atastrophe struck Saturday when 275 random Iraqi citizens were sentenced to death by election to the General Assembly in the first free elections in Iraq’s history.

Somehow, amidst the threat of violence and the actual violence in which potential voters were killed trying to attend the polls, 275 individuals were selected for unknown reasons to represent the various designated regions of their country, condemning them to a life full of terrorist violence and victimization by fanatic groups. Some speculators say a few of the newly-elected yet-to-be-killed assemblymen actually wanted the job, as organized groups of Kurds and Shiites in particular voted despite the danger to capture a greater control of the country than they have traditionally had. Others say, that as may be, come the first meeting of the General Assembly, you will be able to count the number of people not being dragged to the capitol building on one hand—the hand of an Iraqi thief, as the joke goes.

An estimated 280,000 Iraqis living outside the country voted via absentee ballot Friday, marking about 25% of the vote. While the absentee ballot traditionally favors George W. Bush, the results have not yet been tabulated, so some of the poor bastards destined for bomb threats and random shootings don’t even know there’s a ballot with their name on it yet. Of those Iraqis living abroad, who had the luxury of voting without being subjected to random acts of terror, 60,000 were living in neighboring Iran—presumably for the safety the non-U.S.-occupied country provides.

However, some of Iraq’s new electorate could be determined by early results already, and were quite optimistic about the future.

“I believe I will live well past sundown,� said Abiri Al-Hussah, revealed as the winner of his district’s election, a small section just outside Tikrit. “Anything after that is up for grabs. I damn the son of dogs who nominated me for the ballot—a thousand deaths be handed down from Allah to the chronic masturbator.�

Others had a less rosey view of their future in Iraqi politics, such as Jukret Dutat, a newly-elected official from Kazul.

“Well, shit,� said Dutat, as a translator deciphered for us. “This is what I get for not getting a subscription to the newspaper. You sideswipe one [untranslatable]’s car on the freeway and—boom!—you’re elected. This is not fair. I have no interest in politics and have no hope for a democracy in Iraq. I am here not by the will of the people, but because I could not resist brandishing the sign of Chula to slow drivers. This, as they say, completely chomps the dicks of goats.�

U.S. President George W. Bush, himself a winner by a wide margin of a seat on the General Assembly, which he’s ineligible for since he’s not a citizen of the country, saw the best hope for the future by the comparatively terror-free success of the election.

“The Iraqi people finally have a governing body in places—several bodies, in fact,� said the president, with his always-enlightening poor choice of words. “These are brave, freedom-loving men who will be happy to serve their people in the legislative branch of their country—not that they have much choice in the matter. You’re picked, you serve. End of story. Your sacrifice will long be remembered by your country, when they’re one day no longer blowing up their leaders.�

In Baghdad, Nassawa Al-Badib, the majority leader of the Shiite party, likely to become the next president of Iraq as the representative of the party receiving the largest vote, had great ambition for the country’s steps into democracy.

“At last we will be able to show the world, Arab and non-Arab alike, that Iraq is not a place of cruelty and violence. I will embrace my new role in the government, and guide my country out of these shadows, into its bright future. I will do this, of course, from my new home in Sarasota, Florida.�

Al-Badib quickly boarded a jet leaving the country and gave the twin two-fingered “victory� salute made famous by Dick Nixon.

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If reader email and misguided public graffiti is to be taken as any indication, all the hullabaloo and carryings-on in Haiti lately have left most Americans feeling like they just walked in during the middle of a bad action movie with no idea why these strange people are shooting each other. Is it good? Is it bad? If they make it into a movie will they be able to put Tom Sizemore in blackface? Slow down with the questions, anxious readers, I'm only half-listening.

The history of Haiti is a fascinating story with plenty of R-rated action and a weak love interest subplot to please the ladies in the audience, the story of a country that Earl Dittman of Wireless magazine called "Heaven on earth. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll laugh at all the people crying." Though if you only like stories where the good guys win in the end, you might want to read about Germany instead. I won't hold it against you.

