Somebody Accidentally Downloaded Orrin Hatch MP3

tah Senator Orrin Hatch made a surprising statement during last week’s hearing on copyright abuse, calling for the remote destruction of home computers used to illegally download music files. Though the senator refused to discuss his motivation, many believe Hatch’s sudden interest in copyright infringement stems from the first-ever illegal download of one of the Republican senator and part-time composer’s musical works earlier this month.

The fateful pirating in question took place when teenager Jody Whiteman of East Plains, New York accidentally downloaded the illegal MP3 file during a sleepover with high school friends. “I was trying to download that new American Hi-Fi song, and it was late so I guess I clicked the wrong thing or something because the next thing I knew, the gayest thing that ever happened was playing through my computer speakers.�

Whiteman had inadvertently downloaded the track “America Rocks!� from Hatch’s album “Heal Our Land,� recorded with composer Janice Kapp Perry in 1997.

“We must’ve played that thing 100 times,� Whiteman confided, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was like that video clip of that fat guy falling off his bike, we couldn’t stop laughing. First it was funny just because it was so bad, but then we realized somebody must’ve did it on purpose, which was even funnier. Then Tom pointed out that somebody had to like it enough to post the MP3 online, and at that point we all really lost it.�

Some speculate the MP3 download must have led to an ironic purchase of the album by one of the high school students involved, tipping off the senator that someone outside of the Hatch family had purchased one of his albums and leading to the discovery of the illegal download.

“If they illegally download a song once, or twice, they’ll get a warning,� fantasized Hatch out loud during the hearing. “But the third time? Zap! We blow up their computer. I don’t know how, maybe a laser satellite or some kind of Mission Impossible button or something. But the point is, we blow it up and they never rape our music again. Do that a few hundred thousand times, and people will start to get the message. We’ll copyright-enforce them back into the stone age.�

Thinking Hatch was kidding, technological consultant Randy Saaf attempted to save face for the entire Republican Party, if not the white race. “No one is interested in destroying anyone’s computer, but we feel that more strict enforcement of—â€�

“I’m interested,� interrupted an annoyed Sen. Hatch, who was not kidding at all. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

Jonathan Lamy, spokesperson for the Recording Industry Association of America, suggested Hatch was “apparently making a metaphorical point that if peer-to-peer networks don't take reasonable steps to prevent massive copyright infringement on the systems they create, Congress may be forced to consider stronger measures.�

“No,� countered Sen. Hatch. “I’m talking about blowing up fucking computers! Kaboom! Do I have to spell this out in sign language for you people? Kazap! And maybe a little shock or something to put the fear of Jesus into these people.�

After the hearing limped to an awkward conclusion, several senators gathered in the hall to discuss Hatch’s proposal, but to this reporter’s ear it sounded more like a lot of laughing and some gut-busting falsetto renditions of such Hatch classics as “Jesus’ Love is Like a River,� “Someday I’ll Fly,� “I’m Goin’ to Pray for This Land,� “I Am Happy,� and “It’s Not So Easy Growing Old.�

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A disturbing piece of mail has come to my attention lately, and for a change of pace, this one doesn't offer any free AOL hours.

Yes, in my Acting-Editor capacity I sometimes act like I'm opening my mail in the relative safety of my Acting-Office, otherwise known as Red Bagel's office. Usually the mail I open is addressed to the commune Editor, Editor Red Bagel, Bagel Red, Wanna-Be Colonel Sanders, Rudy Bega, Whoever Runs Your Lame-Ass Company, and variations thereof. Imagine my surprise to find a postcard addressed to Ramrod Hurley, Acting-Editor. Now imagine I study this postcard carefully, while being orally pleasured by supermodel Heidi Klum. It's not really necessary, but that's what I'm imagining so I thought we might as well be on the same page.

This postcard charmingly pictured a man holding a pile of dog feces, exclaiming in a word balloon, "Hey, look what I almost stepped in!" Immediately I was curious since I remember receiving the exact same image on a birthday card from Red Bagel last year. Indeed, this card was sent from "A desolate motel room" in Mobile, Alabama, signed by none other than our glorious leader Red Bagel. In effect, the card read:

"Ramrod: The situation is dire. Things proceed to grow more twisted and deceptive, as my unshakeable will continually nears faltering. I'm glad to see the commune is persevering in your hands even as I face an unknown fate in the bravest of ways. I wish you were beside me, instead of Sampson L. Hartwig, who snores loudly. Take heart and take pride, for though I know you would prefer stand by me in my time of need, yours is a greater role—to carry on my legacy if I fail to make it back. Godspeed, Redward Bagel."

