aiti reveled in democracy Sunday as President Jean Bertrand Aristide stepped down following the results of a spontaneous recall election held in the country during the past two weeks. When the grassroots campaign effort reached Haiti's capital of Port-Au-Prince, the defeated president made a quick recession speech and left the country by plane very fast.

"Thanks for nothing, assholes," Aristide was reported to have said as he climbed the steps into his private jet in a hurry. A short, emotionally-charged speech by the disappointed former leader of the country ending his 14-year role as a power player in Haitian politics.

The fly-by-night recall process demonstrated how strongly rooted in democracy Haiti has become since achieving its independence from France in 1804, even after years of violent revolutions and overthrowing of dictators. With its people suffering results of extreme poverty and allegations of government corruption, the country celebrated its bicentennial by holding an unwritten referendum to removes its first free-elected president from office.

In fact, so fast was the democratic recall held, no candidate had a chance to get on the ballot as an alternative to Aristide's platform. Insiders in the unofficial Aristide opposition party would not confirm if Gary Coleman or Ariana Huffington had been contacted to fill the open presidency. At press time, hypothetical control of the government rested in the hands of some guy who claimed to be the chief justice of the Haiti Supreme Court, who asked we refer to him as "Jimbo."

The United States initially sided with Aristide at the first sign of violent democratic reform, but changed its tune last week when opponents of Aristide demonstrated considerable political sway by unleashing anarchy in cities surrounding the capital of Port-Au-Prince. Sunday, following the news of Aristide's hasty concession, hundreds of Haitians took to the streets to celebrate pure, uncut democracy.

Professor Vander La Baptiste of Port-Au-Prince University's Department of Coups expressed pride in the country's grassroots political upheaval.

"For too long Haiti was content with sham 'representative democracy,' like a lot of the western world. Finally, we have instituted true democracy," said La Baptiste. "After years of low voter turnout, five percent or less in many cases, Haitians are interested in politics. You can look out any window—careful, watch out for gunfire—and see them expressing political dissent in a democratic fashion. No longer will we waste time voting on bills and budgets about who gets a television. If someone wants a television, they will exercise their democratic right to go right into the store and take it. The police have respectfully stepped aside and allowed us to express our opinions in every matter, whether you are pro-Aristide or anti-Aristide. Just make sure if you are expressing pro-Aristide opinion you are not in a prominent anti-Aristide party territory."

La Baptiste added that mob turnout was as high as 54%, but expected those numbers to grow much higher as political fever spread through the population.

On the part of the United States, President George "Whiter than White" Bush promised to show his support for the display of democracy by sending Marines in cooperation with U.N. forces to "visit" U.S. interests in the country—"You know, just to see how they're enjoying the expression of political opinion down there."

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Omar Bricks is in favor of legalizing all drugs, if for no other reason than it would be hilarious to see what kind of cover Kraft would put on a box of Smackaroni & Cheez. My vote is for some dumbass-looking dinosaur that's all slouched over, nodding off in front of a TV that's playing The Jetsons. That would be some hilarious irony, because what in the hell is a dinosaur doing watching The Jetsons? That shit's futuristic even for us, but for him it's like double-futuristic, it's just absurd. If I were a dinosaur I'd just fart at that kind of absurdity, it'd be too much to handle.

Mark my words, we wouldn't have to be give all these spazzy little grade school kids prescription speed if they were getting smack on crackers in their Naked Lunchables. None of those hyper little dipshits would be acting up at all, throwing scissors or singing the "diarrhea song," any of that, they'd be too busy nodding off and staring at their shoes. And I bet they'd be better at art class, too. Give those little junkies some fingerpaints and cake decorations and I bet you could sell that shit at the art fair, or at least in a head shop or something.

It would also be worth it just to see what kind of commercials they came up with for the hard-core drugs, like crack. I can just see some stressed out housewife dragging around a minivan full of screaming little shitheads, and then she gets a flat tire, then some fat hobo guy barfs on her blouse, and then it's freeze frame and she turns to the camera and says "F-this, I'm smokin' some crack!" They show her lighting up and enjoying some Entenmanns's brand crack or whatever while her kids play with the spare tire by the side of the road, and there's some tiny superimposed type about how you may experience a side effect where you become a crack whore and blow a donkey, etc.

Most of the drugs would probably go the beer commercial route, showing some goateed slob getting all the skanky ladies because he's got the good blow. They'd probably have to get creative since I don't think they can show harmonica-style blowjobs on network TV, but I'm sure you can imply it pretty easy. A little dark makeup around the eyes would probably do it; everybody knows what a coke whore looks like.

