Afghanistan Northern Alliance Declares Jihad on America

he American people were shocked Wednesday, but not all that much, when Afghanistan's Northern Alliance declared a holy war or "jihad" on the United States. The Northern Alliance recently took power in Afghanistan from our most recent enemies, the Taliban, who were unseated due to efforts of the United States and a coalition made up of other NATO countries.

"This is a complete surprise, sort of," said president Bush, reportedly "fumin' mad" at the betrayal. "If nothing else, myself and everyone in my administration are amazed by the quick turnaround time. This has to be some sort of personal record."

Trouble reportedly started when a coup within the Northern Alliance replaced former strongmen within the organization with fundamentalists disappointed in the lack of support the U.S. has pledged the new government of Afghanistan in the distant future. General Jamir Guzakibad, the newly empowered leader of Afghanistan's new government, has promised America will learn to respect the new prominence of the country or it will face dire consequences.

President Bush, upon hearing Guzakibad's threats translated for him, simply rolled his eyes, his head slumped into a hand with his other hand tapping his fingers in a hum-drum order from left to right.

"Here we go again," said the president.

Guzakibad has only offered veiled threats so far, but has vowed that the Afghan people are powerful and are chosen by Allah themselves as the rightful inheritors of their country, as well as the land surrounding them. Including the holy land currently occupied by Israel.

"If the American people are resistant to the divine call of the Afghan people," continued Guzakibad, "we have instruments in our possession capable of defending ourselves, with extreme means, if necessary."

In response, Secretary of State Colin Powell has speculated publicly that it may be necessary to move troops into strategic positions outside of Afghanistan's capital of Kabul.

"Fortunately, we have some guys who were there anyway," said Powell, a little bored.

Thursday night, the president interrupted only ABC's weak Thursday programming lineup to assure the American people the current threat will be dealt with cautiously.

"We will, uh, persevere and… yeah, you know… freedom is sacred, all that. Those who died… l'see… enemies are cowards…"

The rest of the two-minute speech was similarly fragmented as Bush continued to refer back to notecards and sigh deeply. When all of his high points were addressed, Bush waved away the camera and left the stage, as ABC resumed an episode of Whose Line is it Anyway? where two guys were miming riding bicycles.

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I want to take a moment to apologize to my faithful reader body, every last loser, pimp, pervert, bum, slob and drip. I know you've all been anxiously awaiting the thrilling conclusion of "Mickey Does Vegas," and if you aren't, hey fuck you. However, there's a more pressing issue that has recently crept up the leg of American society like a date rapist with a garbage bag full of roofies. I fear that if it isn't recognized and brought to light, it will destroy the universe as we know it. Or at least the part of the universe that I like.

Now, I'm not sure what the hell happened in the 20 minutes I was on the shitter, but that's about how long it took for the whole goddamned world to go pastel baby pink on me. Every article of clothing I steal lately: baby goddamned pink. And in case none of you guys got the memo, Mickey Hanes don't truck with men's clothes in girl colors. Not since the cradle, and even that wasn't my idea. I can only hope this problem is still contained in the bizarre country of Californiaworld, and hasn't spread like the clap to the other 37 states.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't pink been the undisputed color of the chick population since the beginning of time? Why do you guys feel the need to sissy yourselves up to feel cool? Did you run out of ideas? I don't care if it's a badass leather jacket dude, it's still pink leather and you look like a fruit! What the hell is next, purses? Over my dead fuckin' body! I don't have any shoes that go with that shit. I'll walk to the nearest bell tower I can find and Lee Harvey Oswald my ass into the history books before I let that happen. If guys wearing pink is truly considered cool, then welcome Mickey Hanes as the antichrist of cool. I will be the uncoolest motherfucker you ever laid eyes on. And if you're wondering how this is going to be a change, then hey, fuck you too. Call me what you want, but I will revel in my closed-mindedness while waiting out this limp ass fad from the comfort of the Vietnamese opium parlor in the basement of my apartment building. Fuck all this noise.

When I first noticed men starting to wear pink, I thought nothing of it. Probably just another huge influx of homosexuals, you know, like the 80's or whenever Ricky Martin comes to town. Good for them. But as the ether started to wear off, the world I'd known and comfortably disgusted suddenly morphed into a Terry Gilliam-style pink nightmare.

I was so angry when I got home that I went straight to the dresser drawer where Nevil sleeps, jerked his snoring ass out of his sock and went all Cambodian style switch happy on that undergrown munchkin. Man that felt good. For me, anyway, I can never tell about Nevil since he just giggles maniacally whenever his life is threatened. When I was done with him, that midget looked like a pound of raw hamburger meat that had been rolled in broken glass and hair, then set on fire with a magnifying glass and put out with a fire extinguisher. And not the chemicals inside, but with the actual can. For a second I felt bad, until I remembered that fucking midget had been using my razor to pretend-shave the other day. Serves him right.

