EMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, proved itself unprepared for the post-hurricane situation in Louisiana, and now will have to prepare itself for an even more deadly assault on its reputation. The publicity disaster follows reports in The Washington Post and other media outlets that FEMA fem and director Michael Brown may be less than qualified for the position he holds. Federal agency historians are describing it as possibly the worst media-related catastrophe to ever strike the organization.

Damage to the agency's character hasn't been fully assessed, but early estimates predict anywhere from one to five careers may be permanently injured or even extinguished. Early signs of the disaster's effects came when the White House reversed its original "FEMA good" public statements for the more critical "FEMA can do better" statements of recent days.

The fallout comes from public outrage over the slowness and inefficiency of relief efforts in the wake of the hurricane Katrina disaster and the extent of destruction from floods in the Louisiana area. As the outcry increased, media outlets investigating FEMA Director Michael Brown uncovered sources who say the director may have misrepresented his qualifications or been misrepresented by people in the administration. Some are accusing the administration and Brown's supporters of making him the director because of his work on the Bush campaign, rather than his experience with disaster relief—not that the Bush campaign was unofficially a disaster, but such a designation doesn't put it on par with the flooding of New Orleans.

Last week, the president commended the FEMA director with a resounding and dignified, "Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job." Quite a contrast to the administration's more recent admission the relief efforts were going abysmally slow, and Thursday's remark by the president, "Brownie, get your shit together. Quit dragging ass and get 'r' done or we're gonna shitcan you."

But some are asking, given the degree to which Brown's resume may have been misrepresented, if the FEMA director shouldn't be shitcanned already. With the poor relief efforts attracting media attention and adding lead to the president's always-precarious approval rating, Brown was removed from his on-site duties in the relief efforts. Such an action may precipitate Brown's stepping down from his position to make way for some other Bush crony with slightly more experience.

Reports surfaced this week that 5 of 8 top FEMA officials, including Brown, had little or no previous disaster relief experience, and at least 3 played vital roles in the Bush 2000 election campaign. Director Brown himself cited only one disaster-related job, allegedly overseeing disaster relief efforts in Edmond, Oklahoma, but sources now say the job was closer to "administrative assistant" or "intern," or in the common parlance, "little bitch" to the real boss.

If Brown is asked to stepped down from his role at FEMA, some are already anticipating a quick appointment by the president for his old supporter. Insiders at the White House are talking about the possibility of a Federal Emergency Public Relations Agency (the less-interesting acronym FEPRA), who will need someone to run it with the kind of publicity disaster experience only this most recent crisis can provide.

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Cancer's just not as funny as it used to be. I mean, seriously, remember when cancer used to be hilarious? Like dad would come home from work and you'd be like "How's your day, pops?" and he'd say "Just found out my liver's rotted through with cancer!" and you'd both laugh and laugh? Those were the days.

Nowadays you have to pretend like it's breaking your heart that somebody's going to start pooping out lungs soon and you can't even giggle when they're moaning "I'm dyin' here, I'm really dyin'!" It's a total drag. People just don't have any kind of sense of humor about themselves anymore, everything's all "Woe is me, I live out every moment in agonizing pain." Thanks a lot for bringing me down, asshole. I just spent four bucks on this ice cream for nothing.

When I was a kid, if one of your classmates had cancer you were allowed to push him down the stairs and say his dad's a fag; that made you popular. And I don't remember the kids with cancer complaining, they just appreciated the attention. That's all anybody who's got three months to live wants, anyway, is attention. It shouldn't matter if it's "pretending to listen to all your crybaby stories" attention or "pushing you in your wheelchair off a ski jump" attention, that's really splitting hairs. And hey, don't give me all that sore-loser bullshit about your wheelchair being all ruined now, if you hadn't bet on yourself you'd have plenty of money to buy another one. I know I do.

Don't forget that other cancer dude who smoked you on the ramp is living the good life over in the traction ward, and you know he's not complaining.

