he death of legendary comedian Buddy Hackett early last week at the age of 78 was met with fond remembrances and tributes from his family and fans, and a collective relieved sigh from the nation’s remaining elderly celebrities.

“You know how the saying goes,� explained Bob Hope, 100. “Celebrities always die in threes. After Peck and Hepburn went, every celebrity over 60 had to wonder if they would be next. Actually, I think most of these assholes thought it would be me. Maybe I’m just oversensitive, but I was definitely getting some strange looks last week.�

“To be honest, I thought it would be Bob Hope,� confessed comedian Red Buttons, 85. “How old is that guy? He’s definitely cheating death at this point. That guy’s so old he looks like a big walking scrotum. If he gets any older, some far-off king’s gonna have to wrap him up in a silk box like a goddamned royal tortoise. When he does go they might have to count that as three celebrity deaths wrapped in one, like some kind of loophole for rolling over the oldometer.�

Some elderly celebrities handled the superstitious deathwatch more gracefully than others, with actress Fay Wray, 96, noted by loved ones for her calm demeanor and total lack of response to external stimuli all week. Comedian Sid Caesar, 81, took the threat more seriously, locking himself in a hyperbaric chamber with a pistol upon hearing the news of Hepburn’s death. “Let ‘em come and get me,� Caesar was quoted as snarling as the door to the chamber was sealed. It was unclear whether Caesar was referring to old age or gremlins.

“I liked Buddy and all, but if it was between him and me, and it was, I’d pick me. So I’m glad it was him. He was probably in bad shape, anyway,� rambled Phyllis Diller, 86. “Probably had a compacted bowel or the snorts or something, he’s probably better off. I definitely am.�

While talking to a pair of twentysomething autograph-seekers, actor Mickey Rooney, 83, commented on his fondness for Hackett, with whom he once shared an ice cream. Rooney then answered his fans’ queries by explaining that Hackett was neither the mascot for Lee jeans nor the inventor of the hackey sack.

As they walked away, one fan was heard commenting to the other.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey Rourke looks like shit!�

Actor Karl Malden, 90, eulogized earnestly about Bob Hope’s career for 20 minutes before this reporter could adequately explain that it had been Hackett, not Hope, who passed away last week.

“Nah, you’re funnin’ me,� colloquialized Malden. “If Bob Hope’s still alive, how come he’s been haunting my dreams all week? Unless that was Eli Wallach. Hmm. Is that bastard still alive? Tell you the truth; it starts to get hard to tell ‘em apart after a certain age, they all take on that Jacob Marley look after about 80. Shit, maybe it was the Ghost of Christmas Past! Gah! What’d I give you last Christmas, the bath towel or the VCR?�

This reporter left Mr. Malden to his soul-searching, opting to pursue a quote and a Dilly bar from a passing ice-cream truck driver.

ascists everywhere were delighted when news of the Pentagon's DARPA technology sailed predictably beneath the radar when announced to the news media Wednesday. America, believed to be fully absorbed in the release of Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde and the death of screen legend Katherine Hepburn, hit the snooze alarm on the report, unconcerned what it could mean for antiquated notions such as privacy and government boundaries.

DARPA, the geekish acronym for the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, proudly announced the creation of urban surveillance technology this Wednesday purported necessary in the defense of the country. The defensive surveillance equipment will protect our country by being placed in other countries, where U.S. troops will be found. Pentagon defense plans project the U.S. being completely defendable by 2020, when U.S. troops will be stationed in every country throughout the world except the U.S.

The key component of the surveillance technology, built for urban battlegrounds, lies in the computer software so complex it can identify vehicles by size, shape, color, and license plate number, and can even identify vehicle passengers' faces. Add-ons to the program are being designed to identify the titles of books in vehicles and the contents of passenger wallets, should the need ever suddenly pop up.

"Privacy nuts," previously referred to as "Americans" prior to 2001, challenge the necessity of such equipment and worry the domestic implications are extremely dangerous.

"It's all fine and good to say this technology is only going to be used on foreigners," said privacy watchdog and University of South Hampton, Cambridge custodian Rutherford Mays, "but it only takes another big movie weekend for the government to sneak this technology into major cities and start using it for 'our own safety.' It is not enough that rights to search and seizure have been unconstitutionally bypassed in the name of this War on Terror, or that our computers are being turned into high-tech tagging tools. Now they're developing laser eyes than can pierce your walls and read the dirty magazines under your mattress. And that really pisses me off, because I didn't pay all that money to share those magazines with government laser eye technology."

