Bad Boy Congressman Can't Drive 55

e's brash, he's young, at least in comparison to some other congressman, and he's dangerous. Really dangerous. Seriously, he was recently charged with manslaughter in the death of another motorist. He's South Dakota Representative Bill Janklow, and he's emerging as one of a new breed of rebellious new legislators everyone's talking about.

Authorities charged Janklow Friday with second-degree manslaughter following an Aug. 16 accident when the congressional hellion ran a stop sign traveling at speeds in excess of 70 mph in a 55-mph zone. Whether Janklow was speeding to a hot-to-trot lobbyists' convention or fleeing a savage pack of political paparazzi could not be discerned at press time, but rumors abounded.

Janklow is one of a bold new wave of congressmen creating new political fads. In modern America, where the average fair-weather voter is stuck in the middle of the road and too overweight to drag himself out, Janklow and his posse all have their staunch far-wing opinions—just don't ask them what they are! In fact, Janklow has refused to even identify where he stands on major issues to his own constituency—preferring to sell them the new favorite platform of improved standards of living and honesty and integrity in representation, as long as they don't want details on how we get those things. But make no mistake, his voting record demonstrates he's a Republican—hardcore, motherfucker! Janklow may be the quiet, shy type, but he's not afraid to tow the party line when it comes to the voting floor.

The South Dakota legislator has earned the nickname among associates as "Bad Billy" for his spotty driving record, his pro-GOP voting record, and his hygiene. Consumer activist and delusional Green Party presidential candidate Ralph Nader sent a strongly-worded letter to Janklow requesting his resignation. The incident was described by Nader as "the taking of life by a driver relentlessly bent on turning his vehicle into a lawless, dangerous missile," the Unsafe at Any Speed author wrote in his trademark prose bursting with sensuality.

"Dangerous? Definitely. Boring? Never!" sassed Belfront Herb, responding to questions no one asked. The gossip columnist and Washington (D.C.) insider is also the editor and only contributor to the underground political scandal zine Filibuster, and they've made Janklow their "Hunk o' the Month."

"He's not all talk like those stodgy old senators, and he may not be on the popular committees, but he's hot stuff in the 108th!" claimed the girlish fop. "A lot of naysayers will tell you he's another blend-into-the-background representative, and all his misbehaviour is a failed attempt to stand out. But I'm telling you, and you heard it here from me first, Boomer—we've got another Ted Kennedy on our hands. A future Bob Dole or Jesse Helms. I would say one day the name Bill Janklow will hang in the Congressional Hall of Fame next to Henry Clay. But since they're all in alphabetical order that will really throw the whole scheme out of whack."

This reporter attempted to remind the funny-but-not-in-a-ha-ha-way Washington insider the congressman is facing felony charges with a 10-year minimum sentence, but he refused to address the issue. Unwanted sexual advances forced the interview to conclude early, and the calls at the commune offices have yet to stop.

Controversial Rockwell Painting Found in Collection of War Criminal Spielberg

Giuliani Woos Conservative Base By Killing Arab

Bush Admonishes Tornado’s Cut and Run Policy

OH MY GOD SNOW

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess named Esmerelda and she lived in a beautiful castle high above the kingdom, Buhtkrack, where her father was a sovereign and noble man. How she longed to be married to the stable boy, Noal, for he was a handsome young man, despite his occasional habit of blowing his nose on the heads of old ladies. But her father would not think of his daughter marrying someone so common. She was to be married to the son of King Goanadd, a harsh man who was known about the countryside for beating his horse for no good reason and leaving the seat up, and never, ever, ever, ever washing his own clothes but instead piling them on the floor in apparent hopes they would be miraculously zapped clean by the laundry fairy, and forcing total strangers to for some reason call him "Earl, Conqueror of the Fish." Esmerelda desired Noal more than anyone else in the world, and King Buhtkrack knew of her love for this man, so, despite his gracious nature, he sent for the boy.

"I have a grave and perilous task for you," the king told him. "In the far reaches of the kingdom, there lives a dragon that has slain a great many of our sheep, stolen many of our most beautiful women, and run up Visa card charges in my name. You can choose to go and slay this dragon, bestowing upon you the gratitude of many gorgeous and attractive single women and bringing nobility to your family name and honor to you and your blood line. Or you can instead clean the disease-ridden, filth-encrusted mortar of the royal bathrooms. I leave you with these choices."

A week later, Noal returned to the king and said, "I have cleaned the bathrooms as you requested my Lord. Now how may I be of service to you?"

So King Buhtkrack once again offered for him to rid the land of the dragon adding that since the last time, the dragon had been making long-distance calls when the rates are really bad and talking for hours and the royal phone service may get cut off. He then offered Noal the options of slaying the dragon or cleaning the stables of every last speck of dung using only his own toothbrush.

A week later, Noal returned yet again, saying to the king, "Pardon my breath, your highness, but I have cleaned the stables using only my toothbrush. Now how may I be of service to you?"

The king became furious and said, "Just go slay the freaking dragon and get the heck out of my life you worthless coward!"

So Noal went forth, and traveled through the dark night on his noble steed, riding fast into the forest in which lived the dragon. He passed through a tiny village mere miles from the dragon's lair when he met a great carriage pulled by magnificent horses. It stopped for him and out stepped Prince Goanadd.