What really gets me though, are all these bleeding-heart liberals who don't even have cancer but still get their Volvos in a bunch when I think something's funny. Like when that commercial comes on in the theater, before the movie, with all the bald little kids talking about cancer research and blah blah blah. Now that's some funny shit! You see those kids? They're balder than my dad, and they're only like five! Where do they find those freaks? I'm telling you, I could watch that shit all day if I didn't have a theater full of Good Samaritans pelting me with popcorn and booing and shit. Please. Like any of them had cancer when they were kids.

I tell you, the world's full of people trying to ruin my good time. If it's not some pastel-colored killjoy petitioning to cancel a hilarious show like World's Greatest Police Chases, it's some other curmudgeon telling me I can't visit the fat camp unless I'm a family member. I tried telling that guy they should charge admission, because I know at least a dozen guys who would bust a nut watching those lard-assed little kids try to run an obstacle course and falling down and having asthma attacks and shit, but wouldn't you know he's one of those lost-cause fruits who puts a child's "dignity" ahead of profit. Like any of those little butterbutts wouldn't trade his or her dignity for a big slice of pie. He didn't think that was funny either, and the bastard confiscated my pie.

I tell you, it's a lonely life, being one of the only guys out there with a sense of humor. And hey, it's not like I fail to see the humor in my own misfortune. Just last week, some lady's little yappy dog ran out in front of my truck and just creamed the thing, made a real mess of the front end. And I had just washed the damn thing. But did I mope around, like the world had just crapped in my salad? No way, I laughed my ass off! Did you see how far that little dog flew? Jesus Christ, I thought that thing was some kind of rubber dog for a second there! Holy shit that was funny.

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A Washington bookseller I'd never heard of announced a couple of weeks ago they would purge details of a buyer's purchase upon request. This was in response to one of those 500 quickly-passed 9/11 laws which says the government can go through your sock drawer if they smell the stink of fear on you. I, for one, applaud the move. A lazy golf clap applause because even if it's a noble gesture it doesn't make a damn difference in the long run.

Just when I think people have accepted the government can get you no matter what you do, they show signs of struggling, thinking they can actually escape the Web—that's what I call it. That's mine, by the way, intellectual property.

Yes, the Web—part U.S. government, part Illuminati, all encompassing terror. Like the many-fingered centipede, the Web can put a pincer on you at any moment. The only reason you're walking around right now is because they don't give a damn if you're dead or alive. Occasionally, they think it's funny when you bitch about where the remote is because Baywatch is on in 5 minutes, but otherwise you're insignificant. Don't feel bad; so am I. Just slightly more significant at best.

If you think the government is closing its FBI file on you just because they have no store record of your recent purchase of Ass Monsters magazine, I'd love a toke of whatever you're smoking. You're delusional, Poncho. Store records are a tiny, tiny fraction of all the information they've already got on you.

Of course the government tracks everywhere you go on the Internet. If you need me to tell you that, go back to Conspiracy 101—hell, go back and your G.E.D. first, you're clearly a mook. And they don't care if you're checking out www.gayblackdicks.com, even if your wife would; they're more worried about your visits to the commune, folks. If I were you and totally lacked a spine I wouldn't come here again. Still here? I'm glad, even if I lost a bet.

Every time you go into your gym, even if it's just once a year, they have a recorder that keeps track of it. Every time you cross the street against the light or run a stop sign, there are built in sensors recording your license number (or DNA pattern) and reporting it to Washington. There's a chip under the counter at McDonald's that keeps track of how many hamburgers you've ordered—you didn't think McDonald's counted all those burgers themselves, did you? From all that information they can know everything from your political views to the estimated date of death from cholesterol-blocked arteries. But that's not all.

Okay with all that, as long as they don't know your purchases? The important stuff? Try this on for size—it's a reality suit, one size chafes all. The government has specific machines that can sort your trash, record who owned it and categorize it by importance. You think your garbage is in a landfill deep in the earth somewhere? Dream on, buddy. It's in a file cabinet in Wyoming. After all, something has to be taking up all that space, right? Your garbage is alive, well, and waiting to show up as evidence in your trial if it's ever needed by Uncle Sam.

So what are your options? You don't have any. Are you going to burn every piece of garbage? They'll be able to reconstitute it in original form, I'd guess. Or they will be soon, maybe before the end of this article. Well, I'm doing my part to thwart them as best I can—this article ends now! Boo-ya!

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