aoul Dunkin, insert your own slanderous insult here, reporting for the commune from Paris, France. Somehow my job is to cover a war in the Middle East, though your guess is as good as mine on how to do so from Paris.

The best explanation for how I landed this assignment is that dullest tool in the drawer Ramrod Hurley, Acting-Editor and possible Bachman-Turner Overdrive member, thought anti-American sentiment runs so high here I'd be ripped apart upon stepping off the plane. Having already sent danger magnet Ivan Nacutcha-whatever to the front lines, this probably seemed like the best option for getting me rubbed out, as I have no doubt the lunatic thinks I'm bucking for his job.

Fortunately for this commune whipping boy, I speak fluent French and my own anti-American sentiment runs so high I fit in pretty well with the locals. I've joined in a few local protests at the local McDonald's, but mostly I've been spending my time drinking the world's best wine, smoking thin cigarettes, and living the high life on Ramrod's expense account. Did you know you can actually buy some of the paintings at the Louvre? Surprised me, too.

Anyway, by the time Bagel gets back and has a look at all the damage Hurley's done I wouldn't be surprised if he finds himself the new public enemy number one. Fine by me. I've had enough shit from those yokels to last Bagel's lifetime. Oh, by the way, if you should ever get to France and they don't ridicule you back to the stone age for being American, you should try some of the cuisine. The women are exceedingly naughty, too. Hot mamas.

I suppose I should report on the war at any rate. Not much to say, to tell the truth. I'm looking out a window facing the western sky right now and I can see no sign of impending missile attacks or bombing raids of any sort. I thought I heard an air raid siren sounding an hour ago but it turned out to be a couple of cats getting familiar with each other. I threw a block of cheese at them (or fromage) and they ran off. No reports of any cat casualties or anything.

I asked the concierge and some other folks about the possibility of chemical weapons, and while there is some notable body funk in the air, I don't think there's too great a risk of attack. I'm still going to go down and buy a canary tomorrow. If there is a chance of a biological weapon attack, it will be an early warning sign, but mostly I just want to some company.

Yesterday I thought I saw a small group of Iraqis surrendering in front of the hotel, but they were actually just selling souvenirs. I bought a T-shirt with the Eiffel tower on it and they retreated into Baghdad. Baghdad Café, that is, a little coffee place up the street. Nice guys, very fair.

As you can see, it hasn't been extremely eventful in this area. But I promise to stay with this story until news breaks, or until my plane ticket demands I return home. For the commune, this Raoul Dunkin, snickering his ass off.

he Pentagon announced today that, in the wake of the success of the huge 21,000 pound MOAB (Mother Of All Bombs), it was beginning work today on an even bigger model, officially dubbed as the Motherfucking Cocksucking Sonofabitch King Hell Bastard Shit Oh Dear Of All Bombs, Like, Ever, or MCSKHBSODOABLE. The bomb will be approximately the size of one-fifth of the Earth's moon, will have a payload the equivalent of 946 Hiroshimas, and will, in the words of one unnamed Pentagon official, "Blow the fucking shit out of every living creature within about a five thousand mile radius -- even cockroaches. Ha! Even cockroaches! Maybe we should call it the Orkin Exterminator!"

To begin construction of the new super-sized weapon, the United States has annexed the entire nation of Canada and sent eviction notices to every Canadian citizen, asking that they please vacate the premises within one month. Official spokesman Colonel Jack "Rabbit" Tallysmall-Rand commented on that eviction notice, saying "Those Canucks better get going fast, because we need to start building this baby pronto. Any of them back-bacon lovers that's still there in a month's time will find the doors locked and their stuff all piled into a Hefty bag on the sidewalk, toot sweet."

Asked about the bomb itself, Col. Tallysmall-Rand agreed that "Super-sized is about right. We want it our way, get it? The MCSKHBSODOABLE will be the mightiest weapon the world has ever seen, the monster truck of all bombs, and that ought to show all them bastards that don't want to get with the program that we mean business."

The Colonel added that the bomb will be delivered by a pair of space shuttles flying in tandem, with the payload tethered to a huge glider-like platform between them. Once in range, the cables will be released and the bomb will then waft gently to the Earth, where it will unleash seven or eight different kinds of hell once it reaches treetop level.

