n a congressional hearing reminiscent of the McCarthy hearings, only filled with really beefy guys, baseball record-setter Mark McGwire clumsily deflected questions about his own history with steroids while damning the drugs on one side and on the other warning about the failure of those involved with the sport to stop it. Sweetie McGwire, standing at a hulking 8 feet tall and nearly 4 feet wide, refused to directly deny using artificial means to induce the strength to hit his then record-setting 70 homeruns.

“I’m not here to talk about the past,� said the monstrous humanoid homerun-hitter, “I’m here to be positive.� McGwire did not invoke his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination, and congressmen involved appeared unwilling to play hardball with a beloved American athlete while all the cameras were running.

Offering more information was another baseball heavyweight, retired player and former superhunk Jose Canseco, firmly off steroids and now shrunken to a 5-foot-1 imitation of a pale raisin. Canseco confessed to having used performance-enhancing substances to improve his game, also naming names in his hot new book Juicied, available for sale at Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble Online.

“Steroids were part of the game, and I don’t think anybody really wanted to take a stance on it,� said the small, hideous man, pointing with a frantic gesture. “If Congress does nothing about this issue, it will go on forever.� In his haste to make a point, Canseco’s finger then snapped off and flew into the face of Rep. Elijah Cummings (D-Maryland). Sister, that thing was so funny he should’ve charged money!

“We don’t blame the players,� said ranking Committee Democrat Henry Waxman (California). “We blame the countless faceless officials of the baseball union, reserving some blame for the rich owners who the people already hate. No, the players are innocent pawns in all this. And we most definitely do not blame the many millions of baseball fans who turn out in record numbers to watch mysteriously large and beefy men knock baseballs out of the park in numbers unheard of in the early days of the game. We are all shocked and outraged by the claims in Mr. Canseco’s book, and not at all one little bit were expecting someone to admit such a thing sooner or later. Once this congressional probe has thoroughly asked inane questions about the matter, we hope America will be able to go back to its blind faith in its inhuman athletic stars.�

Sidestepping inquiries about his own steroid use has already fanned the hulking monster controversy around McGwire, who in 1998 won out a season-spanning homerun race between himself and Sammy Sosa by hitting 70 dingers, breaking Roger Maris’ old record of 61. The record didn’t last too long, child, as another beefy uberman named Barry Bonds, also frequently mentioned in the same sentence with the s-word, broke McGwire’s record in 2001. The record was most recently broken by Seattle Mariners third-stringer Mitcho Klursky, who batted 78 homeruns out of the park during all this season’s practice sessions. The record is expected to be broken again before the end of the season, and possibly before this article concludes.

The hearings are expected to end sometime this week with some ever-popular backpatting and glorious nostalgic reflection on how great baseball is, with possible inclusion of apple pie, mothers, and America itself. This reporter, for one, would like to make it known that even as Jose Canseco’s nuts continue to shrink into BB rifle stock, she’d still do him. Mm-mmm, hon.

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I don't follow the news. At least not the word news. I didn't know there was word news, until I woke up last week and realized I don't have any idea what anyone is talking about anymore. Apparently some time recently they decided to add a million new words to the language and I'm the only one who didn't get the memo. What are all you people watching, MTV? Was it on Oxygen? I don't get Oxygen. I mean, I'm supposed to have it, but it comes in like half Mexican sitcoms. I don't think that's what Oxygen is supposed to be. They must be the ones in charge of announcing the word news.

I don't know who the Governator is. Somebody this morning told me that's the nickname for Arnold Schwarzenbruger. Is that a real word? Schwarzenbruger? Who's that? If he's a host on Oxygen I'm going to call my cable company and bitch them out, I'm missing everything.

I have no idea what a flexitarian is. I'd guess it was someone who eats only little flecks of food, like to lose weight, except I think then it would be spelled differently. But then again sometimes they play fast and loose with the rules when they're spelling new words, they get a little wacky. "Creative," some call it. I'm one of the ones who call it a "bullshit." But regardless, I think flexitarian must be some kind of new diet, like to gain some showy-offy muscle. I talked to a guy on the subway the other day who said he was a Mexitarian, he only eats Mexican food, and man did he smell like it. But I don't think that's the same thing at all.

Apparently my neighbor is a metrosexual, and I'm scared of what that might mean. It definitely involves sex, and that's rarely good. My only association with "Metro" is that Berlin song from the 80's. So maybe the guy only has sex on the train or while listening to hits from the 80's. God that's creepy. I'm hoping I'm way off base on this one. Maybe he only has sex with people he just met.

