Bush Declares Environment Part of 'Axis of Evil'

n his brashest act against ecological ideologies yet, President Bush declared the environment to be part of the "axis of evil" that includes Iraq, Iran, and North Korea. The environment, said Bush, in a speech written for him by a college buddy he hired, has conspired to deprive America of its much-needed fossil fuels and energy with blatant threats to "cut off" the availability of these fuels and deprive the world of oxygen.

"It's like some villain out of that new James Bond movie, which opens tomorrow," said Bush at a meeting with oil lobbyists and business friends Thursday. "The environment is threatening the safety of America and our way of life by taking from us what is ours. The reason oil and gas is so expensive—doesn't that just make ya mean mad?—is all because the environment has decided to hold out for better treatment and reduced emissions and stuff. I say we stand up and tell them where we stand!"

Afterwards, in response to reporters' questions if he was out of his mind, Bush stated: "I am in full possession of all my facilities, and I want to keep it that way. We must act now to crush the evil regime of the environment. All these threats to America, from earthquakes to hurricanes, it's all the environment's fault. I will not allow this assault on Homeland Security^TM to continue by 'Mother Nature' and her axis of evil buddies."

The White House has stated its opposition to the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, signed by environment-friendly former president Bill Clinton. The Kyoto Protocol is an international treaty in which the United States pledged, with other countries, to reduce dangerous greenhouse gas emissions by seven percent in an effort to help the environment. Bush's assertion is that the Kyoto Protocol will be a threat to the recovery of the economy, which thrives much better when businesses run rampant and unchecked, left to police themselves in areas of deadly emissions. Bush elaborated Thursday that to obey the Kyoto Protocol is to play right into nature's diabolical plan to extort America.

"It is high time," said Bush, then pausing to laugh as he realized he said "high," "that America stop coddling terrorists like the environment. They're our emissions and we can make them if we want. And it's high time Mother Nature stopped holding back on the fossil fuels—we all know you got more. You know what we call someone who dishes out a little bit o' goodies and then stops all of a sudden? A tease, that's what."

The environment, according to Bush aides, has caused America to curb its business such as automobile manufacturing, logging and textile manufacturing, and nuclear arms production. The environment is also believed responsible for mudslides, tornadoes and tropical storms, earthquakes, and other "natural disasters," and the White House is warning it that the heat will only go up until the environment ceases its actions.

America's demands: Unlimited fossil fuels, quicker replacement of oxygen, warmer climate in the winter and colder climate in the summer, and as many trees as we can chop down and turn into furniture.

"We're through jumping through your hoops, environment," said an angry Bush, addressing the sky. "Get rid of all this terror, and the way this whole city stinks. If you don't, we have no alternanative but to consult the U.N.—" Bush and a few buddies laughed in each other's directions. "…and take action against this direct threat to our safety. Remember, we know where you keep your rainforests."

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Now that the temporarily complete Star Wars wank saga has been shat onto the public's ever-loving lap, to the thrills of toddlers and fanboys everywhere, viewers are starting to calm down from the whiz-bang video game effects just enough to wonder what in the hell the whole thing was all about. And besides, did they really need to have so many goofy aliens? Ever the thankless public servant, I've decided to take on this unruly bitch of an assignment, for better or worse. I'm thinking worse.

I say "temporarily complete" because we all know it's only a matter of time before Lucas releases a special, spiffed-up Electroshock Edition of the hexology, or reneges on his promise not to make the entire thing a nine-part endurance test as originally planned. Of course, Lucas now says in finest W. Bush fashion that the six-parter is what he'd planned all along, which almost certainly guarantees another three movies in a decade or so. These will inevitably start production after Lucas is done filming the latest Indiana Jones sequel, which will primarily focus on Indy escaping from a retirement home with King Tutankhamen's prescription medication in his fanny pack.

Of course, Lucas now claims he will devote the rest of his career to directing small-budget indie fare like his directorial debut, the techno-bummer THX-1138 in 1971. But since George has had complete creative free reign for virtually his entire career and has still spent the last 30 years making popcorn movies and designing stereos, we'll believe he's going to make My Dinner with Andre when we see it.

