sure sign of the times, Congress gave a blanket approval to any military budget requests from president Bush Friday.

In an effort to quickly pass a military budget to cover next year—and the exciting promise of future military operations—both the House and the Senate conceded that what was necessary for the defense of the United States and its aggressive acts overseas was surely better decided by the president than by countless Washington insiders just there to fatten their pockets.

"Now I'm a politician, not a militaritician," said Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R-Illinois), "nor am I knowledgeable of what words mean. But the president is a well-informed man with infallible decision-making powers. That's all I need to know before I approve him for whatever he needs. Policeman and firefighters are the real heroes."

After months of arguing over details, according to one Washington insider, members of the House stopped the quibbling by loudly speaking out of turn and saying maybe they were just fighting with each other because of partisanship.

"Well, no one wanted to believe it was true," said Rep. Jose Serrano (D-NewYork), "but we thought it might be possible. That made all of us feel none too good, let me tell you."

It was at that point they agreed the president was better prepared to decide how billions of dollars would be spent on the military projects for the future. Only he had the close contact with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and other military officials, and only he knew what was planned for U.S. military actions next year.

The Democrat-controlled Senate quickly followed suit, approving the measure in record time.

"Our fellow representatives in the House are on the right track," said Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle (D-South Dakota). "We can't expect the president to stop doing all the things he has to do to come down here and ask us for money. He's busy making plans, and these plans affect the lives of millions of Americans. And if he's going to send them into battle, we better make sure he has the state-of-the-art equipment and funding they need."

The Senate roared with approval, although one minor voice in the background, a suspected Democrat, was heard to say, "Are you fucking crazy?"

On Saturday Daschle met with President Bush in the oval office with a giant blank check for a photo opportunity as Congress handed the president his open budget for 2003.

"Now just fill in the amount for whatever you think is fair, Mr. Bush," Daschle said, shaking hands with the president. "Keep our boys fighting as long as you think it's necessary. Just don't go buying anything all nutty like a Star Wars defense system or something," said Daschle with a laugh.

"It's not nutty, it really works," Bush snapped, turning red. "It can destroy 9 out of 10 nuclear missiles aimed at us by Russia agents or attacks from outer space."

Daschle then refused to give the check to Bush, saying he had to examine the date and make sure it was correct. He promised the check would be returned to Mr. Bush at a later time.

rison—the school of hard knocks and hard anal penetration. They say once you go in, you never come back the same. And Yasser Arafat knows that's true.

Arafat spent more than a month in confinement by the Israelis, what he calls "the hole," trapped in his office like every American middle manager's nightmare. It had been called "the hole" since three years previous, actually. Arafat, held trapped by the Israelis for his alleged connection to terrorism throughout Israel, became a martyr for his people's cause while inside, much like Nelson Mandela, had Mandela previously been the leader of a terrorist organization.

"They accuse me of terrorism?" said Arafat from within his compound a month ago, while under siege. "I spit on their donkeys and slap their turtles' asses with shame. They are the terrorists. Tormenters, monsters… Nazis, fascists! Okay, maybe Nazis didn't make much sense. I just want to be hurtful."

But once you're on the inside, your political ideologies only get you so far. Arafat had to find a way to keep from going crazy on the inside. Crazier. He turned to the library and the weight room.

"It was important to expand my mind, to change myself while I'm in there so I would not make the same mistakes when I get out," said the buff, newly re-educated political figure. "I built up my biceps and triceps, I put on ten pounds of nothing but muscle and finally lost this accursed neck waddle. What? Oh. It's still there?

"While inside I worked out my mind as well, doing squats with my cerebellum and clean-and-jerking my grey matter. I studied my case exhaustively and taught myself law. I was going to represent myself, if needed be, and I was going to be a free man again."

Under the political boos of the rest of the world, and an overwhelming scarceness of actual evidence, Israel reversed its decision against Arafat little more than a month later and declared him a free man. He was given a new pressed suit, a $100 bill for his work in the laundryroom, and emerged from his compound a free man. He then turned and went back inside since that's where he lives.

It was more than a little frightening doing hard time for Arafat, he said upon his release. The violence of prison keeps you from ever really letting your guard down. He had been sexually assaulted three times and brutally beaten twice before he started fraternizing with certain anti-Semitic groups on the inside, just for survival. As soon as he was a free man again, and returned to his compound, he fired all those responsible for the beating and raping.

But the Palestinian leader promised not to let the experience change him.

"In some ways you can never be the same," he said, bench pressing 200 lbs. in his office Saturday. "But you try to remember who you were and pursue that once you lose your stripes. I'm dedicated to a Palestinian free state and that's what I went up the river for. I'll continue to fight for that. I may be different, but I'm only hardened in my resolve. And possibly more violent. The blood will run like chocolate in Willy Wonka's factory."

Before you say I'm paranoid, or a skank, like some have said before, hear me out. It's a crazy story, but it's true. Scarily true. Lindsay Wagner is trying to kill me.

That's right, the Bionic Woman herself. If you think I'm delusional you've obviously never been woken up at four in the morning by the pound of glass breaking with a bionic shatter. This is what happened to me yesterday.

I was just minding my own business—I don't know what the hell else you expect me to be doing at four in the morning with Shenanigan's closed. I was resting peacefully after turning in early at 2 when I heard a window shattering, slow-motion like. I jumped out of bed and yelled I had herpes, I was nervous and figured the intruder would know I didn't have a gun. But by the time I could make a bomb from baking powder to defend myself, the assailant was gone. Bionically gone!

At the time I didn't put two and two together, but eventually I did, and came up with six.

Lindsay Wagner has been a Hollywood staple or some kind of paper binding instrument since the 70s, and sunken into the entertainment trenches little by little over the years in order to avoid the infomercial truck stop on the way to oblivion. She's been fortunate, finding success on the Lifetime channel doing movies for a female audience with indiscriminate tastes. Wagner alone was the unchallenged Lifetime diseased abused murderer mother star for years. Until now.

That's right, I've recently thrown my feathered hat into the ring and called it macaroni. Clarissa Coleman has been storming the Lifetime auditions and making a lasting impression on the men who run that women's network. I'm so close to getting a lead role I can taste it, and it tastes like chicken.

I haven't received any official notice yet, but I think with these attempts on my life it's pretty clear someone feels threatened. That someone has to be Lindsay Wagner. Who else could get up to my window and smash it with the rock I found lying amongst the broken glass? I have no fire escape, which all my neighbors and firemen tell me will surely be my death in the event of a fire. But fire is the least of my problems right now, with no fire in my apartment. I'm more worried about the Bionic bitch murdering me in my sleep.

I parked my car illegally the other day and was on my way into the commune offices when I heard a familiar "sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh" sound like bionic jumping. At first I thought it was the man in the hockey mask and butcher knife getting out of the car parked next to mine, until I realized that was just commune reporter Ted Ted once again pushing the boundaries of the casual Friday policy. Apparently I had missed the Bionic Woman as she leapt out of sight, her plot to kill me foiled by Ted Ted's inappropriate office wear.

I suppose we'll see soon. I'm flying out to L.A. this weekend to audition for The Pursuit of Skinniness: The Carla Dupree Story. How bad does Lindsay Wagner fear the competition? Would she actually take out an entire planeload of people with her bionic abilities? I guess we'll find out.

If nothing else, I figure I've got a fantastic story to write for Lifetime for me to star in. It's a win-win-or-die situation.

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