he left and moderates across the entire world let out a doleful cry as it received word that Justice Sandra Day O'Connor planned to retire upon confirmation of her replacement to spend more time making decisions in the private sector. O'Connor, one of the world's last few conservative moderates, appointed before the extinction of such creatures, often played the role of the swing vote in controversial decisions on abortion and the death penalty.

"Yahoo!" said swarthy right-wing leaders, not likely referring to the popular internet search engine.

The O'Connor retirement gives übermensch George W. Bush his first chance in 5 years of rule by terror to appoint his own brand of Justice to the Supreme Court. The Court, friend to Bush ever since it put the little dork in office back in 2000, has often just narrowly avoided turnaround decisions on hot-button issues like abortion and the display of the Ten Commandments in federally-funded places.

On Friday, with O'Connor's announcement of her retirement, Bush joined the trumpets of praise for the country's first female Supreme Court Justice. The president called her "a discerning and conscientious judge" and even going so far as saying he wished he could hug her, were it not for the restraining order against him she issued herself.

Though O'Connor disappointed liberals on occasions with such decisions as affirmative action, the left and more moderate members of political parties trembled in fear of what replacement the gun-happy, baby-lovin', prayer-shoutin' president might offer up in her stead. Although the White House remained quiet on any potential nominees, insiders say they are already working on a list of nominees that can storm their way through the Republican-held Congresses to confirmation.

"Of course the president is seeking a justice that can restore balance to his party's politics," said inside source Nate the Gangsta at the White House. "But there's still the problem of getting him past the whiney liberal leftovers in Congress, and the whole thing is on display for the American public, who still ridiculously hold out hope both parties will elect someone who reflects majority values. But I'm telling you now, the watchword on this nomination is minority—the more ethnic the better."

Among the "minority" nominees are black woman Janice Brown, Hispanic Emilio Garza, white woman Edith Jones, and Frank Easterbrook, who is balding. Also among the potential nominees is Bush favorite and current Attorney General Alberto "Seedy" Gonzales, conveniently Hispanic and yet more conservative than Lawrence Welk's underpants. Gonzales may be the favorite now for the seat, who would make a fearsome foursome with Bush's other Reichsjudges Clarence Thomas, Antonin Scalia, and William Rehnquist.

With a Republican House and Senate, Democrats have few options to stop the appointment of a judge that could rollback decades of moderate or left-leaning decisions, especially with one of their only remaining tools, the filibuster, dubbed the "ballbuster" by local wit Ted Ted, under fire from the majority GOP.

The liberal opposition, however, had no potential nominees for the president to consider yet, but anyone who didn't carry a sidearm into the court would be a happy consideration at this point.

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.�

I want to take a moment to apologize to my faithful reader body, every last loser, pimp, pervert, bum, slob and drip. I know you've all been anxiously awaiting the thrilling conclusion of "Mickey Does Vegas," and if you aren't, hey fuck you. However, there's a more pressing issue that has recently crept up the leg of American society like a date rapist with a garbage bag full of roofies. I fear that if it isn't recognized and brought to light, it will destroy the universe as we know it. Or at least the part of the universe that I like.

Now, I'm not sure what the hell happened in the 20 minutes I was on the shitter, but that's about how long it took for the whole goddamned world to go pastel baby pink on me. Every article of clothing I steal lately: baby goddamned pink. And in case none of you guys got the memo, Mickey Hanes don't truck with men's clothes in girl colors. Not since the cradle, and even that wasn't my idea. I can only hope this problem is still contained in the bizarre country of Californiaworld, and hasn't spread like the clap to the other 37 states.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't pink been the undisputed color of the chick population since the beginning of time? Why do you guys feel the need to sissy yourselves up to feel cool? Did you run out of ideas? I don't care if it's a badass leather jacket dude, it's still pink leather and you look like a fruit! What the hell is next, purses? Over my dead fuckin' body! I don't have any shoes that go with that shit. I'll walk to the nearest bell tower I can find and Lee Harvey Oswald my ass into the history books before I let that happen. If guys wearing pink is truly considered cool, then welcome Mickey Hanes as the antichrist of cool. I will be the uncoolest motherfucker you ever laid eyes on. And if you're wondering how this is going to be a change, then hey, fuck you too. Call me what you want, but I will revel in my closed-mindedness while waiting out this limp ass fad from the comfort of the Vietnamese opium parlor in the basement of my apartment building. Fuck all this noise.

When I first noticed men starting to wear pink, I thought nothing of it. Probably just another huge influx of homosexuals, you know, like the 80's or whenever Ricky Martin comes to town. Good for them. But as the ether started to wear off, the world I'd known and comfortably disgusted suddenly morphed into a Terry Gilliam-style pink nightmare.

I was so angry when I got home that I went straight to the dresser drawer where Nevil sleeps, jerked his snoring ass out of his sock and went all Cambodian style switch happy on that undergrown munchkin. Man that felt good. For me, anyway, I can never tell about Nevil since he just giggles maniacally whenever his life is threatened. When I was done with him, that midget looked like a pound of raw hamburger meat that had been rolled in broken glass and hair, then set on fire with a magnifying glass and put out with a fire extinguisher. And not the chemicals inside, but with the actual can. For a second I felt bad, until I remembered that fucking midget had been using my razor to pretend-shave the other day. Serves him right.

There are so many things that I just can't wrap my brain around. Why I was born. Why I'm still alive, and why my neighbors call me anti-Semitic names for locking Nevil in the community oven while it's turned on. He's my goddamn midget; I'll cook him until I think he's learned his lesson! But guys… fellas… men… we did not emerge as the dominant and far superior sex on this planet just to skip around and make pretty like a bunch of giggly five-year-old schoolgirls. We are the alpha males! Haven't women taken enough from us already? They're probably laughing their asses off in their secret chick societies while they hand-knit sweaters that are too big for everyone, and yet we still hand them our testicles on a pink platter. Well not these testicles! I'm not letting them out of my sight for a second, even if it means never wearing pants again.

Don't jeopardize your manhood for the whim of a fad, guys, because these kinds of things are fleeting, like a tax return check. It's sand through your fingers, or if you prefer, tiny greased pigs through your fingers. Don't compromise the strength and domineering nature of all that is man, but embrace it, cherish and protect it till the end, and then use it to oppress someone smaller and weaker than you. You know, like a real man. Now go out and lie to some chick to get her to sleep with you before you piss me off further, you prancing pack of girly chimpanzees.

If I offended anyone with this column, good. Then I didn't bake my midget in an oven for nothing. Maybe you can run home and cry yourself to sleep on your overstuffed pink throw pillow and write about how Mickey Hanes was mean to you in your faggy little journal. Don't forget the part where I compared your nads to Skittles, princess.

What's that you say? Maybe I've got this whole thing wrong? Maybe I should go get myself a frilly pink jumpsuit, pick up some flower-oil skin moisturizer while I'm at it, and plaster my walls with happy teddy bear and ducky wallpaper? Never gonna happen. I'm never going to accept or believe that being a pussy is stylin'. Just like I'll never believe that George W. can read, or that Michael Jackson is really black. You people are sick.

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