people who dyed their hair colors not found in nature. Issa makes Hershonson seem like Ron Dellums' chief of staff. But for us comedians, he's a godsend.

Now let me get this straight. US Representative Jay C. Kim, a Southern Californian Republican, is running for re-election while wearing a court ordered ankle bracelet and under house arrest in Washington D.C. after pleading guilty to 10 misdemeanor counts of accepting $250,000 in illegal campaign contributions. And yet this guy is still determined to represent his district. I can only say: Hooray! This is exactly the kind of warrior we need more of in Congress. Someone who will fight for what he believes. Not another of these liberal wimps who fold up and blow away after a few convictions. A real role model for kids. It's about time we teach our children that no matter what they got on you; never give up. When the going gets tough, the tough decline all media requests. This brave American hero may be hobbled by some liberal judge's ankle bracelet, but he's still nimble enough to fight for the most basics tenets of our great country: putting himself in a position to solicit more illegal contributions to pay off his fine. We can only hope the good people of Orange, San Bernadino, and Los Angeles Counties in the 41st District of California realize what a good thing they have going and re-elect Jay Kim back where he belongs: in the US House of Representatives.

Wait, wait, you guys. Don't run away thinking that old Bighead is stuck on another of his serious rant ruts here and wander off to some random search engine looking for one of the thousands of Jerry Falwell in a wet t-shirt websites. This is so good, it should be required reading for every psychoanalyst who doesn't believe in self delusion. Despite studies that show more younger kids are trying marijuana than ever before, Baby Boomer parents apparently don't think their kids are involved. I love this. They underestimated the availability of pot and whether their children's friends were smoking it. Probably think because they lost all their connections, they don't exist anymore. Isn't that exactly what you would expect of us self absorbed narcissistic flower parents. "I know you are, but what am I?" Probably pretend not to know why the toilet paper tube and tinfoil are missing all the time either. Come home and find a ball of toilet paper on the top of the tank. "The hell is this?" "Oh yeah, I forgot, the tube broke. Shattered into a million pieces. It was eerie. By the way Ma, we're out of Pop Tarts." Talking about my ge- ge- generation.

It's a day of monumental upheaval here in the nation's capital where the spirit of red white and blue bipartisanship is shaking the town like a hula dancer with a hotfoot. In news a little less stunning than Bill Gates' announcement he plans on bequeathing all his Microsoft stock to the Vietnamese Womens Association, Newt Gingrich singlehandedly pushed through an iron clad Campaign Finance Reform Bill that will forbid any contribution over ten bucks. He also donated profits from his book to the National Endowment for the Arts. Over at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Bill finally admitted that he suffers from sexual compulsion and has signed up for Sexaholics Anonymous although it is rumored he only did it so he can cop the mailing list. And Hillary, after finally admitting exactly what everybody had always suspected: she carries around a portable shredder with her at all times; joined Shredders Anonymous. Where no mailing lists are allowed. In other turnarounds of gargantuan proportions, Jesse Helms appointed Chastity Bono to be his chief of staff, and Strom Thurmond filed a writ in Congress to get rid of all tobacco subsidies and replace them with sunflowers as the crop of choice. And George Stephonopolous has finally admitted he's a runaway Smurf and applied for a job on Sesame Street. A grand dream like day in Washington, and I hope more are on the way.

So the deal is, Judge Wright in Little Rock threw out Paula Jones' sexual harassment case against Bill Clinton, citing a lack of evidence in her argument establishing quid pro quo damage to her career. Truth be known, it probably helped certain aspects of her career, although the judge stopped short of recommending photographic agents in Los Angeles with extensive air brush experience. While this news had to be encouraging to the President, I'm sure it pissed Paula off. I mean now it turns out she had that whole make- over for nothing. And what a make- over. Girl, please. Who gets a make- over and doesn't bother to get their nose fixed. That's like refurbishing a house and forgetting to put in a front door. She looks like a man in drag. If she wanted help, all she needed was a weekend trolling bars here in San Francisco. One stroll down Folsom Street would have softened her look a little more. I'm sure Paula will do the normal thing and write a book about her travails, do the talk show circuit and make hundreds of millions of dollars worth of money. She might even eventually make enough money to run for Governor of California.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• Scientists have found evidence of ice on the moon. Great, the moon is more civilized than most of the comedy club hotels I get put up in.
• A woman will captain a space shuttle for the first time. The crew is probably relieved to have someone in charge who won't be afraid to ask for directions.
• The week's movie box office returns show "Grease" right on the tail of "Titanic". In it, John Travolta plays a cocky stud with the hots for a young high school queen. Surprisingly he plays the same role in the week's third highest grossing film, "Primary Colors".
• Joe Kennedy is quitting politics to serve the community by spending time working in the fields of anger counseling and substance abuse. In other words he plans to devote more time to his family.
• A Report shows sexul harrassment in the workplace is growing. Consultants advise men accused of such improprieties take a six nation tour of Africa.
• Biggest problem the Clintons had in Africa was the language barrier. Seems Hillary wasn't speaking to Bill.
• I think by now Bill has learned that harass is not two words.
• A course of action which might be considered for Saddam Hussein is having Vernon Jordan set up a job interview with Revlon.

Daylight savings time kicked in this weekend, which means a surfeit of excuses for showing up late for a while, although it must be said your chance of getting away with it does diminish exponentially as you progress deeper into the week. Pretty sad when people still claim on Friday they forgot about the time change. Even sadder still when you believe them. Saddest of all when they're neither postal workers nor politicians, but air traffic controllers and Federal Reserve Board Directors. The controversy about whether the government should be messing with our time is as sticky as a cinnamon roll on a vinyl car seat in August. Maybe we should count ourselves lucky we're just rewinding an hour, especially when you have people like Newt Gingrich who wants to turn the clocks back approximately three hundred years. It's not the lateness; its the puritanicalism. There's even a faction that wants to make daylight savings time permanent. Yeah sure, why not. How bout add mther six or seven random time zones? Hell, let's make noon six am. Make the streets safe for us drunks to stumble home after bartime in at least some semblance of daylight. Or why not just cut to the chase and call October- April the Later.

The Clinton administration announced it will permanently ban imports of 58 types of military style assault weapons. The ones that snuck through a loophole in the last permanent banning. The National Rifle Association claims these guns are legitimate hunting rifles. OK. I can buy that argument. I mean, you can also use a chain saw to cut butter. Just going to get a little messy around muffin time is all I'm saying. "Honey, clear the kids". If you think about it, a hand grenade will signal the end of recess. Might be convenient to cut through the boombox clutter. You could even affix a stamp to an envelope with a 20 pound sledgehammer. Probably affix the envelope to the desk as well. But hunting? Can you imagine putting a full clip into a deer at 30 yards? You'd end up with venison jerky. In noun and verb forms. I know, I know, I know. The Second Amendment guarantees a well regulated militia the right to bear arms, but I'm thinking the Founding Fathers had to be thinking of one shot muskets, not magazined shotguns marketed in comic books as "Streetsweepers". Just regulate the ammo. As even the NRA would tell you: guns don't kill people, its those darn bullets that make the holes that the blood leaks out of way too quick that's to blame.

