he White House, home of the White, faced a major embarrassment this week when a release by the president's private probe into the power failures of two weeks ago pointed to a most uncomfortable source—Dick. Indeed, Vice President Dick Cheney was singled out as the leading cause of the energy problem that left multiple states in periods of blackout.

It ended a troubling week for the Vice President, whose office was accused of holding out information on an energy probe Monday by refusing to turn over documents vital to the investigation. The General Accounting Office reported the administration met with a succession of energy lobbyists, to the complete and total surprise of Americans everywhere, but the extent of corporate involvement in energy policymaking could not be verified without the documents withheld by the Vice President.

The latest revelation of Cheney's involvement in energy problems could adversely affect his position on the 2004 Republican ticket. The president's probe, inserted deep inside the problem, made note of several private excesses that may have led to the undue strain on the northeastern power grids. Cheney officials confirmed Friday that the Vice President's quarters in the White House is the only one plugged into the northeastern power grid, pointing out that the Vice President's power needs "cannot be satisfied by the piddlin'-ass power grid currently supplying the D.C. area."

One of the power offenses Cheney is accused of includes the employ of an industrial-grade air conditioner used solely for the Vice President's bedroom. Some say the personal air conditioner is the only 90-million BTU unit made for personal use. Vice Presidential spokesperson Canton Canby only responded to the allegation by claiming, "The VP likes to walk around naked."

Close investigation by the probe, under the guidance of Neilson "Soft Crust" Reilly, revealed that virtually nothing in the Vice President's White House quarters were not temperature-regulated. His personal pool and hot tub were heated, and his private work-out room, never used, we can guess, was cooled. Documentation also proves the VP had his sauna air conditioned and his refrigerator heated, as the best way to keep balanced temperatures to all things. Personal assistant Canby did not find the temperature regulation obsession strange.

"Well, maybe to the working man that sounds like an odd thing, but I know if I were doing work as important as the Vice President, I certainly wouldn't want to be worried about how hot or cold my fridge needed to be to enjoy a frosty beverage when I got home from the Middle East or wherever he's gone off to."

Among the more alarming findings of the probe were hospital-grade shock paddles. Canby, now sweating and in need of an industrial-strength air conditioner himself, found nothing odd about the frequently-used paddles, employed by the VP sometimes up to six times a day.

"What? So you got to be dead to want a charge from those things? There's no law says you got to be dead. The Vice President got used to the jump start you get from absorbing electricity straight into the body. There's no law against it and at the time we weren't under orders to conserve energy. Get off the guy's back. Sometimes his heart needs a little warning blast to know to keep doing its job, if it knows what's good for it."

Canby refused to answer further questions on the probe's accusations, waiting to receive the results from a probe conducted by the Vice President's wife, Lynn Cheney, under the objective to find out who left all these lights on in here.

e's brash, he's young, at least in comparison to some other congressman, and he's dangerous. Really dangerous. Seriously, he was recently charged with manslaughter in the death of another motorist. He's South Dakota Representative Bill Janklow, and he's emerging as one of a new breed of rebellious new legislators everyone's talking about.

Authorities charged Janklow Friday with second-degree manslaughter following an Aug. 16 accident when the congressional hellion ran a stop sign traveling at speeds in excess of 70 mph in a 55-mph zone. Whether Janklow was speeding to a hot-to-trot lobbyists' convention or fleeing a savage pack of political paparazzi could not be discerned at press time, but rumors abounded.

Janklow is one of a bold new wave of congressmen creating new political fads. In modern America, where the average fair-weather voter is stuck in the middle of the road and too overweight to drag himself out, Janklow and his posse all have their staunch far-wing opinions—just don't ask them what they are! In fact, Janklow has refused to even identify where he stands on major issues to his own constituency—preferring to sell them the new favorite platform of improved standards of living and honesty and integrity in representation, as long as they don't want details on how we get those things. But make no mistake, his voting record demonstrates he's a Republican—hardcore, motherfucker! Janklow may be the quiet, shy type, but he's not afraid to tow the party line when it comes to the voting floor.

The South Dakota legislator has earned the nickname among associates as "Bad Billy" for his spotty driving record, his pro-GOP voting record, and his hygiene. Consumer activist and delusional Green Party presidential candidate Ralph Nader sent a strongly-worded letter to Janklow requesting his resignation. The incident was described by Nader as "the taking of life by a driver relentlessly bent on turning his vehicle into a lawless, dangerous missile," the Unsafe at Any Speed author wrote in his trademark prose bursting with sensuality.

