rap-art lovers of New York have had their chicken salad shat upon this week with the news that their beloved The Gates of Central Park, a conceptual-art project by French artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude consisting of 7,500 orange gates strewn throughout the famous park, may be in jeopardy. A lawsuit filed by Microsoft headcheese Bill Gates over copyright issues would have the famous art-things torn down from their current location in the park, then re-erected on Gates’ front lawn.

The enigmatic uberdork Gates first attempted to purchase the art installation earlier this month, after seeing it on USA Today and screaming “I want those things!� to the various electronic henchmen whirring about his family’s high-tech Medina, Washington home. But despite being the world’s richest man, and crying like a little girl during the negotiations, Gates was unable to sway the money-hating French.

At first, Gates reacted to the snub by ordering Microsoft engineers to build a replica of The Gates on his lawn. Unfortunately, several of the gates crashed during construction, killing three itinerant laborers. Gates then turned to his current lawsuit, which he hopes to win in the name of the nameless Mexicans killed in that frustrating tragedy.

Surprising all and completely wrecking the commune betting pool, the rismurfulously wealthy Gates granted this reporter access to his heavily fortified Redmond home, which is rumored to hover five inches above the ground at all times to cut down on worm noise, for an exclusive interview.

“Art should be enjoyed by all,� explained Gates from deep within his lair, perched atop the earth’s crust. “And I hardly ever get a chance to go to New York.�

Gates also gave this lucky reporter a tour of this cutting edge techno-hovel, which is completely computer automated with voice activated controls for temperature, ambient music, and air ionification. In addition, the entire house goes apeshit when you say the day’s secret word: “Ziggy Stardust.�

The home is also ringed by a miniature monorail system which delivers food and other essentials to the hard-working frabjillionaire. Looking like a cross between the mechanical rabbit at a dog racing track and the trolley in Mr. Rogers’ house, Gates explained how the monorail system works while he reprogrammed the house’s secret word, due to this reporter’s inability to construct a sentence that didn’t include “Ziggy Stardust� and the resultant epileptic fit suffered by Gates’ dog, Bytes.

The installation of The Gates on the Gates’ front lawn would replace a small placard currently located near the home’s main entrance, which reads “The Gates.�

“It’ll be a bit more high-concept, for sure,� explained Gates, turning a dial to remedy a smell that this reporter certainly didn’t deal. “And I always hated that damned placard.�

The thrust of Gates’ lawsuit lies on The Gates’ visual similarity to the heavily-copyrighted Windows logo, which is some kind of weird little flag thing made of plastic-colored nacho chips. This week’s opening arguments also touched upon the obvious plagiarism involved when the French artists named their epic art installation after the computing pioneer. Gates, whose name is a registered trademark in 397 countries worldwide, has thus far been unsuccessful in applying the same protection in several English-speaking nations, including the United States, where the word also means “a thing to keep in the dog.�

This case is thought to be a slam dunk, however, since Gates has already promised to help the judge install a wireless network router on his Windows PC, a task thought to be otherwise impossible.

When faced with similar challenges to the Gates brand in the past, the Microsoft founder has often struck back with his wallet, including his 1999 purchase of Rodin’s massive portal sculpture The Gates of Hell from the Musée Rodin in Paris. The Gates of Hell currently serve as a thoroughfare between Gates’ home office and bedroom.

No stranger to appropriating popular art for his own uses, Gates drew criticism in 1999 for using the 1977 David Bowie classic “Heroes� to promote some kind of Windows bullshit in a television commercial. Though some were equally critical of Bowie for selling out, most were understanding when it was revealed that the Microsoft honcho had persuaded Bowie by offering to rid his PC of the nefarious Michelangelo virus.

Appeals Court Rules Hilton Legitimately Too Pretty to Survive Prison

Climatologists Cross Legs Uncomfortably at Mention of Bangkok Conference

Merck: “Crazy-Ass Brazil Giving AIDS Drugs to People With No Money”

Poison Probe Reveals 90% of Packaged Foods Actually Dog Food

I have important matters to discuss. How important? I don't even have time to talk about my favorite conspiracy (World's Biggest). No, this concerns matters of the laws of nature themselves.

I'm talking, of course, about evolution in Kansas. That's not an insistence that evolution did happen in Kansas—my last drive through Kansas, I doubted evolution had occurred there at all. But it's not up to me to decide such matters, sir, and I think everyone who's not a science teacher should stay out of it. Yet in Kansas, evolution and creationism is once again a political battle between the hardcore fundamentalist Christians and normal people.

Why involve myself, you ask? It's not hard to figure out. Everything we teach in the science classroom is fact—am I right? Of course I am. Years ago we started teaching evolution. It was in all the papers, you might have read about it. The teaching of evolution gave the theory validity. And I'm scared shitless about teaching Creationism in science class. What happens if we validate "intelligent design"?

This is crap we don't need. God is dead—haven't you read the papers? If you want to go to your church and chat up the ceiling, that's perfectly fine. It's in the Constitution, I understand, though I think I may be paraphrasing. But you make God a part of my science class and that makes him real again. The last thing I need is God to come back, all pissed off about our erasing his existence by not teaching Him in science class. And how do you think He'll feel about the rest of the world and the state it's in? He probably won't even care about the evolution business, too busy freaking out about subjecting the third world to poverty and the stockpile of nuclear armaments. He got pissed about eating a single apple off his tree, how do you think he'll feel about destroying the world?

