etrayed by the voters of Ohio, America and the rest of the world summoned immense courage Nov. 3 and admitted, in the wake of the concession of Democratic candidate John Kerry, George W. Bush would get four more years as president of the United States.

In a race described as "pubic hair close," numbers built up all election night in the columns of both candidates. However, the president piled electoral votes all night long as Kerry generally lagged behind, if not all that far behind. With key states still slow to declare their choice as winner, Kerry conceded the presidency when the numbers demonstrated a reasonable lead by Bush in the popular vote and in the state of Ohio. The Democratic candidate delivered his speech on Nov. 3, after a sleepless night of feeling the voters would support him with the final numbers.

"To all my supporters I have this to say: I have watched the race closely, as you have, and consulted with my advisors, and I have reached a single conclusion: God must really hate me," said the Massachusetts senator. "There can be no other explanation for the fact that I have lacked the personality and excitement to build on my distinguished career and commendable war record, and convince America I couldn't possibly be a worse president than Mr. Bush. A president universally abhorred outside our national borders, a president who will undoubtedly go down as the most insidious man to ever be re-elected by the American people, and I have somehow failed to channel his monumental boners into a Democratic victory. I go now, forever exiled from politics, to live in a cave somewhere. I wish I were speaking in metaphor, but I am being quite literal."

Following Kerry's concession, nervous states with votes still out rushed to throw their now-useless electoral votes behind the president, fearing many, many more visits by future Republican candidates. The final count became Bush at 286 electoral votes, Kerry at 252. Ralph Nader ran a distant third, and somehow even failed to draw the 0 electoral votes he hoped to get.

Political analysts detailed many factors in voters' decisions to re-elect the man who has pissed off virtually everyone in the past four years. Voters for Bush overwhelmingly cited clichés, such as "stay the course," and wanting to show "support for a war-time president," even though it's highly unlikely a Republican holding the office would not be a war-time president. They also showed an amazing recollection for Bush soundbites, disparaging John Kerry as "a flip-flopper" and a man with "no experience as president." Other election analysts, more extreme in their calculations, suggest Bush found himself re-elected because Americans are masochists or simply hate the rest of the world, or a large collection of people really enjoy Michael Moore films and wanted to see a lot more.

In his victory speech, the president managed to just barely restrain his smugness, keeping it at an 8, tops, and usually just below a 5.

"The American people have spoken, and I won," gloated the president Nov. 3. "I showed you who's boss. We told the rest of the world we don't care if they don't like us. But we'll show them—we'll show them all. We'll make them like us. We're big enough, we're strong enough, and Jesus speaks to me nightly."

The president also reached out to Kerry supporters, attempting to rally them to his second term agenda.

"I know who you are. It's okay if you voted for the other guy. But this is your last warning—fall in line. I have the power of the United States at my beck and call now. I cannot, and will not, ever be stopped."

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I do not wish to set a precedent for presenting unfounded conspiracy theories to the American public. I have stringent guidelines for material I accept and in turn present to you, and if I have no evidence I deem concrete, say pictures, documents, or someone has mentioned it to me at a night club, I file it away upstairs (in the attic) until something solid presents itself. However, my fears cannot stay quieted. I have begun to theorize the Olsen Twins are space pilgrims.

The cuddly Olsen Twins from ABC's Full House and countless straight-to-video productions? The same, conspiracy buffs.

The wide-eyed, thin-smiled pre-pubescent clones may seem innocent enough, especially to the young or retarded. But the more innocent the doily the more insidious the teapot lurking underneath, or so my mad grandmother used to say.

It is my theory that the Olsen Twins in fact started out as one baby, born to an American woman impregnated with alien DNA during an abduction—this is not news, of course, the whole alien abduction/impregnated with alien DNA is so old school conspiracy theory it's fairly boring. The interesting aspect here, and I've been looking into this, is that the baby quickly acclimated superhuman intelligence and formed a scheme with its mother where she profits from its salary while the alien baby infiltrated American consciousness at its most cultish level—television. Of course, the trend is to hire twins to play one character on television, mostly for children but this also works well for any show starring Pamela Anderson. At that point the baby split itself into two separate beings, which explains why no one can tell them apart.

The story from there is an easy and predictable one. Aliens grow up, aliens work inhuman hours producing sub-par CDs, movies, and dolls. Aliens develop a loyal following of kids too young to comprehend the danger they pose.

