hree masked bandits made off with the largest-ever collection of stolen sperm samples in a daring daylight heist of the McCullough Bank of Low-Grade Sperm in New York this week, amusing authorities and frightening one McCullough patron into premature donation.

Authorities believe they are dealing with extremely low-grade, and possibly mentally deficient, criminals, all likely the results of McCullough sperm in the first place. Common sense and eyewitness accounts point to the robbers mistaking the sperm bank for the usual money-filled kind, lured by the facility’s lax security and complete lack of the imposing 87-year-old security guards usually employed by banks in the movies. Even worse, the apparently dipshitted bandits also robbed the least desirable sperm bank in town, as McCullough has traditionally been a discount repository for the genetic material of over 5,000 winos, junkies, teenage heart-attack victims, the criminally obese and conservatives for the last 20 years.

“Yeah, this looks to be the work of some real gonads,” evaluated police captain Walter Diggs. “One of them even dropped his wallet at the scene, but since it was just full of coupons and a novelty driver’s license made out to Jesus H. Christ, this has been of little assistance in our investigation.”

The McCullough Bank of Low-Grade Sperm, known in the reproductive-assistance community as “The Island of Misfit Spank,” was created by wealthy thinker Nelson McCulloch in 1982 to counterbalance to the offensively Nazistic eugenics movement. McCullough hoped to counter the societal effects of eugenic tycoon Robert Graham’s Repository for Germinal Choice, also known as the Nobel Prize Sperm Bank, which aimed at improving society by giving more women access to high-grade spunk. The McCullough Bank went in the other direction, extending the reproductive power and reach of the very individuals who natural selection, and surely at least the Nazis, would likely have wiped out.

Authorities speculate that after McCullough’s long and proud history of creating the ugly, the short, the slothful and disinterested, the weak, the gene-poor, the flat-chested and the unlovable, the bank’s chickens may have come home to roost in the form of deficient McCullough alumni making off with millions of their potential siblings in a beige 1987 Chevy Nova with a “Big Johnson” bumper sticker.

Reproductive-assistance experts remain terrified at the thought of how the sperm samples might be used in the wrong hands, possibly as sandwich spread.

“I just wouldn’t want to be in that car when the skeet packet goes off,” chucked McCullough head Nigel Barmes, referring to the explosive packet of hot-pink dyed sperm that tellers mix in with stolen samples to foil robbers.

The McCullough incident marks the first occurrence of sperm bank violence in this country since 1991, when militant pro-choice activists blew up the Washington, D.C. Gentleben Sperm Repository in retaliation for several abortion clinic bombings nationwide.

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It turned out in the end that the Bauhaus was a terrible place to raise children. First of all, it's more of a loose conglomeration of artistic ideals than it is a freestanding masonry structure or plywood shelter. That's the last time I trust a pink dolphin reading the New York Times. Huh, like the Times knows shit about shit. A mistake I chalk up to chalk and hallucinogenic sweater yarn.

Second of all, which of course is first of the subdivision following the above comment, uhm.... do you smell that? Nevermind. Second of all, them Bauhausers are just wierd goddammned people. I mean, you let loose a monkey in a dress wielding a monkeywrench in to the average person's bathtub and they don't fucking crawl under the sink and hide for three days, humming Wagner under their breath. Society just can't function on that level. You need straight-laced people who know the difference between tinfoil and galvanized tinfoil. Chumps.

So anyway, the third reason is that I never had any kids. I mean, shit, you'd think it wouldn't make much difference where you raise some imaginary kids you don't even have with some hot little dish you saw down at the DQ, but trust me my friends, it matters. See the tinfoil comment above for details. So yeah, if I ever had any kids with a little Latino in hotpants, there's no fucking way I'd raise them at the Bauhaus. That would be right after the frozen foods isle at the Safeway on my list. But that's another story. And you can quote me on that.º more columns

Well, it looks like Pete Rose might never get into the Hall of Fame now, which is a bummer for him since I hear he has a lot of money riding on this. Apparently in his new book he admits he gambled on baseball back when he was a manager, only never on Sundays. I don't know what in the hell that's supposed to prove. Rose also said he never bet against the Reds, which I'll only believe if they can prove he hasn't gambled since around 1990. My God do the Reds suck.

Rose thought the deal was that they'd let him into the Hall of Fame if he would admit to gambling, but in reality they were just waiting for him to get a decent haircut. Keep waiting guys. It was a hilarious joke on Rose back in the 80's when they told him he was "banned" for gambling, nobody actually expected him to believe that skylark. Then it became this running joke over the years to see when he'd finally catch on. Eventually everybody got tired of waiting and decided they should come up with a new way to tease Rose in 2003, hence the whole "fess up and we'll let you in, Petey" gag.

After all, everybody in baseball gambles. The double play was invented on a bet, you think those lazy bastards would have thought that up on their own? The commissioner himself almost won fifty bucks two years ago after he bet a drinking buddy he could contract two teams without anybody noticing. Hell, if he'd picked the Expos and Brewers he'd be $50 richer today. Bet that keeps him up at night.

As for Rose, nobody has the heart to tell him he's not in the Hall of Fame because he's an asshole and nobody likes him. I hear next year they're going to say he can't go into the Hall of Fame because he masturbates too much. That guy'll believe anything, I swear.

Some argue that Rose belongs in the Hall since he holds the career hits record, but he only ended up with that because he kept hanging around the clubhouse for years after he should have retired and nobody had the heart to tell him he wasn't on the team any more. He was like baseball's annoying little brother who can't take a hint. It'd be sad if it wasn't so funny.

The gag on Rose last year was that if he admitted his wrongdoing, they'd sneak him in the back door of the Hall with a coat thrown over his head. So he writes this book, which is about 300 pages of Rose bullshitting about how he was a hero in Vietnam and two paragraphs were he says yeah, he bet on baseball and lied about it for 20 years, but it was all the losing teams' fault anyway since if he'd always won then it wouldn't have been gambling. To that, all I can say is forget the Hall of Fame, get this guy some kind of Hannibal Lecter award for convoluted logic. This guy's a miracle.

So Pete thinks he's in like Flynn now, but of course the rest of the Hall of Famers don't want to put up with his bullshit stories and catastrophic lack of class at HoF functions for the rest of their lives, so they have the commissioner tell Pete that the book was nice and all, but oops! He forgot to say he was sorry. Damn, sorry Pete. They all know full-well that Rose types with two fingers and used up all his good gook jokes in his latest book, so it'll be another ten years before they hear from him again. Then somebody will have to actually read the "Pete Rose's Big Book of Sorta Sorry" book before they can dream up another snipe hunt to send this guy on.

Cruel? Maybe. But you haven't seen the kinds of sport coats Pete Rose wears. Sweet pastel Jesus.

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