he kangaroo trial of the century began this week, pitting former dictator Saddam Hussein against the entire Western world in a one-man cage match for crimes against humanity. The trial opened Wednesday, with the much-sought Iraqi ex-President facing charges of murder, torture, forced expulsion, illegal imprisonment, and being a late 20th-century Hitler.

The 68-year-old Hussein answered the charges with a loud raspberry, presumably learned from illegal copies of American movies or television shows. Appropriate charges will be added when the trial resumes in November.

While Hussein himself refused to answer any questions put to him by the judge, the ex-president's appointed lawyer, Barry Kitschwater, explained that his client refused to recognize the authority of the court over the president of Iraq. Whistles and cat-calls ensued, providing a salty opening to the most exciting trial since that of Manuel Noriega.

Kitschwater also added that his client asked to represent himself upon the trial's resumption. Vegas odds instantly doubled that the trial of the young century would become the hotpick for funniest damn thing on television.

In a 40-page letter to the American public (specifically not including the president and members of the government), Hussein outlined his plan for his own defense, most notable among the points an intention to call every living citizen of Iraq to testify on his behalf that he did not personally kill them. Hussein also footnoted that he planned to charge with perjury anyone that didn't testify accordingly.

Hussein also wrote a letter to the judge asking for the materials he would need to interview witnesses, including 200 thin sheets of bamboo, six batteries with electrical wires attached, and approximately 30 dank, windowless cells, or equivalent interrogation space. The prosecution immediately entered the request into evidence, and wrote a nice thank-you to the former dictator.

In his public letter, Hussein pleaded with the American people to defy the "propaganda" of its sort-of-elected leaders.

"Do not accept their polluted ideals as facts," wrote the eloquent scumbag. "Rise up and overthrow the whip-bearers who control your minds and bodies. Remove them from power and forge yourselves a land of freedom and opportunity. And if you really find yourself hurting for a new leader, it just so happens I'm seeking available positions as we speak. Perhaps we can work something out."

That letter, too, was taken into evidence by the prosecution.

The defense found itself getting off to an even rougher start than expected with the news that one of the lawyers of a Hussein co-defendant had turned up missing, presumed kidnapped. Hussein lawyer Kitschwater spoke for his client, saying his heart went out to the poor miserable infidel whose whereabouts were unknown. Kitschwater also reminded the press that he was not officially Hussein's lawyer, since the former dictator would be representing himself, and asked for the media to put that part in big print for everyone to read.

After concluding opening proceedings, the trial is set to resume Nov. 28, by which time networks officials and Pay-Per-View representatives hope to have some deal hammered out with trial officials. The high bet in Vegas at the moment is Saddam will show up on opening day with something obscene shaved into the back of his head, so get in on the ground floor if you have a good feeling about it.

Iraq blah blah blah Suicide blah blah blah Dead

Big Whup: Whale Swims Across the English Channel

Heather Graham’s Career Found Dead in Apartment

Polish Roof Falls in Following “Drinks Are on the House” Debacle

There are way too many states these days. When I was a kid, we had four: New York, Georgia, Beezlefromt and Indiana. Indiana was everything west of Georgia, where the Indians lived. Beezlefromt was a big green state that got bought out by the Japanese. It ain't around no more, and you can kiss it goodbye. If you want to take you and your family on a vacation to Beezlefromt, you'd best get yourself some tickets on the U.S.S. Ain't Gonna Happen.

Nowadays, seems like everybody and their sister has to have their own state. Cecil P. Washington, both Carolines, Floridiots, Kansans. Then a bunch of them Kansans went and got themselves kicked on out of Kansas for whistlin' Dixie and had to start their own state, callin' in "Ar-kansas," since it was Kansas done up their own way. We got to keep on dolin' out states to keep everybody happy. The deaf, the dumb, the ornery… not to mention folks from Chicago! Why don't we hand out two Dakotas while we're feelin' generous? That was a sarcasm.

Never there was a country who done well in history havin' more than four states. Just look at the Turkeys. Once was the day when Turkey was the biggest nation on dry land. Then they went and kicked the bridesmaid in the cherry by splitting it all up into four hundred states, one for each Turkeyan who threw a dollar in the pot. At the time it seemed like a zipper of an idea, four hundred bucks back then was more than what it cost to pave a street with live humans. But before a year was out the Turkey Empire fell into ruin and the world laughed at them by naming after them a stupid bird.