According to who you believe, Boris Yeltsin either squelched his competition or had a brain fart the size of Siberia this week when he fired his entire Cabinet. Supposedly he only wanted to get rid of Viktor Chernomyrdin, his Deputy Prime Minister, who had gotten a bit uppity after filling in for Boris during part fourteen of his winter tour of Soviet rehab centers. The lesson we learn is never become more competent than your boss. Especially when he doesn't have a boss you can suck up to. The Petersburg Principle. So Yeltsin canned everybody while letting most of his ministers know they're coming back anyway. Kind of like when you kick everybody out of a party but not so secretly let most of them back in through the side door just so long as that weird guy with the "I'm With Stupid" sweatshirt with the arrow pointing up, splits. Chernomyrdin's replacement pick is Sergie Kirienko who beat out a bus boy at the Moscow Inter-Continental Hotel for the gig. International response has been quite tame since Boris has a tendency to make abrupt policy shifts with the stability of a piece of straw in a tornado. Pro Yeltsin Russian leaders explain the chief is mercurial, which is a lot like calling carrying nitroglycerin; tense. And when you think about it, Boris' system is a lot more civilized than the traditional Russian procedure. They don't call it Russian roulette for nothing you know.

"And now in light of the Jonesboro tragedy, let's get the response from the NRA spokesman, Rock Hardney".

"Thank you Ted. And of course all of us in America agree, an anguish it truly is. Although I must say, the biggest tragedy to me was only the eleven year old had enough target practice to be trusted as a sniper. But good Goddam, that kid had a good eye. We're talking six head shots, four kills and 10 others down out of 27 shots at over 100 yards away. Not bad for a fifth grader. I tell you what, I could have used that boy in last year's Junior Shoot Off. And I think you effete Liberal press should be ashamed for politicizing calamities like this, blaming guns as the bad guy again. What were these kids doing with deer rifles anyway? Children that size should have been wielding smaller caliber firearms. You and your pansy hair helmeted friends don't want to admit it, but the fact is Ted, if the rest of the schoolkids had been armed they would have been able to defend themselves and return fire. At least the teachers should have been packing. So as a patriotic gesture we at the NRA announce the forming of a fund that will provide every teacher in the country with a .457 magnum equipped with hollow points. It's the least we could do to put this national nightmare behind us".

Aah, the crack of the bat. The strangled unintelligible cry of crazed vendors. That weird pungent smell emanating from the men's room. It can only mean one thing. Baseball's back. Holy Cow! Today in Cincinnati, the Reds open the season with a game against the San Diego Padres. And after trading their expected opening day pitcher Dave Burba to Cleveland for a prospect, they got less of a chance than a blood heavy mosquito in a bug zapper test factory. In Montreal, Felipe Alou will make a silk purse out of a sow's ear again. In the NL West, last year's San Francisco Giants MVP, Dodger manager Bill Russell will do the reverse. The saddest tale of all is the World Champion Florida Marlins, (man that sounds weird), whose owner sold the team off in a close out sale the "Everything For A Buck" store would envy. Ticket sales show the city of Milwaukee is happier than Homer Simpson in a brewery after hours to be back in the National League, although I wouldn't want to live off the batting average of the Brewer's pitchers. But nothing's better than the beginning of a new baseball season when everyone has the same chance to win it all. There's always next year. And for twenty seven teams; this is next year. Except for the Cubs and the Reds and the Marlins who are mathematically eliminated from playoff contention as of now.

In the NL. Giants. Brewers. Mets. Rockies.

In the AL. White Sox. Orioles. Athletics. Yankees.

Giants over the Orioles in five.

Due to the fact that thousands of girls barely bigger than the family sized tub of popcorn have seen it so many times; memorizing which way the individual drops of water move, the movie "Titanic" has become the largest grossing picture in history. Now you can say many things about Hollywood executives but you can't call them stupid. Slimier than a buttered eel in a mayonnaise jar, sure. With morals as empty as a South Texas Motel 6 nowhere near a freeway exit ramp in August. Okay. But not stupid. So there has to be a lot of love stories set around historic romantic disasters on the boards and I'm here to help out.

• Sleepless In Jonestown.
• Hose Me Down, I'm In Love: the Last Days of Vesuvius.
• Love In a Crush: The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire Story.
• Great Balls of Fire: The 1906 San Francisco Earthquake.
• A Descent to Remember: TWA 700.
• I'll Keep An Eye Out For You: Diary of Three Mile Island.
• Five O'clock Shadows: Nixon's Last Weeks.
• When Adolph Met Benito.
• Hiroshima Serenade.
• Going Down Down Down Down. I'm Going Down Down Down: A Passionate Tale From The Bridge of the Hindenberg.
• Beaches 2: The Bay Of Pigs.
• Choke The Weez: A Love Story From The Set Of The Paulie Shore Show.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• A recent study says that during the aging process the male brain shrinks faster than the female brain. The good news is scientists actually found a male brain.
  
• Iran is going to raise the 2.5 million dollar bounty on Salman Rushdie. Hey, aren't they violating some sort of Muslim assassination salary cap?
  
• I keep wondering when Al Gore gets too close to water, do they hose him down with Thompson's Water Sealer?
  
• Bill Clinton has re- iterated his resolve to thwart the evil goals of the madman currently terrorizing America... Kenneth Starr.
  
• ABC is worried that Ellen DeGeneres doesn't reflect the proper family values spirit. Yeah, like that guy over there on Monday Night Football, Frank Gifford.
  
• Television watchdog groups keep talking about a curb on sex. I'm guessing the network news organizations are going to be upset. Although the White House will be happy.
  
• The State of Alabama is charging Barnes & Noble with selling pornography. I would have to guess that means portrayals of sex with people who aren't related.
  
• The good news is, Congress is working on a plan to save Social Security. The bad news is, it involves raising retirement to age 90.

One of the reason Bill Clinton is so smooth is he thinks like a lawyer. That's why he's able to slice the truth so thin you can see right through it. See he can say he didn't have a twelve year affair with Gennifer Flowers, because it was only 11.4 years. Bill's a lawyer, Hillary's a lawyer, 13 of their 18 Cabinet appointments are lawyers. Begging the question, how effective can a government be when it shuts down every time an ambulance roars up Pennsylvania Avenue? Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that lawyers don't have a place in society. Of course they do. When properly prepared they can be an important source of protein. It's just if you've seen one honest lawyer, you've seen them both. Lawyers are to justice what Gallagher is to fruit. I'm not making any of these cases up. In Nebraska, a convict is suing a state prison for the emotional distress he suffered while attempting to escape. Awww, did big bad guard scare you with loud noise from firestick? In New Jersey, a construction worker thought he saw 666 on his hand so he cut it off with a circular saw. He refused P the surgeons to reattach it. Now 4 years later he's suing for $3 million because they should have known he was crazy. They should slap this fool upside the head with his own hand. Either that or tell him they did attach it. What's the matter, can't he see it? In San Francisco, psychic won a million dollar judgment against a hospital. She claims she underwent a CAT scan and lost her psychic abilities. Hey! How come she didn't know.

Aaah, yeah, sure we could talk about Yeltsin's Monday Night Massacre where the Convalescing Commie fired his whole Cabinet. Or some other silly thing like Bill Clinton being conveniently a continent away in Africa flipping out while trying to save a group of women being crushed by half a million fans. But last night was Oscar Night, so screw the heavy stuff, it's time to play with the toys. And what pretty toys came out last night. Well, maybe not toys, but you have to admit there was enough plastic showcased to bubble wrap the entire Antarctic. And more than enough hair spray to start a small chemical fire destined to engulf China. Gloria Stuart lost to Kim Basinger in Best Supporting Actress category and you had to feel bad since this is probably her last year. Stanley Donen demonstrated why his films were always charming; because he was. For some strange reason, Madonna came dressed as the Queen of the Planting Festival, and who knew, Jack Nicholson was hammered. Some woman sang a song whose hair looked exactly like mine did earlier in the day when I was not happy about it. I can imagine her mother calling her, "you performed in front of a billion people looking like that!" And James Cameron is King of the World. For a day. And if that'll make everybody shut up about that stupid boat, I'll give it to him.

