Republican Majority Mandates Lobster Bibs for Democrats

ess than a week after the Republican smack-down known as the 2002 election, giddy conservatives were chomping at the bit to address their priorities for the upcoming session of Congress. Saturday night, an after-hours weekend meeting and weenie roast for GOP Congressmen both incumbent and newly elect set the tone for the upcoming session. Among the top priorities addressed were mandatory lobster bibs for all Democrats, the implementation of segregated Democrat bathrooms down in the basement behind the boiler room, and the requirement that Democrats sing the teapot song before speaking during congressional debates.

"Well, those boys is some messy eaters, so we figured we'd help 'em out so they can keep their shirts clean," chuckled Senator Thad Cochran from Tennessee.

"The American people have spoken, or more importantly they scribbled in some little bubbles with a pencil, and they've sent a clear mandate about what they want to see in the next two years. Few can deny that Americans are clamoring to see Democrat Representatives with embarrassing words like 'Dickless' and 'Miss Thang' sunburned onto their chests while they are chased by bears on rollerskates. The American people suffered through a long ballot, they had to fill in a lot of pointless bubbles for judges and people they'd never heard of just to make the democracy machine work, and now we owe it to them to hold up our end of the bargain. Let me be the first to wield the spankin' paddle in the name of the American Way," announced Sen. Pat Roberts of Kansas with a gleam in his eye.

When asked by a visibly concerned President Bush when Congress would find time to approve military action in Iraq, Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott looked confused for a moment before replying.

"Ira-? Oh, right, right. Don't worry yourself, Dub. There'll be plenty of time for that after we pass this hilarious bill Orrin's been working on. Get this, we're going to have all of the… Jesus, excuse me, it still cracks me up, we're gonna have all the Democrats carrying around these dog bowls with their names printed on them, to drink out of, you know. And whenever Moynihan goes off on one of his tangents, you know, like he does, I'm going to stand up and do the little pinky-finger thing, you know what I'm talking about. And I say 'Could someone please throw the Senator a frickin' bone here?' Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that we're going to keep a few cases of dog biscuits on hand for everybody to throw at Moynihan when I say that. Shit, let me start over. This is going to be great."

Lott was cut off by Rep. Elect Saxby Chambliss of Georgia, who was doing an impression of a Democrat Congressman in the upcoming 2003 session.

"I'm a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle and here is my spout! I object!"

The gathered Congressmen erupted into laughter and applause, which rose another notch when Sen. Elect Jim Talent of Missouri shot milk out of his nose.

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Countless dozens (twelves) have marveled at the way all of the great Pharaohs and other self-important assholes of ancient Egypt, not to mention their monuments like the Sphinx, the Cooney and the Guggenheim, all look exactly like Michael Jackson. Few have followed their ass-scratching curiosity into the realm of arduous academic research, and I can't blame them because that's some dry shit. But for those few who have, the reward has been a startling revelation.

Michael Jackson has always existed.

Through all cultures and all times over the course of human history there has been only one constant: Michael Jackson. Okay, and bacon. Everybody loves bacon, no lie. So two constants, but one is more surprising than the other.

No one can be quite sure where the King of Pop came from, as he predates even the earliest recorded history and can be found in the mythology of most world cultures. Historians agree that a crash-landing space egg is as reasonable an explanation as any.

Nowhere is Jackson's influence more evident than in the culture of ancient Egypt. When the great Pharaoh Titencouple built the Sphinx, the model was no other than the gloved one himself. Jackson convinced the Pharaoh to build the Sphinx by saying it would make him live forever, but through a neat linguistic trick Mike failed to clarify that he meant he, himself, and not the Pharaoh, who would die three years later in the crotch of an elephant.

Through some kind of voodoo shenanigans that can only be explained using a detailed diorama and action figures, Jackson designed the Sphinx as a kind of supernatural Dorian Gray portrait who's magical powers kept the singer impervious to the ravages of time. It worked like a charm, though when the dog-loving warlord Mameluke shot off the Sphinx's nose during a drunken bender in the 1300's, Jackson began to lose the nasal portion of his magical protection. Eventually this lead to the unsightly implosion of his shnozz, an unfortunate side-effect of marrying one's fate to that of a stationary monument in asshole country.