Great Dreck, but what about this Star Wars crap? That's you talking, btw. Okay, I'm on it.

The central concept one needs to understand about the Star Wars world is "the force," which is a mystical ability something like a cross between ESP and cheating. The Jedi Knights (not the dance troupe from Brooklyn, the other Jedi Knights) are masters of the force, which allows them to fly around like gay ballerinas or Caucasian Chow Yun-Fats and trick people into kicking their own asses. The force also has a light side and a dark side, and just like chicken meat, the light is more popular. But there are enough freaks who like the dark side to keep everything interesting, again like chicken meat. The darkies are more politically-correctly known as "the Sith" because they were named by a guy with a lisp.

The force also bestows some time-bending abilities, making more recent events in the saga seem like they happened before the older ones, which explains why R2-D2 could fly in Attack of the Clones but only had the functionality of a Roomba vacuum cleaner 20 years later in Empire Strikes Back, when he/it fell into the swamp in Dagobah like a big retard.

The downside of the force is that it makes Jedi generally very forgetful, which explains why Obi Wan Kenobi doesn't recognize C-3PO and R2-D2 in A New Hope even after spending so much time with them in the "first" three movies. The dark side of the force is the same, since Darth Vader doesn't recognize the droids either, even though he built C-3PO as a child and had used R2-D2 as a toy box for years.

For all its downsides, however, the force in highly convenient since it gives the Jedi something to blame whenever they fuck things up, like when Qui-Gon Jinn kidnaps a young hick named Anakin Skywalker from the rough and tumble desert planet Tatooine (known then as the galaxy's largest tattoo parlor), setting off an Amber Alert across the southern half of the galaxy and bringing about the destruction of the Republic and the entire Jedi order. But Qui-Gon believes Anakin will bring "balance" to the force, which only makes sense if you forget that there were like a million Jedis and only two Sith at that time, but then again maybe Qui-Gon knew what was coming and was just really dedicated to the idea of fair play.

Anakin would grow up and knock up a queen, though don't get too excited: it wasn't a drag queen. We're not that far into the future. But eventually all the dirty diapers drove Anakin bonkers and he flips out and kills everybody, like in Carrie, only not as fun. Anakin would then change his name to Darth Vader to fake out the extremely apathetic law enforcement agencies of the day.

So bitchy Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi hides Anakin's son Luke on Tatooine, where Darth Vader would never think to look since that's the planet he was from and where his childless in-laws lived and only an idiot would hide Vader's son from him there.

The central bad guy in the Star Wars universe is the Emperor, a truly smelly character that songsmith John Lennon prophesied in the Beatles hit "Mean Mr. Mustard" almost 40 years ago. When he's not turning Jedi to the dark side or napping in his oversized chair, the Emperor enforces the unfortunate stereotypes about the elderly this country has been suffering from for years, with entire generations believing everyone over 80 is thoroughly corrupt and all-powerful. The Emperor himself doesn't really do much in Star Wars, he just kind of sits around, being evil, and waits for the Jedi to fuck everything up in his favor.

The Emperor's counterpart in the white meat corner is Yoda, a powerful Muppet sewn out of force-heavy non-flammable materials, who looks exactly like an old frog's scrotum and talks like ABBA. Yoda excels at Jedi parlor tricks and making shit float, neither of which turns out to be of any help when the chips are down. But this hardly matters since the Emperor proves pretty useless anyway, getting thrown down a well by a malfunctioning robot gimp and forgetting how to fly at the end. Only then does he see the folly of the Sith's policy of overly-exclusive membership, since even one more Sith, call him a trainee or Sith-Lite or whatever, could have prevented all of this from happening and won the battle for evil forever.

But that kind of thing makes for lousy cinema, unless you're Terry Gilliam.