You know what drives me nuttier than squirrel breath? Idiot drivers. More precisely, idiot drivers who for some strange reason have a vendetta against me. You think I'm being paranoid? Then maybe someone can tell me why whichever lane I choose, some banana brain sprouts in front of me and decides this is the perfect spot to stop and reflect on life's miserable lack of direction causing a tie up only intensified by the time it takes all of us passing to flip him off. The cell phone people are another breed of wheeled marsupial lard. Most of these Type A Cretins out on the road are armed with the attention span of a two week old kitten in a mirrored yarn shop and should be denied the right to have an AM radio. So now we're giving them phones? Why not just throw a telescoping shower stall into the mix? Sure, and then we can make a combination television/ toaster oven available, with optional microwaves and self adjusting satellite dishes mounted on the roof. And hey. Whatever happened to blinkers? Have they become options, because I never see anybody using them anymore. Directional signals. Used to signal a change in direction... hello!?! What am I; Kreskin?

The NCAA Basketball Tournament kicks off this weekend, and I have a couple of quick notes here for those of you who think the term March Madness refers to a mattress sale. First off, the correct pronunciation is NC two A's. This proves you are "with it... Babee". And try to ignore that high pitched peeling metal sound, it's part of the pageant. Courtesy of an announcer named Dick Vitale who used to coach and during the offseason rents his services to third world countries as an air raid siren. When you watch the game, root for the team in the colored uniforms. They are the underdog. The higher seeds as the honorary home team wear white even though they play on neutral sites, probably get the better locker room. You know, the ones with the dialable shower heads. This underdog thing should be superseded by rooting for any team that you have the even the most tenuous relationship with. I can't root for my alma mater, the University of Wisconsin- Milwaukee, since they went 3 and 21 this year, and were curiously overlooked for an invitation to the Big Dance. Marquette University is in Milwaukee, but they're in the other weenie Tournament, the NIT, which stands for "Not Invited To- play". I'll pick a team every game. Some colleges I choose because I performed there (Indiana, Cincinnati, Princeton). Some I'll pick because I like their nicknames (Richmond Spiders, Texas Christian Horned Frogs). Living in the Bay Area, I'll root for those teams, (San Francisco, Stanford), and being the class cretin that I am, I'll usually root for public schools over private schools, and against any team from Carolina or Southern California. Finally, with no allegiances, I will root for the team with the most white guys starting, not because I'm a racist, because I'm white. The same reason I root for teams from Wisconsin. Not because I'm a statist. Besides, let's face it, any team that starts white guys is usually the underdog anyhow.

Well, Kenneth Starr finally found his smoking bimbo. Kathleen Willey has divulged all to "60 Minutes" which is as close as you can get in America of a public confession. She spoke of a simpler time, way back in 1993, when Bill Clinton invited her into the Oval Office and tried to get her to touch his, well... the leader of the leader of the Free World. Gosh, I guess this proves that whole "Don't ask: Don't tell" theory of his was meant as more of a personal dictum than a general decree. Think he's going to have a wee bit of trouble writing this one off as sloppy staff work. Unless it's his sloppy staff we're talking about, which could turn out to be a little self incriminating. "Mistakes were made. Breasts were groped. Pants were dropped". And you can just imagine how thrilled Hillary is to hear of another in a long line of big haired slaps in the face. I have this feeling that when Buddy got neutered she looked around for a two for one deal. "I got a coupon". You got to admit, at least about Bill, she was half right... it takes a village idiot.

Every American Working Family's Wish List:

A Living Wage.

A Live In Nanny.

A Closed Circuit Nanny Cam.

A Four Wheel Drive Corvette Station Wagon.

Flex Time (Meaning Work More Flexible To Families Instead Of Vice Versa).

Tax Credits For Child Care.

Tax Credits For Macaroni Cheese And Tuna Casseroles.

Tax Credits For Disney Channel.

A Year's Supply Of Paycheck Helper.

A 55 Gallon Drum Of Scotch Guard.

Steak.

A Real Vacation.

A Long Weekend.

A Three Hour Nap.

A Zero Maintenance Roof.

School Uniforms.

Permanent No Piercing Zone.

Automatic Curfew Child Retrieval System.

Discovery Of An Underground Oil Well.

A Bottomless Flask.

An Automated Diaper Changer.

An Instantaneous Child Bedstand Glass Of Water.

An Heretofore Unknown Rich Dead Uncle.

Multiple Lottery Wins.

On Site Day Care.

On Site Day Care (Employer Paid).

On Site Day Care (Anyone Else Paid).

Day Care (Somewhere Cheap And/ Or Close).

30 Cc. Of Thorazin 3 Times A Day.

24 Hr On Call Grandma.

24 Hr On Call Therapist.

24 Hr On Call Bartender.

A Little League Coach Who Always Starts Your Child.

Platinum Card Paid By Anonymous Third Party.

Negative Interest Mortgage.

Self Cutting Lawn.

Fully Assembled Christmas Gifts.

Nickel Beer Night.

An Honest Mechanic.

Children Bored With Television.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• If Saddam doesn't shut up pretty soon, we should intimidate him by threatening to send over the U.S. Olympic Hockey team to rough up some of his hotel rooms.
• See, the deal is, we will not tolerate the actions of ruthless butchers unless they're our ruthless butchers.
• And speaking of China. Jiang Zemin compares the Chinese treatment of Tibet to Lincoln emancipating the slaves. The only difference being Lincoln ended a rein of brutal repression and the Chinese started one.
• Don King got robbed at gunpoint in Mexico. Now he probably knows how pay per view boxing fans feel after a first round knock out.
• Having Clinton vacation in the Virgin Islands is like sending a starving mountain lion to the Canary Islands.
• If a bank ever offers Political Loans: the George Bush loan would show no interest, the Dan Quayle loan would lack maturity and the Bill Clinton loan would lose all its principle.
• I wonder if Bill is finding the one good thing about having a hearing aid is you can turn it off.
• Does Congress Day mean a Congressman sticks his head out of a pork barrel, sees his shadow, and we've got six more weeks of getting screwed?
• You think NASA will give Senator John Glenn Prunetang to drink?

The IRS is under Congressional mandate to become less like the Spanish Inquisition and more... well, cuddly. And to be honest, it's having a harder time than Dan Quayle with his MENSA membership application. Imagine Isabella Rosellini trying to act dowdy. Or a pound of liver trying to survive a whole week at a Cat Show. As part of the turnaround, they've opened a hotline where waiting for affable agents to politely answer your questions, pleasant new wave music lulls you into a 0f security. What they obviously need is a good tax payer friendly slogan.

• The IRS­ when you need a hug.
• When you need us, we'll be around.
• The IRS­ just a bundle of cash a day is all we ask.
• The New Improved Fat Free Low Cholesterol IRS.
• The Internal Revenue Service, just a smile away.
• The IRS: we're not your father's tax collector anymore.
• We're the IRS. Go ahead, screw with us. We don't care anymore.
• Hey, its not like we take everything.
• We care because it's not just your money, it's our money too.
• The IRS: we're back and we're nice now. Really.
• Tasty, and we're good for you too.
• The Modern IRS: think of South Park all grown up.
• The IRS: we still don't need a warrant, but we'll get one if you ask.
• The IRS: we're the People People.
• Give us a little kiss: the IRS.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome this year's recipient of Man of the Year Award presented by Cutler's Kneepads; the President of the United States of America". "My fellow Americans, I would like to thank you for this honor, although I still maintain I did nothing to deserve this other than just stand there. You might as well be giving the neck choking award to PJ Carlisimo. Let me repeat for the benefit of the back biting press gathered here, I never had sexual relations with that woman. And I'm pointing at Helen Thomas, right there. Or that woman, oops I can't say that, or that woman, no, damn. I'm going to need a seating chart here. Just kidding. I would be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to also thank my wife because she too is partly responsible for me being honored here tonight. Mostly responsible if you want to know the truth. But no, nobody wants to hear the real truth. Especially about a man's needs. And his urges. And a man does have urges. So who of you out there would like to help keep the leader of the Free World's equilibrium under a high boil by bending to the will of my urges? Think of it as your patriotic duty. Form a red white and blue line to the left. One at a time, ladies".

