No, the Other Hole!

The Real Story

My Story

"Captain, the Romulan craft is hailing us. Shall we reply?"

Jim Stockworth, Captain of the Startship Entrepreneur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Should he communicate with them? Or should he ignore them and just open fire with his photon torpedoes? Though he was leaning towards the latter, curiosity nibbled at his gut, and he couldn't help himself.

"Open up a channel on the Comm Deck Lieutenant, let's see what they have to say."

"Aye aye sir."

Lieutenant Aurora flipped some switches and tweaked some dials and ran her fingers over the touch screen which, due to her cold fingers, caused some strange reactions. But finally the Comm Deck screen flashed a view of the Romulan Flight Deck.

The Captain was pleased. This was so much more interesting than looking at millions of tiny white lights against a black background moving past him to his right and left. Of course he didn't know that was just the animated screensaver, since no one bothered to tell him. It kept him out of trouble, though, so this was a good thing.

"Greetings Earthlings!" the Romulan captain barked in broken English.

"Greetings," Stockworth replied.

"I said Greetings Earthlings! Why do you ignore my salutations? Are you being belligerent? I offer a peaceful greeting and you just ignore me? Bah, arm the phase cannons now!"

"Aurora, turn the volume on the mic up." Jim sighed and rubbed his chin as she jumped to respond. She always did that, always fucked something up. She motioned with her hand and he continued. "I said, Greetings Romulans. We had some problems with our volume. Can you hear me now?"

"Geez," everyone on the Romulan flight deck cringed as feedback squealed through the speakers. "No reason to shout like that. What was that, a Vulcan mind attack?" They were holding their ears in pain. "I could almost take that as a provocation in itself." The Romulan captain shook his head painfully. "Okay, so listen closely human scum. You are surrounded by Romulan Warbirds that have cloaking devices, all with their phase canons pointing down your throat. These are our demands, and I will give you 30 seconds to respond. First, we demand that-"

The screen went fuzzy, and then another visual screen popped up.

"What happened?" Stockworth barked out.

"I- I don't know, suddenly we're getting a download of- of-" Aurora lost her voice.

"Hi! Having trouble getting your sexual appendages to spring up? We have just the answer for you. New Viagra XT capsules baked into cupcakes. Have your cake and Edith too! Now, if you think that 26 foot long tentacle of yours is just limping around, you can get it to stand up straight and tall and probe the entire digestive system of your love interest. Order now in quantities of 50,000 or more."

"What the hell is that?" barked Stockworth. He sure was barking a lot. He rubbed his throat briefly, then went back to rubbing his chin.

"It looks like interstellar SPAM sir. It's been very frequent since we entered the Kabootie system. Normally our spam filters intercept, but this one got through somehow."

"Damn, and I don't even have a tentacle. Get the Romulans back online."

"Yes sir."

"Hey good looking," another pop-up message sprang onto the screen. "Do people make fun of your short little tentacles? Would you like to add an extra three feet so you can probe even deeper? Well with our new Artarian marsupial powder, just sprinkle a little into your nasal snort, and easily grow a few extra feet to impress all the transgender sub-species you try to subjugate. You know you want this. Resistance is futile. Assimilate to the big tentacles and poke around anywhere where your local red giant doesn't shine. Here's the Interstellar web site where-"

"Hmm," the captain said, rubbing his chin.

"Captain, I think I'm about to get the Romulans back on the screen."

"Wait, I want to get that address. "

"But captain!"

"Oh, never mind. Put Mr. Cranky back on."

"And finally, we demand that you send us one of your women for mind meld penetration and other interspecies investigations of the more intimate kind. You have thirty seconds to-"

"Agreed," Stockworth barked.

"What? You agree? Really?"

"Yes, and I know just the person to send," the captain said, rubbing his chin, looking at a very nervous Aurora.

"Well, this is different. Ok, this is great. This might lead to a long and lasting peace. And help us deal with these 50,000 cupcakes we've been consuming this past week. God, my tentacles have been erect non-stop for the last forty hours."

"Ooh, that sounds nasty," Stockworth commiserated. "I should send my doctor over."

"What?" his medical doctor barked from behind his comm chair. "I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian."

"What did he say?" barked the Romulan captain.

"Nothing. I'll beam over to your ship in a second and bring your subject. I want to check out your cupcakes."

"No problem, maybe we can make a deal. A few cases for a few dilithium crystals or something."

Jim Stockworth got up from his comm chair and motioned to Lieutenant Aurora to come with him. Her blue face suddenly went green.

The two got on the elevator and went down to the transporter deck. A few moments later they beamed out and were aboard the Romulan Warbird.

"Nice ship," Captain Stockworth said, looking around. "I really like what you did with the curtains on the Comm Deck. Nice touch."

"Yes, well sometimes we just need our privacy. Please follow me. We have your quarters ready."

When they go to the crew quarters, they were taken into a large conference room where dozens of Romulans stood around nervously, their tentacles pushing against their spandex trousers like they were really happy to see the earthlings, or there were several bunches of bananas down there.

"Ok Captain. You can drop your trousers and bend over this table," the Romulan captain said entering the room with two guards on either side of him. "The lieutenant can do the same over at that other table."

"Wait a minute!" Captain Stockworth barked back. "Why me? You said you wanted a female."

"Well, that was our third demand."

"Third?" the Captain cocked an eye and rubbed his chin.

"Yes," the Romulan Captain responded, pulling down his pants as a forty foot giant unwound around his legs. "Our second demand was a male of your species. Please bend over."

The two Romulan guards pointed their phasers at him, and he realized he was stunned by this news.

"What was the first demand?" he asked as he dropped his pants.

"Well, as I said in our communication to you. We have a... ah, a slight problem. And we need to find out which is the best gender of your species to relieve it with. The males or the females. Once we determine this during our little test here, you will turn over all the members of that gender of your crew for relief duty."

"And what do we get out of this?" Stockworth barked.

"Well, we don't blast you to kingdom come. You should have a good time. And we give you half of our cupcakes. Now bend over."

Damn, Stockworth thought as he assumed the position. He hoped Aurora didn't fuck this one up, or the doc was really going to be pissed.

***

When Girls Kill

The Real Story

"(Reuters) - Two female suicide bombers killed at least 38 people on packed Moscow metro trains on Monday, stirring fears of a broader campaign in Russia's heartland by Islamists from the North Caucasus."

My Story

"When you have reached your target area, and you're absolutely certain you'll have maximum damage impact, you press the button on the top of the detonator, like this."

Salyna looked on as the commander held a long tube like wire, with a small lipstick size item attached at the end. And at the very tip of the silver colored cyllinder was a small white button, not unlike the doorbell to her house, before it was destroyed during the recent fighting in Ingushetia. She wondered if that pearcl white button was in fact the one from her demolished house. She still remembered the day the Russian Security forces arrived in her community and ordered everyone out of their houses. Somewhere, far away, some Russian colonel had died in fighting against the insurgents, and now as retribution, their houses would be leveled by bulldozers.

Salyna remembered feeling terrible for her neighbors, but secretly she knew this was a price for her to pay. Her husband Doku was in fact one of the resistance leaders, though she hadn't seen him in three years. They had barely married, and he had inherited the house from his parents who had died in the fighting and brought her to live there. But right after the honeymoon off he had gone, and she had only seen him briefly once or twice in the past few years. But, she had a nice home to maintain, to keep up for him until the day the resistance was victorious, and he returned to his bride. But that day never came. Instead the Russians came, and tore their house down.

She had moved in with her sister in the neighboring town. The resistance was strong there, and with the valleys much narrower, the Russians feared going in as RPG rockets would rain down on their convoys. But Salyna's town had been in a valley plain. And now it was back to being just a valley.

The commander first handed the detonator to Marta. "Here, it's not armed, but it is hooked up to a light. Get a feel for how far you'll have to squeeze it to get it to go off."

Marta happily squeezed the button, flickering the bright light on the backpack on and off. "Boom boom boom! Die you heathen Russkie bastards, die!" she shouted and laughed.

Marta was much more enthusiastic about this mission. Her husband too had been a commander, and he likewise had been killed by Russian assasins recently. And she also had suffered losing her home to bulldozers in the exact same village. Salyna didn't like Marta much. She remembered going to school with her in their small schoolhouse in their village. She remembered as young girls being taken to a river for swimming classes. It was only women, so they were told to disrobe. Young girls before puberty were allowed to disrobe. And Marta had made fun of Salyna for not having breasts. Until then, Salyna had not even know what a breast was. But she was ashamed, though she didn't quite know at the time why she should be. But all of the other girls had buds or even fairly large sized breasts.

