ast Friday was a familiar scene to many observers with a memory stretching back twelve months or more: Millions of Americans rushing to the airport to mail their tax returns before the April 15th midnight deadline, only to be redirected to the post office, the nation’s more traditional outlet for its citizens’ mailing needs.

The April 15th deadline for postmarked tax returns still catches millions of Americans off guard every year, in spite of not having changed in over 50 years. Earlier dates of March 1st and 15th, set in 1913 and 1918 respectively, caused similar problems by arriving predictably every year. Experts agree that moving the date forward even later into the year would likely only solve the problem for people who hadn’t heard about the date change. Postal Service officials confirm an annual rush of elderly taxpayers every March 1st, proving that old habits die hard, though the Postal Service official we talked to thought it was because “that’s when they got their rebate check for denture glue or baby food or some shit.�

This reporter suffered from unusual difficulty collecting quotes for this story, since every person she approached on the street to ask if they’d waited until the last minute to file their taxes invariably screamed something like “Oh holy fuck!� or a comical “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiii- iiiiiit…� before sprinting away, either to hurriedly file their taxes or avoid the awareness of such for a few more precious hours.

Further digging, however, revealed Americans from all walks of life that were routinely bushwhacked by entirely predictable yearly phenomena, even those having nothing to do with 1040 forms, exemptions, or the Sino-Russo Breast Reduction. A surprising number of Americans were even caught off guard by the arrival of spring and warmer temperatures after months of cold winter.

“Jesus, it’s getting warm,� commented a surprised Burt Filbitz of Terre Haute, Indiana. “Who knows when this will let up? It’s weird. I hope it stops at some point, before we all get burnt and melted by the sun.�

Still others were similarly distressed by the rising of the sun this morning, a daily ritual that never the less caught some unprepared night-enjoyers completely off guard.

“There it is again!� screamed Scranton, Ohio’s Meg Dadry. “There’s fire in the sky, mama! Fire!�

In order to combat the yearly crush of customers seeking to get their tax returns mailed before midnight on tax day, often causing lines at post offices across the nation that make the pope’s funeral look like the line for voluntary chemical castration, the U.S. Postal Service has been running a series of helpful reminder television commercials throughout the months of March and April to help Americans to not be so predictably dopey.

The first of the ads featured a long-awaited reunion of washed up stoner comedy legends Cheech and Chong, referencing one of their most popular routines.

“Knock Knock,� the ad begins.

“Who’s there?�

“Tax time.�

“Tax Time’s not here, man!�

The starkest of the new ads and possibly the most effective, however, featured only a black screen with actor Jeff Bridges offering the simple voice-over “Wake up, dipshit, it’s tax time.�

report released Friday disclosed that savage viruses that shred most human flesh and destroy normal mortal bodies will not even mess with people on American soil. The study, researched at Bolchek University in Ames, Iowa, and financed by the American Family First organization, had been going on for more than five weeks when it made its findings public in Friday's press release.

The news comes as a great relief to weary earth-dwellers in the United States, as word came of a deadly Ebola-like virus continuing its rampage through Angola, some country most Americans aren't familiar with in Africa. The World Health Organization (WHO, sometimes known as the Teenage Wasteland Group) announced shortly before the Bolchek press release that 173 people in Angola have died from the virus known as Marburg, and four more non-U.S. countries have been placed on the warning list.

News media assured American citizens the country will be alright, since they have something of a track record for surviving problems without U.S. intervention, and have even survived some caused by them.

The Bolchek study findings, however, provided a large relief from worry about viral invasions by other dangerous contagions such as Marberg and Ebola, including CCHF, Dengue, SARS, Lassa fever, and the Kinks. According to research, done in Bolchek's famous $3 million Sid Caesar Facility, virus cells, when given the choice between healthy cells of different nationalities, will always shy away from American DNA.

"It's totally awesome," said project head, 18-year-old super-genius Nills Van Raftan. "We stumbled on it a bit by accident. We were testing the effect of Ebola on the blood cells of African mice—since we wanted to save the American mice for better experiments—when one of the team members had a nosebleed and accidentally contaminated the sample. Imagine our surprise when we saw the Ebola contagions were scared shitless of messing with the American cells. And who can blame 'em?"

