epublican Senator Judd Gregg finally ran into a big steaming pile of luck Wednesday when he matched 5 of 6 Powerball numbers and won a lottery jackpot of $853,492. Gregg immediately called Vice-President Dick Cheney to let his boss know he would not be coming into work.

"It's about friggin' time I got some good luck," Gregg told reporters in front of his home in his home state of New Hampshire. Gregg waved his winning ticket in the air frantically and laughed. "Eat it, taxpayers! I'm gonna be my own boss from now on!"

Gregg, who chairs the Senate Budget Committee and spent more than $2 million in his last re-election campaign, did admit to some sour grapes in not winning the $340 million jackpot won by an Oregon player in the same lottery.

"I wouldn't have minded some of that sweet cash," snickered Gregg, who didn't bother dressing up for the press conferences. Wearing a pair of cutoff jeans, brown flip-flops, and a Senate Budget Committee muscle T, Gregg added, "I only play the lottery when it gets into real money like that. I could've used it more than that Oregon guy. What do they even have in Oregon? I bet he uses that money to move to a kick-ass state like New Hampshire."

Though Gregg's announced resignation would be effective immediately, officials at the Republican Party Headquarters, the very mouth of hell, claimed Gregg would soon recant his resignation, and chalked it up to "lottery euphoria."

"He does this all the time," said RNC spokesperson Phyllis Harbor. "Last year he fixed up an old Geo of his and sold it and told Cheney he was quitting. Just a few months ago he called in because a banking error in his favor left $3,000 extra in his account. Or maybe that was a beauty contest he won… I may be getting confused with a Monopoly game we played in the office last night. But frankly, Mr. Gregg is fairly high-strung for a Senator. He quit one time when the Sci-Fi Channel had a Twilight Zone marathon on. He ended up taking a sick day and just came in regular. No big deal."

Fellow Budget Committee member Sen. Kent Conrad (D, North Dakota) confirmed Sen. Gregg has a tendency to overreact in financial situations.

"He was going around everywhere in town just a few months ago, trying to raise $300 million for some 'project' he was putting together. When I asked him about it, it turns out he wanted to open a bait shop by the interstate so he could quit this 'lousy job' and be his own boss. I reminded him he's a millionaire already, and he had perhaps overestimated the amount of start-up capital it takes to open a bait shop. But that's Judd for you. He doesn't take well to numbers."

Gregg himself answered some questions by phone, and was so far staying resolved in his plans to leave the Senate.

"Forget it. I'm quitting this shitty job. I might give 'em some notice—till the end of the week at least. But come Friday, no joke, I'm outta here." Gregg made a whistling sound to punctuate his impending exit, and the sound of Rosanne playing on Nick-At-Nite could be heard. "Between the lotto money and some stocks and shit I could sell, I might finally be able to buy a partnership in a bowling alley like I've always wanted. I'm so ready to be my own boss it's not even funny."

The soon-to-be-ex-Senator was kind enough to respond to all questions, but no one here thought to ask what a Senator is doing playing the lottery anyway.

he kangaroo trial of the century began this week, pitting former dictator Saddam Hussein against the entire Western world in a one-man cage match for crimes against humanity. The trial opened Wednesday, with the much-sought Iraqi ex-President facing charges of murder, torture, forced expulsion, illegal imprisonment, and being a late 20th-century Hitler.

The 68-year-old Hussein answered the charges with a loud raspberry, presumably learned from illegal copies of American movies or television shows. Appropriate charges will be added when the trial resumes in November.

While Hussein himself refused to answer any questions put to him by the judge, the ex-president's appointed lawyer, Barry Kitschwater, explained that his client refused to recognize the authority of the court over the president of Iraq. Whistles and cat-calls ensued, providing a salty opening to the most exciting trial since that of Manuel Noriega.

Kitschwater also added that his client asked to represent himself upon the trial's resumption. Vegas odds instantly doubled that the trial of the young century would become the hotpick for funniest damn thing on television.

In a 40-page letter to the American public (specifically not including the president and members of the government), Hussein outlined his plan for his own defense, most notable among the points an intention to call every living citizen of Iraq to testify on his behalf that he did not personally kill them. Hussein also footnoted that he planned to charge with perjury anyone that didn't testify accordingly.

Hussein also wrote a letter to the judge asking for the materials he would need to interview witnesses, including 200 thin sheets of bamboo, six batteries with electrical wires attached, and approximately 30 dank, windowless cells, or equivalent interrogation space. The prosecution immediately entered the request into evidence, and wrote a nice thank-you to the former dictator.