"This baby gonna make the MOAB seem like a little old ladyfinger when it pops, whee doggies! It could bomb the stink off a shit pile!" Col. Tallysmall-Rand went on to say, while exchanging double high fives, down low, too slow with his aide, one Major Custis Sprinkle.

"He ain't lying!" interjected Major Sprinkle, drawing a grin and an elbow in the ribs from his superior officer.

Asked who came up with the name for the bomb, Col. Tallysmall-Rand just beamed and replied, "Who do you think?" while Major Sprinkle, exaggeratedly winking and nodding his head, gestured with a pointing finger held behind his palm towards the colonel. "Mr. Rumsfeld wanted us to call it the 'Democracy-Maker,' but we thought that was too pussy. We wanted a name that would put the fear of God into our enemies."

Asked by another reporter why they didn't just build a bomb the size of the entire Earth and cut an America-sized hole in it, Col. Tallysmall-Rand's eyes grew wide, and he remained silent for a long moment. He then declared the press conference over, and immediately huddled with Major Sprinkle and a number of other officers near the dais, while Military Police cleared the room by wildly swinging their batons in all directions.

Boris is here to tell about lunch.

For lunch, Boris having sandwich of pickles, bologna, creamcheese, olives, cabbage and Russian bologna. Louis say Russian bologna make you grow tits out of asscrack, but that is just Louis charming way of speak. Russian bologna is very good and very bologna. Makes you grow up big and brave, like monster. So good for you it is hard to find in stores, because stores want to keep all of it for themself.

Boris is eating sandwich for lunch while playing with his new thing, which is binogulars. Ever since Boris get these, is fun. Looking out window is like funny television with no sounds. There is exciting show about fighting neighbors out one window, Boris watch this show when bored. Is funny show about old man eating soup out other window, always same and always funny when he is dropping soup and is old. But best show is out bathroom window, where neighbor is watching Spices channel all times.

Louis think Boris use binogulars too much, he bang on door for Boris to get out of bathroom so Louis does not die from not crapping. Boris yell "You cannot come in! Boris is playing with his thing!" which make Louis swear lots and go to next-door bathroom. Louis can do this because next-door lock is broken from Louis kicking door last week, when him have bad to crap and Boris is seeing Sorority Sweethearts at same time.

Boris think best show would be to have binogulars in old man eating soup apartment, because from there Boris could see show of Louis kicking in door to crap while next door neighbors is eating dinners. And also, Boris could have soup to eat with Louis kicking show, very good idea. Two good things at one time, is fun. And Boris like soup, especially Russian Pringle soup which is Boris special crunchy recipe.

So like Boris say, is eating lunch and looking at binogulars. What a way to spend the time after noons. Then, who knows it? Exciting thing happen! Is like lucky lotto day for Boris to see exciting thing through binogulars. Boris looking at dog eating roasted beef sandwich on street when oh no, Man is hit by car. Boris thinks this is holy shit. There goes Man in suit stepping in street, and there goes car running over him like he is street. Such things Boris has never seen. Exciting, yes, but of course sad too. Because when Boris see such things he squeeze sandwich in excited way, and sandwich insides go on Boris pants.

This might seem funny part of Boris story, but is serious. Why is serious? Answer is Boris wearing favorite pants for binogular time. Yes yes, not smart plan for Boris at dressing time. But seem like good idea when Boris not wearing pants and favorite pants are waiting. Hard for Boris to argue then.

Favorite Boris pants is not like normal pants. Is nice. Is also purple like big McDonalds monster, but with stripes like monster does not have. So Boris is sad to think of pickles on pants. Sad math is pickles plus creamcheese equals goodbye favorite Boris pants. Such things always leave mark forever like bird wipes ass on Boris pants. And Boris not wanting to give such laughs to pants-lookers.

Now Boris must pick new pants to be favorite. Is busy life, no? But is O.K. Secret is Boris like rat race of life. Not to worry, when race is too exciting Boris take nap. Nap make Boris wake up happy, except on bus, when Boris wake up in strange town. But strange town is good for to make friends and find binogulars, so is O.K.

º Last Column: Beautiful Tuba
º more columns