Trailer courts. God hates them. I don't know why. Tornadoes. Mudslides. Hurricanes. Earthquakes. Rain of frogs. Really odd smells. Contagious dogs. Satellite remains plunges. Electro magnetic force fields. Alien flight.paths. Large groups of sweaty shirtless men with backs so matted with hair.you think they're wearing sweaters woven on short circuiting mechanical.looms. 60 year old women in leopard print stretch pants lighting 120 mm.cigarettes off the end of their dying brethren while screaming epithets at characters in soap operas. You name it. God hits them with it. All over the.world. Sure sure, I know what you're saying. "A good strong floor fan or a.well placed cat fart could create enough wind to buckle most walls." Yeah,.but what's with the precision targeting? My theory is, it's some sort of.cruel sport to Him slash Her. Take yesterday. In California, huge mudslides.destroyed seven trailers in a mobile home park. Same day in Florida, God so.loved His slash Her trailer court He slash She took out an entire one with.a single tornado. Which I'm sure was recorded in the Big Book as a strike.."Hey, Allah, check it out. That's a turkey. Beer frame, Yahweh buys." Poor.Yahweh always buys. Must live in heaven's trailer court.

You know who I feel sorry for? My accountant. It is rumored he's spending.an inordinate amount of time in his basement whimpering and keening lately..Understandable, as tax season descends upon us like the shadow of a cow.dropped from a hot air balloon onto a redwood picnic table. Because right.around the end of February is when I start my annual doomed squirrel hunt.for receipts in the depths of pockets, crevices, various couch cushions and.empty pizza boxes. And I'm not talking about your run of the mill receipts.either. No sir,these are nameless ones without the merest hint of date or place. You know, phantom receipts. And even the fact that I can fill two.brown grocery bags so full of these things they appear to bulge and strain with internal papyral tumors still doesn't help me escape paying what I.consider to be an exorbitant amount of money in taxes. As a matter of fact,.I've narrowed down my share. You know the red landing lights they have on.the top of aircraft wings. I figure that's me. Every year I end up paying.approximately the amount of money it takes to keep the red landing light on.the top of the left wing of a B-2 Bomber, lit. I'm so proud. You should be.too.

If you see me on the street with look of preoccupation, please help me avoid obstructions and low hanging hazards like dirigible ladders and smoked meat signage. Its just that I'm in the midst of my annual tax dilemma. Fighting my accountant with a ferocity usually only seen in rabid weasels cornered in dark vestibules used for industrial broken glass disposal. It seems he and I have what you call your large gap between what I think I should be able to deduct and what he through his misspent education manages to remember what Uncle Sam tried to induce him to forget. I still don't know what the deal is with bridge tolls so now I only try to deduct half of them. Of course certain expenses are a given. Travel, lodging, meals, though our definition of a meal often differs. He seems intransigent from his position that a six pack of Anchor Steam does not constitute lunch, even though I have those receipts to prove it. And if not legitimate write off, how bout something with a little wiggle room. For instance: rehab? Are bananas deductible only if I use them for the peels? And how about the squadron size extra strength drum of aspirin required to maintain a civil conversation with club owners, editors and producers?

Providing a veritable blueprint for a very proper demonstration, London was invaded by a quarter million polite protesters, and it was all quite civilized darling. Only the serving of high tea interrupted a five hour long parade in defense of the country way of life. The petitioners waited patiently until being called to move forward by traffic wardens. Not even cops or bobbies. Traffic wardens for crum's sake. It was one of those odd coalitions that only the English and Disney could imagine. Fox hunters opposed a ban on hunting, while farmers were challenging the government's invoking of measures against mad cow disease, which although they are not in favor of, they would prefer a lot of looking the other way. Only sporting, you know. Owners of country homes aver they lean to being mildly disturbed about proposed plans to develop protected land giving walkers the "right to roam", that is, the right to cross private property, which would put ordinary citizens in uncomfortably close proximity of windows, if you know what I mean. Wink. Wink. Nudge. Nudge. Say no more. And then there were other people just pledging undying support for tweed. Hardly a discouraging word was heard, except for a few damnedly forward animal rights activists who pelted the paraders with sandwiches causing the fox hunters to remark "they really are so aggressive. I find it dreadful". And it was simply dreadful. Even the foxes were appalled.

Turns out the hardest part of our upcoming war with Iraq is not the moral question or the coalition building but the darn scheduling. The Joint Chiefs of Staff want the invasion on a night without any moon so the outline of the Stealth aircraft isn't visible, indicating a six day window around the 26th of February or the 28th of March. Japan doesn't want the war to happen during the Olympics; a position CBS agrees with, especially while the Women's Figure Skating Finals is being televised which should be sometime in early June. Stanford University would prefer the war wait a couple of days until after Parents week so the President can visit the First Daughter, suggesting a post March 1st date. CNN wants the war to start and end during sweeps, which is either February or May. The Administration doesn't want to bomb Iraq too close to the annual Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca possibly running the risk of offending potential allies. The holiday is called haj and begins on March 30, climaxing on April 7, although pilgrims start to travel around March 20. So taking all this into account, I figure we can expect the war to begin at exactly 3 am, Baghdad time on March 1st, unless of course a big Democratic fundraiser is planned for that day. After all there are some things more important than war.

Knowing ol' couch potato Hussein would be watching on CNN, the Administration held a made for TV Townhall meeting at Ohio State University about our upcoming Persian incursion as a way of sending a message to Baghdad. Message received. And the jist of it is; "on this action we are of one mind". Unfortunately the mind is that of Sybil's weird brother who regularly forgets to take his medication. Who directed this production, Wes Craven? Secretary of State Madeleine Albright thought she was hosting a tea party with civilized guests, but then college students had the gall to question our country's motives in bombing innocent civilians as we inconvenience Saddam Hussein. Madame Secretary looked a little green around the gills. It was as if a mutant midget had flung a bloody string of rat carcasses on her watercress sandwich buffet. Who let these hooligans in? America's heartland is having an aneurysm. The Clinton administration hasn't suffered this kind of public relations debacle since, oh, last week. No, sorry, that was a pubic relations debacle. Saddam's refusal to permit unrestricted U.N. inspections of his nation's weapons arsenal is at the heart of the dispute and U.N. Secretary- General Kofi Annan, trying to reach a diplomatic settlement, is heading to Baghdad. Must seem like a day at the beach for Clinton's foreign policy team after the Columbus incident.

You want to know why people are cynical these days? Why they tend to trust their average fellow human about as far as you could throw a Chrysler Le Baron Convertible? Because Denny's tells us they have the best food in America. That's why. Because Mervyn's claims to be on the cutting edge of fashion. Because crap which we all know to be more useless than a roll bar in a helicopter is hyped and plugged and advertised as God's gift to plastic happy consumers. We are fed such a constant load of BS, I'm surprised we don't poop trails of straw. Actors and actresses oohing and aahing over cups of Folger's coffee that they know in real life smells of liquefied gym shoe laces. Use a front loader full and its still tastes like hot bitter dirty water. Everything has to be the best. The biggest. The EXTREME. I hear that word EXTREME one more time and I swear to God, I'm going to pull an Elvis and put a .357 caliber hollow point into my Zenith. I don't want an EXTREME lip balm. I don't want an EXTREME gruyere cheese. As a matter of fact I don't want any EXTREME that can not be experienced from within six feet of my own couch. And even then, it had better be water soluble.

