or a record 28th year in a row, Yasser Arafat, leader of the mega-popular boy band PLO, has been voted "Hunkiest Palestinian." The award, which often leads to lucrative endorsement deals and speaking engagements, was not unexpected. Mr. Arafat had token opposition from members of PLO-spinoff bands Hamas and Hezbollah, but no one seriously expected any of them to challenge the reigning MC Mullah of the Gaza for the winner's turban this year.

In a café here on the West Bank, 16-year-old rock-throwing enthusiast Rajouba Aswan said about Mr. Arafat, "He's the OG, man. He's to die for." Friend Jamil Barghouti, 17, chimed in, while adjusting an explosive-laden vest. "That's right, yo. Yas-Dog – I mean, Mr. Arafat – is da bomb."

Cited by West Bank teenagers as reasons for voting for Mr. Arafat as the Imam of Palestinian Hunks were, among other reasons, "the way that big bottom lip of his quivers when he talks," and "his rad beard, dude." Also mentioned were his "big, sad puppy dog eyes," and his "cool sense of fashion."

Asked for comment, Mr. Arafat responded, "I am humbled to be once again chosen, praise Allah, and I would like to send my thanks and blessings to all the young G's and martyrs out there, to all my peeps and homies. May Allah smile upon you, and may your quota of 70 virgins in paradise be each one beautiful and have all of their own teeth."

n the face of countless allegations of sexual misconduct among its priests, including criminal charges of child molestation and the popularity of the high-profile “Catholic Priests Gone Wild� DVD series, the Roman Catholic Church has issued a new public statement clarifying its position on grown men having sex with little kids. And the answer may surprise you: They’re against it.

“I don’t know where people got the idea that the church is all about buggering little kids, maybe we should start covering that a bit more in Sunday school,� said Archdeacon Mavis Plum in a recent interview. “Maybe a new commandment would help, something catchy like ‘Thou shall not pork a preschooler.’ It would certainly help with public relations.�

Other members of the church seemed more surprised by the announcement.

“What?� questioned Rev. Phil Binder, shuffling an issue of Tiger Beat magazine under some papers on his desk. “Since when? What the hell else would you want to be a priest for, the dental plan? Shit.� Binder cut the interview short as he hurriedly dialed his telephone.

“These recent allegations really have shocked the church community,� insisted Mavis. “I mean, who would expect that men, deprived of normal sexual outlets for a lifetime, would eventually turn to the nearest moist orifice for satisfaction? I mean, prisoners, maybe. Guys living in Wyoming, sure. Have you seen the women there? Yikes. But men of God? It’s long been assumed that the power of the holy spirit would give them the strength to overcome the inevitable pull of a young altar boy’s beautiful, untainted anus. But I guess not. The devil must really have gotten into those boys, to seduce priests like that. It’s amazing. It buggers the mind. Boggles.�

Concerned parents nationwide were relieved by the announcement. Sandy Maynard of Des Plains, IA summed up the reactions of many. “I just sighed a big, relieved sigh. It’s stressful, trying to balance eternal damnation on one hand and having your kids ass-rammed on the other. Nobody wants to piss off God by not being involved in the church, you know? But to tell you the truth, I always thought those church sleepovers were a little weird. When I was a kid, I’m pretty sure the body of Christ you accepted during communion didn’t involve throbbing man-meat.�

The announcement is only the first step in a plan to change the public’s perception of the Catholic Church as a NAMBLA meeting with wine. This week, motivational posters featuring popular cartoon characters and slogans like “Play it straight—don’t penetrate,� “Abstinence now: Miles of underage rectums in heaven� and “When in doubt, don’t whip it out� will be distributed to churches nationwide in an effort to help priests with the transition to a sodomy-free church experience.

When asked how the church could have overlooked what must have been obvious signs of altar boy mistreatment over the years, Archdeacon Plum muttered something about not running a daycare center while frowning at the screen of his Game Boy.

Bishop Theodore Rexall would not return the commune’s calls regarding the same question, or our questions about if he’s the one who can move diagonally or if that’s a Rook.

Jimmy Riddle Hoffa. The name itself practically oozes mystery. Goopey, gelatinous mystery. Where did he come from? Where is he now? What happened between him coming here and him being wherever he is now? And what's with the kooky middle name?

James Riddle Hoffa, Sr. was born in Brazil in the nineteen tens. Several years later he was spotted in Indiana wearing a fake mustache. Experts are at a loss to explain how a boy of seven made the trek halfway around the globe, other than to say this: Hoffa was one tough bastard. Rumor has it that he holed up in the pancreas of a longshoreman as an infant, traveling the world over before bursting from the man's chest when he was ripe. This reportedly happened during a poker game, and few in attendance were left untouched by the experience, or the splattering gut juices. Asked to comment on the larval Hoffa, poker player Lefty Sanchez was heard to comment: "Sheeeeyit!"

