riday night's broadcast of The 700 Club brought a fresh new prayer request from host Pat Robertson, following Wednesday's request viewers pray for "three liberal justices" on the Supreme Court to retire. Friday's prayer request: A 50-foot combat-ready robot.

Robertson's initial calls to prayer began on the CBN website as part of his so-called "Operation Supreme Court Freedom," taking a cue from Christian Coalition hand-puppets in the White House. The rallies against the Supreme Court were sparked by recent decisions to strike down state sodomy laws and the declaration two weeks ago in a majority decision the institution of marriage is "really gay."

The television evangelist felt it necessary to clarify his remarks Thursday after some accused him of singling out justices for derision from his Christian audience, stating he did not have a preference which three of six alleged liberal justices retire, as long as the three conservatives stay on. Robertson also asked God if God could see his way fit to stock the Supreme Court with non-judges like Robertson or his son, or any televangelist who could "really shake things up," it would be "icing on the cake."

Apparently, however, the Supreme Court prayers were only the beginning for the former Republican presidential nominee and noted God jockey. On a broadcast Friday night on ABC Family's The 700 Club, Robertson asked viewers to plead Jesus deliver him more pro-Christian goodies, the more remarkable being a 50-foot remote-controlled robot.

"Lord, we ask you," stated Robertson in the broadcast, eyes closed and hand up in his perfunctory God-begging pose, "the righteous need your action at this time. As the morals of America are tested and evil is all snaked up in the cracks of even our judicial institutions, deliver unto your faithful what is required to carry on the good fight. If you cannot sway the hearts of evil men, Dear Lord, I only ask you to give me the tools to do it. I ask you, Lord, for a large robot, to bring us that robot, Lord, and make him of a stature 50-feet so that all those who would doubt you can see him coming."

Robertson carried out his prayer further, with specifics on the design and armaments of the requested robot. Any three of the suggested artillery were acceptable by Robertson's standards, including a chest-mounted cannon, thigh-seated machine guns, a flame thrower, eye-beam lasers, a fist that can be fired like a weapon like the old Shogun Warrior robots had, and shoulders decorated with heat-seeking missiles. The televangelist specified the robot would be agreeable if it came with a remote control that could be operated from long distances, but the best-case scenario robot would be a robot with an internal cockpit in the head to allow Robertson to commandeer it.

Not limiting himself to the robot request, Robertson also asked his flock to make back-up prayers for a talking burning bush to command Congress to amend the separation of church and state; the holy imprinting of all non-believers with a "Jesus fish" tattoo on their foreheads; and all city of New York and state of California residents voluntarily giving up their right to vote.

resident Bush shocked and awed the nation's library employees this week with tough talk about a possible U.S. intervention into the current librarian situation. Apparently confused by developments in the African nation of Liberia, where a rebel insurrection has left the war-torn country in chaos, Bush vowed to use any and all means necessary to bring America's 20,000 librarians to justice.

These latest statements brought even more scrutiny upon the beleaguered CIA, an organization that has obviously shared precious little of its intelligence with the president during his term, and possibly since birth. Bush thrilled sports fans everywhere last week by passing the buck like John Elway on crack, blaming the CIA for failing to slap the stupid out of his mouth before he could make misleading statements regarding the Iraqi threat during his State of the Union address.

In response to the latest shit shower to hit the presidential fan, the White House also claimed that the wet-nurse organization had failed to prevent the president from making over 1,722 embarrassing statements since coming into office; 1,723 if you count the recent librarian gaffe.

"Anyone who's listened to the president speak, either publicly or privately, knows that the CIA has been shirking its duties to a perverse degree for quite some time now," stated White House spokesman Scott McClellan.

"More than any other recent president, Mr. Bush counts on the Central Intelligence Agency to make him sound intelligent," explained U.S. National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice. "You don't hear anything about a Bureau of Acting Tough or the National Registry of Down-Homeisms, do you? That's because the president has those bases covered. And how. Mr. Bush does not, however, come from an intelligent background, and that's where the CIA is supposed to come in. These people are paid well to keep the president from using terms like 'fucking towelheads' or speaking with his mouth full of salami, and today it's clear they have dropped their duties like a greased bowling ball."

"I think I've got pretty darn good intelligence!" defended the president, speaking up from across the room while wiping barbecue sauce on his bib.

"The CIA definitely cleared the use of the term 'misunderestimated' in that speech the president gave last year, and 'uncontranationary' as well," McClellan detailed, reading from a list. "Likewise with 'learnworthy,' 'economal' and 'immigrater.' Plus any references to the nations of Urethra, Pillsboro and Spam, which do not exist. That was the CIA too. And when he said his favorite Beatles song is 'Lucy Is This Guy That I Know.' Total CIA all the way."

