uthorities were just plain pissed off with the news that America's "Runaway Asshole" had struck twice more this week, further eroding the nation's confidence in the common decency of man, while thrilling asshole fans and vindicating the merely inconsiderate nationwide.

In the first such incident, officials claim the asshole struck in Illinois, defacing the hallowed image of the Virgin Mary formed by salt run-off and pigeon shit on the underpass of an interstate expressway near Chicago. The emergency turnoff area and impromptu holy shrine had become an instant tourist attraction almost overnight, drawing the devout and bored from miles around ever since a homeless man was spotted trying to piss a complete manger scene onto the underpass last week. The holiness would prove short-lived, however, when the "Runaway Asshole" allegedly spray painted the word "bullshit" over the apparition and drew a Fu Manchu mustache on the Virgin Mary with a Sharpie marker.

Authorities believe this to be the work of the same asshole that destroyed the Virgin Mary image appearing in the window of a Clearwater, Florida office building in 1996. Before the window was destroyed, thousands of hoopleheads had gathered to gawk at the colorful apparition, which scientists claimed to be caused by extreme maintenance neglect, and a nearby Target store had begun to sell special bottles of Windex adorned with apparitions of the holy virgin. Authorities later retrieved the slingshot round that had destroyed the window, but apparently some asshole had coated the ball bearing with grease, making fingerprint identification impossible.

Mere days after the Chicago incident, the asshole appeared again in Wilmington, North Carolina, ordering a pint of frozen custard from Kohl's Frozen Custard, which is in no way affiliated with the Kohl's chain of department stores known for their lousy custard. Only minutes later, custard worker Brandon Fizer, distracted by some asshole in line yelling for him to "hurry it up with the custard, dickless," somehow managed to chop the end of his index finger off in the custard machine. Authorities remain uncertain about how this is even possible, considering that the machine consists of little more than a lever and a custard nozzle, but few deny that Fizer somehow miraculously found a way.

According to witnesses, upon finding Fizer's digit in his mouthful of custard, the asshole spit the fingertip into a nearby baby's eye, then snatched it up off the floor and ran straight to his lawyer's office. Numerous attempts to recover the tip so it could be surgically reattached to the rest of Fizer proved unsuccessful, as the asshole claimed to need it for evidence of emotional suffering in the upcoming civil suit.

Extremely amateur detectives have questioned whether there could be a connection between America's "Runaway Asshole" and Georgia's recently-famous "Runaway Bride," either by blood or through a marriage in the family. Some have even gone so far as to infer that the asshole may have talked the bride into buying her infamous bus ticket, or maybe he was even the one driving the bus, you never know. Others are intrigued by the possibility that the two could get together to record a cover of Soul Asylum's 1992 hit "Runaway Train" for charity.

Though the identity of the "Runaway Asshole" remains unknown, authorities claim to have several compelling asshole leads, and are currently seeking out both Donald Trump and the commune's own Omar Bricks for questioning.

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In the wake of all these bogus attacks, I've begun to thinking, dudes. It's as predictable as a clockwork hooker that when the bombs start falling and ye olde America is under attack that the peoples gonna rally and start flying the flag with the ballsy chant of, "U! S! A!" Whether or not they can say the periods in "U.S.A." or not is completely up to them, though I ain't yet heard anyone say "U period S period A period!" Even if they would they'd probably forget that last damned period, always forgettable, like Neptune when you try to remember all the planets.

Flying the red, white and blue (and I swear there's some orange on there, but no one will back me up on this) is cool, I guess, if you're just overly patriotic and lack imagination. But personally, and take no offense, chillun's, Omar Bricks don't salute no flag whether it's pure Americana or the McDonald's golden arches flag. "You faggot!" some of you jerkoffs are probably yelling already, thinking me some kind of terrorist-sympathizer or something else, or maybe you're just an asshole, I can't explain your shortcomings, but no, you've got me wrong, compadres. Omar Bricks is more American than the hairs in Uncle Sam's ass. And don't you forget it.

I salute one flag, no lie, all y'all. It's the flag of Omar Bricks. In case you think me some kind of poet lariet or something and I'm using some metaphorical device to say I salute kindness and compassion and shit, get your gay ass out of town because I don't play that game. I'm talking a real flag. I got the idea after I saw, "Seven Samurai" and those kick-ass samurais got together and made themselves a bad motherfucker of a flag.

