he left and moderates across the entire world let out a doleful cry as it received word that Justice Sandra Day O'Connor planned to retire upon confirmation of her replacement to spend more time making decisions in the private sector. O'Connor, one of the world's last few conservative moderates, appointed before the extinction of such creatures, often played the role of the swing vote in controversial decisions on abortion and the death penalty.

"Yahoo!" said swarthy right-wing leaders, not likely referring to the popular internet search engine.

The O'Connor retirement gives übermensch George W. Bush his first chance in 5 years of rule by terror to appoint his own brand of Justice to the Supreme Court. The Court, friend to Bush ever since it put the little dork in office back in 2000, has often just narrowly avoided turnaround decisions on hot-button issues like abortion and the display of the Ten Commandments in federally-funded places.

On Friday, with O'Connor's announcement of her retirement, Bush joined the trumpets of praise for the country's first female Supreme Court Justice. The president called her "a discerning and conscientious judge" and even going so far as saying he wished he could hug her, were it not for the restraining order against him she issued herself.

Though O'Connor disappointed liberals on occasions with such decisions as affirmative action, the left and more moderate members of political parties trembled in fear of what replacement the gun-happy, baby-lovin', prayer-shoutin' president might offer up in her stead. Although the White House remained quiet on any potential nominees, insiders say they are already working on a list of nominees that can storm their way through the Republican-held Congresses to confirmation.

"Of course the president is seeking a justice that can restore balance to his party's politics," said inside source Nate the Gangsta at the White House. "But there's still the problem of getting him past the whiney liberal leftovers in Congress, and the whole thing is on display for the American public, who still ridiculously hold out hope both parties will elect someone who reflects majority values. But I'm telling you now, the watchword on this nomination is minority—the more ethnic the better."

Among the "minority" nominees are black woman Janice Brown, Hispanic Emilio Garza, white woman Edith Jones, and Frank Easterbrook, who is balding. Also among the potential nominees is Bush favorite and current Attorney General Alberto "Seedy" Gonzales, conveniently Hispanic and yet more conservative than Lawrence Welk's underpants. Gonzales may be the favorite now for the seat, who would make a fearsome foursome with Bush's other Reichsjudges Clarence Thomas, Antonin Scalia, and William Rehnquist.

With a Republican House and Senate, Democrats have few options to stop the appointment of a judge that could rollback decades of moderate or left-leaning decisions, especially with one of their only remaining tools, the filibuster, dubbed the "ballbuster" by local wit Ted Ted, under fire from the majority GOP.

The liberal opposition, however, had no potential nominees for the president to consider yet, but anyone who didn't carry a sidearm into the court would be a happy consideration at this point.

Media Plugs CIA Leak

French Protestors Politely Riot

Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious

Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay

Dear Reebok:

Do you have to make your shoes so bouncy all the time? I bought my son a pair of your shoes and it wasn't ten minutes after he put them on that he bounced right out the window. If it weren't for the safety nets I had recently installed outside all of our windows, I don't know what would have become of him. Are you proud of yourselves? Do you amuse yourselves with the mental images of small children bouncing out of windows while you're making your shoes? Perhaps some people like your bouncy shoes; I can't claim to speak for everyone. But that's certainly not my kind of shoe.

Sandra Livingstone
Rington, Massachusetts



Dear Sandra:

Though we'd love to respond to your inanities with some sage advice, we're afraid your letter has become somehow misdirected. Please be kind enough to let us know if you ever decide to pull your head out of your ass, because we think the resultant sound might be loud enough to scare off our livestock and we'd appreciate some warning. Thanks.

the commune

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Dear Vietnamese Cat Lovers Society:

I have to admit that your advice was fantastic. The best cat really is a fat, happy cat. Unfortunately, my cat and I will be unable to attend your annual dinner, being as I ate my cat last night. Quite a plump, sunny feline, and without a bitter aftertaste at all! Head and shoulders above any cat I've eaten in the past. Or Pert Plus even, this was a delicious cat. I'd eat this cat again, and recommend it to friends. Even without tartar sauce.

And for the sake of your informed members, let it be noted that it is very difficult to feed a cat evil. I bought my cat some of the most expensive evil they had in the Disney store and he just took one little bite, maybe even just a lick, then threw up on my shoes and went over to take a nap. Granted, he did that with Fancy Feast as well, but I may have been buying the Garlic Evil flavor, I'm not sure.

I tried other methods of feeding him evil, including taping his eyelids open and buckling him into a child's car seat pointed at a television showing reruns of "Small Wonder," but somehow he managed to get out, throw up on my shoes, and then he went over and took a nap. I've heard that other cat owners have had more success with Flintstones Chewable Evil, but I have to admit I ate the whole bottle of those before I even got home from the store. They look like little candies!

In closing, thank you for your show of concern over my cat's well being. I assure you that he was wonderful, if a bit spicy. I am impressed with your organization; perhaps I could be put on your mailing list? I'm always on the lookout for great new recipes.

Ted "Fat & Happy" Wonder
Burnage, NC


Dear Ted:

What, is our address scratched into a park bench or on a bathroom stall somewhere? Christ on a craps table.

the commune

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Dear commune:

Is it for real that Tony Robbins can make my dreams come true? Because if it is, I want a restraining order against that guy. I've been having this gnarly dream about waking up with salmon for hands and I'll be pissed if that really happens. Thanks.

Mike Lundtree
Provo, UT


Dear Mike:

Though we're very happy to see that we were the actual intended recipients of your letter, we can't help but wonder if we'd just be better off writing the letters and responses ourselves. Just a thought. As far as your question is concerned, Tony Robbins really will make your dream come true, but we're sorry to say it's the one about being violated by the '79 Chargers. Thanks for writing.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible, rich, nor particularly good looking, but still enjoys a handjob from time to time. Is that too much to ask?

º Last Column: Volume 17
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"I remember quite clearly the first girl I ever kissed. I was very young and inexperienced, no older than 13. No younger than 13 either. In fact, I was 13.

She was a very self-assured woman, slightly older, around 16. She wore confidence like a dress, and she wore her dress like a dress, so it was like she was wearing two dresses, but both matched her rose-colored shoes.

Her hair was long and feathery, golden, not real gold but just blonde, though calling it 'golden' makes it sound more poetic, I like to think. Her lips were fat, naturally so, not like mine that were still fat from that playground fight with the ugly kid a day before. No, her lips were beautiful, like sweet candy wax lips and you wanted to taste but not eat because that would be disgusting.

'Do you want to kiss me?' she asked. I'm no fool, so I told her I did, though I was very nervous.

I could tell she was very reluctant, wearing a shy smile and a twinkling sparkle in her eye as she tried to play all normal about it. And, kiddies, that li'l devil I was, that 13-year-old Sampson L. Hartwig, I leaned in and planted the most fantastic kiss on her lips.

'That's an extra dollar,' she reminded me, but it was worth every penny as she put her clothes back on while I watched to make sure no flatfeet cops were cruising by."

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