I label this "phase one." It only gets worse from here.

I will gather evidence and shatter the blockade that holds the conspiracy in. I have nothing to go on right now but sheer gusto and a distrust of the creepy aliens, but I've had feelings like this before and trusted them, the most notable when I uncovered the downfall of laserdiscs.

What's next on the agenda of these twisted aliens, if unhindered? Colonization, that's what. Duh, that's always what aliens come to other planets for. In fact, I would say as soon as the hideous space pilgrims achieve a higher popularity they will initiate "phase two." The only thing that has delayed phase two thus far is poor production values and flimsy plotlines.

"Phase two" will find the alien organic matter splitting and multiplying once again, this time into millions if not thousands, or billions, and might take up to three months. But by the time we have realized the abuse of nature going on, we will be trapped in the claw of alien pilgrims.

Then begins "phase three," which is kind of iffy, I'm not really sure which way that could go. They'll surely suck our planet dry of resources, that's a given. Whether it's slave labor or food for us I'm not sure, I'm sort of hopeful for the food angle, at least you assume it'll be quicker. But there's no real way to tell until phase two starts rolling. It's even possible alien technology has a way of turning carbon-based lifeforms into fuel for their space craft, that would be awesome.

Which is to say, I hope it doesn't get that far. But we must be wary. This battle is far from over. It hasn't even yet begun. Most people don't even believe there's a battle. I'll have to look into it more.

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Brace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this column at this point. My private life has to stay private. In fact, I may suggest to Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley that he lecture me using a speech I've penned myself.

In the meantime, I must use this column to convince Lee and Camembert to let me back into the apartment. As you may know, my visit to Gracieland in New Hampshire didn't pan out as a truly fulfilling trip, but went into Rok's bag of "life experiences" where I invariably end up the wiser about something—in this case, George and Gracie Burns. But after last week's column, I returned home to find the door locked, bolted, and adorned with a sign that read, "Fuck off, Finger."

So… Lee, Camembert. Is this how the Rok Finger housing experiment ends? For whatever reason, I go away and come back to find I've been banned from my own Camembert's apartment? This is the sort of mutiny that is unforgivable, but if I ever get back in, I will forgive you. Once I change the locks and make sure I have the only key.

Camembert: You're the last one I would have expected this from. Not that you like me enough not to do such a thing, or had any honor, but your sheer cowardice and fear of confrontation should have clipped your babymakers before you gathered the courage to join such a conspiracy. If Lee is forcing you to do this, I completely understand. I fear him as well. But I need an inside man, let's just say you fit both bills, to unlock the doors and let me back in. Once we're both in there, we'll fight for our rights to party. Lee is big and burly, but with my brains and your upper-brawn we can oust him from the seat of power, and we'd better hurry because I've been holding in a crap for two days now.

Lee: I know how it is. You're a little directionless with me missing, still a little disoriented from your lingering head injury. Camembert has some ideas that sound good on paper, or failing that, since you can't read, he says them in a real friendly voice. But following him in his betrayal is something I wouldn't expect from you, Lee—that's more of a cowardly Camembert thing to do. Please, don't let his miniature tank scare you, as I've said before, it's just a wheelchair. His power is in spokes and pulley systems, gears and cogs. Unbolt the door and let me in and together we'll reinstate the old Rok Finger: Unquestioned Ruler administration.

Assuming this is some kind of punishment from the both of you for some imagined wrong, real as it might be, please forgive my mistakes. I'm only human, no matter what the scientists say, and have my weaknesses like anybody else. Allow me a second chance and I will return and we'll all work things out. Repercussions will be swift and brutal, or none at all, if that's preferable. All is forgiven. Rok Finger is nothing but heart, four feet of pure, loving heart. Let my love open the door.

Or, failing that, I do have a key, you know. I can tell you haven't changed the locks and that lousy deadbolt won't hold forever. You have to leave the apartment sometime, at least Lee does, and Camembert is too scared to stay by himself. All of this is futile rebellion, and you know it. Lee's fondness for Little Caesar's pizza will lead to the door opening again sometime in the future, and when it does, Rok Finger will spring like a slinky back into the apartment and into your lives. I have an elephant's memory and a wooden bat, so think about how you want this to end before it's too late.

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