s efforts to hold a recall election for governor gain momentum in California, embattled Gov. Gray Davis stressed Saturday that putting the referendum on the ballot will open the door to catastrophe in the state, up to and including a revolution of machines.

In a speech to Democratic supporters, Davis illustrated with a slide show some of the accomplishments of his first term as governor and the potential dangers of a voter-mandated recall election. With a record low approval rating, Davis could be in jeopardy if forced to run another campaign against a well-financed Republican opponent. The most disturbing aspect for Davis is the possibility of Republican action-movie beefcake Arnold Schwarzenegger running against him. The prospect led to Davis' insinuation that allowing Schwarzenegger to run would create a real war of the machines in California.

While never stating outright Schwarzenegger is actually a robot, like the Terminator machine he plays the series of the same name, Davis implied the millionaire movie star seemed to lack "humanity."

"It's just a little, I don't know, funny… this guy blows every attempt to play a cop or a mercenary or even a bodybuilder, but when he plays a robot in a movie, you believe it's a robot alright," said Davis, stopping to turn to a slideshow photo of the actor and shake his head. "I smell something funny here, like a bratwurst fart."

Davis further insinuated the way time-travel was explained in the original Terminator seemed "entirely plausible" to him, and the idea of a war with the machines had been a popular concern of world leaders for years, even pointing to an alleged plan on file at the FBI during J. Edgar Hoover's time. Near the end of the presentation, Davis also casually mentioned he had friends who visited Austria and could find no official record of Schwarzenegger's birth.

"Not that I'm saying anything about Mr. Schwarzenegger, of course," added Davis. "I'm here to talk about the possibility of a recall election. It is a little odd the good man has been in this country for around 30 years or more and still has an accent like he just got off a plane from Vienna. It's tough to lose a program, though. I mean accent—did I say program?"

Davis predominately spoke of efforts to prevent a recall election before it could be put on the ballots, outlining his plan to reduce California's deficit and the creation of a gigantic EMP generator which could shut off all electrical devices if such a dire emergency required it. The governor also promoted legislation that would require the registration of computers and all "high-functioning" machines in state businesses and residences.

"Mind you, I don't speak Austrian or German or whatever," continued Davis, "but I know people who do. Some of those people have told me 'Schwarzenegger' directly translates as 'Unit 5.' Which I find a little questionable."

An event organizer then asked Davis if it was necessary to keep returning to the subject of Arnold Schwarzenegger, to which the governor responded that it was the other man who brought it up this time. When asked what other man was being referred to, Davis said that he doesn't even own a television, and distrusts all electronic devices from televisions to PDAs, though he wasn't saying anything bad about machines in general.

"I would like to again say that I have and will continue to represent California as it deserves, even if my opponents would like to waste millions of taxpayer dollars on private vendettas to oust me from office. Money which could well be used to build up our National Guard and train them in state-of-the-art robot-combat skills."

Cheney Vows to Stay Course: Will Shoot Hunting Partner Again

Mardi Gras, Gonorrhea to Return to New Orleans

Aides Urge Bush to Stop Referring to Iraqi Majority as “Shits”

Sheryl Crow Takes Cancer in Lance Armstrong Split

I woke up the other day, took a look around and was hit with one shocking ass-wiper of a realization, people: We live in one giant fat-assed country. I turn around for five seconds and all of a sudden everybody looks like they just stepped straight out of a family reunion in Wisconsin. I don't know what the hell happened while I was used-car shopping, but it looks like the inmates have taken over the fat farm.

I met a guy down at the DMV the other day who told me he's suing KFC and Burger King for making him fat. I shit you not! Don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't think he's got a good case. Because believe me when I tell you that this motherfucker is fat. Some people gradually get fat when they're not looking, others pack on the pounds while they're testing how little physical activity they can get away with in life. Not this guy, though, he's go-for-broke, may-the-biggest-ass-win fat. I mean like "Sizzler takes down the All You Can Eat Shrimp sign when you see him coming" fat. All he needs to do is waddle his big ass into the courtroom and there's going to be no further witnesses on that subject. They may even just settle right then and give him the cash so he doesn't take his jacket off. The whole "proving you're fat" issue that has tied up other lawsuits of this kind is a total non-issue for this guy.

So, he's halfway there. But the problem is, I don't think his case is ever going to make it to trial. Because those fast food titans are some wily folk, smarter than you'd think from the people they hire to work in their restaurants. And they learned an important lesson when Big Tobacco was dragged into the courtroom and had their pants pulled down. See, whenever somebody tries to sue one of those places for selling them the quadruple bacon cheeseburger that broke the camel's back and triggered their thirteenth heart attack, the fast food guys don't panic. They just bide their time, and file a motion here or there, inconspicuously delaying the trial month after month. Eventually they drag out the lawsuit long enough that the plaintiff invariably dies one of those spectacular heart-exploding deaths before the case can go to court.

And you know that Big Tobacco is jealous as all get-out, but unfortunately for them, it doesn't take some poor bastard forty years to die from a Whopper. The fast food companies can play the waiting game and just plain outlast the tubby malcontents, while they sip on their bottles of spring water and ride their elliptical trainers on into the new millennium.

