he entire Hundred Acre Woods were in a state of shock this week with the harrowing discovery of the bodies of local favorites Tigger and Piglet, in the aftermath of an apparent murder-suicide. Authorities are uncertain as to what motivated the affable jungle cat to such drastic action, but evidence points to Tigger having a long history of mental illness.

“In the end, Tigger just wasn’t able to bounce back from his manic depression,� the tiger’s psychotherapist, Dr. Melvin Dirth, explained sadly. “One day he’d be bouncing off the walls, driving everyone around him nutso! But then the next, you’d find him down at Eeyore’s place, watching sad old black and white movies and gorging himself on Valentine candies.�

According to friends, the effervescent tiger was also afflicted with mild schizophrenia, haunted at times by an imaginary beast known only as the “Heffalump,� which Dr. Dirth believes represented the exteriorization of all Tigger’s inner demons.

“I think we all have an inner Heffalump,� explained Dr. Dirth. “For some of us, it might be a weight problem, or a fear of heights. For Tigger, it was some kind of deadly woodland beast no one had ever seen. Tigger battled his inner demons by pretending to be a jagular on the prowl, though he’d usually only end up scaring Pooh and Piglet in the end.�

“I keep thinking about the last thing he said to me,� sobbed Hundred Acre Wood resident and Tigger acquaintance Kanga. “He said: ‘Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo! TTFN!’ I didn’t realize he really meant ta-ta-forever.�

A funeral service held Sunday featured a mournful poetic reading of the lyrics to the Tigger favorite “The Most Wonderful Thing About Tiggers� and a gag coffin filled with springy nut-can snakes, which everyone appreciated except for Eeyore.

Less is known about Piglet, the diminutive victim that friends describe as a shy, reedy-voiced pig with a fondness for taxidermy. Family friend Winnie the Pooh, a bear of very little brain and longtime Piglet confidant, paints a similar picture.

“Piglet loved nothing more than smacking his lips all the way down to the bottom of a delicious pot of honey,� Pooh reminisced fondly. “No, now wait a minute. That’s me! Who was Piglet again?�

Sentiment and remembrance gave way to practical concerns over the weekend, as industry insiders began to gossip over who would be taking Tigger and Piglet’s places in the two highly-anticipated upcoming Disney films about the Hundred Acre gang, A Roo with a View and Eeyore’s directorial debut, Jackass 2. Though final casting decisions have not yet been made, early rumor points to Tony the Tiger and Porky Pig as strong likely replacements for the deceased pair.

“If you ask me, and I realize that no one has, though they should,� rambled Tigger neighbor and woodland asshole Owl, “Tigger was a victim of cartoon violence. You can’t let children or large cats grow up watching millions of acts of senseless violence on the television and not expect it to penetrate their psyche. Just look at the violence with which Tigger lived his life, crashing around like a whirling dervish, the end result should have been obvious! I saw this coming a long ways away, which is why I’m the only Hundred Acre Wood resident with doorknobs on his doors. That stupid cat never did figure out how to use a doorknob.�

otel heiress and mysteriously celebrity-like person Paris Hilton ruined the lives of millions this week with the announcement that in two years' time, she will retire from whatever the hell it is she does in order to start a family.

Mothers were crying in the streets and children were dumping out bottles of Hilton's best-selling "Sexpot" children's bubble bath in protest upon hearing the news, and at least twelve people had to be talked down from ordering extra dessert and totally going off their fad diets after the news struck.

Internationally, distraught internet bootleg fans lamented the long nine-month-or-longer wait to see Hilton's childbirth video on the internet. Millions expressed a vague sense of malaise at the thought that whatever Hilton is famous for doing, she won't be doing it any more twenty-four months from now.

According to local teenagers, after taking the "oops, somebody stole my sex video and now I'm really famous, isn't it funny how that works" route to career relevance pioneered by Pamela Anderson and ex-hair band dongmeister Tommy Lee, Hilton raised being famous for nothing to an art form, starring in a show about her being famous for nothing on which she didn't do anything, then specializing in ironic movie appearances that capitalized on her status as not an actress.

"She was in that, that uh, Troy movie," remembered ocelot trainer Doug Finken. "She was that pussy little brother that the Hulk had to bail out. Jesus, man, everybody remembers that."

"No way dude," disagreed Finken's companion, Artie Dolch of White Plains, Arkansas. "She was on that show Real World: Rich Bitches with Lionel Richie. How could you forget that shit? That shit was on TV for like, ten years yo. I never watched it though."

Others remembered Hilton's legendary career differently.

"I know she's got a casino in Vegas, that's for sure," explained a confident Lucia Weisman of the Bronx. "Is she European or something?"

"Oh man, she was hot in that one Winger video," added Staten Island's Frank White. "That one where she was eating that big fucking hamburger, you remember that? That bar-be-cue sauce was hot as shit."

Confident in our grasp of what slobs off the street think, we decided to head straight to the source: Paris Hilton's publicist, Liz Dick.

"She's a brand name," explained Dick.

Ookay. So, a brand of what?

"What's hot this week? Cell phones? Paris Hilton is a brand of cell phones. This week. Check back with us again next week, though, since I hear denim panties are on the rise. On second thought, don't call us again."

