ast-minute attempts at peaceful resolutions having likely failed, the United States presumably entered into war with Iraq again Monday, March 17 at some undisclosed time in the day. Though the information has yet to be verified, it is supported by popular opinion, with degrees of variation on the exact time and date, March 17 being the earliest estimation and March 19 the latest.

The hypothetical war came after months of accusations from the Bush administration that Iraqi president Saddam Hussein was harboring biological weapons and had the potential to create weapons of mass destruction. The debate deteriorated in recent months into press bytes back and forth between the countries as Bush attempted to curry favor with the U.N. and receive backing for military action in accordance with resolutions Iraq signed after cessation of the Gulf War, also known as "Bush Vs. Iraq: Round 1" among funnier members of the staff.

The preceding week brought the tension to full as Bush, responding to the irritation of the American people, announced a March 17 deadline for Iraq to disarm its real or imaginary weapons and the administration haggled with opposing members of the U.N. security counsel for approval to the deadline. As Saddam Hussein had yet to meet the ambiguous guidelines of the deadline date, it is 99.9% probable that the United States felt no recourse but to begin war with Iraq on March 17.

All signs point to elongated periods of carpet bombings of marked Iraqi weapons sites, with claims of civilian casualties by Iraq already supposedly rising as the U.S. undoubtedly insisted all targets are verified as weapons facilities. If all goes according to military plans established months ago, bombing most likely will cease around March 19 as troops move in for implied ground war.

Though U.S. opinion will be mixed, the majority of Americans will most likely support the war with the assumption its unpatriotic to disagree in a time of war. After weeks of continued warfare with reassurance from the president U.S. troops are making progress in their goals, the larger population will tire of the war news and urge the president to resolve the whole mess quicker, sparking claims that while Saddam Hussein has presumably not been removed from power, objectives to locate and disarm weapons as a greater goal have been successful, and Saddam Hussein can be hobbled permanently by sanctions and treaties.

Without a doubt, the price tag for the war will have dug the United States deeper into debt and made the outlook for the economy bleaker, which the Democratic candidates for the presidency will jump on despite their expressions of approval for the war during its time. As jobs disappear and wages continue to drop, the approval rating for the Bush administration will reach all-time lows, despite achieving near-record highs during late 2001 to early 2003. All attempts to turn attention to domestic issues will come too late and Americans will join in bitter debates with each other as the country probably grows even more divisive, yet in an extremely close presidential election in 2004 the as-yet-unnamed Democratic candidate will win the electoral college vote by a significant margin, while the disparity in the popular vote, while still in his or her favor, will be much closer.

Theoretical details of long-term side-effects of American soldiers exposed to the irradiated munitions of their weapons could not be hypothesized at press time. Further information will come as clearer patterns of repetition emerge.

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Good is the news and the news is good (as they say in the Philistines), I've got Friday off. That's right, all it took was a ball gag and three tubes of astroglide, and Joe Friday was crowing like a rooster. I- yeeeeeeeich- Uhm, yeah. So the camping is on.

It shall be a grand old time, where I shall commune with nature, and be blacklisted as a communist agitator, never to work in Hollywood again. I shall fish, and bird... and ferret. I shall canoe... and I shall car. I shall stand at the edge of the great woods, look in, and say: "I think something died in there. Yuck."

And just so you can win (or lose) your office betting pool over how I got the time off, thanks to Nootles not being here yet I mustered up the extreme courage (while I did mustard my sandwich) to call Bagel at home, to interrupt his vacationary reverie and to have him, after near seconds of deliberation, say unto me, pass on the immortal words that shall be carved in a goblet of pure gold to stand watch over the mantle place for future generations to come: "Yeah, sure."

It was a grueling battle, a hard-won victory that shall not be taken lightly, that shall stand for generations as a pure golden example of human potential in the face of unthinkable adversity, of personal triumph against sterilizing odds, and as my alibi for why I couldn't have possibly caused that blueberry stain on the rug. On a totally unrelated side note, blueberry cheesecake is very good.

