he charmingly sleepy, stagnant, racist, hellishly unlivable, economically depressed backwater town of Pensacola, Florida was rocked by controversy this week when one of its native sons was nearly euthanized by his own shepherd-mix puppy, a development that locals are calling “tragically hilarious� and “fuckin’ weird.�

The man, local sad sack Jerry Allen Bradford, 37, was teaching his litter of puppies about gun safety when the most devious of the brood, an impish pup known as “Chuckles,� wrestled control of the revolver and shot Bradford in the wrist. Neighbors took Bradford to a nearby hospital after calling everyone they knew to share the funny story.

While those who know Bradford were not surprised, and many related a common story about Bradford being pushed off a cliff by chipmunks at the age of seven, the event has renewed a heated debate about euthanasia and humane relations between Americans and our 139 million pets nationwide.

“It’s the simple sad fact of the matter, there are just way more prospective puppy owners out there than there are puppies, and it’s a hard goddamned fact of life that sometimes the owners have to be put down,� explained Humane Society spokesperson Walter Egan, who warns the commune that he’s currently in therapy for inappropriate swearing. “That’s really hard to explain to kids, especially the children of puppy owners whom we’ve had to destroy. It’s a real kick in the tits.�

Though controversial, pet-owner euthanasia has been a part of American life since frontier times, when horse owners often had to be shot after a broken leg rendered them incapable of feeding or caring for their horses appropriately. Many cite this fact as Henry Ford’s prime motivation for inventing the automobile, as a young Ford was driven by memories of his own father being put to sleep after spraining his ankle during a backyard game of touch football.

In 2002, a Minnesota man named Michael Murray made national news after being shotgunned to death by his English Setter while on a hunting trip. While many criticized the dog’s actions and called for legal recourse, a grand jury found the dog’s actions to be humane due to Murray’s declining health and lackluster outlook on life in the years before he was put down. Though the dog was fined for failing to provide a valid gun license, no further legal action was pursued.

“Sometimes you’ve got to be fuckin’ cruel to be kind,� explained Egan, wincing as he realized there were children present. “Sure, it would be great if we could all live happy lives until we grew old and went to run around on a farm somewhere, and that’s what we tell kids, but the reality is that if you’ve got three kids and only two puppies, somebody’s got to go. Life’s a real cunt-licker that way.�

Bradford is currently recovering in a Pensacola-area hospital, after which he will likely be placed with a more suitable pet by the Humane Society. Speaking from his hospital bed, Bradford expressed an interest in finding a pet that can’t operate firearms, possibly a goldfish or a picture of a canary. Meanwhile, Bradford’s six shepherd-mix puppies have already been placed with various local families, saving the lives of five children and an elderly woman who had been scheduled for disposal.

malignant throat cancer in the body of Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts took a turn for the worse this week—the worse for the cancer, that is, as Charlie Watts and his bandmates whupped the shit out of the tumor.

Most of it is speculation right now, leaked to the press from band lead singer Mick Jagger, who declared Watts' cancer "fucked up beyond all recognition." The cancer beat-down follows six weeks of chemo-therapy for Watts, after a biopsy revealed the growth's malignancy four months ago.

Early reports indicate, after seeing their friend in dire straits from the chemical treatments, the Stones gathered together and went straight to Watts' cancer, treating the volatile collection of cells like a hotel room. By the time it was over, the growth was a nauseating sight for doctors and well-wishers alike.

"I guess we showed that cancer that us old shits can really…," said Keith Richards, puffing on a cigarette and looking skeletal, before degenerating into manic laughter and indistinguishable cockney.

While doctors wouldn't comment on Watts' treatment, stupid doctors, they did say that Watts is in a weakened condition from the chemo-therapy, but mostly from partying with his bandmates as they trashed the tumor. They also said, unofficially, they declared Keith Richards dead while he was visiting his friend, but didn't have the nerve to tell him.

"What matters now," Mick Jagger told The Daily Mirror, "is that Charlie is all better. People accuse us all the time of being big softies, but that's what a band does—we look out for one another. And it was a good business decision. We're just about ready to begin recording another album, then we're out on tour. We're not paying to put up cancer in its own room, and we're sure not sharing any of our groupies with it."

