nternational fraternity received a boost here in America with the news that a large portion of our heroin junkie community is already supporting efforts to rebuild the economy of Afghanistan. The war-torn country, war-torn by us, has had an economic windfall by producing 87% of the world's opium and heroin derivatives, and a good percentage of that world's heroin buyers live in America, typically our inner-cities, our rural opium dens, and our rock concert halls.

"It's the least we can do to help out a poor population struggling to regain livelihood," said "Jizzy" John Webb, a Chicago-area heroin abuser of three years, before drawing a bloody cloud into a syringe stuck in his arm, then shooting it back in.

But fans of heroin aren't the only ones calling "hurrah" at the news. Libertarian economists agree as well. Malcolm Calhoun, of the Sweet Tit, Alabama Calhouns, a developer of open-air flea markets and international playboy, applauded the entrepreneurial spirit of the Taliban-free Afghanis.

"If only more enterprising young men and women would dare to bend these silly laws and make their own fortunes, we wouldn't need welfare in this country," said Calhoun, tapping his pen on his desk as if it made him seem more important. "This country is still suffering backward thinking about growing opium. We would rather subsidize work than let people grown their own stuff and sell it for a major profit—where does that leave us? Buying costly lamps and making inefficient use of our closet floor space. Meanwhile, Afghanistan rakes in the moolah, while honest guys with valuable gardening skills are forced to seek income running in city council elections. By the way—vote Calhoun in May."

Despite holding a virtual monopoly on the world's opium supply, Afghanistan claims it wants out of the business. As a country overcome by poverty and a war-devastated infrastructure, not to mention crippling years as a third world country, Afghanistan's anti-drug czar, a position the country actually has, occupied by a guy who could probably be doing more important work, has proposed that cash subsidies will be needed to end the flow of Afghan gold to the drug-bogarting world. Under the parental guise of the U.S., Afghani president Hamid Karzai declared a holy war on drugs when he took office in December, and as history has long proven, when Afghanis declare a holy war on something, it gets both barrels.

Counter-Narcotics Minister Habibullah Qaderi: "Right now, the 2.3 million farmers who are growing opium in Afghanistan can make more than twice as much with that crop as they can for more legal products, like cotton, rice, and wheat, which are not good for mainlining, I can assure you, but are much more needed within our own country. It is my firm belief that, if we pay them half those prices with money we do not have, they will give up growing opium. I also believe, if I were to run and jump fast enough, I could climb a rainbow all the way to the top."

Two junkies, Ray and Ray-Ray, who frequent the alley behind the commune building here in Flatbush, New Jersey, believed international legalization of opium sales offered the better economic solution.

"Check it out," said Ray-Ray, or possibly Ray, "alcohol and tobacco are, like, ten times more deadly than heroin. I can, like, get drunk and drive a car, that's legal, and I can kill, like, a dozen people driving over them. What the fuck? But if I shoot up with heroin, I'm way too fucking out of it to ever drive a car. It's just safer, dude."

"Plus," said the other Ray, "you can make all kinds of industrial shit out of opium, like rope, clothing, and wigs."

The two smackhounds conferred privately for a few minutes, then admitted that you really can't make any of that stuff, to their knowledge, but they would still like the twenty bucks this reporter promised them.

ortal fools announced their plans to disturb the earthly remains of reggae legend Bob Marley Wednesday, as part of a plan to celebrate what would have been the singer's 60th birthday. The proposal to exhume Marley has angered some Jamaicans, the few who are not exceptionally easygoing about everything, since Marley was one of the most famous sons of the country.

The exhumation would culminate in the body being cremated, inhaled deeply by close family and friends, held for as long as possible, and then released into the air. The ashes would then be scattered over the soil of Ethiopia, which Marley's widow Rita called his "spiritual resting place."

"Bob was the dearest soul I ever knew," said lifetime friend Cosell Hamlet. "An inspiration to everyone he ever met. I know his soul is in a better place. And I bet his body will be great shit."

Marley popularized reggae internationally in the 1970s, with a string of hits such as "No Woman, No Cry" and "Get Up, Stand Up." Reggae is the spiritual music of his home country of Jamaica, and the Rastafarian brought it to everyone in the world with his peaceful lyrics and mellow sound. Thanks to him reggae can now be heard at any party attended on a college campus or from any window from which pours copious amounts of smoke.

In Jamaica, however, all is not perfectly mellow for everybody, as some say to take Marley's body is to rob Jamaica of its history, and risk bumming everyone out.