But don't think for a second that I'm one of those smug bastards with the metabolism of a greyhound that's just looking to cash in on America's miserable obesity. Because believe it or not, ladies and gentlemen, Omar Bricks was once a fatass himself. At the age of nine I discovered the joys of whipped cream straight out of the can and before you could say "saturated fat," I was one bulbous, sticky-faced little porkpie. I was teased mercilessly at school, at home and at the beach, and I almost didn't finish grade school since I was so busy pulling retaliatory pranks on all of the skinny little assholes that made my life a rotund living hell.

But this is where the inspiring message comes in, fat Americans. By the age of twelve I had hit rock bottom and I would eat anything, including White Castle burgers. They called the burgers "sliders" back then, and I'll leave it up to your imagination to figure out what that meant, since this is a family website and all. But my point is that when I hit the bottom of my last can of Spray-Whip and there was nothing but cold gasses left, I made a promise to myself that Omar Bricks would never be fat again.

And you know what? It wasn't easy, but I kept good on that promise. It probably helped that I picked up a tapeworm off a White Castle burger around that time and lost about fifty pounds in two weeks, and I haven't been able to eat anything containing meat or grain since, but the point is that I did it. And there's nothing to say that the rest of America can't do the same, assuming that the world's supply of tapeworms isn't dangerously low at the moment or anything freakish like that. I'm not sure where you'd go to find figures on that kind of thing, but I bet the odds are pretty high that somebody out there's some kind of expert on the subject.

So get on it, boys and girls. Omar Bricks knows full well that no diet plan works for everybody, but with a little trial and error I'd bet hard cash money that there's some combination of enemas, tapeworms and bulemia that will turn the trick and punch your ticket back from fatasshood.

Best of luck! Bricks out.

º Last Column: Columnisting is for Suckers
º more columns

Imagine my dismay when, after 61 years of waiting, I was finally ready to see Citizen Kane this week, only to have it ruined for me by some wise-ass video store clerk.

Better yet, instead of imagining it all, which can be confusing and you surely won't get all the details right, let me tell you directly all about it.

It seems like every time I've gone and talked about movies—I'm quick to brag about having seen them all—someone asks me a quick list of which "great" movies I've seen. The Godfather? No, but I saw clips from it. Star Wars? Yes, the first one, Episode I, but none of that raunchy '70s stuff. The 400 Blows? I said "movies," buddy, not "snuff films." Citizen Kane?

Now that's a curious title. Is it kung fu? Is it a cop drama? No, they tell me, it's about Orson Welles as a man who comes from a meager background and grows into a newspaper magnate who rules with an iron thumb like a tyrant.

Finally, a movie for Red Bagel!

I immediately wanted to see it, but my schedule would not permit movie viewing. I had scandals to uncover, and angry letters to write to Ted Turner. But I knew sometime I would have a spare two hours and could watch a movie, especially if it was about something I genuinely enjoy, like losing contact with your humble beginnings.

Finally, that court order not to investigate further into the McDonald's fish sandwich slowed down my workload immensely. With a little bit of time to kill, I went to the video store, which is apparently some sort of place that lends you movies to watch at home on the condition you bring them back. Strangely, it actually works.

I found the film I wanted and brought it up to the counter, where the video store clerk, a young scoundrel named "Ryan," immediately began to praise the film intensely. He had first seen it in high school, in some sort of movie-watching class, I guess, and it had been a favorite ever since. He said he enjoyed it so much that he didn't even care if they found out who "Rosebud" was when they revealed it at the end. And me, of course, not wanting to seem like I hadn't seen a movie that some video store punk had seen in high school, said, "Oh, yeah, Rosebud. That was the dog, right?" He laughed at me as if I had made a joke, which I then said I had, and told me Rosebud was a… well, I won't ruin it for you, too.

This is ridiculous, Americans. I rented the video and tried not to let my disappointment show, but I had every right to refuse to pay for it. Video store clerks are now the bane of my existence, or one of 35 banes, I should say. What kind of person talks about the ending of a movie with someone just because they have a reasonable basis for assuming that person has seen it? It's just not right.

There is no point in watching Citizen Kane now. I can't remember what got me so excited about it in the first place, but obviously I'm not going to sit through a 2-hour movie about some sled. Er… I mean… Well, screw it. Ryan ruined it for me, why shouldn't you be miserable, too?

Maybe they should come out with alternate endings for movies. Release a new Citizen Kane where Rosebud is some old player piano and another where Rosebud is a cookie recipe. Just to liven things up. You rent the movie and you never know what it's going to be at the end.

All I know is this is yet another movie secret ruined for me by loudmouth "movie fans" who can't shut up and assume you've seen a movie just because you've nodded when they ask if you've seen it. The little kid grows up to be Darth Vader in that movie, the man in drag in The Crying Game is really a man, and Michael Corleone is in the mafia. There. Now that we all know everything let's none of us see another movie again.

º Last Column: The Truth Behind John Walker Lindh
º more columns