Yet are we too foolish and proud to learn the lesson of the Turkeys? Apparently so, because every time I turn around we've gone and baked up another state. Maine! Maine ain't a state any more than is the left half of my ass. A friend of mine once spit across Maine when he was in a showin-off kind of mood. Maine's a place you look when you can't find your car keys, and that don't make it a state.

Before we head too far down the wrong road in the devil's mule-cart, we'd best lay down some rules about what does and what don't make a state. Stand a little closer and some of that smart might rub off on you. Here's one for ya: If it rains, it ain't a state. We can't be awarding every little stretch of wilderness stateship now, can we? It's time to buckle down. Got crows? Ain't a state in my book. Corn grows there? See ya later, not-a-stater. Sun gets in your eyes? Sorry, but you're just not state material.

Throw enough of these freeloading states out of the union and you'll start to see some others clean up their act, marker my words. New Mexico? Who exactly do they think they're fooling? Same old Mexico in my book. You can dress up a heifer like a milkmaid, but it's still just tomorrow's pork roast. New Mexico's had plenty of time to put it's big-hat-wearin', afternoon-nap-taking days behind it, but all we get is excuses. It's time we tell New Mexico that it's chances of stayin' a state are slim an none, and ol' Slim just porked that Nun.

But of course I know it's all yakkin' in the wind, 'cause regardless of what I say, they're gonna keep churnin' out those states til we're all livin' in dirt huts and the rest of the world is namin' stupid birds after us. All I can do is hope that bird is tasty.

º Last Column: Survivor Glorifies Being Stranded on a Desert Island
º more columns

The good news here in the commune offices is my court case has resulted in a nice out-of-court settlement. The bad news is… well, I'll get to the bad news in due course.

Frequent readers of my column, or actually anyone who read the last one, will remember that I was taking legal action against the author of the play based on my life, without my authorization, Ching! Ching! I Owe Fred Scarsdale A Lot of Money. My lawsuit was on the fasttrack toward a big fat payoff for the commune, and me in particular, when we found out the author of the play was none other than black sheep of the commune family Raoul Dunkin. Now, insiders and outsiders with insider contacts know that Raoul Dunkin was the first reporter hired when the commune made the jump from publishing on the back of pre-published pamphlets to the internet, where the overhead was considerably lower and the journalistic standards likewise lower. Which made it all the harder when he and his money-hungry blade backstabbed me and his brethren by running off to become a hot-to-trot M-TV veejay.

Apparently, M-TV and Dunkin were a poor match from the get-go and even the coveted 3-5 a.m. timeslot couldn't make him a star. He pink-slipped that job and ended up writing plays off-off-Broadway, specifically the Vlanch Community Theater in Vlanch, Pennsylvania. Which is where I saw the Fred Scarsdale bit. Cut to September of 2002, and a very pissed-off Red Bagel demanding compensation. Now we're talking settlement.

Dunkin always was bad at numbers. Would you believe over 30 people saw his play and he still ended up deep in debt? If over 30 people ever read an edition of the commune, I, Red Bagel, would be rolling in money like a pig in shit. Instead of rolling in shit like a pig in shit. Dunkin's big mistake, as far as I can tell, was paying all collaborators involved in real money instead of skeeball tickets and coupons. He also doesn't seem to have heard of government loans and frivolous lawsuits.

Needless to say, Dunkin could not pay the compensation I demanded, and in fact ran up even more bills thanks to hiring that pricey Bar association-approved "lawyer". Way to go, A-hole. All that money flushed down the drain and you still settled the case with yours truly, the lawyerless commune's fearless editor-in-chief.

All that said and done, as part of the settlement Dunkin is coming back to work for the commune for a while. You tell me who the real loser is! Bludney Plud? I suppose we can all agree on that.

So welcome, dear reader, to a bold new era for the commune. Well, not really. Welcome to an era that reeks of a bold old era. Dunkin is back with his passable news coverage, and yet I'm not firing Ramon Nootles, his replacement I took on staff when the extra coupons I saved allowed me to expand the workforce. At least not yet—he's the kind of reporter who seems to benefit from a healthy fear of the guillotine.

Nobody could be happier about Dunkin's return to the staff, at least I've decreed that nobody can be happier. Dunkin, to his credit, is putting up the appearance that he's not totally miserable, and that's appreciated.

By the way, we have no plans of removing the "Let's Promote Raoul Dunkin!" game as of yet. Let's just see where this is going for a while. The numbnuts does have a history of abandonment, and we may forgive, but we never forget.

º Last Column: I Want Compensation for the Play Based on My Life
º more columns