t took congressional involvement to break the dyke, but baseball commissioner Bud “Charisma� Selig finally admitted to reporters this week that Major League Baseball has a serious problem with Gatorade. The performance-enhancing beverage, known in baseball circles as “The Juice,� has been giving modern ballplayers an unfair advantage over their historical counterparts for years, due to its advanced electrolyte-replacing technology and deliciously thirst-quenching lemon-lime flavor.

“Who knows how many home runs Babe Ruth could have hit if he wasn’t thirsty all the time?� questioned baseball historian and still living at home middle-aged guy Roger Bankercruff. “The number would have been astronomical. With all the hot dogs that guy ate, plus the fact that he never, ever drank anything but highly-dehydrating beer, even during games or when brushing his teeth, the evidence points to Ruth leaning heavily on death’s door for most of his playing career. Which makes the man’s accomplishments obviously all the more impressive. If he hadn’t been near-fatally dehydrated, not to mention completely bereft of vital electrolytes, for the whole of his adult life, we’d be talking about the one time he didn’t hit a home run, and how Barry Bonds isn’t fit to sniff the Babe’s grotesquely stained tidy whiteys.�

Pressed for an imaginary number of home runs Babe Ruth would have hit if we could go back in time with a case of Gatorade and convince the Babe that it was futuristic green beer, Bankercruff struggled with a calculator and his counting fingers for several minutes before deciding “10,000 home runs is not an unreasonable estimate,� had Ruth been hopped up on Gatorade during his playing days. Such a total would leave Bonds roughly 9,300 short in his quest to become baseball’s all-time home run leader, a number the Giants slugger may not reach without further developments in human growth hormone, Teflon knees, or Bonds’ head being re-attached to some kind of mechanical hitting machine.

Active home run leader Bonds, as well as notorious Michelin men Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Jason Giambi, have all come under fire in recent months for their performance and inhumanly well-hydrated appearances. A recent congressional hearing saw fan favorite McGwire dodge the issue of his Gatorade use like a ninja frog, virtually confirming fan suspicions that Big Mac had been “hydrating� for years. McGwire’s suspiciously non-parched speaking voice did nothing to dispel these concerns, in spite of the slugger’s claims that he had only used questionable but unbanned beverages such as Red Bull and Diet Rock Star. Baseball stars Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa and Curt Schilling conspicuously drank large quantities of water during the hearings, drawing attention to their obvious lack of artificial hydration.

In response, Major League Baseball has instituted a new Gatorade testing policy and tougher new rules, including a ten-minute talking-to for fifth-time offenders. Critics, however, have been calling the penalties too lenient and point to the new pink passionfruit Gatorade flavor that is rumored to be undetectable during drug screenings, and the use of other beverages such as Mountain Dew as a masking agent.

So far, the only player punished for Gatorade use has been Tampa Bay salary moocher Alex Sanchez, who was singled out after league officials noticed the green sweat on his jersey, which Sanchez blamed on his intense diet regiment of wheat grass and lime Play-Doh.

Other suspected hydrators have offered up similarly lame excuses, including Gary Sheffield of the Yankees, who admitted to performance-enhancing beverage use during an interview earlier this year. Sheffield explained that he had used Red Bull accidentally after it was given to him by Barry Bonds’ trainer, who told him it was baby aspirin.

“It didn’t help me, though,� explained Sheffield. “I mean, it made my headache go away, but I couldn’t hit a fastball any better. And I was up for two days scrubbing the grout in my bathroom. That shit was nasty dirty.�

Red Bull and Jolt Cola are both currently legal under Major League Baseball’s rules, but have been banned by the Olympics for years due to their hyperactive benefits, starting when 230-pound pipe-fitter Mark Tungley of Ohio won the Tour De France accidentally in 1998.

“Iwasjustonvacation, outforabikeridetoblowoffsomesteam,� explained Tungley, speaking at a high rate of speed and sweating like a beer glass in spite of the cool weather. “Jesus,thisRedBull stufftasteslikecandy, Ican’tdrinkenough. Yourememberthose sweettartscandies? Thisislikedrinkingsweettarts, exceptwithout allthechewing. It’sawesome.�

ast Friday was a familiar scene to many observers with a memory stretching back twelve months or more: Millions of Americans rushing to the airport to mail their tax returns before the April 15th midnight deadline, only to be redirected to the post office, the nation’s more traditional outlet for its citizens’ mailing needs.

