ast Wednesday’s final presidential debate left many questions unanswered in the minds of American voters, but not among them was the cockwad status of U.S. citizen Mark Buckles. Despite their numerous policy differences, both President Bush and Democratic challenger John Kerry saw squarely eye to eye on the Buckles issue, presenting a unified vision for a future America where Buckles is clearly a total cockwad.

According to political pundits analyzing the debates for the major networks, Kerry looks kind of like an alien and Bush makes a lot of stupid faces.

Seeking to differentiate his Buckles position from that of his challenger, Bush accused Kerry of changing his mind about whether or not Mark Buckles was a cockwad, citing Kerry’s infamous “I called Buckles a cockwad before I didn’t� quote from last year.

“Unlike that Belgian motherfucker over there,� Bush said with his trademark uninformed bravado. “I knew Mark Buckles was a cockwad from the start. And America needs strong leaders who know a Buckles when they see one.�

Meanwhile, Kerry accused Bush of refusing to admit his mistake in branding Buckles a cockwad before all available evidence had been collected, and merely going on the word of Secretary of State Colin Powell, who has personal reasons for his feelings about Buckles.

“Mark Buckles is not the cockwad that George Bush promised America,� explained Kerry. “We were sold a bill of goods. Yes, Mark is definitely a cockwad. But not the king-sized cockwad that this administration painted him to be, when they needed your support to go public about this young man.�

“And as for my cockwad stance,� Kerry elaborated. “At first I gave Buckles the benefit of the doubt, as I’d like to think any strong leader would. But once all the available evidence had been collected, it became clear that Mark is indeed a cockwad.�

Kerry seemed to struggle with his usual problem of talking out of both sides of his mouth during the debate Wednesday, attempting to appease liberals who think Buckles got a raw deal as well as centrist Democrats and undecideds who believe that Buckles is a cockwad, but still think Bush rushed to judgment too quickly in the matter.

Partisans on both sides shared their hysterical reactions with anyone who would listen, even before the debates had ended.

“Kerry is a God among men and his penis is lovely,� explained breathless Democratic partisan Dane Philsley when asked about his candidate’s debate performance.

“George Bush proved once and for all that he farts wisdom into a can for the world to huff,� disagreed Republican partisan Carla Dennis, apparently believing this to be a compliment.

Regardless of who came out ahead in the debates, both candidates have likely lost the vote of Buckles, who could not be reached for comment. Some pundits have argued that Buckles was the real loser of Wednesday’s debate, since whoever wins the November election, Mark Buckles will spend the next four years known as an unmistakable cockwad. What is unknown as of yet is how much of a boost Buckles’ supporters will give third-party candidate Ralph Nader, who has gone on record as saying he’s sure Buckles has his redeeming qualities.

According to a CNN.com instant poll taken immediately following the debates, Mark Buckles sucks balls.

ice genetically engineered to be psychotic by researchers at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center have refused to go on with testing this week, threatening to bring the program to a halt until they are given the “cheese boots� they so desire. The mice, bred to be insane by the mutation of two genes, have been used in a series of experiments over the last two months researchers hoped would shed new light on schizophrenia and its genetic components, information that could one day aid in treatment and prevention of the debilitating mental illness.

Researchers are uncertain where the mice got the idea about cheese boots, but insist that the mice are “fucking nuts� if they think the UT team is going to devote hours to carving tiny mouse boots out of cheddar cheese.

Since the mice made their original demand they have become belligerent and uncooperative, refusing to take part in various insanity-measuring trials. The mice’s normal routine involve tests of “crazy-maze� navigation, spatial perception in relation to tiny carnival funhouse mirrors, and proper differentiation between funny mouse movies, like Mouse Hunt, and serious mouse movies, like Stuart Little or The Mouse and the Motorcycle.

When asked how one can tell a psychotic mouse from a normal, sane mouse, project head Dean Sarcanon explained that the sane mice are the ones that don’t have “that crazy look in their eyes.� Additionally, researchers have observed the psychotic mice acting erratically, avoiding social situations, and combing their hair with their testicles.

The mice, which communicate with researchers through a series of small metal levers that correspond to musical tones, repeated their demands for cheese boots Monday, and then spent the rest of the day playing “Hot Cross Buns� on the musical levers.

Researchers hope the mice will eventually soften their demands and settle for more realistic and less difficult to produce items, such as cheese hats, instead.

“Oh yeah, we can make cheese hats,� explained lab technician Arthur Keys. “No problem. I’ve already made a few to show the mice how nice they are.�

Keys demonstrated for the commune a series of fashionable cheese hat prototypes he had created in his spare time, each of which was lovely.

“It’s really pretty simple,� explained Keys. “You take a cheesy cracker, like a Cheez-It or even better, a Ched-Unk, and attach a little wedge of brie on top here with a hot glue gun.�

“The hardest part is making the tiny chin strap,� Keys solemnly intoned, with an entirely straight face. “That’s where I really earn my $17,000 a year.�

As the story has gained national attention, UT researchers have come under pressure to concede to the cheese boot demands, a move that project head Sarcanon believes would be a grave mistake.

“Once you bend over backwards to make these mice cheese boots, then were does it end?� Sarcanon asked, shrugging his shoulders. “You have to remember, these are crazy mice we’re talking about here. What are they going to ask for next? Little biker jackets made out of provolone? A Minnie Mouse blow-up doll? What if they want a tiny piñata party, how do we pull that off?�

According to other researchers on the team, the mice don’t like Sarcanon, and regularly play the notes F-A-G on their musical levers when he enters the room. Although Sarcanon claims to be a good sport about this, he did seem strangely pissy when this reporter joined in on kazoo.

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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