Regarding the president's baffling recent statements about the nation's librarians, Rice was outspoken in Bush's defense.

"The president did not knowingly say anything that we knew to be false, as he didn't know what he was saying. It is not the president's practice to speechify any falsic statement. All these countries and people with funny names, who can keep it straight? Intelligent people sometimes even have trouble," Rice elaborated, apparently with full CIA clearance.

"The president also didn't knowingly know anything he didn't know, and knowing what he knew didn't knowingly know any non-known knowledge," Seussifed Rice further. "Oh, and the CIA also cleared President Bush's impromptu recital of the tongue twister 'Pickled Peter's pecker poked a pooter' during his visit to Africa this month," Rice added on the fly.

Early reports indicate the nation's librarians, knowing Bush to be serious, have taken conservative spit valve Rush Limbaugh hostage in a pre-emptive strike.

Good morning world, I am the one and only Mickey Hanes. Who the hell is Mickey Hanes, you ask?

Well, that's a question for the ages, but it's not important right now. What is important is how I came to learn of the commune.

I was quietly sleeping in front of an old laundry mat one night when I awoke to the sound of screeching tires and shattered glass. I wasn't sure if I was having an acid flashback or not, but either way some asshole had driven his car right into the laundry mat. But the thing that really got my attention was that this crazy bastard had parked right next to one of the standup arcade games, and he was playing it from the driver's seat.

At this point I really wanted to just go back to sleep and pretend that nothing happened, but fat chance of that. The sirens in the background told me it would be in my best interest to stick around and watch this terrible first act play out.

In a flash the fuzz was on that place like Haitians on a suckling pig. One of the cops was yelling through a megaphone, shouting some insane jabber about what the "hijacker" wanted. The front seat gamer replied that he wanted to be left the fuck alone so that he could beat the high score, and that they were breaking his goddamned concentration. That was all the cops needed to hear, and in a heartbeat that place was full of more tear gas that the Columbine senior prom. I quickly discovered I'd been ripped off: my sleeping bag made for a shitty force field. Word to the wise, never trust the claims of a guy named Denny who sells sleeping bags out of the back of his truck.

Anyways, to make a long story shorter, the dude in the car was Omar Bricks, a supposed columnist for "the commune." Whatever the hell that is. While the cops were writing up his traffic fine, he jumped up on the hood of his car and started pissing in one of the open dryers nearby. Moved by his obvious disregard for public safety and defiance of authority, I seized the opportunity to take a shit on the front seat of an abandonded cop car, which turned out later not to have been abandoned. I was trying to force myself to vomit into the gas tank when the cops finally noticed me, and before I could say "I plead the fifth," I had the handcuffs on as well.

The car ride to "the big house" wasn't as bad as I had pictured it. Omar and I laughed about better days, especially after we ate the small bag of mushrooms I had stashed in my sock, fucking pigs. I laughed the hardest, knowing my personal midget manservant, Nevil, who I'd left behind in my backpack at the crime scene, was in hot pursuit and coming to our rescue. At least… I think he was… Jesus those mushrooms were strong.

Long story short about the midget, I found Nevil one day while rummaging through a garbage can behind a Chinese restaurant downtown. I saved him, not in the religious sense but more like how you stuff a midget into a duffel bag for later use, that kind of saving. And from that day on I fed him, trained him, and I taught Nevil to follow my every order without question, upon pain of death. Oh yeah, and to come save me from trouble when I blow on this dog whistle.

So back to the car ride. Where was that fucking midget anyway? "Fuck him if he thinks he's getting any crackers for this rescue," I thought out loud. Then suddenly, like a bolt of miniature lightning, Nevil was on the windshield of the cop car and was giving it everything he had. The cop never knew what brand of midget fury hit him, that little fireball performed like a monkey at an orgy. He was hooting and hollering, making obscene finger gestures... I've never felt so proud. I turned to Omar to let him know the midget was with me, but he was laughing so hard he threw up all over the cop.

Coincidentally, around that time we swerved off the road and hit a telephone pole. The pig was unconscious, and moments later Nevil had chewed through our restraints. Freedom! Omar thanked me as he hopped on the next pickup truck out of there, off to hotwire his car from the impound lot. For such a daring escape, Nevil seemed quite composed, and for his bravery I decided to award him with the pack of crackers that I had in my pocket. Good work, midget.

You would really be surprised at how handy it is to have a midget sidekick. There's only one real downside: you'd never believe how hard it is to keep a pair of socks on one of those fucking things. It's like they don't want to be comfortable!

So that's my story. Well, one of them anyways, but that's for another time.

I always like to go out with a toast, so grab your glass of whatever it is you squares drink.

Here's to you, and here's to me
Hoping that we all agree
That if ever we should disagree
To hell with you, and here's to me!
GOODNIGHT!

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