taunch pro-death advocates applauded court refusals to reconnect Terri Shiavo's feeding tube over the weekend. The court hearings were seen as last-ditch legal efforts by Schiavo's parents and pro-life groups to keep the brain-damaged woman alive, but judges of the state court of Clearwater, Florida bizarrely sided with science over politics and religion, to the lament of fans of life everywhere.

Terri Schiavo has been in a persistent vegetative state since 1990, when prolonged blood loss to the brain brought on by heart failure induced her current condition. The case has become a focus for pro-life and anti-life groups, as Schiavo's husband, based on alleged comments made by Schiavo before her condition started, wants his wife's feeding tube removed, and her parents want her to live a long, long time. While most medical specialists have concluded Schiavo will never recover, doctors who put their religion convictions ahead of flimsy scientific evidence have come to bat for the parents, saying Schiavo demonstrates some degree of awareness of her environment. The woman's feeding tube was removed March 18, the only means for pro-death advocates to euthanize patients under current laws.

The Schindlers, Schiavo's parents and the key speakers on the pro-life side of the debate, have brought aboard anti-abortion-rights activist Randall Terry, who, since Schiavo cannot speak now on her own behalf, argues the woman must be fought for like a big fetus, despite claims by her husband, who knew her before the tragedy, that she would not want to be kept alive in such a state. The Schindlers have accused all judges who have sided with husband Michael Schiavo of being part of a "crusade to kill" his daughter.

Governor Jeb Bush, brother of the country's most legal president ever, has in the past interceded on the Schindlers' behalf to reconnect Schiavo's feeding tube on one of the many occasions it's been disconnected, but legal efforts by the Governor have so far failed to pass muster with the Florida Senate. Though he has not taken more direct, controversial action as of press time to keep Schiavo alive, Bush's sentiments are clearly pro-life.

"I've consistently said I can't go beyond what my powers are and I'm not going to do it. There are 90,000 abortions that take place in this state every year. That troubles me more than I can ever describe," said the Governor, finding a comparison where few would dare. Bush also negatively compared the decision of Judge George Greer not to reverse his decision, based on the testimony of a doctor affiliated with the Schindlers, to court decisions to review death penalty cases.

On the pro-death side, representatives for Michael Schiavo pleaded with the media and legislators to not involve themselves in the family's most painful ordeals for the sake of political or religious agendas, and for the love of God, quit calling them "pro-death advocates." The media responded by splashing the story, covered from multiple angles, on page one of every national newspaper and running constant updates in between television shows. Politicians responded by making resentful speeches and making deals in the House and Senate over the woman's future. When asked if anyone in Congress planned on interceding to bring soldiers home from Iraq, Afghanistan, or other dangerous locations overseas, most Congressmen said it didn't seem like any of their business.

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Hey, shit on me, I got a virtual postcard! I haven't had one of these since the time the IRS sent me that nice animated GIF of a cute little thug breaking my thumbs. And, if you'd believe it, this is even nicer. Though I do miss that little midi file of the Macarena the IRS sent along with theirs. Whenever I see a mob movie I can't help but hum along... "One little two little three Macarena! Get off your lazy ass and make me a danish! Gordita banderas tijuana hola, HEY MACARENA!"

Man, I hadn't realized how much my Spanish was improving. These subliminal tapes are da bomb.

How dreadfully rudish of me to go on about my personal problems like that, I must say that I'm sorry and this is my brother Bill. We're from Okilyma, Kansas. Nice to make your acquaintance, would you care for a dip? Granola dip? A tall, refreshing glass of blue barbershop dip? Hmm. If I spelled acquaintance right, this may be the seventh sign that all hell is waiting for a tech support person to get loose on the other line. Pray for me, Webster.

I shall do my utmost to refrain from my habit of pleading with minority child star midget-people for the remainder of this column. It shall be a concerted effort, and an affordable concert. This I vow.

But knowing you (and we go back, don't we? Seems like it was near the turn of the century when I said to myself: "Akk! I'm an atom! Get me out of this catfood! Jaaaayne! Stop this crazy thing!" Uh, sorry 'bout that, on with the thing) I doubt you really mind. You probably stained a throw rug with your pee stream after that Loompatuwanka gag last column and you're just glad this column isn't full of show-stoppers like that one. Man.

