he so-called 'Axis of Evil,' which now has more points than a pinwheel, took on another member when the forgettable South American country of Venezuela added itself to the roster of anti-U.S. countries this week. The announcement was made in the most awkward fashion, when President Victor Chavez made allegations that the United States has made plans to invade Venezuela soon. How soon? Chavez didn't pinpoint a date, but said the invasion would happen imminently.

According to Chavez, the U.S. has been planning to invade his country for some time, and he has proof, although he didn't exactly present it to anybody. The most precise allegation made by Chavez cited "invasion training maneuvers" being made in his country by CIA operatives, who apparently weren't in Venezuela for one of their thousands of monthly beauty pageants.

"The U.S. wants our oil," said Chavez, not to be confused with the famed union leader beloved by Steinbeck fans and folksingers alike. "They are planning to invade Venezuela to get it. But they will not have it. And if they carry out their plan of invasion, they will be in for a hundred-year war they cannot win." Apparently there's a huge population of homegrown Navy SEALs in Venezuela that haven't been widely publicized.

Chavez appeared on Larry King, home of the mouth of the infidels, to warn the U.S. government not to fuck around with the big boys.

"We are as giants to the United States as you are but ants to normal people. Understand? Perhaps the translation is not so perfect… we are the giants, at giant size, while you are ant size. Get it? You are not normal human size. So we are, you can see, immensely bigger than you. Not in country size or population, resources or world renown. But fighting spirit! This is where we are huge."

The president (of our little shithole) responded Friday to Chavez's Larry King comments: "I will say Mr. Chavez does have immense balls. The rest of it remains to be determined."

While most of the administration shrugged and tried not to smirk at the angry Venezuelan's accusations, a certain White House insider called Vito, and whose real name is revealed on www.confidentialsourcesruined.com, attempted to shed some light on the U.S.-Venezuela position in the current administration.

"The president can't even say Venezuela," confided Vito. "I don't think he ever got past the 48 continental states in his geography classes. He occasionally points to the maps and says, 'What's with the other America? Who's copying us?' But this isn't just about insulting the president; it's about pointing out, once and for all, that when it comes to Venezuela, or for that matter any South American country, the White House position is to truly not give a shit."

While Chavez accused the Bush administration of seeking an invasion for Venezuela's rich oil reserves, our man Vito discounted that as unlikely horseshit.

"I'm not sure where Mr. Chavez gets his confidential information on U.S. foreign policy, but he should go back to the guy and beat the piss outta him. Does he seriously believe Venezuela is next on the list for U.S. invasion? Please! I mean… does he really have the list? Not even the top 10. We've got Korea, Syria, Iran, Pakistan… New Zealand, but that's a surprise, so don't tell anyone. Lord of the Rings raised their profile. But Venezuela? Please. All in good time, amigos. We've got bigger fish to fry first."

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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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The best part of being a professional Research Editor (and if you don't capitalize that you're shit out of luck if you expect a response email) and knowing shitloads about history is that you get to spend most of your time laughing at how stupid people were in the past. Which is even more fun than it sounds. Not that people are any smarter now, but the true scope of any period's idiocy only becomes vividly clear in retrospect.

Most people don't know, for example, that back when X-rays were invented they weren't used for any breakthrough life-saving medical purposes. They used them to X-ray people's feet in shoe stores to make sure their shoes fit right. I shit you not. And it wasn't until the store employees started growing dicks on their dicks like weird sex-cactus nightmares and other Stephen King nonsense that they put two and two together and figured out that all the store employees should run and hide behind a felt tarp when the Foot-o-Scope was turned on. Years later somebody realized that there was a reason all the regular customers were having their feet turn to chalk, so the shoe stores sold all their Foot-o-Scopes to hospitals, which began using them to X-ray pregnant women daily to make sure their fetuses were turning out okay.

Foot-o-Scopes were outlawed by the 1950's, though some were still found to be in use in West Virginia and other third-world states well into the 1980's. Shocking as this may seem, it is important to remember that the state of West Virginia is officially 100 years behind the times, and is kept that way by the federal government to encourage tourism. It's like a giant state-sized Truman Show. The reason there are so many UFO sightings in West Virginia is that the state's residents have not yet invented the aeroplane, and commercial flights passing over the state scare the bejesus out of everyone on the ground.

However, this is an exciting time to be a West Virginian, since the early 1900's were the golden age of misguided medical innovation. Only now are West Virginians experiencing the joys of phrenology, the science of determining personality by measuring the size of your head. Phrenologists used head-measuring devices that look like what you'd use to measure someone's head if you only had a vegetable colander and an acupuncture set at your disposal. It was thought at the time that different parts of the brain controlled different organs, and it went without saying that each of these organs controlled a personality trait (hence the terms "That guy was a dick," "What an asshole," and "Just tackle the wolf, you pussy!"). So if the subject being measured had a lump on his skull in a certain spot, obviously his brain was so overdeveloped in that area it was pushing his skull out like a baking potato.

This theory was soon followed to its logical conclusion when medical marvel and part-time turkey hunter James "Lumpy" Monroe was named President for Life and God Among Men of the National Phrenology Association for his freakishly cauliflower-like skull. This crowning achievement of the phrenology movement was short-lived, however, and the practice was dealt a crippling blow soon after his election when Lumpy Monroe drown while attempting to quench his thirst by leaving his mouth open in a rainstorm.

Part of the reason phrenology proved so popular in the early 20th century was that people had just figured out that bloodletting was bullshit and were eager to find something new to spend their healthcare dollars on, since back in that day all doctors could really do was take your pulse and give you "pills." I say "pills" because all prescription drugs were the same thing back then, capsules containing a mixture of cocaine, morphine and alcohol that were put into different bottles depending on what your problem was. The pills didn't actually cure anything, but nobody complained since they were drunk and high all the time.

Believe it or not, this was actually a step forward for Western medicine, since previously people had believed that the only way to get well was to get the sick out of your body by whatever means necessary. From the middle ages through the 1800's, doctors starved, bled and beat the shit out of sick people both for the patient's health and for their own personal enjoyment. And though the starving and the ass-kicking were the most fun for the doctors, bloodletting was by far the most popular cure for everything from abdominal cramps to bad luck.

Doctors and barbers both got in on the act, though the latter was more a serendipitous accident involving poorly-trained barbers. The barbers had a leg up on the doctors when it came to marketing, however, and they came up with the barber pole to make blood draining out of an arm look fun, while all the doctors could come up with was a couple of scary-assed snakes humping a light pole, which probably drove away more customers than it attracted.

Doctors coined the term "phlebotomy" for the practice, combining "phlegm," the scientific term for throat snot, with "botomy," the medical term meaning the removal of an important body part for no good reason. Phlebotomy flourished despite the fact that a doctor killed George Washington by leaving the former president draining while he went away for a weekend of golf. The American Civil War marked the height of the craze, when over 500,000 Union and Confederate soldiers were cured of aggressive tendencies through battlefield phlebotomy.

The annals of medical dumbshitery are much thicker than could ever be covered in one column, but rest assured this topic will be revisited the next time I have to go see my idiot doctor.

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