The April 15th deadline for postmarked tax returns still catches millions of Americans off guard every year, in spite of not having changed in over 50 years. Earlier dates of March 1st and 15th, set in 1913 and 1918 respectively, caused similar problems by arriving predictably every year. Experts agree that moving the date forward even later into the year would likely only solve the problem for people who hadn’t heard about the date change. Postal Service officials confirm an annual rush of elderly taxpayers every March 1st, proving that old habits die hard, though the Postal Service official we talked to thought it was because “that’s when they got their rebate check for denture glue or baby food or some shit.�

This reporter suffered from unusual difficulty collecting quotes for this story, since every person she approached on the street to ask if they’d waited until the last minute to file their taxes invariably screamed something like “Oh holy fuck!� or a comical “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiii- iiiiiit…� before sprinting away, either to hurriedly file their taxes or avoid the awareness of such for a few more precious hours.

Further digging, however, revealed Americans from all walks of life that were routinely bushwhacked by entirely predictable yearly phenomena, even those having nothing to do with 1040 forms, exemptions, or the Sino-Russo Breast Reduction. A surprising number of Americans were even caught off guard by the arrival of spring and warmer temperatures after months of cold winter.

“Jesus, it’s getting warm,� commented a surprised Burt Filbitz of Terre Haute, Indiana. “Who knows when this will let up? It’s weird. I hope it stops at some point, before we all get burnt and melted by the sun.�

Still others were similarly distressed by the rising of the sun this morning, a daily ritual that never the less caught some unprepared night-enjoyers completely off guard.

“There it is again!� screamed Scranton, Ohio’s Meg Dadry. “There’s fire in the sky, mama! Fire!�

In order to combat the yearly crush of customers seeking to get their tax returns mailed before midnight on tax day, often causing lines at post offices across the nation that make the pope’s funeral look like the line for voluntary chemical castration, the U.S. Postal Service has been running a series of helpful reminder television commercials throughout the months of March and April to help Americans to not be so predictably dopey.

The first of the ads featured a long-awaited reunion of washed up stoner comedy legends Cheech and Chong, referencing one of their most popular routines.

“Knock Knock,� the ad begins.

“Who’s there?�

“Tax time.�

“Tax Time’s not here, man!�

The starkest of the new ads and possibly the most effective, however, featured only a black screen with actor Jeff Bridges offering the simple voice-over “Wake up, dipshit, it’s tax time.�

Thank your lucky stars you're alive to witness another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, with your host, Stu "the Dew" Umbrage. The part of Stu will be played this week by Lil' Abner.

SU: Thanks for joining us, folks. Those of you who were not eaten by dinosaurs while waiting in line will be happy to know that I've got a whole new line-up of dinosaur jokes tonight. So, let's waste no time getting to the funny. What did the dinosaur say to the Reflections of a Goocher fan right before it ate him?

AUDIENCE: WE COULDN'T MAKE IT OUT THROUGH ALL THE SCREAMING!

SU: Very good! You guys are one step ahead of me yet again, I'm going to have to either fire my audience or hire smarter writers. Funny, funny stuff people. So, anyway, you ever pull a jar of something out of your refrigerator, only to be stunned by how old the expiration date is? I saw one at my house the other day that said "PALEOLITHIC ERA"! I'm going to have to buy some more Worchester sauce!

AUDIENCE: AH! RUN! FUCK ME!! (indistinguishable guttural noises, roaring)

SU: You people are a great audience, did I ever tell you that? Those of you who are left are just awesome. Moving right along, what time is it when a triceratops sits on your fence?

AUDIENCE: FOUR O'CLOCK!

SU: That fucker sat on my fence again? What, he can't read the sign? Where's my gun?

AUDIENCE: (gunshots, dying)

SU: I swear, you people. I know I say this every night, but you guys really are the best audience ever. What's that folks? There's an invisible dinosaur waiting for me in my dressing room? Tell him I can't see him! Ha! Oh God, I've got to write that down. Hey, where are you two going? We can't finish the show without an audience.

AUDIENCE: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HIDE US! THEY'RE COMING!

SU: Hide you? Then who are the cameras going to cut to for reaction shots after the big punchlines? What's that? The cameramen are dead? That reminds me of a great joke: What's the name of the dinosaur that's hunting you down right now?
Doyathinkysaurus? Ha ha!

AUDIENCE: (digestive noises)

SU: Well, I'm afraid that's about all the time we have this week on Reflections of a Goocher. Be sure to join us next time when we'll have a fresh new audience that's a lot more fun than this last bunch, and maybe by then the exterminator will finally get his ass over here to spray for these berserk, blood-hungry carnivores. Until then, I'm Stu Umbrage and you're a homo.

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