he part of the world not the United States was shaken by the gruesome events in Beslan, Russia, where a two-day hostage situation ended Friday after claiming the lives of more than 350 non-Americans.

The confusing terrorist incident, not in any way involving U.S.-protected interests, centered on a group of separatists rebels taking a school in the Russian province of North Ossetia hostage. During the two-day standoff between the terrorists and government forces, hundreds were wounded or killed—the majority of them children. American officials are calling the event a "horrific, far-away tragedy."

The foreign nightmare began when armed terrorists took parents, children, and teachers hostage on the first day of school. The rebels consequently demanded Russian forces leave Chechnya, falling on the time-honored method of murdering helpless women and children to gain sympathy for their cause. U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan condemned the attacks, saying, "What the fuck?"

American media covered the non-American catastrophe with a watchful eye, splicing in some video of the horrors between soundbytes from the Republican National Convention and previews of the upcoming Fall TV season. U.S. politicians were quick to provide commentary on the situation, in case something happened to make it a lead news story on any of the national networks or worked its way onto page six of the print news.

"This is yet another grim reminder of the lengths to which terrorists will go to threaten the civilized world," said President Bush, in another grim reminder of the lengths he would go to extort the agony of many to climb a couple of points in the polls.

Across this country, the reactions of average Americans were wide and diverse.

"What a shame," said Jerry Kimler, an office manager from Trenton, New Jersey. "We should all mourn for Russia. We, too, have suffered at the hands of Al-Qaeda. You are not alone, our communist neighbors."

"It's a disgusting crime, especially since it was committed against children," sobbed Agnes Walker-Rush, a cashier at a Winn-Dixie in Napalm, Georgia. "Once the Russians were our enemies, and now, not so much. I'm severely moved by their plight, and sickened by the images I might have seen on TV if I had known anything about this before you told me just now."

Ginger Oliver, a caterer from Concorde, New Hampshire: "I can't believe it. How could this sort of thing happen. Bill Clinton needs heart surgery? Why? How? He's not even that old. Things like this don't happen to presidents."

A different response came from professional wine-taster Gerald "Skeeter" McCloy: "Nope. Can't work up any real concern. You sure there weren't any Americans killed?"

New York University Sociology Professor Jean Winstead took a break from typing up her resume to frame the numb reaction some Americans express to the nightmarish human calamity.

"Geographically, we've always been an isolationist nation, and have retained much of that sensibility in the years since, even though we've become a world superpower with interests across every continent," said Winstead. "Our media reflects this nationalism, and keeps us focused on America as the center of the universe, so to speak. Plus, with all the useless information floating in our heads, from knowledge about the workings of the electoral college to nostalgia about 1980s new wave groups, it's amazing we have enough brain space left over to even remember other countries exist out there. By the way, do you know anyone who's hiring?"

amn, sweetie, if that run-of-the-mill tropical storm named Frances wasn't put in her place by muy caliente meteorologist Brittany Vance. The hurricane, which had been labeled an up-and-coming "Category 1" before the brutal telling-off, shrunk to a Category 2 and skittered up the east coast of the United States, humiliated and told.

It was a sensational victory for Hollywood Channel 5 weather woman and atmospheric wonder Brittany Vance, who made headlines in July, 2003 when she intimidated the hell out of Hurricane Claudette, and frightened the crazy bitch-storm out of even coming to Florida. Vance, however, couldn't save the Texas coastline, but—what the hell. It was Texas, it should have been tough enough to take a little roughing up.

Vance failed to come to the rescue of Florida in previous weeks, during the advent of Hurricane Charley, as the meteorologist was taking some "me time" in Costa Rica. Upon returning to the states, she made a pledge to help cover Florida against the most recent oncoming tropical storm. Other meteorologists hauled ass out of the panhandle state, along with 2.5 million of the population, when they learned a second hurricane was already bearing down on them. Two hurricanes within the same month might suggest Florida should think more carefully about who they elect president this year, if they want the Almighty to lay off them.

Despite the massive evacuation, and Governor Jeb's declaration of a state of emergency, Vance interceded early enough to put the verbal snap to the emotionally-fragile hurricane and take the wind most literally out of it.

"You think you're all that," Vance told the hurricane via live broadcast Friday night. "More like all pap—you heard what I said, Ms. Thang. Take that pitiful breeze of yours and blow on out of here already."

The hurricane showed immediate response, gusting vehemently in defiance, but barely disguising a shrill whistle that sounded much like crying.

