ednesday's attacks in the Iraqi city of Fallujah, in which four former US soldiers were killed in a terrorist ambush before their bodies were dismembered, dragged behind cars and hung from a bridge by an angry mob, created a conundrum for television networks faced with the tough moral question of how to best profit from these shocking images.

"If we show them, we make a shitload of money," explained ABC News spokesperson Al Reuben. "If we don't show them, maybe we can claim the moral high ground and make a shitload of money down the line. It's a tough call."

Least troubled by the moral quandary was Fox News, whose plans to strap a helmet-cam to one of the dead bodies were scrapped when the angry mob grew impatient waiting for technicians to get a reading on the gray levels.

"Americans have a right to see this footage," opined Fox News Executive Producer Leonard Williams. "And we have the right to boost our ratings through the fuckin' roof by being the first to show the really awful parts that make you want to throw up. If anybody out there was blindly discharging a firearm into their Arab neighbor's house yesterday, you know they were watching hard-hitting Fox News."

Other networks took the debate more seriously, holding off on showing the footage through the morning, and then gradually releasing more and more of the horrible images throughout the day as it became apparent that Internet sites were kicking their ratings in the balls by showing the Fallujah footage uncut. By Wednesday evening the gloves were off and charred bodies were seen dangling from the Euphrates River bridge on most major networks.

"We really didn't want to show the footage of those kids beating the guy's flaming corpse with their shoes," explained CBS Evening News spokesperson Clint Adams. "But then we realized, 'Jesus Christ, we're losing money here!' I feel truly bad for the families of these men, and any children who may have been forever scarred by these images, but come on. You know how much money we made off that Somalia footage? Shit."

While the long-term impact of these images is yet to be seen, experts speculate that the American people being reminded that "Oh yeah, war is really ugly and horrible and stuff" can only harm the president's chances for reelection in November, not to mention driving the final nail into the coffin of Iraqi tourism.

"We owe it to future history to inform the American people of what's really going on over there," offered Marcus Graves of ABC News. "Maybe because of this footage being in the collective memory, next time we'll think twice about going to war again."

When asked by the commune news if he was shitting us, Graves admitted that yeah, he kind of was, but it sounds a lot better than saying you make your living selling people grisly video death. No argument here.

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Brace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this column at this point. My private life has to stay private. In fact, I may suggest to Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley that he lecture me using a speech I've penned myself.

In the meantime, I must use this column to convince Lee and Camembert to let me back into the apartment. As you may know, my visit to Gracieland in New Hampshire didn't pan out as a truly fulfilling trip, but went into Rok's bag of "life experiences" where I invariably end up the wiser about something—in this case, George and Gracie Burns. But after last week's column, I returned home to find the door locked, bolted, and adorned with a sign that read, "Fuck off, Finger."

So… Lee, Camembert. Is this how the Rok Finger housing experiment ends? For whatever reason, I go away and come back to find I've been banned from my own Camembert's apartment? This is the sort of mutiny that is unforgivable, but if I ever get back in, I will forgive you. Once I change the locks and make sure I have the only key.

Camembert: You're the last one I would have expected this from. Not that you like me enough not to do such a thing, or had any honor, but your sheer cowardice and fear of confrontation should have clipped your babymakers before you gathered the courage to join such a conspiracy. If Lee is forcing you to do this, I completely understand. I fear him as well. But I need an inside man, let's just say you fit both bills, to unlock the doors and let me back in. Once we're both in there, we'll fight for our rights to party. Lee is big and burly, but with my brains and your upper-brawn we can oust him from the seat of power, and we'd better hurry because I've been holding in a crap for two days now.

Lee: I know how it is. You're a little directionless with me missing, still a little disoriented from your lingering head injury. Camembert has some ideas that sound good on paper, or failing that, since you can't read, he says them in a real friendly voice. But following him in his betrayal is something I wouldn't expect from you, Lee—that's more of a cowardly Camembert thing to do. Please, don't let his miniature tank scare you, as I've said before, it's just a wheelchair. His power is in spokes and pulley systems, gears and cogs. Unbolt the door and let me in and together we'll reinstate the old Rok Finger: Unquestioned Ruler administration.

