resident George W. Bush tossed around his executive meat Friday by pardoning 8 convicted criminals, most accused of money-related non-violent crimes and friends of the president or Republican contributors. Most notably among the pardoned was legendary bootlegger Jesse Duke, who once headed a Hazzard County illegal alcohol empire with County Commissioner J.D. Hogg.

Those who cheered the pardon contend Duke, an honest farmer and guardian to his nephews and niece, was merely trying to make his way the only way he knew how. Duke's once partner in crime, Jefferson Davis Hogg, had his crimes pardoned in 1972 by then-Governor Jimmy Carter and went on to become a well-respected County Commissioner and Hazzard bigwig. Duke, however, was labeled an outlaw, shepherd to lost sheep, and sometimes hounded by local authorities for a personal feud between himself and Hogg. The president, moved by Duke's case, issued the order forgiving all the bootlegger's past transgressions so that he might live down the shame brought to the Duke name.

"I've had a time of it over all these here years," said Duke, after a brief meeting with the president. "Always lookin' over my shoulder, waiting for the 'coo-coo-coo' of the law. I spent so many years on the run the county mechanic is practically a member of our family. But I've always been an honest, god-fearin' man just trying to do right by his kin. At long last, I will no longer have to run from the police at the drop of a hat, climbin' into my nephews' car through its windows just to make my getaway. Thank you kindly, Mr. President."

Critics contend the president has overlooked more imperative cases where clemency could have really helped individuals, including those in which some evidence exists to prove men on death row may not be guilty, cases which would act like a lightning rod for the pro-death penalty president. The president answers critics by telling them to shut their fat gobs.

Shalom Staley, of the Smithsonian, an expert on Executive Privilege, compared the president's order to those of other famous leaders.

"George Bush certainly did a kind thing for convicted bootleggers and others who were once guilty of crimes we no longer consider quite violent," said Staley, weaving her fingers together in the most enamoring way, "but no doubt some believe the president could have done more with such a tool. President Clinton knew how to play the pardon, politically—waiting until his final days of office to deal out his most controversial pardons, including friends of the Democratic party. Bush, however, could have positively changed the lives of some suffering under unjust criminal charges right now. How many wrongly-accused police officers have been forced into the private detective business over the past thirty years? The president could help ease their shame in the same way. I'm not suggesting the ludicrous, like a pardon of all charges to alleged mob boss Tony Soprano. But we can remember the times a president has provided a happy ending to the troubles of individuals hounded by the law, like President Johnson's memorable pardon of accused murderer Richard Kimble, the escaped fugitive who was proven innocent."

The pardon of Duke, whether for crimes actually committed or not, remained of minor consequence to most of the nation. However, Duke's own Hazzard county residents celebrated his presidential clemency with favorite local pastimes, including shooting sticks of dynamite strapped to arrows as a "21-gun" salute, then retiring to a local tavern to hear country music superstar Charlie Rich perform.

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My life was a horribly small, dark, petty place, let me tell you. I was a shell of a man—worse than a shell, I was a magic shell, hardened by the cold ice cream of the world, and quite delicious, filled with nuts. I forgot what I was saying. Oh, yeah—my life was pointless and full of tragedy. That was before I met Melinda. And after I met Melinda, too.

Melinda was my girlfriend. What a day that was. Everyone said she was just using me to make her boyfriend nauseous, but I don't believe them. She was pretty mad when she said it, too, so I don't believe her either. I met her, both of them, actually, when I was working as a safety bar for an amusement park roller coaster. It was tough, but I got to ride for free all the time. Now who's the jerk, Mr. Big and Mighty Safety Inspector? I didn't see you ride one of the rides while you were closing the place down.

But in them halogen days, when I first caught a sniff of Melinda's perfume, I knew she would one day be my girlfriend. And then break up with me later that day—trust me, I know my luck by now. Doesn't mean I give up on love. I fell for Melinda hard, right off the top of the roller coaster, and she was the only one who came to see if I was alright. When she had safely removed all the money and metallic items from my pockets, she called for an ambulance. But I got up and skipped out before that, I ain't paying for no ride when you can sneak into a tire well and ride free. Before I left, though, I let Melinda know I was keen on her with an obscene gesture, and told her I'd be around the fair—I had no place to live, so I had to keep walking so as not to get busted.