That's what it said, in effect. In straight quotation, it read:

"Ramrod, you needledick: What the fuck have you done to my organization? I leave you alone for two goddamn seconds and you let the entire news department go to hell. Is it martial law there yet or not? You will rot in hell for eternity for what you've done to my column alone. Oh, nice job hiring that retarded Russian to write a regular column. Can you not tell when I'm joking? As of this minute I'm putting that numbnuts Raoul Dunkin in charge, and when I get back I'll show you how much I appreciate all the changes made in my absence. In the meantime I have to extract a bullet from Sampson L. Hartwig's back and fashion a temporary tourniquet. You'd better hope they get me before I can get you. Please forgive the smell of gin and unfiltered tobacco on this letter. Suck a skunk's ass, Redward Bagel.

"P.S. This postcard will self-destruct if held too close to a lit match."

This was, as you can guess, extremely alarming to me. Things had been rolling along so smoothly, the changes I implemented seem to be oiling the commune gears so well, now this: A coup attempt.

Fear not, peonic masses. Raoul Dunkin's transparent attempt to rattle my throne will not amount to anything more than a series of unpleasant assignments for a certain infamous turncoat reporter. Next week, Mr. Dunkin has the stellar position of covering the frontlines of the Iraqi-Kuwaiti border. Sure, it will be hard on died-in-the-wool action correspondent Ivan Nacutchacokov, but it's a necessary move. Not to punish Mr. Dunkin, no—if I wanted to do that I'd force him to move in with Rok Finger.

What I need is not vengeance; I need loyalty. If Raoul Dunkin can carry through with this assignment, not out of allegiance to me so much as to the commune, then I'll know I can trust him with the more important duties and assignments. In the meantime, while he's gone I'll need to figure out how he so perfectly duplicated Mr. Bagel's signature.

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Recently the nerd squad was here at the commune offices, updating all of our computers with Windows XP. Except of course for Rok Finger's computer, which still runs on typewriter ribbons, midnight oil and elbow grease. And believe me, you can smell that thing from down the hall.

I've had it about up to my marble-sack with all of these Windows variations. Windows 3.1, Windows 95, Windows 98, Windows Xtra Tasty Crispy, Windows for the Teenage Soul... enough is enough. Just when I get used to the quirks and massive failures of one version of Windows and start to find them endearing, they come out with another version. It's like finding a stranger in your bed. Or waking up naked in your neighbor's bed, something along those lines. Imagine something you don't like, and then transfer that feeling to what I think of a new version of Windows. You got it? Cool. Let's continue.

Most folks I know liked Windows 98 about as much as I like lawn clippings in a salad bar, or whatever, you know. But I came to like it over the years. I enjoyed countless half-days at work thanks to my computer seizing up from trying to run two instances of calculator at once, or that time I tried to open an image of Estella Warren in Notepad. Also, a word to the wise: Playing your computer keyboard like Schroeder from Peanuts can be fun, sometimes even A LOT OF FUN, but be prepared for problems like prematurely sent emails and system messages like "I FUCK YOU UP, WHITE BOY!". You've been warned.

But as always, my acceptance of the old Windows system was a sure as shit sign that the next version wasn't more than two weeks away. And this time they decided to go straight for the Gen-X crowd with a dangerous-sounding name and a design scheme that's like Candyland on crack. I'm no marketing expert, but I think they may have aimed a little young this time. I had a program crash the other day and I swear to God some little Teletubby popped up to tell me it wasn't my fault and he still loves me. I mean, yeah, it's cool to know, but it made me worried that I might have a radon leak in my office.

Of course, this was all after I got the goddamned package open, they sealed that thing like it contains nuclear secrets. All I can say about that is thank God I keep an electric turkey knife in my desk drawer.

As if that wasn't bad enough, then we start hearing about this programming boner from our buddies over at Microsoft where any yobknob with a dial-up connection can remotely seize control of our computers and give them an annoying attitude like in that "Short Circuit" movie. And sure enough, not long after that announcement the nerd squad finds gigabytes of mixed-race pornography on my hard drive, the obvious product of some sick hackmeister getting off on packing my computer with disturbing contraband.

What's next? Some added deluxe functionality where the hard drive bursts into flames just in case it contained any incriminating information about your illegitimate daughter in Laos? I know they're trying to cold-boot us into the space age and whatnot, bringing about an age where our computers will interact with our appliances and watch SNL for us so we can just hear about the good parts, but what if my refrigerator's an idiot and accidentally deletes all of those dirty haikus I downloaded? I'm not even sure that temperature dial even works, I don't know if it's ready to get online and order pimento olives for me.

And hasn't anybody noticed that in all of those futuristic movies, everything sucks? Sure, you might have a robot that polishes your shoes, but then they're harvesting your daughter's eggs to breed the perfect killing machine. Screw that noise. I mean, have you seen Runaway? That whole movie sucked. I don't want anything to do with any of it. Give me an old-fashioned typewriter that doesn't have emotional problems. Actually, cut out the middleman and give me an old-fashioned secretary that doesn't have emotional problems. Then she can deal with the typewriter when all the keys jam together after a particularly inspired Schroeder impression. Bricks out.

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