I only wish I could be geographically further away, so as to escape the inevitable police dragnet when the AM-PM down the street realizes they're short three packets of creamer. I tried to stop the guy but he had some kind of backyard-wrestling ninjitsu going on that I wasn't adequately prepared to deal with.

Not that I really blame him. Scamming some free creamer would surely save on the ol' grocery bills, if you know what I mean. The Grocery Bills? That sounds like a bad co-ed football team from Safeway. Holy SHIT I'm funny! My apologies.

Anyway, ever know a girl who was getting married? I did. Trust me, in a few short months she will no longer resemble the friend you knew, if in fact you knew her, and if in fact she's a woman because otherwise the grammar of this sentence is just shot all to hell. She will become a strange married being with a remote-controlled ass. You know those domestic types with their burros. Tragic. I not only lost a friend, I gained a friend-in-law who listens to Christian Speed-Metal. Yeah, there really is such a thing. I didn't know you could bite the head off a dove for Jesus until last week.

Crapola. This little column has really bloated up into a monstrous ubercolumn, so big that there are trailers for it at the beginning of some of my other columns. I'd be upset about it, but then I just got this postcard that... seems to... answer my unasked question...

-violins soar-

Jiminy Christmas, did you see those violins? Must be another knockdown drag-out over at the music teacher's place. I should stop sneaking my clothes into his dresser when they're out.

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Confound it all! And then find it again and further confound it!

That damned Stigmata Spent was caught in a lie, ruining my chances of uncovering the Biggest Conspiracy in the World (hereby called BCW). Her insistent use of words like "sweetie" and "honey-doll" unraveled all my work pretending to be a secret shadowy former CIA agent, only an estimated 5% of which call everybody "sweetie." Or maybe her being a 6'2" black transvestite stood out as a noticeable change from when I wore the fake beard.

It matters not. The result is two-fold disaster: My previous cover is blown, leaving me out of the loop once more, and possibly worse, they've tightened the circle in their little conspiracy so I'm less likely than ever to get in. Nuts! I knew my luck would run out. I finally stumble upon the biggest earth-shaking cover-up ever, right in the early stages, and lose it all trying to win big at my annual secret-circle poker game. The irony is palpable.

But when I fall off the horse, I beat the horse to death, like they say. I don't give up. So I've already started putting together my newest disguise, and have even road-tested a few of them just to make sure.

One thing is sure: drag is out. Stigmata Spent might be able to play a convincing man, but it's probably due to the fact she was born one. I, on the other hand, make a less than convincing woman. In fact, children on the street point me out as "the fat man wearing a dress." Which is totally unfair, because though my weight may fluctuate, I'm hardly fat. I even shaved my beard and it didn't work, although my 5 o'clock shadow has already grown in by the time I hit the streets. Who knows, it doesn't have to be an entirely physical problem, it could just be my terrible sense for women's fashion.

Who wants to be a woman anyway? Besides women, of course, no cheap shot at you ladies. But I have a barrel full of disguises. A literal barrel, and they're starting to smell like pickles, since that's what I used to keep in the barrels. I can always explain away a pickle smell, however, so that's the least of my problems.

My ideal disguise would be something stylish and cool, a character that leaves the conspiracists in such awe of me they don't even ask me my name. My first choice is international Swedish jewel thief Borge Nills Wafer. 'Cause who better to add to the BCW than the world's foremost jewel thief? Of course, they may already have the world's foremost jewel thief, and then we'd have to have a major thievery contest to establish which of us is the superior thief, but that's pretty outlandish. Still, I have to plan on every contingency, I have to make my newest character infallible to their suspicions. My star-spangled jewel thief costume might not pass muster. In fact, the whole jewel thief thing may go out the window, since I'm basically a clumsy heavyset man who's never stolen anything worth taking.

I'm still working this all out on paper, as you can see.

I've got play to my strengths. I'm well-fed, spoiled, stinking rich, and obstinate in getting anything I want. Texas oil magnate seems a natural disguise, just off the top of my head. Hey! I could even go by the nickname "Tex." And conspiracists love Texas, just ask anyone in Deely Plaza in 1963.

I think it just might work. Assuming, of course, no one reading this column tips the insiders to my intentions. So let's all keep quiet out there, okay? Not only for the sake of my fun, but for the future of mankind as well.

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