When Marta explained that a breast was the same as a cow's udder, Salyna was surprised. Then she realized that yes, her mother had given milk to her younger brother, though it was through the folds of her black robes. Salyna had never seen her mother's breasts. And this now brought back memories of her brother Tomas. She missed him. He had been drafted into the Russian Army against his will. He had died at "training camp." Word was that it was a hazing ritual that had gone wrong.

And now Marta had lost everything. Her husband, her brother, her house. And then they had come to her and told her she must volunteer for this suicide mission. To avenge the honor of her husband.

She had barely known him. They had made love only three times, but she never got pregnant. If she had children she would have been exempt, she supposed. But with tiny breasts, she probably couldn't have fed her children anyway. With no house, they would have been refugees like all the other villages in the valley.

She didn't want to volunteer, but they insisted. Even her mother and father insisted. It didn't sound much like volunteering. But when the Imam visited and said it was her holy duty, and everyone kept at it for days and days, she finally relented.

Marta on the other hand was thrilled at the prospect. Marta claimed her life had been destroyed and she had no interest living as some reclusive widow. She wanted to go to heaven in a blaze of glory and take out a few dozen Russians. Let them know her pain.

Salyna did not want to feel pain. She just wanted to wander down to the stream where she picked wildflowers and lay on the long grass and looked at the sky and let her imagination describe the clouds passing by.

"Salyna?"

Salyna was startled back to reality. "Yes?" Then she realized Marta was handing her the detonator to try. "Oh, thank-you."

She took it and held it in her palm.

"Go ahead, try squeezing the detonator."

"I don't want to die."

"It's not armed. Stop being a baby and just squeeze it," Marta barked at her.

Salyna looked up at Marta. She held up the detonator and squeezed, like ringing the doorbell hoping to wake everyone in the house, loud enough to wake the dead in the village graveyard. Sadly, Marta did not disappear. All she got for her troubles was a small red light lighting up.

"Good," the commander said. "Now you know how hard to press it to detonate it. Remember, when you reach your target area, wait until you have the most people around you possible to unleash your fury and revenge. The subway car is better than then the platform, as the cars will contain the blast impact. On the platform, the blast will just dissipate."

"I hope I can take a hundred of the bastards with me!" shouted Marta. "While my soul rises to heaven, I'll watch theirs tumble down to hell!"

Salyna just whispered to herself one more time that she didn't want to die.

---

Underneath her coat she wore a vest of bricks. They were incredibly heavy. Each pack she was told had explosive C4 and metal bolts and rods. Salyna was not a strong girl like Marta. But Salyna kept quiet. Marta was complaining her breasts were in the way. Salyna just sighed. She couldn't even use the udder defense to recuse herself.

After the bomb vests were fitted, the commander approached with two other, older woman. "These are your handlers. Simone will go with Marta and Khaliea will go with Salyna. Your handlers will arm your devices by flipping a switch on your back under your coat. They will then give you a kiss good-bye and let you board the subway train. You go to your stop, and right before the doors open that's when you press the button, when the cars are the most packed. Everyone ready?"

"I don't want to die," Salyna said quietly. Everyone looked at her.

"There, there," Khaliea said, coming up to Salyna and taking her in her arms, putting her head on her shoulder. "Salyna, right? You must do this. For the glory of God, praised be his name, Inshallah. And for Ingushetia, so that one day we too will have our freedom. And for you husband, and your brother. It would be shameful for you to not avenge your husband. To live to be an old maid and everyone say ha, there goes the woman who would not avenge her husband. If your husband's spirit came into this room right now, don't you think he would say Salyna, avenge my death! How can you not avenge him? Do you want to be haunted by his spirit the rest of your life?"

Salyna saw Marta looking at her, as if mouthing the words, such a baby, tiny breasts. Salyna lifted her head and sighed. "Yes, I'll do it for my husband." But inside she was thinking she would really do it for her brother Tomas. He would have appreciated this.

"Good, it's time to pray," the commander said, looking at his watch. They got their prayer rugs and faced south toward Mecca. Salyna wished she could remove the bomb vest. It was very uncomfortable praying to god with these bricks wrapped around her tiny chest.

---

Khaleia went around to Salyna's back, as if straightening her coat. Salyna heard something click. The same was happening with Marta.

"Ok, you're both ready. Have a good trip. Remember, Marta, you get off at Lubyanka and pretend to transfer to the Purple line train. Then go back and board a Red line train. As the doors close, go with God. And Salyna, you just continue on to Park Kultury, where you will have your moment. May God go with both of you, for God is great, praised be his name." This she had whispered so as not to raise the suspicions of other people on the platform, though they were further away.

The train arrived and Salyna felt in her skirt pocket the detonator device. Wouldn't it be funny if she pressed it now? Oops, sorry. She smiled.

"Is everything okay Salyna?"

"Yes," she said. She wondered if God had a sense of humor.

"Don't fail us."

"I won't." She didn't want to die.

The train arrived and they both boarded. Marta selected a seat and told Salyna to sit next to her.

"It's five stops before I get off, but don't talk to me. People may recognize our southern accents and they aready don't like our tan skins. They are so pale here in Moscow. They get no sun.

Salyna sat down and just stared at the advertisements on the interior of the subway car. Cell phones and some radio station. A scantily clad woman was advertising cigarettes. Salyna actually liked her outfit, though it would be a scandal for a Muslim woman like her to wear something like that back home. But she looked so pretty.

The train left the station and rumbled away. The trip was rather unexciting, being underground you couldn't see much. The other passengers ignored them, though Salyna looked at each and every one. Excuse me sir, I am about to die. Would you like to stand next to me and die too?

"Will it hurt?" Salyna finally asked Marta.

"Will what hurt?"

"What do you think?" Salyna elbowed her. She was no longer afraid of Marta. She was about to die. What else could she be afraid of?

"No, now hush. It will be instantaneous."

Salyna thought to herself for awhile.

"I guess my head will go through the roof."

"What?"

"Well, if it's around my chest, I guess when it goes off my head will fly upward. I suppose I'll be in lots of pieces. It'll be a mess. I would hate to be the one to have to clean me up. Oh, here's a finger. Oh, here's a liver."

"Would you please stop? Do you want to give us away?"

Salyna kept thinking. So these were her last thoughts, huh?

"What does it feel like to have big breasts?" she asked Marta.

Marta just stared at her. "It's okay. They get in the way a lot. I wish I was flat chested like you. You don't know how uncomfortable this is right now. I can't wait to get it over with."

Salyna was surprised to hear this. "So you think you'll end up splashing milk over everyone?"

At this point Marta just sighed and decided to ignore Salyna.

Finally, they arrived at Lubyanka station. Marta got up.

"Remember," she whispered, the train was now packed. "I will wait 15 minutes. But if they stop the trains because of me, don't wait. Go with God." Marta leaned over and gave Salyna a kiss on the cheek, turned away, and left with the other disembarking passengers.

The train pulled away, and a young man in military uniform sat down next to her. Salyna ignored him. But the man kept looking at her.

Salyna wished Marta was still here. She needed Marta's strength.

After about 10 minutes, the young soldier addressed her.

"So where are you off to?"

Salyna shyly looked at him. "I'm getting off at Park Kultury."

"Really? So am I. Can I buy you lunch?" He really did look handsome in his uniform. She remembered when Tomas was drafted, she did she him in uniform that last day before he left the village. But she had never seen him again.

"No, I'm not hungry." Even though in fact she was starving.

"C'mon, how can you resist a dashing young soldier like me? Say, your accent is kind of funny. You're not from the Caucuses, are you?"

She just looked at him.

"I served in Chechnya, Dagostan, and Ingushetia. I'm a real war veteran. Killed many of the rebels. Well, not directly, I was in an artillery unit. But it's the same thing." He nudged closer to her. "So, how about it? Let me buy you lunch?"

Suddenly Salyna became uncomfortable. Though he was a good looking young man, courting just wasn't done like this back home. And he said he had fought against the rebels and killed them! Suddenly, she felt his hand on her thigh. Salyna got real nervous. What if it moved up to her hip?

