he latest video from self-styled "gangsta wrapped in a bedsheet" Osama bin Laden appears to be the most successful offering yet from his recent album. Produced and directed by Mullah Omar tha Hit Maker, from 2001's "Ol' Dirty bin Laden in da Hizzouse," the video, "Don'tcha Fuck wit Ma Allah," is the third single to chart. It is now in heavy rotation on VH1, has been shown many times on that network's popular Pop Up Video program, and is number one with a bullet on Al Jazeera's afternoon show, Fundamentalist Dance Party. It is also rumored that a twenty-second clip of the video was aired on MTV at approximately 4 AM Tuesday of last week, but those rumors could not be confirmed at the time we went to press.

Following on the heels of the first two singles from "...in da Hizzouse," this latest single promises to make it his most successful album ever, and could garner him a nomination for Comeback Artist of the Year.

Not many people would have predicted that when the first video from the album was released. "Wha' da 911?" suffered from poor production values, and many critics thought it ran overlong, causing viewers to quickly lose interest in the muddy sound mix. The second video, "I Ain't Dead Yet, Bitch," showed more promise, but topped out at number 37 on the charts and disappeared after just a few short weeks. "Don'tcha Fuck wit Ma Allah" appears to have staying power the first two singles lacked.

There are some dissenting voices, however. On the East Coast, especially, a few insiders who preferred to remain anonymous commented that "his shit is dead, man, it ain't fresh." In response, noted Marin County, California, critic John Walker Lindh was quoted as saying "That Al Qaeda beat is funky stupid, dawg, and Osama is Playa Numbah One. It's phat, it's phresh, it's... uh... it's phluffy. You can totally dance to it."

This album marks only the second release for bin Laden since his move to Al Qaeda Mob Records. The first effort, 1993's "Truck Bombin' NYC," failed to generate much critical acclaim, and dropped out of sight soon after its release due to poor sales. Prior to that, it had been a number of years since any product had been put out at all. In the late '80s and early '90s, bin Laden collaborated with former U.S. president George H. W. Bush (the one that was actually elected) in a series of forgettable albums for the now-troubled label CIA Assassin Records and Wiretaps. Their most notable release was titled "Tha Enemy of Ma Muthafuckin' Enemy," and prominently featured Bush, performing under the name Pukeface Killah GH-Dub, with his minor hit, "Nitty Ditty Gritty Big Bird." Bin Laden's contribution to that song was the turntable-scratching and chanted background chorus, "Yo, muthafuckah, yo muthafuckah, yo muthafucka, yo." The only other song from that mix to chart at all was a cover of Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina."

ll it took was one crying 10-year-old boy spotted bolting out of a prominent federal office, wearing what appeared to be darkly-stained lederhosen, to signal a surprising new twist in the ongoing war against terrorism.

Citing a need to "keep American boys on their toes and pure from the effects of Islamic terrorists," Attorney General John Ashcroft, in an impromptu press conference yesterday, unveiled a plan to teach young men from the ages of 8 to 15 how to recognize the signs that they are being, or are about to be, recruited, seduced and/or molested by Muslim fanatics. In an unprecedented gesture of self-sacrifice, and sweating profusely as he spoke, the Attorney General said that he has taken it upon himself to personally teach "as many boys as I possibly can."

"You've got to get them young," Ashcroft said. "Otherwise, there's no telling what kind of corrupting influences they may have had that will keep them from realizing the terrible tragedy that potentially awaits them at the hands of these fundamentalist zealots. That's why I'm making it my personal mission to educate these fine, young, trim, well-proportioned… uh… boys."

"It's a known fact that these terrorists are bound and determined to infiltrate our society and subjugate our way of life by forcibly introducing our youth to the Homosexual Agenda," Ashcroft went on to say. "Why, just look at the pictures we have of them—most of them walk around every day in these long white dresses! You can't tell me these fellows aren't a little light in their loafers, or sandals, or whatever it is they wear on their feet. Maybe kicky black patent leather pumps, who knows?"

