.S. Representative James Traficant vowed not to give up his Congressional seat Thursday following the announcement of his guilty verdict on charges of bribery, racketeering, falsifying tax returns, and forcing his federal aides to dress in overalls and chew straw on his Ohio farm.

Upon hearing the guilty of verdict, Traficant, who represented himself, stated, "I accept your verdict." On the steps of the courthouse, despite his attorney's counsel, Traficant vowed to appeal the verdict.

"I refuse to accept a verdict of this nature," Traficant told the commune. "This decision, indeed these charges, have all been politically motivated. I suspect everybody involved in this trial, from the prosecution to the judge to the defense attorney to the jury is out to ruin my good name. I reject this attempt to oust me from office. I'll see to it these charges are acquitted and my attorney is disbarred."

House Minority Leader Dick Gephardt (D-Missouri) called for Traficant's resignation. Upon being told Traficant was convicted of the charges, Gephardt was unswayed and still called for his resignation.

"Mr. Traficant puts a foul mark on all congressman everywhere," said Gephardt. "His conviction on bribery charges seals the deal. He cannot be trusted to represent the people of Ohio anymore. He is exactly why people hate politicians, and has been found legally guilty of doing what everyone else is only suspected of doing."

"I might also add," continued Gephardt, "that Mr. Traficant has, in recent months, been supporting Rep. Dennis Hastert as speaker of the House. You know, Hastert? The Republican? You put it all together, eh?"

When confronted with Gephardt's statements, Traficant was resilient about keeping his seat.

"I have convictions I will not turn away from. And by convictions, I don't mean yesterday's convictions, I mean my original convictions that brought me to office." Traficant accepted an envelope from a dark-suited man which he quickly pocketed. "They have tried to convict me on these charges before, when I first began my political career. They failed then and I believe they ultimately will fail again. These are my deeply-held convictions. Once again, I mean my personal convictions, not criminal."

When questioned about the charges, Traficant spoke vaguely. "Mistakes were made. Let's just say that and nobody gets hurt."

"My only regret," continued Traficant, "was that I didn't hire bigger and burlier aides. Somebody with a little farm hand experience. At the end of the day I could've gotten twice as much done. Or hell, maybe even just hired a couple of guys to run the farm without having to pretend they work in the office. It's not like I'm running short on cash, with all the bribes and underreporting on the tax forms. But that's not a confession—I mean, that's not to say I—aw, forget it. Talk to my attorney."

srael, plagued by suicide bombers and endless terrorism on the home front came from behind Friday to invade Palestinian territory and take its leader prisoner, winning March Madness in a surprising upset.

It was a victory for Israel fans who hadn't seen an insanity play of that caliber from the country ever before. It has become almost an annual tradition for Islamic fundamentalists to take the cake in March Madness, but the unexpected break in this year's event was the shot of life many Israel fans needed.

"Who knew they had it in 'em?" said former Israeli Prime Minister and lifelong Israeli fan Shimon Peres. "I would have expected more diplomatic routes. Pleas for sanity, stepped-up security, calls for sanctions or U.N. action to ferret out terrorism in Palestine and Israel. This was truly a new level for Israel fans."

President Bush was woken early this morning to the news of Israel's shelling campaign on Yasser Arafat's headquarters. The president responded promptly, "No shit?"

Israel has claimed the larger body count for quite some time against Palestine, though terrorists from the area have held the Madness advantage. Their primary form of retaliation and attack on the state, suicide bombers, is as insane as it gets. Though Israel surprised everyone Friday with their bold move to "isolate" the Palestinian leader Arafat by shelling his headquarters and engaging Palestinian troops in armed combat.

"What a terrific show of Madness," said Britain's Queen Elizabeth, applauding in her queenly fashion.

With his troops unprepared, outnumbered, and ill-equipped, Arafat barricaded himself in his bunker as long as he could and tried to inform the world of his situation via cell phone calls to American news sources. A call to CNN's Christiane Amanpour was broadcast in the afternoon Friday. Arafat eventually reached the commune late in the evening, by which time it was obvious the esteemed Palestinian leader had been dipping into the stock of the wine cellar.

