n a move that surprised few familiar with the terrible wrath of the legendary Iranian Navy, British Prime Minister Tony Blair announced today that his country would be surrendering to Iran rather than facing almost certain destruction.

“A proud era in the history of Great Britain comes to an end today,” announced Blair, Prime Minister since 1997 and secret Transformers collector even longer. “We had a good run of it, I’d say,” a proudly defiant Blair mused. “But you don’t muck about when you’re dealing with the Iranian Navy. I have my kids to consider.”

“There’s no use crying over spilt milk,” agreed British Secretary of State for Defence Desmond Henry Browne (BSSDDHB). “It’s been fun, I must admit, being the top dog on the international scene. Or perhaps second-to-top dog, after America… or maybe third after Germany. I don’t have recent figures in front of me. But the point is, every dog has his day, and we all knew our day had to come to an end some day. At the hands of the Iranian Navy? How else?”

Iran’s Navy, a fearsome juggernaut of nautical supremacy, has terrorized the seas since the 1200s, when Iran began conquering coastal lands at will and making pirates eat their own hats. With coastal access to the crucial Arabian and Caspian Seas, the land mass of Iran was ideally located for maritime dominance. Even geographical limitations such as a lack of access to the Pacific Ocean were laughed at by the Iranian Navy, infamous world-wide for carrying their huge warships by hand overland when doing so would be more impressive than simply sailing around the Cape of Good Hope or even around small islands.

Massive blockades of Iranian warships crippled the world economy numerous times in the 1500s, with the entire Spanish Armada going to their deaths in a futile attempt to import much-needed Spanish rice in defiance of Iran’s wishes. The Iranian people, though poorer than a record executive on land, have nevertheless lorded over the seas for generations, with an iron fist and a wooden bottom. Because an iron bottom would sink like nobody’s business.

This latest development came to a head when 15 British sailors were captured by the Iranian Navy while conducting a routine search of a cargo ship carrying fuses and detonators in Iraqi territorial waters.

“We had just finished inspecting and signing off on the Iraqi freighter,” explained naval officer Roger Phillip, communicating through a photograph released by the Iranian Navy via holes ripped in his sweater forming the message in Morse code. “When suddenly the very sun was blotted out by an armada of fearsome warships, and we knew our own doom had engulfed us.”

Though the unconditional surrender of a world power over a small naval skirmish over 3,000 miles away is unusual, few consider Britain’s move premature, given the unbelievable hurt the Iranian Navy could rain down on the U.K. should they get their dander up.

A few foolhardy souls have suggested a death-before-dishonor approach, unwilling to bow down to their Iranian masters so quickly.

“I think we could take ‘em,” grumbled brave sausage peeler Roscoe Euclid of Saxby, loading supplies into an inflatable dingy moments before going to his certain death.

Final plans have not been announced as to what Britain’s new Iranian overlords plan to do with the country, though early indications point to a bonanza of beheadings.

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I return from a pretty fun weekend here, folks. The Divine Miss C has just finished her very first DVD commentary, and I can say without fear of contradiction (unless one of you dildos has actually done a DVD commentary for a film you've been in, which I very much doubt) that it was a great experience.

The film was Li'l Poachers, the fantastic adventure film where the six kids get lost in the Florida Everglades and have to fend for themselves against animals and sub-human Cajuns. It was a lot like that Lord of the Flies movie but without all the depressing kid-on-kid violence and half-naked boys. Like if Disney had done that movie. If you remember loving Li'l Poachers and are saying to yourself, "Hey, wow! Clarissa Coleman was in that movie?" Eat me. Yeah, I was in the movie. You know what else, nutsack? I'm in the commentary, too. So there. You can't keep me down.

The DVD production staff got all six of us kid stars back for the commentary—me, Tim T. Toolkitty, Jeffy Smurtz, Franz Golgannis, Pockets O'Shannon, and Dina Frazell, who played the tough girl back then because you couldn't have lesbians in movies. All of us were reunited for the first time in 15 years. It was too bad the director Chummy Styron couldn't have been with us, but as you probably know he shot himself (to death) shortly after the film opened at number one at the box office. Funny, I guess—despite all that success he still said in his suicide note he had lost hope there was any good in the world.