The program apparently involves hands-on demonstrations of the types of Arabic buggery that Ashcroft claims is widespread throughout the Middle East, and that poses a significant threat to the well-being of male American youth. "We show them—and I mean we show them good—just what those terrorists have in store for them if they're not careful. After all, you know what it says in that fake Bible of theirs, the Also-ran—excuse me, I mean the Ko-ran—'in sexual congress, for children, a woman. For pleasure, a boy.' It also goes on to say, 'for real pleasure, like you've never had before, an overripe melon,' but we'll leave the melons alone for the time being. Better, we think, to concentrate on the boys."

When asked about the actual methods of instruction, Ashcroft said, "We simply follow what it says in the real Bible—you know, 'Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.' We also like the passage that says 'Thou anointest me with oil.' In fact, we're ordering up dozens of cases of Crisco for this project, with the money coming out of the Homeland Security budget. I'm envisioning a number of one-on-one, or maybe a few two-on-one sessions, as many as I can fit into my schedule, with as many young, nubile, half-dressed… er… boys as we can recruit, here in my private, comfortable, tastefully-appointed office."

The Attorney General, when asked if he had a list of boys who might qualify for this training, replied that he had approximately 600 young men in mind to get the program off the ground, but that he would not reveal any names, on the grounds of national security. "You think I want to hand Osama bin Laden a ready-made list of American boys to pursue for his evil, filthy machinations? No sir. No sir. We're keeping this list private, and that's that. Just me and Ari and Karl. Not even the president has access to those names. No sir." Ashcroft then mopped the considerable sweat from his brow and called an end to the press conference, ignoring the muffled wails heard far down the corridor from his office.

If there are three sure signs that you're getting butt-raped by lady luck, they're these: you're sick, you're stuck in a waiting room watching a Behind the Music special on someone under the age of ten, and you're listening to Aaron Neville.

This past week I found myself with the lady's strap-on broken off in my poop basket for sure, as I came down with some heinous malady and spent the better part of an hour in some doctor's waiting room before this mannish nurse-thing told me that they didn't accept my "Skipper's Choice: Long John Silver's Health Insurance Discount Card." Before I could lodge a protest, or even throw an elbow, I found myself being dumped out onto the sidewalk by a pair of orderlies the size of East German ballerinas. You can bet the double-mortgaged farm that I cursed the commune and their shitheel "benefits package" the whole way home.

According to the Physician's Desk Reference, I have the Polynesian Swine Flu. I blame that bastard Ramon Nootles. If anyone in this office has been getting up-close and personal with Polynesian swine, it's Nootles.

I've been coughing up some kind of incredibly nasty gelatinous mustard all day. So far I've been on the phone to UNICEF, the CDC and MAPO about this, but none of them have been able to help me. That third company actually makes machines that process taco shells, I'm not sure who I thought they were supposed to be.

What's up with this supposedly space-age society we're living in? We can put a man on the moon, and write a song about it, but we can't eradicate these germs? And what about the mosquitoes, and horse flies? What the hell good is the military if we're at he mercy of these vermin? I'm all for downsizing the military—if by that you mean shrinking the tanks and missiles down to miniature proportions to blow up viruses and box-elder bugs and whatnot. I can't be the first one who's thought of this.

I've drank so much cough syrup in the last two days that I went to work three times this morning before I realized that I was still laying naked in my bathtub at home, wrapped up in the shower curtain like a pig in a blanket. From there I started going through my medicine cabinet alphabetically, hoping to hit upon some miraculous flu-curing combination somewhere in that pharmacological potluck. No luck so far, but a word to the wise: those herpes pills may provide a powerful buzz, but you'll also grow a third eye in your asscrack. Sometimes it pays to read the small print.

One thing I've learned is that it's best to buy a shot glass specifically for NyQuil shots. That shitty little Dixie cup they give you is worthless, and trust me, your regular shots will taste like Martian ass from that day forward if you try to multi-task with one shot glass. You'll never that disturbing tang all the way out.

I feel like I'm sitting in my own head, looking out at a movie about desk accessories. Good God, that's creepy. I plan to spend this afternoon finding a way to mechanically suction out my sinuses, and also take a jack-handle to whoever's been piping in this Aaron Neville. Again, I suspect Nootles.

Sweet Lord, let me die. I think I just coughed up my own nuts. Bricks out.

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