Hoffa came to prominence as a grade-schooler in Indiana, where he organized a Student Union at the age of eight and brought the elementary school to its knees, effectively bringing an end to book-learnin' in the state of Indiana forever. It was an especially sweet victory for Hoffa, who had been demoralized when the Sibling Union he formed with his brother Tom and sister Nancy was crushed when management brought in scab siblings in the form of his newborn twin brothers Maxwell and Chuckie Hoffa.

Jimmy Hoffa dropped out of high school at the age of seventeen after a violent altercation when strikebreakers attempted to teach the class arithmetic. He went to work as a loading ramp at a local grocery warehouse, and eventually worked his way up to dolly, making thirteen cents a day. These were solid wages during the depression, and few dared complain about the working conditions for fear of losing their jobs. The ownership did as it pleased, and often fired men for parting their hair in the middle or spelling their names with a "D".

Workers toiled in thirteen-hour shifts, but were only paid for three hours a day, since the owners refused to pay for walking time and counted breathing as taking a break. Tensions finally came to a head when the owners fired five men for inhaling too much of the warehouse's oxygen, and the young Hoffa took this opportunity to form a worker's union. He was already well known among the workers for having formed several unions during this first three weeks at the warehouse, including the Left-Handed-Man's Union and the Guys-Waiting-In-Line-For-Gas-401. But this was to be Hoffa's most serious union yet, and he rose to the challenge admirably. Hoffa made the union stick and before long the warehouse owners caved and provided the workers with a coffee can to urinate in, ending years of pissing in each other's pockets. It was a major victory for organized labor and a telling harbinger of things to come.

Before long, Hoffa had convinced workers at several neighboring warehouses and dog tracks to join his union, which he was calling the Teamsters Union because he never learned to write that good. Hoffa spent the next several years traveling around the country, getting anyone and everyone to join his union if they weren't in it already, or to join again under a fake name if they were. Within a decade, the Teamsters had 8.7 billion members, which was impressive both because Hoffa had enlisted everyone himself, and also because that figure was nearly double the world's population at the time. No one was sure how many of those members were deceased, imaginary or canine, but the numbers spoke for themselves and business owners practically shit concern when Hoffa mentioned the word "strike." This was mainly because they also belonged to the union and were tired of getting splinters from carrying around picket signs all the time.

Everything was fantastic for Hoffa until he was arrested in 1967 and charged with trying to unionize the Mafia, and keeping the entire $1.9 billion Teamsters Pension Fund under a mattress in his house. Hoffa was sentenced to ten years in prison, and was forced to defer the Teamsters Presidency to his protégée, Frank Fitzsimmons. In 1971, then-President Richard M. Nixon, a three-time Teamster himself (also under the names Michard N. Rixon and Bobo Freelove) granted Hoffa a pardon, under the condition that he would stop trying to unionize the Nixon family.

Hoffa made a bid to regain control of the Teamsters Union upon his release, running on the platform of needing to double-unionize the union members to protect them from the tyranny and unfair practices of the Teamsters Union itself. One day in 1975, Hoffa was invited to a meeting with a Teamsters official and a local mob boss to explain what the hell he was talking about, and he was never seen again.

Local police and federal investigators were confident they would find Hoffa's body before long, since it was very likely he had unionized his kidnappers during his disappearance and finding them would be a simple matter of searching the records for a Kidnappers 299 Union. Unfortunately these efforts proved to be fruitless, and neither Hoffa's body nor his assailants were located in the next 25 years.

Rumors abounded following Hoffa's disappearance, and over the years several theories have developed explaining Hoffa's whereabouts. Law enforcement agencies believe Hoffa was kidnapped and killed by the Mafia, who were concerned that by regaining control of the Teamsters Union, Hoffa would succeed in unionizing the Mafia and then nobody would ever get killed. But few can agree on where Hoffa's body ended up.

Some believe his body can be found buried under the end zone at Giants Stadium, or they point to the Giants' "Take Home a Chunk-o-Hoffa" promotional give-away from during their 1976 season. Others believe Hoffa's body was cemented into the walls of an L.A. nightclub, or a parking garage that was built in Michigan the year he disappeared. Still others believe his body was shot into space using a gigantic catapult operated by Don Knotts, though law enforcement officials have been reluctant to endorse this theory.

But where, you ask, did Jimmy Hoffa's body really end up?

Ever eat a Slim Jim? Now don't ever let me hear you say that the Mafia doesn't have a sense of humor.

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