American Afghans Apprehended, Interred In Camps

n a controversial move, Congress has barely passed a bill allowing the arrest and internment of thousands of American-born Afghans in "government pounds."

The Afghan, a popular breed of mid-size long-haired dog, was reportedly introduced to America several years ago by Chinese guys who brought them here originally to eat them, reported commune Research Editor Griswald Dreck. Also, horses were originally introduced to our country as indentured servants.

Dog Fancy magazine estimates the number of interred Afghans could reach 5,000 before the end of the week. Already several Afghans face additional charges of disobeying the new law by not reporting their whereabouts.

"We said, 'Sit. Stay.' And these dogs have disobeyed," said Attorney General John Ashcroft. "Bad dogs. Bad, bad dogs."

Across the United States, pet owners and sympathizers are outraged by what they call an unfounded, prejudicial law.

"These dogs are good Americans," said Nancy Martin, owner of three Afghans interred because of the new law. "Mumu, Gaia, and Kiwi were born right here in this country. They eat American food, they wear American-made sweaters and make bad on American rugs. Not Persian. Certainly not Afghanese. Bad dogs? I say, 'Bad lawmakers. Bad, bad lawmakers.'"

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It seems like every time you buy a box to mail something in these days, it comes with the phrase "Handle with Care" pre-printed on the side. And I have to wonder, am I paying extra for this? And even further so: what the hell's wrong with the postal service that they need special instructions not to beat the shit out of your package with baseball bats or feed it through the air intake of a jet engine? I want to print out a sticker that says "No, you know what? Don't handle with care. Drop kick the goddamn thing if you want to. It's not like I'm mailing eggs or something. Jesus Christ, what are you people, gorillas?" But to make this legible the sticker would have to be so big that mailing any package it would fit on would probably be cost prohibitive.

And you just know that if I went to all the trouble to get the sticker spell-checked and printed up and all that, it would practically guarantee that my mailman would make it his personal mission to fuck up my packages something good from then on. I already caught him backing his truck over a box of sausages I ordered once, and that was before I'd even done anything to piss the guy off. I haven't even had time to brainstorm on what he'd dream up to do to my poor packages should he ever get some serious motivation.

Personally, I'm not even sure if the Postal Service is an actual federal employer, or if they're just some kind of well-organized religious cult of some sort. The more I think about it, I'm leaning toward door number two. I mean, what kind of federal agency delivers you a letter that's crumpled into the shape of an accordion, stained brown, and stamped with the words "Damaged in Handling at the Post Office"? No shit, huh? Thanks for the stamp, otherwise I might have thought freemasons were fucking with my mail. That's a real load-off.

Whatever their bizarre cult is all about, I think it definitely involves cloning. I've developed a theory over the years that there are only two actual people working at the post office, no matter where you go, and all of the other employees are just clones of these two. See if this sounds familiar: there's a lady there behind the counter who looks like she'd rather cough up a spiny blowfish than offer you any assistance. She has no answers to any of your questions, no explanation for how your package caught fire en-route or why it was doused with moose urine afterwards, and no discernable pulse. Her co-worker is a scary older version of Mr. Rogers who's suicidally chipper and possibly made out of an advanced plastic polymer. He's too eager to help you and you check in your back seat and under your car twice before you drive home.

If real federal agencies, like the police, were this inept, we'd all be long-dead by now. Have you ever had the postal service lose a package you mailed? They have you fill out a form describing what was in the box and where you mailed it from, which I think was only for my benefit as I'm fairly sure they just took it in the back room and threw it away. What am I supposed to think they're going to do with it? Rustle up the bloodhounds so they can catch the scent? Have a couple of slow-witted guys in hats drive the route all night with flashlights, scratching their heads? I should have made a copy of the form, just in case it got lost somewhere on the way to postal headquarters deep in the underwater city of Atlantis. I wouldn't trust these guys to get my trash to the curb.

