Legislators Mull National "Do Not Rape" List

.S. lawmakers, called on to help clear the murky waters of consent in sexual situations between adults, responded today with a plan to create the national “Do Not Rape� registry, a centralized list of American women who are officially not asking for it.

Inspired by the sensationalized rape charges brought against NBA superstar Kobe Bryant by an unnamed Colorado woman, the registry would provide a way for U.S. women to proactively opt-out of unwanted sexual encounters with any of the growing legion of clueless sexual predators populating America’s bars and dark alleys.

The proposed list would mirror the recently created “Do Not Call� registry and the impending “Do Not Spam� list, and would mandate that all men intending to have rough sex with strangers would be required to check the list of names every three months or risk up to a $1,500 fine, jail time, or neither.

“If a woman says no, but only fights you off half-heartedly, that’s the most encouragement many of these guys will ever receive,� explained defense attorney Richard Spackle. “It can be very confusing.�

“Like what if she’s saying ‘No, no, no!’ but the guy’s Hawaiian or something and his name is Nono? That could happen. You gonna send Nono to jail just because he thought she was cheering him on? That’s discrimination, plain and simple.�

Legal experts and sports fans applaud the proposal, hailing the list as a step forward into an enlightened new age when the public will no longer have to guess which of the two people involved in a rape trial is the total piece of shit.

“This legislation could bring relief to many who desperately need it,� commented legal expert and student taxidermist Rutherford Wank. “Women who speak up with allegations of rape will be spared the muckraking and character assassination all too common in the modern rape trial. And even more importantly, American males will be free to fuck crazy bitches again.�

Other proposed lists reportedly being discussed in Washington include a national “Do Not Kick My Dog� registry, a “Do Not Masturbate to My Image� registry, and the controversial “Do Not Exploit My Unskilled Labor� registry, which has already drawn harsh criticism from several U.S. corporations. As of press time, no exploitive, dog-kicking masturbators could be reached for comment.

nswering lawsuits filed by the ACLU and American Arab groups, the Justice Department touted the U.S.A. Patriot Act as the most effective tool against non-whites the government has ever had, at least since the outlaw of Jim Crow laws. The Patriot Act, named so in a misguided attempt to gain public sympathy through outlandish propaganda terms, was passed in the wake of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and allows the government easier access to wiretaps, monitors of suspicious individuals, and anything they damn well think is important.

Groups challenging the Patriot Act claim it gives the government too much unquestioned access to the privacy of Americans without the need to substantiate charges. Defenders of the group were too busy accessing the purchase records, credit reports, and group affiliations of the challengers to bother responding.

"Helping the government fight terrorism is one thing, the tactics endorsed by the Patriot Act are entirely another," said ACLU attorney Kim Wilde. "Let's suppose I'm a terrorist, living on American soil and taking flight lessons vital to my group's jihad. I buy one paperback of The Catcher in the Rye and all of a sudden the FBI is jumping all up my ass thinking I'm going to try to kill a Beatle or something. It's entirely without reason."

Arabic groups likewise expressed dismay.

"It's outrageous, even more than outrageous," insisted Arabic Anti-Defamation League spokesperson Bindari Al-Abib. "The Asians have had All-American Girl and The Joy Luck Club. The Indians have Bend it Like Beckham now. When will Arabs at last get their own sitcom? Just hear me out now. My idea is a single dad, a radiologist, named Amir. He works in a hospital, but a really funny hospital, and has an Arabic love interest who is also a radiologist. He's also a single dad, with two wise-cracking kids."

Opponents of the sitcom say the workplace and family comedy is long dead, and a hospital is a depressing place for people to work. While defenders of the Patriot Act express the necessity for the government to be given leeway in times of difficulty.

"Let's get something straight," said Justice Department spokesperson James Gattlebritch, "the government is wise and trustworthy enough to be trusted with access to anything they want. What do you think, the U.S. government is going to waste time checking out Amazon.com records to see you bought Kangaroo Jack? As if! Get over yourself, folks. We're only looking for the people who are terrorist, and have known affiliation with terrorist groups. Or look shady. Just, you know, shady. You know the kind of people."

The ambiguity of language leads many skeptics to believe the Justice Department is engaging in illegal racial profiling. An allegation some are comfortable with.

