Twenty-two Dead and Children Delighted by Snowstorm

nowstorms blanketed the east coast early last week, stopping work in hundreds of towns and cities and creating countless traffic accidents. In the worst cases, 22 in North and South Carolina were killed in storm-related incidents. Schools were also closed in a number of states, thrilling children from grades kindergarten through 12.

"This is a terrible tragedy, the worst thing that's ever happened to us," said Raleigh, North Carolina security guard Cindy Macon. "We've lost power and had to leave our home. The whole family's been staying in a shelter and I can't afford to miss work, but they've closed everything. We're broke and destitute."

"Hooray!" said Evansville, Indiana schoolboy Ricky Teegan. "Snow's everywhere and they closed school! I hear they're probably going to be closed tomorrow, too. This is the best thing that ever happened to us!"

1.2 million homes in the Carolinas were left without power, and power companies are projecting days will be needed to make repairs. Sledding and snowball fights were also rampant in the area, as well as other snowed-in areas throughout the United States.

"We were going to go ice skating at the lake, but the ice was too weak," said Lakewood, Tennessee teen-ager Jamie Farnsworth. "No luck at all!"

"Our son was killed when his car broke through the guard rail and landed on the frozen lake," said Naomi Marquette of Toquin, Ohio, through thick tears. "The police said he survived the crash, but… he broke through and drowned in the water. The ice was too weak."

Greenville, South Carolina police chief Jim Walters said of the snowstorm, "Several houses in the area have lost power, and there have been at least twenty-five car wrecks at last count. But even worse, I hate to think of the impoverished and elderly people in town who can't afford to heat their homes. Once the roads are cleared and everything starts back up like normal I imagine the calls to pick up frozen bodies will start pouring in."

"It's fantastic," said Washington, D.C. college student Mitch Kursky. "I woke up at eight and just turned the radio on. School's closed! I turned up the thermostat, wrapped myself up in the blanket, and went back to sleep."

Initial snowfalls Tuesday and Wednesday covered much of the east coast, and though the snowfall ceased and the snow began to melt by Wednesday evening, extreme temperatures turned the melting snow into ice, creating even more road hazards and danger for travelers, as well as ice balls for snowball fights.

Echoing city officials across the country, Albertville, Illinois mayor Jean Harper advised residents, "Please stay at home if you can, if you are unessential at work or are sanctioned by employers. The storms may have lessened, but the roads are still extremely hazardous in some areas."

"I'm so glad I have the day off," said Caton, West Virginia middle school teacher Ned Murphy. "I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet day all to myself. A quick drive out to rent some videos ought to give me some entertainment. I think I'll order some pizza, too. If they take longer than an hour to get it to me, I get it at half-price."

Bush’s MySpace Page Traffic Way Down

Plans for Tallest Ferris Wheel Scrapped; Yao-Ming Too Busy to Turn It

Entwistle Pleads Not Guilty of Murder, Last Several Who Albums

Condi Rice Hates the Way She Smiles in Pictures

Goddammit! Another V-Day, come and gone.

According to nebulous website statistics, one in five Americans is single, but as we know, polls taken at pornographic sites are debatable. The truth is probably somewhere in between—all my neighbors are married or in serious relationships, yet nobody at the commune can maintain a significant other for more than a week. All I know is, if those estimates are anywhere near close, that leaves a lot of pissed off people who spent last Valentine's Day stewing in their homes.

Somehow another Valentine's Day passed and I survived, and more over, I didn't get drunk and call up any ex-girlfriends on the phone. Sure, I browsed the internet looking for the loneliest blogs I could find, just for company, then I searched for a while to see if anyone else remembered that show Tales of the Gold Monkey, but that isn't really on topic. What's important is I maintained some level of dignity by keeping my indignity within the walls of my apartment.

There are different arguments about Valentine's Day, I suppose. Some would say it's a soulless commercial enterprise driven by the almighty dollar to shill tiny greeting cards, flowers, chocolates, and chalk-flavored hearts; others are retarded, and disagree. These fucks are hopelessly whipped by whatever gender's genitalia they're dating.

Whoever first expressed the need for love, for one human being to find that special connection to another and build a lasting relationship with, is a total schmendrick. If he had been born in another era St. Valentine probably would have gone on to invent the dog whistle, another device with more espoused about it than proven. So what if a dog comes running when you blow it? Have you ever seen a dog that didn't come running to a person? They're stupid dogs. They see people and want to lick them, for whatever dog reason mandates.

