ith the specter of the president's extreme right-wing judge appointments approaching, congressional Republicans, led by Bill "Not First" Frist, are seeking to eliminate the long-standing tradition of the filibuster. However, Senate Democrats are reluctant to give up their one means of making the president deal with their side, so Republicans are offering a juicier prize—exchanging the filibuster for a "last man standing" drinking contest.

The filibuster, sometimes described as a congressional loophole, has long been used as a negotiation tactic by the minority party in the Senate to stall controversial votes and force compromises to the table. The drinking contest, a long-time college and unemployment staple, has traditionally been used to test the mettle of men and women and their bladder, pitting the will of the individual, minority or majority, against an opponent and several shots of potent liquor.

"The filibuster is unfair to the majority in the Senate and the American people," said Frist, smirking just a little as he made the comment. "The Republican majority has played the system like a filthy piano to get into prominent positions, to hold majority in all the prominent positions, and it's totally unfair this danged silly filibuster now stands in the way of us guiding the country the way the American people want it. And to those who say the fundamentalist extreme Christian right are the ones guiding us—what, you're saying they aren't people?"

The filibuster is a ploy in which a member of the Senate stalls a congressional vote through technical procedure, refusing to yield the floor until opponents pledge to amend bills that reach the Senate floor or, in the case of judicial nominees, bargain on the terms of nominees or forcing the majority party to nominate more moderate judges. For more information on filibusters, visit your local library, where you can rent Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and fast-forward to the final scene.

Frist claims a drinking contest is a better way to solve congressional disagreements—representatives of both parties, the best drinkers chosen from among a fine stock of drinking men, can tequila-shot their way to a decision both sides will adhere to, in a much shorter period of time than the usual filibuster, which can take many hours, and in rare turns, even days.

"Standing around all night, talking? Reading from law books, the Constitution, or even Where the Wild Things Grow?" At this Frist shook a finger and sighed. "That's hardly a competition of wills for real men. When I really want to show who's more resolved and dedicated to his beliefs, I like to down several shots of Southern Comfort and wobble around the Senate floor. I guarantee I can hold my own against any Democrat in congress right now. The Democrats are going to have to elect Nick Nolte or Robert Downey Jr. to give me a serious run for my money."

While Nolte and Downey refused to comment on their futures in politics, the Senate minority leaders were more vocal.

"It is simply ridiculous, not to mention irresponsible, to legitimize drinking as a way to solve decisions," said Sen. Edward Kennedy (D., Massachussetts). "And if Frist really thinks he can outdrink me, he knows where my office is. I'll give him a five-shot headstart. Bring it on, lightweight."

mbarrassed fashion mogul Calvin Klein denied any knowledge of his company's controversial "Saddam's Undies" ad campaign this week, a sweeping series of magazine and billboard ads featuring the deposed Iraqi dictator in his underwear, which Klein claims must have been a hoax masterminded by one of his competitors.

"Calvin Klein is the epitome of cool worldwide," explained the blushing New Yorker. "What has Saddam Hussein got to do with that? Nothing. Don't answer, I will tell you it's nothing. So why would we use him as the centerpiece for our new ad campaign? We wouldn't, don't ask me stupid questions. Goodbye."

Industry observers, however, claim that the new ads prove Klein badly miscalculated in his constant striving to find hot new looks.

"Who's to say what is hot?" queried fashion writer Agnes Blout. "Fashion thrives on the offbeat, the strikingly incongruous. Whether that's toned rednecks in their tidy whities or some underfed starvation model with no tits, cool is often what you make of it. Unless it's a deposed Iraqi dictator making like Mister Rogers after a hard day doing whatever the hell it is Mister Rogers does at work. That's taking fashion relativism a bit far."

Some consider Klein's reaction to be understandable, since the ads have been an unmitigated disaster for the fashion mogul's company. Sales of white underwear plummeted within minutes of the ads hitting the street, and last week a church in South Carolina organized a burning of magazines containing the offensive ads. The magazine-burning turned tragic, however, when fumes given off by all the free perfume samples in the magazines formed a toxic cloud that ate the paint off the church and made several cows very queasy.

