ovember's presidential election officially became a four-man race when Sen. John Edwards, of North Carolina, announced Wednesday he had picked Sen. John Kerry to be his presidential running mate, throwing in his own hat for the vice-presidency. Edwards, the dynamic Kennedyesque Congressman who gave Kerry a real challenge in the race for the Democratic nomination, could provide enough boost to take the party into the White House this fall.

"No longer will America be divided under the current administration," Edwards declared, towering over a small podium as his bellows carried across a crowd of supporters. "We will stand united, and the people will have their way when we win back the White House!"

Edwards, the ten-foot tall former trial lawyer, had Kerry announce his decision in an email Tuesday, followed by a longer press conference on Wednesday. Rumors the two had disagreed on many key issues were dispelled when the behemoth senator hoisted Kerry up in his palm and carried him through the crowd on his shoulders.

"Edwards-Kerry in 2004!" they both shouted to the crowd.

Party insiders have speculated Kerry might decline Edwards ticket invitation, opting for a less stunning candidate, like Florida Sen. Bob Graham, Missouri Sen. What's-His-Name, or Joe Piscopo. Rumors had put Kerry at seeking Republican senator John McCain of Arizona for bipartisan ticket, but insiders say Kerry feared an assassination at the hands of Fox News and Clear Channel radio executives.

In the end, the Massachusetts senator accepted the offer to join the Edwards vice presidential ticket, putting to rest fears the junior North Carolina political superstar would overshadow… uhm… oh, shit, I just said it… you know, rhymes with Larry. Kerry! In his acceptance speech Wednesday, Edwards defied Kerry critics who accused the senator of leading an uninspired race and being an undead zombie.

"I've known this man for at least a few weeks. I think we've met before that, but I'm not that sure," said Edwards, gesturing to a man sitting two seats down from Kerry, before being corrected by an assistant. "This one, this one's John Kerry, and he's going to be our next president. He's got years of experience in Congress, and an outstanding record of service for our country. And I'm sure he's done other stuff. And I'll be happy to make him my partner as I pursue the vice-presidency!"

Concluded the Herculean young senator: "Change is coming, Washington, and that change will be called… aw, shit. I just said it! I just said it…"

The Bush campaign shook off any worries about the threat of an Edwards-Kerry ticket.

"People respond to the vice-president," said campaign spokesperson Wanda Waywitten. "Some people say he's a mean son of a bitch, a cruel, cruel little man, but I don't believe it. People only call him Dick because it's his name, despite what all those rumors suggest. He's not scared of death, his tiny heart has stopped so many times, so he's certainly not scared of a ten-foot Democrat. Is it really true he carved Mount Rushmore?"

Edwards has inspired many hopes Democrats in search of fiery, presidential leaders. Though his political career has lasted only a short duration, Edwards previously spent years as a trial lawyer, and his life inspired the John Grisham novel The Rainmaker. Before passing the bar, some say Edwards stomped through North America and created the Great Lakes, once brewed the world's best beer, and invented the first radio. Legend also has it he designed all the album covers for Yes and lassoed the moon, all before his 25th birthday.

pon his return to Iraq's interim "sovereign" government, former dictator and one-time Iraqi big man Saddam Hussein was hit with a multimillion dollar lawsuit for damages, including punitive, and citing "mental anguish." The group, describing itself as "Now-Free Iraqis Completely Happy with American Help," had the dictator served in his new prison cell in Baghdad.

Lawyer for the plaintiffs Abazzi al-Shidir made the case to American newspapers.

"Finally, the Iraqi people are hitting back at the one who caused them so much grief and misery. If Saddam Hussein hadn't been hiding weapons of mass destruction—and we're all pretty sure they're around here somewhere—the U.S. never would have had to liberate us. Not to mention all the years of terrorism he committed upon his own people—which is us—and the mental anguish he inflicted. He'll be found guilty of war crimes, no doubt. But we want him to suffer financially as well. And with our new legal system, he will."

Al-Shidir could not comment on the demographics of those who filed the class-action suit, but assured the media they came from all walks of Iraqi life and represented the majority of the country. If the suit rewards the plaintiffs, al-Shidir confirmed they would use the money to rebuild Iraq's economy and restore order to the nation, and would likely draw up a contract for American companies to bid upon.

It was hard news for Saddam Hussein, who spent much of last week enduring the public handover to the new government of his former country. Hussein denounced all threats to bring him to justice in public trial.