Curious for more information about cancer remissions, the commune visited the Johns Hopkins Cancer Research Institute, specifically Dr. Christopher Haig, a leading expert on cancer and cancer recovery. However, he wouldn't see us, so we went to see one of those New Age whackos in the building across the street.

"What people don't realize is that cancer has feelings, just like any of us," said the whacko, Jenella Wisp, wearing pastel scarves and enough bracelets to kill a gypsy. "Consuming other cells and converting them against the body is just the cancer's way of saying, 'I'm lonely. Let's be friends.' But cancer doesn't know it's doing damage to us, invoking a negative Chi. Cancer doesn't know much—cancer knows jack and shit and jack just left town, if you know what I mean. Cancer didn't get a very good education, and consequently, a lot of the damage it does is lashing out over feeling of insecurity. We went to high school together, actually, me and cancer. Want to see a picture of cancer's yearbook picture?"

By this time, we realized the commune was in way over its head, and stopped recording the conversation, though it took us another seven hours to make a plausible excuse and escape.

Watts, however, returned our phone call and said he is in much better spirits since the alleged cancer-trashing. However, he did think we were Ornette Coleman, and wasn't happy to find out about the deception.

I am furious. Perhaps you are not aware of this, but the network has canceled The Drew Carey Show. You all know how accustomed I am to being outraged, but this time it's even greater. Outrage, plus 1, I call it.

Worse yet, they canceled it even though I haven't watched it in two or three years. It was my favorite show! How can they cancel it without warning everyone and doing a dramatic send-off? When they canceled that Friends show they gave them a huge two-hour good-bye. It doesn't take me that long to say good-bye to real friends, although none of them have ever co-starred in Bruce Willis films. I couldn't get one lousy newspaper article telling me that dear Drew Carey fellow was leaving, too? Fuck you, Friends. Drew Carey was my friend and your big to-do party distracted everybody that he was going.

From the first time I saw it, I identified with The Drew Carey Show. Here was a fellow who worked in an office, much as I do, and drank beer. I do that all the time. Like Drew Carey, I have tons of friends and a portly arch-nemesis at work. At least he seems to be an arch-nemesis, he doesn't return my hellos when I pass by the newsstand. It was like they saw my life and put it on the TV, and paid me nothing. Here was a show worth watching!

Of course, I'm a busy man, and I couldn't really watch it every week. But I did tape it with one of those video echo machines, whatever they're called. I never watched the tapes, but I knew they were there. So now, instead of a limitless supply, I have maybe three or four years worth of Drew Careys to hang out with, then it's all gone. And I haven't even remembered to tape it in the past few years—like I said, I'm a busy man. But just because I never watched it and can't remember the names of any of the other characters doesn't mean I wasn't the show's biggest fan.

A lot of you are probably saying, "Get over it, Rok. It's just a TV show. They all get canceled sometime." That's just like you, Camembert, siding with the network now that you and your new Elvis girlfriend are always going to the movies and no longer watch television. Well, forget you, I stole your favorite coffee mug and put it somewhere you'll never find it. The Drew Carey Show was more than a TV show to me. It was a video tape, too.

I've been into a great many TV shows over the years. The Rifleman, Charles in Charge, and that C-SPAN show. Why do they always get canceled? Or else become filled with wise-cracking youngsters, like that C-SPAN show. Why can't they leave perfection alone? When will they realize America doesn't want new TV products, giving us fresh spins on old situations and making our drama more and more like our actual lives? We want the formulaic, the uninventive, and the comfortable, predictable world of sitcoms and cop shows. I say more shows where an ex-cop is framed for a crime he didn't commit. More shows where the characters work out their problems after getting locked in the basement. And anything with Tony Danza, I love it.

The worst part is, Drew Carey went away and I didn't even get to say good-bye. Just like my father, only Drew Carey probably wasn't clawing his way out of a burning strip club. But then again, I don't know, I didn't see it. I suppose I should look on the bright side, that even though one bright television star has faded out, we still have a sky full. Craig Kilborn isn't going anywhere, at least.

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