Let's see, what else? There's a bunch of crap about people having eight different names each, which you'd do better to ignore entirely. Christopher Lee has a turn as the B-movie villain he's been preparing his entire career to play, but in the end he's inconsequential except for the hilarious CGI frontward-flip he does at the beginning of Revenge of the Sith due to the Sith's paralyzing fear of stairs. Oh, also: the Sith can make lightning out of their fingers. This is important to remember if you're ever having a Sith barbeque and you can't get the charcoal to start. That's about it.

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New Year's: the holiday, the spectacle, and the brand of adult diapers, can all kiss Omar Bricks' cherry red ass. That's not a threat—it's a promise. Actually, come to think of it, it's an invitation, but that doesn't sound nearly as menacing. But call it whatever you will, the word is out that Omar Bricks wants all things New Year's to choke hard on a turd, now and forever.

Before you start assuming that Omar Bricks is just jumping on the recently fashionable "New Year's Eats Old Pussy" bandwagon, check the record. I've never been a fan of the holiday, and I stand behind my record dating back to the third grade, when thanks to poor legal advice I stayed up all night on New Year's Eve in a confused attempt to see if Santa Claus was real, and instead got the drop on so many drunks in bulge-ridden leisure suits that to this day I still involuntarily beat children whenever I smell polyester. I've only had one good New Year's ever, and that was the year I forgot it was New Year's and spent the night locked in a canning plant, getting sick on mangoes.

This year had its own flavor of suck since I was under the mistaken legal impression that the statute of limitations for all 2005 crimes runs out at midnight on December 31st, so I'd spent the whole night running around and settling scores, dealing out hasty justice like my immune ass was about to turn into a pumpkin. I also set free all the dogs in the neighborhood, mainly because I've always wanted to see a shitload of dogs running together like in the old Chuck Wagon commercials. I had to rush and do a half-ass job of setting a parade float on fire just to get home in time to watch the Times Square countdown, a yearly tradition for lazy, television-watching sons of bitches everywhere.

Now, no one needs a call from CNN to catch the breaking news that New Year's television sucks big wet titty. Any time they schedule over two hours of air time for a ten-second event, you know there's going to be more crappy filler than a case of Winky's, those off-brand Twinkie knock-offs Foghat always wants every year for Christmas. About four seconds after the ball drops, they unleash an endless cavalcade of morons strategically positioned around Times Square, standing around saying shit like "There sure are a lot of people here… yep…" I haven't seen that many uncomfortable silences on TV since they gave that narcoleptic Chevy Chase his own late-night show.

After the depressing spectacle of listening to Dick Clark drunk his way through the ball-dropping countdown, I was in heavy need to distraction, so I went quick to the pantry for the case of Safeway beer I'd been saving all year for the occasion. Two minutes after the drop was over, Dick was still on stuck on twenty-seven, and I was really glad I'd saved the beer. It was a sad, sad state of affairs, ladies and gentlemen, and I spilled an entire case of beer on the couch. Some would say that's what I get for opening all the cans at once, but you save time your way, I'll save it mine. I just wish I'd noticed that the beer was spilling sooner, since the couch swelled up so much it pitched me onto Foghat's loveseat, and I accidentally touched way more dog underbelly than I care to admit. Now Foghat won't even look me in the eye, which makes going to his room to use the Super Nintendo especially uncomfortable.

That's right about when the neighborhood mob showed up to get their mailboxes back, which I'd been driving around collecting all night so I could open up my own Mailboxes ETC and hook up some sweet business tax breaks for 2006. I had to take a break from juicing my couch to talk the mob out of setting my neighbor Hamms on fire, because he had about 400 mailboxes lined up in his front yard like some kind of surreal drive-in theater (I didn't want to fuck up my grass). It all ended okay though, since I was able to convince the mob that the mailbox caper was exactly the kind of thing my other neighbor Mitch would do, and he wasn't home, so I had everybody over to my place to help suck the beer out of my couch.

Which may sound like a great time, yeah, but actually it was kind of weird. So screw New Year's. Bricks out.

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