ith the specter of the president's extreme right-wing judge appointments approaching, congressional Republicans, led by Bill "Not First" Frist, are seeking to eliminate the long-standing tradition of the filibuster. However, Senate Democrats are reluctant to give up their one means of making the president deal with their side, so Republicans are offering a juicier prize—exchanging the filibuster for a "last man standing" drinking contest.

The filibuster, sometimes described as a congressional loophole, has long been used as a negotiation tactic by the minority party in the Senate to stall controversial votes and force compromises to the table. The drinking contest, a long-time college and unemployment staple, has traditionally been used to test the mettle of men and women and their bladder, pitting the will of the individual, minority or majority, against an opponent and several shots of potent liquor.

"The filibuster is unfair to the majority in the Senate and the American people," said Frist, smirking just a little as he made the comment. "The Republican majority has played the system like a filthy piano to get into prominent positions, to hold majority in all the prominent positions, and it's totally unfair this danged silly filibuster now stands in the way of us guiding the country the way the American people want it. And to those who say the fundamentalist extreme Christian right are the ones guiding us—what, you're saying they aren't people?"

The filibuster is a ploy in which a member of the Senate stalls a congressional vote through technical procedure, refusing to yield the floor until opponents pledge to amend bills that reach the Senate floor or, in the case of judicial nominees, bargain on the terms of nominees or forcing the majority party to nominate more moderate judges. For more information on filibusters, visit your local library, where you can rent Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and fast-forward to the final scene.

Frist claims a drinking contest is a better way to solve congressional disagreements—representatives of both parties, the best drinkers chosen from among a fine stock of drinking men, can tequila-shot their way to a decision both sides will adhere to, in a much shorter period of time than the usual filibuster, which can take many hours, and in rare turns, even days.

"Standing around all night, talking? Reading from law books, the Constitution, or even Where the Wild Things Grow?" At this Frist shook a finger and sighed. "That's hardly a competition of wills for real men. When I really want to show who's more resolved and dedicated to his beliefs, I like to down several shots of Southern Comfort and wobble around the Senate floor. I guarantee I can hold my own against any Democrat in congress right now. The Democrats are going to have to elect Nick Nolte or Robert Downey Jr. to give me a serious run for my money."

While Nolte and Downey refused to comment on their futures in politics, the Senate minority leaders were more vocal.

"It is simply ridiculous, not to mention irresponsible, to legitimize drinking as a way to solve decisions," said Sen. Edward Kennedy (D., Massachussetts). "And if Frist really thinks he can outdrink me, he knows where my office is. I'll give him a five-shot headstart. Bring it on, lightweight."

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I'm going to let you all in on a secret that will save our federal government billions of Saddam-hunting dollars and will end this whole Iraq misadventure once and for all. It may take slightly longer than our current approach, but it's cheap and we won't have any more GIs shot in the ass while they're playing beach volleyball. It's simple: All we have to do is open a couple of Pizza Huts over there. They may not have that kind of hut-building technology over in Iraq yet, but we can import it. And within 30 years, all those bomb-happy assholes will have more fat pulsing through their veins than blood and they'll be dropping like lethargic, weak-hearted flies. Advantage: America.

It's a scientific fact that terrorism never originates in countries that get more than 40% of their calories from fat. Constructing a pair of tennis shoes out of plastic explosives or hucking hand grenades at an army patrol sounds like an awful lot of work when rolling over in bed is enough to raise your pulse. But you start feeding these guys rice, beans, and couscous and before you know it you've got some asshole hiding a time bomb in your birthday cake. Bad scene.

Now I'm a realist, so I realize this plan won't work quickly enough for those individuals who want Saddam Hussein's gonads in a Ball jar like, yesterday. But for those impatient folk I believe a slight modification to my Mideast peace plan may suffice.

Let's say you turn those fast food franchising dogs loose on Iraq, to quell the general populace. But while you're at it you save one location for a very special KFC. You might even put this special KFC in Saddam's hometown, couldn't hurt. But the most important thing is to make sure this restaurant is really the cream of the KFC crop, no chicken fingers petrifying under heat lamps for two weeks while the crew chief does lines of coke back in the walk-in freezer. That won't do. What we need here is a real tightly run ship that's cranking out some damned delicious chicken. And once the joint's become established and you've saturated the region with fried chicken fat, one random day you close up shop very unexpectedly. Blame it on to "technical difficulties" or a chicken rampage or what have you.

