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."

Sad, sad pity be to the lowly songsmith. Lord knows the songwriters and lyrical artists of our times need all the help they can get, the state of modern lyrics being what it is. For every brilliantly wrought "Pianoman," "American Pie" or "Horse with No Name" we get a half-dozen treacley "Ooh, Baby Babies" and the odd "Rock my Jock" thrown in for good measure. I, for one, have always been happy to lend a helping hand, though I must admit my aid is often of the accidental variety.

For who has never misheard the lyrics to a favorite tune, only to discover later that the song’s true verse is a decided downgrade from what one has been singing internally for years? I have! Or haven’t, if you choose to follow the proper grammar of the previous sentence. Previous to the "I have!" part, that sentence, which was pre-previous, technically speaking.

For example, few non-mouth breathers can honestly deny an overwhelming fondness for American folkstress Carly Simon’s incendiary classic "You’re So Vain," from its impenitrable opening bass meanderings to the deliciously mysterious identity of the song’s protagonist. Could it be Warren Betty? Mick Jagger? Charo? Regardless, this lamentably brief sprinkle of heaven masquerading as a pop song has always intrigued me with its Byzantine lyrics, particularly the line "There were clowns in my coffin," which I always found to be a terrifying and apt metaphor for the feeling of being trapped in a failing relationship. Imagine my surprise when CarlySimon.com recently reprinted the lyrics as "There were clouds in my coffee." Excuse me? Don’t take up my precious listening time just because you’re unhappy with Starbucks’ quality control, missy. Simon: 0, Pickles: 1.

Likewise, Ray Parker Jr.’s scabrous "I hate Mexicans!" sung during the staggering middle eight of his unforgettable theme for Ghostbusters long made this groovy classic one of my own all-time faves. Imagine my flabbergast when, during the trial over Parker’s justified "sampling" of the Huey Lewis and the News potboiler "I Want a New Drug," word came out that Parker Jr. was supposedly singing "I hear it likes the girls" instead! Shame on you, Ray Parker. And your son.

Granted, there is room for argument in any of these lyrical corrections. Some might find the originative message of Neil Young’s "Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World" preferable to the "Keep on Rocking at Marine World" I grew up with, as is their wont. I can’t be asked to understand the psychology of individuals who hate dolphins.

But who, tell me who, wouldn’t rightly prefer the jarring, surrealistic imagery of Elton John’s classic lyric "Hold me closer, Tony Danza," to some grotesquely undernourishing tripe about a midget doing the foxtrot? I fancy these as citizenry I’d care not to suffer.

Now, I truly am loathe to utter a singular unkind word about 80’s tunesmith Kim Carnes, a woman who has been rightly described, without exaggeration, as God. So I’ll just say a few words about her most preeminent of hit songs, "Bette Davis Eyes." I’ll not hesitate to admit I may have been somewhat guilty of lackadaisical listening habits or a minor Sudafed addiction when I decided that the chorus of this song read as "She’s Got 30 Days to Die," but regardless, the urgency and drama of my lyric is something I find it difficult to surrender, regardless of the fact I most certainly have been subverting the original intent of Carnes’ epic coloratura.

Drug use not my own has to be at blame for the Paul McCartney lyric "The magical mystery toad is coming to take you away," regardless of what any of the album’s erroneous liner notes say about some kind of "mystery tour." In the midst of an album chock-full of talking walruses and proudly singing, self-actualized Eggmen, a lyric about some boring bus tour really is vastly implausible.

And with all due respect to Jesus, and regardless of what the church says, I stand by my earlier stated claims that the entire religious experience would be improved with a recognition of my superior lyrics to "Cheese is Coming."

Lastly, I leave you all fondly with the immortal lyrics of one Louis Armstrong:

"I sees guys of blue, clowns of white. The bright plastic day, the dogs say goodnight. And I think to myself what I won: Der Fuehrer World..."

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Dr. Joyce Pickles, M.D.P.S.T., received her degree in psychology from U.S. Zoological College in Burnt Harbor, Maine. She remains hilariously ignorant of the commune’s status within the U.S. as an enemy combatant, as well as our status as the Worst Website Under $5*.

*Time magazine, 2005

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