Officials Report Ass-Rape of Iraq Going Well

mid reports of increasing U.S. casualties and slowed progress against Iraqi military targets, U.S. officials have made public assurances that the ass-rape of Iraq is proceeding according to schedule.

"U.S. Forces have penetrated Iraq's supple, moist labia of forces and are thrusting toward Baghdad as we speak," confided a disturbingly lusty Gen. Harold Jonas. "We're confident we'll have this bitch putting out by the end of the month."

However, critics of U.S. military planning, including several Gulf War veterans, have suggested that ground forces should have been fortified with at least one more big-dicked Army division before the attacks began.

"The U.S. is coming in like Frasier's wimpy brother Niles, when we should be coming in like Ron fuckin' Jeremy," confided retired Army Gen. Barry R. Wade, wearing a Fuck 'em all and let God sort 'em out tee shirt purchased at a recent gun show. "Frankly, I just don't see how this limp, flaccid attack force is going to strike ass-raping terror into the hearts of the Iraqis. The Iraqis should be wet with fear at the awe-inspiring sight of our throbbing, gargantuan member. Forces. Member forces."

When asked what in the hell he was talking about, Gen. Wade accused this reporter of being unpatriotic, and possibly homosexual. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

Army Maj. Gen. Stanley McChrystal, vice chief of operations for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, assured reporters that the U.S. forces were doing fine as presently configured. "You'd be surprised, our boys are doing alright. We've presently got Iraq's skirt up around its waist, with some early reports of penetration. There's been heavy breathing around Nasiriyah and Basra. Iraq's firm, luscious tits have been thoroughly felt-up and it's only a matter of time before she's screaming 'America! America!' at the top of her lungs."

Asked to explain the situation without all of the dense military jargon, McChrystal looked confused for a second then made a vague "humping" motion with his hands and pelvis for the benefit of reporters.

"Besides," McChrystal added nervously, "the current U.S. forces aren't that small."

"The simple fact of the matter is, bigger is always better when it comes to the American military package," countered Gen. Wade with a slightly crazed look in his eye. "The military's current 'Motion of the Ocean' attack plan, based on superior training and battlefield intelligence, can never substitute for an all-out full frontal double-penetration. The whole works: Longjohn helicopter gunships, B12 Cockshocker missiles, Bradley Cherrypoppers… with that overwhelming military girth, Iraq would have no choice but to surrender to our rhythmic military maneuvers. Then that teasing bitch nation would get what's coming to it. Sure, there might be collateral damage to the panties of the region, but that's to be expected. As presently configured, we run the serious risk of prematurely ejaculating, militarily, before reaching Baghdad."

Before being allowed to leave his basement rec room, this reporter was obligated to bear witness to Gen. Wade's private collection of "military training" videos, which included brightly colored covers and titles like Bunker Busters, Operation Desert Sodomy and The Sexual Liberation of Kuwait.

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Let us not tarry, gentle readers, 'cause I knew a guy who tarried once in Vietnam and it got him killed.

In my younger days, for a brief time, I followed the Dead—the rock band, not a group of actual living corpses. Though they did come close in their latter days. Eventually, I gave up that childishness. Now I follow Cheap Trick. Which is hard, because they don't tour as frequently anymore and that drummer is a crafty driver. But I haven't been dissuaded yet.

Have you seen the latest Star Wars movie? I highly doubt it, since I made it myself in my garage only a few days ago. Finally we all get all those questions about Yoda's sex life answered.

What's the deal with napkins? Is anybody actually using these things?

I tried reading a book the other day and, frankly, I wasn't all that impressed. I'm not saying everyone is wrong with all this "books, books, books" praise, but I don't see it myself.

If you are going to shoot the Creature from the Black Lagoon, do you need a hunting license or a fishing license? This assumes, of course, you're doing it by yourself and not part of some angry mob. However, this is the kind of predicament that keeps me up at night. It probably worries the Creature, too.

I am finally finished selling my antique condom collection. I thought I'd never be rid of those things. A bad area to invest your money, let's just say that.

I would never, under any circumstances, hit a woman. Go ahead—tempt me. Give me a free punch, promise me her back will be turned. Have her burn down my house and I still won't do it. I want to point out, of course, using a baseball bat is not counted as hitting by most judges. It's more of a bludgeoning.

I like croutons, but hate salad. What is the answer, my friends?

