ast-minute attempts at peaceful resolutions having likely failed, the United States presumably entered into war with Iraq again Monday, March 17 at some undisclosed time in the day. Though the information has yet to be verified, it is supported by popular opinion, with degrees of variation on the exact time and date, March 17 being the earliest estimation and March 19 the latest.

The hypothetical war came after months of accusations from the Bush administration that Iraqi president Saddam Hussein was harboring biological weapons and had the potential to create weapons of mass destruction. The debate deteriorated in recent months into press bytes back and forth between the countries as Bush attempted to curry favor with the U.N. and receive backing for military action in accordance with resolutions Iraq signed after cessation of the Gulf War, also known as "Bush Vs. Iraq: Round 1" among funnier members of the staff.

The preceding week brought the tension to full as Bush, responding to the irritation of the American people, announced a March 17 deadline for Iraq to disarm its real or imaginary weapons and the administration haggled with opposing members of the U.N. security counsel for approval to the deadline. As Saddam Hussein had yet to meet the ambiguous guidelines of the deadline date, it is 99.9% probable that the United States felt no recourse but to begin war with Iraq on March 17.

All signs point to elongated periods of carpet bombings of marked Iraqi weapons sites, with claims of civilian casualties by Iraq already supposedly rising as the U.S. undoubtedly insisted all targets are verified as weapons facilities. If all goes according to military plans established months ago, bombing most likely will cease around March 19 as troops move in for implied ground war.

Though U.S. opinion will be mixed, the majority of Americans will most likely support the war with the assumption its unpatriotic to disagree in a time of war. After weeks of continued warfare with reassurance from the president U.S. troops are making progress in their goals, the larger population will tire of the war news and urge the president to resolve the whole mess quicker, sparking claims that while Saddam Hussein has presumably not been removed from power, objectives to locate and disarm weapons as a greater goal have been successful, and Saddam Hussein can be hobbled permanently by sanctions and treaties.

Without a doubt, the price tag for the war will have dug the United States deeper into debt and made the outlook for the economy bleaker, which the Democratic candidates for the presidency will jump on despite their expressions of approval for the war during its time. As jobs disappear and wages continue to drop, the approval rating for the Bush administration will reach all-time lows, despite achieving near-record highs during late 2001 to early 2003. All attempts to turn attention to domestic issues will come too late and Americans will join in bitter debates with each other as the country probably grows even more divisive, yet in an extremely close presidential election in 2004 the as-yet-unnamed Democratic candidate will win the electoral college vote by a significant margin, while the disparity in the popular vote, while still in his or her favor, will be much closer.

Theoretical details of long-term side-effects of American soldiers exposed to the irradiated munitions of their weapons could not be hypothesized at press time. Further information will come as clearer patterns of repetition emerge.

eorgia senator Zell Miller brought a congressional debate over the judicial nomination of Miguel Estrada to a screeching halt Tuesday, pitching a spectacular tantrum that left members of the Senate shaken and, if they were from the South, in denial of being from the South. Beating a wooden spoon on an empty coffee can, Miller called for attention and proceeded to deliver a rambling diatribe, punctuated by numerous down-homeisms and analogies involving coon hunting, which some believe was in protest of CBS's proposed reality show The Real Beverly Hillbillies. Full translated texts of the outburst were not available as of press time, as all known hillrods in the area had gone fishin'.

The controversial senator, known for attending congressional meetings barefoot and wearing a straw hat with denim overalls, has been barred from several debates in recent months for inappropriate bursts of banjo strumming and repeatedly not speaking English.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as a proud hillbilly let me say this: shame on you, CBS!
I don't know what they letters stands for but they Can't Be Serious! CBS as a network Coulda Been Somethin' but gone hafta settle for Caught Bein' Sneaks! Cause we of the hillbilly persuasion, and in that I speak for myself and others I know, ain't gonna let them get away with this crackerjack for one more minute!"

"Oh, Christ. Who let him out of his box?" whispered the unfortunately named Saxby Chambliss of Georgia. "There must not be any auto racing on today."

"Too long has hillbillies like myself, and remember I can say hillbilly because I am that, but you best don't, cause it's offensive and will get you a slapped mouth, but we the people have too long been the backside of popular humor at our expenses," continued Sen. Miller. "Offensive comic strips like Snuffy Smith and Lil Abner is just one example. Except for that one where Snuffy gets his foot caught in a beaver den, that was a hoot and a hollar."

"Good lord," groaned Tennessee senator Bill Frist. "At least he left his damned dogs at home this time."

As if on cue, four mangy hound dogs burst loudly into the Senate chamber at that moment and ran around the floor, barking and smelling things. The dogs had to be corralled by Sen. Miller, who offered them bits of raw pork from his pockets.

The proposed CBS show that started the ruckus would have been an update of the popular 60's sitcom The Beverly Hillbillies, only featuring real hillbillies in real danger.