According to her yearly Christmas letter, my sister is a freegan now, not that she included a glossary at the end of the letter for those of us who are Oxygen-impaired. So I'm not sure what to think of her now. Could be good, could be bad. Does she only eat free-range chickens? Fat-free foods? I just wish she'd make up her mind, pick one thing to be and stick with it. Last I heard she was a MILF.

I thought I was just being paranoid until I got this message on my cell phone the other day, which I think might have been in English:

"Hey, yo. Sorry I missed the thing, I swear to God I'm like a walking piñata today; I'm hinky as all hell. First I get stuck behind this asshat and his little dog, too, on the sidewalk. I almost had to kick that little chow in the neuticles to get by, it was ricockulous. Then this manscaping muggle scared the kablokeys out of me on the subway, and he wouldn't stop yammering on about how he had to sell his McMansion because his dot bomb took a shit after nobody wanted to buy some retro blobject he'd invented that ran on assoline and now he had to move back into his starter castle. What a chunk. Anyway, I've got to meet my hick Preslyterian therapist at my tanorexia support group at four, so bye."

I don't have any idea who the call was from, but the girl at Verizon said they were probably just trying to call somebody in my "phone family." Eh? At that point I resolved to just abandon English and learn to speak Spanish instead; less new words to memorize that way. ¡Deséeme la suerte!

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I admit I have been away from my game for quite a while, so forgive me if some of my best conspiracy theories have already been doled out to you from lesser sources. Have you heard yet that Kim Jong Il is a Cabbage Patch Kid?

Oh, yeah. Well, it's not secret over there. You know how non-Chinese Asian culture has this weird hang-up on celebrating all things America. If you thought it was just the Japanese with their Shonen Knife bands and pompadour haircuts, guess again, friend. The Koreans have always admired our culture, except for the years we were bombing theirs into non-existence. Chiefly their big beloved American fad has always been Cabbage Patch Kids.

In fact, that's how Kim Jong Il managed to seize power. The Koreans weren't initially fond of him, but he used his dad's neverending supply of wealth (by Korean standards) to buy the remnants of the Coleco company and hire scientists to integrate over time his DNA with remaining Cabbage Patch Doll design prints.

It was a brilliant ploy, and you can certainly see the resemblance when you see pictures of the chubby-cheeked, short-statured little menace. But I wouldn't credit him with the originality. His older brother whom we've never heard of, Kim Jong Duc, he was the sharp knife in the drawer over there. He conceived of the idea, then foolishly entrusted his staff, all old football buddies from college, to gather the necessary data to put the plan into operation. Well, to North Koreans, Cabbage Patch and Garbage Pail Kid fads are virtually indistinguishable, so you can imagine the horrible offspring from that failed experiment. He was locked away in some basement in the palace of Pongyang, leaving Kim Jong Il unquestionably in charge of the dynasty, and for once, the attractive one in the family.

It took little more than a show of his adorable little adoption papers for the North Korean people to fall in love with this porky dictator, and they pledged undying loyalty to him immediately. Of course, there's little ways to prove this to most people who suspect the information false. Nothing short of pulling down Kim Jong Il's pants and exposing the signature of Xavier Roberts on his fat back cheeks will constitute proof in their eyes. But proof only constitutes one-third of proving something, as we know. The other two-thirds involves wanting to believe it's true and stating it very loudly for all to hear.

Don't insult yourself by asking me where I get my information, since we both know I'm not telling you. Let's just say the guy is an old confidant who has never failed me before, and be reassured I would tell you his name if I could remember. But now that we know the cause of Kim Jong Il's popularity, and I would say you could list linking Cabbage Patch DNA with his own is a possible reason for his deep-seated insanity, we can make every attempt possible to roust him from power.

The CIA, those lovable self-starters, are already at work on this, of course. Given that assassination will cause an international incident, possible war, and create a martyr out of remaining Cabbage Patch Dolls, the Agency has only one solid alternative solution: Create a beloved dictator even more popular than Kim Jong Il. To this end they've been experimenting with genetically-altered Smurf men and other such experiments. Early attempts to create a human-Donkey Kong hybrid were embarrassing failures, and the guy is still throwing barrels off the top of the Sears Tower. More on this as it develops, of course, and if any of you happen to see a living human being who looks strikingly like Howdy Doody, don't hesitate to contact me here for a suitable reward. I'll make you a reporter or something, promise.

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