"It is time for the U.S. … if the U.S. is an opponent of terrorism they should speak out against the terrorism taking place here in Palestine. The occupation—" A loud hiccup interrupted Arafat. "Curse you! You try to poison me? You and your Israeli terrorism? I am an asshole? You are the asshole! I will fart on your children while your wife makes me breakfast. This I swear, for all of Pakistan. Wait… did I say Palestine or Pakistan? That's crazy!"

The phone was then hurled across the room as the firefight increased in Arafat's compound. Either that or he passed out.

"It is a glorious day for Israel," Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon told the press Saturday. "We have fought terrorism and won. If this does not stop the wave of lawless destruction, nothing will."

Sharon cut the press conference short when advised six Palestinian suicide bombers had detonated within the last fifteen minutes. The Prime Minister said he had previously mistaken them for celebratory fireworks.

Usually I prefer to uncover global conspiracies, to shine the light of justice on the hidden ugliness of the world as only journalism can. The cover-ups and shams so big they affect all of our lives. The big time, in other words. This time I turn my red laserlight of truth on the small movie screen of a local shyster. His name is Kurt Benworthy.

Mr. Benworthy is the most unscrupulous con-man I've ever encountered, and I've met Don King, readers. I went to Kurt Benworthy from an ad in the paper. I print it in its entirety here:

"Dogs for sale. Puppies, pooches, hounds, mutts, and bitches. Perfect for the kids or the wife, or the wife's husband. Dogs, long considered man's best friend by those in the know. Now experience dog ownership as you've only dreamed. P.O. Box 1584. No refunds."

Hell! "No refunds." So it was in the ad. I guess I owe Mr. Benworthy an apology. Well, there may not seem much reason to go on, but I don't care about the money. Even if I never see a dime of my $10 again I want to reveal Kurt Benworthy for the rip-off artist he is.

I went to Post Office Box 1584 and, sure enough, Mr. Benworthy was living inside. Fortunately it was a rather large box. He had rented several and in each he had several "dogs," all of which he espoused the virtues of while telling me glorious stories of dog ownership. Maybe I'm a big fat sucker with a white stick up my ass, or maybe the white stick up my ass just leaves people with that assumption, but either way, Mr. Benworthy sold me a shoddy bill of goods.

The dog I picked out, "Putnam P. Puppy," was adorable at first sight. I purchased Mr. Puppy and took him home, looking forward to all the fetching and ball biting we would do together, or allow him to do while I watched. First thing when we hit the Bagel backyard, I threw a ball and… as you can already guess perhaps, Putnam Puppy did not go after the ball. I was sorely disappointed, and it's then my eyes opened to the dirty side of dog sales.

Putnam P. Puppy was in actuality a long-haired cat with certain prosthetics in place and falsified documents to make him appear to be a dog. I took him to my doctor, no expert on animals, but a generally smart guy who I trust for legal advice, and he assured me I had in fact been sold a cat. A cat disguised as a dog. Putnam Puppy is a long-haired meowing cat and Kurt Benworthy is a goddamn dirty liar.

What am I supposed to do with a cat? Enter a dog show? Guess again, the rules are strict on that, I've found out. Sit around the fireplace, writing poems about my beloved old dog? Fuck that, I've got a cat, thanks to that bastard Benworthy. I'm the laughingstock of my kennel club and all those issues of Dog Fancy I bought, well, they're basically slick toilet paper now. Thank you again, Mr. Benworthy.

It may be too late to do anything. When I returned to the post office I found out Mr. Benworthy had vacated his post office box with six months back rent due, leaving behind only a few chiahuahua-sheepdog mixed puppies. So I may have lost my shirt in this scam, revealing my chubby love handles and spare tire for all to see, but I stress to you these important tips when inspecting a dog for purchase:

• Check for a zipper down the underside, or failing that, a prosthetic dog beak.
• Drop the "dog" from a high place, like the top step on a ladder. If it lands on its feet, it's a cat; if it dies instantly, it's a dog.
• As you're walking away, turn suddenly and yell, "Hey, cat!" If the "dog" looks at you, you've found a no-good cat in disguise.

Here's salutations to all the future dog-owners out there. I wish to be one of you someday. Preferably the tall one.

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