"C'mon, a country bumpkin like you, let me show you around Moscow, show you how real Russians live. Ah, here we are, Park Kultury. Getting off?"

Salyna stood up.

"So, you coming with me for a bite to eat? I insist, you know. I'm not going to let you say no." He looked at her eyes and smiled.

Salyna fumbled for the switch in her skirt pocket. "No, I'm sorry, I really can't. I have to run. I have to... go with God." And she looked up at his puzzled face. Click.

***

Legal Pot

The Real Story

"LOS ANGELES (AFP) – Far from being a war between hippies and police, the fight to legalize marijuana in California centers on whether decriminalizing and taxing cannabis can help fill the state's fiscal hole.

Using the drug for medical purposes has been legal for 14 years in the western state. But a new initiative that will appear on the ballot in November elections is seeking to legalize recreational marijuana use."

My Story

Thomas saw an elderly couple walking down Santa Monica Boulevard. Normally he would have ignored them, but even for March it was a hot afternoon, with beads of sweat trickling down from his bandana, and he was bored and the heat spurred him on to do something. He was collecting signatures for a petition to put a referendum on the California ballot to legalize Marijuana. Normally he wouldn't even have bothered trying to ask two people in their seventies or eighties, heck he had no idea how old they were. Everyone over sixty looked pretty much the same to him.

She had a straw hat with a flowery ribbon around the base, while he wore a Scottish cap a little warm for this climate, but he supposed if it kept the sun off his head, it did its job. Thomas approached the two and worked on his most disarming smile while trying not to show his yellowed teeth from all the smoking he did. He didn't know what to expect, total right wing condemnation or confused indifference, But what the heck, he really was bored. So few people were walking the streets when you could zip by in your automobile.

"Hello," he greeted them cheerfully. They stopped with a start and looked at him warily. He felt like he had been profiled as a mugger, but he tried to change that with his sing song voice. "How are you doing today?"

"We give to the United Way," the old man replied, taking the woman by the elbow and trying to lead her on.

"Oh, no, I'm not asking for money. Actually I'm just asking for people to sign a petition," he smiled, showing them his clipboard in one hand and Bic pen in the other, as one might show their non-threatening hands to a Doberman.

They looked down at his weapons and then visibly relaxed as both released a pent up breath. "Oh, a petition!" the woman exclaimed. "I love signing petitions! You know I used to gather signatures for petitions when I was your age too."

Thomas smiled. "Was that for the right to vote?" Thomas asked innocently.

"Oh, hell no sonny. I'm not THAT old. Actually it was to legalize prostitution. Have you ever heard of the Coyote League?"

Thomas was taken aback. Her, a prostitute? Wow, brain melt. Maybe, when she was younger, but that had to be a l-o-n-g time ago. "Uh, no, sorry, never heard of it."

"Yes, well it was a while back. It didn't work. The petition. But, we tried. Got a lot of press though. I was actually on the Jack Paar show."

Thomas had no idea who Jack Paar was. Probably some local radio personality "Well, I'm collecting signatures to place on the ballot a referendum to legalize Marijuana. It's currently legal in California to smoke Marijuana for medicinal purposes such as those suffering from Cancer and other painful, debilitating diseases. But we want it to be available to more people, and not just with a prescription.

Currently criminals are making a lot of money smuggling Marijuana into the country which is part of the reason we're having this economic recession. The lost tax money, the money leaving the local economy, etc. And many innocent people who just want to relax are being wrongfully arrested and going to overcrowded jails which the government can't afford to maintain and house so many people already, sometimes releasing much more dangerous criminals to accommodate all the new inmates."

The old man took the clipboard from Thomas and looked down at it through his glasses. "Marijuana?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You mean MJ?" the lady responded.

Thomas looked at her. "Uh, yeah, some people call it MJ. And pot."

"So how much could you legally have?" the old man asked.

"Um, up to an ounce."

"Hmph, make it a pound and I might consider it."

"Excuse me?" Thomas cocked an eye.

"Well," the little old lady said, taking the pen from Thomas and the clipboard from the man, "we have three hundred plants in our basement and attic. We now have about four kilos stored up. An ounce or less wouldn't do shit for us. So, where do I sign?"

Thomas stared at her. "Um," he came out of his daze, and he pointed to the bottom of the list. "Right here. I'm sorry, did you say you have four kilos?"

"Damn right. You're not a Fed, are you?"

"Oh, no. I'm gathering signatures to legalize it. "

She signed the paper and handed it to the man to sign. "Go on Fred. Baby steps. Eventually we'll be able to grow as much as we want."

Thomas was quite shocked. "Uh, you'll also be able to have up to 25 square feet for growing space."

The man laughed as he took the clipboard with his trembling, liver spotted hands. "Hah, we have 400 hundred square feet. And she wants to hang some plants in the sun room. But I don't know about our neighbors."

"Four hundred square feet?" Thomas was shocked. He had a couple of plants in a closet, but... four hundred...

The old woman reached into her purse and to Thomas' surprise pulled out two rolled cigarettes and handed one to Thomas. "Here, would you like to try one of ours?" she asked, also pulling out a lighter. "It's our best Acapulco Gold. Smooth and a most excellent buzz."

"Well, sure!" Thomas was just in total generational shock. She lit hers and then lit him up. He took a deep drag... nice! Then Fred took hers and took a drag as well. Wow, this was good shit! he was thinking.

"So, what was that you were a part of? The Coyote League?"

"Oh yes," the old lady smiled coyly. "And Fred here was my pimp. We made an excellent living. Made 8 millimeter movies on the side. And now we have two grown daughters who both work in Las Vegas and make serious money. So, aren't these nice?" she asked, taking another deep drag. "Really help you to get loose."

"Yeah, this is great shit! I mean-"

"We know what you mean young man," she said, placing a small plastic bag in his hand. "Good luck with that petition." And the two moved on.

Thomas looked at the bag in his hand and the dark green contents within. He then took another deep drag, reminding himself, never, ever to profile anyone again.

***

El Norte

"Hello everyone, I'm Bob Coustas and welcome to another edition of ESPN 360 where we bring you sports from around the world. And today we have the 5,000th running of the world famous Tijuana to San Diego 1 mile run, the El Norte! Starting at Boulevard Canon Otay on the Mexican side of the border, our contestants have to climb, leap, crawl under or squeeze through the fence dividing the US from Mexico, then sprint out onto the dry desert like conditions of Pacific Gateway Park, and then make the one mile run to finally cross the symbolic finish line by crossing Otay Mesa Road, or as the locals call it, the 905.

Once they cross the 905 into San Diego proper, they win the prize of being able to hide in the streets of San Diego and have now become proud, newly arrived illegal Americans. But it's not that easy. To explain the challenge, here's my partner and color comentator Tom Erbanks. Tom, what have they got in store for them?"

"Well Bob, not only do they have the initial challenge of getting through the fence, but then waiting for them on the other side are the famous men and women of the US Border Patrol. Yes, these fine guys and gals from the Department of Homeland Security utilize the latest sophisticated tools to stop these contestants in their tracks, round em up, and send them back to the starting line."

"So, what chance have they got?"

"Well, it's purely by sheer numbers Bob. There are only so many Border Patrol guards. And though they have the latest equipment including ATV's, 4 wheel drive jeeps and hummers, night vision goggles, and even bring along their own K-9 dogs, the Mexicans have sheer numbers. There's no way they can all be stopped. And to the fastest and craftiest runners go the spoils. Oh my god! And they're off! They didn't even wait for the starting gun."

"Is it a false start Tom?"

"No, not at all. In the El Norte it's totally legal to start before sundown. Sometimes it's the sheer pressure of humanity that just pushes people over the starting line, and once one person goes, they all start to go. And look at them go!"

"Yes, out front we have some real sprinters. Look at those short legs go! Oh no, oh no! They just got hauled in by a Jeep with three guards who lassoed them from behind! Is that a legal move Tom?"

"Sure is Bob. Those sprinters who set the pace sure look good, but those are the ones the Border Patrol crack guards target first. They just stand out and are easy to spot up on defense."

"Okay, down on the field we have Cindy Margolis, and she's going to talk to one of the contestants who's just been snatched up. Cindy?"

"Yes Bob. I have with me here 28-time contestant Rodrigo Zaragoza. Rodrigo, you were doing so well. What happened?"

"I do not knaw. I waz running along thee left side and thee Poliziai drove over my fut wit hees vehicle. I fall down and he jump on top and tie me up like a steer."

