midst the controversy of insulting Danish cartoons and rioting Muslims throughout Europe and the Middle East, the U.S. has taken a firm stance against the editorial cartoon in question—not because it offends Islamic culture, but because it steals focus from the ever-popular anti-Americanism felt by Muslims worldwide.

"We will not stand for this insult to the United States," said White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan on Friday. "This administration has put far too much work into the Middle East to settle for second most-hated country in the western world."

Added McClellan, "I mean… Afghanistan? Iraq? The threats and endless implications of war in Syria and Iran… if anyone is the biggest threat to Islam, it's us."

Protests began following the publication of 12 cartoons portraying the prophet Mohammed in Denmark's Jyllands-Posten, an act prohibited in Islamic religion, and the protests have turned into violent rioting in many instances, including setting fire to a Danish embassy. The riots have spread throughout Europe, following the re-publication of the offending cartoons in other countries. As Muslim aggression turns against Denmark and the other European Union countries, the U.S. began to show clear signs of fearing second best.

"You think Denmark's offensive?" President Bush said at a press conference on Thursday. "We put a Koran on the toilet, if you remember. Not us specifically, and we don't condone that kind of thing—but that's American handiwork for you. Let's try to remember whose financial and military complexes you've suicide bombed. Ain't we the Great Satan, folks?"

Some scholars and media pundits, who make the real money in the field of academia, have suggested the cartoon controversy may be behind the administration's recent attacks on suspected Al-Qaeda targets, as well as the president's verbal gaff on Saturday.

"You know what's stupid? Long beards," Bush said to a small group of White House visitors on Saturday. He added, "Oops," in a less-than-convincing way.

Psychologists and political scientists both have tried to explain the effects of the Danish cartoon and the Muslim response, but if any academic field has gained the most from this debacle, it's the newly burgeoning area of politopsycho science. Happy to answer questions was the field's premiere and only representative, Professor Norm Chauncey of Newark University.

"Clearly the president, and to a certain extent the country and its administration itself, is dealing with a sudden loss of identity as the political landscape begins to change," said Professor Chauncey, who was kind enough to buy the lattes. "As these times become more turbulent, and anti-American sentiment grows all around the world, particularly in the Middle East and Islamic cultures, we in the west have found comfort in the most reliable feature of modern life—anti-Americanism. Can you imagine how disoriented we would all be if the French stopped being pretentious overnight? What a confusing, frightening world that would be. It's the same effect when the United States is no longer the first one to trample all over the nerves of Muslims. The Danes? If they're going to start being insensitive to cultural differences, we might as well go the rest of the full mile and stop interfering in everyone's world affairs. Let's exactly how whacked out we can all be."

Chauncey lectured further on the subject, but since he wouldn't throw in a biscotti, the commune doesn't see much reason to print that as well.

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When I was young, we only had nine days of Christmas. That was years before capitalism went nuts and we started tacking on Christmas days like they were candy, to give people more time to buy fruitcakes, hunting rifles and salad forks. There was a real ugly period there where America was doing everything to excess; we even added a half-dozen states just for the hell of it. Nevada? Give me a break. Two hookers and a bag full of dirt does not a state make. Same thing for Hawaii. And those Hawaiian assholes even paid us back by getting us into WWII. If that's a Hawaiian's idea of gratitude, they can keep their pineapples and fat chicks, thank you very much.

But thanks to this haphazard propagation of Christmas days, many people have forgotten what the original nine days stood for. Some people think they know, but that's just like them. The true meaning of the nine days of Christmas has been all but lost from the modern world, a knowledge maintained only by myself and Chester D. Arthur of Whitebridge, Illinois. And that big sack of wrong thinks the eighth day is for purple horseshoes, so you might be experiencing your last shot at the real scoop right here.

Nine Ladies Dancing. The ninth day was always for stoning people who couldn't be properly shamed into following society's rules about things like women not dancing or Welch people trying to vote.

Eight Maids A-Milking. Again, the past was not kind to the fairer sex. The eighth day before Christmas used to be all about telling your wife to get back in the kitchen and a-milk you something, pronto. I'll let you be the judge of what results our society has reaped from letting that one slip.

Seven Swans A-Swimming. The seventh day was about remembering the seven steps of proper car maintenance: gas it, wash it, wax it, oil it, vacuum it, put out all fires, and park it inside when it's hailing. Anyone who ignored those steps would get a visit from the Swan of Poor Performance, who has largely been forgotten as a harbinger of doom ever since his children's cartoon was cancelled in the 1970's.

Six Geese A-Laying. The sixth day was traditionally a reminder for everyone to take a good big shit before the holidays to make room for the copious feasting that was to ensue. This may sound silly to ears attuned to the hectic pace of modern life, but back in the day people only shat once a month, and every year people would die from forgetting how. The accelerating pace of modern life, and diets containing more than just meat, have made those days merely a happy memory.

