Hamas Leader Demands One True Ring

heikh Ahmed Yassin, founder of the Islamic militant movement Hamas, came out of hiding today to reject calls for a cease-fire with Israel. Yassin instead issued an impassioned demand that he be given the "Ring of Power," with which the Muslim cleric would rule the hearts of men and bring about Mideast peace through the total annihilation of all who would oppose him.

The wheelchair-bound militant leader spoke at a Gaza City mosque, flanked by Hamas bodyguards while making his first public appearance since nearly being killed earlier this week during Israeli air strikes.

"The time for playing games has ended," announced Yassin, gesturing to his rickety wheelchair with a resigned shrug.

"Israel can take my legs, but we will take the legs of their country! And eat them, like they were legs of chickens. Delicious Israeli chicken legs!" shouted Yassin, rubbing his tummy in a satisfied gesture. The largely Muslim crowd present cheered to show their support for chicken.

"And we will eat their wings and nuggets when we are done feasting on the drumsticks of oppression!" Yassin continued, making a face described by several onlookers as "kinda goofy-crazy."

Hamas has refused to give up its arms and join the government of incoming Palestinian prime minister Ahmed Qorei, citing the August 22nd assassination of Hamas co-founder Ismail Abu Shanab as the latest unpardonable gaffe in Israeli-Hamas relations.

"In spite of the truce, the Israeli enemy did not stop its aggression, its massacres and its destructions for one moment after we bombed that bus full of children," added Yassin, refreshingly devoid of irony.

"Israel continues their aggressions and the United States has declared war on Islam," Yassin explained, referring to U.S. President Bush's recent "Let's Go to War with Islam" speech. "But Islam will be victorious, because it is stronger than Bush and his country. Or at least it will be once I have the One True Ring and take my place as the King of All Men. The infidels will scatter like cockroaches because I will be a huge Muslim man and they will be small like cockroaches, and I will be stomping on them. Look out."

Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat expressed regret that discussions with Hamas leaders had taken this unfortunate turn into Lord of the Rings-themed dementia, greatly complicating hopes for stability and a lasting peace in the region.

Meanwhile, a group of 27 Israeli air force reserve pilots signed a petition refusing to carry out air strikes against Palestinian targets, citing apprehension about being on the wrong side when Yassin "gets that ring and starts kicking wholesale ass like an unstoppable 9-foot-tall voodoo zealot."

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You say I ruined your life, whatever.

Who gets machine-gunned to death these days, anyway? I mean, seriously. The chances have got to be astronomical. You practically have to be begging to be machine-gunned to death. My cousin was on the waiting list to get machine-gunned to death for three years when he was hit by a train. I'm serious! The way I see it, you should be writing me a thank-you note. I'd call you an inconsiderate prick if I wasn't certain you'd take it the wrong way.

Ruined your life, ha. That's rich. I'll have to remember that to tell my ex-wife, she'll get a real kick out of that one. She loves jokes like that, about me ruining her life or sucking out her will to live, all those old chestnuts. She has this great new one about me chewing up the best years of her life and spitting them out like tobacco juice, it goes over really well at parties.

Because really, how do you ruin somebody's life? Seriously. I can't even fathom it. A priceless Faberge egg, now that's something you can ruin. You can't play catch with one of those things without ruining it completely, trust me on that one. Friendships? Yeah, I suppose you can ruin a friendship. Especially if it's with a stuffy Faberge egg collector who doesn't keep his house locked securely at night. Those are both ruinable, I'll admit. But an entire life? Keep dreaming.

So what, so you have to get all your sustenance by licking pulp off the filter screen from a juicer now. Who doesn't? I'm serious, my grandpa lived off juicer pulp for years, and I didn't hear him complaining. Sure, after the kangaroo ripped out his voice box he had to talk by tapping out Morse code on a pair of spoons, but if he'd really wanted to complain I'm sure he'd have found the time. If he'd wanted to, grandpa could have sat around all day, bitching about how I took him to Australia and told him all the kangaroos were so tame you could get them to eat chewed-up peaches right out of your mouth. But did he? No way! Not after I took away his spoons. Who can sleep with that rat-a-tat-tat going on all night? Jesus. He acted like any of us actually bothered to learn Morse code.

