Big Bombs Get Bigger

he Pentagon announced today that, in the wake of the success of the huge 21,000 pound MOAB (Mother Of All Bombs), it was beginning work today on an even bigger model, officially dubbed as the Motherfucking Cocksucking Sonofabitch King Hell Bastard Shit Oh Dear Of All Bombs, Like, Ever, or MCSKHBSODOABLE. The bomb will be approximately the size of one-fifth of the Earth's moon, will have a payload the equivalent of 946 Hiroshimas, and will, in the words of one unnamed Pentagon official, "Blow the fucking shit out of every living creature within about a five thousand mile radius -- even cockroaches. Ha! Even cockroaches! Maybe we should call it the Orkin Exterminator!"

To begin construction of the new super-sized weapon, the United States has annexed the entire nation of Canada and sent eviction notices to every Canadian citizen, asking that they please vacate the premises within one month. Official spokesman Colonel Jack "Rabbit" Tallysmall-Rand commented on that eviction notice, saying "Those Canucks better get going fast, because we need to start building this baby pronto. Any of them back-bacon lovers that's still there in a month's time will find the doors locked and their stuff all piled into a Hefty bag on the sidewalk, toot sweet."

Asked about the bomb itself, Col. Tallysmall-Rand agreed that "Super-sized is about right. We want it our way, get it? The MCSKHBSODOABLE will be the mightiest weapon the world has ever seen, the monster truck of all bombs, and that ought to show all them bastards that don't want to get with the program that we mean business."

The Colonel added that the bomb will be delivered by a pair of space shuttles flying in tandem, with the payload tethered to a huge glider-like platform between them. Once in range, the cables will be released and the bomb will then waft gently to the Earth, where it will unleash seven or eight different kinds of hell once it reaches treetop level.

"This baby gonna make the MOAB seem like a little old ladyfinger when it pops, whee doggies! It could bomb the stink off a shit pile!" Col. Tallysmall-Rand went on to say, while exchanging double high fives, down low, too slow with his aide, one Major Custis Sprinkle.

"He ain't lying!" interjected Major Sprinkle, drawing a grin and an elbow in the ribs from his superior officer.

Asked who came up with the name for the bomb, Col. Tallysmall-Rand just beamed and replied, "Who do you think?" while Major Sprinkle, exaggeratedly winking and nodding his head, gestured with a pointing finger held behind his palm towards the colonel. "Mr. Rumsfeld wanted us to call it the 'Democracy-Maker,' but we thought that was too pussy. We wanted a name that would put the fear of God into our enemies."

Asked by another reporter why they didn't just build a bomb the size of the entire Earth and cut an America-sized hole in it, Col. Tallysmall-Rand's eyes grew wide, and he remained silent for a long moment. He then declared the press conference over, and immediately huddled with Major Sprinkle and a number of other officers near the dais, while Military Police cleared the room by wildly swinging their batons in all directions.

Cheney Vows to Stay Course: Will Shoot Hunting Partner Again

Mardi Gras, Gonorrhea to Return to New Orleans

Aides Urge Bush to Stop Referring to Iraqi Majority as “Shits”

Sheryl Crow Takes Cancer in Lance Armstrong Split

If reader email and misguided public graffiti is to be taken as any indication, all the hullabaloo and carryings-on in Haiti lately have left most Americans feeling like they just walked in during the middle of a bad action movie with no idea why these strange people are shooting each other. Is it good? Is it bad? If they make it into a movie will they be able to put Tom Sizemore in blackface? Slow down with the questions, anxious readers, I'm only half-listening.

The history of Haiti is a fascinating story with plenty of R-rated action and a weak love interest subplot to please the ladies in the audience, the story of a country that Earl Dittman of Wireless magazine called "Heaven on earth. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll laugh at all the people crying." Though if you only like stories where the good guys win in the end, you might want to read about Germany instead. I won't hold it against you.