Now, in that movie, the samurai drew some little designs of themselves on the flags and all the circles—about forty of them—represented all the weak-dick bandits they was yet to kill. And when they got the nasty job done, they'd mark off all the bastards they iced, which I thought was top-notch. At the time, me, myself, Omar Bricks, was in college and didn't really have too many enemies to speak of, except some history teacher who had it in for me and some bitch who said I got her sister pregnant, but she didn't even have a sister, she was trés psycho. But I did have little ugly faces on the flag when it started, long since marked out once those perpetrators got theirs, though you can't prove nothin', amigo.

The Bricks flag has a design beautiful in its simplicity, sweetness: A big-ass blue flag with a huge white "O" on it, for my name, duh, and a sizzlin' pot leaf in the middle, just like Canada's flag, so yous know right away what I stand for. I ain't going to dumb it down for nobody, boys, I speak in plain terms for plain people. I believe in freedom, pure and simple.

Consequently, it's not against the law to burn the Bricks flag, but it will bring swift retaliation against your punk ass. There's never been a case of anyone burning the Bricks flag, but the closest to desecration it's come was a few years back when that fat-ass ex-roommate of mine Chazz wiped his Cheetos-covered hands off on it, the fucker, and the flag still wears the scars to this day. Likewise Chazz has a big gash on the back of his head shaped just like a folding chair to remind him the price of freedom.

So if you want to dance on America, all you third world badasses, come over here and dance on the Bricks flag, if you dare. I've got more than enough folding chairs to supply ass-whuppin' for years to come.

º Last Column: ROK FINGER'S DESK IS NOT PUBLIC PROPERTY
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That's the fact, jack. Given my recent falling out with Camembert and Lee's eternally-disappeared status as of late, I decided it's better to have my pride than a roof over my head. And if I can have neither, what with the extreme damage I did to the roof with my New Year's Eve fireworks show and my complete shame at being me, I'll at least not live under the roof with a card-carrying communist like Camembert. Actually, the card said Brown County Public Library, but if the free loaning of books to disabled people isn't an early sign of communism, I don't know what is.

"But Rok," you ignorantly begin, "if you're so anti-communist, why do you work for a place called the commune (lowercase intentional)?"

Christ, I never thought about it before. You confound me, wise imaginary talking-aloud reader. Oh, that's right, I have thought about it before. The rationale I came to was that I am the voice of dissent for this politically peculiar powwow of pundits. Any fool can see, as I easily do, that the commune is not strictly communist, though that Bludney Plud always seems to be going through everybody's desk like he believes in state ownership, him being the state. In practice the commune is merely a source of left-wing propaganda and seldom-reported news and fun conspiracy theories. What role does a mook like me have in a place like this? Simple. I provide the voice of the counter-culture, which is to say the Establishment, which is counter to this counter-culture, which makes me counter-culture here.

What happened? Oh, yes, I was discussing being homeless. I certainly know what those without homes are complaining about now. It is quite a scary experience for a guy like me, short, unattractive, but unquestioningly sexually alluring, to be out amongst the dregs of society without any walls separating them from me. Not to mention the experience of being pelted by water when it rains—or worse, when it doesn't.

Things are more difficult than in the past, the other times I've been unceremoniously thrown out of wherever I was living. Acting-Asshole Ramrod Hurley has instituted a ridiculous new policy of locking the doors when everyone leaves at night, so now I can't sleep in my desk anymore. I'm really, honest-to-God out on the streets again. For the first time.

Now, I'm a huge fan of Dickens like every other ancient person. But like railroad work, homelessness is only fun for spectators, not for participants. The sooner I can get into a place for living, a what do you call it, house or apartment, the better. Much like prison, I'm too delicate to survive on the streets. I would never consider something drastic like, say, prostitution, but I have been considering it lately. Still, I don't think it will come to that. No one in the world is mentally ill enough to pay me for sex.

I have asked Ramrod Hurley for an advance on my next paycheck, which is to say I've told him I need to be paid with money instead of Raleigh cigarette coupons from now on. When I have enough in the bank, the bank being my ragged slacks pockets, I will find an apartment and begin living there. It will be nice to be out on my own, inside again. No one but the desperately poor should be forced to live like this.

º Last Column: Lord of The Lord of the Rings
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