So UN Secretary- General Kofi- Annan probably looked at it as a way to pick up some fast frequent flyer miles and maybe a chance to get a good deal on some bargain basement Persian rugs in return for a shipment of black market antibiotics. Or maybe Saddam's agreement is just a ruse in order to rig up the UNSCOM security cameras so all they see is a blank loop tape of happy Iraqis making powdered milk while feeding orphaned duckies on the side. Either that or this whole thing is an International set up to give Saddam another 60 days so he can send out more human shield notices by horseback. Imagine finding one of those cheerful messages in your mail box: "Oh, terrific, look honey, it's a note from the Supreme All Knowing Mother Of All Dictators. We're human shields. At the Presidential Palace. Oh, it don't get better than this. At least we're better off than poor Achmed. He's a mine finder." I don't know about you, but I'd be willing to trade human shield or mine finder patrol for jury duty any day. Too bad Saddam's son in laws didn't think of that first.

Today is Fat Tuesday. The day we cast aside restraint, and drink till we puke on our shoes and then laugh. As my dad always used to say, "Moderation in everything. Including moderation". Your response to today is probably dependent on your geography. In San Francisco, it'll be a much bigger deal than it will be in Pierre, South Dakota. But to be fair, California Coyote Festivals don't even begin to measure up to theirs. Our stages end up littered with at best, half the shredded chicken carcasses as theirs and most of our coyotes aren't even quadrupeds. Of course, San Francisco's Mardi Gras celebration is to New Orleans' like Dick York was to Dick Sergeant. A pale imitation at best. And I'm sure the folks at Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro will tell you that New Orleans is the second Darrin. Isn't it funny that nobody wants to be the second Darrin. I wonder when some fancy Psychological think tank is going to do a highly funded useless study on the "Second Darrin Syndrome." Dicks who fill other people's shoes, badly. They say that Mardi Gras is just a state of mind. Of course so is the Second Darrin Syndrome. All I know is, this is the only holiday we have where pure unadulterated excess is expected and encouraged. Until Aerick's Day, that is. Which is almost 3 whole weeks away.

You Can't Make Stuff Up Like This.

• Newt Gingrich is back on the hill promoting the one cause he's most associated with. Newt Gingrich.
  
• Olympic officials are stunned by the abilities of the NHL players. Mostly because everybody thought boxing was an event in the Summer Games.
  
• They're planning a movie based on the life of the Unabomber. The guys is so schizophrenic, it'll probably be filmed as a buddy picture.
  
• With all those calls that Clinton was making to Monica and Gore to fundraisers, Chelsea probably moved out on her own just to get a shot at the phone.
  
• Hostess was forced to recall Twinkies in 21 states because of asbestos contamination. Yeah, like Twinkie eaters could tell.
  
• Barry Switzer can use his experience as coach of the Cowboys in many ways. Prison warden springs to mind.
  
• Signs of prehistoric ants have been found in New Jersey, so now scientists can estimate the origin of man's first picnic.
  
• Al Gore went on a high tech tour of Northern California posturing for campaign 2000. Of course by then he could be up for re-election.
  
• The steepest drop at the Olympics will be experienced by foreigners investing in the Japanese stock market.
  
• Latrell Sprewell wants back into professional basketball but he's going to have problems finding a coach willing to stick his neck out for him.
  
• I bet Bill Clinton is wondering if Paula Jones will accept an internship as a settlement.

They decided to allow Senator John Glenn to take a trip on the space shuttle. Now don't get me wrong; it's not that I have a problem with sending politicians into space. Au contraire. I would just prefer to save the taxpayers some time and a lot of money by sending them all up at once. At the time, Sen. Glenn will be 77 years old. He's bound to go with a couple of other astronauts and it's inevitable they're going to get an earful. "You know back when I first went up into space we had real pilots, not these pansy ass pretty boys NASA sends up now. And there weren't no fancy dancy three stage solid fuel boosters for us; that Mercury 7 was so slow, I had to pedal the first thirty minutes just to give us enough thrust to break into orbit. And Tang, we didn't have no Tang. All we had was some water and orange chalk and we were lucky if it was crushed. And look at these cushy space suits. Hah. Ours were made out of duct tape, tinfoil and used gum, and if you had to go to the bathroom, you sat in it until you got home. When they said we were debriefed, they meant it young man. What is that, a computer, you know what we had: abacuses, and we were happy to have them..."

Hey, everybody, new news. Congress quit working again. Who would have thunk? Next we'll find out Don King has been accused of shady business practices, or that Saddam Hussein is not a candidate for the Father In Law Of The Year Award. Oh, don't get our Honorable Representatives wrong, they are undertaking a significant task. It's called re-election, which, if you bother to ask, is the most crucial work we can expect of them. This time, the vacation, oh excuse me, the recess, is a week long respite to pay proper homage to Presidents Day. And what better way to respect our forefathers achievements than by not doing anything to screw them up. Friday, the Senate met for about 30 seconds, and that counts as one of the 120 scheduled legislative days on this year's calendar. So far this year, the only accomplishment Congress has effected was renaming Washington's National Airport after Ronald Reagan, the guy who fired all the air traffic controllers. Kind of like naming an organ bank after Jeffrey Dahmer. It would be funny if it weren't so sad. And now Congress is gone. Off to where they're going to spend most of the year. Begging us to return them to Washington so they can come back and leave again to do more begging. Who says the system doesn't work?

The state of Texas murdered a woman by lethal injection. Rubbed her her arm with alcohol first and then rubbed her out. Of course Texas likes killing people. Kill kill kill kill kill. 144 since 1982. That's not just a gross of dead men, its gross. They're killing crazy down there. But they don't like offing dames. No no no no no. It's been 135 years since they did it. Of course back then they used a rope around the neck instead of a dose of sodium thiopental, and in case you're wondering, neither is very good for you. Although out of the four choices, I would say a string of sodium thiopental around my neck would be much preferable to an injection of rope. Like Chipita Rodriguez who was hanged or is it hung from a mesquite tree back in 1865, Karla Faye Tucker was a convicted ax murderer. Ain't life odd? I guess womens just love those sharp edges. The big difference being Ms. Tucker's execution was protested by factions of the far right since her recent conversion to Christianity. I guess the reason murderers find God in prison is that listening to the Voice of the Lord makes it a whole lot easier to drown out the echoing whispers of their victims.

The current slight of hand the Clinton administration is busy busy busy distracting us with, is maintaining it has the right to attack Iraq in order to force Saddam Hussein to open sites to weapons inspectors based on Security Council resolutions. And also because we're way bigger and we've done it before. The unwritten "Big Dog" chapter of the New World Order. Article 41, which was used to impose sanctions against Iraq in August of 1990, said "Saddam is madder than a coyote in an elevated cage over a yard full of wounded bunnies and we're going to kick his raggedy ass back to Jurassic Dorkland", or something to that effect. Throwing vodka on the fire is Boris Yeltsin who somehow sustained verticality long enough to warn US activities in Iraq could cause a world war and accused Clinton of "acting too loudly. Too loudly". That is, unless he still has some old KGB Oval Office bugs and is referring to earlier events in which the term "intern" may have some significance. Meanwhile the Persian Gulf is now so crowded with aircraft carriers, they run the risk of bouncing off of each other like inner tubes in a bathtub. And over at CNN they're engrossed in composing the new theme song to "Persian Gulf Ii, The Sequel. This Time Its Personal".

