Americans Boycott France, Coherent Thought

triking a blow for bandwagoneers everywhere, Rep. Bob Ney (R-Ohio) recently directed the House of Representatives cafeteria to change the name of “french fries� to “freedom fries� on their menu, teaching the rogue nation of France a powerful lesson once and for all. Restaurants across the country have followed suit, and Americans everywhere are boycotting French and French-sounding products in a bold move that sends a message to the rest of the world: Americans are fucking retarded.

“The French? A bunch of gay-asses,� opined truck stop chef Holman Weathers. “This is how they repay us for bailing them out in WWII, by having their own opinion? Maybe we should’ve just let the damned Germans win. See how they like that. No way the fuckin’ Germans would have wimped out on us on the whole Iraq thing.�

“Wait. Really? The Germans?� Weathers questioned with a note of disappointment in his voice when this reporter pointed out that even the Germans had gone the gay-assed route on this one.

“I’m glad they changed the name of Fren- these things, since I love fries but I always felt a little weird supporting such a bad country by buying food named after them,� confessed housewife Heidi Wartak as she sat munching a fresh batch of freedom fries in her mammoth Ford Excursion SUV, while the vehicle idled and sucked down enough gas to keep the Iraqi Republican Guard in munitions for a month. Asked if she thought supporting Middle East dictatorships through excessive fuel consumption might be a greater evil than uttering the name of a peace-loving ally, Wartak stood her ground. “I don’t buy french bread either. I mean freedom bread.�

“All I know is I’ve drank my last bottle of Evian,� boasted NASCAR enthusiast Glen Riddle. “That’s French, right? Somebody told me they actually bottle that stuff out in L.A., but I don’t know if that’s true. Come to think of it, I don’t like L.A. either, so I guess it doesn’t matter.�

Riddle later admitted that he’d never actually drank Evian, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

Dissenting opinions are rare, as anyone caught exhibiting coherent thought in the current national climate is in grave danger of being branded unpatriotic and voted off the island, i.e., hit with a brick.

“The French provided significant military help to the Americans in their campaign against the British in the Revolutionary War, and supplies of French gunpowder are widely believed to have secured the decisive American victory at Saratoga in 1777,� informed University of Wisconsin history professor and Denny’s patron Judd McClintock as he ducked under a flying brick. “If it weren’t for the French we’d be British right now, and for that even the biggest France-basher owes them continual blowjobs forever.�

“If those blue, white and red pinkos want to mess with the U.S., all they need to do is listen to our country music to know we won’t stand for it,� warned part-time window washer Steve Lideen from across the restaurant, in response to a waitress offering French dressing as an option for his salad.

Plans remain in the works for a series of public service announcements suggesting teens partake in “face-fucking� rather than French kissing and that anyone who is unable to boycott the upcoming Tour de France should refer to it as “That Big Gay Bicycle Ride� or else face sanctions, including having their Home Depot membership revoked.

resident George W. Bush and British Prime Minister Tony Blair were shocked into jovial amiability Saturday when their reception of the 2003 Nobel Peace Prize was interrupted by the revelation they had been "punk'd" by Ashton Kutcher and his gang of M-TV pranksters.

Punk'd, a modern-day celebrity-on-celebrity Candid Camera or the poor-man's Totally Hidden Video, features That '70s Show star Kutcher and other modern pop culture icons giving another fellow celebrity a good-natured razzing. The staged Nobel Peace Prize ceremony ended Saturday when Kutcher jumped out from nearby curtains to reveal Bush and Blair to be the latest superstars added to the Punk'd roster.

Blair was reportedly surprised, confused, and slightly disappointed to find out the Nobel Peace Prize was only a spirited gag. Bush was simply confused, and after several more minutes and an explanation that the show was much like the WB's Jamie Kennedy Experiment did he exhibit vague comprehending. Bush apparently did recognize Kutcher from Dude, Where's My Car? immediately, but merely thought he had shown up to support the president's reward.

"You should have seen your face!" Kutcher yelled when he leapt from behind the curtain, to which Bush responded, "It's Dude!"

The elaborate hoax began Thursday when Norwegian parliamentarian Jan Simonsen nominated the Iraq coalition pair for the Nobel Peace Prize. The entire world was surprised by the suggestion, given the history of traditionally awarding the Nobel Peace Prize to those who work to prevent war rather than lead into it, but once the nominating committee was let in on the joke by Punk'd co-star Dax Shepard, they agreed to go along with the gag.

"Frankly, it did surprise me," Blair said late Saturday, after the joke was revealed. "I understand the Nobel Prize nominations end around February 1^st, and the ceremonies are usually held in October rather than the Saturday after a nomination. Not to mention the fact we, the president and I, started a war entirely for political purposes without a shred of evidence. That didn't seem to be a normal Peace Prize prerequisite."

Kutcher, a fellow Tool fan, was brought in on the presidential prank by Bush daughters Jenna and Barbara, with a little help by former Vice-President Al Gore. He thought it only fair after the "punking" George W. and Jeb gave him in the 2000 election, with a little help from Katharine Harris.

