n an unprecedented decision in settling world deficits, Iraq's $4.1 billion debt to the United States will be forgiven in exchange for the labor of individual Iraqi citizens, the White House announced Friday. Starting in January of 2005, the hard work of the men, women, and children of Iraq will be paid to the United States and all outstanding monetary debts will be considered paid in full.

The announcement has earned both criticism and praise for the U.S. government, as well as a lot of questions from foreign powers on how to get in on that sweet debt-paying labor. According to the president, exchanging manual labor for on-paper debts is "good news" for the U.S. and Iraq both, allowing a people plagued with infrastructure damage, caused by us, and years of accrued financial burden, also caused by us, to give back to its debtors something they can afford, and "get some fresh air and work off a few pounds" in the doing.

The White House plan, not yet approved by congress, added a smirking Press Secretary Scott McClellan, is for Iraqi citizens not currently in the employ of the new puppet government or Iraqi police to join a U.S. "workforce" for three months at a time. During the period of employment, citizens are trained to "give something back" to the country that has given them so much, from free bombs to help getting their oil rigs up and running. Most work forces will join civil service outlets for returning the debt, operating at state or federal levels in open positions. Some individuals may join highway work details, litter patrols, or low-level security positions, such as post exchange night watchman.

Relatives who have family members serving overseas in Iraq, or who have lost family members in combat during the Iraq War, may apply to have one or more Iraqi workforce members put in their personal employ. While restrictions will exist, tasks such as painting houses and fences, washing cars, or cleaning out the crapper are all perfectly acceptable.

While naysayers call the deal "legalized slavery," proponents of the debtor workforce say, "lighten up, cochise." And those people sound like they throw much better parties.

Treasure Secretary John Snow finalized the debt plan on Friday when he set fire to a box full of handwritten Iraqi "I.O.U.s," some of them once written by Saddam Hussein himself, and announced the Iraqi $4.1 billion debt "gone for good." President Bush followed that tough act by asking all other nations out there to follow the U.S. lead in an effort to help Iraq enter a prosperous new age. Ambassadors from Rwanda, Honduras, Guyana, and several other African and South American countries among the most debt-ridden in the world began to ask questions in a confusing muddle of various languages until they were forcibly ejected from the press conference.

"Well, I think it's super," said conservative economist Howard Blocher-White, lighting a fat cigar hand-rolled by a small Filipino boy standing in a corner of the room. "Finally, no more welfare for these countries who keep asking for handouts. It's 'work-fare' time. I can't wait to get me a little Iraqi lady to fix up my recreation room. Do they know Feng Shui over there, or will I have to buy her a book? I say it's about time we get cracking on all them other nations, too. Do you know how many of them countries owe us a big fat paycheck? And all of them have empty pockets. When do you think Ethiopia's gonna pay back all that money Lionel Richie and friends gave them in the eighties?"

As this reporter attempted to leave Blocher-White's home, I was reminded I had greedily consumed two and a half cups of coffee without so much as a tip; but if willing, an arrangement could probably be worked out hanging some expensive European artwork in the den.

Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80

Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series

Alec Baldwin Records Devastating Voice Mail Message for Shooter

Sony’s Poorly Timed “PS3 Price Massacre” Backfires

There's nothing I love more than entertaining—and there's nothing more entertaining than rap music. Not that modern nonsense with the f-word used over and over again, and calling ladies female dogs. I'm talking about true rap.

Old school rap.

So let's break it down now, shall we? Get this place all funky.

The important thing to remember is that rap is all about confidence and style. And I've got truckloads of style, folks. And confidence? Nobody's got more! I'm glad to be here and to break it down, old school! I can do it all—adaption of much-loved rhymes you're all familiar with, some of my own self-penned raps to beats pumped out by my rap collaborator DJ John Waterhouse, or even some freestyling. Just give me a subject matter, say, my friends in high school, and I will bust a rap so grand you all will have to pick up your jaws off the floor. That's how amazed you'll be.

Like all rappers, I truly slay. Everybody has certain subjects where they mine rap gold, and mine is my shoes and my superior rap abilities. Check out these fly shoes—real old school Addidas, and they rock. There was a time when shoes weren't about extra flaps, lights, and Velcro straps. That's my shoes, just there for keeping my feet comfortable—and, of course, styling. My shoes are more than shoes. They're friends. And I have a number of raps dedicated to my friends.

