ollowing on the success of the over 3 million drug-related arrests made on April 25th’s Bring Your Drugs to Work Day, law enforcement officers continued to step up their campaign to bring in more illegal drug users. The most notable accomplishment was the successful placement by Bernalillo County, New Mexico police of a two-year-old undercover agent who aided in the arrest of his drug-dealing foster parent and co-conspirators.

The underage agent, on loan from the Drug Enforcement Agency, whose name has been withheld both because his minor status and because he’s already working another case, was the key figure in locating 1,700 pounds of marijuana and the apprehension of 4 unidentified drug traffickers. Besides the adults, an unidentified big sister has been held for questioning and suspicion of administering an Indian burn to a police officer.

The arrests have spawned rumors that other juvenile undercover agents are currently operating with major drug players across the country, a rumor confirmed by our source inside the DEA. The placement of underage special agents was the brainchild of none other than the man responsible for the successful Bring Your Drugs to Work Day, DEA wunderkind Dickie Milkweed.

"You see, you can’t attack drugs on the street alone—that’s why the drug war has always failed, just going after the dealers," said Milkweed, sharing a pitcher of beer with a bunch of his DEA buddies while this reporting apparition haunted the corner of the booth. "We’ve got a new way at the DEA—the Milkweed way. And it works. You attack drugs with a three-pronged attack."

Milkweed formed his hand into a three-pronged claw to illustrate, and asked us to ignore his fourth finger and thumb.

"Prong one—that’s deception," said Milkweed. "We lure the dealers and the users into the open. That was what Bring Your Drugs to Work Day was all about. Prong two—that’s the placement of undetectable undercover narcotics officers. People who will never be asked to do drugs or show their loyalties—because dealers think, ’Hey, there’s no way any sane law enforcement group would use a 2-year-old.’ Prong two, although it could go under prong one as a sub-prong, if we needed to, with deception. But then we are missing a vital second prong. Prong three? That’s a secret. I can’t tell you."

Milkweed insists all of the juvenile undercover agents are in no danger, since most are under five, they have never been formally trained and are, in fact, "natural" in their roles as the children of the targets they are assigned to. The agent who assisted in the New Mexico arrest has been in his role with the target family since his birth, and became such a part of the machinery of the drug family he became a trusted member, a long-time goal for any undercover agent. The down side, according to Milkweed, is that wires and listening devices cannot be worn by the agents because they often found during diaper changes.

"People ask me, is putting a 2-year-old agent in the custody of a drug dealer worth the risk to win the drug war?" Milkweed rhetorically asked. "To which I say, have you ever seen a crackhead? I have. On TV. And I never want to see one in real life. We must do everything we can to stop drugs. Maybe if you buy the next pitcher I’ll let you in on prong three."

This reporter did indeed purchase the next rounds of spirits, but the betrayal of mortals showed itself, and I got dick about prong three.

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."

True, I got fired from my job. I prefer to think I moved on to bigger and better things, and just didn't tell them about it, continuing to use my desk and other facilities for a higher purpose than ameliorating cost-volume reports. They may not have seen it that way, but it could be argued that my superiors were too close to the action to truly see the big picture. My 9 to 5 duties there were, to be frank, just a job. But my newfound mission to figure out what was the worst animated show of the 1980's can only accurately be described as a calling. And I don't have call-waiting, guys, so I've got to run with this now. Sorry for the hurt feelings and the slap fight in the hallway.

First, before we start, can you believe that Perfect Strangers ran for eight seasons? That's fucked up. Okay, on to the cartoons.

During the first phase of my quest to find the worst animated show of the 1980's, the period I like to call my "Gettin' Paid For It" phase, I was working from the misconception that there couldn't possibly have been a worse show than Beverly Hills Teens, which debuted in 1987 and sucked a hole in your TV for an entire season, teaching kids the valuable lesson that being rich is fun. But then I remembered The Care Bears and realized I had a lot of work still to do.

The Care Bears were truly awful, as must be any show created by a greeting card company. But The Care Bears wasn't even the worst show made by that company, as Strawberry Shortcake stank her way up the same path in 1980. And any conversation about bad cartoons made from greeting cards began and ended with Rainbow Brite, which Hallmark spooged onto our collective consciousness in 1985.

Easily more terrible than shows made from greeting cards were shows made from toys. For every semi-tolerable animated commercial like Transformers or G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero, there was an antichrist like the Pound Puppies or My Little Pony 'n' Friends. To this day, no one can be sure which side of the fence He-Man and the Masters of the Universe falls on, since this tale of a skinny, bespectacled prince fond of Monty Python and math jokes being zapped with an intercosmic ray that turns him into Dolph Lundgren could be viewed as either wish-fulfillment or supreme nightmare depending on one's point of view.

But stranger still were the cartoons made from things you'd never think they could, or would think to attempt to, make into cartoons. There were cartoons made from prime-time sitcoms (Alf), hit movies ( The Ewoks and Star Wars Droids Adventure Hour), and scary folk legends (The Smurfs). There was even an animated show made from the hit video game Pac-Man, which followed the adventures of Packy and his wife and son, which taught kids the valuable lesson that "Packy" is a really rude thing to call somebody from Pakistan.

But strangest of all those was Rubik, the Amazing Cube, which was a remarkably insane attempt to cash in on the popularity of the Rubik's Cube puzzle. For some reason the show was centered around a Hispanic family in Los Angeles, most likely because the white studio execs thought "Rubik" was a common Latino name.

Then there's the Wuzzles. The Wuzzles were strangely interbred animals formed by either unadvisable jungle mating or unscrupulous laboratory experiments carried on my former Nazi scientists, depending on whose version of their origin legend you believe. Living in the Land of Wuz, where everyone remains firmly fixated on the past, the show followed the adventures of Rhinokey, Bumblelion, and Asparagiraffe, an unfortunate accidental combination of a giraffe and asparagus, who was an outcast even among the Wuzzles. Suck ensued.

All of these, however, held something back from their true powers of awfulness for commercial reasons, and so must be relegated to runner-up status. Because nothing, and I mean nothing, ever sucked as much as The Berenstain Bears. You may disagree, but you'd be wrong. Suck this hot has to be handled with asbestos mittens.

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