ich, dumb, white president George W. Bush, the "W" possibly standing for "Whitey," took the opportunity on Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday Wednesday to show where he stood on civil rights by denouncing the University of Michigan's affirmative action admissions policy.

It comes as a real shock to a handful of people who buy entirely into presidential soundbytes and vote-grabbing. The Bush administration has attempted to court minorities with promises of real changes in civil rights, though perhaps Bush intended the change to be a step backward and just purposely omitted saying what kind of change he was talking about.

Plaintiffs, also exceedingly white people from mostly non-impoverished families, have filed a lawsuit against the University of Michigan because they were not admitted to the school while members of minority groups were admitted, with possibly lower scores in some cases. University of Michigan policy allows for a points-based system that allows ethnic diversity as a deciding factor for admissions, and, in short, they had more white people than they could use, which is often the case with white people.

In a petition supporting the plaintiffs' case against U of M, Bush, with the help of many white White House staff people, wrote, "At their core the Michigan policies amount to a quota system that unfairly rewards or penalizes prospective students based solely on their race," the president said. Basically, the fact they are minorities is an unfair advantage to them, wrote the rich son of an ex-president.

Later, to a White House press group, Bush continued, "It's the American way for people to overcome diversity, ain't it? That's what I'm trying to do here."

When Bush was told he sounded like an asshole by aides, he amended his statements later.

"What I meaned to have said, is that overcoming obstacles and stuff is real hard. And getting into college is real hard. Ethnic people of all races should have to overcome their own obstacles to get in and not get in because of they races—be they black, white, brown, or Arabs. It's unfair to let people in because of they skin color. This policy of racist-based admission provides an unfair 'vantage to non-white people, and I cannot abide that. I guarantee you if this policy was in place where I went to school, I would not have gotten in."

Spokespeople for the University of Michigan agreed: "It's true. Bush never would have gotten in here."

Many congressman, also rich and white, have opposed Bush's stance on affirmative action. Besides Democratic presidential hopefuls for 2004, a handful of Republican senators pleaded with Bush via letter before the announcement to resist supporting the plaintiffs. The decision, they said, would do harm to the system of higher education.

It is believed the president received the letter before issuing his petition, but aides say he may not have read it since it looked really long and used a number of words that he didn't want to have to look up.

Following on Trent Lott's pro-segregationist remarks in December and his thousands of failed apologies in its wake, the move could do a lot to damage the "compassionate conservatism" agenda by the Republican party to embrace minorities while still keeping them at arm's length.

According to some within the GOP, Bush must quickly again issue pro-unity words as quickly as possible to reaffirm that position, and preferably before taxes are again raised on the working classes.

hey're young. They're dangerous. They're filled with hate for all Western culture and the influence it's had on Islamic countries. No, they're not Al-Qaeda; they're Algerian, and they're tired of being compared to Osama bin Laden's terrorist units.

If you haven't heard of these Algerian up-and-coming homeland security risks, it's not surprising. They've only recently made any news at all, and it took a far backseat to growing concerns about Iraq and North Korea, as well as troubling domestic issues like the economy and Joe Millionaire. They're relegated to the back page of the World news right now, and they're not happy about it.

"It's just like Americans to ignore you as a threat if you haven't set off a bomb in their country or anything," said one leader of the as-yet-unnamed group, who refused to be identified by name but used the alias, "Stonewall." "It won't be that way forever. One of these days our name will be bigger than Al-Qaeda—as soon as we agree on one. People will ask, 'Al-Qaeda who? Were they anything like…' well, then they'll say the name of our group, when we have one."

It's a strong feeling throughout the group, as well as other aspiring Islamic extremist terrorists out there: Al-Qaeda has become the Elvis Presley of anti-Western guerrillas, and it's a double-edged sword.

"On one hand," said one youth, known as "Itchy," "people are finally taking terrorists serious again, for the first time since those Iranian hostages in the 70s. But now the bar is set so high nobody can compete with them. A lot of us don't have the kind of funds and numbers needed to destroy an American landmark or symbol of Western wealth. We're the independent terrorists, the ones doing it for the real love of Allah, and we have the better arguments, the better fatwas, and when we die for the glory of Allah's cause we're receiving the most rewards. But that doesn't matter much if you're operating out of basements and searching couch cushions for money to finance your terrorist camps."

