illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as "A picture's worth a thousand words," and "Why buy milk when you have a cow at home?"

"A picture's worth a thousand words," repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. "That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know."

Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said "A picture's worth a thousand words" and didn't know what he was talking about.

"Phil had a real talent for being misunderstood as more profound than he really was," explained Flaggart's late wife, Lucious. "I remember that night, and what Phil said was 'That picture's worth a thousand bucks,' referring to a blurry Polaroid he carried around that was supposedly a picture of Farrah Fawcet's left tit."

Flaggart fans remain undeterred, however.

"Don't even talk to his wife," sneered Tudd. "She's never been a pro-Flaggart."

Lucious Flaggart retells a similar story about another famous saying attributed to her late husband, "In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes."

"He was standing in line for a movie in New York, and Andy Warhol overheard him say what he thought was 'In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes,' a line which Warhol then stole for himself. Luckily for Andy, he didn't hear what Phil actually said: that in about fifteen years, miniature furniture was going to be really popular. Phil never knew what he was talking about. He was drinking a lot back then, too."

Whether Flaggart was a genius or a boob, he's definitely dead now, a fact upon which even the pro-Flaggarts and the Flaggart-doubters can agree.

"Dead, misunderstood genius," summarized Tudd.

"Dead moron," disagreed a solemn Eugene Frits, a leading Flaggart-doubter and roommate to Dennis Tudd.

"Maybe he was autistic, you ever think of that?" retorted Tudd, just before the interview grew ugly.

"Maybe you should kiss my ass and do your own dishes for once, buttfuzz," explained an agitated Frits, moments before this reporter ducked out the fire escape to the sound of breaking dishes, heeding the Flaggartism about getting the fuck out while the getting the fuck out is good.

he nation's African-American community had to bear another injustice over the weekend as it was revealed the sales on their own personal super-saving shopping event, "Black Friday," were moderate at best. Undoubtedly, the responsibility for the lower-than-projected sales will fall squarely on the shoulders of the black community.

"Sales were not as high as initially expected," announced economical tool and white person spokesperson Neil Van Hurst of Columbia University's School of Business. "This is owed mostly to continuing downward spending trends in recent holiday seasons." And its all the fault of black people, Van Hurst all but said.

"Black Friday," as it was named to instigate a race war, is the day-after-Thanksgiving sales event where prices at cheap retail outlets like Wal-Mart and K-Mart are dropped dramatically, inspiring fistfights among crowds of unruly shoppers, frequently African-American, according to news footage aired afterward. The sales are held extremely early in the morning before the sun comes up, when black people are found to be scarier to whites.

Total sales figures for the racially insensitive second busiest shopping day of the year, after White Christmas Eve, were estimated at $8 billion, down .9% from last year's sales and considered a disappointment by white moneymen who hoped to shake just a few more million dollars out of the pockets of black Americans.

Only Wal-Mart, a staple of the white cornbread community, reported sales that exceeded initial projections, sending the subtle damaging message that white people as a community are pulling their weight in our consumer-based society, while black people have failed to do their part to boost sales for white-owned corporations.

Overshadowing the mostly apathetic sales were several videotaped incidents of people in crowds, usually black or partially black populations, vandalizing stores, pushing, shoving, and being rude, and generally acting like dicks. Conspiracy theorists and other sane-thinking individuals have even proposed the priceless videotaped propaganda is the real reason "Black Friday" sales are held at all.

"Damn, G, that shit's the hardcore truth," said House, a friend of this reporter who supplies all the unfounded rumors for our circle of friends. "It's all part of the master plan—the same one they've been using on us for 400 years. We only just starting to get to the heart of the conspiracy. AIDS—they did that shit to us, for real. All the new money they started passing out, it takes our finger prints and keeps them imprinted in the special material. Then the C.S.I. motherfuckers in Washington have all our prints on record. Makes it easier to keep track of us. We through the looking glass, G. It's a mystery wrapped up in a riddle, all covered with enigma cheese in a taco shell."

Providing a more optimistic outlook for the black community is African-american community leader and the greatest living man today, Reverend Shell Halbert.