There are so many things that I just can't wrap my brain around. Why I was born. Why I'm still alive, and why my neighbors call me anti-Semitic names for locking Nevil in the community oven while it's turned on. He's my goddamn midget; I'll cook him until I think he's learned his lesson! But guys… fellas… men… we did not emerge as the dominant and far superior sex on this planet just to skip around and make pretty like a bunch of giggly five-year-old schoolgirls. We are the alpha males! Haven't women taken enough from us already? They're probably laughing their asses off in their secret chick societies while they hand-knit sweaters that are too big for everyone, and yet we still hand them our testicles on a pink platter. Well not these testicles! I'm not letting them out of my sight for a second, even if it means never wearing pants again.

Don't jeopardize your manhood for the whim of a fad, guys, because these kinds of things are fleeting, like a tax return check. It's sand through your fingers, or if you prefer, tiny greased pigs through your fingers. Don't compromise the strength and domineering nature of all that is man, but embrace it, cherish and protect it till the end, and then use it to oppress someone smaller and weaker than you. You know, like a real man. Now go out and lie to some chick to get her to sleep with you before you piss me off further, you prancing pack of girly chimpanzees.

If I offended anyone with this column, good. Then I didn't bake my midget in an oven for nothing. Maybe you can run home and cry yourself to sleep on your overstuffed pink throw pillow and write about how Mickey Hanes was mean to you in your faggy little journal. Don't forget the part where I compared your nads to Skittles, princess.

What's that you say? Maybe I've got this whole thing wrong? Maybe I should go get myself a frilly pink jumpsuit, pick up some flower-oil skin moisturizer while I'm at it, and plaster my walls with happy teddy bear and ducky wallpaper? Never gonna happen. I'm never going to accept or believe that being a pussy is stylin'. Just like I'll never believe that George W. can read, or that Michael Jackson is really black. You people are sick.

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I was an avid comic collector when I was younger. Which means I was a kid who stole.

I loved comics, and couldn't keep my hands off them. At least that's what the judge said. In my defense, I only borrowed them so I could read them, bag them, and keep them for a long time to see if they went up in value. That was a lousy defense. I never should have defended myself. But I was only 10, I don't know what the court was thinking. And they called me the idiot.

That's why I love to watch comic book movies. And why the movie theater always throws me out for not having a ticket. There's a lot of comic book movies coming out this year. I'm already gathering ticket stubs to get into see the big ones. Like the new Batman movie. And there's also a Fantastic Four movie. I think Cinderella Man was a comic book character, too, but I'm not gay, so I didn't read it. Not that I wasn't tempted, mind you.

When I was a kid I wanted to be in the Fantastic Four. My biggest problem, besides having no super-powers, was that I never knew which one I wanted to kill and take the place of. Probably the girl. Not that I hate women, 'cause I don't, but it would be real awkward hanging out with a married guy, his wife, and someone else. I'd be like a fourth wheel. Maybe that could be my power—all my married friends and the guy they hang out with say I'm good at it.

If I could have any super-power in the world, that would be a tough choice. I think it would be the power to make people forget I borrowed money from them. 'Cause that's something I need all the time. We'd corner this super-villain in a bank vault, me and the rest of the Fantastic Four, who I now lead, and I could just borrow all the money from him. Tell him I'm late with the rent or something, or my mom needs hangnail surgery. Some cool story. Then, he defeats the rest of them and asks for the money back, and I'm all like, "Dude, I paid that back to you weeks ago." And he gets real mad, but he believes it, and has no choice but to go to jail. I haven't worked all of it out, but I think I'm on the right track.

I could be called the Borrower. It's better than Thieving Asshole, and I think that's taken already anyway.

I wouldn't want any of the other Fantastic Four's powers. The Thing is all made of rocks. Dude, have you ever been hit with a rock? That shit hurts. So whenever he punches anyone it's like someone threw a rock at his hand. Great idea, Eisenstein. And there's the Invisible Chick… so what, big deal. I go to parties and people already can't see me there. Got that power. Then there's the Human Blowtorch. He uses his power to burn all his clothes off. I've tried that before, trust me, it's a dead end street. You just end up having to buy more clothes and neighbors file a complaint with the police department.

Then there's Dr. Fantastic, who has the greatest powers in that team. He can stretch over and pick things up. Can you imagine that? Throw the remote control out the window, who needs it? No more are the chips out of reach… ever! I wonder if that feels like work, to stretch real far. I hope not.

If I had that power… well, let's just say I've solved the problem that's always bothered mankind. No more waiting for the commercial to go to the bathroom. Sweet.

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