week following the Democratic National Convention, and nearly a month after Milwaukee's Green Party Convention, a lesser known third party held their national convention in Athens, Georgia. The Hemp Party, formed in 2002, officially announced their candidates for the 2004 presidency.

It's their first presidential election, but in the air was a sense of excitement, and a familiar odor the commune couldn't quite place. One after another, speakers rose to express their vision of one unified party, to lay out the platform, and to define their four years in control of the White House, all in the convention site of the Athens Holiday Inn off Highway 31.

"We're going to win this, 'cause, I really think we got a chance," declared Hemp Party Consultant Daniel Vincent. "People call me crazy, and you can call me crazy, you know, whatever… but if people just, like, rose up and all voted their conscience and shit, we'd have the White House. And maybe I'm an optimist, man, but I say it could happen."

The party starts at a severe disadvantage, not only as a third party, but a relatively new third party that not only lacks national funding, but has yet to establish themselves with a wide variety of voters. In fact, the party doesn't even have a presence in more than six states, though thanks to chat rooms, word is growing. Even if they don't take the White House, which some would describe as a political and real-world impossibility, they hope to build party support and name recognition through their efforts. Since their nominees will not appear on any ballots, the party said they are putting the faith on word-of-mouth buzz and write-in ballots.

No schedule of events was given out to guests, or even compiled, but a less fascist approach to conventions called on speakers to stand up and "get shit off their mind" when they felt inclined to address the body of 37 who attended from all over the country. Like Nate, the cat with the Bob Marley shirt, he's from Alaska, and hitched down just to be here.

"We are the future, man," said Lindsey DeLila, a party Consultant from Wisconsin. "Not the guys in office now. They're old, and they don't even know their time is over. They got to give up the government, so sooner or later, we have to run the country. I'm so stoked about this I could, like, lose it, right here."

Like many in attendance, DeLila represented former Green Party voters who were dissatisfied with the party being taken over by corporations, or their general uptight nature; other newcomers to the Hemp Party showed up thinking it was something different. But no matter the variety of backgrounds, the greatest excitement of the night came when Party Head Billy "Party-Head" Kinkaid announced their 2004 presidential ticket: Joey "Rooster" Jackson, and his running mate, some guy named Dave who wouldn't reveal his last name.

"I believe the children are our future," said Jackson, stifling a giggle and waving for Dave to quiet down, as his speech stirred the bleary-eyed audience. "Teach them well, and let them lead the way. Because in the end… I get knocked down, but I get up again… yeah, that's it! You know the words!"

Lyric, off-rhythm chanting began, signifying the end of the convention as local authorities showed up with complaints about noise.

acing a unified Democratic front and a race as tight as 2000 in November, Republicans have made some attempt to bring Amish voters to the polls in 2004. Desperate? Perhaps, but a strong turnout by the Amish could make a difference in critical states Ohio and Pennsylvania, and the Amish are a group whose votes would certainly swing Republican, making for a demographic worth cow-towing to.

Because of their religious mania, which is to say the particularity of their Christianity, the Amish vote on issues of morality and favor the Republican choice in most of those cases, such as the GOP stance on abortion and homosexual marriage. Wars built on false evidence and conducted for private financial gain of corporations apparently aren't as big a priority.

Can Republicans actually convince the Amish to brave the asphalt roads and scary power lines to bring their vote to town? Even as the GOP moves in to woo voters, some in the withdrawn collective are stirring up Bush support among the buttonless.

"We admire George W. Bush, and what his America stands for," said Pennsylvania Dutch man Wooster Kurth. "Of course, we don't have televisions and are forbidden to read the paper. But what we've heard, we like."

He's not alone either. The threat of a tight race against the Democrats, who have allowed women and the ethnic into their ranks, has stirred the Amish to action, creating many potential votes for Bush. And since their children aren't sent off to die in wars and they don't participate in our economy, why not?

"We feel America has followed an insane path," said Ohio Amish woman Mildred Hansard, churning butter in an erotic fashion. "The moral decay is present everywhere, in the reprehensible behavior of your Patty Dukes and Mamie Van Dorens, your micro-mini-skirt fashions, and jazz. We believe, based on the wooden pamphlets passed out to us, that your President Bush is a man of strong moral character. And besides, it would be exciting to go into town later on this year. Nothing happening around here, the Lord knows."