One of the reasons the Algerians agreed to meet and discuss their situation was to raise awareness of smaller garage terrorist units. The press has not been kind—even when they cover their actions, like the recent news story in Britain where a group was arrested for possession of Ricin and killed a British police officer, the reaction of the American media is cynical and smug. Newsweek referred to the incident on page 48 with the headline, "Al-Qaeda Hacks Kill Just One in Manchester."

"It's completely unfair," said a thin, wiry terrorist nicknamed "Atwall." "Ricin is pretty dangerous, you know. Had that plan been carried out by our brothers, there's no telling the kind of damage it could have done, throughout Britain and America. Well, not America—that overseas postage would have killed our budget. But still, all the major networks are scoffing, like, 'Why couldn't they get Anthrax?' That stuff's expensive, infidels. We don't have Saudi oil money behind us. Most of our funds come from the donation jars we set up in Algerian supermarkets. That and loans from our parents, which are due back in a couple of years, when we start showing a profit."

"It's true," added Stonewall. "You kill one person these days in the name of Allah and you can't even get on the third page of a major news magazine. You have to be like in double-digits to get that kind of coverage. Let's not even talk about making the cover. We're optimistic, but we know it's a long way off. First we have to get a good name."

According to the group, several suggested names have failed to please a majority of the group. Suggestions currently on the table are "The Red Flag," "The Al-Roka," and "Grassy Knoll," which the group likes, but feel like it would take too much explaining and limit how much they make major newscasts.

The new year is presenting more hurdles than some excessive hurdle-presenting device of some sort. Remember the Masked Dude?

Yes, former pro-wrestler the Masked Dude has been consistently on my ass like my former glitter-covered spandex tights. If you remember the details from my previous column, you're one up on me—I had to look it up and re-read it just to remember, and it was hell finding the commune on this "internet" thing. But as I mentioned, the Masked Dude, the only 5-foot wrestler in our wrestling league, the Dandies of America, constantly sought me out to turn his zero-win record into a one-win, or higher. As the 4-Foot Nightmare, I was the shortest wrestler in the league and, in the Dude's opinion, the easiest path to victory. But I never fought the Dude, as I recovered from my wrestling infatuation long enough to resign from the D.O.A. and toss my tights to the wind, where they landed in a ladies social group and ruined everyone's evening.

But that wasn't enough for the Masked Dude—he's sought me out like a blood-sniffing hound, always seeking that victory he's so badly wanted. It was truly difficult to track me down, too, considering how I kept my wrestling identity a secret from everyone, even my wife—hell, even my cat, Makeshift. Somehow, though, the Dude found me living with Lee and Camembert and began stalking me, like next-level trailer trash ex-husband stalking, too.

As if the notes weren't bad enough, and they really weren't, kind of a disappointment, he began following me everywhere around November. I haven't mentioned it before now because, well, between the private investigators, the tax people, and teens seeking drugs, if I mentioned every time someone was stalking me I'd run out of column space. But unlike the rest, I couldn't buy off the Masked Dude or score anything strong enough to dissuade him. I reported it to the police, but once you get there attention with a firm "Listen, needledicks," they won't hear anything else you say. So I was on my own.

Finally, one night, I got home and found a message scrawled to me on the wall of my apartment hallway, in letters seven-foot high: "I CHALENJ YU, NITMAR!"

With the poor spelling and lack of context, it took a long while to decipher, I can tell you that. I feel a little bad for dumping Camembert out of bed, putting a sack over his head and beating him with a phone book, but you can understand my confusion—who wouldn't assume it was their roommate when first seeing a message like that? I wanted to make sure his challenge was met with enough force to put off another one. But then I remembered Camembert spells very well—he proofreads these columns for me sometimes, like all times. And once he returned to consciousness, he assured me it must have been someone else, and not Lee either. With those two eliminated, and once I had called the staff of the commune and PETA to make sure none of them had anything to do with it, I narrowed my focus to the Masked Dude.

A challenge! To me! An opportunity to end this madness once and for all, and return to regular madness.

If you thought I'd turn it down, you don't know Rok Finger. Yessir, challenge accepted… as I scrawled in ten-foot letters on the outside of our building, just to show up the little prick. I even named the time and place, which I'm keeping secret, but let's just say it took me three buildings to get the entire message across and, well, it's a hefty fine.

One week from tonight, the gauntlet has been throw down. The loser has to pick it up, and Rok Finger never picks up after himself. Boo-ya!

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