In the 20th century, acid rain began to deface the Sphinx further, wreaking more havoc on Jackson's visage and driving him to more and more paranoid attempts to stave off the effects of aging. Sleeping in a giant vacuum-sealed Pringles container made for good press in the tabloids, but eventually proved to be of little help. A Sphinx haircut would come later, though some would argue that he went too far with it and ended up looking more like a character from Big Trouble in Little China than the Sphinx.

Some may bring up the well-known footage of a young Jackson rumpshaking his way through Motown hits in the early 70's as evidence of his normal human lifecycle. Few realize that this footage is from, amazingly, 7840 B.C.. Check out the cord on Jermaine Jackson's bass guitar. Looks suspiciously like a braid of camel hair, doesn't it? Jackson has proved that he's nothing if not adept at predicting cultural trends ahead of time, only few have realized just how far ahead. Once again in pop music, everything old is new again.

Some might wonder what to make of this discovery, to panic wildly and fling one's ass out an open window, or to shrug apathetically and help oneself to another helping of chicken fried steak. I believe the correct approach is mild curiosity. While it would be easy and understandable for one to succumb to an intense bout of the heebie-jeebies, it's important to realize that if Jackson had the power to destroy the world, he surely would have done so after HIStory sold like Cancer McNuggets a few years back. He may hold some bizarre powers we have yet to discover, but whatever happens we know that over in Egypt we've always got him by the man-headed lion balls. And personally, you can keep your immortality if it means that any yahoo out there with a rocket launcher can blow your sandy bits back to Cairo any time he pleases.

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Who knew such fantastic fun existed on the silver screen? I didn't, that's for sure. Yes, Rok Finger enjoys the occasional movie like any good working-class drone, but movies are usually just boring things that could happen to me at any time, with more attractive people and well-edited endings. This movie was completely different, more magic and swords, less face-on-face kissing. It comes from the most unlikely source of entertainment, too: A book.

That's right, books. Before seeing the movie I believed books were only delivery systems for cult manifestos or dangerous statistics. Turns out there are whole other worlds in some books, and some of those worlds are worth reading about. I can't say that is the case for this Lord of the Rings world, Ringworld, but it was certainly worth a good three hours of my life. I only wish there were another three hours of the film, and possibly another three after that. But for now I'm happy such a strange fantasy was put on the screen.

I've never been too big a fan of independent films, even having starred in one (Piglet: When is that getting released, by the way?) but this was top-notch. My understanding, courtesy of Griswald Dreck, is that they filmed the movie entirely in New Zimbabwe, where smallish African workers will act as props for mere pennies a day, which really kept the cost of the film down. Beautiful country, too, besides the ever-present mountain of death.

The story is the greatest ever told, besides anything with Jesus in it. It's about four brave height-challenged men who leave their normal egalitarian existence behind so that they can get rid of a gaudy piece of jewelry, a big fat ring-slash-bracelet with some kind of Esperanto on the side. At first their only comrade is a senile old wizard with a narcotics problem, but he is quickly outwitted by another dope-smoking old wizard, and the undertall men are on their way again all by their lonesome.

At this point it gets a little boring, with some hulking tall guy barging his way into the picture. Then he and the four mid-size heroes join up with a motley crew of Dungeons & Dragons fans: An extremely tall, probably gay elf; a stout and brave dwarf, hearty like the mountain rock he was forged from; and another hairy tall loaf of muscle. Besides becoming another height-oriented film at this point, there's still plenty of genuine moments of great action.

Occasionally the movie gets bogged down in special effects, Ringworld lingo, and prosthetic snouts, but the overall message comes through loud and clear: Virtuous men of any size will triumph over ambiguous dark entities that seek to take over the world. It just requires being able to dispose of tacky pimp jewelry before pig-men and ghosts can destroy you.

The director, whatever his name is, has laid out the heart and mind of the next century before us. The movie has found resonance in the post-September 11^th era, where vague black clouds of villains known as terrorism can send fear through the hearts of even the shortest of men. But like the heroes of the movie, the what do you call, Hobnots, we shall find the strength to endure.

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