Every educated person knows what made the Roman Empire great: stunning architecture, great hats, and Russell Crowe. But what in the hell happened to those guys? Last we heard, they were kicking serious ass and feeding their enemies to the lions, in style. But where are they now? It's not those dorks riding around on Vespas and feeling up American tourist girls, is it? Well then, what on God's green earth happened?

The fall of the Roman Empire has fascinated historians ever since about ten minutes after it happened, and has been the subject of films ranging from There's No Place Like Rome and Romesick to Desperately Seeking Susan. But unfortunately for historians quoted on TV by local news crews checking in on the topic, the real reasons are complex and many, and really hard to boil down to an eight-second soundbite. Not that many haven't tried, ending up talking really fast for about nine seconds before the buzzer goes off and they get dunked in a vat of acid.

First, some background on the Romans: They came, they saw, and they kicked all the ass they could find.

But eventually all this kicking ass and being awesome got tiresome and the Roman Empire gradually turned into a parody of itself, like Bob Dylan in the 80's or the Harlem Globetrotters after they ran out of real competition and started hot-dogging it. Rome became cartoonishly decadent, corrupt and tacky. Morality went out of style and cities fell into disrepair. Then some asshole invited the German barbarians to the party and it was all downhill from there.

Some blame the introduction of Christianity for Rome's decline, since the new religion replaced the old bloodthirsty ways and turned the Romans into pacifists who wouldn't hurt a fly unless it was gay or of a different race, religion, or social caste. So when the invading Barbarian hoards showed up cleverly dressed as Christian missionaries with a whole lot of "motivational" axes and spears and swords and whatnot in tow, the Romans welcomed them with open arms and cider.

Others blame the opposite: moral decay, which is even more deadly than gingivitis. By the end, nearly every woman in Rome had become a prostitute, which made being married an expensive nightly proposition for men. Fat-cat emperors like Caligula were throwing lavish barf parties almost nightly, where guests would eat until they honked, eat some more, take a break to feel awful, honk a few more times, and then go swimming. Most of the Roman Empire's high society drowned as a result of these get-togethers, and the unlucky few who didn't were constantly getting hurt after slipping on all the vomit everywhere.

The wealthy who survived the Roman nightlife were all polished off by Roman plumbing, which consisted entirely of lead pipes due to the extremely popular "Get Dead with Lead" slogan of the day. The poor lucky enough not to be able to afford this deadly plumbing had to make due with the crystal clear healthy water from Rome's aqueducts.

But the poor got theirs too, only at the Colosseum, where so many men and animals were slaughtered on a daily basis that they eventually just painted the whole place red to cut down on cleaning expenses. Games would begin early in the morning, and by sundown the corpses were piled so high that the fighting floor was level with the first row of seats, allowing the lions and berserk big hairy fighting guys to spill into the crowd, causing much mayhem and entertainment. The wealthy would take this as their signal to head home and clean up for that night's barf party, preferably before the lions could get to their box seats.

Having the general public come into contact with all this carnage on a daily basis also had a negative effect on Rome's public health, as jock itch became a major problem.

Also troubling were the rising levels of alcoholism among the general public. The wealthy had always been booze hounds, but now even the working class was pissing off their duties and wandering around drunk all the time due to water having been replaced by wine in many Roman homes, thanks to a misunderstanding of Christian theology.

The Roman government was also in trouble, because everyone had a different idea about how to choose a new emperor. Every time the old one died, almost always at the hands of his confidants, spouse or children, the senate would have to go through months of hearing every harebrained idea for emperor selection that people had been cooking up over the years. Drawing straws, throwing a bouquet into the crowd, pulling a sword from a stone, the Romans would try anything. In the end, it never mattered what they decided on, since the emperor was always assassinated within two weeks and they'd have to start all over again.

Soon, the Roman currency began to devalue, since the wealthy Romans had used up all the gold to make statues of themselves, and the public was unimpressed by any of the new Roman currencies made from lettuce, chocolate, or rocks with numbers painted on them. Forgery became a huge problem because no one was certain what real money lettuce was supposed to smell like. Eventually, the Romans had to turn to salt as their main form of currency, because it was the only thing everyone liked. Pepper was used as money on the black market, but even this system was not without its flaws due to expensive sneezing epidemics.

Crime on the streets became a major problem, and citizens in major cities were constantly being mugged for any stray salt they might have in their pocket bottoms or for the salty sweat off their foreheads. The police were corrupt and could easily be bought off for a sprinkle or two.

In the end, the Roman elite pulled too many of their soldiers away from the fight with the Germanic barbarians, in order to protect them from all the lions and scary motherfuckers running loose in the Colosseum, and Rome was lost. Alaric the Goth, a big-haired barbarian fond of dramatic fashion choices, captured Rome in 410 C.E. and had the entire city painted black. This made everything all hot and uncomfortable, though, and the Barbarians eventually left after painting "ROME SUX" in big letters on the front of the Colosseum. The Romans took Rome back, though nobody really wanted it by then, and the apathetic empire would eventually fall in 476 C.E. to the German Odovacar, who just came for a visit and didn't realize he had conquered anything of note.

So what lesson are we to learn from the sad fate of the once-great Roman Empire?

Woops! Sorry, pot pie's done. No lesson this week.

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