resident Bush shocked observers who somehow still cling to their ability to be shocked by President Bush this week, nominating two-time Grammy winner and bald mullet inventor Michael Bolton as U.S. ambassador to the United Nations. Though lacking in diplomatic experience, the president’s supporters believe the 51-year-old soul crooner will be just as popular among the U.N.’s General Assembly as he is among people with truly horrible taste in music.

“I’m certain Michael’s smooth, soulful style will serve to soothe relations with our European neighbors,� Bush suggested, wiping tartar sauce on his ever-present lobster bib.

Regardless, political observers believe this move to be Bush’s latest and ultimate “Fuck You� to Europe, whose representatives will now all have to spend time with Michael Bolton.

“We were excited at first when we heard a rumor that the new ambassador would be American beach bunny David Hasselhoff,� explained Germany. “But then we got the real news. This is worse than an insult.�

“Michael Bolton is an asshole,� explained France. “And we do not like him.�

Spain was more diplomatic.

“He’s not going to sing, is he? I mean, if he has something to say in meetings, he’s just going to say it, right? Not sing it out like it was one of his cheesy goddamned songs, right? If we have to sit through some bullshit like ‘When a Man Needs a U.N. Security Resolution,’ we’re going to quit the U.N., no shit. Spain is not kidding.�

According to insider reports, Bush’s first choice to fill the position was Ronnie Gaylord of the pre-rock white vocal trio The Gaylords, but the president was disappointed to learn he had been dead for thirteen years.

“Michael Bolton has sold over 52 million albums worldwide over the course of his career,� boasted White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan. “How many albums have the president’s detractors sold? Probably not as many. Unless you count The Eagles. They sold an awful lot of records.�

Bolton came to a very small fraction of the public’s attention in the late 70’s, as the lead singer for the heavy metal band Blackjack. However, Bolton’s lush, pussified style didn’t mesh well with hair band riffs, and by the mid-eighties he had discovered his true gift for making music fans vomit with the whitest of all possible R&B sounds.

“It’s always been my dream to lead,� explained a surprised Bolton upon hearing the news. “Actually, my dream was to make a lot of money, but I’ve already done that. Now leading sounds pretty good.�

resident George W. Bush tossed around his executive meat Friday by pardoning 8 convicted criminals, most accused of money-related non-violent crimes and friends of the president or Republican contributors. Most notably among the pardoned was legendary bootlegger Jesse Duke, who once headed a Hazzard County illegal alcohol empire with County Commissioner J.D. Hogg.

Those who cheered the pardon contend Duke, an honest farmer and guardian to his nephews and niece, was merely trying to make his way the only way he knew how. Duke's once partner in crime, Jefferson Davis Hogg, had his crimes pardoned in 1972 by then-Governor Jimmy Carter and went on to become a well-respected County Commissioner and Hazzard bigwig. Duke, however, was labeled an outlaw, shepherd to lost sheep, and sometimes hounded by local authorities for a personal feud between himself and Hogg. The president, moved by Duke's case, issued the order forgiving all the bootlegger's past transgressions so that he might live down the shame brought to the Duke name.

"I've had a time of it over all these here years," said Duke, after a brief meeting with the president. "Always lookin' over my shoulder, waiting for the 'coo-coo-coo' of the law. I spent so many years on the run the county mechanic is practically a member of our family. But I've always been an honest, god-fearin' man just trying to do right by his kin. At long last, I will no longer have to run from the police at the drop of a hat, climbin' into my nephews' car through its windows just to make my getaway. Thank you kindly, Mr. President."

Critics contend the president has overlooked more imperative cases where clemency could have really helped individuals, including those in which some evidence exists to prove men on death row may not be guilty, cases which would act like a lightning rod for the pro-death penalty president. The president answers critics by telling them to shut their fat gobs.

Shalom Staley, of the Smithsonian, an expert on Executive Privilege, compared the president's order to those of other famous leaders.