"Ah, fuck you all, you hopeless puppets," grumbled Hussein, as a translator struggled to properly interpret the swear words. "You and the camels you road in on. You all didn't say shit when I was running the show. I piss on your justice. Ally McBeal had a less fictional courtroom. Whatever you do, don't charge me with possessing weapons of mass destruction—I would hate to see everyone strain themselves hauling in that much imaginary evidence. And in conclusion, suck me."

A garish gesture was made to the public, who all applauded, thinking it was something else.

The return of Saddam Hussein was sometimes overshadowed by the "surprise" handing over of the hot potato country from U.S. coalition forces, who are still there as resident muscle, to the interim government led by temporary Prime Minister Iyad Allawi, who took over following the death of the most recent in a series of unsuccessful Prime Ministers, who were either killed in terror attacks, horrific missile-related accidents, suicides, or killed by their own dissatisfied people.

"Finally, Iraq is free," declared Allawi, raising his hands in the air and shaking them like a WWE wrestler.

Allawi then instituted martial law, for the protection of the city, and demanded the assets of suspected terrorists be frozen while they were investigated. The people were rushed off the streets by armed police since the curfew was quickly approaching, while the citizens said something in Iraqi, probably about how nice it was Saddam Hussein was finally out of power.

You ever get a nagging feeling, like you left the gas on or forgot to piss out the campfire? Like you're forgetting something but you have no idea what it could be? That's the way the last week was for me until I realized I've spent the last ten years forgetting to get life insurance. Now, I know what you're thinking, that Omar Bricks and life insurance go together like a peanut butter and asscrack sandwich. That this is exactly the kind of dainty bullshit that points to my evil twin being the one who emerged from the smoking hull of that dogsled wreck years ago. That this is Exhibit A proving that Omar Bricks has gone soft like a hard-on during The Crying Game. And those concerns are understandable. Fuck you still, but they're understandable.

But even if it chaps your nads to do so, follow my logic here. Who really needs life insurance? Some milk-fed weenie in a three-piece suit? Some middle manager from Kansas City whose idea of a good time is folding the Wall Street Journal into a sailor hat and prancing around the house while the kids are at bocce ball practice? Shit no, those guys are throwing money down a hole that they're never going to see again, it's like investing in a record company that gives a shit about quality. The only people who stand to make a little money in the life insurance business are the ones who face death on a weekly basis, either due to their vocation or a propensity for taunting the psychotic, that kind of shit. And since my vocation is official representative for the Omar Bricks Nation, it's my job to represent, and represent everything Omar Bricks stands for. Which often involves almost getting my ass killed.

So this week I decided to stop playing it like a chump and see what I could do about lining myself up for a sweet payday upon the eventuality that I take a samurai sword to the noggin or get hit in the nuts by a bus. Most of the places I called specialized in boring policies, paying off if I got my ass kicked by cancer or packed enough pig lard into my heart for that to become a problem. Talk about a snooze-fest, I fell asleep on the phone twice talking to these guys. But that was before I found Moe Sherwood, who's just about the only insurance guy out there with a little imagination or hair on his balls.

Moe specializes in policies that read like the script for a summer blockbuster, packed with incentives for kicking the bucket in exciting and edge-of-your-seat kind of ways. Like the policy I got, the "Motherfucker," it pays off double if I'm ever fucked to death by a great white shark. You may laugh, but strange shit can happen when you're skinny dipping in the ocean, especially if you're smart enough to rub a pork chop all over your body first to guarantee that you get to see some cool fish.

I swear, this thing is practically written with Omar Bricks in mind. It pays off big time if I'm ever hit by a car while hang-gliding. That shit almost happened to me last week! Or if you're ever mistaken for a deer, shot by hunters and mounted over some dude's fireplace, you're going to be one rich dead motherfucker. Electrocuted while burrowing into a sub-Saharan anthill in the middle of the night? Break out the best coffin they make, dude, because you can afford it. Hell, you can have them install a flat-screen TV inside or cover the outside with LEDs like that sidewalk in Vegas where it looks like there are jets flying over your head. Your funeral's going to be more entertaining than the last three Harry Potter movies.

Now I know what you're thinking, unless you're fantasizing about Lindsay Lohan or something, in that case I guessed wrong, but I bet most of you are wondering what good all that money's going to do me if I'm dead. And you're right on that, though I'm sure Foghat would greatly enjoy his role as the policy's benefactor, he still doesn't know how to operate the can opener and would eventually have to forage for food after he'd eaten the rest of the couch. So that whole scenario would suck butt for Omar Bricks. But you have to admit it would be pretty sweet for Navarro Bricks, the dashing Cuban ex-patriot cousin who lives in my house and is exactly like me in every way except for the convincing Cuban accent.

Hey, anything to help out a family member. Bricks out.

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