n unconfirmed number of individuals were hypothetically killed while many more, in theory, were wounded by a speculative terrorist attending Geneva accords Friday. The accords were held to design a potential peace plan to settle disputes between Israel and Palestine, though no representatives of either side attended the purely masturbatory debate.

According to the abstract bomber, who unofficially represented the terrorist group Hamas, his pretend bombs were smuggled into the event under his real jacket, and were not detected by authentic security guards using actual equipment. Amidst a question-and-answer session during the questionably-viable peace accords, the alleged imaginary terrorist, who described himself as Carl Al-Viddig but says he was supposedly impossible to identify from hypothetical dental records, stood up and announced he had set off a potential bomb.

"Everyone at the podium and those representing both sides, as well as everyone in a one-thousand-foot radius of myself has been blown to bits, in my mind," announced Al-Viddig.

The pretend peace talks came to an abrupt halt, and security instituted an immediate make-believe lockdown to prevent further attacks or imagined panic.

"This is a nightmare, not only for those of us who have been virtually killed, but all unofficial peacemakers out there," claimed former Palestinian official Yasser Abed Rabbo, one of the architects of the unofficial peace initiative. He could have been dead at 67.

The accords, held to debate the finer points of a potential peace solution to the age-old Israeli-Palestine conflict, and vehemently denounced by both actual governments involved in the dispute, was largely finished when they were practically ended in simulated catastrophe.

commune columnist Omar Bricks, acting as a bogus President Bush of the United States of Fantasy America, expressed deep regrets.

"This has been most uncool, and a tragedy we won't soon believe," said the stand-in leader of the free world. "Peace would have been kick-ass, I shit you not. Like my teachers used to tell me, it's a shame one fuck-up has to ruin it for everyone else." The acting Bush then fell to his knees and screamed they did it, they finally did it, damn them all to hell.

Not everyone was so quick to accept the fake peace process's defeat. Particularly, representatives of Geneva security lodged an official protest with the event holders and claimed there is no way Al-Viddig could have smuggled hypothetical weapons into the conference.

"He's always doing this, the fink," alleged Geneva Head of Security Stalton Humbladt. "Last year, when we had the speculative non-violent solution to the Iraq situation, he came in here carrying thirty pounds of imaginary plutonium, and we caught him. We locked him up in a holding cell and he then said he used a tiny microscopic laser hidden in his teeth, in theory, to cut through the bars and carry out his attack. We were like, 'Give it up, you're full of shit, Carl. Just accept defeat.'"

The peace accord architects, Rabbo and Israel's Yossie Beilin, agreed to hear both sides argue the issue and then decide whether or not the case could go on to a kangaroo court.

fter years of providing fart-powder-drenched meals for the homeless, the humanitarian organization Comic Relief completed its latest drive this month by sending huge quantities of useless onions and garnish to starving families in Africa, in what is believed to be the largest-ever gag gift in the history of charitable donations.

Comic Relief’s gift is thought to be the funniest aid Africa has received since the USA for Africa fundraiser in 1985 collected over $60 million to pay for mayonnaise and other highly-perishable foodstuffs to taunt the hungry of that famine-plagued continent.

“I remember seeing USA for Africa on the news back in 1985 and thinking ‘That’s fucking hilarious! Why didn’t we think of that?’� remembers comedian and Comic Relief host Robin Williams. “They got all these people to call in and pledge money, did the song and everything, and then they spent it all on shit that went bad in like twenty minutes! Then the real stroke of genius is when they put it trucks with bald tires and set them loose all over Africa to get stuck in the mud and capsize, and then the drivers ate most of the food. Too funny! I only hope we’re remembered as well.�

Comic Relief, founded in 1986 by comedian Bob Zmuda as a gut-busting way to help the homeless, sought in its 17th year to make a new splash by taking their “leave ‘em laughing� credo to an international level. Early indications are that this giving spirit is spreading, as Comedy Central has already pledged to match Comic Relief’s donations dollar-for-dollar, providing impoverished Africans with ketchup and A-1 sauce to go with their hilariously inedible feast of onions and garnish.

