or a third year in a row, a young Messier, Idaho, boy has continued to miss the point entirely concerning his April Fool’s Day pranks. The boy’s jests are described as “cruel and malicious� by Messier police and have resulted in the wrongful arrest of six individuals and the hospitalization of two with severe injuries.

Identified by a spiteful member of the police department as Messier Elementary sixth-grader Bert Woodland, the boy has perpetrated another spree of April Fool’s jokes this past Friday, unleashing more terror on a town that had hoped it had seen the last of unfunny, “just plain mean� practical jokes. Two of Friday’s five harshest April Fool’s incidents have already been traced back to Woodland, and police believe they will eventually tie all of the crimes back to the little prick.

Among the more destructive of Friday’s pranks was the non-lethal firing of a handgun within a hospital emergency room, greasing the ladder of a local fire engine (resulting in the injury of a fireman at the scene of a blaze), and the mailing of a cowheart to the parents or a girl who had been missing for five months. Even the townspeople of Messier, Idaho, who claim to have really warped senses of humor agree there’s funny and then there’s just abusing people.

Police had similar run-ins with Woodland’s unfunny assaults on the innocent on two previous April Fool’s Days, the most severe incident being last year’s burying alive of Woodland’s brother, Cory. While the parents refused to press charges against their own son, it did raise police awareness that the prankster’s sense of humor was not getting better and earned him the universal designation of “sick fuck� from everyone in Messier.

“That little shit put a rattlesnake in my mailbox,� said elderly neighbor Huntz Vohlman. “Not a plastic one, a live rattlesnake. If I hadn’t heard the sound it would have caught me when it lunged out to bite. I’m telling you, that’s not normal. I haven’t been out of my house on the first of April for the last two years.�

Vohlman’s fear was generally shared by everyone in Messier. Principal of Messier Elementary Arlene Fredericks cancelled school when all the teachers threatened not to come on the dreaded “A-Day,� petrified by Woodland’s potential destruction.

Substitute teacher Martin Kohl: “Last year I showed up and didn’t even know it was April Fool’s. But I found out soon enough. The kid tossed a quarter stick of dynamite at me—not a firecracker, you hear, but a real partial stick of dynamite. The doctors couldn’t even reattach my right index finger. When’s someone going to explain humor to this kid?�

University of Idaho Child Psychologist Will Raymond studied Woodland last year following his second April Fool’s arrest.

“Young Bert has obviously misinterpreted the spirit of the holiday,� said Raymond. “In modern times, April the first is a day when we all try to lighten up a bit, stop taking ourselves so seriously, and make a game out of embarrassing our friends and neighbors—those we’re fond of. Instead, Bert uses it as an excuse to lash out with his insidious wit and damage others, either emotionally or physically, or sometimes both. He is, I believe, a purely anti-social personality with just enough a sense of morality to need an excuse—like April Fool’s Day—to ignite his malicious behavior. At first I believed he had a rich history of emotional abuse which he concealed with his terror. Later on I found out he was just an asshole.�

Raymond declined an invitation to study the boy again, since after last year’s visit Woodland posted his image on a website for registered sex offenders; Raymond also suspects the boy’s the reason he’s been getting amorous letters from the Idaho State Men’s Penitentiary.

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Well it must be September, since the weather's cooling off, the pennant races are heating up, and Manny Ramirez just missed a crucial series against the Yankees because of a serious case of jock itch. You've got to love Manny though. Have you seen that guy's shoes? Vegas doesn't have that many sequins. I'd get myself a pair if I didn't think a house would fall on my head as soon as I put them on.

You know what else? Mascots in sports have never made much sense to me.

Who in their right mind goes to a baseball game to see some illegal immigrant in a chicken suit poop out baseballs along the third base line? That's just sick. And I think mascots are a bad idea too.

Name a single pro-baseball mascot you wouldn't mind having in the crosshairs of a deer rifle, just one. No, I'm not talking about cheerleaders, you sick bastard. I'm talking about the giant Muppets with some guy trapped inside making minimum wage.

And these mascots have a much more checkered history than you'd think. Take for instance the story of the Schenectady River Goats' former mascot, Trotsky the Home-Run Bear. I was at one of their games back in the 70's that I'll never forget. Trotsky comes out in the third inning, like he always had, to shoot t-shirts into the crowd using a makeshift air cannon that looks like a shoulder-fired rocket launcher. Basically a big long tube that shoots rolled up t-shirts into the stands like mortar rounds.