In his public letter, Hussein pleaded with the American people to defy the "propaganda" of its sort-of-elected leaders.

"Do not accept their polluted ideals as facts," wrote the eloquent scumbag. "Rise up and overthrow the whip-bearers who control your minds and bodies. Remove them from power and forge yourselves a land of freedom and opportunity. And if you really find yourself hurting for a new leader, it just so happens I'm seeking available positions as we speak. Perhaps we can work something out."

That letter, too, was taken into evidence by the prosecution.

The defense found itself getting off to an even rougher start than expected with the news that one of the lawyers of a Hussein co-defendant had turned up missing, presumed kidnapped. Hussein lawyer Kitschwater spoke for his client, saying his heart went out to the poor miserable infidel whose whereabouts were unknown. Kitschwater also reminded the press that he was not officially Hussein's lawyer, since the former dictator would be representing himself, and asked for the media to put that part in big print for everyone to read.

After concluding opening proceedings, the trial is set to resume Nov. 28, by which time networks officials and Pay-Per-View representatives hope to have some deal hammered out with trial officials. The high bet in Vegas at the moment is Saddam will show up on opening day with something obscene shaved into the back of his head, so get in on the ground floor if you have a good feeling about it.

The baseball playoffs are over, ladies and gentlemen. The New York Yankees have lost again in pathetic and embarrassing fashion, and so yet another baseball season has fulfilled its purpose. Special thanks to Anaheim, Boston, Chicago and Cleveland for playing the other bit parts in this wonderful saga. Houston and St Louis? I suppose you can play the rest of your series if you want, but don't expect any TV cameras to show up at the park. Anaheim and Chicago? What, do you glory hogs want all the attention? Turn on your TVs, guys: the winner has already been decided. It's Not The Yankees. It's America, Greece and half of Finland. It's the human spirit, clean drinking water and sunshine. It's apple pie and bondage films. It's good.

So how did it happen this year, who slew the pinstriped dragon this time around? Not those plucky Red Sox, let me tell you that. No, they stumbled over their own helium-inflated bobbleheads and couldn't find their way out of the first round this year. Hell, they couldn't even find their way out of the clubhouse for Game 3, Chicago was declared the winner after an entire stadium waited two hours for the Red Sox to get done with their marathon tournament of Grand Theft Auto: Red Sox Nation Special Edition. But really, it was more than we ever really expected from this cavalcade of drunks and closet homos. Gotta love the Sox.

It wasn't the White Sox, either. Those ragamuffins won 99 games this season based solely on the element of surprise. They dyed their uniforms red during spring training and spent half the season fooling teams into thinking they were playing the Red Sox. Most of their opponents just gave up, figuring they didn't have the magic mojo to compete and they didn't want to risk having postseason-Jesus David Ortiz think they weren't cool.

Heck, it wasn't even Anaheim. Nothing against the Angels, they're scary like the bad part of L.A. I don't think anybody on that team even speaks English. The only two white guys left, Erstad and Kennedy, even look scared. They're both wondering where in the hell Disney went and who lowered the team bus.

Nope, it wasn't any of those teams. It was A-Rod.

A-Rod drove in as many runs in that series as I did, and I did it without looking like a dipshit on TV in flannel pajamas. I also did it without committing any fielding errors or repeating any Bull Durham clichés to bored television reporters.

The crowning moment in A-Rod's defeat of the Yankees came in the bottom of the ninth inning during the decisive game five against Anaheim. The whole season was on the line in that one at-bat and A-Rod sucked like Linda Lovelace on acid. He was the Bad News Bears, the whole team, all rolled up into one man-sized suckwad. He swung at a pitch my dead grandmother could have hit for a triple, but instead grounded into a double play so automatic the Angels' infielders weren't aware it had happened until it was over. During the play, shortstop Orlando Cabrera and second baseman Adam Kennedy never once broke stride in their conversation about why Cuban women suffer from such terrible gas, and first baseman Darin Erstad caught the ball in the middle of eating nachos.

A-Rod sucked so hard the guy sitting next to him on the bench lost his jock strap out through a toe-hole in his sock. A-Rod sucked so hard that barbers across the nation immediately retired his haircut, for fear of being associated with his godawfulness. A-Rod sucked so hard in that inning that it made his girly ball-slap from last year's ALCS look down right manly and heroic in comparison. After the game, A-Rod would admit that he played like a dog the entire series. Now my golden retriever is ashamed to leave the house.

Thanks, A-Rod.

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