Likewise, I say love is a myth. If I believed in the devil I would propose he started it as a way to complicate what could have been party city for sexual relationships in this world. You don't see animals exchanging phone numbers or discussing long-distance relationships. They know what they want and they don't confuse it with their self-esteem or worrying about how a partner reflects on them. It's not a coincidence either that animals don't suffer from broken hearts, depression, midlife crises, weight issues, or impotency—and I've seen enough websites to verify it.

I don't claim to be a genius; I may only be a seven-inch pixie with a surly attitude, but I can tell right from wrong. People who are not in relationships are miserable. People who are in relationships are miserable. If you're lucky enough to catch people during that brief period of ignorance when they think they are going to be in a relationship and find excitement in their partner and are fresh from loneliness enough so they dread going back to it, then you'll find them happy. The intelligence of dedicating your life to seeking out that one-to-two-week period in a life that lasts about 80 years, give or take cigarette consumption, it's not the brightest way to go.

Not that I have an alternative at this point. Or, I do have alternatives, but they usually end up with me getting drinks thrown in my face. I'm not advocating we drop the whole "love" deal right off the bat, but I say it wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea to re-evaluate the idea of monogamy. Elvis Costello asked what was so funny with peace, love, and understanding? That's a big question, with lots of possible answers. I'm only asking what's so wrong about paying money for sex a couple of times a month? Both you, the column reader, and the potential jurors out there I might be seeing next month.

º Last Column: Patriot Chains
º more columns

You may be asking yourself what do I mean by my slightly smug title? Am I mocking the tragically short and tortured life of a little girl killed in a massive campaign of genocide? No. I embrace Anne Frank's courageous spirit and indomitable will more than ever, now that I have had to spend secretive nights with my own "family" here at the commune, hiding out from imaginary government ninjas, fabricated Al Qaeda terrorists, and any number of made-up enemies that forced us to take to the road in recent weeks.

As a fresh reminder (let's pretend we're on the second part of a two-part sitcom, and you need filling in), the commune staff, sans Ritalin poster child Omar Bricks, fled their home offices weeks ago under the presumed threat of international terrorists trying to kill us. Why? Who knows. Perhaps in Red Bagel's belabored mind, he pictured some insidious plot to turn the commune offices into a potent missile to strike at government and financial targets. But we overran our attackers, whom I personally witnessed were carrying weapons that looked remarkably like toys, including a lime-green Super Soaker, and took to the road.

This is a natural reaction to a possible terrorist attack, of course: Load all your staff and whatever equipment you can carry into a Partridge family-style bus and drive west as if you're following the Grateful Dead. Reporting the incident to the police, federal agents, or the Department of Homeland Security would only tip your hand that you're important enough to be a terrorist target. And I'm sure a nasty new piece of paper is added to your FBI file, so it's best to avoid contacting the authorities at all costs. This is the rationalization of Red Bagel's mind, of course, and it's precisely why I've been writing angry letters to doctors to have the man committed for years now.

Not that being on the run from international assassins with the commune staff was all bad. Some of it was very bad. Some of it was agonizingly bad. So I might draw a pie chart, if that were my forte, and split it roughly into equal parts about 33% bad, 33% very bad, and %34 agonizingly bad. With a potential margin of error that it might be 99% agonizingly bad. You try sharing the same bathroom that Stigmata Spent and Ramon Nootles are using. One day of that and you'll be ready to walk in downtown Falluja with a sign reading "Islam blows!"

It was every bit as bad as I say. Boris Utzov doesn't speak a lick of decipherable English, of course, but it's impossible to understand him anyway since the man is always eating. I now know why all his columns are stained with ketchup, mustard, and French fry grease. But at least his broken English is a lot cleaner than anything coming out of Ivana Folger-Balzac's mouth; the woman could have made Sam Kinison blush. I've never heard such abundant use of the F-word just to ask a hitchhiker for directions.

All his money and Bagel wouldn't even spring for a hotel room. Well, he did get a hotel room, but he wouldn't let any of us stay in it since he was using it for the "commune dummies" he built out of old mannequins. "Just a trap to catch the bad guys," Bagel told us, rubbing his hands together in his usual scheme-talking manner. So basically we all end up sleeping on the bus seats, some of us two to a seat. I'm not sure which was more disturbing, Shabozz Wertham's audible racist sleep-mumbling or Boner Cunningham's somnambulist groping. What am I saying? Of course Boner was the worst. Without a doubt.

I'm just not cut out for this group. Believe me, if I was employable elsewhere, I would leave them all behind. When the most intellectual conversation you can get is with an 8-year-old mail clerk, you know you're in the wrong place. Come to think of it, why did I even follow them? It's not like anyone put a gun to my head. Well, not a real gun.

º Last Column: Highway to Hell
º more columns