Israelis Capture Arafat to Win "March Madness"

srael, plagued by suicide bombers and endless terrorism on the home front came from behind Friday to invade Palestinian territory and take its leader prisoner, winning March Madness in a surprising upset.

It was a victory for Israel fans who hadn't seen an insanity play of that caliber from the country ever before. It has become almost an annual tradition for Islamic fundamentalists to take the cake in March Madness, but the unexpected break in this year's event was the shot of life many Israel fans needed.

"Who knew they had it in 'em?" said former Israeli Prime Minister and lifelong Israeli fan Shimon Peres. "I would have expected more diplomatic routes. Pleas for sanity, stepped-up security, calls for sanctions or U.N. action to ferret out terrorism in Palestine and Israel. This was truly a new level for Israel fans."

President Bush was woken early this morning to the news of Israel's shelling campaign on Yasser Arafat's headquarters. The president responded promptly, "No shit?"

Israel has claimed the larger body count for quite some time against Palestine, though terrorists from the area have held the Madness advantage. Their primary form of retaliation and attack on the state, suicide bombers, is as insane as it gets. Though Israel surprised everyone Friday with their bold move to "isolate" the Palestinian leader Arafat by shelling his headquarters and engaging Palestinian troops in armed combat.

"What a terrific show of Madness," said Britain's Queen Elizabeth, applauding in her queenly fashion.

With his troops unprepared, outnumbered, and ill-equipped, Arafat barricaded himself in his bunker as long as he could and tried to inform the world of his situation via cell phone calls to American news sources. A call to CNN's Christiane Amanpour was broadcast in the afternoon Friday. Arafat eventually reached the commune late in the evening, by which time it was obvious the esteemed Palestinian leader had been dipping into the stock of the wine cellar.

"It is time for the U.S. … if the U.S. is an opponent of terrorism they should speak out against the terrorism taking place here in Palestine. The occupation—" A loud hiccup interrupted Arafat. "Curse you! You try to poison me? You and your Israeli terrorism? I am an asshole? You are the asshole! I will fart on your children while your wife makes me breakfast. This I swear, for all of Pakistan. Wait… did I say Palestine or Pakistan? That's crazy!"

The phone was then hurled across the room as the firefight increased in Arafat's compound. Either that or he passed out.

"It is a glorious day for Israel," Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon told the press Saturday. "We have fought terrorism and won. If this does not stop the wave of lawless destruction, nothing will."

Sharon cut the press conference short when advised six Palestinian suicide bombers had detonated within the last fifteen minutes. The Prime Minister said he had previously mistaken them for celebratory fireworks.

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Since the beginning of time, the seasons have intrigued, beguiled, and frostbitten man. With summer came the Sun, and with winter came the Sun's cold and evil brother, Stan. But why? Who among the Gods would allow Stan's icy reign over the nethermonths, shining his cold rays down on a helpless populace year after year? Is this the work of Bertle the Brown? Or Oscar the Finn? Who dropped the proverbial ball and kicked it so proverbially across the street? Ye Gods, why hast thou screwed us so?

As is the case with many questions, it turns out that the answer to this one is more scientific than one might expect. Disheartening as it may be to believe, mere fairy tailery alone can not account for the vast fluctuations in temperatures between the summer and winter months. Who, then do we blame for the profanity-inducing hot steering wheels of summertime or the millions of people falling down in hilarious ways during the winter?

For years, primitive peoples believed that the flat, disc-like earth rested in a giant celestial frying pan, and that in the summer months the flame was turned on, heating the earth. The Gods were then believed to wander away to check out a noise they thought they heard on the celestial roof, leaving the earth unattended in the frying pan. By late fall, the earth would get too hot and burst into flames, sending smoke billowing up through the heavens and setting off the celestial smoke detector, which beeped weakly thanks to the Gods being too damned lazy to check the celestial batteries in the thing more often than once or twice a millennia. Eventually, the Gods would hear the beeping and dash back into the house, screaming "Holy Shit!"

The Gods would flounder around the celestial kitchen for a little while, not sure quite what they were supposed to do, then in a panic they would hose off the earth with a gigantic fire extinguisher that they kept next to the celestial stove. Thankfully the Gods knew themselves to be shitty cooks and were prepared. Hencely, a soothing blanket of snow would cover the earth until the springtime, when the Gods would start the whole rigmarole over again. It's best to remember that in primitive times, the Gods were not revered for being exceptionally bright.

