Hot Dogs in Space
the commune’s Homer VanSlyke lives to showboat 

Well, it takes a big man to admit it, but I’m the big man who leaked that CIA lady’s name to the press. Aim your cameras over this way, boys. I didn’t know it was such a big deal, I thought it was obvious to everyone else that she’d bought her entire wardrobe out of the CIA’s mail-order catalog, including those hideous navy blue pumps. Doesn’t take a super-spy to notice this stuff, people. She even had the “CIA Agents Do It When You’re Not Looking” bumper sticker on her car, for Christ’s sake.

In regard to this whole hullabaloo, Laura Bush was quoted as reassuring the American public that “My husband wants the very highest ethics,” which seems to indicate that a shaky grasp of the English language runs in that marriage. The funny thing is that I’m almost entirely sure she meant to say he wanted the very highest ethnics, since Bush prefers to streamline his day by only dealing with stereotypes, saves him a lot of time from what I hear.

Conservative commentator and man-sized Potatohead Rush Limbaugh is in trouble this week, after saying NFL quarterback Donovan McNabb is overrated because he’s black. The connotation being that the liberal media is desperate to have black quarterbacks succeed and so they draw undue attention to McNabb’s modest achievements. If I were McNabb I’d say it’s okay, since Limbaugh’s overrated as a commentator anyway because of his whiteness. Conservatives are desperate to have white mouthpieces so they don’t have to listen to anybody of color. Kudos to McNabb for his tact, but I for one wouldn’t have begrudged the man a “I guess it takes one to know one,” schoolyard slam.

If you’re not into politics or the world outside the U.S. borders, I guess the big story this week is that little 2-year-old girl who was found after her mother went to jail and left her home alone for three weeks with nothing but ketchup, mustard and dried pasta to eat. A touching story for sure but let’s not get carried away here people. That was my exact diet back in college and nobody made a fuss about me back then, though I could have used the attention. If she’d fought off some burglars with frying pans and matchbox cars while she was doing it, now that’d be a different story entirely. A charmingly-hilarious different story.

Looks like the Russians are still bitching about that comrade who got married on the space station last month, accusing him of hot-dogging by not waiting until he got back to earth to get married. I think it’s silly, if he really wanted to hot-dog he could have put a giant oversized tuxedo on over his moon-man suit and slow-danced with a mannequin out in space, while the rest of the crew videotaped it and played “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” over the station’s patio speakers. That would have been hot-dogging it. This dude was just saving on catering expenses.

Whenever they show the space station I really have to wonder who in the hell designed that thing. They always get it right on the movies: Sleek, futuristic decks with recessed lighting and dramatic, expansive hallways, bay windows overlooking Jupiter, all that fantastic crap. Then they show some footage from the real thing, and it’s like some kind of sick joke. It’s just a bunch of pathetic astro-geeks crawling around these cramped little erector sets that make a Winnebago look like the freakin’ Taj Mahal. When they sold us on the majesty of space exploration, I think they forgot to tell us about the guy crawling around like a dog and shitting in a can. Sounds more like modern-day Turkey to me.

Would it have killed them to make those things man-sized? It’s not like space is at a high premium out there in space. Maybe they were expecting the astronauts to add-on once they got comfortable, but were as surprised as the rest of us that they just sit around and bitch about the TV reception. Not that I can really criticize the astronauts too harshly, I suppose I’d get tired of eating that astronaut ice cream after a while too. Sure, a couple pieces are fun, but after that I really start thinking about how it’s not Dryer’s and I should have saved some of my gift-shop money for that giant moon lollipop.

Sic the Killer Chicken on Saddam
It’s a scientific fact that terrorism never originates in countries that get more than 40% of their calories from fat. Constructing a pair of tennis shoes out of plastic explosives or hucking hand grenades at an army patrol sounds like an awful lot of work when rolling over in bed is enough to raise your pulse.

Sierra Mist
In the old days, it was always easy to tell which brands to buy. The good stuff had some smiling white guy with a butchwax haircut on the box. Nice. The other one always had a genie or some shit on it, a laughing monkey. And the crap products always had dead give-away names like Chintz or Uncle Otto’s Screwjob.

Dolphin Heaven
Well, looks like we’re still bombing the Iraqis out of the Stone Age and back to whatever the hell came before that, when all the stones were blown up and everything was on fire. Serves ‘em right for living in the desert though. I lived in the desert outside of Albuquerque once and there were always rednecks out there blowing shit up.

Attack of the Crazy Violence Women
I lock the door to you, moon men. Twist that knob with all your might, unless you possess special moon strength it’s just going to turn a little bit and then stop. Foiled again, aha! Go cry it off in your sad little moon caves, you bastards.