n a congressional hearing reminiscent of the McCarthy hearings, only filled with really beefy guys, baseball record-setter Mark McGwire clumsily deflected questions about his own history with steroids while damning the drugs on one side and on the other warning about the failure of those involved with the sport to stop it. Sweetie McGwire, standing at a hulking 8 feet tall and nearly 4 feet wide, refused to directly deny using artificial means to induce the strength to hit his then record-setting 70 homeruns.

“I’m not here to talk about the past,� said the monstrous humanoid homerun-hitter, “I’m here to be positive.� McGwire did not invoke his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination, and congressmen involved appeared unwilling to play hardball with a beloved American athlete while all the cameras were running.

Offering more information was another baseball heavyweight, retired player and former superhunk Jose Canseco, firmly off steroids and now shrunken to a 5-foot-1 imitation of a pale raisin. Canseco confessed to having used performance-enhancing substances to improve his game, also naming names in his hot new book Juicied, available for sale at Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble Online.

“Steroids were part of the game, and I don’t think anybody really wanted to take a stance on it,� said the small, hideous man, pointing with a frantic gesture. “If Congress does nothing about this issue, it will go on forever.� In his haste to make a point, Canseco’s finger then snapped off and flew into the face of Rep. Elijah Cummings (D-Maryland). Sister, that thing was so funny he should’ve charged money!

“We don’t blame the players,� said ranking Committee Democrat Henry Waxman (California). “We blame the countless faceless officials of the baseball union, reserving some blame for the rich owners who the people already hate. No, the players are innocent pawns in all this. And we most definitely do not blame the many millions of baseball fans who turn out in record numbers to watch mysteriously large and beefy men knock baseballs out of the park in numbers unheard of in the early days of the game. We are all shocked and outraged by the claims in Mr. Canseco’s book, and not at all one little bit were expecting someone to admit such a thing sooner or later. Once this congressional probe has thoroughly asked inane questions about the matter, we hope America will be able to go back to its blind faith in its inhuman athletic stars.�

Sidestepping inquiries about his own steroid use has already fanned the hulking monster controversy around McGwire, who in 1998 won out a season-spanning homerun race between himself and Sammy Sosa by hitting 70 dingers, breaking Roger Maris’ old record of 61. The record didn’t last too long, child, as another beefy uberman named Barry Bonds, also frequently mentioned in the same sentence with the s-word, broke McGwire’s record in 2001. The record was most recently broken by Seattle Mariners third-stringer Mitcho Klursky, who batted 78 homeruns out of the park during all this season’s practice sessions. The record is expected to be broken again before the end of the season, and possibly before this article concludes.

The hearings are expected to end sometime this week with some ever-popular backpatting and glorious nostalgic reflection on how great baseball is, with possible inclusion of apple pie, mothers, and America itself. This reporter, for one, would like to make it known that even as Jose Canseco’s nuts continue to shrink into BB rifle stock, she’d still do him. Mm-mmm, hon.

he sound of big, scary men whining grew louder this week with the news that the Missouri House (similar to the Ronald McDonald House, only more Missoury) has upheld state governor Matt Blunt's decision to ban all video games from the state's prisons. While the public's reaction has been mostly along the lines of "They have video games in prison? Is there anything those assholes don't have?" the reaction from inmates statewide has been much bitchier.

"Man, this shit is whack," complained Tyrell Doogins, convicted three-time murder and NBA LIVE fanatic. "If I can't get my GTA on, I gonna be killin' some suckers for real."

The move by Blunt came after months of criticism by victim's-rights groups disturbed by the prospect of prisoners reliving their real-life criminal exploits, and earning gaudy high scores for doing so, through such violent games as Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and Hitman: Contracts.

But not all inmates agree with that line of reasoning.

"Man, that shit is so fake," bitched lifer Tug Borrows. "That gun doesn't recoil anything like that, this game is for pussies."

Prison officials have also accused some popular titles, like Acclaim's Prison Riot and Rockstar's Shower Shiv 2 of instigating real-life violence within the state's correctional facilities.

"It's the age-old question of art imitating life, or life imitating art," explained cultural critic and perpetual college student Justin Blake. "Just because two inmates drop their controllers and get into a knife fight in the middle of playing Eidos' Prison Rec Room Knife Fight Gold Edition, it's impossible to say if the game caused that behavior, or if Eidos just did a good job getting the details right. After all, that kind of stuff went on long before they had video games in prisons. They used to blame that old Gregory Peck movie, Change That Channel and I Break Your Face for the same kind of things."

