he White House faced embarrassment this week when their usual method of distracting the population with lesser problems backfired, leading them to unintentionally misdirect public attention back to the original problem. While the administration hoped to draw notice from earlier remarks misdirecting national awareness to the slave trade.

Popular theory is the White House misdirected media attention to the Middle Eastern slave trade to distract from the continuing aggression in "free" Iraq, and possibly some of the Nixon comparisons President Bush has endured over the course of the week; when Middle Eastern allies such as oil magnate/American investors Saudi Arabia took offense at the promise of sanctions, the White House sought to avert public outcry against the ally by launching a new attack—this one, accidentally, drawing notice back to the failing economy and bleak financial prospects for most Americans.

"It's a shame in this country that men and women can work all their lives and having nothing to show for it," said Condoleezza Rice, as a few aides standing by gave each other quizzical looks. "Especially in America, a country recognized world wide for having so much prosperity. And yet, we're losing quality jobs everywhere but the service industry. The president is most definitely angered by this, and is sorry he's passed so many economic policies to keep it in place."

Failing to recognize that the disparate situations between the rich and poor in the United States was the same initial social ill so many wars were started to draw attention away from, Rice continued to assault the very structure of American finance.

"America continues to make advances in industry, medicine, and of course, commerce—advantages only a handful of Americans will fully experience, since the system is built to allow only partial upward mobility, preserving a luxury status for a privileged few, who triple their earnings by sending skilled jobs overseas and cutting the bottom out from the working classes."

Concluded Rice: "That seems to me a much more devastating problem affecting this nation than the 800,000 slaves reportedly trafficked through the fine countries of our allies, right?"

It was a classic clusterfuck as only this administration could manage, doing potential damage to four and a half years worth of social reform rollback and securing the position of the upper classes. Realizing their mistake the Saturday after the statement was made, the White House had little choice but to keep the misdirection rolling.

"The War on Terror is at its worst," said Press Secretary Scott McClellan, rushing into the press room Saturday morning, while most of the reporters were still pretty hung over for a long night's/morning's drinking. "We have elevated the terror level to 'fantastic,' which is uh… pretty bad. We've heard rumblings throughout the Middle East that Al Qaeda may be preparing for another strike on U.S. soil. And if intelligence hasn't picked up anything on that yet, they most certainly will within the next few hours."

Though the War on Terror is a subject that hasn't unified Americans with the same strength it originally did in late 2001, it seemed like the safest place to leave public scrutiny until everything had blown over, or at least until the next major summer blockbuster got everybody talking about Batman or alien monsters or something again.

Brit Sailor Apology Video Obviously Just Photo with Superimposed Talking Lips

“.XXX” Domain Reserved for Adult Content Sites, Online Moonshiners

“Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters

Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough

I could not be more outraged if I found out the country of Paraguay was needling my sister. Everything in my penthouse apartment is gone, everything. The switchblade toothbrush, the hydro-powered vacuum cleaner, the lithograph of the Zapruder film still. All of it gone, all because I was too trusting. Because I thought I was hip and "with it," because I thought I could reach the young people.

Well, fuck the young people. I want my stuff back. Those guys from M-TV's Cribs were just lousy thieves. Came in, shot a few hours of footage of my penthouse apartment, left, came back in the night and made off with everything. Even the roast beast. I'm starting to think they weren't really from M-TV at all, too.

It started off innocently enough. I had just finished paying off my bookie and had to make another large withdrawal when I realized I had not yet paid the "cleaner" for solving my problem with former commune Office Manager Phil Lampost. I had just emerged from the bank again, counting the thousands of dollars I had withdrawn, when the "talent scouts" for M-TV's Cribs came up to me. I thought them common hoodlums, but they recognized me right away and said they loved my work—although, it occurs to me right now they couldn't place my name.

They told me their predicament, that they had to film an episode of Cribs for M-TV right away and their guest for the episode, comedian Paul Rodriguez, had dropped out on them at the last minute. Once I checked a TV Guide at the local newsstand to verify such a show called Cribs exists (I'm no dummy), I told them it was okay to use my crib for their latest episode. They assured me the young people would be trippin' to have me on M-TV.

It was luck that they had the camera (a Hi-8, and five tapes) with them, so we were off right away. I opened my doors and my fridge to these frauds, and I must say they drank some very expensive foreign beer known as Dos Equis. Hours of footage shot, and perhaps I should have suspected something by the extra attention they paid to the locks and security systems, but I had no idea, I've never seen Cribs before and the young people get into all sorts of weird fads. When they left, I thought I had done a little to bridge the generation gap and reach the future of America. Failing all else I hope these thugs at least have enough facts to know the truth about the Apollo 13 mission.

The fact that they made off with everything I own and, again, drank some pricey foreign beer doesn't bother me all that much. Alright, it bothers me. It bothers me more than you'll ever know. But what really bothers me is the subterfuge and the dishonesty. Perhaps if they had come up to me, forward and honest, and asked for everything I own I might have… no, that wouldn't have worked. I have to admit they at least knew what would work effectively.

No question, I've once again been played like a two dollar fiddle by some sort of fiddle-musician. Just when you think you're as suspicious and distrusting as a soul can get, you learn it's still not quite enough to keep your entire penthouse from being stripped to the bone. I can replace the furniture; it just means cutting salaries all around and selling some of those new-fangled computers I got for the reporters. But I'll never be able to replace the trust, unless there's some place you know that does that invasive sort of procedure.

Fortunately, I have my memories of this deception. And their descriptions. Now, if you don't mind, I have another visit scheduled with my "cleaner" friend.

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Some people call me… the "space cowboy." Some call me the "gangster of love." Some people call me "Maurice"—wahnt wah—because I speak of the pompatus of love.

People talk about me, baby—say I'm doing you wrong. "Doing you wrong"! Well, don't you worry, baby, don't worry. 'Cause I'm right here; right here, right here at home.

'Cause I'm a picker. I'm a grinner. I'm a lover—and I'm a sinner. I play my music in the sun. I'm a joker, I'm a smoker; I'm a midnight-toker. I get my lovin' on the run.

You're the cutest thing I ever did see.

I really love your peaches; wanna shake your tree.

Lovey-dovey. Lovey-dovey. Lovey-dovey all the time. Ooo-wee, baby, I sure show you a good time.

'Cause I'm a picker. I'm a grinner. I'm a lover—and I'm a sinner. I play my music in the sun. I'm a joker, I'm a smoker; I'm a midnight-toker. I sure don't want to hurt no one.

People keep talking about me baby: Say I'm doing you wrong. But don't you worry, don't worry, no don't worry, momma. 'Cause I'm right here at home.

Editor's Note: As you may have guessed, Rok Finger had an embarrassing incident with a stage magician over the weekend and has assumed the new identity of Steve Miller of the Steve Miller Band; hopefully temporarily. With luck, Rok's regular identity and column will be restored next time.

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