Bush Declares Environment Part of 'Axis of Evil'

n his brashest act against ecological ideologies yet, President Bush declared the environment to be part of the "axis of evil" that includes Iraq, Iran, and North Korea. The environment, said Bush, in a speech written for him by a college buddy he hired, has conspired to deprive America of its much-needed fossil fuels and energy with blatant threats to "cut off" the availability of these fuels and deprive the world of oxygen.

"It's like some villain out of that new James Bond movie, which opens tomorrow," said Bush at a meeting with oil lobbyists and business friends Thursday. "The environment is threatening the safety of America and our way of life by taking from us what is ours. The reason oil and gas is so expensive—doesn't that just make ya mean mad?—is all because the environment has decided to hold out for better treatment and reduced emissions and stuff. I say we stand up and tell them where we stand!"

Afterwards, in response to reporters' questions if he was out of his mind, Bush stated: "I am in full possession of all my facilities, and I want to keep it that way. We must act now to crush the evil regime of the environment. All these threats to America, from earthquakes to hurricanes, it's all the environment's fault. I will not allow this assault on Homeland Security^TM to continue by 'Mother Nature' and her axis of evil buddies."

The White House has stated its opposition to the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, signed by environment-friendly former president Bill Clinton. The Kyoto Protocol is an international treaty in which the United States pledged, with other countries, to reduce dangerous greenhouse gas emissions by seven percent in an effort to help the environment. Bush's assertion is that the Kyoto Protocol will be a threat to the recovery of the economy, which thrives much better when businesses run rampant and unchecked, left to police themselves in areas of deadly emissions. Bush elaborated Thursday that to obey the Kyoto Protocol is to play right into nature's diabolical plan to extort America.

"It is high time," said Bush, then pausing to laugh as he realized he said "high," "that America stop coddling terrorists like the environment. They're our emissions and we can make them if we want. And it's high time Mother Nature stopped holding back on the fossil fuels—we all know you got more. You know what we call someone who dishes out a little bit o' goodies and then stops all of a sudden? A tease, that's what."

The environment, according to Bush aides, has caused America to curb its business such as automobile manufacturing, logging and textile manufacturing, and nuclear arms production. The environment is also believed responsible for mudslides, tornadoes and tropical storms, earthquakes, and other "natural disasters," and the White House is warning it that the heat will only go up until the environment ceases its actions.

America's demands: Unlimited fossil fuels, quicker replacement of oxygen, warmer climate in the winter and colder climate in the summer, and as many trees as we can chop down and turn into furniture.

"We're through jumping through your hoops, environment," said an angry Bush, addressing the sky. "Get rid of all this terror, and the way this whole city stinks. If you don't, we have no alternanative but to consult the U.N.—" Bush and a few buddies laughed in each other's directions. "…and take action against this direct threat to our safety. Remember, we know where you keep your rainforests."

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Thankfully for you, the eager readers, nobody blew up any giant mammals on the international scene this week and we can finally get down to the nitty gritty dirt band on Omar Bricks' adventures through the afterlife. For those of you interested in the full sensory experience, I'd recommend putting Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" on infinite repeat while you read the column. If you read it at the correct rate of speed I think you'll find things syncing up in some pretty mind-blowing ways. If you're a slow reader or retarded or something, I can't promise it won't make you dizzy or colossally sick, so sync at your own risk here people.

Longtime Bricks fans, or newer fans with the cajones to dig deep into the archives, will no doubt remember back in 2002 when the Bricksmobile went all Casino on me and engulfed half of my neighborhood in flames, blowing yours truly into my neighbor Dale's azaleas. Thanks to the intense charring within the blast radius, some cocky son of a bitch from the fire department decided nobody could have lived through the explosion, and after I loudly agreed the police took that as gospel and Omar Bricks was legally dead. At the time I thought it would just be a funny lark and a cool way to mess with pizza delivery guys, but it turned out to be a real godsend when all my neighbors tried to sue the recently-departed Omar Bricks for fucking up their houses. Wouldn't you know it was their shitty luck that Omar's twin cousin from Cuba who was watching the house indefinitely hadn't inherited any of the vast Bricks fortune.

This was all fine and dandy for months until all my appearance of hard work at the commune finally paid off in the form of a company car, which turned out to be a cop magnet even when Red Bagel wasn't driving it. I hadn't been behind the wheel more than three minutes when a cop pulled me over while I was taking a short cut through the park and told me my license had expired. I guess that's one of the down-sides of being legally dead that they don't tell you about when you're bluffing the fire department. There should be a law, but what are you going to do?

The next day I go down to the DMV to perform the seemingly-simple task of proving I'm still alive so I won't have to walk out in the cold every time I want to go down to the DQ for a scoop. I figured this would be fairly easy, considering that me even showing up at the DMV proves to all but the biggest of idiots that I am, in fact, alive. Being the stand-up supporter of democracy that I am, I decided to make things even easier on the powers that be by standing up on the counter at the DMV, holding up my death certificate, and announcing "Omar Bricks is Dead, Long Live Omar Bricks!" to the huddled masses assembled on the DMV killing floor. Most of the idiots there didn't know what the hell was going on, though one dude did clap for a while. I figured my point had been made, and I was on my way to go home and ring in the new Omar Bricks with a toast of Miller High Life when some closeted DMV dude stopped me at the door and told me I'd have to wait in line like all the others shmoes slouching their way toward the guillotine.

