he Al-Qaeda jig was upped last week when the Texas Transportation Institute dropped their yearly bombshell with the release the Urban Mobility Report, showing that traffic has gone from bad to shitty everywhere nationwide in the last five years. Though the Texas A&M study lists the usual scapegoats of poor urban planning and American aversion to public transportation as the culprits, real Americans willing to talk to commune reporters while stuck in traffic put the blame squarely at the feet of the rogue terrorist network Al-Qaeda, which has been linked in recent years to everything from the 9/11 attacks to the heartbreaking cancellation of some of this reporter’s favorite television programs.

“Man, I was sitting in traffic the other day for like two hours,� bitched Seattle motorist Clyde Williams, while sitting in traffic. “And no shit, there was an Arab dude sitting in the car in front of me. They’re everywhere. Motherfucker was playing that easy-listening station on the radio like he didn’t know his windows was down, too. I hate that shit.�

Fresh off the successfully disastrous hijacking of a Russian elementary school and complete concealment of their very involvement months ago, Al-Qaeda has again set its sights on our friendly shores, though not covertly enough to fool shrewd American motorists. While going car to car during a recent traffic jam in Seattle, this reporter sampled a broad cross-section of American frustration with Al-Qaeda’s insidious infrastructure-stalling tactics.

“Oh yeah, I see that all the time,� agreed motorist Dale Harvey, after this reporter suggested Al-Qaeda might be behind the I-5 backup he’d been stuck in for the last forty-five minutes. “There’s always some terrorist assfuck driving slow in the left-hand lane or leaving his turn signal on for miles. Women, too. They say Al-Qaeda doesn’t ever use women, but then how do you explain all these awful women drivers? I think those bastards leave all the driving up to their terrorist wives. They’ve probably got camps out in the desert, teaching them to change lanes randomly and slow way down to rubberneck at accidents.�

“Can Chinese guys be Al-Quada?� added Harvey, in question. “Because those guys drive for shit too. Might be something worth looking into there. Maybe they’re branching out or outsourcing to the Orient. Tricky bastards.�

While not as dramatic as blowing up a bridge or nuking Chattanooga, Al-Qaeda’s efforts to delay and annoy average Americans have had a significant effect in recent years, according to the Texas study. Over 3.5 billion hours were lost to traffic jams nationwide last year, a number so large as to be meaningless unless put into context: That’s like watching Lawrence of Arabia five or six times.

“I wouldn’t put it past ‘em,� confided motorist and housewife Darlene Pickering, gesturing to the wall of cars blocking her route home from spinning class. “Didn’t they set off that hurricane over in Florida? And now this. We should stop giving the terrorists drivers’ licenses, if this is how they’re going to repay us.�

During the course of interviewing inconvenienced motorists, it became clear that Al-Qaeda has failed to hide its nefarious scheming from average Americans, or at least average Americans stuck in traffic. The terrorist network may have erred in giving Americans too much time to unravel their twisted dealings while killing time during traffic jams.

“I think about that shit sometimes,� mused Harvey. “Like how come Arby’s never has that ‘5 for $5’ deal any more? They think we wouldn’t notice that? Shit. Man, I hope some terrorist fuck didn’t set his old beater on fire up ahead in the breakdown lane, ‘cuz I gotta piss bad.�

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"Flippetyripples dapplety-giblets!"
cried the elf-like thing.
Pouncing on his footstool,
he was dressed fit for a king.
His sniveling little attendant
was harshly reprimanded:
"Dimplety-smackers… chalooga!"
he so eloquently demanded.
"Snabblety-scrabble, applety-pee!"
he examined it loudly,
the chain of gold that wrapped around his pudgy fingers three.

This would never do, it was much too yellow
is what he seemed to say, what I heard him bellow.
And deep within his deep blue eyes
I sensed a bluish dissatisfaction rise.
A glint of a look that seemed like it said
"Bring me my wife, and off with her head!"
For she had been spotted by the Chudaluk brook
with the caddest of cads, the deplorable Rook.
And that could only mean one of three things:
that she sings when it's hot, or it's hot when she sings
or lastly, unfortunately, that it's not singing at all,
that noise which echoed up through stairways and halls
which made it no secret, the shameful Rook's gall.
Though the last time I saw him, he stood not so tall
for on the king's mantle, in a jar, are his balls.

King Scrumpletydumples quite nearly was dressed
as he fastened a gold chicken medallion to his breast.
He wrapped his squat legs in chiffon and gauze
and dipped in royal rose water his royal red shnozz.
For today was the day he would take a new wife,
a woman so faithful with which to spend his life,
or at least that's what we figured he meant when he said
"Frognatz rulpumba! Tolingle! Shub-bed!"
Hey, your guess is our guess, it's the Kingdom's anguish
that the royal red king speaks an unfathomable language.

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Nobody gets me. I swear. They're all too stupid.

It's not my fault. Having your own abbreviations and slang just makes life way more fun. Like whenever someone tells me they're a fan of something or other, I like to think that "fan" is short for "fancy vagina." Then nobody knows why I'm cracking up because that fat guy in the third row just announced that he was a Philadelphia Phillies fancy vagina. What a dork!

Mom is another good one. M.O.M. could just as easily stand for "Musky Otter Meat." That one has tons of mileage on Mother's Day. Or "Moldy Old Moose," that one really gets her going. "Murderer of Mexicans" got me grounded for a week, no lie. Eventually she just started insisting that I call her Carol. Whatever, some people have no senses of humor.

Another funny thing is when somebody else is talking, add "with my penis" to the end of everything they say. If it's a guy talking it's pretty funny. Like when my dad told me "I'm going to go mow the lawn (with my penis)" last week, ha ha. Or when the president was on TV talking about how he was going to send assistance to New Orleans with his penis. I'd like to see that! Or the best was when my English teacher Mr. Appleton said "I'd like to touch your naked breasts (with my penis)" the other day! I couldn't stop giggling.

Most people think you need to have two people to have an inside joke, but I think that's just stupid. Nothing's funnier than being the only one who knows why something's so funny.

Whenever my friend Marcy talks about getting her period, I can't stop laughing because it would be so funny if she was talking about the punctuation mark, the other kind of period. "Oh no, here comes my period again!" At least it's not a comma, you dumb bitch! Ha ha. Just the thought of an ampersand flopping out of Marcy's See You Next Tuesday is enough to get me kicked out of Social Studies for the laughing fits! And no, Mr. Dunlin, this isn't even about Napoleon Bonerparts, that was SO last year. Doofus!

Everyone has a funny name, when you really think about it. Tim? Come back and talk to me after you've done something about those Tiny Implanted Mammaries, you freak! Shawn? Nice try, but we all know your mother named you after masturbashawn. Ha, loser. And Jane? You're the worst of them all! I can't even believe you'd go out in public with a name like Just Another Naked Elephant. You could at least go by your less-embarrassing middle name, Sexy Underwear Eater.

And don't even talk to me about these freaks who don't even catch on after I've been laughing at them for like half an hour. I mean, come on, you should at least stop saying things like "there's a lot of room" or "I like to play croquet" after it becomes obvious I've been adding "inside my mom's ass" to everything you say in my own mind!

But nope, nobody gets how funny and dumb they really are. It's a shame really, for everybody except me.

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