iting a moral obligation to use all quasi-legal means at his disposal to protect the sanctity of heterosexual marriage against any and all potential dangers, President Bush used his State of the Union address last Tuesday to call for a preemptive strike against the future threat of gay marriage. In the speech, Bush suggested that since the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruled last year that a ban on same-sex marriages was in clear violation of the US Constitution, the clear answer was to amend the Constitution and take out the part where fags can get married.

Conservatives, still upset about the 1967 Supreme Court decision that struck down state laws banning interracial marriages, applauded Bush's medicine ball-sized cajones. Meanwhile, all remaining Democratic candidates whiffed at the issue completely, knocking over the T-ball stand. Off the record, however, one candidate whose name rhymes with "you thin bitch" pointed out that despite his grave concern for the state of this sacred institution, Bush made no mention of other, more widespread threats to the sanctity of marriage, including spousal abuse, astronomical divorce rates and Britney Spears.

"I've taken it upon myself the responsibility to halt the crusading of activist judges who, I might remind you, were not elected," Bush paused for a moment during the speech for his point to sink in. The effect was not what the president had probably intended, however, since none of the assembled reporters were sure if by this he meant that judges weren't reflecting the will of the people, or if Bush was attempting to appear smarter by comparing himself to a judge, since he wasn't elected either.

"I think we might have to have a look here at that Constitution," Bush commented wryly, staring down his nose through an imaginary pair of glasses. "And make sure the founding fathers didn't sneak any other unpatriotic bits into the fine print."

When asked later if he thought the American people should vote on the contents of the Constitution every year, to prevent the document from ever conflicting with contemporary mores, whims or prejudices, President Bush pretended a large bug had flown into his ear and he couldn't hear nothing.

Vice President Dick Cheney, put in the hilariously ironic pickle of having to support an Anti-Gay president while not appearing to squeeze one on his lesbian daughter Mary, chose his words carefully. "Uuh… gay is good. Unless you think it isn't. But I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole. All people should be treated with respect and dignity. But we also shouldn't allow the fine institution of marriage to be sullied. Not that gay people are dirty. Can I go now?"

"All people are equal in God's sight," Bush announced charitably. "But let this be an example to the unpatriotic peoples in Europe and elsewhere who say the United States thinks it is God. We know where to draw the line on who gets to go heavily into debt while bowing to social convention, even if God doesn't."

Before being wrestled into a van by his handlers, Bush made vague mention of a proposed CIA program to weed out gay moles inside traditional marriages. While it is not clear how highly this threat to national insecurity ranks on the President's to-do list, most observers conclude it is likely nestled comfortable in-between "catch Saddama bin Laden" and "watch Ultimate Fighting Championship."

n another self-critical apology on national news, Vermont Governor Howard Dean tried to cheer up teary-eyed Democrats by letting them know, once again, he was sorry he yelled at them last Tuesday.

“Clearly, I was in a bad mood, or at least it seemed like I was in a bad mood,� Dean spoke slowly, in his lecture tone on Friday’s CBS Evening News With Dan Rather. “I want to make it known again, I was not yelling at you. I was just having a bad day.�

Blubbering Democratic and fence-riding undecided voters have chastised Dean, along with his supporters, for an almost human display of emotion following his third-place finish in the Iowa caucus last week. The candidate, previously holding a fair lead over other Democratic presidential nominees, has since appeared on every national media outlet except for the Food Channel and Screw! Magazine to let everyone know his yelling should not mistake him for being an exciting candidate.

“Understand,� Dean continued later, on NBC’s Later with Carson Daly show, “sometimes, you and your campaign people put a lot of work into getting your message out there, and it only helps you come in third in a state full of corn-chucking sons of—I’m sorry, sorry. Again, I’m not mad at you, Iowa. I mean, you can probably go and hand the thing to Bush right now, if you want, but—I apologize. I’m getting off message. I’m just saying, John Edwards? Isn’t he the guy that talks to dead people? How does John Edwards beat me? Tell me that and I’ll shut up.�

Dean’s efforts to apologize haven’t wavered since Tuesday’s outburst. He again tried to amend his statements and not go ballistic Saturday on M-TV’s Punk’d, with Ashton Kutcher.

