isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: We’re serious; you really need to leave now.

“We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,� sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.�

The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans’ stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation.

“We had this one crazy old lady who wouldn’t leave without her million cats, so we had to drown all her cats in the back yard,� anecdotalized Pvt. Jeremy Pankin, animal lover. “I mean, that is, all her cats drown in the back yard. Yeah.�

According to officials, 95% of the people now remaining in New Orleans qualify as celebrities, with the jury still out on John Stamos and a few others. Most are reportedly taking turns rescuing each other from various perilous locations around the sunken city.

“Thassa haw nyaom flawn dawg,� drawled local plumber Cornell Hughes, possibly speaking about the celebrity situation in New Orleans. “Shaw golla farn myaw.�

Oscar-winning actor Sean Penn, 45, has drawn the most attention after arriving last week with his entourage in a boat that immediately sank, despite frantic efforts at beer-cup bailing. Reports are unclear as to whether Penn was here to help the locals, or if he was rehearsing for his role in an upcoming Woody Allen comedy.

“When you see people in trouble on TV, as a celebrity you can’t just stand idly by,� explained singer Harry Connick Jr., who like every other jazz musician, claims to be from New Orleans. “That’s why I’ve been here for the last few days, walking around and telling people I’m Harry Connick Jr.�

Other celebrities either rescued or ejected from the city by the National Guard this week include Fab Morvan, formerly of Milli Vanilli, rapper Flavor Flav, the Dixie Chicks, Leonard Nimoy, radio personality Dr. Phil, the Oak Ridge Boys, Paul Reubens, Sista Souljah, writer Stephen King, the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir, tennis pro Ivan Lendl, Sting, actor Mickey Rourke, and three members of the alt-fluff quartet the Cardigans.

R&B singer Macy Gray wisely decided to give the highly toxic and in all likelihood instantly carcinogenic city a wide berth, instead volunteering to hand out t-shirts and condoms to refugees at the Astrodome in Houston.

“You kiddin’ me?� questioned Gray when asked about her decision. “That place is like the Chernobyl Water Park. I wouldn’t even drive past that state with the windows down. I already got curly hair, you know?�

Meanwhile, Fox crews have been on hand in New Orleans all week to film a new reality show based on the celebrities’ and locals’ exciting efforts to sneak back into the watery grave that used to be their city. According to network officials, I Forgot Something! will premiere on Fox later this fall.

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Anyone who knows me should know I'm not political. Or at least I never thought I was. Which only means I never knew myself. Huh. How does something like that get by me? But it don't matter. I'm taking a stand, for once in my life. And it probably will be once. It's hard to take a stand for or against something. I keep forgetting I took a stand, and then I can't remember which side I'm on.

So I might as well tell you before I forget: I'm taking a stance against body grooming. Not all of it, mind you. I'm not some big slob or nothing. I'm still going to take my bath every couple of weeks, and I might even use soap. But no more of this bullshit about hair cutting and shaving and clipping nails and so on. It's all just a lot of crap made up by big business to sell us things we don't need, like electric razors and razors for the Amish and such.

Think about it: What would be the worst thing that would happen if you stopped cutting your fingernails today? Sure, a lot of fatcats who own nail clipper corporations would be out of luck. But you, with the long fingernails and toenails? If you get thrown out of a helicopter or airplane, you can just grab the side of a mountain or building on your way down. Save yourself from certain doom. That means we've been cutting our own throats by cutting our nails. And I'm done with all of it.

I'm done with haircuts, too. Done with lining some bigwig wig magnate's pockets with my hard-borrowed money by cutting off my hair and letting him come in after I've left to make some wig out of it. I recognize my hair, once in a while, when I see some bald guy wearing it on the street. Nobody else's hair curls just the way mine does. I'm losing all this hair out of ignorance and some greaseball with a dustpan and wig business is getting rich off my leavings. It's over, rich guys.