"Oh, you're something alright," continued Vance, snapping her fingers. "Something I'd scrape off my shoe—mm-hmm! I told you once, you worn-out bitch, come around here with that tacky hundred-mile-an-hour wind, you so much as muss up my hair and I'll make you sorry. I've had farts that have done more damage, you ten-cent hurricane ho."

Satellites monitoring the storm detected an instantaneous change in direction, as well as a "settling down" of the played-out hurricane as it attempted to discreetly make its way for the Carolina coasts, like it had been planning to go there the whole time, yeah, sure.

Characteristically, Vance showed no signs of modesty in her handling of the pathetic "draft."

"Hmph. I ain't even referring to that bitch by her name, she ain't worth drawling that name out. I did her like I do any trumped-up light rain slut who thinks she's all that. Sit down, skank, Brittany's talking now. That's like I told her."

Floridians reluctantly returned to the state Monday morning, although a shopping spree by Vance had actually done $8.3 million in damages, qualifying the state for disaster aid.

The first time someone saw two men slapping their palms together in greeting, one single thought inevitably bubbled its way up from the primordial ooze:

What the fuck was that?

Yes indeed, what the fuck was that? And more importantly, who started this crazy shit? Good question, and good of me to ask it. However, one cannot begin to discuss the history of the high-five without first exploring the origin of its parent gesture, the handshake.

The handshake is a gesture with a long and storied history, dating back to ancient times when everyone hated everyone. Mothers and sons, fathers and brothers, anyone could kick your ass and take your muffins at any time. These were brutal times and people behaved accordingly, ruthlessly exploiting the weak and dickless. It was a bad time to wear open-toed sandals.

During these harsh times, whenever two people approached on a country road, or in the livingroom, there began a dance where the participants would circle each other cautiously, right hands at the ready on their weapon of choice, be it a sword, a dagger, or a book of pithy puns. If, in the verbal parrying that ensued, it was determined that the threat of being beaten into fruit leather was acceptably minimal for both parties involved, the two people would then extend their empty weapon-hands and shake them, as a way of saying "I'm too tired to kill you today" or "I can't get this smell off my hand."

Eventually, after hundreds of years, the traditional handshake began to fall behind the accelerating pace of modern life. Basketball games were slowed down unacceptably since entire teams were constantly stopping the game to shake hands after a successful slam dunk. And in normal public life, too many jokers were doing that thing where they rub their middle finger on the inside of your wrist while shaking hands, which feels really perverted. An increasingly homophobic population was also growing less comfortable with the thought of men touching each other's hands for entire seconds at a time. Could a cockshake really be that far off?

The time had clearly come for a new, modern greeting, something quick, violent, and devoid of intimacy. Nature wasted little time filling this vacuum in the form of University of Louisville forward Derek Smith in 1980. Angry over being pantsed by fellow teammate Hubert Sanders on the previous play, Smith took a running leap at Sanders mid-court, in an attempt to punch Sanders' nose into the back of his shorts. Due to Smith's poor motor control and Sanders' serendipitous choice of that moment to wave to his girlfriend in the stands, the would-be beat-down resulted instead in a thunderously loud palm-on-palm slap that all present mistook as intentional.

So dramatic and unexpected was the gesture that it energized the crowd and soon caught on nationwide, with Smith and Sanders playing along since Sanders had no idea what had happened and Smith didn't want anyone to know he was that big of a gimp. The truth didn't come out until years later, when Smith was pantsed at a book signing in Michigan in 1993, and responded by high-fiving an elderly woman in the face who was waiting in line to buy a John Grisham book on tape.

Since that fateful day, the high-five and its low-five and non-altitude-specific variants have become ubiquitous in modern life, from urban culture and youth sports leagues to the embarrassing climax of many a John Tesh concert. Due in no small part to the gesture being co-opted by such blanchingly uncool impostors of the funk as Tesh and living duck decoy Bob Sagat of television near-personality fame, intricate and complex handshakes, complete with high and low slaps, snaps, fist-hits and pointing were developed in the inner cities to keep white people everywhere feeling lame and inadequate for the foreseeable future.

In recent years, the gesture has continued to evolve, with the traditional high-five now being used almost exclusively in sporting events and corporate seminars. In hip-hop culture, the high-five has been replaced entirely by the fist-hit, a "less-faggy" gesture residing more comfortably near to the border between violence and greeting. At our current pace, by 2050 we'll have come full-circle with the re-acceptance of the "kick in the face" greeting popular in ancient times. And with any luck, I'll be long dead by then, or at least cryogenically frozen in a threatening pose. Good day.

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