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.

I open this column with a firm and hearty, "Thanks, dicks." This is not directed to you dicks reading at home, but to the dicks who neglected to inform me Red Bagel had returned and the commune staff was operating normally under his rule again. I was barricaded in that office since May, fearing swift and brutal retaliation, while at any time someone could have knocked on the door and said I was merely demoted again. True, I probably would have considered it an attempt to lure me out and not believed them, but it was worth a shot.

It's all meaningless what-iffery by now, since I was forced to come out to use a regular rest room after my coffee can filled up, and noticed the staff laughing rather than lunging at me with swords and daggers. When I asked, someone even told me Bagel had annexed the floor above us for his own new office, and I could have the dank dungeon I had made my own since January, if the smell of human waste didn't nauseate me. It doesn't, so I thank Bagel's kindness and take it as a minor promotion for all my good work in his stead.

As you can tell by all this, I'm no longer a big deal around the commune offices. But from what I understand, if the door to the office had been open when Bagel returned I would have been castrated and choked with a frayed electrical cord, so waiting had its advantages as well. After enough time, and self-prescribed morphine, Bagel was back in a friendly mood and decided to merely demote me to King of Dinks, a title which Raoul Dunkin had to relinquish to me.

Some could see it as failure, but I look at it as an inverted success. Sometimes you have to fall back to the bottom of the ladder and start your career over to move ahead. And that's what I'm doing at the commune. Also, as you can see, I was mightily addicted to sharing my thoughts with the readers after months of filling in on Bagel's "Or So You Thought" column, so I decided to introduce my new rotating column "Poop of the Century." True, I wanted a regular semi-weekly feature like Finger or Bricks, but it was Bagel's suggestion I do a periodic column or sit on it and rotate, hence the idea. He was right, too; now that I'm freed of the duties of Acting-Editor I can return to my first love, masturbation—I mean, reporting. Sitting in my smelly office writing columns all day isn't my style, at least Bagel says so.

Unfortunately, the call to write a column is muddled with the call to prove to the world I'm not dead, so that's mostly what this beginner's column is about. It's important I get my Social Security number reinstated so I can find a new apartment and re-open my bank account. Personally, I'd hoped someone at the commune might have mentioned I was in the office and hadn't been killed on the job as the death certificate said, but in fairness, as Lil Duncan said, everyone was extremely busy trying to bust the piñata when the investigators dropped by.

Don't expect this little corner of the commune to be another self-indulgent crybaby's story of the little things in life that piss him off. Let the other columnists engage in that ego-stroking. Ramrod Hurley is interested in tackling the bigger issues of the day, and blowing your mind in the process. That's a lot to do in one column, one particular edition might have more blowing and less issue-tackling, but in general I'll try to mix the two well enough.

I just hope you readers are into getting tackled and blown.

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