In this whole ugly DC Zippergate mess with leaks and accusations of leakers and massive leaking, the one dry rock, and I mean stone cold solid hunk of granite is the Hillmeister. Not too surprising I guess. She's in the White House for crum's sake. The White House! Ostensibly sleeping with the leader of the free world. Maybe not doing much in bed there, but power is a lot like real estate; it's all about location, location, location. Consider the alternatives available. As much as I admire her adaptability, it's hard to imagine her back in Arkansas cleaning the brood's clothing on a washboard out front lawn wise next to the stripped 47 Ford up on blocks. As a matter of fact I imagine she'd stand next to him no matter what, in order to stay in the old Maison Blanc. It wouldn't matter if she had to walk up to that podium pushing her way through flocks of sheep and packs of nude slippery interns, she'd still be there telling everybody that Bill was totally innocent and the victim of a phantom right wing conspiracy. Before giving up to the forces trying to hurt her mealticket Bill, she'd convince us with charts and graphs that Kenneth Starr was taken over by alien pod people. And some of us would buy it.

So it looks like our boy Bill has himself a brand new policy. I mean different than that whole "hide under the big white rock" thing he's been running. They're putting Kenneth Starr on the defensive. Kinda like the fox turning on the pack of hounds. In this case, a fox with a whole lot of lawyers and public relations staffers. According to the White House, the Office of the Independent Counsel has more leaks than a rubber raft used as the goal net of a nail gun fight. Starr maintains the President is the actual disseminator of misinformation in order to obfuscate the real issue, which is Bill has been lying his ass off since day one in order to save same gluteus maximus. The President's supporters claim Starr is leaking information like a rusty colander in an attempt to force Monica Lewinsky to cooperate with his witch hunt, I mean investigation. It's still just a ritual holding pattern they're both running until the real fight happens, which Mr. Starr hopes to be sometime after Clinton falters with the public. Right now at 79%, he has a higher approval rating than puppies. Of course the best line so far was by Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott who said just a couple of more accusations and he'll go over 100%. Although I've heard him called a leaker as well.

Watched Clinton's State of the Union Address with the Association of American Political Consultants which is having its convention here in town this week. Kinda like watching the head antelope speaking in a room full of lazy lions. As usual, he was slicker than a greased lizard in a bathtub full of hot petroleum jelly. Anyhow, according to the all important polls, he done good, finishing up his hour and fifteen minute respite from leaks and second bimbo theories by vocalizing his firm support for the Star Spangled Banner bravely defying albeit perhaps antagonizing that huge and dangerous anti Star Spangled Banner lobby. He also came out dead solid against Abusive Child Labor leaving but a small ray of hope for those practicing Non Abusive Child Labor. Hillary, as well, did marvy on her little foray into the media spotlight, parrying Matt Lauer's sharp noodle like thrusts with vague Obi Wan Kenobi waves of her hand. "These are not the droids you're looking for. Move along." She looked great, obviously wearing less makeup than Matt. Ah, the wonders of modern medicine. What do you think: Zoloft or Xanax? It's the only explanation for her citing of a conspiracy with no evidence of their conspiring. "Don't you get it, that's how diabolical they are."

What the hell got into Al Gore? I can't tell if the guy was possessed by the ghost of Patton or trying to audition for a guest World Wrestling Federation announcer slot while introducing Bill Clinton during his post State of the Union Midwest swing. Only his impeccable Harvard legal training kept the steroided Roboveep from straying dangerously close to infringing on that weird guy's trademark growl; "Let's get ready to RUMBLE." Maybe the human dialtone is just steeling himself for the acid test when he too is subpoenaed by the Independent Counsel. "I don't know nothing... although... come to think of it, there was that odd time in Chicago when he looked over at me before the 96 acceptance speech and said; 'I gotta tell you Al, getting oral sex from that intern Monica Lewinsky has just plain tuckered me out.'" Greeted by thousands, Bill had to be happy on his tour although Air Force One getting stuck in the mud in Champagne, Illinois was one of those irony to the third power deals. More good news came with the announcement that the President was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Funny, for years I had that award pegged all wrong. Turns out I wasn't even spelling it right.

And so it goes. The press has gone quite mad tearing each other apart like rabid dogs over spinning holographic bones, and some of it is just plain silly. First there was the Dallas Star report of a Secret Service Agent who saw the two of them in a compromising position. Which Secret Service Agent? Nobody knows. What did he see? No one's sure. Some guy might have seen something... we think. Then, later on: "Alright, maybe nothing happened. But you keep watching, one of these days we're going to find something." They pretend not to know what they're doing with headlines like; "President Worries Over Mounting Evidence." Totally untrue. Everybody knows it was oral sex... allegedly. The person I feel sorriest for is Press Secretary Mike McCurry. I keep expecting him to end one of his daily press conferences by bursting into flames, and then putting it out with the sweat pouring off his brow. All because Linda Tripp, who looks suspiciously like John Sununu in drag, told the Independent Counsel he has to subpoena a dress. "Would you raise your right sleeve please?" And how come these great news gathering organizations can't find more than two pictures of Monica Lewinsky? There's more known existing photographs of Sasquatch. But then we've already spoke of Linda Tripp...

Hey everybody, the President is getting oral sex. Cool. And nobody cares. Cool. His approval rating actually went UP! It now stands at 73%. Which either means the country is much hipper than we previously thought, or wants a well satisfied finger on the button. Or zipper. And it is driving the Republicans absolutely nuts. "But the President had oral sex". "Yeah". "In the White House". "Yeah!" You know this is just the beginning of a horrible political trend, because the next time he gets in trouble, worse things about him will be judiciously leaked. Or not leaked. "And I want to thank that lovely mother daughter team I met in Savannah. Which only goes to prove my theory of how anything is possible when you mix the vigor of youth with the wisdom and sagacity of experience." You watch; other politicians are going to try it. "You know Bob Dole had one of those assignations. Hot. Hot. Totally Hot." "As Speaker of the House, I just want to let all fiscally responsible women in the country to know I am available for matinees. Let your imagination run wild, ladies. Missionary position only." We're going to boost those ratings on C SPAN one way or another.

The Republicans are taking a well deserved breather from the rigors of the Washington sex wars for another shot at changing the name of Washington's National Airport to Ronald Reagan Airport just in time for the Gipper's 87th birthday on Friday. And wouldn't we all like an airport named after us as the perfect birthday gift. Okay, well wouldn't a few of us? The GOP's previous attempt at this homage failed because of an amendment piled on by the Democrats to rename the Justice Department Building for former Attorney General Robert Fitzgerald Kennedy. Methinks, they are both good ideas. As a matter of fact, what we really need here is a gang renaming, and I'm just the guy to do it.

The Gerald Ford Treasury Building Escalator Guardrail.

The Jimmy Carter Place Where Real Nice Things Happen Shaded Veranda.

The Henry Kissinger District of Congress Memorial Home For The Criminally Insane.

The Ronald Reagan Airport George Bush Air Traffic Control Tower Vision Thing.

The Spiro Agnew Brown Bag Banking Deposit Slot.

The Rita Jenrette United States Capitol Marble Staircase Handicapped Ramp.

The Congressional Library Richard Nixon Audio Tape Wing Bulk Eraser.

The Robert C. Byrd Barrel of Pork Design Center.

The Bob Packwood Sexually Transmitted Disease Building Stairwell Cul De Sac Drain.

The Dan Quayle Storage Warehouse.