According to Pentagon spokesperson Col. Gary Gawain, the issue has already been addressed in previous memos concerning the production of the technology from no less a source than former Central Command Gen. Tommy "Frankie" Franks. In short? Frankie says relax.

"All of this fuss over a 'what if' situation is pretty silly," said Gawain, straightening a pipe in his mouth and adjusting a smoking jacket he inexplicably wore to the press meeting. "Technically, a bomb could go off tomorrow and kill everyone in the country and the technology would never be set up—wouldn't you feel like quite the ass then? What you're looking for is a definitive declaration that the surveillance equipment developed by DARPA will never be used against American citizens for political reasons or personal vendettas, and I think it's safe to assure you completely this technology will never be set up domestically before 2004. Possibly even later, the designs are a little sketchy. Now don't you feel befuddled?"

Gawain could not respond to further questions, as he was cackling loudly as he disappeared down a trap door leading who knows where.

Scream out loud in joyous revelry, good people. I get married this weekend and the last gasp of the single man is coming out now. We call it the bachelor party.

You may interrupt me with more of your trademark, "But Rok…" shit, but I don't have time to stop and listen. When is the bachelor party, you ask? Was it last night, last weekend? Or is it tonight? Bitch, Rok Finger don't throw no pissant four-hour bachelor party. It's going on presently. All week, from the official first night Red Bagel invited us over for the ceremonial cracking of the first keg right up until I say my drunken wedding vows. I'm going to party like it's the last week of my life! It effectively is, I believe.

It started out as a typical bachelor party plan, when fortunately good friend and a little too-hippie-for-my-tastes associate Omar Bricks got involved, with the sage advice that one-night parties were earmark signs of a pussy. Am I pussy, he asked me? Well, obviously I disagreed with that notion, so once we got the liquor flowing at Bagel's house, we decided the bachelor party would set a Guinness record. Though how much Guinness one man can drink before he drops dead is anyone's guess. Assuming Boner Cunningham is actually still breathing, he may be the title holder. We would check and see but most of us are too drunk to bend over that far without going down for good.

All the dudes and Lil Duncan are invited to the happenin' bachelor party. We tried to keep Lil out, but when you mix alcohol and men together she estimates she has a moral obligation to attend. All of my private friends and office mates of the XY-gender are enjoying the festivities, except for Ramrod Hurley. That man will enjoy the slow rot on a spit in hell, and I won't have him muck up my social events. But even former office camel toe Raoul Dunkin is having fun. At least he was before Bagel & company t.p.'d him and sent him rolling down the stairs to see how far he could roll through the offices of Crochet! magazine.

Yes, even my old drinkin'/apartment livin' buddies Lee and traitorous Camembert are invited. I made amends with both when we stopped by their apartment building to burn it down. Turns out it may have all been a misunderstanding, I couldn't understand Camembert too well with that wheelchair of his yelling obscenities all the time. But he and Lee joined us at the daily office party here, and it's been fun on a stick ever since. Actually, I haven't seen Camembert, and now that I think about it I don't believe the offices are handicapped accessible. Still, he had enough to drink last night where he can't even tell he's carrying on with the street people out front.

Red Bagel has been a tremendous father figure to me in my comparably short time at the commune. In all my work situations, I've never felt such a kinship with my boss, and such a dire need to keep both eyes open at all times. Maybe putting dillhole Hurley in charge for a while made me realize what a vital part Red Bagel is in all our lives, and to show him that, I've asked him to give me away at my wedding. He hasn't responded yet, he's been comatose since late Friday, but I believe he's just trying to win a bet now.

Don't feel too bad about our female co-workers, by the way. Lil Duncan may not be involved, but Ivana Folger-Balzac and Clarissa Coleman have been having their own wild bachelorette party with my wife-to-be Felchyana, showing her what it means to be an American woman. We also invited some of the other staff of commune wives and girlfriends, such as Omar Bricks' new love Osaka, Ramon Nootles' blow-up doll, and a picture Boner Cunningham cut out from a magazine. It's not quite the show ours is, considering Clarissa Coleman couldn't make it due to out-of-town engagements, and Ivana is a hyper-bitch, but neither Felchyana nor Osaka speak English, so they have that in common.

But what do I care about her needs? I'm about to be her husband! Party on, jack!

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