Fate intervened later because I was picking up shells at the fair's shooting range (not much pay, but it tightens your reflexes for being shot at) I saw her fighting with her boyfriend two stands down, at the ring toss. I took a break and decided to hang close by, hoping I could nuzzle up close to her and leave my scent—my flirting skills ain't all that, maybe, but you always can tell when I like a woman. Then she surprised me, because she grabbed me by the head and gave me a big kiss. It was a shock, believe you me. I'll always remember what she said—"If you're not serious about setting a date, then maybe I'll just marry any retard that comes along!" It cracked me up. I love it when someone says "retard."

But it was not to be. Her boyfriend apologized immediately and they went out to get shitfaced, at least that's what I overheard. Still, I'll always have the memories. And her purse. She didn't notice that. I didn't want the money, of course, just the souvenir of my fiery Parisian romance. At least I think it was Paris. It could have been Austin. All Texas looks alike after awhile.

Valentine's Day rules. One of these days I'm going to spend it with someone who willingly spends it with me.

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Look out, everybody, I'm on the war path. And if you're on the war path we better be going in the same direction or I'm going to roll right over your sorry hindquarters.

And my path leads to Carl Tomlin. Does that name mean nothing to you? It didn't mean much to me until I recently started my war path.

Carl Tomlin is the insurance agent who sold us our life insurance policies, me and my soon-to-be-ex-wife Arvelyn, back when she was my as-yet-unknown-soon-to-be-ex-wife. Put short, Carl sold me a sweet insurance policy in which my survivors received quite a substantial financial settlement if something happened to me. If I am eaten by a large fish, my family receives $200,000. If I am kicked in the groin by a non-family member with such force as to cause my death, my family receives $500,000. If I am poisoned by a mysterious, undetectable poison, my family receives $1,000,000. This was shortly before my wife tried to poison me and we broke up.

As is the custom, I drove over to mine and Arvelyn's house around midnight to sneak in and watch her sleep for a little while. But she had company—Carl Tomlin's car, complete with his TONG ASS personalized plates, was in my drive way. That's right, at midnight. Of course it was then I realized I have unfinished business with Carl Tomlin.

My best guess is that I never signed the insurance policy we agreed on. I suppose he could've stopped by urging me to get a physical or something, perhaps offering to do it himself as he was always a helpful insurance company servant—he even examined Arvelyn for her policy. I know I at least have some form of unfinished business with Mr. Tomlin. I could call Arvelyn and ask him what was so urgent he stopped by so late in the hour, but talking to her only brings up the heartache of my attempted murder and our breakup. I'll just call Carl at his place of business.

Okay, I just tried the number for Carl's office and they said he wasn't there, he was taking the day off and could be reached at a new number, which they gave me. The curious thing, and see if this doesn't make your jaw drop, the number is my home phone number, or the number I had before I moved out of our house. Do you believe that?

There are two possibilities as I see it: One, a little far-fetched, is that Arvelyn changed the home phone number and Carl coincidentally got a new phone number that happened to be our old one. Right, I don't buy that either.

Or the second possibility: The unfinished business I have with Carl Tomlin is of such an urgent nature that he is taking all his free time up going to my house to await my arrival, and he has left my own number for anyone to reach him there.

What service!

Carl Tomlin is the last of a dying breed, I tell you. The dedicated insurance salesman, the service-oriented salesperson who puts the customer first before all else. I'm impressed beyond all measurable English phrasing. I could only hope that Carl Tomlin is representative of all the other insurance agents at his company, for Rokwell T. Finger is in awe.

I must call Carl right away, at my house, and settle all unfinished business so he can go back to serving his other customers. The universe does not revolve around yours truly. Carl has other places to see and people to be, and they are just as fortunate as I am.

I've needed to call him for some time anyway, and ask him to quit fucking my wife until she at last succeeds in killing me.

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