"All throughout hist'ry there has been people who needed to look down on someone as less than theyselves, and the hillbillies next door have long been such a convenient target. No more, gents! The dignity of mountain people shall never again be trampled on by anyonest but theyselves."

"I know he's a Georgia man," confided Sen. Mitch McConnell of Kentucky. "But I'm telling you… He must've had some serious absentee votes from West Virginia or something. Because damn."

Florida governor Jeb Bush appeared and provided a quote without being prompted. "South? No, Florida's not part of the South. Who told you that? Florida's not really the South. I mean, yes, geographically it is south of some states, but inbred retard speaking, we're not really 'the South' at all. Florida has a large relocated population, and the simple fact of the matter is we have way too many Jews to be considered part of the South. Jews and the South don't mix; they're like Kurds and Wheys. Scientific fact. And yes, I admit to being from Texas, but that's beside the point. As everyone knows Texas is its own nation, like the District of Columbia."

Debate continued on the Senate floor over who was really from the South, while Sen. Miller led his dogs to a rusted-out pickup truck parked on the front lawn of the Capitol.

On the evening of Saturday, November 10th, 1951, Sir Hugh Beaver of Zackary Farms shot a pigeon in the ass. At the time, he was out pot-shotting on The North Slob by the river Stanley, in the easterly westness of Southern Ireland. The shot traveled through the pigeon, and carried on to hit a dove sitting on a nearby fig tree, two butterflies on the wing, and the neck of his hunting partner, Sir Edmond Wistledick III. Later that evening at the hunting lodge, Sir Hugh marveled at his highly unusual shot while Wistledick gurgled along in agreement, holding a mottled kerchief to his punctured esophagus.

This quickly started an argument at the lodge over who held the record for the most things shot at one time. Sir Hugh thought he might have set a new record, while other drinkers weighed in with fantastical stories of shotgun mishaps at the rookery or the time Walter Cranabble shot an entire tank of lobsters during a melee at a seafood restaurant.

Dissatisfied with his inability to prove the greatness of his shot (in addition to the tiresome and endless debates with his wife over whether or not she was the fattest person in the world), Sir Hugh went to his friends at the local fact-checking agency, Crampit & Crammit, with his idea for compiling a book of world records for doing stupid things. Though they never doubted Sir Hugh's expertise on the subject, Crampit and Crammit thought his idea of publishing the book on the backs of a collectable series of beer cans was a bit tacky… even if he did work for Guinness. They agreed to participate, as long as the book was published on paper. Sir Hugh reluctantly agreed, even though paper doesn't hold much beer at all.

The first edition of the Guinness Book of World Records was published in 1954, and most of its 198 pages were devoted to records held by Sir Hugh Beaver himself. The rest was dedicated to records Sir Hugh wasn't competing for, but still followed closely (Biggest Tits, Most Times Falling Down the Same Well, Most Likely to Have Sex with Sir Hugh Beaver if He Asked, Class Clown, etc…). Realizing they had a goldmine on their hands, but for the huge jackass blocking the shaft, William Crampit and Arthur Crammit locked Sir Hugh in a pantry and told everyone he'd gone on safari. Over the next few years they refined and expanded the Guinness Book, developing it into a perennial bestseller that would eventually rank behind only The Pop-Up Bible and The Lose Weight Doing Nothing Diet on the all-time bestsellers list.

Crampit and Crammit proceeded to travel around the world, noting records where they found them and taking pictures of anyone they could find wearing weird extendo neck-rings and fat people riding motorcycles. When they got back to their offices they were greeted by a man who was, for no discernable reason, pulling four loaded buses with his teeth. They weren't sure what the buses were loaded with, and were understandably afraid to ask. The man was so frightening, in fact, that they put him in the book immediately just to get him off the premises. Little did they know they were opening some kind of freak-filled floodgate, and within the week their offices were stuffed to the rafters with every no-hair-cutting, long-fingernailed, lightbulb-eating mental patient in twelve counties.

Crampit and Crammit, no fans of having their spleens eaten or their eyeballs pulled like taffy, folded like a laminated map. Before they knew it, all of their precious "Fastest Bird" and "Tallest Post Office" records were pushed to the back of the book, buried under an avalanche of morbidly obese twins, turban-wearing weirdos who have sat in the same spot their entire lives, and insomniacs who stay up all night writing thousands of words on a grain of rice.

Every year since then the famed Guinness Book has grown like a weird tumor that started out interesting but is now placing its own orders for take-out. Determined and unbalanced individuals the world over have spawned new categories yearly in an effort to be remembered for anything at all, even if it's eating a shopping cart while wearing a beard of bees. As an interesting side note, Sir Hugh Beaver re-appeared around this time, claiming the record for most years spent living inside a pantry.

Eventually Guinness sold its rights for the book to the Robert Ripley Corporation of Believe it or Not! fame, a natural fit since they had more experience and expertise in freak-wrangling. Fans rejoiced as the long-standing bans on ant eating and penis size records were finally lifted, and Crampit and Crammit regained use of their hot tub at long last.

º Last Column: Common Misconceptions
º more columns