“Sometimes I get a little riled up. I’m only human, or 80 percent human by-product, and I get mad sometimes. Like when Ashton made me think my car had been crushed into a cube—that was pretty funny, dude. But when I lost my temper, it wasn’t because I couldn’t take a joke. And that’s what the Iowa caucuses are, after all, right? Big fat jokes. John Edwards beats me, yeah, like I’m so sure—sorry. I’m losing my focus. What I mean to say is, sometimes, we candidates get mad and we fight with each other. But we’re not yelling at you, Democratic voters. It’s not your fault. Unless you’re from Iowa—lousy little outhouse right smack dab in the middle of America—�

Despite repeated outbursts on other news shows, Dean managed a reserved manner on Saturday morning’s Flatbush, New Jersey cable access show, 4 a.m. with Boner Cunningham.

“We’re taking lumps on this one, true, but it’s not distracting us from our campaign. The problem with this country is George W. Bush and a wayward administration, and we’re taking that message to the New Hampshire caucus, and people are responding. The Iowa caucus was a disappointing setback, but the New Hampshire caucus will show my campaign hasn’t suffered. I admit, I’m not a perfect person. I am capable of getting mad. Like when you introduced me as ‘that weird yelling guy’ on your show, or when you asked me if my statement of having ‘warts’ meant they were on my genitals. You think it’s funny, but it’s just the kind of thing that might send me into a rage if I weren’t so focused on the upcoming caucus and—look, you little shit, the word is ‘caucus,’ there’s nothing funny about it. Quit sniggering before I come over there and give you something to wail about.�

Needless to say, this reporter didn’t, and the governor did. We can safely say I think the commune has found a candidate worth endorsing.

First off, we need to get it right out in the open that I had nothing to do with that huge whale that blew up in Taiwan last week. Yes, I've received all the congratulatory post cards, phone messages, and boxes of chocolate everyone has been sending, and I thank you all for those. But I'm sorry to say the "Way to go, dude!" is not rightfully mine this time around. I wasn't even in Taiwan last week, and before you start going on about remote controlled detonators and the like, let me also add that I didn't blow up any large mammals last week that I'm aware of either. I'm sure there are still some Omar Bricks fans out there searching for some loophole where whales aren't really mammals or they're related to the platypus or some bizarre shit like that, or maybe I was sleep-pranking again, but trust me on this one guys. Just let it go. Somebody else Bricksed that whale, I spent all last week in line at the DMV getting my death certificate revoked. More on that later.

Make no mistake, I'm completely flattered that when a giant dead whale explodes in the middle of a busy Taiwanese street half a world away, showering pedestrians and shopkeepers in smoky whale gore like some kind of fucked up dead fish piñata, the name Omar Bricks springs immediately to mind. It makes me feel like a lifetime spent in the pursuit of excellence has really paid off. Good to know I'm on the "Who the fuck??" A-list.

But anyone who reads this column closely should know that ever since I blew up that dead horse at the fair a few years back, I haven't been able to get my hands on anything more explosive than a packet of Pop Rocks, scout's honor. Whoever said that reputation is the motherfucker of investigation knew what he was talking about, it's like I'm a walking background check or something. I don't know who blew up that whale, if it was a member of my Taiwan fan club or some long-lost chinky relative who always blended in at the family reunions, but you've got to admire his slanty-eyed spunk. Most people would have stopped at stuffing a stick of dynamite up a carp's ass, but this guy was thinking big. Really big, I hear this was some kind of freakish Shaq whale with a five-foot dork, no kidding. I heard that most of the people who were hurt by flying whale meat didn't duck because they were too busy yelling "Look at that whale cock!" to their friends when it blew.

The official report, of course, is that some kind of nasty gasses built up inside the whale carcass while they were transporting it from the morgue over to the whale graveyard, causing the thing to blow Orca dramatically all over Tainan street right at rush hour. Right, and swamp gas reflected off a unicorn's ass explains the Kennedy assassination. The government guys who are in charge of making that shit up are the same dudes who wrote Ishtar. I trust them about as far as I can throw up. Which is pretty far, but still.

According to commune fact machine Griswald Dreck, whales don't even get gas, thanks to a diet that's heavy on soup and light on Tostada Bel Grandes, if you know what I mean. And when you think about it, the way Griswald has, it really starts to make sense. Can you even imagine what the world would be like if whales had gas? Those fucking things are huge. You'd be reading about ocean liners being capsized by fart bubbles every day in the paper. It'd be just like Titanic, except it would smell even more like rotten eggs.

Well, shit if we're not out of space already, looks like we'll have to wait until next time to explore the issue of why the DMV won't issue a driver's license to somebody who's legally dead. Turns out that "officially" being killed in a car explosion a year and a half ago has a down-side to go with the tax advantages. Go figure.

Bricks out.

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