Haiti started out as a big tropical ball of fun whose main exports were beach volleyball and smiling people. Things stayed pretty much the same until 1492, when Christopher Columbus cruised up in his boat and hopped out to take a piss. Columbus had this weird thing about not pissing in the ocean, because he figured eventually it's all part of the water cycle and he didn't like drinking piss. So needless to say, all of Columbus' voyages took forever because he was constantly stopping off at every island along the way that looked like it might be an okay place to take a leak.

But what might have been an inconsequential pit stop in the annals of history turned into much more than that when Columbus looked around and realized he was pissing on a tropical paradise. Lush and beautiful, 13th century Haiti (then known as "here") was something of a Garden of Eden, populated by natives Columbus described as "the best people in the world. Just really fucking nice." Loving, agreeable and above all trusting, the native Taino ("We live here") people didn't even mind that Columbus was pissing on their beach.

Columbus was so impressed with the natives and the beautiful island that he returned in 1493 and killed nearly everyone there. Those who managed to hide under rocks through the Spanish invasion and genocide heaved a collective sigh of relief when the French took over in 1697, a tactical mistake since the sighers were found out, tortured, and killed under the equal tyranny of French rule. By then it mattered little, however, since the population at that time was made up mainly of slaves imported from western Africa to work on the island's plantations.

A slave rebellion in the 1790's eventually lead to Haitian independence, which survived through multiple coups, assassinations and general bastardry until 1915, when the US decided to put the Haitians out of their misery by occupying the country and keeping the profits for themselves. Despite the fact that the US pretended to leave in 1934, not much changed in the next sixty years, with one US-supported insane bastard after another controlling the country and killing everyone who looked like they thought the system sucked.

Numerous attempts at free elections occurred during the 1980's, each falling just short of success due to the fact that anyone attempting to vote was shot dead by the army. Haiti made People Magazine's prestigious "100 Most Hellish Places" list for the first time in 1982, coming in just behind North Korea and "that pollutiony town from The Lorax."

Despite the US spin that "everything was cool" in Haiti and the production of placating educational films with titles like Rockin' in the Nineteen Haitis, rebellion continued as Haitians stubbornly insisted on crawling out from under the crushing boot heel of Western occupation. By 1990, Haiti had decided they would no longer model their elections on the example of the US South circa 1954, and finally succeeded in electing a president who wasn't killed during Election Day. Parish priest Jean-Bertrand Aristide was the surprise winner, despite his support for the poor and lack of US permission to be president.

The US acted quickly in response to Aristide's election, revealing that the 1972 Carly Simon hit "You're So Vain" was actually a biting critique of the self-absorbed Catholic priest. Unfortunately for the US efforts aimed at discrediting Aristide, nobody in Haiti could understand the song because it was in English, and a French-language version of the song was scrapped because it sounded really fruity.

Failing at ousting the elected Haitian ruler through song, the US resorted to its old tricks, backing a military coup to have Aristide removed from power in 1991. Despite seven months of freedom and representative government, Haitians had to wonder if it was all worth it when everyone who'd voted for Aristide was killed after the president's fall in 1991. The coup regime was so nasty, in fact, that it inspired an international embargo so strict it allowed only US companies to do business with Haiti thereafter, resulting in record profits for US interests.

US businesses had long been attracted to Haiti because of ridiculously low wages, thanks to Haiti's brilliant ploy of not paying workers anything, instead just sending thugs to collect money from anyone who didn't work in the whoopie cushion or dog bowl factories. Haiti became basically one big magic company, cranking out baseballs, rubber snakes, and those little plastic donkey toys that collapse when you press the button on the bottom, all virtually for free. Those annoying "I exploited impoverished workers in Haiti and all I got was this lousy T-shirt" shirts became very popular among the elite and were seen on golf courses across America all through the 80's and 90's.

Eventually the coup regime got too insane, declaring Tuesdays as "shoot everybody" day, and the US decided to install Aristide back in power, as long as he didn't have a problem with continuing US military occupation of Haiti or unending economic exploitation. Aristide was happy just to see the sun again, as he'd spent the last three years in a lead box dangling over the ocean.