"Dangerous? Definitely. Boring? Never!" sassed Belfront Herb, responding to questions no one asked. The gossip columnist and Washington (D.C.) insider is also the editor and only contributor to the underground political scandal zine Filibuster, and they've made Janklow their "Hunk o' the Month."

"He's not all talk like those stodgy old senators, and he may not be on the popular committees, but he's hot stuff in the 108th!" claimed the girlish fop. "A lot of naysayers will tell you he's another blend-into-the-background representative, and all his misbehaviour is a failed attempt to stand out. But I'm telling you, and you heard it here from me first, Boomer—we've got another Ted Kennedy on our hands. A future Bob Dole or Jesse Helms. I would say one day the name Bill Janklow will hang in the Congressional Hall of Fame next to Henry Clay. But since they're all in alphabetical order that will really throw the whole scheme out of whack."

This reporter attempted to remind the funny-but-not-in-a-ha-ha-way Washington insider the congressman is facing felony charges with a 10-year minimum sentence, but he refused to address the issue. Unwanted sexual advances forced the interview to conclude early, and the calls at the commune offices have yet to stop.

Cancer's just not as funny as it used to be. I mean, seriously, remember when cancer used to be hilarious? Like dad would come home from work and you'd be like "How's your day, pops?" and he'd say "Just found out my liver's rotted through with cancer!" and you'd both laugh and laugh? Those were the days.

Nowadays you have to pretend like it's breaking your heart that somebody's going to start pooping out lungs soon and you can't even giggle when they're moaning "I'm dyin' here, I'm really dyin'!" It's a total drag. People just don't have any kind of sense of humor about themselves anymore, everything's all "Woe is me, I live out every moment in agonizing pain." Thanks a lot for bringing me down, asshole. I just spent four bucks on this ice cream for nothing.

When I was a kid, if one of your classmates had cancer you were allowed to push him down the stairs and say his dad's a fag; that made you popular. And I don't remember the kids with cancer complaining, they just appreciated the attention. That's all anybody who's got three months to live wants, anyway, is attention. It shouldn't matter if it's "pretending to listen to all your crybaby stories" attention or "pushing you in your wheelchair off a ski jump" attention, that's really splitting hairs. And hey, don't give me all that sore-loser bullshit about your wheelchair being all ruined now, if you hadn't bet on yourself you'd have plenty of money to buy another one. I know I do.

Don't forget that other cancer dude who smoked you on the ramp is living the good life over in the traction ward, and you know he's not complaining.

What really gets me though, are all these bleeding-heart liberals who don't even have cancer but still get their Volvos in a bunch when I think something's funny. Like when that commercial comes on in the theater, before the movie, with all the bald little kids talking about cancer research and blah blah blah. Now that's some funny shit! You see those kids? They're balder than my dad, and they're only like five! Where do they find those freaks? I'm telling you, I could watch that shit all day if I didn't have a theater full of Good Samaritans pelting me with popcorn and booing and shit. Please. Like any of them had cancer when they were kids.

I tell you, the world's full of people trying to ruin my good time. If it's not some pastel-colored killjoy petitioning to cancel a hilarious show like World's Greatest Police Chases, it's some other curmudgeon telling me I can't visit the fat camp unless I'm a family member. I tried telling that guy they should charge admission, because I know at least a dozen guys who would bust a nut watching those lard-assed little kids try to run an obstacle course and falling down and having asthma attacks and shit, but wouldn't you know he's one of those lost-cause fruits who puts a child's "dignity" ahead of profit. Like any of those little butterbutts wouldn't trade his or her dignity for a big slice of pie. He didn't think that was funny either, and the bastard confiscated my pie.

I tell you, it's a lonely life, being one of the only guys out there with a sense of humor. And hey, it's not like I fail to see the humor in my own misfortune. Just last week, some lady's little yappy dog ran out in front of my truck and just creamed the thing, made a real mess of the front end. And I had just washed the damn thing. But did I mope around, like the world had just crapped in my salad? No way, I laughed my ass off! Did you see how far that little dog flew? Jesus Christ, I thought that thing was some kind of rubber dog for a second there! Holy shit that was funny.

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