I'll just grow my hair out forever and ever. Grow it long, grow it high, grow it down to my ass, and then if it falls out from terror when it reaches that length, bury it proper and then grow it out again. I'm lucky to have hair. Even this hair. Some day I might be some old guy with huge bald patches and I'll remember all the huge patches of hair I left on a barber's floor in my youthful indiscretion. But that guy's not going to be me anymore. I'm keeping all of it, never cutting it again. And if any does fall out for any other reason, I'm going to develop an elaborate filing system to keep track of it all.

And I'm not going to cut or shave my crotch hair either. It probably goes without saying, but it always pisses off my mom when I talk about my crotch in my columns.

Face shaving is out, too. I've already got me the world's most beautiful moustache (despite what those elitists at Moustache Quarterly say) and I'm going to grow the world's coolest beard to be its buddy. They'll hang out together constantly, on my face, and go with me on fishing trips and to ball games. The best of friends until they grow old and gray together. I'll have a big thick beard and moustache, like that one famous religious guy—Manson.

The jury's still out on what to do with my urine and stools. But I've got plenty of jars, so there's lots of time before I have to come to a final decision on all that.

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I admit I have been away from my game for quite a while, so forgive me if some of my best conspiracy theories have already been doled out to you from lesser sources. Have you heard yet that Kim Jong Il is a Cabbage Patch Kid?

Oh, yeah. Well, it's not secret over there. You know how non-Chinese Asian culture has this weird hang-up on celebrating all things America. If you thought it was just the Japanese with their Shonen Knife bands and pompadour haircuts, guess again, friend. The Koreans have always admired our culture, except for the years we were bombing theirs into non-existence. Chiefly their big beloved American fad has always been Cabbage Patch Kids.

In fact, that's how Kim Jong Il managed to seize power. The Koreans weren't initially fond of him, but he used his dad's neverending supply of wealth (by Korean standards) to buy the remnants of the Coleco company and hire scientists to integrate over time his DNA with remaining Cabbage Patch Doll design prints.

It was a brilliant ploy, and you can certainly see the resemblance when you see pictures of the chubby-cheeked, short-statured little menace. But I wouldn't credit him with the originality. His older brother whom we've never heard of, Kim Jong Duc, he was the sharp knife in the drawer over there. He conceived of the idea, then foolishly entrusted his staff, all old football buddies from college, to gather the necessary data to put the plan into operation. Well, to North Koreans, Cabbage Patch and Garbage Pail Kid fads are virtually indistinguishable, so you can imagine the horrible offspring from that failed experiment. He was locked away in some basement in the palace of Pongyang, leaving Kim Jong Il unquestionably in charge of the dynasty, and for once, the attractive one in the family.

It took little more than a show of his adorable little adoption papers for the North Korean people to fall in love with this porky dictator, and they pledged undying loyalty to him immediately. Of course, there's little ways to prove this to most people who suspect the information false. Nothing short of pulling down Kim Jong Il's pants and exposing the signature of Xavier Roberts on his fat back cheeks will constitute proof in their eyes. But proof only constitutes one-third of proving something, as we know. The other two-thirds involves wanting to believe it's true and stating it very loudly for all to hear.

Don't insult yourself by asking me where I get my information, since we both know I'm not telling you. Let's just say the guy is an old confidant who has never failed me before, and be reassured I would tell you his name if I could remember. But now that we know the cause of Kim Jong Il's popularity, and I would say you could list linking Cabbage Patch DNA with his own is a possible reason for his deep-seated insanity, we can make every attempt possible to roust him from power.

The CIA, those lovable self-starters, are already at work on this, of course. Given that assassination will cause an international incident, possible war, and create a martyr out of remaining Cabbage Patch Dolls, the Agency has only one solid alternative solution: Create a beloved dictator even more popular than Kim Jong Il. To this end they've been experimenting with genetically-altered Smurf men and other such experiments. Early attempts to create a human-Donkey Kong hybrid were embarrassing failures, and the guy is still throwing barrels off the top of the Sears Tower. More on this as it develops, of course, and if any of you happen to see a living human being who looks strikingly like Howdy Doody, don't hesitate to contact me here for a suitable reward. I'll make you a reporter or something, promise.

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