"Hail Prince Goanadd!" Noal said as he fell to his knees in reverence.

"You shall call me, Earl, Conqueror of Fish!" snapped the Prince, as was his way.

"Hail Earl, Conqueror of Fish!" Noal said, still on his knees.

"You have come to slay the dragon, have you not?" the Pri- er, I mean, Earl said.

"Yes, your majesty."

"Know that you will be devoured by its mighty jaws unless you plunge your sword deep into the soft flesh of its belly and kill its evil heart."

"That is disgusting,your Highness!"

"I have told you to call me Earl, Conqueror of the Fish! How hard is it to remember that?! Sheesh! You common people suck!"

"Forgive me Earl," Noal said.

And so Earl rode away and Noal continued his quest. He rode through the night, stopping only once at South of the Border for some playing cards with nude women on them and a picture of himself riding a giant cactus. At long last, he found the opening of the dragon's lair. It was a dark cave, littered with bones of many a maiden.

Fear began to fill Noal, for he knew if the dragon could easily kill an unarmed maiden who had never fought a day in her life and was dainty and petite to a fault, it surely could kill a strong and limber man armed with a large sword and several years of training in hand-to-hand combat. He slowly crept down the dark passage and into the main cavern, where the beast's enormous girth filled the room. It lay, sleeping, its heavy breath shaking the ground. First, Noal went to the maidens, and freed each of them from the heavy ropes the dragon had somehow tied them up with which Noal thought was considerably strange considering this dragon had no real hands or fingers.

"Perhaps he has a maid who ties maidens up for him. I imagine she gets good money for doing that sort of thing. Probably a nice package with EOE certified training and a dental plan and decent bonuses and a 401k. Heck, I might even get into the maiden tying business if the money's right," he said to no one in particular. No one, that is, except the sleeping dragon who awoke to hear some strange man muttering about job benefits.

The dragon reared back its ugly head, and spat fire at Noal who leaped to the safety of a nearby cave that happened to be lined in asbestos. Then, the dragon stood on its hind legs, outstretched its impressive wings, and bellowed forth a frightening shriek unlike anything Noal had ever heard, give for the time he went backstage and heard Black Sabbath tuning their guitars. But then, Noal spied the soft part of the dragon's belly, and quickly he ran forward and jabbed his sword into it.

The dragon said, "Ouch!" and fell over dead.

Noal returned to the kingdom, triumphant and happy that he had finally brought pride to his family name, and a great many beautiful maidens desired to have carnal relations with him. But he choked to death on a poorly chewed piece of meat at the great banquet and the Princess married Prince Goanadd anyway and he turned out to be an all right guy so everyone lived happily ever after.

º Last Column: Peter and the Wagon
º more columns

Editor's Note: Rok Finger isn't available this week to bring you a fresh serving of his homespun curmudgeon wit. But in the interest of filling space, since Gay Bagel says big gaping holes on the index page make advertisers cry, we bring you this special edition of Rok Finger's column, as originally presented in his high school newspaper, Spirit! The first few lines have been lost to history, or possibly a smart editor.

…and of course, I think they would be happier in their own neighborhood. The adults really have hit the nail on the head with this one.

But I digress. As I suggested earlier, I would like to address the number one problem facing this empire of ours, and it's none of those slimy things I mentioned before. No, I'm talking of course about the "magic box" that has entranced our nation, young and old alike: television.

Fellow teens, the dangers presented by this flashing light show are myriad and numbersome. You have noticed, I'm sure, how anyone caught in its line of fire is instantly stopped and held catatonic for an immeasurable amount of time? Well, let's forget all the potential dangers of this, like being frozen by a TV in the middle of a busy city street (some shopowners even maliciously display these things in their windows—turned on!) Let's think about the danger these contraptions pose to our everyday lives.

Have you ever turned on one, just to become lost in the timeless void and awake later with no memory of where, say, four hours went? Sure, we all have, except for me. I refuse to watch the danged thing, excuse my tongue. The effect could paralyze ours, the greatest nation on the earth, when more and more people simply stop showing up to work. Our city policeman will be called to their houses when the smell gets too much for the neighbors, only to find the dessicated remains of some Maverick fan who couldn't be bothered with eating, sleeping, shaving, or any other of our precious daily activities.

When the machines stop working, you know what happens to our country: Stagnation! It's the same thing that happened to the ancient Greeks. They didn't have television, sure, but some of those dramatists were pretty mesmerizing. The volcanoes start a-firin' and there you are, stuck in the front row to a lava show because you wanted to find out what was the deal with Oedipus.

Let's face it, nobody even knows how these blasted things work. They were discovered on an archaeological expedition, I hear, or it has something to do with Nazi testing on human beings. And we brought it back with us to the civilized world, not realizing it was syphilis in a cube. Where are these strange "TV networks" located… have you ever seen one?

Maybe we're not in real danger just yet. But fellow teens, mark my words, one of us has to go—television or humanity. Can you imagine where the path we're on might eventually end? Grim atrocities like murder might become public entertainment in years to come. Any idiot with a television could decide important matters, like who the world's best singer is, or who's hot or not.

I shudder to think of it. Fellow teens, throw your TVs in the river now, while you still can!

º Last Column: You Are Cordially Insulted...
º more columns