Trotsky comes out, and the crowd goes nuts, clamoring for a cheap-ass River Goats t-shirt as they always do. Only this time the bear's walking out kinda slow, and he doesn't do any cartwheels or any of his usual crowd-pleasing antics. Instead, when he gets out to the outfield, he drops one end of the t-shirt gun to the ground, waves a sad little wave to the crowd, sticks the barrel in his oversized mascot bear mouth and pulls the trigger. I swear to God, it was pandemonium. Little kids were screaming all over the stadium as this giant bear is laying spread-eagle on the field, with a smoking t-shirt hanging out of his mouth. It was horrible. They had to cover him with a River Goats souvenir tarp and almost canceled the seventh-inning ice cream race. I guess Trotsky took the River Goats' eight-game losing streak more seriously than anybody had realized.

Baseball nicknames these days don't make any sense to me either. Take Randy Johnson, for example. Hey, if you want to call a seven-foot-tall redneck with an attitude "The Big Eunuch," I guess that's your right, it just never made sense to me. I'd rather be killed for religion or true love or something, but that's just me. You want some genetic freak with cleats turning your head into a wiffle ball, I suppose that's your God-given right as a numbskull.

Same thing with "Hammerin'" Hank Aaron. If you've got the balls to make fun of some guy's drinking problem, I only hope for your sake he's not twice as big as you and frequently armed with a big wooden stick. Jesus.

I'm also fascinated by the famous players who are so devoid of personality that they don't even get nicknames. Like Tony Gwynn, they loved that guy down in San Diego, but what was his nickname? "The Hitting Weeble"? "Black Math"? That has no kind of ring to it. What about Barry "They Don't Pay Me To Have a Personality" Bonds? "The Legend of Boring"? That guy has the personality of my bank manager. He could suck the fun out of a pillow fight. However, my favorite has to be Alex Rodriguez. And don't give me that A-Rod crap. That's not a nickname, that's a car part. This guy's the Tiger Woods of baseball, and they're both the Jehovah's Witnesses of sports.

We need to start giving baseball players nicknames like monster trucks, spice things up a bit. Seeing a thrilling bottom-of-the-ninth showdown between "The Devastator" and "HOMOPHOBIA" could only be good for the sport, I think.

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Like every other American Idol fan, I was sorry to see Sanjaya Malakar go from the blockbuster TV talent show last week. I have to believe anybody with that many A's in his name is destined to be a star, so if it doesn't happen here and now, it'll happen some other time, some other place. Maybe in Bollywood. Mad props to Sanjaya for keeping it going as long as he did. All of us brothers with more looks than talent know what it's like to coast on pre-teen chick love.

I'm not a big Simon Cowell fan anyway. Simon and me go way back. I blew away the competition on American Idol back in the second season auditions, but Simon managed to rig everything against me. I didn't even make it to the show because the prick made some argument about the video from the security camera not being "network quality." I did a cover so ass-blasting amazing of "Hot Blooded" that Foreigner took out a court order that forbid me from ever singing it again, 'cause it made them look like chumps. Simon kept me out of the contest by voting against me, because he was the only judge. I don't know where Paula and Randy were, I guess they were probably in their hotel rooms. Security wasn't understanding enough to let me climb up on their balconies and audition for them, 'cause that dick Simon had me thrown out.

I've been destined to be huge star since I was conceived, and I'm not just talking about the porn industry. I'm talking a cross-media star of unstoppable magnetism and Q-rating power, like Jamie Foxx. You remember him, he was famous a couple of years ago. But mine is the kind of fame that is like a big cosmic secret that only I know about—right now. Soon it's going to be busting out of every galactic orifice there is. Guys will go to see my movie because I'll be running around shirtless in it, shooting terrorists, and girls will snuggle me under their arms on the way to school on the cover of their Trapper Keepers. I'll be shirtless there, too. I'm assuming that anti-shirtless Alamo Cruise legislation will be overturned by then.

When I'm super-famous, I'll have to dress the part, and I'm already way ahead on that front. I have an extensive collection of baseball caps and sunglasses. Some I bought even before I did my American Idol audition, just because I liked them. Like my "Mega-Ninja" hat, or the one that says "Hard Cock Inspector"—imagine being a lady and seeing that coming at you. You know it's a police detective and he's got an extra-hard cock for you. But they probably don't let you wear something like that in Scotland Yard because they make you were those stupid Sherlock Holmes hats, but I think Scotland sucks anyway and don't want to go there when I'm famous.

If I get into a fight with the Pavarottis, too, I'll know how to handle myself. A lot of celebrities like to kick Pavarotti ass because they want to keep their pictures from being taken, but I don't care about that. I just want to kick a lot of ass to show I'm from the streets. But after I kick all the Pavarotti ass, I'll let them take pictures of me. I'll even sign their tits, if they want me to. If they aren't girls, I suppose I'll have to sign something else, but that's going to cost them.

Shit. Why didn't Simon just let me go on the show and let the fans choose me? This "getting famous without really doing anything" would have been so much easier. Maybe I can change my name to Alamo Hilton.

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