It's not easy being a dope rhyme-ologist. Despite having lyrical superiority over everyone I meet, and putting down the wanna-bes, it doesn't mean I'm always successful with the ladies. That's right: I've been played. And I'm not ashamed to rap about it.

One time there was a honey that strung me, drew me in like a master of gravity, acting all shy when I tried to kiss her, then said I was making time with her sister. I denied it, decried it, but it was no use fightin'; she was treating me like a tool, played me for a straight-up fool. Peace out.

That's just one of my rhymes. They sound better than they read, trust that. When I submitted my proposal for a rap act at the Taj Mahal Casino in Vegas they were doubtful as well, but once I broke it all out they were convinced I was not a perpetrator. As I said, some of the Vegas audiences don't want a tired old Lawrence Welk or Andy Williams or anything. They need something a little spicier, and I have it with my classic old school rap.

Some people say when you rap you have to "dress down," but I say that's hooey. I dress the way I feel—and I feel good! People like to see a show where the entertainer's dressed up a little bit for them, and I give the people what they want. All I ask is to cut loose and have a little fun, and maybe wave their hands in the air.

Nobody is a one man band in the world of rap, unless you do it acapella. But I'm afraid I have a lot of help to make my beats, and I would like to take a moment to thank my number one beatmaster, my scientist of bass, the one and only DJ John Waterhouse. Much love to you, old chum.

This is not only my declaration of my love for rap, of course; it's an invitation to a night out on the town for some of the best old school rap your ears have ever been blessed with. If you're going to be in the beautiful city of Las Vegas anytime all during the month of January, please come out and treat yourself at the Taj Mahal Casino. Three shows a night and all-you-can eat shrimp, and that's the personal MC Vic Daniels guarantee. Thanks, I love every one of you!

º Last Column: Everyone's Half-Assing the Christmas Spirit
º more columns

Red Bagel reporting, operating from the secret underground hovel I've been conducting all business from since Nov. 4. I plan on being here for the next four years, just so you know, but I'm still open to communication through a short list of contacts I trust. Oh, shit—I have to revise the list. I forgot Paulie never returned that Sting CD of mine. I don't need that kind of man having access to me.

The information flowing to me in the wake of the recent presidential election… it's nothing short of overwhelming. Voter fraud and intimidation, handed down at all levels, including the president himself, appears to have been commonplace in every single state. Actually, I have reports on it from both sides in this election, but since the Democrats fucked themselves on this go-round, I'm only investigating the Republicans right now.

Starting with Ohio—the confused, barren wasteland that decided this election. Fortunately Michael Moore was on the scene with cameras in this and other battleground states; unfortunately for us, most of the vital voter-intimidating was not captured, as untrustworthy camera operators misused the equipment to capture "voters gone wild" outside the polling places. I found out, from some dismayed voters, extremely personal questions were asked of minority voters before they were allowed to enter the voting booth. Their names, street addresses, and whether or not they usually voted in that district, or similar invasive questions were asked. Some vote challengers even asked to see identification, and wouldn't accept the word of a friend named Jay-Bee. I was even more distressed to find out, since Bush stole the election in 2000, all this has been legalized in determining voter eligibility.

More blatant instances of voter intimidation did occur, though. An anonymous voter from just outside Dayton detailed how vote challengers required him to dress up as a character from television's Little House on the Prairie—perhaps Nellie Perkins—and chucked apples at him for their own amusement. One black voter from Cleveland described a heavyset Republican vote challenger who wore his hair in a greasy pompadour—immensely intimidating. Down in the south, some voting officials were described wearing cowboy hats and mirrored sunglasses and calling potential voters "son" or "sweetheart," in efforts to scare them away from the poll. It's true so far that all descriptions have come from northern voters who have never been to the south, but I'm still investigating these claims. I can't rule anything out yet.

I filed a lawsuit with courts in several states to have a list of voters and who they voted for mailed to me, under the Freedom of Information Act, so I can read them aloud on television with air time purchased from my pocket. I figured that would clear up whether or not anyone was intimidated into voting for different candidates, but the government now tells me they don't have such information. Maybe they're not lying—it could have been burned already, though that's a lot of information to burn all at one time. You would think we would smell the smoke.

America turned out in record numbers to vote, and the Republican party still won. I have to ask, America: What the fuck? But I haven't lost all my faith in humanity yet. True, I won't be seeing most of you until 2008, but I still believe on some level your hand was forced by shadowy groups. And ferreting out shadowy groups… let's face it. It's my calling.

º Last Column: I Must Repress My Memories Again
º more columns