The head mucky mucks of the PGA Tour have informed golfer Casey Martin he will not be allowed to ride his little cart around their courses even though he has a hereditary leg problem making it more painful to walk the average four miles of a golf course than it is to fall face first into a pile of overturned cleats. You got to be kidding here. Hey guys, get a grip; it's golf. A bunch of girly men hitting a stationary little white dimpled ball then going to where it lands and trying to hit it again, etc. You can get there by turtle sled or live pig saddle slippers or military transport or molecular transmogrification and it still doesn't affect how many times you hit the stupid little white dimpled ball. Its one of those weird games where the least score is the best. Kind of like soccer. If it is supposed to be some sort of dammed endurance test, how come we never see these right wing preppy toads on TV carrying their own bags? Besides, instead of pestering some guy with a handicap, why isn't the PGA more concerned with Payne Stewart's apparent degenerating mental condition as evidenced by his choice of plaid knickers and multicolored berets with pom poms on the top?

So, I guess Woodward and Bernstein's book about this will be called, "All The President's Women". The allegations are surfacing faster than the White House can deny them. But the timing of this, right before the State of the Union Address makes it the Vesuvius of Bimbo Eruptions. Whitewater Investigator Kenneth Starr said the covert taped conversations of Monica Lewinsky were justified due to his widening of the probe into Bill Clinton. Ol Brillo Head is going to need the Jaws of Life to pull the rabbit out of this hat. Hidden in all this is the fact during the Paula Jones deposition, Clinton allegedly admitted to having an affair with Gennifer Flowers even though he denied it back in 92. Press Secretary Mike McCurry said both answers are true. That's called reverse double spin, with a twist. Lets not jump to conclusions here. Maybe he has some sort of rare 6 year memory black out disease. It could be he'll admit an affair with Ms. Lewinsky in the year 2004. Oh yeah, remind me not to piss off Linda Tripp. She is to revenge what Richard Simmons is to short pants. You gotta love DC, where you always have to worry your best friend is wearing a wire. The Tripp woman knows who killed Vince Foster, and has knowledge of two women who have accused the President of lechery. Maybe we should ask her the point spread of the Super Bowl. The scariest part is shadowy figure in the corner. That's Al Gore receiving smile coaching.

So Bill Clinton nailed an intern. Who cares? Besides, Kenneth Starr, that is, who was determined to pin something on Slick Boy if he had to apply the Velcro himself. Anyhow, it was allegedly just oral sex, which Bill doesn't think is adultery, and I'm pretty sure he can get 90% of married men to agree with him here. American sex lives must suck pretty bad for all of us to get this excited about seeing a guy who's getting it: get it. The CBS Evening News the other day made Jerry Springer look like Frontline. You thought Bill Clinton was a lame duck before, now he's a quadriplegic duck on a respirator. The most embarrassing thing is he's the President of the United States. He could do better. Not that Monica Lewinsky doesn't have a fetching kind of pre Raphaelite luxuriance but c'mon, Kennedy did the Oval Office Nasty with Marilyn Monroe. Our President deserves the best. They're bringin "I" word and you have to admit, Bill Clinton did it to himself. Okay, maybe that's wrong. He should have done it to himself. And if he does resign turning over leadership of the free world to Al Gore, one might say we went from President Woody to President Wood.

The toughest job in Washington DC these strange days isn't the President's or even his battery of lawyers but rather that of the First Lady whose smile is so tight you can hear the enamel cracking during extreme close ups. She's always been a rock next to her sliding mound of liquid Bubba gel, but now she makes the Rocky Mountains look like Everglades mud. I can't help but wonder how Clinton's other paramours would have fared in her place.

Gennifer Flowers: "What's wrong with you people? Hasn't this man swallowed enough crap for you? Hey, hey, do you hear that noise? Know what it is? That's the screw you buzzer, now get the hell out of here. And don't let the door knob bang you in the butt on the way out."

Paula Jones: "I think it's absolutely deplorable you're asking me these questions while I'm wearing this dress. Let me go up to my room in the North Wing or whatever you call it, to change, then give me three hours to whiten my teeth and I'll tell you things that'll curl your hair."

Monica Lewinsky: "You press guys are sooo groty. Can't you see I'm finishing up my English Lit incomplete for Mr. Johnson. Gawd, there's a time and a place for everything and this is neither, okay? Talk to the big creep yourself. Or ask Linda. Gawd."

Well, the105th Congress hasn't checked in yet for round two of their apparent grudge match to pry us away from our money, but they exhibit every sign they're intent upon finding their way back to the District of Colombia in a week or two. Darn the luck. So, being a reasonable man harboring the naive concept that everybody has a right to make a living, even lizard like parasitical bobble heads, I have a proposition. Starting this year, allow Congress enact as much legislation as they can, but from now on, for every law they pass they got to get rid of one. I think its fair; we already have so many laws, I worry about failure to notify the proper authorities whilst changing my underwear. Something I do with increasing frequency now that I'm forced to read about their imminent return. Maybe we could even add another wrinkle like they get to pick the ones that pass and we get to pick the ones that get dumped. For instance, you know all those silly laws having to do with hemp and its sister flora, whose petty regulations keep innovative ideas like peyote beer from hitting the market. After the very first new tax code passes: gone.

NASA scheduled a "major announcement" today that John Glenn has received the go-ahead to return to space on the shuttle Discovery this fall. If it happens, Glenn, at 77, the first American to orbit the Earth in a Mercury 7 capsule back in 1962, would also become the oldest man in space, after Timothy Leary, that is. Glenn offered himself as a guinea pig for tests that might improve earthbound research on the human aging process. "There has to be enough science behind this that it can't be ridiculed as a stunt," said John Logsdon, director of the Space Policy Institute at George Washington University. Logsdon apparently doesn't think a stunt befits NASA's image as an imperturbable organization specializing in blowing things up real good. So my guess is a live pay per view Spice Girls in Space Concert is out of the question. Darn the Luck. Could have raised enough money to get those girls some sensible shoes. If Glenn is going up to help investigate aging, maybe we could get Clinton to go up to see whether sleaze freezes, or send Newt Gingrich up to help analyze the survival rate of good ol boys taking space walks without their helmets on. After all, these two guys put the oink in guinea pig.

Hey everybody, there's a brand new circus in town and Paula Jones is the designated ringmaster, or head clown. I guess non head clown would be more like it if you believe her testimony. In a desperate attempt to slide up the greased chute to the semi big time, Paula got her teeth fixed, dropped the tropical fish makeup routine, lost a couple stories off her hair and is now almost respectable enough for her own Psychic Friends Hotline show. She even appears to have taken lessons from a junior high pep squad member on how not to overdraw her lipline. Perhaps a guest shot on Regis & Kathi Lee would be a fitting reward for a young ingenue who managed to turn Bill Clinton into the first U.S. President ever grilled as a defendant in a court case while still in office. Ironic isn't it, since "grilled" is pretty much what Paula claims Bill tried to do back in that Arkansas hotel room in 91. Originally the deposition was to occur at the White House, but once that nosy media heard about it, Clinton's lawyers moved it so Jones wouldn't be photographed traipsing around the House. I don't imagine Hillary was all that thrilled with the idea either. Maybe if Paula brought her some cotton candy.

Don't get me wrong. I feel real bad for both the Kennedy and Bono families for the tragic loss of their loved ones who slammed into trees while skiing. But aren't we as a society just as guilty as those devious Aspens? Haven't we ignored the problem of rogue firs for too darn long? These senseless disasters could have been averted. And its time we accept the responsibility and take whatever steps we can to prevent horrible calamities such as these from ever happening again. I have a few suggestions.

• Hoops. Giant flexible telescoping hula hoops worn around the waist that will bounce you back into the middle of run.
  
• Padded trees. Twin layers of down mattresses strapped around the sweet spot.
  
• Lead skis. Slow down the traffic.
  