I guess I wasn't the only one there who had been mistaken for dead, though from the looks of most of those guys I should've guessed it. So I wait in line like a peasant, hoping the chick up front will spot me in line, remember me from my column or a police line-up somewhere and wave me away like "Dude, you're obviously alive! Get the fuck out of here!" and I'll be all thumbs-up and ass out the door. Well, any of you who've ever been to the DMV know that kind of magic just doesn't go down, and I was in that line for three fuckin' days. You may think I'm exaggerating that figure somewhat for hilarious effect, but I'm shitting you not, three days. Every time I got out of line to take a piss I was stuck at the back again, if I'd known that was going to be the case I wouldn't have loaded up on Hawaiian Punch and pop rocks on the way over, that shit makes you piss like a Hawaiian grandma or something, every ten minutes like a goddamned glockenspiel.

At some point on day three, weak bladders got the best of all the dorks in front of me in line and I finally won a round of DMV Survivor. I grooved my way up to the counter and laid the smooth on the three-headed DMV beast manning that station, who reached deep into her bag of pain and pulled out some bullshit about how I had to go to the city courthouse and get my death certificate revoked and blah blah blah before I could even talk about getting my license renewed. I briefly considered cracking open a big can of profanity on the whole scene, but a cooler part of my head prevailed and I seamlessly transitioned to Plan B.

You'd be surprised how far a good Scarface accent and a black market birth certificate can get you these days. It was enough to get Omar Bricks' mysterious "Coovan" cousin a driver's license, anyway. So remember Polio fans, if you see me behind the wheel of a car or you're talking to the highway patrol, remember one simple slogan: Omar Bricks is Dead, Long Live Navarro Bricks!

Bricks out.

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Well, the good news is that I'm sitting pretty in the car-fund department thanks to my monster windfall from the raffle, a.k.a. "The Great Downtown Bingo Fire of 2003." And even better, I've been cleared of any wrongdoing thanks to my clever use of the fake name Homer Bicks on all the official paperwork, and the fact that I wore a very distracting Bob Dole mask the whole time I was down there. It was doubly distracting since half of everybody thought it was a Raul Julia mask, and they were all arguing about if he'd died or if that was just some Hollywood publicity gimmick to help promote the next Addams Family movie, The Addams Family Vs. The Manson Family. Personally, I thought it was a damned good Bob Dole mask, but it was pretty dinged up from some bachelor party action so that may have accounted for the Raul Julia misconceptions.

The bad news is I can't find anybody reputable who wants to sell me a goddamned car. I used to not trifle with such minor details as the personal ethics or legal status of some dude trying to sell me a set of wheels, that is until I got saddled with the most recent incarnation of the Bricksmobile, that flaming piece of shit that only went fast when it was rolling down the street away from me. That thing was possessed like Christine except it was by the ghost of some lazy motherfucker who didn't want to kill anybody and just liked to sit on his front lawn with his shirt off.

I'd bought that epic shitbox from this guy named Steamboat Willie out in front of an Indian casino several years back. Yeah, I know that story sounds like bad news right from the start, no shit Sherlock, but beggars can't be choosy when they're nearly broke and too drunk to climb on top of a tour bus and scam a ride home.

I'd met Steamboat Willie several hours earlier, at a party some blind guy was throwing in his hotel room, and I immediately disliked him. Nobody at the party was supposed to be there, it was all just a bunch of guys who had figured out they could drink for free if they impersonated a celebrity voice and fooled the blind dude into thinking the whole cast of Hollywood Squares was partying in his room.

Most of the folks there were pretty cool, picking the voice of some celebrity who could actually conceivably be there, like Robin Leach or Dick Clark. I for one was doing a pretty spot-on Arsenio Hall impression, if my memory serves me correctly. But not that asshole Willie, that hotdog had to piss everybody off by doing a fucking Mickey Mouse voice, endangering the good times and free booze for all. Thankfully the blind host guy was drunk as shit and actually wanted his picture taken with Mickey, he didn't suspect a thing. Somebody clicked their pager like they were taking a picture and everybody was happy.

That didn't stop Willie from eventually finding a way to spoil the party, as he propositioned one too many girls in that squeaky voice to go fuck on the patio, on top of stupidly refusing the blind guy's offer of a giant wheel of cheese. This brought the whole house of cards tumbling down and we all got thrown out of the hotel and casino simultaneously. But that's Steamboat Willie for you. He's the kind of sick bastard who would cut a big, wet fart in a girl's face and call it "Butterscotch Kisses." I hated that guy.

But, you know, I needed a ride home after we got tossed out and $50 sounded like a pretty good deal for a car that wasn't missing any doors or anything major like the floor. If I'd been slightly less trashed I might have considered the high emotional cost the Bricksmobile would eventually toll, but at that point I was just happy to have a comfortable place to sit down. Actually, it wasn't called the Bricksmobile back then, I'm not even sure what kind of car it was. In retrospect, it probably should have set off some alarms upstairs that the name of the car had been filed off, but like I said I was half in the bag and thought it was just an "unmarked car," like some kind of cool FBI shit.

Needless to say, Omar Bricks learned his lesson there, and this time around I'm not buying a car from anybody who talks in a cartoon voice or refers to himself in the third person. Call me prejudiced, but I've got to look out for my own best interests on this one. I can't afford to buy another car that has the "Armageddon" light come on in the dash after I've only been driving it for ten miles.

Maybe I should check and see if Consumer Reports has a rating for that shit. I need a car that rates a full moon or whatever their symbol is for "bitchin'".

Bricks out.

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