n Saturday Ollie Tarwell of Decatur, Illinois entered the medical history books as the world’s first candy heart transplant. Tarwell’s doctors say his recovery is going surprisingly well in these initial post-op stages.

Tarwell, a 62-year-old ladder climber, had been waiting two years for a donor heart due to a weakening of his own heart after the cancellation of Baywatch. Doctors were growing increasingly alarmed Tarwell would never make the top of the donor list, as it’s all in who you know.

“Finally, we got desperate and drank a few bottles of Kentucky Bourbon between all of us,� stated Tarwell’s surgeon Michael Matuzo, “and I think at that point someone bet me I wouldn’t put a candy heart in him. By the time I woke up out of the haze I was already closing and he was showing good signs.�

The candy heart, which is the size of a human fist and purchased at a novelty store in Indianapolis next to the hospital, reads, “Love Machine� on the front. Doctors are surprised at how well it pumps blood throughout the body and shows no signs of failure. And because it’s candy, the body refuses to reject it.

“The transplant team couldn’t agree in entirety on what to use,� said Matuzo, fielding questions about the surgery. “A few of us liked the message ‘Sweet Thing,’ but the rest of us thought it sounded gay. I’d hate to be in a traffic accident, lying all cut up next to my heart and have it saying ‘Sweet Thing’ when the paramedics show up. How weird is that?�

Tarwell is already out of bed and reportedly cleaning his floor of the hospital, but doctors say after the initial sugar high wears off he will likely resume normal activity with only a headache as a side-effect. In order to keep his candy heart functioning properly, he is under strict orders to exercise, diet, and eat a pound of sugar or artificial sweetner a day.

The nation’s transplant doctors are reacting with fervor in the wake of the surprising medical miracle. Seven new candy heart transplants are being planned this week, and doctors are already looking into the feasibility of candy livers, kidneys, and pancreas.

“Frankly,� said surgeon Donald Bakley, “pancreatic transplant isn’t likely to be too successful. Once you can make a candy organ that is capable of producing normal amounts of insulin, you’ve also just loaded the body with the biggest piece of sugar available. Talk about a catch-22.�

Tarwell is expected to make a full recovery and resume his former ladder-scaling business. Candy organ transplant groups have also begun fervently razzing scientists working on cloning human organs, jeering at them to “Catch up.� If you run a candy store and would like to donate organs upon your death, please fill out the back of your driver’s license and specify “candy� under the heading “type.�

002 is proving a bleaker year for the united European economy as the new Euro Dollar lost ground to the Paramount’s Kings Island Scooby Buck at the close of the market Friday.

The Scooby Buck, a currency bearing the likeness of the Hanna-Barbera Great Dane and accepted only within Paramount’s Kings Island theme parks, has reportedly been rising steadily with the onset of a film version of Scooby Doo coming summer of this year. At the same time, arguments over the Euro Dollar and the recent failings of the stock market have only served to drive down the value of the new European standard coin.

“It’s not surprising,� said Columbia University Professor of Economy Merton Scheff. “The European market has been separated all of its history. It’s a bold move more political than economical to develop and accept a currency that crosses boundaries. Factor into that the contrasting safety of a theme park currency, where homelessness is non-existant and the issue of unemployment usually just means you don’t have to spend another hot day in that lousy Yogi Bear suit.�

Added Scheff: “Plus, have you ever turned on The Cartoon Network? That goddamn dog is always on there. Maybe he owns the network or something.�

In an effort to combat the weakening Euro, associates of the European Union Organization have suggested several ways to raise prominence of the new united Europe. One is the world’s largest coaster, the Crusade, which if constructed will be the world’s largest and most dangerous coaster. Unlike American coasters, Euro Union representatives promise children will be able to ride just like adults.

Another proposal winning acceptance among the heads of the united European countries is mascot designed to warm up the appeal of Europe to outsiders. The mascot, Queen Mum, will be adorned in the flags of all the European countries and look exactly like Britain’s Queen Elizabeth, except for the much larger head. Mascot designers have said that physics prevent duplicating such a head in a mascot uniform.

I definitely need to hire out as a Fourth of July consultant. If you think you don't need a Fourth of July consultant, you've never experienced a Bricks Fourth of July, end of story.

It's about a month away, I know, but when you want to make it a memorable good time, you've got to plan well in advance. It's just not smart to put a houseful of fireworks and a truckload of Miller Genuine Draft together without more than a little planning. Now usually I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, even if the ass of the pants rips out and you get kicked out of the kid's birthday party, but hey, it's not like I knew the kid anyway—nothing ventured, nothing gained; but when it comes to Fourth of July, Omar Bricks turns into a rocket scientist of event planning.

It's more than just explosions and drunken fight after drunken fight—shit, if I didn't have that on a daily basis I'd hang up my hat and go home already. The way I see it, Fourth of July is the world's celebration of pure, uncut freedom, and for me there's nothing better worth celebrating. Hanging out with buddies, sipping beers, and trading swimming pool-building tips is like a fart in freedom's face. Omar Bricks don't fart in anyone's face unless they personally asked for it or take out those little opera glasses in public, which is the same as the former in my book.

It takes more than a month just to save up enough money to rent the arena. Why go through the trouble and expense of renting an arena? Well, you might as well ask what's the point in having a demolition derby—you can't hold it in your backyard, don't argue with that because I've tried. And the demolition derby is the big part of the Bricks Fourth of July gathering, and in the tight-money times I haven't been able to rent an arena I find an unguarded farmer field is a fantastic substitute. If you check with your friends who fake crop circles on the weekends they can probably tell you which places are frequently unsupervised and have the best tire traction.

Then you have to select the special car, I like to nickname it the "doom buggy". The best way, I've discovered, is to hold a little private lottery the night before—if you have one hundred ping pong balls, a giant hamster ball, and a tuxedo, have a little fun with it, it's like a party in itself. Then whatever number wins that's your car, since they'll all have numbers painted on them at the derby. I would recommend keeping it something only you know. Sure, you can let everybody in on the secret, but when most people find out the car's trunk is full of fireworks the volunteers to drive it dry up real fast.

No demolition derby is complete without a lot of beer, whether you're a spectator or a driver. Still, with luck you'll get flipped over by the car with the bulldozer prod welded on the front early and can get a seat right up front in time for the first explosion to hit the doom buggy. Man, that's Fourth of July. Our founding fathers would have been proud enough to piss themselves.

That's just my favorite part, of course. Some Bricks partygoers love shaving the heads of the derby losers. Others love the swimming pool full of Thunderbird, throwing flammable things on the bonfire, or the wrestle Lil Duncan contest. I'm not complaining, I love every part of it, even the swarming of S.W.A.T. team members to close the whole thing down gets me kind of misty-eyed. Like America, there's a little something for everyone. Bricks out.

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