Assuming this is some kind of punishment from the both of you for some imagined wrong, real as it might be, please forgive my mistakes. I'm only human, no matter what the scientists say, and have my weaknesses like anybody else. Allow me a second chance and I will return and we'll all work things out. Repercussions will be swift and brutal, or none at all, if that's preferable. All is forgiven. Rok Finger is nothing but heart, four feet of pure, loving heart. Let my love open the door.

Or, failing that, I do have a key, you know. I can tell you haven't changed the locks and that lousy deadbolt won't hold forever. You have to leave the apartment sometime, at least Lee does, and Camembert is too scared to stay by himself. All of this is futile rebellion, and you know it. Lee's fondness for Little Caesar's pizza will lead to the door opening again sometime in the future, and when it does, Rok Finger will spring like a slinky back into the apartment and into your lives. I have an elephant's memory and a wooden bat, so think about how you want this to end before it's too late.

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There are three tricks you never want to teach a dog, and one of them is to explode. I'll let that sink in before I get to the other two.

Here's a question for all you full-fledged (have you ever seen someone half-fledged? I'm telling you, make sure you've already eaten) students out there, the explorers in the mountains of knowledge, the Camrys in the parking lot of wisdom, I know that you can answer this question for me: If Magellan was so goddamned great, how come everyone calls it margarine? Chew on that while your jerky is drying.

Interesting, eh? But should you feel compelled to weep with fascination, remember: tears are high in salt content and can stain some delicate fabrics, it's better to weep over a saltwater aquarium or a very bland soup.

Keeping in line with an ancient tradition it was not until now convenient for me to follow, we're going to be incorporating some reader emails into the column. Check your shorts. In regards to the email I received from Ethel Barngraves of Elkin, TN about the proposed barn dance and love-in, I have this response:

"Well sheeeeeit, I haven't been me to no barn dance in some helluva dang long acre! Whassat? Acre's um measure-ah land distance fur purposes of ownership, notta way to tell time? Well shit my britches and call me-ah teen idol, I never did trust them porpoises. Gal-dang, damn near bit my granny on that one! A hu-yep! I'd feel steeee-yoopid if I weren't asa pig drunk asa pill-bug in a Kentuckian's bathtub, I tell you that! Barn dancin' an romancin, I'm up fer that boonwaddle! Besta make myself representable, gunna go comb my hat! BARN DANCE! -heart explodes-"

So, as is obvious to see, it's a good thing you didn't mention barn dancing.

Waaaaait a minute.... -brain falls apart like a sloppy joe-

We never looked at MC Scat Cat quite the same after we learned that "scat" is another word for "shit". Not to mention Scatman Crowthers. Ick.

In other news, thanks to Chuck Rooster of New Turk, MA for the informative lesson on scat and other vocab words for the week. Turns out it also means "leave at once." Now that I know this, I think I'm going to go reclaim that copy of Scattergories that I returned to Toys-R-Us in a huff yesterday, and take back what I said about the manager's daughter. If only you could take back a kick in the kidneys, this would be an easier life.

-convulses, bangs head on counter-

Woah, just got another email. The barn dance has been revoked! -collects manwich-like brain material, puts it back on bun- Riot in the streets children! Let the gutters clog up good with the blood of those who know not the beauty of the Electric Cousin or the Incest Slide! Barn dancing shall live on!

Seriously, though, pigs sound like midget laughter when you try to cram one down a functional modern toilet.

Oh wait, that wasn't serious at all. Let me check in my bag. Oh, okay, here we go... -riiiip- aw, crap. Okay, you're only gonna get half a thought here because the other half got caught in the zipper. And it might smell a little like Open Pit. Them's the breaks.

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