alifornia Congressman Gary Condit, upset at his absence from national headlines lately, has vowed to do "whatever it takes" to get his name back in the public eye again soon.

Speaking today at a rally in a town square in the heart of what he refers to as "Condit Country," the long-time member of the House of Representatives and noted blow-dry enthusiast told a crowd of five hookers, three migrant workers, a homeless man with a skinny dog tied to his shopping cart and a pair of ten-year-old skateboarders that he was determined to become the "number one story in all America" once more.

In a rousing bit of oratory, the Congressman pointed his finger at the crowd and said, in a voice that hardly sounded at all as if he'd been taken over by space aliens, "What do I have to do, kill another intern? I'll kill an intern, if that's what it takes. That's how dedicated I am to you, the people who vote. When you go to the polls, I want you to remember the name Condit. Of course, it's not as if I've already killed any interns, you understand. After all, I do have a solemn agreement with the Levy family that I will not talk about the murder or subsequent disappearance of their daughter, Chandra, or any of the particulars of my personal involvement in that bloody business, but I'm just saying, I'll go that extra mile for you. Because I care about you, and I care about your votes."

Privately, Condit blamed the media for his recent lack of headlines.

"Ever since that ridiculous dustup in New York, it's gotten harder and harder to get my picture in the paper," he said with a grimace. "In just one short week, I went from twenty-seven national face shots—and I mean front page!—to zero. Zero, zip, zilch, nada. Hell, I had to send a publicity photo of me holding a bloody knife along with a stack of hundred dollar bills laced with anthrax to the Enquirer just to get a bottom-third headline a month ago. Bastards."

Acknowledging the fact that he could possibly lose an election for the first time in his political career, Condit admitted that he did have a backup plan, just in case.

"In that event—which, according to my staff and my family, is highly unlikely—I do have a contingency plan. My contention is that there's no such thing as bad publicity, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep my name out there for the public. So, if for some unforeseen reason we actually lose this election, I've got a provisional contract with the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas to do six shows a week under the billing 'Gary Cee and His Spectacular Disappearing Interns.' Hell, I could make millions just doing that," the Congressman admitted. "Those bitches work cheaper than you'd ever imagine, and there's never a shortage of supply."

Asked how he would handle a return to life outside the Beltway, Condit brushed off the idea that it would require a big adjustment.

"You know, I came up the hard way," he said, "going door to door selling hair-care products and blowing guys in gas station rest rooms for pocket change. I know what it's like to have to scrabble. Just don't you worry about me, bub, I'll get along fine."

In response to Congressman Condit's remarks, the Levy family issued a prepared statement through a designated spokesperson, who said, "What the fuckin'-ay cocksuckin' hell? Shit! Shit-fuck! Fuck that shit! Fuckin' fuckety goddamn motherfuckin' fuck."

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."

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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