Once we got re-acquainted with each other and knocked back a few brewskis (would you believe only I thought to bring a case of Coors?) we started on the commentary. We had to stop and start over a few times, believe it or not. It looks (or sounds) so easy when you're listening to the commentary at home, when those two or three guys who do that do it, but it's a lot harder than it seems. It took me a while to get the hang of it. Here's some quick tips I learned.

It's not considered good commentary when one of your fellow actors comes on the screen and you say, "Man, you've gotten fat, Jeffy." Also unacceptable: "You looked better as a kid for sure, Franz." I would almost say that my early attempts at commentary made me unpopular with my co-stars, but I eventually got the hang of it.

The proper way to do commentary, they said, is to let the audience in on how the movie was made. So I made several revelations in my next attempts at commentary, things like, "We weren't really in the Everglades at all," and "I think the director had to do this movie because his gambling problem had become so expensive he couldn't make art films anymore." I had other behind-the-scenes information, too, like when I said, "There's the pirate they put in the movie because the studio wanted to make a clone of The Goonies." Apparently, though, discussing the salary everybody got for the movie is some kind of big fat taboo.

I tried "stories," too, little interesting tidbits that the general public doesn't know. I pointed to a tree on the screen and asked Pockets, "Remember when we used to get really high back there before we had to shoot scenes?" Or telling them, "There's where Dina made a pass at me. I was very flattered." Nobody seemed to like my commentary, truthfully, they kept saying they might have to edit a few things out, but you learn to like getting edited in the entertainment biz, at least if you've been edited as much as I have. I bet more than half of the brilliant things I've said off-script have never been used. Or all of them.

As a bonus tip, they really don't like it when you shout out every time you're on the screen, "There I am! Look!" They also really hate it when you're not on screen and you keep asking, "Wasn't I in this scene? Where am I? Why aren't I in this scene?"

In the end, though, despite the fact my commentary might not even make it onto the disc, I would highly recommend doing a DVD commentary for the experience alone, should you ever get the chance. Yeah! That'll happen.

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First off, do you know the names of those damn Umpa Lumpas who released their wreath on me? I think I might have winged one of them with an empty whiskey bottle, but those buggers do scurry off rather fast. Really, I just want to give the thing back, it's a pretty nice wreath. Lots of little chipmunk heads on it, with nametags like "Alvin" and "Dale". Quite strange. I don't think I've ever seen a blue chipmunk before... "Smurfette?" Quite an odd name for a chipmunk.

Anyway, I left a note on the window of their Suburban (silly little Lumpas, running off and leaving their truck parked in front of my place) saying they could come by and pick up the wreath some time, but you know... I don't think those little buggers can read all that well. I've heard bad things about the school system in that Chocolate Factory. A terrible Lumpa-to-Wonka ratio.

That was phonetically a very strange sentence. Lumpa-to-Wonka ratio? Sounds like a Native American classic rock station. "You're listening to Loompatuwanka Radio! Keep on rockin' in the free Res!" Man, all I'm saying is get a piece of me now before somebody buys up the sitcom rights.

See what you people do to me? I'm babbling like a brook. And not even a very smart brook, more like a Brooke Shields.

I'm really starting to wonder if I returned that paperback copy of "Steel Magnolias" I was borrowing from Lil Duncan. Man, I probably put it in the drop slot at Hollywood Video again. I'm always doing that with my library books, dry cleaning, and urine samples. Though I have to admit the book was a bit of a disappointment. I though it was going to be one of those futuristic techno-thrillers. I mean, hell, if John Wayne's real name can be Busty McSugarhips then I'm willing to accept a half-man half-cyborg superhero named Magnolias. Uh...

Just to set the record straight right now, before it's a problem, I take serious offense at the bashing of my hometown. Regardless of what you may have heard, my family's ancestral Crack Plantation is a national tourist attraction and a serious boon for the state's economy. We provide the brain-shellacking nutrient-rich rock cocaine that makes life, and ABC's primetime line-up, bearable for over 20 million Americans. And I feel proud to come from a town where you can lean out the window of your car and scream "WELL I'LL BE DIPPED IN SHIT!!" at pedestrians without eliciting even the slightest reaction from their oceanized eyes. So there.

And right now, somewhere near Pasadena, there is a young man with a Rastafarian haircut who understands what in the hell that has to do with anything. Trust me.

-ding-

Ooooh! Junk-Email! No time!

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