Condit Slams Media for Lack of Publicity

January 21, 2002

Serialkill, CA

Rufus Banger/AP

Senator Condit demands return to invasion of privacy

alifornia Congressman Gary Condit, upset at his absence from national headlines lately, has vowed to do "whatever it takes" to get his name back in the public eye again soon.

Speaking today at a rally in a town square in the heart of what he refers to as "Condit Country," the long-time member of the House of Representatives and noted blow-dry enthusiast told a crowd of five hookers, three migrant workers, a homeless man with a skinny dog tied to his shopping cart and a pair of ten-year-old skateboarders that he was determined to become the "number one story in all America" once more.

In a rousing bit of oratory, the Congressman pointed his finger at the crowd and said, in a voice that hardly sounded at all as if he'd been taken over by space aliens, "What do I have to do, kill another intern? I'll kill an intern, if that's what it takes. That's how dedicated I am to you, the people who vote. When you go to the polls, I want you to remember the name Condit. Of course, it's not as if I've already killed any interns, you understand. After all, I do have a solemn agreement with the Levy family that I will not talk about the murder or subsequent disappearance of their daughter, Chandra, or any of the particulars of my personal involvement in that bloody business, but I'm just saying, I'll go that extra mile for you. Because I care about you, and I care about your votes."

Privately, Condit blamed the media for his recent lack of headlines.

"Ever since that ridiculous dustup in New York, it's gotten harder and harder to get my picture in the paper," he said with a grimace. "In just one short week, I went from twenty-seven national face shotsâ€”and I mean front page!â€”to zero. Zero, zip, zilch, nada. Hell, I had to send a publicity photo of me holding a bloody knife along with a stack of hundred dollar bills laced with anthrax to the Enquirer just to get a bottom-third headline a month ago. Bastards."

Acknowledging the fact that he could possibly lose an election for the first time in his political career, Condit admitted that he did have a backup plan, just in case.

"In that eventâ€”which, according to my staff and my family, is highly unlikelyâ€”I do have a contingency plan. My contention is that there's no such thing as bad publicity, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep my name out there for the public. So, if for some unforeseen reason we actually lose this election, I've got a provisional contract with the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas to do six shows a week under the billing 'Gary Cee and His Spectacular Disappearing Interns.' Hell, I could make millions just doing that," the Congressman admitted. "Those bitches work cheaper than you'd ever imagine, and there's never a shortage of supply."

Asked how he would handle a return to life outside the Beltway, Condit brushed off the idea that it would require a big adjustment.

"You know, I came up the hard way," he said, "going door to door selling hair-care products and blowing guys in gas station rest rooms for pocket change. I know what it's like to have to scrabble. Just don't you worry about me, bub, I'll get along fine."

In response to Congressman Condit's remarks, the Levy family issued a prepared statement through a designated spokesperson, who said, "What the fuckin'-ay cocksuckin' hell? Shit! Shit-fuck! Fuck that shit! Fuckin' fuckety goddamn motherfuckin' fuck."

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August 23, 2004

Iraqi Politics Made Simple

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I have been forcing others to study Iraqi politics so I can have a firm understanding of that region of the world "gisted" to me, so I might answer several important questions all on our minds: How long will our troops be in Iraq? What is our purpose of remaining there for all this time? What does Iraq stand for, it's some kind of acronym, right?

No, No, and No. Things are so infinitely complicated in Iraq, unlike over here in the States, that we may never entirely leave. Several parties are vying for control of Iraq, and they disagree on several key political points. Fortunately, they do agree on one thing: They all hate America.

This is no surprise. Anybody who has watched Fox News recently knows Middle Easterners love to burn American flags, with a proven history of providing warmth during cold desert nights. But why do they hate us so? There are two schools of thought on the subject. One, they hate us for political meddling in the scene, attempting to maneuver their elections and political parties, cutting deals with puppet governments to pillage the land for its natural riches, and when all else fails, taking what we want by force. Or two, because we are so cool and have everything they want. Which is the correct reasoning? No one can say, at least they can't since I won't go over there and find out. Way too dangerous.

Let's look at a simple breakdown of Iraq's political factions: Al-Dawaa, or the Islamic Call, one of the oldest America-hating parties, who also hated Saddam Hussein. Now he's gone, so they're back to hating America again.

The Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraq, or SCIRI (pronounced "Scary"), another armed group of fundamentalists Islamics who would prefer to see clerical ruleâ€”and guess how they feel about the United States? They're not fans.

The Iraq National Accord, headed by new interim Prime Minister Iyad Allawi, who used to work with the U.S. C.I.A. and State Department, just like our old friend Osama bin Laden. Yep, not a good resume. They used to preach democracy in Iraq, but now have turned their sights on clerical rule. Real wide variety of options developing over there.

The Iraqi National Congress. Real stand-up sounding name, right? Unfortunately, their leader Ahmed Chalabi has been banned from all meetings deciding the future of Iraq, for alleged criminal activities. Just like our Congressmen.

Then there's several Kurd-driven groups, kind of like our Green Party over here. You would think that would be hopeful, but guess what? The Kurds hate us since Bush Sr. pulled support he promised against Saddam Hussein. So we're universally boned in fairly electing a leader for Iraq that doesn't despise us. Not that the Bush administration has any love for fair elections.

So what can we do? If we're going to rig an election, who do we put in power over there? I say Al Gore. He ought to be popular with the Iraqis, at least as popular as an American can get, since he won the popular election against Bush and still got screwed over by the manâ€”talk about something in common. Plus, we owe him something. I, for one, would love to tune in CNN and see a lovable, stoic Al Gore addressing people in traditional Islamic attire about the dangers of greenhouse gases. Come on, let's give it a good ol' college try.

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January 7, 2002

Chicken in a Bisket

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You know, Shorty, we've seen some amazing damned things in our day. What with everything being all techmalogicalized and whatnot, it can make your head spin. It seems like just yesterday we was listenin' to Cracker Barnes on the ol' phonograph. Now look at us, Shorty! Now we got Cracker Barnes on the eight-track, and we can listen to it in that pickup that's half-buried in Davey Krupp's front yard, no less. It buggles the mind, Shorty.

Seems like we turn our back for a minute, and they put a man up there on the moon in his jammy-jams. And then they make up some new-fangled gasoline lawn-mower when my push-mower still works fine. Damn. Then the next thing you know, they're inventin' little tiny people to go inside all kinds of things. Remember when Sonny's cousin Jojo visited from the city last year? An I'll be dipped in shit if he didn't have him one of them new-fangled cars with the little small person in the door who tells you when your lights is on or you left the door wide open when you went and passed out drunk in that ditch. Kinda scary, ain't it Shorty? Kinda spooky is what I say.

But I have to admit, out of all of them techmanalogical whoodangs they gone and dreamt up out there, I am quite a stretch appreciative for one of them, and you know without askin' that that's them Chicken in a Biskets. Dang if them ain't some good biskets, even if they is a bit flat and more of a cracker than a bisket proper. But I can forgive them that since those clever boys still did found some way to fit a chicken in there. They must be Missouri boys since you can't leave no Arkansas boys alone with a chicken more than ten minutes if you don't want trouble. And Missouri boys is known far an wide for fittin' chickens in places you didn't think chickens should fit.

And believe you me, Shorty, that there's not one small task. Remember a few years back when the altimenator went out in the Brown Maggot and I couldn't get it to start, and I couldn't get to town for no three weeks and I ran plum out of them Chicken Biskets? Remember how I was schemin' on how to make up my own Chicken in a Biskets here at home for so long? Well give up now, Shorty, 'cause you just ain't gonna do it. I tried everything and the closest I ever came was some real flat chickens and a box of crackers stuffed up a rooster's ass. It was a sorry scene, it was. You know after that I gave up and wasted little time diggin' an altimenator out off old Sonny's Dodge when he was laid up with that bout of gully shingles, and I was back in town buyin' Chicken Biskets before you could say medicated ointment.

How they do it, Shorty? You think they got some kind of machine that goes and minaturesizes them chickens so they can fit them in the little holes in them crackers? Seems like that'd take an awful lot of chickens, which would tend toward the spendy side of town. Maybe they minaturesizes 'em when they're just hatched so they don't got to feed them too much chicken feed before they stuff 'em into those biskets.