One proponent of racial profiling is author and conservative advocate Rash Tinker. "Facts are facts. It makes no sense to pull white people out of line at the airline checkpoints and search them for terrorist weapons. It's just common sense. When have white people ever been terrorists? Outside of the IRA and a few European nationalist groups, never. We know the Arabs are responsible for the biggest terrorist act since the Oklahoma City bombing. I don't see the problem with just searching Arabs."

Welcome to part one of a very special commune promotional feature (what the powers that be at the commune don't know won't hurt them), a series of excerpts from my upcoming book "You Look Like An Asshole: The History of Fads." Unless the world ends in the next month, parts one and two will look at the greatest fad decade ever known to man: the 1950's.

The 1950's were a fertile decade for embarrassing fads, as the national IQ had reached a record low not seen since the days when our ancestors thought it would be fun to take the Indians out and get them drunk. America in the 1950's was still reeling from the fact that the country's best minds had burnt themselves out cracking Nazi code in WWII, so by the 50's they just spent their time inventing crap like the hula-hoop and the scooter. This is the only acceptable explanation for a generation of otherwise passable Homo sapiens running around with tap shoes on their feet all the time. Nobody is certain how that insanity got started, but it wasn't long before you weren't anybody if you didn't sound like a team of Clydesdales walking down the street. Eventually this trend had to be outlawed after basketball spectators started going deaf and there was one too many tragic fires started by workers in the nation's flint quarries.

When looking at Fads of the 50's, few can top the practice of piling a bunch of assholes into a phone booth for the present-day denial factor of all involved. This originally started as a way for Universities to inexpensively house foreign exchange students, but before long the insecure white student populace decided that no foreign pinkos were going to show them how many peer-pressured nimrods you could squeeze into a phone booth. Like all fads, this soon grew out of hand and by 1958 it was impossible to find a phone booth anywhere that wasn't stuffed to the ceiling with dead college students.

Later, after the practice was outlawed, it was discovered that the record everyone was trying to beat (25 people stuffed into one telephone booth) was actually set by two guys who were so stoned that every time the phone rang they thought there was somebody else in the booth with them. Thankfully for the runaways and drug dealers with a legitimate need to use public telephones, this fad was soon replaced with one involving how many duck farts you could squeeze into a Volkswagen.

Another front-runner for stupidest fad ever was the Duck's Ass haircut. Invented by a barber in the 1940's as a joke on neighborhood kids he didn't like, the grease-mop style spread locally as all the other kids became insecure that their heads didn't look enough like the ass-end of a duck and demanded a quick remedy to their respectable appearance. This fluke probably would have ended with that gaggle of lead paint chip-eating imbeciles, but as fate would have it, dimwitted local rocker Roger Stagg of the Jersey Turnpikes inadvertently modeled the style while being beaten by the New York City police on the evening news one night in 1951, and within minutes of the broadcast the Duck's Ass had landed on heads all throughout the faux-tough world. Musicians and movie stars mistook the style for the look of the street, and after they adopted the haircut it trickled down and eventually became the actual look of the street, in some kind of bizarre chicken-eating-an-egg loop that it hurts the brain to comprehend.

However, this look soon faded away after a few dozen greasers bought the farm while blowing out the candles on their birthday cakes, and tales of these grisly grease-fire head infernos spread to suburbia. That part was left out of The Outsiders; but trust me, it was like Vietnam crossed with a Michael Jackson Pepsi commercial.

The 1950's also saw the birth of the panty raid, a masculine rite of passage for guys who would never, ever get laid. This unfortunate craze started when some wiseacre convinced the incoming class of freshman males at Tulane University that if they snuck into the girls' dorms and stole all their underwear, the girls would have no choice but to walk around naked all year and have promiscuous sex with anyone who asked politely. This being the 1950's, the guys bought it hook, line and sinker, and a shallow gene pool tradition was born. At first girls retaliated by staging their own boxer raids, but that turned out to be a lot of work and soon the girls discovered that sleeping only with jerks was the best revenge of all.

There were more ridiculous fads in the 1950's alone than there are deadbeat dads on the commune payroll, but this column is already longer than Leo Tolstoy's wedding vows so you'll have to stuff that curiosity back into the cat until next issue. Until then and possibly after, I'm Griswald Dreck.

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