While highly violent games like Grand Theft Auto and Max Payne are by far the most popular in America's prisons, there do remain small pockets of gaming inmates dedicated to non-violent titles, who feel like they're being unfairly punished by the total ban of all video game types.

"Sure, not a lot of guys in the joint are as into Roller Coaster Tycoon as I am," admitted Dolmer Grays, a diminutive and heavily-bruised inmate in Jefferson City. "But there are enough of us. And any time we're not running away from the bigger and tougher inmates, you can find us playing RCT, baby."

Dolmer had to cut the interview short to escape retribution from a GTA fan, but his point was well-taken. However, it remains this reporter's position that Dolmer and other fans of pussy video games should spend a little more time in the gym and a little less time on the Xbox if they hope to outrun a beatdown more successfully than Dolmer did.

This reporter also received word of a small but dedicated pocket of Dance Dance Revolution fans in the Jefferson City facility, but was advised by the warden to stay out of that cell block if I valued my anus, which this reporter does.

I had planned on letting you all know how my screenplay efforts are going, but I've decided to put that aside, because something is really chapping my ass lately.

Okay, real quick—the screenplay is going fabs. The class with Nancy Melville is going fantastic and I'm practically done. My people are even in talks with Conan O'Brien to star as the Sheriff, even though his people aren't talking back. Anyway, I've got bigger deals this week.

For the very last time, I got bumped. And not from any prestigious talk show or event, which I might be able to understand a little. I got bumped from the commune! Just weeks ago now. Can you believe it? The goddamned nerve. An organization like the commune has balls the size of American Gladiator Atlaspheres to bounce me from the schedule. I thought we had all this shit out. I thought the days of being bumped were behind me, now that I hang out in smaller circles. Turns out even in a small pond a big fish can get shoved around.

We had hashed all this out, or so I thought. I told the commune I wasn't going to bother writing anymore columns unless they met my two conditions: One, they paid me, and two, I had a regular schedule. Actually, I can let you all know, the regular schedule thing was just because I couldn't think of another demand. No big fish makes only one demand, even if it is about more money. So I just made up the schedule thing on the spot. Who knew, they bought it! Or I thought they bought it, until I got bumped again. This time for some damn Valentine's Day column or something by a friend of a friend of some asshole at the commune. I was major torqued. I mean, I wrote the column and everything. They have pushed back my column on other occasions, when I didn't meet the deadline or I used the column to mop up a spilled drink or something, but this time it was already done. What fucking audacity, like the cartoon says.

I've had my share of bumping in the past, of course. The first time I went on the Carson show I got bumped, just because Robert Goulet had to sing another fucking song. Like nobody's ever heard "The Way We Were" sung by a boozed-up has-been. They can hear it every night at my dad's apartment. But I was just a kid, I didn't know any better. I chalked it up to running with the big dogs, But again and again it happened. I got bumped because The Who went long breaking all their shit at Farm Aid 1988, I got bumped from the M-TV Awards because Howard Stern thought that Fartman character was funnier than sniffing paint. It's fucking ridiculous, people. I got bumped from the Golden Globes because the guy who canceled decided, oh, I want to squeeze into the Ewok suit and give out the award after all. It's bullshit.

The worst of all was the many times I got bumped by Conan himself. I don't have to tell you, since it's no secret to my fans or the judge who issued the emergency protective order, I'm Conan's biggest fan. Still, to this day, even after all the times I've been bumped on his show. And sometimes I was bumped for really dumb reasons, dudes, I don't have to tell you. A totally stupid hack comedian who sold Conan a few jokes at the budget rate or something, or him and Andy were cutting up—cutting into my time, I don't need to remind. Conan, you know I'm your biggest fan, but you bounced me from the show because you guys couldn't keep a straight face during that "In the Year 2000…" sketch? For, like, the hundredth time. Whatever.

Well, this is a warning to everyone, but especially the commune: No more bouncing Clarissa Coleman. I'm not taking it from anybody. You hear? Nobody. Except Conan, if he wants me to sit in for another show. I've got my old Corn Flakes-eating bowl ready and everything, hon.

º Last Column: The Writing One, Baby
º more columns