"One good turn deserves another, Dubya—you been Punk'd, sucker!" said a possibly inebriated Gore via phone Saturday.

A solemn Bush, described by aids as a little sour but in general good spirits, interrupted network broadcasts Sunday night to apprise the country of the situation.

"Yes, America, the stories you have heard are true. I have been Punk'd by M-TV. The award I received was not a Nobel Peace Prize after all, but a leftover M-TV Movie Award never collected by Chris Tucker for the Best On-Screen Duo Category. The man awarding me the award was not the head of the Nobel Institute Director Geir Lundestad, but a young man Lance Bass of some singing group. As always, this administration accepts minor setbacks and tries to move on. In fact, I have since formed a committee to find out if these reports of weapons of mass destruction as yet unfound in Iraq might be part of some Osama bin Laden-hosted Al-Jazeera practical joke program."

The question we should all be asking, whether we know the answer or not, is this: who in the world was Mohandas K. Gandhi? Sure, you're heard the name. You may even remember his face from Mad Magazine's History, Schmistory issue from a few years back. But who was he, really, and why are half of my breakfast products named after him?

The answer is more complex than it is simple. Mohandas Gandhi was a cigar-chomping Indian entrepreneur with a short temper and a talent for the tall tale. His life left a mark on the world that's been tough to scrub off, which should be the goal of any great man.

Gandhi came to world prominence as the world's fattest man in the first ever Big Fat Olympics in 1931. There he trounced the competition by being really really fat. He cruised on the fame of being so fat for several years, but eventually even his big fat popularity began to wane. This is what always happens throughout history: one day you're on top of the world for being a big tub of lard and the next day it's what have you done for me lately, fatso?

Gandhi kicked this problem right in the pants when pulled off the bold move of losing all that weight and becoming really amazingly skinny. He then claimed he lost the weight eating chicken. Medical reports show this was partially true, since he had picked up an orca-sized tapeworm from some undercooked chicken in New Delhi. When the tapeworm was removed it was so large it got Gandhi's record collection and his apartment, while he opted to move into a smaller place across town.

Riding high on the wave of his being-skinny-now fame, Gandhi opened chain of chicken restaurants that did very well. Known as Colonel Gandhi to fans of his chicken, Mohandas sought then to branch out into other enterprises, including a line of mylar-bagged salads and a novelty record label that pressed edible LPs. Neither were as delicious as his chicken, but they did have their advocates.

Gandhi briefly considered starting a dance craze, but soon abandoned that dream in order to fulfill his true vision for India: that everyone everywhere should have access to delicious chicken. People cheered in the streets when they heard of his plan, and Gandhi became a national hero overnight.

Unfortunately, back in that day the British owned all of India, which they had won years ago shooting craps with the Ottoman Empire. And being the pricks that they historically were, the Brits didn't want all of India getting slap-happy with delicious chicken while they had to choke down disgusting pork drippings smeared on stale English muffins. The complete disgustingness of British cuisine ruled the fates of many a people in the 19th and early 20th centuries, since the Brits had to conquer far and wide just to find a decent bite to eat.

The British told Gandhi to buzz off with his succulent rotisserie chicken, and that the people of India would have to make do with the gelatinous gravy-soaked nasty crap that the Brits called food. Gandhi thought they were kidding, and continued happily with his franchise expansion plans until the British proved they meant business by killing everyone in India. Don't try to follow the logic there, that's just the way the British did things back then. Luckily for the Indians, the Brits didn't really have a clue where the Indian people hung out, so they only actually ended up killing everyone who was hanging out at the one British pub in India, most of whom were British people and tourists.

The next day the British were shocked and awed to find Indian people out walking around in the streets, and from that moment on, old wives' tales of Indian reproductive prowess became a staple in British schools.

Gandhi sought to fight the injustice of British oppression by opening more chicken restaurants. The people applauded his defiance, and enjoyed his chicken. Over the next several years the British tried several increasingly ridiculous methods of quelling the Indian uprising, including outlawing savory flavor, forcing all known Indians to wear tight-fitting trousers and spraying crowds with cottage cheese. None of these were effective, however, as the people's love of Gandhi's chicken proved lasting.

Eventually Gandhi's methods of delicious resistance gained popularity all over the world, and the British gave up, leaving India with several take-out boxes of mouth-watering chicken under their arms. The people would have rejoiced, but they were really full and figured that a vague thumbs-up gesture communicated their approval well enough.

Years later Gandhi was assassinated by a religious fanatic who believed that chicken so good it made your dick hard was against God's plan. He wasn't arrested, since India is more of a "you made your bed now sleep in it" kind of nation, and instead he was just banned from all 12,000 Colonel Gandhi's chicken locations. Amnesty International has tried to intervene on his behalf, as have the manufacturers of several fake-nose-and-mustache disguise kits, but despite their best efforts the assassin has lived for years in delicious chicken purgatory.

Some historians have argued that Gandhi, while a fun guy, was served too generous a slice of historical notoriety given his accomplishments. They often sing another tune, however, when really hungry. Such is human nature.

º Last Column: Why Do People Have Kids?
º more columns