I've traveled to Topeka to take part in this state argument. It's not like everything's going to topple if the unintelligent "intelligent design" forces win Kansas—halfway there already, you ask me. But if they get encouraged by their victory, the Creationists will probably take their fight somewhere more important, like Fly Creek, Alabama, or the Bayou. If they conquer enough school boards—or worse, the hearts and minds of the America itself—science will be forever changed. God will return, wished into existence by the demon we call science, evolution will go the way of the dodo, and science will be subject to extremists, instead of hard-thinking, boring scientists. What will they go after next—gravity? That's all I need, all my papers going flying around and my entire staff falling off the surface of the earth. Which will probably be flat again, by the time all this is over.

To prevent this paradigm shift, I'll no doubt make this argument to the Kansas School Board itself. But if I go as myself they'll surely recognize millionaire playboy/publisher/conspiracy-buster Red Bagel. Fortunately I've had a lot of disguise experience lately, so I'll be making my arguments as other personas. I plan on playing Edgar C. Bummington, an esteemed Professor of Evolution from England (my accent is top-notch), arguing the case for evolution and against Creationism. I also plan to play concerned parents Bill-Joe and Marjorie Cutler (both roles, though I'm not sure how I'll pull that off just yet), and, time permitting, the precocious show-stealer Joe "Stinky" Bagel, arguing it from a kid's perspective. Sure-fire ways to convince Kansans to respect science and keep evolution? Maybe not, but I'm giving it everything I've got. I've come to like gravity too much to give it up.

º Last Column: Slow Change Artist
º more columns

Long has the world grown fat like a diabetic tick off the fruits of my invention. Strike that, "fruit" sounds a pinch too gay. The meats of my invention. And make that plural, as "inventions," because they have been legion.

In retrospect, part of my problem was likely never patenting any of my skylarks, under the mistaken assumption that nobody would buy anything that I myself wouldn't pay for. Cell phones, gossip magazines, and underarm deodorant have all proven me wrong on that count. Let this be my Achilles heel no more, however. My next vacation is going to be enjoyed from a pup tent right outside the doors of the U.S. patent office.

"What the hell," you're likely cursing to yourself, unless reading this column from the holy confines of a sacred church or daycare center, "are you talking about, VanSlyke?" A fair question, rudely put. So I'll cut, slowly mind you, like wet cardboard was my tool rather than a razor blade, to the chase. If you've enjoyed anything in the last thirty years, chances are I invented it. There. Put that in your pipe and blow bubbles.

The original Game Boy? VanSlykeBoy is more like it, though that sounds a bit like a mascot for pickles. But when the original Nintendo was so popular back in the 1980's, I was the one who spoke up at the barber shop and said they should make a portable one of those, with a screen on the front and a hatch on back to slip the game inside, so that children could play their electrified games while working in the salt mines, rather than wasting valuable labor resources at home in front of the TV. To which my fellow barbershop patrons enthusiastically replied: "What's Nintendo?"

Nevermind, they made one without me. Even if my mental version was better, with a color screen and a hatch for snacks. Shame on me for not developing a massive Japanese consumer electronics company to market my product back when I had the idea.

Tablet PCs? Those, too, should bear the mark of the "V." This one I admit I invented by mistake, after taking home a flat-screen monitor from my doctor's office and realizing to my keen disappointment that it didn't do anything when not connected to a computer box of some sort. Bah to that. A truly useful screen would recognize my handwriting, connect wirelessly to the Internet, and show me the results of the Florida State beauty pageant. Like a pad of paper. Only without me having to draw the beauty pageant contestants or guess what might be on the Internet. Again, industry beat me to the punch on this one, but I did still earn the distinction of selling the world's first "tablet PC," to a half-retarded kid down the street. Thankfully he never asked what the cable trailing off the back was for. Grounding, son. Grounding.

These are just two examples among the thousands I could site, if this column were a thousand times longer and instantly downloadable by neural cortex. So, I'm sure you're wondering, what can we expect next from Sony and JVC, after they steal the idea from Homer VanSlyke? Glad you asked: it's Movie theater goggles. That's right Baxter, an opportunity to enjoy the movies and cop a cool futuristic look without leaving the money-saving safety of your own home. You simply strap on the goggles and the attached ear-implants, set the virtual screen size, toggle on or off the know-it-all loudmouth sitting behind you, set the cell phone ringer volume and frequency, and kick back to enjoy the latest Hollywood DVD. Or, if movies are distributed in crystal-gel modules like they should be by then, just pop a mod and prepare to have your eyes blown off.

Thankfully I don't think any consumer electronics giants read the commune, because I've got my prototype almost finished. It's just a beta model, mind you, in real-world application the big-screen TV welded to the goggles would likely cause serious neck trauma to the wearer. But once I get rid of all these stupid tubes and wires, the whole thing should really come together beautifully.

º Last Column: Homer VanSlyke's Twelve Days of Christmas
º more columns