ollowing the Wednesday claiming of Baghdad by U.S. forces, pro-America sentiment has surged all around the media and certain circles in the city. Iraqis everywhere are extremely delighted to come and support the armed troops in their city and the possible death of Saddam Hussein. But the larger issue for most is the fall of Hussein's regime.

"It is the happiest day in the history of Iraq," said an unidentified translator. "For years Iraq was a free country under British rule, and then Saddam took over and we lived under his repressive, anti-American regime. Now we are liberated under America!"

Many Iraqi citizens showed support of the U.S. by liberating oppressed televisions, stereos, and office supply furniture from local stores. One U.S. serviceman said the sight brought a tear to his eye and reminded him of his hometown, Los Angeles.

Also liberated by days of American bombings are the country's electricity and water lines, countless physical structures, and many Iraqi people. Most notable among the missing and possibly-dead is Saddam Hussein and one or more of his two sons, Uday and Odai. Others that may have been in the bombed bunker with Hussein were cousins, uncles, nephews, and half-brothers Tumay, Uskay, Ajay, Ebay, Uxay, Umay, Igay, Ogay, Ugay, Imai, and Garfield.

When asked to clarify, field leader Gen. Tony "Iron Shoes" Credenza replied, "We believe it was a very large bunker, with lots of seating space."

The outpouring of public support for the U.S. strikes many as vindication of the war on Iraq. Despite the antagonism between Western countries raised by the invasion, the rift in the American population, the outrageous price tag to the war, the 100-plus American dead and many wounded and imprisoned, the countless dead and wounded on Iraq's side, the likelihood of producing stronger anti-Americanism in Arab countries, and the lack of attention given to domestic issues, many agree the footage of Saddam Hussein statues being torn down is quite impressive.

"It is an exhilarating feeling to destroy images of Saddam that have lorded over us for so long," said a 60-something Iraqi citizen with a good grasp of English. "Also I am glad the American troops are tearing down that George Bush welcome mat. I offered to destroy it myself with my sledgehammer, but they didn't bite."

Several in military intelligence are worried about reports that Hussein might not have been killed as believed, but escaped with key Iraqi officials into neighboring Syria. President Bush issued a warning to Syrian leaders in the wake of such reports that if they offered protection to Hussein or any top Iraqi leaders they would be considered no better than American protestors.

Elsewhere in the war, U.S. forces continued to search for chemical or potential nuclear weapons as the troops push northward and have yet to discover any proof of weapons of mass destruction. Early reports of chemical weapons found last week turned out to most likely be chemicals for agricultural purposes; however, the discovery of 50 "suicide bomber" vests gave the White House hope.

"We may have been misquoted in our statement of purpose," said White House spin doctor Murph Harris. "We were actually searching for weapons of meager destruction. And these definitely count."

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OH MY GOD SNOW

Not long ago was the day when Ned was quicker than electrical intercourse. Damn the Yankees if Ned wasn't the fastest thing this side of the mongoose races over at Lambert Field, and anyone who says different is trying to sell you a boxcar full of Injun silverware. Ned could skin a rattlesnake in a minute, paint two states in an hour, and make minute rice in 13 seconds. "Hot Damn!" is what they once said about Ned. When it rained, Ned never once got wet since he was ziggin' and zaggin' between those raindrops like a turkey in a pumpkin patch. As a matter of fact, one day Ned drank a pot of hot coffee and was so hyped-up he swam across the Mississippi and back without once getting wet, neither.

But some say Ned got all greedy with his speed, and that might rightly be true. One day, on a lark, Ned stole away the sun into his shoulder-satchel and tucked it behind the moon, just to see the looks on people's faces when they couldn't find the sun that day. Well, it was a powerfully funny scene indeed, as them roosters crowed at all the wrong times, them people were eatin' chocolate tarts when they should have been eatin' their breakfast hams and everyone got all in a huff. Austria invaded Switzerland and all them geese flew straight into the moon, honest to Amos. Nedder laughed until he was horse and his horse laughed until he was Ned and then the horse rode Ned through town, a-yellin' "Otis Redding is Coming! Otis Redding is Coming!" and all the people thought that was one sour apple indeed.