Five Gold Rings. This one is pretty self-explanatory, a simple reminder to get yourself paid. Visa wanted to change this to "Five Gold Cards" in 1970, but the government shot them down because nobody should have five gold cards. That counts as serious wallet abuse and you can hurt your brain coming up with so many fake names.

Four Calling Birds. Again, a failed attempt by AT&T in 1987 to have this changed to "Four Calling Cards" served to fog over the verse's original meaning: a reminder for men to ring up some tail for a booty call or four before the long deep freeze of family time gripped them through the holidays.

Three French Hens. Should a Christmas reveler fail in finding enough birds for a satisfactory pre-Christmas orgy, European prostitutes were always a handy fall-back option.

Two Turtle Doves. This nonsensical verse served as a reminder to generations about the folly of making decisions while extremely inebriated, a state in which many spent the entire month of December. Urban legend had it that the song's composer was himself hammered by the time he got to this point in the song, thanks to his habit of taking a celebratory shot after every successfully completed verse.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree. And finally, the Big Kahuna. A stark reminder to all that anyone who becomes too drunk and belligerent throughout the holidays is likely to end up locked outside, staring confusedly at a bird in a tree. So try to keep your shit within reason.

That's all fine and good, you're likely saying, but what are the 10th, 11th and 12th days for? For shit, is the truest answer. But rather than set off a national epidemic of insomnia with that riddle, I'll delve a bit deeper to explain. In 1945, Sears paid the government $10 million to have the tenth day added. So the tenth day is for Sears, as is explained in the popular Peter, Paul and Mary song, which mentions the ten lords o' leaping on the tenth day. As was common knowledge in that day, gaylords often hung out at Sears.

Similarly, the eleventh and twelfth days were bought by Macy's and Wanamakers, with the twelfth day passing on to the May Company after Wanamakers bit the silver bullet in 1960. Macy's is represented in the song by the eleven pipers piping, since in those days the ripe stench of pipe smoke was the surest sign that there was a Macy's nearby. Wanamakers only got stuck with the twelve drummers drumming because all the other good counting stuff had been taken already.

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Few of you would have guessed who is the greatest peacekeeper in the world, if I didn't tell you right now it's me—Rok Finger. I do not own this title simply because I've bestowed it upon myself, and am too big and intimidating to keep people from taking it away again. I own this title now because I have brought together the two estranged neighborhoods surrounding me, with nothing but this silver tongue in my mouth. Never let it be said bodypaint didn't bring something good to the world.

Perfunctory backstory: I found out Poodlegrass, the neighborhood Ginger and I live in, is more properly called West Poodlegrass. This explained immediately why I have not been getting my mail, and I presume some hotshot over in East Poodlegrass has been enjoying that pubic hair comb & brush set I bought from eBay, but that's a rant for another time. The neighbors won't talk to me, of course, but they did mention to Ginger when she inquired about the mail trouble that West Poodlegrass and East Poodlegrass frequently had mail mix-ups.

This might have been enough for the unambitious female mind of my adoring wife, and the endless drones living around us, but Rok Finger had to wonder: Why West and East Poodlegrass? Had there been an irreparable rift between the two at some point in history? And if so, was this irreparable rift beyond repair? I didn't know what it was, but I didn't think so.

So, owning the gigantic brass balls that I do, I ventured into the hellish maw of East Poodlegrass and braved their idiot rabble and unintelligible accents to talk to their leaders—frightened and worried about what kind of bizarre government they might practice. Well, turns out they aren't all that different from us, although they do practice a strange kind of "democracy" where officials are chosen by the populace to represent their wishes as a government body that decides laws and enforces them. Quite a twist from our own secret oligarchy, eh? Red Bagel would be impressed.

Hmm. I got sidetracked. Quite unlike me. But anyhow, it turns out Poodlegrass was separated for purposes of deciding county borders. West Poodlegrass is in the traditional and respectable Pork County side of New Jersey, while East Poodlegrass resides in the forgettable and tragic Bowling County. Well, just give up now, I thought, you can't change county lines. Or could I? No, I couldn't. But I did have an entreaty for the president of the East Poodlegrass Neighborhood Block Association: "Mr. Gorblatt, tear down the wall that divides our two great neighborhoods!"

I was at this point informed it's not a wall at all, but a stalled-out train that's been parked on the tracks for a great number of months, and they were as interested in moving it as I was. What a thundering blow for freedom! All I had to do was get this train moving again.

A simple matter, of course. Whenever I want something big and ungainly removed and lack the ability to do it myself, I merely inform Omar Bricks that I overheard his old nemesis Johnshark Remnants say nobody could move it. Competitive he is, I'll give him that. By the next morning the train had disappeared, washing up off the Jersey shore and making quite a news story. But my interest ended there. I had done it: Maybe East and West Poodlegrass would still have separate names, but now residents could freely cross the tracks as they wished and exchange their correct mail with each other. Thanks all to me—and I guess Bricks gets some honorable mention in all this, if you're going to hold me to the wall on it.

What's next? I'm not sure. But I do think it's time those two Carolinas stopped all that fussin' and fightin'.

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