• Human boundaries. Plant snowboarders up to their knees along the out of bounds lines and if someone runs into them, who will complain? Breakaway lift trestles. Pressure sensitive hinges implanted about four feet up.
  
• Ultra inflatable vests. The lift operator at the top of the run allows no one down the hill until he inflates the skiers with a pneumatic air hose.
  
• Pork skis. Live pigs strapped to the feet might change the experience, but will add a different kind of degree of difficulty.

It is incumbent upon us as individuals to help. I'm just trying.

• I don't trust lawyers who call losing "a moral victory".
  
• I don't trust subliminal tapes. I'm always afraid the subliminal message is "Buy more tapes".
  
• I don't trust dogs wearing clothes. Bandanas, sweaters, pants, culottes. Nothing. They're spooky.
  
• I don't trust any covering over an underground opening. Especially metal mesh where you can see the bottom.
  
• I don't trust weathermen.
  
• I don't trust spokespersons.
  
• I don't trust the Weekly World News. The Globe, yes. USA Today, occasionally.
• I don't trust Midwestern sushi.
  
• I don't trust evangelists who need to make a comeback.
  
• I don't trust people who always wear all black.
  
• I don't trust Republican House Majority Leader Dick Armey. It's mostly his name. Couldn't he at least have tried "Richard"?
  
• I don't trust people who wear sunglasses indoors.
  
• I don't trust radicchio.
  
• I don't trust therapists with fresh bruises.
  
• I don't trust satin sheets.
  
• I don't trust rock and roll singers who smirk during anti drug ads.
  
• I don't trust mourners.
  
• I don't trust moaners.
  
• I don't trust movie reviews from papers or magazines I never heard of. What is 60 second preview anyway?
  
• I don't trust talk show hosts who whose major advertiser is Gold Bond Medicated Foot Powder.
  
• I don't trust authors who rediscovered their real connection to America on their book tour.
  
• I don't trust three out of four doctors.
  
• I don't trust financial projections by economists.
  
• I don't trust anyone with a hyphen in their name.

• I trust 3rd graders.
  
• I trust the post office.
  
• I trust Regis, but not Kathi Lee.
  
• I trust tug boat pilots.
  
• I trust one armed security guards, but not if they wear a gun.
  
• I trust bartenders in dives.
  
• I trust any CBS correspondent with the first name of Charles.
  
• I trust Gospel Singers, especially if their first name is Aretha.
  
• I trust Molly Ivins.
  
• I trust Jerry Brown, but I wouldn't want to sit next to him on a bus ride to New York.
  
• I trust burger joints that grind their own meat.
  
• I trust 60 Minutes.
  
• I trust The Jim Lehrer News Hour, but remain convinced it makes a better radio show than it does a TV show.
  
• I trust flannel sheets.
  
• I trust a well worn pair of blue jeans.
  
• I trust people who admit they don't know, every once in a while.
  
• I trust old men who wear black socks with sandals.
  
• I trust single red roses.
  
• I trust farmers for directions but I can never understand them.
  
• I trust the American flag but not all the people who wave it.
  
• I trust black coffee.
  
• I trust living rooms with lace doilies on the arms of the couches.
  
• I trust audiences.

So, let me get this straight. In an elastic situation last week, Ted Kazcinski tried to strangle himself with his underwear. This may not have resolved the question as to whether he's crazy, but it certainly cements hidden suspicions that he's a briefs man. The government then gave him a heart monitor putting him under a 24 hour suicide watch. The very same government that refused a guilty plea in return for a life sentence because they wanted a death penalty conviction is now taking extreme measures to prevent him from taking his own life. Get it: they're keeping him alive so they can kill him. That's our government for you. "You ain't killing yourself buddy, only we have the right to do that!" He wants to fire his defense team and defend himself, because his lawyers insist on mounting a mental defect defense. Begging the question, would a man who wasn't crazy argue he wasn't, thereby risking execution? Head hurt. The worst job in the world right now has to be the receiving clerk in his lawyers mail room. If we really want to kill him, we should just buy him a case of Speedos, and put him in a cell with really strong overhead struts.

You can't make stuff up like this.

• After marrying Soon Yi, Woody Allen is now literally his own father-in-law. Wonder if he asked himself for her hand in marriage. Of course the first ring he gave her, she probably teethed on. Now he's writing a play for her. Or he could remake the old sitcom, "Father Knows Best".
  
• President Clinton has allocated 604 million dollars to hire more police officers. The most immediate effect one can expect is a donut shortage.
  
• The Pope going to Havana still doesn't mean many Cubans were capable of seeing him, since Miami was not on the itinerary.
  
• Denis Peron, the head of the Cannabis Cultivators Club in San Francisco, plans to run for Governor on the Republican ticket. He may not win, but he will have the most popular election night party.
  
• It seems the airlines have finally isolated the most dangerous security problem on flights: the second carry on bag.
  
• After the success of "Titanic", director James Cameron can now be called on to recreate the second greatest disaster in American history: "The Paulie Shore Show".
  
• The Clinton legal defense fund has run out of money. I imagine if it gets real desperate, Al Gore will make a couple of calls to Jacoby and Meyers.
  
• The Clintons spent their vacation in South Carolina seeking quiet reflection. It's so hard to think with the shredder on.
  
• Los Angeles now has its cleanest air in 50 years, which makes mugger identification much easier.

Happy New Year everybody. Hope you didn't party like it was 1999. That would either be extremely premature or the jump start to a bitchin do that I am deeply sorry I was not invited to. It is time for us to wipe the slate clean and start the year percolating with a couple of typically cynical predictions for 1998. Pick your favorites and pass the rest along to your friends.

In 1998 I expect to see:

• Mike Tyson hits the talk show circuit to publicize his new celebrity diet book but is turned down by everyone except Jerry Springer.
  
• Drew Carey pierces his nipples on live TV, upping the "Ellen" ante.
  
• In an effort to boost his Presidential chances, Sen. Fred Thompson starts dating Priscilla Presley, and toys with releasing an album of rock and roll standards discouraging no one who calls him; King II.
  
• Marv Albert signs a five year contract with Wonder Bra and named co-host with Susan Molinari on the CBS Saturday Morning Show. In a tearful first stab at journalistic ethics, Molinari quits.
  
• The ghosts of Chris Farley and John Denver haunt the Academy Awards and spook John Goodman into biting off Jenna Elfman's right ear.
  
• Howard Stern resigns from his radio show and becomes a rival to Raffi with his award winning series of children's albums.
  
• The answer to the question; "What do you call 123 white guys chasing one black guy?" is universally recognized to be: "the PGA Tour".

So, here's the deal. Everybody in show business works so hard for so long for nothing, one of fires keeping the coal burning stove of anti rejection stoked is dreaming of the day they make it big enough to say no. "No I don't want to dress up as a Giant Cherry Tomato and dive into an above ground pool of 1000 Island Dressing for 50 bucks a show, 3 shows a day and all the salad bar I can eat". This is known as F**k You Money. Jerry Seinfeld just turned down five million dollars a show for twenty two episodes. That's one hundred and ten million dollars. Over a tenth of a billion dollars. And he said "No!" Apparently he has enough money. Not let's be disingenuous here. His agent would get 10% and his manager 15% off the top, which leaves his take at $82.5 million. Then you slice away a 40% minimum for Uncle Sam and his buds, a couple mil in expenses for necessities like studio parking passes for Shoshonna, and we're talking a measly 35 million net. To which he still said "No!" He's got the syndication rights to 9 years of episodes, the endorsement deal with American Express, and a standing offer from the Orthodontists of America to be Spokesperson for its Tall Teeth Campaign. Jerry Seinfeld has F**k You Money. And not only does he have it. He used it. We're all very very proud of him. Unable to breathe, but proud.