Because of their high intolerance for religious diversity and the free will of mankind, the Amish make an ideal voting group for Republicans. Also, they avoid the news at all costs and never seek out more information on any subject, making them very similar to Fox News viewers. In an age when election votes are counted and recounted in Florida, and considering both Pennsylvania and Ohio use Amish-approved paper voting systems, even a reasonable number of Amish voters could give the administration a chance for hard-to-win states.

The question remains: Can the GOP convince enough Amish voters to turn out to make that difference? The Republicans must consider it a possibility, based on recent additions to their platform:

1) A 30% tax break for families with an annual income of $0 and no electricity.

2) A federal amendment defining barn raisings as a wholesome, pro-family event.

3) Intercourse, Pennsylvania name to be changed to something less hell-inducing.

Insiders also report of memos circulating around the White House, suggesting Bush begin growing a beard without a mustache before the 2004 election. But due to complications in the past, the president refuses to follow the same memo's suggestion to wear suspenders.

Long about this time every year, the days just get too nice to be wasted sitting around the commune offices, modifying my wrist rocket or flinging boomerangs out the window in the hope that they'll hook back into Raoul Dunkin's window for an Aussie Good Morning. When it gets this nice, it becomes imperative to take the day off, but not the kind of weak-assed "authorized" days off that normal chumps take. Nope, Monday I decided it was time for an Omar Bricks Day Off, the kind where everybody thinks you're still at work but you're actually far away, pushing a greased pig in through the back door of a titty bar somewhere.

Now, though it may sound like all fun and panicked strippers to the novice, an Omar Bricks Day Off is actually a complicated undertaking. If word got to Bagel that I was going to fuck off for the day I'd be in some serious shit, because he'd definitely want to tag along and there's no way I was going to have that big sack of weird following me around all day. I somehow ended up at a boat show with Bagel one time and that Zagnut actually tried to buy the convention center, so he could lock the doors and claim ownership of all the boats and people in attendance. How embarrassing. So needless to say, I needed to bust open a big can of covertness, and fast, unless I wanted to spend the day listening to Bagel talk about how he was suing the television show Method and Red for stealing his character.

At first I tried to set up a mannequin at my desk, to fool people into thinking I was actually here but just really bored, but that idea quickly went over like a fat man in a hot air balloon. Every time I left my office to get more stealthing supplies, I came back to find that somebody had mistaken the mannequin for Raoul Dunkin and knocked its head off. After the third time I thought about trying to bolt the head on better, but with my luck somebody would set the damned thing on fire while I was gone, and then my ruse would be up and somebody else would have their whole day ruined when they found out Dunkin was still alive.

So instead I tethered a monkey to my desk and put a Jane Fonda workout tape in the VCR, which sadly was enough to convince most of the staff that I'd made it in to work for the day. It probably would have fooled Bagel too, except the ape went monkeyshit when the tape ended and it couldn't find the rewind button on the remote. I've heard conflicting accounts about the kind of mayhem that ensued, the only constant being that at some point, the monkey definitely ate Lil Duncan's brassiere.

So from what I hear, from that moment the hunt was on, with Bagel stopping at nothing convenient to find out where I'd gone and why I hadn't invited him. That's what I hear anyway, I was at the discus factory by that time, still under the impression that the goddamned monkey was doing his job.

At some point Bagel stopped by my house, jimmied the lock with the key that got melted in there during a hot-doorknob prank last year, and questioned Foghat as to my whereabouts. At which time Foghat passively resisted by pissing out an open window. Great dog.

From what I understand Bagel made his way to the uniform store from there, thinking that was a place I'd go, which was a plain stupid move on his part. I'd already been there earlier in the morning, and that trail was colder than a passed-out hooker on a winter morning. By then I was borrowing Bob Dylan's Jesus jacket from the Hard Rock Café on the other side of town, a move Bagel wouldn't intuit until hours later, when he caught wind of that afternoon's surprise Dylan concert in the park.

I finally gave Bagel the shake later in the afternoon by listing the lost frames of the Zapruder film on eBay; I hear the bidding got up to a quarter-million before somebody realized I had just scanned in the negatives from my trip to the Ferrari museum. Sure, it screwed my eBay rating, but it got Bagel off my ass long enough for me to ride in the Black Power parade, and that was well worth a couple of death threats in my feedback listing.

Even though I never got to the Louvre as planned, the day still ranked as a stellar Bricks fuck-off, and convinced me that I should really do this kind of thing more often. The question is: Would every day be too often? There's only one way to find out.

Bricks off.

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