You kind of remind me of my grandpa, actually. That fuckin' guy would believe anything. Well, I'm not sure he'd believe a tall tale like "Go on, stick your hand in there. It's not like they'd keep a loaded machine gun laying around!" but he wasn't an idiot. He was just old and feeble of mind. He didn't run around, sticking his fingers inside the gears of a loaded machine gun on a fool's dare, just because the fool had talked him into sneaking onto a military base in the middle of the night. But then again, grandpa always did hold his liquor better than some people who I won't mention by name.

(You.)

So come on, let's drop this tired old argument. Any reasonable person knows you can't really ruin a life unless it's two thirds of the way there already. Yeah, then maybe you can give it a nudge down the crapper, but hey, that's life. The important thing to acknowledge is that we're both a little to blame. Sure, I may have pulled the trigger, but whose idea was it to ignore me when I was yelling "Dodge! Dodge!" like a good friend? Sure wasn't mine. Granted, you might not have thought it was funny when I was shooting the machine gun down at your feet and yelling "Dance, motherfucker!" but I sure did, so that's really your word against mine when you think about it. And hell, if your fingers hadn't been caught in the gears I don't think most of those bullets would have even hit you, if you insist on calling a spade a spade.

I swear, when those doctors brought you back to life sometimes I think you left your sense of humor on the other side. Let me know if they ever sift it out of that sack of unidentified gristle that was left over after the operation. Otherwise, I don't even know why we're talking.

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Admit it: you'd kick your own mother in the cooch to find out what the hell is going on with ABC's Lost, only your mother won't let you anywhere near her after you slammed her head in that sliding glass door to find out who killed Laura Palmer. Have no fear, violent reader; the commune is here for you. If not to give out answers, then to at least share your confusion in a public forum.

I've been asked to serve as the commune's television expert this week, both because I haven't written anything in a while (let he without slack cast the first stone) and nobody else here knows dick about TV. Commune answer hole Griswald Dreck refuses to watch television at all on the grounds of haughty condescension, which is similar to Orson Welch's excuse that he hates everyone and without the confining effect of a movie theater audience is highly likely to physically attack the television. That leaves Roland McShyster and me, and I got the assignment after Roland asked somebody in the office if Fish Police won any Emmys this year.

So here we are, mightily confused and alone after last week's stunning episode, when things finally turned ugly on headshot island, a place populated entirely by beautiful castaways and Hurley. Sawyer fucked everybody, which we were all waiting for, some of us more literally than others. And it looks like Charlie fucked the duck again, following up his previous week's freak-out with the highly-effective reconciliatory strategy of total, apeshit betrayal. This guy makes such consistently shitty decisions, he should have a position in the Bush Administration.

We had more topless Sawyer this week, which reminds me of something I needed to say to all the women out there who were bitching about actor Josh Holloway's "nothing special" physique: obviously none of you have ever seen a real man naked before. Trust me, most of the time it's like something out of Alien Autopsy. But it is refreshing to see that men aren't the only ones with insane concepts of physical beauty these days.

In the recap at the beginning of this latest episode, they made sure to flash back to footage of Captain Otherbeard warning the Losties to stay off his half of the island, which makes me think they must have carnival rides or something fun over on the other side. If it's just more island shit, palm trees and crazy people with accents, I'm gonna be pissed off.

Probably the most amazing thing about the people who survived the plane crash is that these are the only people on earth who could meet up with a gang that's been living on bizarre-o island for God knows how long, talk to them, and still not learn a damned thing about the dozens of mysteries that have been perplexing everyone for months now. But it was established long ago that our castaways subscribe to the "Loose Lips Sink Ships" doctrine, a 1940's slogan about venereal disease originally meant to warn men that sleeping with slutty women would, in all likelihood, make their penises fall off, but now applied mostly to not investigating mysteries or telling anyone what's going on, including the viewers of the show.

So what now? Well, I can tell you one thing. Don't watch The Island expecting any answers, since that turned out to be one of those "spin off" movies that doesn't really have much to do with the original show. I still need to punch Roland McShyster in the throat for recommending that one to me.

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