"George Bush certainly did a kind thing for convicted bootleggers and others who were once guilty of crimes we no longer consider quite violent," said Staley, weaving her fingers together in the most enamoring way, "but no doubt some believe the president could have done more with such a tool. President Clinton knew how to play the pardon, politically—waiting until his final days of office to deal out his most controversial pardons, including friends of the Democratic party. Bush, however, could have positively changed the lives of some suffering under unjust criminal charges right now. How many wrongly-accused police officers have been forced into the private detective business over the past thirty years? The president could help ease their shame in the same way. I'm not suggesting the ludicrous, like a pardon of all charges to alleged mob boss Tony Soprano. But we can remember the times a president has provided a happy ending to the troubles of individuals hounded by the law, like President Johnson's memorable pardon of accused murderer Richard Kimble, the escaped fugitive who was proven innocent."

The pardon of Duke, whether for crimes actually committed or not, remained of minor consequence to most of the nation. However, Duke's own Hazzard county residents celebrated his presidential clemency with favorite local pastimes, including shooting sticks of dynamite strapped to arrows as a "21-gun" salute, then retiring to a local tavern to hear country music superstar Charlie Rich perform.

Every one of you are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Rockwell T. Finger and Rutherford Ginger Baker this Sunday, at the Flatbush Mall of 'Merica. Invited, of course, as long as you actually receive one of those little cardboard notes saying you can come. They all should be in the mail by now, according to Ginger. They are handwritten, so we can save all the money for the honeymoon in Haiti. We are going there to save money for buying something we really want, like solid gold dollar-sign rims for our automobile.

If you haven't received an invitation, it probably means you're shit out of luck. We'll be sending out the shit-out-of-luck cards tomorrow, to verify to everyone. There are a lot of those. But fewer guests mean more catered food for us and our eight or nine close friends we invited.

Unfortunately, someone—I think that no-goodnik Omar Bricks, or probably one of those other many, many no-goodniks who work here, posted our wedding invitation on the commune bulletin board. Ginger doesn't believe many of them will come to the wedding anyway, since I'm generally hated here at the office, but we're serving fried baloney and hosting square dancing (with a real caller!) so you can imagine I'm fearing a rush of uninvited guests. Damn, I didn't want to have the squad dancing caller! Like putting an open bar at a wedding. But an old friend of mine from the Russian mob was available, so we decided to ask him.

It occurs to me only now I probably shouldn't have contacted the Russian mob again at all, given they have tried to kill me in the past for turning state's evidence against them. Let alone invited them to the wedding. I was so excited I didn't think clearly when I made up my list. Oh, well. Hopefully they'll be the sentimental sort and let our murky histories with each other slide. It's a joyous occasion, after all.

My betrothed and I have decided to write our own vows. We got off to a rocky start, but I think it's going exceptionally well now. At first, I admit, I sort of confused the vows with New Year's resolutions, promising her I would cut out chocolate and lose ten pounds by Christmas. But she corrected me, and didn't even use violence—what a woman!

So then I wrote the vows I'm using. I promise to take her in sickness and health, as long as the health outweighs the sickness by an 85% margin. I also promised to buy her a little red wagon for putting things in and dragging them from place to place; I wanted one so badly when I was a kid, and I swore then that no wife of mine would ever do without one when she was hauling groceries home from the store or doing other work-oriented wife things. I also promised her ten cents on the dollar, should we ever divorce, which I think is a pretty fair deal. You try reading that in a mall full of loved ones and see if there's a dry eye in the food court. I doubt you could find one.

Also, she doesn't know this, but I snuck a peek at her vows, too, even though she wanted to keep them secret. If you'll excuse a little bragging, I also edited them pretty cleverly. Hers went on a little too much, talking about searching all her life for a man who really understood her and would treat her like a princess, blah, blah, blah—stuff everyone's heard before, and pretty cliché. I cut a lot of that down, and I also snuck in some sexy rejoinders, just to keep the crowd from falling asleep. Like, "I also pledge to be your eternal love slave, you handsome beefstick. I vow to do the nasty nightly." Not that I want nightly nasty. The wedding's just a show for the audience anyway.

So once again, I hope to see each and everyone of you there, because I love you all like my family. That is, if you're one of the selected few who are related to me. The rest of you just ignore all that, and whatever you do, don't come to the wedding.

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