But before you board up the windows, you sell one last bucket of chicken. The last ever, and it goes to the highest bidder. Doesn't matter who it is. Wherever he's hiding, some of that chicken will find it's way back to Saddam Hussein, guaranteed. Maybe a thigh, maybe a wing. Doesn't matter. But the kicker is that you've saturated that one bucket of chicken with enough fat to kill the three tenors. Silver bullet heart attack variety, extra tasty deadly. Let's see the Iraqi public claim we faked a picture of Saddam Hussein, dead on a toilet with a drumstick hanging out of his mouth. Even those cynical bastards will be shocked into acknowledging the disgusting truth.

It's a sad state of affairs when all this administration wants for Christmas is Saddam Hussein dead on a toilet, but there you go. Merry Christmas.

Escalating the plan further couldn't help but solve the bigger Mideast asshole problem, as all those hard-ons will go soft for stuffed-crust cholesterol bombs and gorgeable Gorditas. And it wouldn't cost the Western superpowers a thing, just cut the fast food chains loose and they'd lick each other's brainpans clean for the chance to do America's dirty work for us. But for God's sake, please leave Subway out of this. The last thing I need to see on television is some big fat Arab guy talking about how he used to be even more big and fat before he started mainlining veggie subs.

If that happens I'm just going to keep my ideas to myself in the future, the common good be damned.

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You remember back when that hillbilly president was accused of poking the office help? In the end he never admitted he got his jolly roger vacuum-cleaned, but he did admit to an "inappropriate relationship" with the lady. That's classy, man. Never say the fuck word. Oops, I mean F-word. I'd like to have an inappropriate relationship with a guy like that.

Not that I haven't had my share of inappropriate relationships. I've been saying it that way ever since I heard it, because I, too, am a class act. So here's a quick list of some inappropriate relationships.

A lot of smarmy journalists and water cooler gossipers always insinuate I had some kind of inappropriate relationship with the actor who played my father on Who's Your Daddy?, Brad Van Danner. That is entirely sick, people, he was in his 40s and I was only 8 or 9 at the time. It's also grossly inaccurate as the inappropriate relationship was with Chip Fleckner, who played my brother Chip. What a dumb dildo that guy was, they had to name the character the same name so he'd respond when you talked to him! Still, I was young and impetuous and he looked and smelled like that Huckleberry Pie doll.

It's legendary among the non-famous that actresses sleep their way to the top, and then back to the bottom, but I've never lowered myself to that, I'll say on record now. I have never slept with anybody, casting director, director, producer, actor, or anybody for a job that I wasn't going to get anyway, and I've made it implicitly clear before we go to town.

Around 1993 that alternative band Flat Chest had a moderate hit with that song of theirs, "Clarissa Coleman Gone Crazy." A lot of people think I had some kind of inappropriate relationship with the lead singer Dill Warner, but I assure you, he had a girlfriend and we weren't an item, even though it's obvious his girlfriend was a big lesbian and totally giving me a look, and I tried to tell him that. It probably adds to the confusion that I had an inappropriate relationship with the drummer of that band twice before he went on stage at Woodstock '94, though I assure you I thought he was the lead guitarist.

When I was on "Teen Stars Week" of Jeopardy, rumors abounded about me and Alex Trebek. Come on, people, he's like a hundred and I was a teen-ager at the time. Plus, he doesn't actually meet any of the stars until he's on set and has thick security around his dressing room. You'd think he's the president. Ooo, I'm Alex Trebek, I'm so smart and I know everything. Everybody knows you've got the cards with the answers on them right there, Alex, you're not the king of information about imports and exports of Mexico.

There was a year I was on the Conan O'Brien show regularly as a guest. I wasn't the "sit down" variety of guest, just the "walk on and eat Corn Flakes" variety of guest, I'm not sure what was so funny about it, Conan and the guys just get a kick out of seeing me eat Corn Flakes I suppose, and the audience loved it. Without saying too much, I wouldn't have minded having an inappropriate relationship with Conan, or maybe that delicious Max Weinberg. Andy Richter was pretty sexy, too, I like funny guys. I suppose I wouldn't have totally shot down that puppet dog that smokes cigars either, I wonder what the guy who does the puppet looks like. Anyway, I had a few inappropriate relationships there, but it was mostly with guys I thought worked for the show and turned out to be big fat liars.

Like the ex-hillbilly president, I'm not proud of my inappropriate relationships. Well, some of them, especially that one with the famous CNN guy who said he'd sue if I ever mentioned his name. They're all in the past anyway. Unless Conan O'Brien or Flat Chest's Dill Warner call me up again. Yeah, I'll play hard to get—like cold sores are hard to get!

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