Thanks to satellite photography and advanced knowledge of physics, modern man and the occasional modern woman need no longer toil under the weight of such gross misinformation. Today we know that the seasons are actually the result of a power struggle between the two sons of the one true God, Muzamtecca Brown. Muzamtecca's twin sons, named Sun and Stan, were given the earth as a present on the event of their mutual fifth birthday. At first, they were overjoyed, and the earth was a paradise with sunshine and rivers of marmalade. But before long, the two brothers grew jealous of each other, and started fighting over the earth.

Sun, the warm and cheerful brother who was nevertheless a selfish little shit, would grab the earth away from Stan, hugging it close to his chest, causing the glorious summer months. Stan, the cold-hearted and rather slow brother, would notice a few months later that he was no longer holding the earth and would snatch it back from Sun, kicking him in the knee and causing the earth's bitter cold winters.

Back and forth they have gone through the years, repeating the same routine that has resulted in the predictable pattern of the seasons here on earth. The discovery of this celestial struggle by scientists has understandably caused a rift in the religious community, as many consider it heresy to suggest that Muzamtecca's two sons are total assholes. But the reasonable man cannot argue with science. Assholes, they are.

Over the years we on earth have developed a useful calendar based around the struggles between Sun and Stan, creating our years, months and days. Except for the Mayans, who couldn't get with the program and had their own bizarre calendar with cookies and birds on it just to piss off tourists and neighboring countries. Eventually the Mayans were killed off by a mob of irate tourists who were being overcharged for not checking out of their hotel rooms by cookie-bird-moon day. The Mayans called to their neighbors the Incas for help, but the Incas answered back that they wouldn't be able to send anyone until the day after radish-spoon-donkey day, and nobody knew when that was going to be.

So the next time you awake in February to find your car encased in ice like a Jello snack, blame not the cooking-challenged Gods or the fickle freezing point of water, instead reserve your one-finger salute for that pudgy little bastard in the sky. No, not Neil Armstrong. You know who I mean.

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Call the police, the Better Business Bureau, a lawyer—call somebody because I've just been scammed big-time, folks.

Scholars of the Coleman Dynasty may know that my favorite movie is Pulp Fiction, I've mentioned as much in a recent article in Hollywood Refugee magazine. "But Clarissa," you say, "isn't your favorite movie Cannonball Run 2?" Not since I saw Pulp Fiction last month, pal. Update your weird little shrine or whatever with some current information.

And this is where the scam comes in. I'm just browsing through the video store, minding my own business, looking to buy a copy of Pulp Fiction for my home video collection, which at the time contained some of my previous favorite movies like Little Giants and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turles 2: The Secret of the Ooze. I think Pulp Fiction is my favorite of my favorites movies because when I mentioned it being my favorite movie people don't laugh or ask me if I'm serious. But anyway, it was in this video store the scam-artist I know only as Brian, by the nametag, began to work his scam magic.

When I told him Pulp Fiction was my favorite movie, Brian, by an amazing coincidence (although now that I think about it that might have been part of his scam from the beginning), said it was his favorite, too. He let me in on a little secret—on his arm, the very watch he was wearing was the watch from Pulp Fiction, and it was priceless.

You know which watch I'm talking about if you're one of the few people who's seen the movie. I didn't know but Brian reminded me it was the watch the boxer put in his ass to keep the guys from raping him or something. It was the boxer's watch and it had been inside some ass for some reason anyway, it's hard to remember exactly what he was saying because I was so awestruck by the watch. Brian told me it was the favorite thing in the world he owned and he would never sell it except maybe for $250. Guess what? I had $250 right on me at the time and I bought it! Ha!

Or "Ha!" I thought—and said to his face at the time. But I began to have suspicions when I wore the watch to work the next day and nobody noticed it, even big Pulp Fiction fan Ted Ted. I told Rok Finger it was the watch from the movie and he called be a goddamn liar. I tried to prove it by going to resident Expert-on-Everything Griswald Dreck, and he said that the watch in Pulp Fiction was not digital, and the watch I was wearing didn't smell like it had been in anybody's ass, though it was possible it had been taken from a stomach or lower intestines.

To say I was mad was an understatement. I went back to the video store and it was like Ocean's Eleven or something when I asked to see Brian and the girl at the desk said there was no Brian working there. I realized I had been conned from day one. The manager said the girl was wrong and Brian was just off that day, but I tend to think the girl is right. They knew who I was, they knew I had $250, and the pulled the big heist on me and left me with a good-for-nothing digital stomach-watch worth maybe $20, if I don't mention the stomach part. Leave it to me to get burned on buying Hollywood memorabilia in a video store.

I'm not bitter, except about losing the money. That which does not kill me gives me filler for a column, I always say. Still, I should get rid of this watch as quick as I can, it's starting to give me a wrist rash.

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