If the results are verified, and frankly nobody's doubting the outcome of a second test much, it answers a great number of questions for the world's nerdy virus-following community. Such as why have SARS and Mad Cow and other disease variants been too chickenshit to mess with the U.S. of A.?

"For any number of reasons," posited spindly weakling Van Raftan, "virus cells simply will not infect American cells, at least those of the United States. It could be because U.S. cells don't brook backtalk from foreign viruses. But, if my personification of American cells is way off, it might also be because viruses know that if they mess with American cells, they're risking a massive investment of money in destroying their asses. They can work their way through Africa, Asia, and even Eastern Europe for years, and we'll leave them alone—but first time they start infecting Americans on American soil, they're on our list. Companies even drop all the new dick pill technology they're working on and concentrate on the hot new market for pharmaceuticals to keep Americans healthier than foreigners."

When asked about AIDS, a virus long plaguing even American citizens, Van Raftan made a squeal, smiled sheepishly with his braces on display, and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe some viruses are retarded. But it does give us something to work on when we get frustrated with erection research."

You may have read about my A.M. radio station and the hostile buyout Clear Channel is attempting. But of course I have other problems to worry about, so that's just the pus-filled boil on the sore foot. Which is a nasty version of the "icing on the cake" cliché. I'm getting married in just a couple of months, so you can imagine I'm pretty distracted with all those details and trying to get a divorce from my current wife. Then there's always planning the big event… Girl Elvis vs. roommate Lee in one of the biggest matches ever to be courted by the Fox network.

So it's not like I needed something else to draw on my time. But this X-M radio is a severe letdown.

I went through all this time and effort to get the thing installed, which mainly involved the Sears guy fiddling with the stereo area while I hovered over him, arms crossed, tapping my foot, and asking what the hell the hold up was for a hundred hours. Actually, that's an embellishment—at 3'9" I don't exactly hover over anybody, but I've made an art out of hovering under them.

This is neither here nor there, surprisingly off-topic for one of my columns. I take issue not with the slowness of the guy (another column, another tirade) but with the failure of X-M radio to live up to my unrealistic expectations. They promised commercial free, and technically, they give it to you, since there's no commercial support. Imagine my supreme disappointment to find out they still employ DJs!

DJs? What is this, the 1960s? Is one song fading out and another fading in such a frightful concept that we need the banter of vanity voices to break up the constant play? It's damn ridiculous, radio industry. As a nation, we've outgrown DJs. As for VJs, they were never a good idea. The writing in the corner can perfectly inform me of the name of today's one-hit wonderband. DJs we've allowed for a little longer, since the radio isn't a visual medium, and the last thing I need is another car wreck while I call the radio station to find out who performed the last song. But those days are gone.

We have all-digital equipment now, not to mention cellphones you can operate with one hand. Modern radios with scrolling text can tell us who played the previous song, and if we wanted the other accoutrements of a live DJ, I'm sure they could tell us it's warm outside and insult our musical tastes as well. I refuse to pay a monthly service fee for space-age commercial-free radio and then listen to the prattling of a DJ like I'm a goddamn caveman trying to start a fire in his rumbling beast-like horseless carriage on the way to the commune each morning. Or whenever I choose to skip work and go elsewhere, but that's my business.

So naturally I ripped the guts out of my car and sent them the whole contraption back in a box, along with some parts that I think were motor-oriented, since the car no longer runs. But I made my point, and I'll expect a full refund on the whole thing. I would try Sirius, but I doubt they'd be much of an improvement—and frankly, I soured on their venture ever since they turned down the slogan I proposed: "Radio? Get Sirius!" That's just poor foresight, my satellite friends.

So I'm back to square one, with nothing to listen to on my drive to work, should I ever get the car working again. I mean, there's always KROK, the all-Rok Finger favorites radio station that I own, but hearing all that music only I like all the time gets a little monotonous. And it would leave me with little to complain about, regarding this whole X-M radio deal.

Did I mention how slow the guy installed it? You'd think he was getting paid by the hour. Which he was.

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