Haiti started out as a big tropical ball of fun whose main exports were beach volleyball and smiling people. Things stayed pretty much the same until 1492, when Christopher Columbus cruised up in his boat and hopped out to take a piss. Columbus had this weird thing about not pissing in the ocean, because he figured eventually it's all part of the water cycle and he didn't like drinking piss. So needless to say, all of Columbus' voyages took forever because he was constantly stopping off at every island along the way that looked like it might be an okay place to take a leak.

But what might have been an inconsequential pit stop in the annals of history turned into much more than that when Columbus looked around and realized he was pissing on a tropical paradise. Lush and beautiful, 13th century Haiti (then known as "here") was something of a Garden of Eden, populated by natives Columbus described as "the best people in the world. Just really fucking nice." Loving, agreeable and above all trusting, the native Taino ("We live here") people didn't even mind that Columbus was pissing on their beach.

Columbus was so impressed with the natives and the beautiful island that he returned in 1493 and killed nearly everyone there. Those who managed to hide under rocks through the Spanish invasion and genocide heaved a collective sigh of relief when the French took over in 1697, a tactical mistake since the sighers were found out, tortured, and killed under the equal tyranny of French rule. By then it mattered little, however, since the population at that time was made up mainly of slaves imported from western Africa to work on the island's plantations.

A slave rebellion in the 1790's eventually lead to Haitian independence, which survived through multiple coups, assassinations and general bastardry until 1915, when the US decided to put the Haitians out of their misery by occupying the country and keeping the profits for themselves. Despite the fact that the US pretended to leave in 1934, not much changed in the next sixty years, with one US-supported insane bastard after another controlling the country and killing everyone who looked like they thought the system sucked.

Numerous attempts at free elections occurred during the 1980's, each falling just short of success due to the fact that anyone attempting to vote was shot dead by the army. Haiti made People Magazine's prestigious "100 Most Hellish Places" list for the first time in 1982, coming in just behind North Korea and "that pollutiony town from The Lorax."

Despite the US spin that "everything was cool" in Haiti and the production of placating educational films with titles like Rockin' in the Nineteen Haitis, rebellion continued as Haitians stubbornly insisted on crawling out from under the crushing boot heel of Western occupation. By 1990, Haiti had decided they would no longer model their elections on the example of the US South circa 1954, and finally succeeded in electing a president who wasn't killed during Election Day. Parish priest Jean-Bertrand Aristide was the surprise winner, despite his support for the poor and lack of US permission to be president.

The US acted quickly in response to Aristide's election, revealing that the 1972 Carly Simon hit "You're So Vain" was actually a biting critique of the self-absorbed Catholic priest. Unfortunately for the US efforts aimed at discrediting Aristide, nobody in Haiti could understand the song because it was in English, and a French-language version of the song was scrapped because it sounded really fruity.

Failing at ousting the elected Haitian ruler through song, the US resorted to its old tricks, backing a military coup to have Aristide removed from power in 1991. Despite seven months of freedom and representative government, Haitians had to wonder if it was all worth it when everyone who'd voted for Aristide was killed after the president's fall in 1991. The coup regime was so nasty, in fact, that it inspired an international embargo so strict it allowed only US companies to do business with Haiti thereafter, resulting in record profits for US interests.

US businesses had long been attracted to Haiti because of ridiculously low wages, thanks to Haiti's brilliant ploy of not paying workers anything, instead just sending thugs to collect money from anyone who didn't work in the whoopie cushion or dog bowl factories. Haiti became basically one big magic company, cranking out baseballs, rubber snakes, and those little plastic donkey toys that collapse when you press the button on the bottom, all virtually for free. Those annoying "I exploited impoverished workers in Haiti and all I got was this lousy T-shirt" shirts became very popular among the elite and were seen on golf courses across America all through the 80's and 90's.