"You must be disappointed, you were doing so well."

"Si, my familia is already in San Francisco and my wife ees sick and I need to be wit her and watch thee cheeldren, but not thees nite. But now my foot hurt too."

"Well, have a doctor check that foot out and good luck next time."

"But we don't have socialized medicine like Caneeda, and I can't-"

"Back to you Bob."

"Thank-you Cindy. Meanwhile we've got about two hundred contestants making their way over a bluff to the west side of the grounds and many have gotten past the border guards. Just like you said Tom, there just aren't enough border guards to handle them all."

"Yes, but notice they're suddenly veering to the left. They've just run into stage 2."

"What's that Tom?"

"Well Bob, we have private citizens who come out to help for both fun and exercise. Some belong to the Minutemen organization, some are varsity athletes from nearby San Ysidro High School practicing their tackling skills, and some are members of the local YMCA Jazzercise class."

"Oh my! Look at that! Using a rope, they just tripped up two dozen runners, including what looks like women and children!"

"Yes Bob, and those if I'm not mistaken are the Tea Baggers. They're a recent addition to this race event and they claim they're concerned the new Health Care legislation the President Obama signed will let these contestants get free health care. Of course nothing could be further from the truth, but that's not letting them stop from having some fun."

"Oh my God, someone just got run over by a Humvee! And it's not looking good. He's not moving. Let's get in for a closer look. No, he's down for the count. Well the Humvee is moving on, I guess that contestant isn't going anywhere soon."

"Right Bob, why waste time with someone who's 100% out. There's so many more people to catch."

"Yes Cindy, you have another interview?"

"Yes Tom, I have with me Padre John Cassavetes of the Trinity Fellowship Christian Church. Padre Cassavetes, what do you think of the race so far?"

"I- I think it's horrible. These poor people are trying to find a new life, but they're being treated so horribly and accorded no dignity or respect. My organization is here to give sanctuary to any that can make it but my God, this is horrible. These Minutemen and Tea Baggers are beating them with sticks and threatening them with guns and-"

"I'm sorry we just lost that interview, we're unfortunately having technical difficulties. So Tom, what's the record here?"

"Well Bob, the 4 minute mile is the time to beat, and we're having our first contestants just now reaching the 905. It's an unwritten rule. You make it past the 905 and you win. And here comes our first contestant, and he runs across the highway and oh no! He just got hit by a semi! What a huge disappointment! To make it this far and get stopped at the goal line. Ok, here's the next person, and he does dodge the traffic and makes it across. Cindy, are you there?"

"Yes Tom. With me is- I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Akeem."

"Akeem? That doesn't sound very-"

"Akeem Rosarita. I'm from southern Mexico."

"Oh, okay, well congratulations Akeem. How was the run?"

"It was good, but tiring, praise Allah. But I can't talk, gotta run. Good-bye."

"Well there you have it, our top finisher was Akeem Rosarita. An unusual name, but he said he was from sourthern Mexico."

"Ok Cindy, we're going to take a commercial break and return with some of the highlights of this landmark 5,000th running of the San Diego El Norte!"

***

A Healthy Debate

The Real Story

Healthcare changes headed back to House

"A package of final changes to a landmark healthcare reform law must be approved again by the House of Representatives after the Senate parliamentarian eliminated two minor provisions on Thursday."

My Story

"Welcome to C-Span. Today we're going to discuss the newly passed Health Care Reform bill that was signed into law recently by President Obama. First up is Larry Decader of the Health Care For All foundation. So Larry, how do you feel about the new bill?"

"Well, I think it's a great day for America. Presidents as far back as Teddy Roosevelt have tried to get congress to pass universal Health Care legislation to give everyone affordable health care and coverage. They all failed or came up short or were only able to pass small pieces of the big picture, like Medicare for the elderly or Medicaid for the extremely poor.

But many middle to low income Americans were marginalized, and in the spiraling costs of the past two decades, millions have had to go without health care insurance, and with it without health care leading to either bankruptcy or early death. And those that have it now find the premiums are becoming unaffordable, with all kind of limits and deductions and all sorts of common conditions not covered.

When people get sick and need their health care insurance the most, insurance companies are finding various ways to deny or drop coverage. This new health bill will stop most of those shenanigans. It won't solve all the problems, I'm especially disappointed there's no public option. But the rule changes alone are worth their weight in gold."

"Ok, thank-you. Now for a countering opinion, we have Earl Sedgwick of Tea Partiers of West Texas. So Earl, why were you so opposed to the new Health Care Bill?"

"God-damn piece of fucking socialist communist bullshit that is gonna destroy, ah said DESTROY America! That good fer-nuthin damn son-of-bitch who ain't even an American, I know he weren't born in no USA, no birth certificate or nuthin. And Hawaii weren't no US State when he were born so don't give me no bullshit 'bout he be 'Merican. And this socialist black scum, hell he ain't even full black, he be half white trash and the other half muslim towel head, he gonna sink my America, he gonna wreck it, he gonna steal my hard earned dollars to pay for this socialist bullshit. That's why I don't pay no taxes no more, ain't filled out a 1040 in two years since Dubya left. America is gonna crash and burn with this babykiller bill."

"I see. So you don't like it much. So Larry, Earl brings up a good point. What about the payment for abortion services that many people have objected to?"

"Well , President Obama was approached by members of his own party who were unhappy about that potential, and Barack Obama was willing to negotiate and compromise. He issued an Executive Order that the public funds obligated to this health care coverage could not be used for abortion. Many people ridiculed that an Executive Order is useless, that it doesn't trump federal law. But today, President Obama signed a second order, this time an Executive Finding which holds even more force, directing the Office of Management and Budget to clearly state in its interpretations of the law, which all government agencies follow, that no money is to be used to fund abortions. I think he has gone beyond any verbal agreement to ensure his compromise will hold."

"You god-damn lying faggot son-of-a-bitch! He just lying through his teeth that Muslim son-of-"

"Obama is not Muslim you idiot. He's a Baptist."

"Baptist, schmaptist! Ain't his middle name Hussein? Hussein bin Obama Laden if you ask me!"

"What the hell are you talking about you old coot? Hussein is his middle name. Big deal. What's your middle name?"

"Huh? Um, Javier. But that don' matter none. That's cause my daddy had a Mexicali gal he kept round the house to do the cooking and cleaning and cleaning out his whistle when the need be, all Texans have that, so don't you be minding it none. But Obama is nothing but a gay loving, men kissing men, don't ask cause I ain't gonna tell anyway, let all the faggots git married and molest our little boys son-of-bitch! He's gonna burn in hell fo this!"

"Where did you get this guy?"

"Yes, so Larry, many of the provisions don't take effect until 2014, and Republicans say they are going to do everything to block it, overturn it, get a Republican majority back in Congress and a Republican president next term and overturn it, and now many of the Attorneys General in many states have filed suit trying to block the bill claiming it will cause financial hardship on the states."

"Well, you'll notice it's all Republicans who have joined the suit, so it's clearly a Republican political maneuver."

"There was one Democrat."

"Yes, but he's from Louisiana, and he just wants more money. After Katrina, they have very little down there. Plus, President Obama studied constitutional law when he got his law degree, and even he can't believe the Republican Attorneys General are trying to say the Federal Government can't do this. It says in the Constitution that Federal law trumps state law, so it's a no brainer."

"I'll tell ya what's a no brainer. A no brainer is what I's gonna do to the first Democrat I see. I'm gonna bring along my Louisville slugger and bash his head in so fast, he's gonna wonder what hit him. I hate Democrats! I hate tea drinkin Liberal fags! I hate people trying to take away my rights like my Medicare! No Socialized medicine! No god-damn communist death panels!"

"You are such an idiot! What do you think Medicare is? It's a government run health care program. It's the very socialist type program you claim you despise."

"What? No! You lie! I can tell by your fancy suit and tie you is a liar! Liar, liar, pants on fire! Liah!"

"And the Health Insurance companies already are making decisions to not provide health insurance to people with catastrophic illnesses, denying kidney transplants and heart operations. They already are running death panels and this bill will stop them. Did you actually even read any of the Health Care bill?"