I have it on good authority that this cult has been raising their funds by creating all of the junk mail in the world themselves. I mean, who the hell in their right mind tries to sell dog-sized hockey masks through the mail? I've received three offers for those this week alone. This definitely sounds like the work of an organization that thinks raising stamp prices one penny a year is a smarter idea than just jacking them up a dime and leaving us alone for a decade or so. I think I've got at least one of every one-cent stamp ever made, including the rare misprint of the Norman-Rockwell mailman toting an AK-47.

Any way you slice it, I'm done with the postal service. Those jokers have dropped my parcels in shit for the last time. I'm going to find some dumb little kid with a bike for all of my package and letter delivery needs in the future. Kids have two distinct advantages over the postal service when it comes to delivering things: they have no concept of geography and they think a quarter is a lot of money. So the next time you're on the highway and you see some flat-topped little moron with a package strapped to his back, pedaling his way toward Maryland, give a honk and a wave. Unless he's walking his bike or sitting under a tree or something, then give him a smack for Omar because I don't tolerate slacking on my dime and three nickels. Bricks out.

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"May old acquaintances be forgot, and their money remain all mine."

My favorite holiday is coming up quick: New Year's Day! I like that they put it at the end of every year, so I know right when it is.

Some people say they love Thanksgiving, but I say, what for? I can eat turkey and fall into a coma sleep any time of the year, thanks to my extra-sensitive allergies. When can you go out and totally shit-faced drunk? Not every day.

As for Christmas, I say, phooey! Which is little kiddish for "Fuck this, fat man!" I never got one thing in my life for Christmas that I wanted, except maybe the year I wished my dad would get off my back and he disappeared forever. No telling what happened there. Needless to say, I tried to make my Christmas wishes as detailed as possible after that.

No, New Year's is the time for me. There's the refreshing feeling, as all old mistakes and the old news gives way to the newness, a blank canvas is set up for the next year. It's like a big douche for the entire world. I wonder, if you were actually doing it, where you would stick a douche to do the whole world? I've heard the asshole of the world was Texas, but that might have just been what that guy from Arkansas was saying when he was mad after those Texans kicked our asses. I should probably find a globe. The whole thing is starting to turn me on, in a weird way.

Sometimes if you go out on St. Patrick's Day, my other favorite holiday, they give you little green hats. For fucking free! I usually slip out the back so I don't have to return it when I leave at night. Or the next three or four days, whenever. But it's totally sharp, you can wear it to high-class social parties and stuff. I assume. One day I might know. Either way it's funny just to put it on and stand in front of the mirror and pretend kids are after your cereal and you have to destroy them with magic powers. I tried to pitch that show to a network guy years ago, but he claimed it was already in development.

They should give you free stuff on New Year's Eve. It would be the best holiday ever, hands down, because all Christmas has over anyone is they give you stuff for free. Easter tried to cop, giving out eggs. Yeah, thanks. Like I can't get eggs. Nobody likes hard-boiled eggs, man, that's why the rabbit gives them away. Tons of people turn down hard-boiled eggs for breakfast, they start to pile up. Maybe that's a Bible story and I just don't know the significance. Jesus got pelted with hard-boiled eggs by the Greeks or whoever and turned them all chocolate and had the last laugh. "Now who's the asshole?" That's probably something Jesus would say.

Free food doesn't make for much of a holiday, though. If you hang out at the right shelters they give you free food on every holiday, but you got to be faster than some of these frostbitten bums to get it. And they have free beer nuts and pretzels at a lot of bars on New Year's. They hand out condoms, but I don't need gag gifts. Hey, fuck you, I know I'm not getting laid tonight. Why do I have to have that thing staring at me in the morning when I wake up on the curb out front? Adding insult to injury. Occasionally injury to injury, too, if you try to put those things on while a cop is watching you. I was just testing to see if it glowed or anything, officer. Chill out.

And Happy New Year.

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