"We must strive to overcome the negativity perpetuated by the media and real life black people. We can act in our community, speaking directly to our leaders. We can act in Washington, to tell the politicians we vote and we are active and involved in our world. We can work with the media, to change the negative images bombarding us. And all of us, white and black alike, can calm the hell down when you're in an angry sale crowd. If you want a $29 digital camera, for God's sake, wait patiently for it, don't smack the woman in front of you in the head like a damn fool."

There comes a time in every man's life when he must become a man. Except for Pee Wee Herman or Michael Jackson. (Owing to weirdness.) Or Gary Coleman, owing to shortness. Or unless he becomes a woman first, like RuPaul. But everybody else: eventually you've got to pony up. And Omar Bricks' pony is here.

How do I know? Read the tee-shirt, bitch.

Some misguided fucknuts actually consider home ownership to be the tell-tale sign of adulthood, but you and I know better than that. After-all, the King of China has a million palaces and he's only like five. Or if you need an example that hits closer to home, think of the Olsen Twins, or that kid from War of the Worlds. I'm sure they've all got houses, and probably in the same neighborhood. Which would suck if you live in that area, since your neighbors never mow their lawn or take out the trash, and just want to play with LEGOs all day. Which is a complaint several of my neighbors have levied against yours truly, sure, but I'd like to see some kid invent an air cannon to shoot his garbage over his house and into his neighbor Mitch's back yard, which is where that mountain came from that Mitch skis on in the winter.

No, an adult isn't made by the things he owns: not a house, not a dog, and most definitely not a car he borrowed from some bank robbers in Panama. An adult is made by whether or not other people think he's an adult, and Omar Bricks now owns a shirt that says ADULT on it in big, red letters, ending all previous debate on the subject.

Don't ask me where it came from, or what I was doing before I woke up wearing this shirt. If you know the answer, send me an email, because I'm curious myself. If it involved daycare in any way, then fuck that, don't tell me any boring stories. Make something up about alien abduction and we'll both be happier. I'd much rather think I woke up in a Starbucks bathroom with pissed pants wearing an alien sorter tee-shirt than to think I've been moonlighting at some daycare clinic that has a hard time distinguishing the staff from the patients.

I've been wearing the shirt for six days straight now, but don't worry, it's been in the shower with me a few times in that span, so it's not as if the thing smells like crotch snot. To be honest, I just haven't been able to bring myself to wear a different shirt since everyone's reaction to this one has been too entertaining to pass up for a single day, even if my "GIRLS DO IT" shirt has been feeling a little lonely this week.

Oh, and just for the record, the powers-that-be here at the commune wanted me to tie-in some product placement to this week's column, so I'm supposed to mention that the commune's official tee-shirt, that black one that just says "THE INTERNET" on the front in white letters, is back in stock. They got some more after the Crochet! staff bought out all the old ones to use as diapers for that children's hospital they were supporting. Oh, and while I'm at it with the tie-ins, that new four-meat breakfast sandwich from Burger King is pretty choice as well, just don't wipe your hands on your commune shirt while you're eating it or else you're going to look like a serial killer the next time you go into one of those black-light midnight bowling joints.

Anyway, the reactions to my "ADULT" shirt have been uniformly hilarious, and a lot more fun than the flack I caught over my infamous "Tits Ahoy!" tee a few years back. My favorite so far has been Rok Finger's, since The Rok actually believed me when I told him this shirt was from that Pakistani video store, Movie Muff, around the corner from the commune offices. I told him they had a whole special room in the back where they kept the movies for adults, instead of the English Patient/Grinch/Patrick Swayze bullshit for kids they stock the rest of the store with. Finger left immediately to check it out, since for some reason he's been rooting around for a copy of My Giant to rent for years, and didn't realize he'd been shopping in the non-adult section this whole time. Though my hunch is he ended up with some weird Middle-Eastern fetish porn instead, since he hasn't been back to work for three days.

As for Omar Bricks, I'll be spending the rest of my week crocking up more hilarious shirt explanations to sell to momos on the street, as well as putting in some more work on my plan for a matching car decal, possibly wreathed in blue flames. Bricks out.

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