"I don't need to read nuthin. Glen Beck and Fox News have spoken the truth. They is like the word of the Bible. God bless Glen Beck! And may you die in hell fire you black loving cock sucking mother-fu-"

"OK! Well that's all for today's discussion on C-Span of the new Health Care Bill. Next up, the British Parliament has the weekly Questions to the Prime Minister session where we find out if the Conservative party can cook Gordon Brown's goose over the Iraq war revelations. Next, on C-Span."

***

China Criticizes Google for End to Self Censorship

The Real Story

"BEIJING, March 23 (Reuters) - China on Tuesday condemned Google's decision to end self-censorship of its Chinese-language Google.cn search site and to redirect users to Google's Hong Kong search site not self-censored by the company"

http://www.reuters.com/article/

My Story

The Chinese government on Tuesday issued a statement that Google has ███████ ██████

An unnamed official from China's State Council Information Office said:

"Foreign companies operating in China must ███████ Chinese laws. Google has violated the written promise ███████ the Chinese market. It is totally wrong in halting ███████ filtering of its search provider and also making aspersions and accusations towards China about ███████. We firmly oppose ███████ and express our dissatisfaction and anger at Google Inc's unreasonable ███████."

The official noted that Google announced its complaints over China's ███████ on Jan 12.

The official said: "After repeated requests from Google, and to hear its real views face-to-face and demonstrate China's sincerity, on January 29 and February 25 of this year responsible officials from China's relevant authorities held talks with Google, and offered ███████."

The official said: "They stressed that ███████ in China should abide by Chinese laws, and if Google is willing to ███████. If Google insists on ███████ of its Chinese website, that is Google's own affair. But it must follow Chinese law and international custom, and responsibly ███████."

The official said: "The Chinese government encourages the development and spread of the ███████.

***

The Pope Says He's Sorry

The Real Story

"Pope Benedict XVI said Saturday he is "truly sorry" for the abuse suffered by victims at the hands of Catholic priests in Ireland."

My Story

"I am so impressed. You are truly the man!" Marbas said to the boss, casually walking over to the bar and pouring himself some cognac from the decanter.

The boss lifted an eyebrow at his minion taking liberty to have a drink univited, but decided to hold his tongue. He really was chuckling inside at his great success, and he could deal with Marbas in some other subtle way later. He was especially good at that. Even though he had many working for him, he loved to make their lives hell sometimes, if for no other reason than for the sheer fun of it.

Marbas picked up the paper. "Did you love what the Pope said in his letter? What he said about the Catholic religious in Ireland?"

He began to read aloud Pope Benedict's words.

""You betrayed the trust that was placed in you by innocent young people and their parents, and you must answer for it before Almighty God and before properly constituted tribunals. You have forfeited the esteem of the people of Ireland and brought shame and dishonor upon your confreres. Together with the immense harm done to victims, great damage has been done to the church and to the public perception of the priesthood and religious life."

"Is that awesome or what?"

The boss actually chuckled. He hadn't done that in awhile. The one who was an expert at gnashing his teeth was actually winning for a change. "Yes, quite nice. I especially loved the line about "properly constituted tribunals." Ah, remember Marbas in the old days they'd have lynch mobs? That might get me a few dozen converts, but nothing works like the national media attention drawn out trials get. This is so much better."

"Damn boss, after this is done, ain't nobody gonna belong to or believe in the Catholic Church no more."

"Yes. life is good, life is very good." He watched Malbas down another glass. "Malbas, before you drink all of my cognac, pour me a glass, will you?"

"Oh, uh, sure boss. Right away. No that was brilliant of you. Operation Peddle-a-Priest really was a rousing success. By getting the Catholics to insist priests must be celibate, and we all know how human nature works, the priesthood got filled with sexually frustrated horny guys. Now no one trusts them! You were a genius. Say, how did you get them to insist they had to be celibate?"

"Well Marbas, it took awhile. You know all of Jesus' disciples were married men. Even in the first century they allowed women to preside over their eucharistic meals. But then in the second century, I started whispering to them that a person couldn't be perfect and married, even though most priests were married. Their pride at being perfect began to creep in. Then at the Council of Elvira I got them to pass a rule, no sex the night before mass. That made them cranky. Then in 325 I convinced them no man can marry after he becomes a priest. That only affected a small handful, but it was a beginning.

Next at the Council of Laodicea in 352 I formed a caucus that passed the rule that women couldn't be priests any longer. The whole monthly bleeding period thing was a perfect ruse. Such imbeciles. Then in 385 I got Pope Siricus to leave his wife, and then he decreed priests could no longer have sex with their wives. That was a hoot! All I did was supply him with 70 virgins for his special oblations. You know, another group picked up on that, but that's another story.

Then by total serendipity, something I had nothing to do with, St. Augustine in 401 declared that “Nothing is so powerful in drawing the spirit of a man downwards as the caresses of a woman.” I had nothing to do with that, but it was so perfect! They were on a path to self destruction.

Then in 590 I got Pope Gregory “the Great” (that's what I called him) to say that all sexual desire is sinful in itself. People started believing that sexual desire was intrinsically evil. After that it was easy. Sex became dirty, and desired.

Oh, I had some setbacks. That report from the Council of Aix-la-Chapelle in 836 openly admitted that abortions and infanticide took place in convents and monasteries to cover up activities of uncelibate clerics. And St. Ulrich argued from scripture and common sense that the only way to purify the church from the worst excesses of celibacy was to permit priests to marry. And they did start to marry again.

And then finally in 1563 the Council of Trent stated that celibacy and virginity were superior to marriage. You know I helped write that decree. But that was the nail in the coffin.

And it took another 450 years, but it finally has caused the Catholic Church to begin to collapse. And finally, good riddance!"

"That is so awesome boss," Marbas said, finishing off the last of the cognac. The boss noticed. Marbas would burn in hell for that he decided. But later. For now he was enjoying the ass kissing. In fact, a quickie blow job wouldn't be bad right now.

"And you know what boss?" Marbas said, "In the old days the Church would have blamed the devil for this, and people would have believed them! But, no one believes in you anymore! Instead they blame themselves. It's brilliant!"

"Yes, yes it is if I say so myself. A job well done. Say, Marbas, could you come over here and do me a quick favor?"

***

No News

The Real Story

http://

My Story

A very odd thing occurred today. Nothing happened. News outlets around the world were at a loss for words to describe this strange turn of events. For the first time in memory the news ticker from the Associated Press stood still. Some newspapers cheated and reprinted stories from yesterday, but then later recanted admitting that they were recycling old material. The blogosphere was hard hit as well, with pundits perplexed at what to comment on, but ended up filling their quotas by waxing poetic on common day to day topics such as hangnails and what's it called when your nose gets all tingly and you have to sneeze? C'mon, there has to be a word for it, but even Google was unable to help.

Speaking of Google, many people commented on previous reports that Google would be pulling out of China. After the hacking attacks and Google's dislike of the Chinese Government censorship requirements, the Chinese portion of the World Wide Web search engine would go dark. There would be nothing there if you tried to Google it. What would happen to someone in China who typed in http://google.com? Would it be a 404 page not found? Calls to Google and Chinese government sources for comments were not answered.

In Europe, yesterday's news mentioned that the Large Hadron Collider may be shut down again for a year. So no new conspiracy or dooms day theories were coming out of there. In all honesty, news reporters were flummoxed at the dearth of news.

Of course this didn't stop the commentaries. Fox news' many analysts felt the non-news day was a reflection of the lack of leadership in the Obama administration, and that the Democratic majority in Congress couldn't get anything done. MSNBC for it's part blamed the lack of cooperation on the Republicans gridlocking everything in Congress, and did describe the dress Michelle Obama wore when seen in the Rose Garden having breakfast with her husband (emerald green).

CNN reported it was St. Patrick's Day, but most reporters had covered every conceivable angle about green beer and the wearing of the green. The revelry wouldn't begin until later in the day, so reports of drunk driving accidents and arrests had not yet trickled in.

The NCAA March Madness tournament would not begin until tomorrow, so nothing much to talk about in sports. The weather was nice and sunny, and even that was a boring subject when everything was nice. With good weather, there were no traffic delays or cancelled flights.

On the world scene, no earthquakes or tsunami's. The Israeli's had made no embarrassing announcements and no truck bombs had blown up anywhere in the world today. It was just an incredibly slow news day.

Then as the day progressed, a rumor did sweep the Internet, going absolutely hog wild viral, that Bobbie Sandusky had asked that hot girl Lizzie Beckham to the Liberty High school prom. And though hordes of reporters had descended on the school to confirm the report, in the end, when cornered, Bobbie simply said, "No comment."