I'm not even sure who would get the rights to sell blow, though of course Coke is the obvious choice. They could do some of those classic blind taste-test commercials, with some guy doing a line of coke and then a line of Draino, and as he's flopping around on the floor like a fish he gestures that he preferred the coke. I don't know about the rest of America, but I think that would be more than enough to convince Omar Bricks that coke is it.

I hear Kraft's trying to get out of the junk food business, so I think they'd be a natural to take over the junk business. Nobody's going to bitch about them making America fat anymore if all of their products make you think your food is yelling at you. I can just see their commercials marking the transition, like some guy gets busted at customs and the dude with the rubber gloves pulls a sack of Oreos out of his ass. Ha ha. Then, of course, the stuffy English customs dude shrugs at the camera and pops one in his mouth, that's the punchline. They may regret having told me that "Double Stuff It Up Your Ass" wasn't a catchy slogan when that day comes around.

The rest of the drugs would fall into line easily enough. Big Tobacco would of course get pot, and they'd find a way to make it addictive. Gatorade could handle angel dust, unless Powerade or Red Bull shivved Gatorade in the corporate shower and took over their territory. And we'd have to give Schweppes control of some bullshit drug, like ether, so they wouldn't get a whiney about the U.S. having a narcotics monopoly.

Hmm, Narcotics Monopoly! Damn! Don't look now, but Omar Bricks is getting an idea that could revolutionize the board game industry forever. Somebody get Parker Brothers on the phone, they need to file a patent for Roofie Twister, and pronto.

Bricks out.

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Brace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this column at this point. My private life has to stay private. In fact, I may suggest to Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley that he lecture me using a speech I've penned myself.

In the meantime, I must use this column to convince Lee and Camembert to let me back into the apartment. As you may know, my visit to Gracieland in New Hampshire didn't pan out as a truly fulfilling trip, but went into Rok's bag of "life experiences" where I invariably end up the wiser about something—in this case, George and Gracie Burns. But after last week's column, I returned home to find the door locked, bolted, and adorned with a sign that read, "Fuck off, Finger."

So… Lee, Camembert. Is this how the Rok Finger housing experiment ends? For whatever reason, I go away and come back to find I've been banned from my own Camembert's apartment? This is the sort of mutiny that is unforgivable, but if I ever get back in, I will forgive you. Once I change the locks and make sure I have the only key.

Camembert: You're the last one I would have expected this from. Not that you like me enough not to do such a thing, or had any honor, but your sheer cowardice and fear of confrontation should have clipped your babymakers before you gathered the courage to join such a conspiracy. If Lee is forcing you to do this, I completely understand. I fear him as well. But I need an inside man, let's just say you fit both bills, to unlock the doors and let me back in. Once we're both in there, we'll fight for our rights to party. Lee is big and burly, but with my brains and your upper-brawn we can oust him from the seat of power, and we'd better hurry because I've been holding in a crap for two days now.

Lee: I know how it is. You're a little directionless with me missing, still a little disoriented from your lingering head injury. Camembert has some ideas that sound good on paper, or failing that, since you can't read, he says them in a real friendly voice. But following him in his betrayal is something I wouldn't expect from you, Lee—that's more of a cowardly Camembert thing to do. Please, don't let his miniature tank scare you, as I've said before, it's just a wheelchair. His power is in spokes and pulley systems, gears and cogs. Unbolt the door and let me in and together we'll reinstate the old Rok Finger: Unquestioned Ruler administration.

Assuming this is some kind of punishment from the both of you for some imagined wrong, real as it might be, please forgive my mistakes. I'm only human, no matter what the scientists say, and have my weaknesses like anybody else. Allow me a second chance and I will return and we'll all work things out. Repercussions will be swift and brutal, or none at all, if that's preferable. All is forgiven. Rok Finger is nothing but heart, four feet of pure, loving heart. Let my love open the door.

Or, failing that, I do have a key, you know. I can tell you haven't changed the locks and that lousy deadbolt won't hold forever. You have to leave the apartment sometime, at least Lee does, and Camembert is too scared to stay by himself. All of this is futile rebellion, and you know it. Lee's fondness for Little Caesar's pizza will lead to the door opening again sometime in the future, and when it does, Rok Finger will spring like a slinky back into the apartment and into your lives. I have an elephant's memory and a wooden bat, so think about how you want this to end before it's too late.

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