So to you gentle reader, I implore you to take this brave step with me, to, in fact, rise to your highest potential and throw mortal fear to the wind, requesting, with great hubris, Friday off as well. It's done wonders for my confidence, and my complexion, and has given me a whole new outlook on life. Realizing this, I say why not have a day where we all leave the shackles of employment behind us, fling our undershorts to the wind, and all go camping. Not all together, mind you, because I share my lite beer with no one, but we should each camp individually in our own local campitoriums, and revel in the outdoorsiness of it all. I know in my various bones that we'll all have a new lease on life once we've secured our freedom for this coming Friday. It shall be a towering beacon of courage in this squalid, meek little world. And it is my sincere hope that, once you've fought the good fight, once you've slew the demons of ignorance with the short-sword of courtesy, once you've plumbed the darkest depths of the human soul and soared to it's loftiest peaks, that you, too shall hear these noble words intoned: "Yeah, sure."

I leave you to your task. Godspeed.

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I am an old-fashioned guy, and by that, this time, I do not mean that is my drink of choice. I have traditional values, as anyone who knows me can tell. You know this, good people. And just as ice must melt back to its natural state, not-ice, I must find a woman to complete half of the Rok Finger/unknown woman couple. It is my natural state to be with someone else. As someone once said, "a man needs a maid," and boy, did it piss off feminists.

Unable to deal with the bar scene, or anything that would have "scene" added to its description, I sought the old reliable method of Internet dating. Of course, not at first. At first I attempted to write a classified ad. I consider myself something of a master of the classified ad. I unloaded over 65 free kittens, two old lawnmowers, and a refrigerator that no longer kept things cool through mastery of the classified ad. And I composed my most charming classified ad when searching for the most valuable property of all—a wife.

"Wanted: Woman, female only. BGOCMWCMWAH [Backyard Grill-Owning Currently-Married Whitish-Colored Man Who Adores Hyphenating] seeks SHITHEAD
[Single Highly-Interested Total Hottie Eager for Action and Dancing] to marry without meeting. Must be able to tolerate the handicapped and enjoy being bossed around. Owning a motorcycle a plus. Send pictures (of you on motorcycle)."
Since I received no responses, except for a few teens only eager for hi-jinks, I can only assume women have stopped reading the newspaper altogether. Thank you very much, Lifetime.

However, I will not be discouraged. After all, I met my last wife over the Internet, didn't I? And we're still married. What a strange and charming thing it is. The Internet, I mean—the wife is a foul-mouthed harpy. So I immediately hooked up with a matchmaking site, called WebTouch. With a name like that, how could it not deliver everything I want?

It's all very warm and personal, as you sit at home in a dark room lit by a glowing computer screen and fill out the blank spaces on a form to find the woman of your dreams. Actually, the woman in my dreams is 9-foot tall and chases me while swinging a cat by its tail, trying to strike me down, so I'm seeking someone better than the woman of my dreams. There's quite a lot of choices, too, so don't go overboard. I found when I put made "doesn't go to the bathroom" one of my requirements, I got very few responses. I suppose we all have to be a little open-minded. So I changed it to "seldom goes to bathroom."

I also told them I didn't want any foreigners, no one of a different religion, must be very pretty, must be very trim and shapely, without opinions, or at least keeps all opinions to self, will worship me with every step I take and keep her head bowed as I walk ahead of her, and if possible, will let me name her.

I'm too demanding, you say? To hell with you, good people. I say there's no point in listing all your desires in a perfect woman if you're going to wimp out and "accept" flaws. I also say "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" Because I think that's quite funny, and my father once owned a cow.

And to those of you who say I'll never get any responses when asking for so much, I say shows what you know. I've already received a wonderful opening email from the elegant Lady Buttsfree, who lives in Somewhereland, England, or as I know her, the good lady writing from 2funnypricks@hotmail.com. She's a princess, and though it's early in our email exchange, she's already suggesting I move into her castle. I'm waiting for her to send a picture, of course, and she will, once they come in from the beauty contest she just won.

True love, you've found Rok Finger again!

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