So what in the hell is going on now? Why are all these guys running around with machine guns and funny hats? Apparently Aristide pulled the boner move of increasing Haiti's minimum wage, building schools and investing in the Haitian infrastructure and agriculture. Such hubris had pissed off the Bush administration for years, leading this month to another US-supported coup and the covered-up kidnapping of Aristide himself.

So now that the insane coup regime is back in power, where does Haiti go from here? Yikes, don't ask me. Just don't go to Haiti on a Tuesday and you should be fine.

º Last Column: More Fads: The 1970's
º more columns

Good people, you've caught me on a bad day. I'm going out of my well-confined mind trying to write my memoirs.

As I may have mentioned before, but certainly didn't, I have been approached by publishers in the past on the occasions I have stormed into their offices and demanded they print my columns. They have found my columns unsuitable for publication—certainly it's a good thing that they do not run the commune—but they have said, after hearing me rant for a while, "You are quite a character, Mr. Finger. Have you ever considered writing an autobiography."

Yes, I have, since they said something about it. So I immediately went home and started writing the story of my life. Unfortunately, there are huge gaps where I don't remember anything at all, like childhood, and last Wednesday. My memoirs have been stopped right out of the gate.

Presidents are lucky. Like actors and other people of importance, people write biographies about them for them. Plus, their entire public life is captured on videotape or through snapshots. Ol' Rok Finger has to rely on memory and the accounts of friends or co-workers. And memory is even less reliable than friends and co-workers.

For instance, I had a great memory about the time I spent in a German prison during World War II, where I became the leader of an escape attempt of 200 men at once. It was an incredible venture, which I recalled in vivid detail and had all the tragedy, action, and fulfillment of a Hollywood film. Then smartass Camembert told me that it was a film, and according to his Aunt Arvelyn, my ex-wife, I had spent the duration of World War II attempting to build a wooden submarine to help in the war effort. I didn't remember much about that, except for I could never get the thing to quit taking on water. Which is a damn shame, because that might have made a decent chapter or something in my memoirs. Instead it doesn't even make up for losing that fantastic story about the prison camp, that could have made two or three chapters at least, maybe even the whole book. I'm still considering throwing it in, if I'm able to disguise it sufficiently.

So I'm stuck with bits and pieces of my own life to try to sew together in some sort of suitable book. My commune columns are no help at all. Have you ever noticed I tend to ramble on about the most insignificant thing? The minor hassles and ridiculous opinions I hold, ranting and raving as if any of it mattered. I've never read my own stuff before and I can't say I'm chomping at the bit to read it again soon. If it's your taste, fine, have at it. But either way there's nothing I can use for my book among that pile of tripe.

I've gotten so desperate lately that I'm even considering going out and doing something exciting, like hang gliding, or starting a riot. It's too bad I waited until so late in life to get the idea to do something exciting to write about. But then again, since I remember so little I may have been the first man to walk on the moon. It would certainly explain the painful fallen arches in my feet.

I've gotten a little more help from my co-workers and family. Omar Bricks pointed out that my face indicates I've been in some sort of train wreck or something, but without more details I can't put that in the book. Ramon Nootles says I have the walk of someone who's done a lot of experimenting and swinging from the other side of the plate, but I don't remember a scholarly background or a life as a baseball player at all. Camembert remarked once I could've been a stand-in for Napoleon, but I've calculated there's little way I could be that old—thanks for nothing Camembert.

My last chance is to make peace with Arvelyn at some point and get her to help me on my memoirs. She used to remember things expertly; there are some things from twenty years ago in our marriage she wouldn't let me forget, like the year we followed the Grateful Dead, mostly for tax shelter purposes. But I'm afraid a reconciliation seems a long way away at this point, even on friendly terms. So my autobiography will have to wait. Which is fine. Life can only get more exciting in the meantime.

º Last Column: Rok Shall Overcome
º more columns