From that day after not the sun nor the moon, nor the clouds nor the sea, none of them trusted Ned a lick. When it rained it rained sideways and them clouds furrowed up their brows and made sure Nedder got wetter than a seal in a vat of Vaseline. When the moon it did shine, it shined right in Ned's eyes, and the sea lived to make Ned sick.

Ned's refrigerator filled up with fog, and his basement got full of box turtles. All his clocks quit tickin' and went "boink" instead, drivin' Ned to the verge of Virgil. His toilet filled with hair and his hair all fell out and his pogo stick developed a terrible squeak and all his neighbors loved Polka. Them was the worst of times.

So Ned learnt his lesson, that life don't move at the speed of no train, an that a sloth in a grain silo has one hell of a lot of fun, if you believe them ol' stories. Now in these days them raindrops fall on Ned's noggin like that drummer boy gone bad, and Ned likes it this way. The sun does a dance in Nedmiller's pants and the sea rocks Nedrum to sleep. And excepting that hot air balloon incident, Ned and the moon get along just fine, thanks.

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51. 2? That's what constitutes a rating from you, my loyal readers? I would say "go to hell," but I'm bigger than that. Not much bigger… that unwashed rabble Omar Bricks receives more readers than me? I would cry recount, if I were not staunchly conservative. But forget the injustice… I already am. Let's forget my poor readership and likelihood of losing my job forever.

Not much can clothesline my good mood today (though 51.2 came awfully close). I am in love, good people! An event that happens very rarely for me, every three or four months at the most. The moon goes crescent more often than I fall in love. And I think this is the real deal. Ginger Baker is loud, opinionated, and not very tall at all—can you think of a more perfect match for yours truly? Or myself? I think not.

Good people, love is like the pollen that keeps flowers and bees doing obscene things to each other. It is a sweet nectar, the very blood of life itself, except you can get it out of carpets. And I am so in love I'm ready to throw up. No joking. She is like the wife I've been married to twice before. A little more like Arvelyn, my second wife, than my first wife—Wyfe. And boy, does she have a hot body. Built like a brick ship.

Perhaps I've become a little arrogant with my hip new relationship. We keep kissing in front of Camembert, holding hands, rubbing our noses together—he's even started locking his bedroom door so we won't wake him up in the middle of the night just to do that stuff in front of him. His girlfriend Elvis isn't very happy about it either, and threatened to put the karate to us. But our love is stronger than karate. Melee attacks, that's another question. I'll have to evaluate it in closed conditions.

You're probably thinking, "But Rok," as all 51.2 of you is apt to say quite a lot, "Don't move too fast. I've had my heart broken by a Bangkok hooker, who also stole my wallet, and I don't want that to happen to you." To which I say: That's a little more information than I needed! And then I laugh in a forced manner. But I assure you, I'm moving at my usual cautious romantic speed. I have yet to even book the place for the wedding, I'm still shopping around. Heartbreak won't catch hold of me again.

This is the most unusual relationship I've ever been in, not quite "traditional," but hey—I'm mod. I know for whom the bell tolls, cat. So what if Ginger makes more money than I do. I'm cool with that. I've even taken an interest in her career, as a veterinary talent agent. I've been scouting several local stray dogs, who all seem to have a pretty impressive screen presence, judging by my novice eye. I'm also in negotiations with a math-savvy peacock. Not that I'm naming names—I don't think it even has a name, and I'm not entirely sure it's anything more than a lawn ornament. But cut me a break, I'm not doing this to get rich (but if it happens, I won't complain). This is all in the name of love, as any number of songs might say.

She's into all the same things I am—lifts, non-professional wrestling, home ownership, chasing new interests with maniacal fury, complaining, and not paying a lot of money for things. In the short time we've been going out, we've already done all the "relationship things"—getting drunk at family reunions, accusing each other of infidelity, arguing about having kids, and of course, miniature golf. She is quite the lady, and looks less like a man than any woman I have ever dated. And it goes without saying the sax is great—we're both altos.

If you never hear from me again, don't fret, good people—I am being bound and gagged and abducted by the greatest of all terrorists… love! And it shouldn't surprise you, with low numbers like 51.2. You complete shits.

º Last Column: Charity and Ginger Baker
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