Eventually the coup regime got too insane, declaring Tuesdays as "shoot everybody" day, and the US decided to install Aristide back in power, as long as he didn't have a problem with continuing US military occupation of Haiti or unending economic exploitation. Aristide was happy just to see the sun again, as he'd spent the last three years in a lead box dangling over the ocean.

So what in the hell is going on now? Why are all these guys running around with machine guns and funny hats? Apparently Aristide pulled the boner move of increasing Haiti's minimum wage, building schools and investing in the Haitian infrastructure and agriculture. Such hubris had pissed off the Bush administration for years, leading this month to another US-supported coup and the covered-up kidnapping of Aristide himself.

So now that the insane coup regime is back in power, where does Haiti go from here? Yikes, don't ask me. Just don't go to Haiti on a Tuesday and you should be fine.

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I have a legal question, and can't get my sister on the phone lately, so I ask you: If you shoot your dad in your own home, is it legal? I know it applies if you shoot a burglar, or if you tie him up and torture him and saw his legs off. If it's your dad, does that take away the whole legal angle? What if you've been letting him stay in the house? Is that like a binding contract or anything?

Not that I would kill my dad. I just like to be aware of my options. Even the last resort kind. He's not bad, by himself, but lately you can never catch him by himself. Him and his buddies have been camping out on the living room floor in my apartment. Which is where my mom used to sleep before he came to live with me, so now she's sharing my bed. And she farts like a French horn all night. So it's all one little straw piled on top of each other, not any single one of them pissing me off by itself, but the whole bunch is about to kill me.

Things got even worse a month ago when Uncle Luke came to visit. If someone comes to your place to visit and puts their name on the mailbox, let that be a warning they probably plan on staying longer. The place is just way too crowded. I'm starting to think some of these cats wandering around here aren't even mom's, they just came in when someone left the door open. The police have been out to my place three times in the last two nights, which is a lot even for me, and the more they hang around the more they're going to realize some of those spices in the spice rack aren't totally legal.

Uncle Luke is probably the biggest problem. My dad is like gunpowder, you know, but gunpowder when it's just by itself isn't so bad. Then you throw in Uncle Luke, he's like firewater or something. I'm not sure of the exact chemical equation, I'll have to check my high school chemistry notes, but it all leads to big kabooms. Not just one, but one after another. Dad's gang was fine until Uncle Luke showed up. Now Uncle Luke has challenged dad for leadership with the accusation he never gave the group a real name—grounds for a challenge, I guess, according to the rules of the gang they wrote on the back of that Denny's menu. The group is split down the middle into two factions, with Freddy Mercury being loyal to dad but Icepick really liking Uncle Luke's vision of the future. Plus, he promised to buy jackets for everybody.

Dudes, this may be obvious, but I don't have time for this shit. That supertramp Jayme is still trying to steal my work at the comic book and now der commune führer Bagel is demanding I come into the office at least once a week so he can verify I've not been replaced with a robot by his conniving brother. And I know, seriously, like you could even tell in person if it was a really, really good robot. But I'm not complaining. Wait, let me reread—yeah, I guess I am complaining. With good reason. But my point is my dad and his homies are the last thing I need to worry about right now.

Dad probably should just give up the gang. They all should. A bunch of 40+ flabby white guys really don't have a prayer in hell of controlling any major turf. I wish there was some kind of "scared straight" program for old dudes. A little tour of a real prison yard, a first-rate max security penitentiary, would clear dad up real quick. He thinks he's been to prison after spending the night in county for shoplifting at Safeway. I'm tired of his bragging about doing "9 hours in Cell Block 1." It was Cell Block 1 because they didn't have another, dad. Didn't you notice all the winos? Did they look like criminal masterminds?

My best bet at this point would probably be to challenge both dad and Uncle Luke for leadership of the gang. I think on a good day mom could take both of them in the circle of death, so they got shit chance against me. Then I just disband their gay-ass fight club and decree they find real jobs and their own clubhouse. Or, murder. The murder thing is an option. So get back to me on that whole legal/illegal thing.

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