Lizzie's response was, "Really? He did? I didn't hear anything. I mean let me check my text messages again 'cause I didn't see anything. Cause that would be so hot, y'know what I mean? I saw this dress with a really low cut neckline that was so hot but my Mom would kill me if I wore it. Ya know I could put on another dress then change when I got to Tyra's house before we go to the prom. Hey, you're not going to print this, are you?"

***

Animal Science Deleting a Single Gene Allows Limb Regeneration in Mammals

The Real Story

http://www.physorg.com/news187879295.html

"A quest that began over a decade ago with a chance observation has reached a milestone: the identification of a gene that may regulate regeneration in mammals. The absence of this single gene, called p21, confers a healing potential in mice long thought to have been lost through evolution and reserved for creatures like flatworms, sponges, and some species of salamander."

My Story

The news conference had been hastily set up at Drexel University. Months earlier, these scientists had announced that by removing a single gene, known as p21, mammals could regenerate lost tissue or limbs. After further intense clinical trials with small mammals such as mice and rats and amazing results, the FDA had approved the first clinical study on humans.

The first subject was a construction worker who had lost his arm when his shirt sleeve had snagged on a 18 inch high speed cutting blade and his arm had gotten dragged in and severed. The team of doctors who had initially made the discovery of removing the critical gene had offered Bobby McDaniel the chance of a lifetime to regrow his arm, since without it he had lost his job and livelihood.

Dr. Elly Blakely and Dr. Jasmine Katz had mapped the critical gene removal that they were certain would start Bobby on the path to regrowing his arm. It had been several weeks since the drug regimen had begun. Bobby, a balding, burly man in his mid forties had agreed to the test in hopes he could regrow his lost arm that he had been rather fond of. "I used to be able to pop open a PBR, chug it, crush the can in the same right hand, and then toss the flat 60 yards! Now I have to ask someone to open the can for me, like some left wing liberal ass kisser. It's so hard," an emotional Bobby shared with whoever would listen.

The news conference was perhaps a bit premature, some pundits surmised. All that the doctors expected was a tiny appendage barely the size of a newborn infants arm to appear when the bandages were removed. But these two scientists were looking for investment capital in their bio-engineering start-up, and showing even a partially formed arm actually growing would get national exposure and a spot on the nightly news.

Dr. Katz was a bit nervous, as she spoke to her colleague off camera. "Shouldn't we observe what it looks like first? What if it's misshapen or malformed? This could backfire just as easily as getting rave reviews."

"Nonsense," her partner admonished her, "this is no different than Geraldo Rivera getting national attention opening up Al Capone's safe. Even if it's nothing but some loose tissue, we can declare success and say, look! it's the beginnings of an arm! The investment capitalists will be falling all over each other trying to get a piece of the action."

Dr. Blakely approached the cameras. "Good afternoon. As you all know, our new firm of Dexter-Wishing Star has engaged in a new gene splicing experiment to regrow limbs. I'm not going to bore you with all of the background information, you've read our brochures that we passed out earlier. So as you know, Bobby McDaniel, come here Bobby," a shy man in hospital garb sauntered over to the camera and smiled his bucktooth smile. "Bobby here was our first brave volunteer, and we're going to remove the bandages and observe the first growth. Now please understand the growth will be minor at this point. We just want to remove the bandages and let it get some sunshine so it can start growing more rapidly, and Bobby can start learning how to use his new arm just like a baby would. But the growth is expected to be much more rapid than his original arm took to develop. We predict within six weeks it will reach its full size."

"And will I be able to chug and chuck again?" Bobby asked?

"We hope so Bobby. So Nurse, if you would do the honors and remove the bandages?

"Yup, I been feeling something moving around, like a newborn baby!"

"Let's hope so," Dr Blakely smiled, motioning to the cameras to come in closer.

A nurse walked over with scissors and slowly cut away the mummy like wrapping of his upper torso and shoulder. As the layers of gauze fell away, the camera crews zoomed in for the big revelation. What they saw next, no one expected.

As the last bandage fell away, what emerged was not a tiny infants arm with baby soft fingers, but a small... head!

A complete head with two eyes, ears, nose, mouth and a shock or red hair like on a newborn infant!

"What the hell is that?" screamed Bobby! "I'm a freak! What have you done to me?"

The doctors were speechless and moved in closer for a better look. Cameras flashed and lenses zoomed in for a close up.

"You're a freak? What the hell are you complaining about! My head is growing out of an arm socket! And it stinks down here! Haven't you ever heard of underarm deodarant?" a tiny voice shrieked from his shoulder.

"What the hell is this thing?" a distraught Bobby began to wail.

"I- I don't know. I don't have any idea how this could have happened," a shocked Doctor Katz said, staring closely at the small little head that didn't look much bigger than some voodoo doctors shrunken head. Yet amazingly, it had a resemblence to-

"What the hell you staring at! Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners and tell you not to stare? And close your damn mouth before a fly flies in there, and you know what happened to the old lady who swallowed a fly!"

Dr. Katz dutifully closed her mouth as instructed.

"I don't want a second head on me," Bobby cried. "Can't you cut it off or something?"

"Cut me off? How 'bout I cut your head off!" screamed the little head. "You're the ugly one here. At least I'm baby cute. And this time I'll get braces and spare the buck teeth! Whoa! I know what you're thinking! Doc, he wants to rip me off! Don't let him!"

"Um, wait Bobby," Dr Blakely advised. "We don't know what happened here, but removing it prematurely could be dangerous. Please, give us a moment to study what to do."

"Study! Hell, just like a bunch of woman drivers, you probably mapped the wrong gene! Don't do nothing except get this big yap to shut his trap. And say, anyone got a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon around here? I'm mighty thirsty," the little head said, looking around.

"You can't drink Pabst!" yelled Bobby. "I'm the one that drinks Pabst!"

"Fine, we'll both drink Pabst! And stop looking at that nurse's scissors, just go back to looking at her boobs like you were before."

"Huh? How'd you know..."

"I know everything you're thinking."

"But... but... hey, I know what you're thinking too! Doc this is crazy!" said Bobby, looking at Dr. Katz. "What should I do?"

"What you should do is go back to playing with your dingaling with your left arm like you were back in the hospital room a few minutes ago. Yeah, those hospital robes sure are easy access. Meanwhile, let me think of a way to get these two doctors to go to dinner later and maybe we can score some easy action tonight. After all, two tongues are better than one."

"Uh, ladies and gentlemen, that concludes this news conference, unfortunately we've had a slight setback and we need to study our patient further," Dr. Blakely said, ushering Bobby back toward the hospital hallway from which he had emerged. Jasmine, you talk to them, I'll take care of Bobby." And she literally pushed Bobby down the hallway while the newsmen gathered around Dr. Katz.

Dr. Blakely's entrepreneurial wheels were spinning. Perhaps this wasn't a setback after all. Ok, so they had mapped a wrong gene or two. But maybe, just maybe, two tongues were better than one.

***

One for the Road

"A suburban bus driver is charged with DUI after police say she was driving school children with a blood alcohol almost three times above the legal limit."

The Real Story

http://www.examiner.com/x-7520-Chicago-Crime-Examiner~y2010m3d10-Police-Suburban-school-bus-driver-drunk-with-50-kids-on-board

My Story

It was the drive from hell, her morning route. She picked up her first kid at 8:05 am and he came running up the steps and headed to the back of the bus. It was then that she noticed he had left footprints, greasy black ones, throughout the bus that could have only been one thing. But she had a schedule to meet and only had time to grab some napkins from her lunch bag and wipe up the biggest smudges, and god did it smell. She would have vomited, but then the school bus would have smelled even worse. These she tossed out the window and tried to keep her breakfast down.

At the next stop a long line of children were waiting. As they boarded, several made comments like, "Man this bus stinks, it smells like shit." She certainly had learned to change her view of these sweet little five to ten year old children. No longer did she think of them as darlings, but rather sophisticated little mini-adults with filthy mouths only their mothers could love.

At the next stop were three more kids, including the mother that always accompanied her child onto the bus to her seat. Overprotectiveness was fine, but this mother just pushed it to an extreme. She wouldn't get off the bus until she was absolutlely sure her child was comfortable. And she didn't miss the little comment about how they should clean the buses more frequently.