“At first we were thinking of sending them some really nasty food, like liver or something, but then we realized that would just be mean,� explained comedian and Comic Relief regular Billy Crystal, whose humanitarian work has been funnier than his movies for years. “They could actually eat that crap, and that wouldn’t be funny, just sad. I mean, how would you like it if you were starving to death and some wiseass acts like he’s being all generous, then gives you something gross your mom used to make you eat? Blech.�

“It was way funnier to just give them a shitload of onions, because what are they going to do with those? They’re pretty good for seasoning other food, but what other food?� Crystal chuckled, shrugging his shoulders in a “Who knows?� gesture. “You should have seen those guys when the trucks pulled up and all those onions came tumbling out the back! They kept waiting expectantly as each new truck pulled up, thinking one of them had to be the steak or French fries truck, but then each one would open up and it was ‘Nope! More onions!’ Ha ha. Ah… well, maybe you had to be there.�

The presidents of Ethiopia, Zimbabwe and Nigeria issued a public thank you to Comic Relief last Thursday, praising the group for their giving hearts and strong sense of starvation-themed humor. The statement was followed by an expectant pause, as if the African leaders were each expecting Comic Relief to recognize their ability to appreciate a good joke and in turn reveal where the actual food was. All three were still waiting on stage when the Comic Relief representative in attendace sounded off an electric fart box, then in the ensuing commotion ducked out a back fire escape, leaving the building.

I would like to take this opportunity to express to the world my view about Yuppies. I hate them. Bottom line. Thanks for listening.

Yuppies would be our idea of cool if we lived in a world Bill Gates had farted out of his ass. That's what he dreams about at night, a bizarre-o world where he has a chance with chicks, and the hideous byproducts of his eugenics experiments roam through mini-malls across the land. Holy shit, it happened already? Wake me up when the screaming gets too loud for you.

No real human being actually thinks they're being hip when dressed like one of these faggoty, middle-aged losers. You know what I'm talking about. All those forty-ish, peppered gray, khaki wearing, polo shirted, overweight, laptop carrying, SUV driving, laugh out loud at jokes they read in Dilbert wussy bitches! These are the kind of people who thanked their lucky fuckin' stars when computers were invented, because if it weren't for computers, natural selection would have had its way with these gimps like a 350 pound inmate named "Tiny."

Yuppies make my scrotum shrivel up like a raisin in the microwave. Just the sight of one is enough to send me into an incoherent, Yuppie-beating rage, as the security guys at CompUSA can attest.

I had the acute displeasure of sitting next to one of these zombie clones on a three-hour flight last week, after a long night of tweaking. Thank God I had stashed Nevil in my carry-on baggage, giving me the option of releasing him on that fucking swine at a moment's notice. Damned if they aren't a lot of maintenance, but owning a midget can be the difference between mirth and madness when the chips are down. They should put that on an inspirational calendar somewhere.

As soon as that Yuppie sat down next to me I could feel the bile in the back of my throat start to bubble. Watching him squeeze his fat ass into that narrow coach seat, as the perspiration built up inside his precious little round glasses and he started to sweat through his Banana Republic Yuppie fatigues, I could feel my hands twitching at the drawstring of my midget satchel, ready to unleash this poor fucker's tiny, apeshit doom.

Since I already knew you can't throw a fire extinguisher on a plane without hitting a Yuppie, I made sure Nevil was prepared for the flight through a strict regiment of starvation and randomly lighting my lighter underneath him to fuel his fire. If you're going to go to the trouble and social embarrassment of flinging a midget onto a grown man in public, you have to at least make sure that midget's in a particularly foul mood, so you get your money's worth.

But just when I was about to open the bag and take cover behind the Chinese woman sitting to my left, something infinitely more entertaining than siccing a starved and half-crazed midget on this unsuspecting fucker suddenly dawned on me. Holy shit, this Yuppie was scared of flying! I had no choice but to use this to my advantage.

While we were sitting on the runway, I took the liberty of calling the flight attendant over several times to point out the window and ask if they were completely sure that cardboard patch on the wing was really going to hold after takeoff. Then when the time for takeoff finally came, I unbuckled my seatbelt and screamed at the top of my lungs that I was feeling a breeze coming from the emergency exit door. Have you ever seen a man reflexively suck sweat back into his pores? Awesome. Then to polish the poor bastard off, periodically throughout the rest of the flight I would open my window blind just enough to look outside, then start crying. When he tried to sneak a peek I would slam it shut and moan in a trembling voice "Just ignore it! Maybe it will be OK if we pretend we don't know anything!"

By the time we landed, tons of fun had worked himself into a big puddle of sweaty hysterics. And when the flight attendants brought out the restraints to cart his ass off the plane and into that rubber van, nobody acted more surprised than me. Did you see how that guy started freaking out when we landed? Jesus. He thought my stewardess-call button was an emergency ignition switch for the plane's engines! Crazy, crazy shit.

"That's what you get, you fucking clone," I thought to myself.

No question that piece of work blew a microchip or two, either during the flight or while the orderlies were beating him silly with rubber bitch-sticks on the way to the booby barn. And I got his laptop, which makes for a bitchin' dartboard. These are the small, quiet victories I ponder in spare moments, when reminiscing about my war with the Yuppies.

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