Or maybe they just got great big biskets and they stuff them chickens in BEFORE they minaturesize the whole works! Damn, Shorty, I think that might work! Listen here, I'll rustle up some chickens from Sonny's yard and bake up a big ol' bisket, you find us a minaturesize machine. Hot damn, Chicken Biskets here we come! Those clever Nabisco bastards will never know what him 'em.

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Milestones

2003: The infamous "Battle of the Bulge" breaks out at when office wench Ivana Folger-Balzac mistakes Ramrod Hurley's beerbelly for a birthing alien larvae and sets into the Acting-Editor with a can opener. The skirmish and resultant standoff lasts 18 hours and claims the lives of several Crochet! magazine staffers, for whom the commune observes a moment of near-silence.

Now Hiring

Sexecutioner. Why does everybody keep laughing when we say that? We need a dude who can kill some fucking people in an official capacity, okay? What's so funny about that? You guys are sick. Anyway, pay commensurate to experience. Must provide own mask, axe, electric chair, whatever floats your boat.

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2.	Look Who's Talking (1989)
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North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Amstel Graves

5/13/2002

An American in Tijuana

He strolled through the courtyard of this small Mexican villa like the town was his own. He didn't really own it, not in the sense of actually holding property rights over every square foot of land in the town or anything, but really no one person can actually own a town, not really, so the fact that he didn't actually own the town shouldn't say anything about how much he felt at-home there, or how well he was loved by the townspeople.

As Sam Rothman strolled through the warm Mexican sunshine, he could faintly hear a band of mariachis (street musicians) playing in the town square up ahead. The spirited strains of La Cucaracha became clearer as Sam approached. It was his favorite song, and they always played it when they saw him.

"Yo burro es tambourine, Senioritas!" Sam shouted as he passed the mariachis, complimenting them on their playing. The Mariachis launched into La Cucaracha even more robustly, as if to say "You're Welcome!" back to Sam. Sam approached a happy shopkeeper who loved his family. "Buenos dÃaz!" shouted the shopkeeper cheerily.

"Quesidillas!" responded Sam. This was truly his town. All of the townspeople loved him; they looked to him as a father, a brother, an uncle, or a stranger on the street, depending on their individual inclinations. And the small children who played in the streets looked to him as if he were their father. Maybe he was, the subject had never really been broached.

Had it really been nine months since it all happened? It seemed impossible. To Sam it seemed more like seven. Seven short months since everything had gone down stateside, since his wife left him standing at the altar when they were supposed to be renewing their wedding vows, and he later found out from a sex tape he found in the VCR that she had left him for his best friend, Ted Spencer. What really hurt the most was that Sam had advised his friend to go for it, not realizing that the extramarital affair Ted was describing involved Sam's own wife. An irony bitter like vitamin pills. Seven months since he'd lost his job, refusing to toe the line with his company's vow of silence concerning the CEO's home telephone number.

"Buenos Nachos!" Sam greeted a group of young Mexican women who were weaving a rug. They smiled back, warmed by Sam's subtle charms and the beans they had been eating for lunch.

Sam fixed his gaze upon the most beautiful of the young Mexican women, a white-eyed beauty named Maria Conchita Consuelo Alonzo Montalvo Garcia Esteban Rodriguez-Gutierrez. "Oy," Sam said to her with a smile, flashing his expensively acid-bleached pearly white things. "Mai yabbos es frito bandito," he continued, laying the charm on thick like butter on a tortilla.

"Usted estÃ¡ bloqueando la luz," beautiful Maria CCAMGERG replied. Sam knew then that she was his for the taking, her delicate Spanish flower would open for him and him only. But he had to do this the right way, for in this foreign culture a woman's honor was all she had. For her there would be no cheap wine and horse tranquilizers, not like those street boys in Mexico City. No, this was a Mexican creature of rare grace and dignity. This would require some paper plates and a bottle of Electric Reindeer, at the least.

Just then a young man approached Sam, casually brandishing a machete big enough to hack the nuts off a cashew tree.

"Â¿Por quÃ© usted estÃ¡ hablando con mi esposa?" he shouted in Sam's general direction.

"I know just how to handle this," Sam thought to himself. "Hola, mi amigo! Menudo la bamba soy capitan!" he said, tucking his penis back into his trousers.