"Nah, man, don't bogart Bob. He was a part of Jamaica, and now his body is part of the land itself," said Jamaican history expert Dr. Addi Townstone, who has started an organization to protest Marley's exhumation. "We ask the family to let him stay—stay in Jamaica."

Rita Marley refused further comment on plans to exhume and smoke her husband, who died in 1981 from cancer. The Bob Marley Foundation, not to be confused with the Peter Tosh Committee to Legalize It, was quick to quell the uproar.

"It's okay! It's nothing to get out of joint about, brother," said Bebe Shadley, press agent for the Foundation. "It's all irie, my friend."

Odidi Hubistato, who oversees the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and will be presiding over a ceremony honoring Marley on his birthday February 6, looked forward to the ceremony.

"Ashes to ashes, smoke to smoke, like we say," said Hubistato. "I for one plan to be up in the front row when we light those spleefly remains. Jah love the man."

All have apparently forgotten the price to be paid for unearthing the dead, regardless of good intentions. To stir the remains of the deceased is to invite an eternity of damnation and curses, the howls and haunts of the wretched specter himself. Prepare, all who trespass, for the nightly visitations of the angry ghost of the dead reggae superstar!

Bob Marley himself, an ethereal presence in a world unknown to mankind, declined to be interviewed. We were, however, able to talk to long-dead Jacob Marley, no relation.

"I wear the chain I forged in life," said Marley's ghost, indicating a very obvious large chain. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it." He concluded, "I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate."

Did you see it? Did you see?

True 'dat, I made it to the top once again. My show aired last week in the WB's prime Saturday night line-up. It was pre-empted in some areas by tornado warnings or an old movie, but most of the nation got to see the debut of "Ho's!" I was thrilled.

They edited some of my best ad-libs out, but I can deal with that. Save it for the DVD special features.

I'm listed next to last in the credits, right before David Faustino—that's practically the best spot, next to the first spot, the last spot, and the next-to-first spot. If I can get a "with" in front of my credit, I'll be red-hot in Hollywood again. I feel it coming back to me already.

My favorite part was when the one girl asked me what I thought of her ho outfit, and I did that black girl wag of my head. I didn't even say anything and I got, like, the biggest laugh of the show! That's going to be my catchphrase, I can feel it. Everybody's going to be doing that within a month. Then it will get old and stale and I'll tell people how '90s it is to still be doing that. But I'll still do it, if they want me to, if they just meet me on the street or whatever. You got to please your fans.

I suppose the ratings were pretty good. We beat out all three of the major networks, I don't know how that happened. The producer said the WB wins the ratings on Saturdays a lot because all the old people stay home from the clubs just to watch the most offensive thing they can find on TV and write angry letters to the newspaper about it. I don't know if that's a theory or what, but I'm happy they made us number one! How's that, folks? I'm on a number one sitcom—again! And they say thunder never strikes twice. Thunder or rapists, I can't remember how the phrase goes.

Not that the critics care about ratings. TV Guide called the show "bargain basement stupid." I thought that was a compliment for a bit, like how all my friends say "stupid," but apparently TV Guide still means it like my dad says it. None of the other critics were good about it either. "Disgraceful," "repulsive," "fecal," I've heard them all. Even the commune's Orson Welch wrote an article for Profound Magazine calling it, "The same boorish quality of trash as every low-grade half-wit idea on television." But it is a magazine that reviews television for people too snobbish to watch it, so no surprise there. Roland McShyster was pretty cool, he reviewed it in an office memo last week and called it a "heart-warming history of the Hostess company, told in flashbacks." I didn't see any of that myself, but maybe I'm too close to the inside.

I don't want to rest on my success, though. That's how you end up a TV nobody, like George Clooney. Sure, he may be doing all sorts of movies and everything right now, but he hasn't done TV in years—and probably never will again. You've got to build a lasting TV career, you can't fall back on what's easy. I want to keep doing "Ho's!" and find new ways to develop it. I've already proposed a spin-off for my character of Ophelia, the white ho, but I also want to do TV movies, or maybe even an all-singing, all-dancing variety special, if I can find people who can sing and dance. I also want to direct—direct TV.

But I've seen both sides of success, success and non-success. Too much of the latter. It's important to me that I make not just a funny show, but a real television legacy. I want "Ho's!" to be as memorable as the great shows, like "Just Shoot Me," or "Who's Your Daddy?"

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