At the next stop... boy she was saying that a lot, is that what her life had come down to? The next stop, and the next stop? But this stop was special. This stop had the little boy who always showed her love. "Hey Mrs. Bus Driver, you're even uglier today. And geez, you smell like dog shit too."

She clenched her teeth as her tongue went through the motions of 'STFU you little fat assed tub of lard.' Never be confrontational with the children they had said during the training. Honestly, one little slap across the face would do these brats wonders.

At the next stop, a car ran past her flashing red lights. She was watching the child board and didn't have a chance to catch the license plate. As much as she was starting to loathe these kids, she wouldn't wish on them getting hit by a car.

At the next stop... she didn't want to stop. These were the fifth graders whose highpoint of the day was to torment her.

"Hey, BD," one called to her as he sat down. "I got a riddle for ya. What gets longer When pulled, fits between your boobs,

inserts neatly in a hole and works best When given a tug?"

She ignored him.

"A seatbelt. Why, what were you thinking? Ha ha!"

"I thought it was a dick," his seatmate laughed.

"What's a dick?" someone called out.

"You're a dick!" came a reply.

Suddenly the bus broke out in squeals and screams as everyone started to call each other a dick or a boob. It didn't die down until they got to the next stop where they picked up even more kids.

"This bus stinks like dog poo," someone called out.

"Ew, I think I'm going to throw up."

"You are throw up."

"No really, the smell is making me- making me... bleach! Gurgle, gurgle."

"Ew gross!" someone shouted out as they arrived at the school, "he really did throw up!"

She opened the doors and the kids filed out. Even the one who threw up. She walked back five rows and saw the puddle. Great, she would have to drive somewhere to get something to clean it up, plus clean the walkway and steps from the original foot prints. The didn't pay her enough to do all this.

Maybe on her way home she would forget to turn the flashing lights on.

She drove the bus to the local pharmacy to get some cleaning supplies, cleaner and paper towells. She bought some Mr. Clean and noticed one of the active ingrediants was alcohol. So was it any wonder after she cleaned the bus that she walked over to the liquor store next door and got a half pint of vodka? She needed it to clean all those memories out of her mind somehow. And apparently, it took quite a lot.

***

Israelis and Palestinians to Begin Indirect Peace Talks

The Real Story

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/middleeast/israel/7404213/Joe-Biden-Israel-and-Palestine-peace-talks-at-moment-of-opportunity.html

"He said: "I hope the beginning of what is referred to as indirect or proximity talks, I hope it is a vehicle, a vehicle by which we can begin to allay that layer of mistrust that has built up in the last several years," Biden said as he went into a meeting with President Shimon Peres."

My Story

"Special Envoy Sandstone," the Palestinian ambassador began, slowly stroking his beard. "We are very pleased that that the government of the great United States of America is willing to help facilitate these negotiations with the Zionist imperial dogs, but frankly, even though we are not having these discussions with them face to face directly, even knowing that I am speaking them to them through you makes my blood boil, and turns my yogurt more sour than it already is."

Truman Sandstone, special Middle East envoy to the Palestinian/Israeli Peace talks could only smile. "Ambassador Muqtadi, the purpose of this exercise is to begin a dialogue between the two parties, and we realize tensions are still high over many causes, but we must begin the dialogue somewhere, somehow, or peace will never be achieved. Our president feels that even indirect talks are a step forward, until the day both parties can meet directly. By allowing us to mediate, we hope the framework for progress can be laid out." He couldn't help but think what he would look like in a beard.

"I truly appreciate what your great President, Barack Obama is proposing. He is a man of great vision. But these Jewish pigs are boot licking scum. They murder our women and children, they shoot at defenseless citizens. They steal our land, destroy our vineyards and olive groves. There is no negotiating with them." He sipped on the complimentary wine placed in front of him.

"Sir, please, we must try. If not for today, then for future generations." He decided to have some of the wine himself. Hmm, Manischevitz.

"Fine, I will swallow my bile and at least give this process a chance,: the Palestinian ambassador said slamming his empty wine glass on the conference table top. "The Palestinian people will not be blamed for this failure. We will have tried." He took the bottle after Sandstone was finished pouring and refilled his glass as well.

"Thank-you," the special envoy said, opening the folder with the document he had brought with him. "During the last discussions, you have us a list of-"

"We have a new list of demands." He slid a paper across the table to the American envoy, and went back to sipping.

Sandstone was startled stopped and picked up the paper and read it. "1. Tear down the wall. Build another one if they like, but on the pre-1967 borders.

2. Remove all checkpoints from inside the occupied lands.

3. Cease the naval embargo of Gaza.

4. Allow flights into Gaza international airport.

5. Order Egypt to stop the embargo of food and goods moving through Gaza.

6. Stop building all new settlements in the West Bank.

7. Allow the building of government offices in East Jerusalem as the capital of the new Palestinian State.

8. Recognize the new Palestinian State. It can be an autonomous entity of Israel until such a time in the future when the area will vote for self-determination, no later than January of 2020.

9. $ 100 billion dollars in reparations.

Hmm, I'm not sure if this is very productive. We had started a framework in Oslo that we would-"

"What! What I ask you Mr. Ambassador, or Special Envoy, or whatever title they have given you, is not reasonable in those requests? Name one?" and he emptied his wine glass.

Sandford put down his reading glasses, and handed his glass to the ambassador to be refilled. Muqtadi motioned his aide to uncork another bottle.

"They are reasonable, but not practical. The... " He stopped, took another sip of his wine. This was great wine. He was always drinking those dry French wines, but this stuff was smooth on the tongue. The Palestinian watched him with one eye, the other on his own wine glass.

Finally Sandford let out a big sigh. "You know, you're right. This isn't going to go anywhere unless we try something different. As we say in America, we're going to have to take the bull by the balls. Let me just take this into the other room and present it to the Israelis. Let them answer you." And he stood up and left the room and went next door where the Israeli delegation was waiting.

"Good afternoon," the Israeli ambassador greeted Sandford as he entered the room. "As happy as I am to see you-"

"Zip it. I'm just not in the mood. Here's their list. What do you think?"

The Israeli ambassador was taken aback, but he took the proffered paper and began to read it. On a few of the lines he chuckled. Finally, he uttered, "No, no, no, nine times no."

"Not a single one?" Sandford asked with a raised eyebrow?

"Are you kidding?" The Israeli looked at the paper again. "1. Tear down the wall? Do they realize how much that wall cost to build? And has it not stopped all of the suicide bombings?"

"But not the rocket attacks."

"Yes, there is that. Hmm, 2. Remove all checkpoints from inside the occupied lands.. Those are for protection of the settlers. If we remove the settlers, we'll remove the checkpoints. But they're not going anywhere. 3. Remove the naval embargo of Gaza. Hah! That's how they smuggle guns and rockets in now. 4. Allow flights into Gaza international airport. Why don't they just rename it Al Qaeda International if we do that. 5. Order Egypt to stop the embargo of food and goods moving through Gaza. We have no control of Egypt. They are a sovereign country," and then he snickered along with his staff.

"6. Stop building all new settlements in the West Bank. Sure, we can do that one, as long as we can finish all the permits that were already approved. 7. Allow the building of government offices in East Jerusalem as the capital of the new Palestinian State. Only on the site of the city dump. But then they have to find a new place to put the trash. 8. Recognize the new Palestinian State. Not until they stop all hostilities against us. 9. $ 100 billion dollars in reparations. Biggest hah! of all. We don't have $100 billion dollars, unless you Americans are willing to lend it to us."

"We can," Sandford replied.

The Israeli ambassador looked up with surprised eyes. Really? Well then go tell them we agree to number 9 if they agree to stop all their bullshit hostilities."

Sandford noticed that the Israelis also had moist wineglasses on the table. "Pour yourself another, I won't be long." And he got up and walked back to the other room.

The Palestinian ambassador eyed him warily as he worked on his third bottle. "Well, I am guessing they said no to all nine points."

"No, they agreed to Number 9, if you agree to stop all violence, including suicide attacks and missile launchings."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"How about 1 - 5 and five hundred billion?"

"You're willing to negotiate? Good, Maybe we can get somewhere with this." Sandford took a swig out of his glass which was full again, and left the room heading back to the adjoining room with the Israeli delegation.

"They asked for 1 - 5 and five hundred billion."

"Five hundred billion? With our tiny economy where will ever get that kind of money?"

"We'll 'lend' it to you. Take forever to pay it back."