Johnny Cash was always known as the Man in Black, and probably always will be. It doesn't matter how black you dress, it's just a title that's impossible to wrestle away from him. I tried wearing purple for a year, but I suppose Prince had that all sewn up. I don't know who got fellated to preserve these titles, but I want my own and I'll wear anything, suck anything to get it. The Man in Chartreuse? The Man in Off-White? Let me know, people.

The guitar has reigned for years as the most popular instrument in the world. I say it's high time that tyranny came to an end.

For those who don't know my writing process, I carry a little brown book with me, all the time, in my coat pocket. When the muse strikes, the real muse, not just some bitch hitting me for no reason, I take out my book and scribble a thought down. Of course, getting a pen in here is a lot more difficult than hiding a little brown book. But I'm resourceful.

A reminder, folks: Never volunteer to suck a cock to get something. I make exceptions at times, of course, but it's always a good rule. And for God's sake, if you do, at least get what you were promised before you do it. Fool me once, as they say…

I am no longer welcome back at Cracker Barrel. I can do nothing more than continue to profess my innocence.

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Anyone who's ever showed up naked on the shores of Greenland expecting a lush tropical paradise, only to have his dong bit off by a penguin, is liable to be curious as to how the island got its misleading name. Likewise for any cold-loving Eskimo freak living in Iceland and wondering why his balls are sweating all the time and why everybody makes fun of his bulbous whale-fur parka while they're all kicking it in Hawaiian shirts and jams. The mystery of why Iceland is green and Greenland is icier than Catherine Zeta-Jones' chest cavity is something that has vexed tourists, indiscriminate immigrants and the uninformed for centuries.

The reasons behind this cartographical bait-and-switch date back to ancient times. In 330 B.C., the ancient explorer Pytheas sailed north from France to try and find some place to dump a dead horse that nobody wanted to take off his hands. Back in those days you couldn't just dump a dead horse by the side of the freeway like you can now, there were laws and steep horse-carcass-disposal fees. Pytheas's horse died of shock after walking on the explorer having sex with his wife's hat rack, and so even beyond the expense of paying somebody to dump the corpse off a high cliff, Pytheas was not looking forward to explaining to someone why the horse died with such a surprised look on his face.

So the explorer set out in his ship, with the horse's body in tow, beginning to smell even more ripe than a horse does when alive. Six days north of Britain, and a day south of the edge of the world where you could peek around to the other side and see the word search puzzle and maze game on the back, Pytheas found a beautiful uncharted island. After taking a quick look around to make sure he didn't see anybody he knew, Pytheas dumped the horse and planted his own personal "Found it!" flag, as a warning to any other explorers inclined to claim the island for their own, and their horses.

Iceland was populated mainly by embarrassing corpses and explorers' flags until the 9th century, when it was settled by Norwegians who brought with them a number of Celts in their luggage. Around this time the island came to be known as Tholböp, an Icelandic word meaning "Land of Easy Women." But the natives there eventually changed the name to "Iceland," so Vikings in the area would look at their maps and say "Fuck that, sounds cold!" and instead carry on their raping and pillaging in Greenland, where they would freeze to death because Greenland is nothing but a big hunk of ice floating out in the ocean. Nobody said the Icelanders didn't have a good sense of humor. This has been evidenced in the high percentage of Icelandic men named Snorri and in the nation's major exports: pet rocks and really hot women who look like Björk.

The half-dozen natives of Greenland didn't appreciate having their island's name changed without being consulted first, but the resulting bumper crop of dead Vikings washing up on their shores soon assuaged all of their concerns. This development served to found Greenland's economy, which was soon booming with the import of dead frozen Vikings and the export of Greenlanders who thought it might be nicer to live somewhere else. Those who remained lived the good life, as much as any life lived in constant oppressive cold on top of a giant hunk of ice can be called good, and they were content to sing songs about snow while huddled inside their igloos made of piles of dead frozen Vikings.

Greenland was originally known as Igapaquk, an Inuit word meaning "Eeh, it's okay." The first colony on the island was founded in 500 B.C. by a lost band of Inuit sailors from Canada who were very pessimistic about their chances of finding something better if they sailed on further. Legend has it that these early inexperienced pilgrims only stayed on Greenland because of a linguistic snafu which caused them to confuse the two meanings of the word "settle," one being to build a colony in a new land and the other to accept something shitty even though you could probably do better.

So now that the globe's great lie has been exposed we can move on to more pressing questions, such as what do they call really nice dishes in China? Stay tuned.

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