No one has gone on record to say how much Hussein was paid for the use of his likeness, though the answer is likely in the millions. Either that or a juicy ham sandwich delivered to his prison cell, it's not like Hussein is at the height of his bargaining power at the moment.

"We felt like this was a fresh new direction for Saddam to go in," explained Hussein's publicist, Liz Turnbow. "No more of this 'dirty old man pulled from a hole in the ground' thing, that was so last year. It's a whole new era for disgraced former dictators and Saddam Hussein is leading the way, with considerable style I must say."

Industry observers are already ranking the Hussein ad campaign with the great fashion miscalculations of all time, like hula-hoop underwear and the infamous salmon necktie of the mid-80's. Others point to the original cast-iron underwear of the early 1700's, which failed due to poor marketing. Klein has missed the mark more than a few times himself, including a career-jeopardizing ad campaign featuring Marlon Brando in his underwear in 1979 and the truly-regrettable "California Raisins in their underwear" campaign of 1987.

Like many of you, I was quite thrilled to see the final installment in the Star Wars prequelogy, a word I have just now made up. Not only because I'm the world's biggest Star Wars fan, a fact which I have long concealed so as to be spared from the Star Wars jibes of my enemies, but also because I anxiously await to see all the chronology errors Lucas creates with his prequel changes. But this you may already know.

I waited in a long, long line with my midnight-showing ticket, carrying my own homemade lightsaber (actually works) and dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi (young version, of course); I was not dressed, as the two pricks in line behind me joked, as "the galaxy's fattest Jedi." But regardless of the opinions of two pricks, I had quite a nice time, really enjoyed the movie, and was happy to see it made so much money over the weekend. Can you imagine what it would have made if Internet Pirates hadn't cut into the proceeds by releasing an illegal copy?

As someone who hates to pay for things, I have always advocated the free trade of music and other materials. But I draw the line at Star Wars movies before they have even left the box office—even finished their opening night take. I have it on good authority from some guy whose name I didn't catch that George Lucas has lost his ass on all the Star Wars movies, trading off what could have been a fortune for useless "merchandizing rights." Tsk-tsk. Worse than that even, the studio paid him all the gross in Republic credits, which were, of course, about as useful as confederate money after the Empire took over. A damn shame.

The plot grows even more insidious. Up to two weeks before the movie even came out, I found a version of it available for download—you heard me right. Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith was on the Net two weeks before it premiered in theaters. The version I found starred all Lego people, and ended with a gratuitous homosexual love scene between Anakin and Chewbacca. You can imagine I, as a Star Wars purist, was quite outraged, sir, which prompted me to call Skywalker Ranch and get it verified this was not the authorized print. My faith was renewed, even if Lucas just rushed out a different cut with the homosexual love scene removed, and starring flesh-and-blood people. But to be scooped in such a fashion must have been very frustrating for Mr. Lucas.

Perhaps the industry has a point about the dangers of Internet Pirates. I remember all the problems we at the commune had with Internet Pirates years back, when we were launching our first commune site. A filthy swab by the name of Nanobeard came in and stole all our swag before we had a chance to even publish. Two years worth of my columns were plundered, and brutally gutted for verbs right before my eyes. I sat back with our tech programmer Cubby and watched the brutality as they tore holes through our firewalls and made short work of our defenses. If you ask me, Mazie the Chicken's Fortune 500 Cookies made a lot more sense before those pirates scared the bejesus out of her.

Still, I can't bemoan the past. A later addition to our tech team, Glynis Pogue, is quite the Internet Pirate hunter, and usually it turns out up to 75% of them were former Net boyfriends of hers. We're pirate safe—at last. It doesn't mean Hollywood is yet pirate-proof against the likes of Nanobeard and his ilk.

So please, don't watch your movies on the Internet—you could be taking the gruel right out of some millionaire Hollywood producer's mouth without even knowing it. And word to the wise: the homosexual love scenes are often removed when they go to the theaters.

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