hursday night’s presidential debate between John Kerry and George W. Bush had a strong ratings showing, and allowed the candidates to outline their future platforms, especially regarding foreign policy and Iraq. However, no candidate clearly fumbled the ball and shot himself in the foot with his big mouth, meaning the disappointing debate ended without a clear loser.

With a month left to go before the election, the debate provided one of the most visible opportunities for either of the two leading candidates to piss the election down his leg, whether through a verbal slip-up, a glaring faux pas, or farting directly into the microphone. Some election-watchers speculate the senior Bush performed just such a metaphorical gas outburst in 1992, when during a debate with future president Bill Clinton, he resignedly checked his watch to see if it was over. In Thursday’s debate, though he made some gas-appropriate faces, the second Bush, nor his opponent, did anything to completely obliterate their chances of election.

Most watchers generally felt the debate favored Kerry, who went on the offensive early and avoided appearing dead through much of it. The president, though being on the offensive, even managed to show a passing familiarity with the language long enough to fend off Kerry’s attacks and reiterated his platform that Iraq is safer today, unless you’re an Iraqi, since his administration got rid of Saddam Hussein. The word "beheading" somehow managed to stay out of the conversation.

While Kerry did not outline an escape plan for Iraq, he guaranteed he would bring in more European countries who hate Bush to help shoulder the responsibility for rebuilding the country and setting up its new puppet government. Not stated, but implied, was Kerry’s continuing the Democratic plan to not invade countries just for their resources. At least not overtly.

Recent polls exhibit Kerry’s apparent dominance in the debate. The numbers have again turned for the Democrat, showing he now holds a smidgen of a lead over the president among those polled, whoever the hell they are, showing 49% of them were more likely t vote for Kerry in a two-way race, versus 46% for Bush; in a three-way race with Ralph Nader, 47% favored Kerry, 45% favoring Bush, and whatever’s left over going for Nader or some weird-ass third-party candidate. In a three-way race with a well-dressed monkey, the president fared much worse, with 49% holding for Kerry, 40% preferring Bush, and 11% wanting to hear the monkey’s plans for improving the economy.

The same polls endorsed Kerry’s debate showing, as 61% feeling Kerry had won the debate, as opposed to a deluded 19% who believed the president had dominated. The remaining 20% thought C.S.I. really went to shit this week.

Still, the lack of a clear loser means, according to some, we’re still in the midst of one of the tightest presidential races in history, and time is running out for a candidate to win over the confidence of a large majority of the public.

"On one hand," said Professor Norm Chauncey of Newark University, some guy who watched the debate at the bus station with this reporter, "President Bush has failed to credibly justify his overextended military actions in the Middle East, as well as an economy that doesn’t seem to be improving. And on the other side of the table, you have John Kerry—a guy somehow failing to convince the entire nation he would not be a worse president than George W. Bush. We’re looking at a couple of real losers here."

The professor outlined his plan for America, if he were to become president, as we awaited the arrival of the 11:05 to Flatbush.

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.

Sir, let the truth ring out from mountaintop to mountaintop, and the desperate vagrant valleys between those mountaintops, too: Some secrets are better left secrets.

A few weeks ago my brother, Gay, made some snide comments about me, and as you might guess, I railed against them and called him a liar. And he is a liar, he's the first to not admit it, but he insisted these particular claims of his were accurate. Since he's a liar, that would have been enough to convince me they weren't true. But he produced pictures, which complicated the matter.

With my resident Chief Debunker Gordon Chumway on hand, I proved the photos were not faked. But were we faked? Replaced with gullible fools who could no longer tell the difference between fakes or legitimate pictures? It seemed possible, and Gordon and I argued with each other, going in circles until we accidentally went back in time, changed history, and erased the existence of our favorite commune correspondent Penny Priddy. This was getting us nowhere. I sought ought professional help.

My usual hypno-regression therapist, Dakota, put me to the ultimate test, and scoured my brain to find deeply repressed memories. And what she found was the worst of all possible conclusions: For a short time, I was a member of the College Republicans.

Oh, hideous fate, readers! It's far worse than the uncovered repressed memories of my multiple molestations by celebrities and alien abductions. In fact, those occasionally gave my life some meaning. But this…! Sir, I have been duped or railroaded or convinced with sheer logic to join nearly every political organization over the years. I have had flirtations with the Democratic party on numerous occasions, and a nasty dry hump with the Green Party throughout the 1990s; I have supported Libertarians, Anarchists, Communists, Eco- and Social-focused parties over the years. I am a proud Sandwich-Socialist, leading back to the grand old days when I invented the party. But a Republican? I shudder to think.

Not that I deny the horrible truth. Dakota has never led me astray on repressed memories before. Besides, if I dwell on it too long, I'm worried I will eradicate other commune staffers, and we're overworked as it is. No, I believe it's true, especially considering the context it was all placed in. The mid 1950s, attending an ivy league school I'm court-ordered not to name-drop anymore, just off on my own from my father and my unhappy childhood. I had sworn off the smoked buffalo meat business and had my permanent falling out with dear old dad. I needed belonging, conformity. I needed ascots and blazers with emblems and golf courses and yachting clubs. The small stipend father sent to me was enough to make me a rich young man, and I found solace in the inbred classes. And, much to my regret, I did like Ike.

To make it clear, this is not who I am. It's who I was at one time. I fell out of the good graces of the well-to-do by the time the 1960s started, and I found my true calling in developing ghost divining equipment. I rejected father's money and made my own living working in various odd jobs and odd journalistic magazines, like The American Journal of Sand and Bi-Curious. Somewhere, in the midst of making my old life, I must have repressed the old one.

And frankly, I was happy with things the way they are. If anyone provides a re-repression therapy service, please contact these offices immediately.

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