"Ok, now you're talking. Let me see that list again. 1 is the wall. That'll cost 100 billion to rebuild."

"We'll pay for it."

"Ok. But the settlements is a tricky issue. We need to put them somewhere. Can we have a hundred billion for that?"

"Sure."

"You Americans are amazing. Where do you get all this money?"

"Our Federal Reserve. They work magic with money. Sometimes I think they just print it."

"But," the Israeli mused, motioning to his aide to open yet another bottle of wine, "isn't that illegal or unethical or something? I wish our bankers could do the same."

"Funny thing, I think half of the bankers and regulators at the Federal Reserve are Jewish, so you should tap into their expertise."

"Ah, yes," he said, relishing yet another glass of wine.

Sandstone decided to have a few more sips as well. It really was good stuff. "So you agree? Well, back to the Palestinians."

"Yes, I will keep vigilance over this fine wine while you do all the talking with those crazy people."

Sandstone returned to the Palestinian room where the negotiators where giving a good rendition of the Palestinian National Anthem.

"Sandstone, have a glass! What do the Israeli dogs say?" he asked with a wine glass in each hand.

"They've agreed to all your terms. But as for your government buildings, they insist you build them here," and he pointed to the spot on a map rolled out on the table.

Muqtadi stared for a moment. "That's a trash dump. The insolent dogs! How dare they-"

"Well cover your construction costs with $200 million dollars."

"Agreed. We'll call it redevelopment."

"So we have peace?"

"We have peace! Let's drink! A toast to America and to peace!"

Five rounds later, Sandstone stumbled back into the Israeli room.

"Well?" asked the Israeli ambassador, with a face as red as the wine glass he was holding.

"They agree."

"Peas!"

"Yes, whirled peas in our lifetime!" Sandstone said, palms on the table top to keep himself steady.

"A toast! To peash!"

"To peash!" everyone in the room shouted.

The hardest part was getting everyone to stagger into the main conference room in front of the cameras and media, sit down at the table, sign the documents, without falling over. But for four cases of wine and 700 billion dollars and some change, there was finally peace in our lifetime, peace at last in the middle east. And five more rounds of toasts to seal it.

***

Privacy Concerns

The Real Story

http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE6244C620100305

"...machines create ghostly on-screen images of the flesh beneath clothing. In a demonstration for journalists using Transportation Security Administration workers as volunteers, however, software obscured the individuals' faces and groin areas to address privacy worries. "

My Story

"Achmed, everyone is assembled in the big cave."

Achmed slowly rose up off of his prayer carpet and stood to face Mukhtar, but he bumped his head on the sharp, jagged edges of the cave roof. "Allah- Allah.. Allah be praised," he spoke quietly through clenched teeth, aware that Mukhtar was watching him intently. "These rock ceilings... really hurt."

"Yes, but I think everything is God's will, Insha'Allah," Mukhtar answered him.

"Yes, Insha'Allah," Achmed answered, rubbing the top of his head, his turban well crushed against his skull. And his beard itched and Mukhtar smelled like a goat, but decided enough of complaining. He needed to address the 'volunteers.'

Achmed walked through the winding tunnels briskly until he finally got to the big room. It wasn't really that big, but it did fit twenty men fairly comfortably, shoulder to shoulder. He eyed the nervous, dirty faces that looked down at their feet and not at him. Good. They were meditating their upcoming sacrifice.

"Men, fellow Jihadists, praise Allah, I have great news!"

"We don't have to blow ourselves up anymore?" someone asked from the back of the cave.

Achmed glared at him. "Why would that be good news? Becoming a martyr is a great privilege. You would be beating your breast in anguish and rending your garments if you were denied this chance."

"But, but I haven't been to Mecca yet," the man replied.

"This is more important."

"Did the mullah say that? I thought the five pillars of Islam were-"

Achmed nodded to Mukhtar who with a single head shot from his AK-47 ended the conversation at the second pillar. Surprisingly no one flinched. Good, thought Achmed, they're getting better. More hardened.

"Now, as I was saying before this short beard interrupted, I have great news. The evil Satanists, the Americans, have changed their new security measures at their airports. Due to privacy concerns, they will no longer view the full x-ray of a naked man or woman trying to board an airplane. They have installed special software that will blur the face and genitals of the ones passing through the x-ray machine."

No one cheered. Achmed was disappointed, but he continued nonetheless.

Our explosives expert, Akbar, has told me of a new C-4 compound that is like putty and that he can make to wrap around your genitals, with a new trigger mechanism that is activated through static electricity, which can be achieved simply by rubbing it vigorously."

Everyone grimaced at the thought.

"So now you'll be able to board a plane with an explosive, undetected. And to set it off, all you need is to rub the detonator. Any passengers sitting beside you will only think you are satisfying yourself, just like we've seen in the American videos we've been watching on that site with the most traffic, what's it called Mukhtar?"

"Porntube."

"Yes, Porntube. All American men do this, so no one will pay any heed. No more worries about trying to light a match like failed martyr Richard Reid. And, you get to prepare yourself rather nicely for your 90 virgins. Lucky bunch of stiffs here, huh Mukhtar?" and he elbowed Mukhtar sharing his little joke. Mukhtar kept a straight fence.

"Yes, well. Ahem. So, Akbar tells me we still need a fair amount of the explosive compound, so the next volunteer needs to have a large bazooka."

The men looked at him with befuddled faces.

"You know, your missile launcher!" he emphasized

Silence.

"One-eyed yogurt chucker? Mancrank? Trouser snake? Tally-whacker?"

No response.

He began to count on his fingers, "Heat-seeking love missile, beef bayonet, wedding tackle, pork sword, little soldier, power drill, magic wand, joystick, Captain Winkie..."

"Oh," came a chorus of knowing looks finally.

Achmed shook his head. They knew Captain Winkie? Whatever. "So, I need you men to drop your pants and drawers, if you are so lucky to have any, and show me what you've got. I need the biggest volunteer."

The men begrudgingly dropped their pants to their ankles, and Achmed began to inspect them.

"Damn, have you all been swimming in the cold river during the snow melt? No one here could satisfy one virgin much less ninety." He went through each row. He passed the insolent one laying on the floor, and with his toe pulled back his pants. "Double damn. Sheepherder, I bet."

***

Richard Sykes was sitting at the monitor of the new backscatter x-ray machines recently installed at the airport. He was the TSA technician who had been trained in the train the trainer program, and now he was here onsite, showing the other TSA staff how to use these machines.

A TSA officer shepherded a selectee into the machine, and instructed the person to raise her arms. He then gave the go ahead signal to Richard who sat in a booth with two other male technicians further away out of earshot from the selectee. Richard then pressed the green button, and the image slowly appeared on the screen of the monitor.

"Ok, so here you have your typical female. Now for privacy concerns, the software will blur out her boobs and snatch, but if she has something close by, you'll still see bright white lines. Notice this woman has an underwire bra. Now, just in case you're suspicious she's packing a 9mm, see this orange button here? This is test mode, and if you hit it, it'll rescan without the blurring. Only use this if you have probable cause that she might be... whoa, momma, nice ones! Hmm, what's that... I think she has pierced nipples!"

The other two men chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think she's a danger to anyone but her boyfriend with those."

Richard gave the thumbs up sign and the woman was ushered out and allowed to proceed.

The next selectee was a middle eastern man who always raised everyone's suspicions.

"Ok, now we got a towel head. Let's pay special attention to him." Richard hit the green button.

All three men stared intently at the image.

"Ok, shoes clean, nothing in his pant legs, waist, shirt, arms, nothing up his sleeve. "

The other man pointed to the groin area. "That's a rather large area blurred out, don't you think?"

Richard pursed his lips. "Yeah, kinda. Maybe he's got a huge beef bayonet."

"Wha-?"

"You know, wedding tackle? Pork sword? Little soldier? Power drill? Magic wand? Joystick? Captain Winkie?"

"Oh, yeah, but I thought middle eastern guys were small."

"Well, I agree, and I wouldn't normally do this, being a guy and all, but, well, if you think there might be something, then we can hit the orange button. But be prepared to be disgusted." And he slapped the orange button.

A slow buzz and then... "shit, look how huge he is! Crikers I think he has it wrapped up in a doughnut!"

"God damn lucky sumbitch."

The other guy nodded in agreement.

"Hey, wait!" Richard exclaimed. "How did I miss that? In his left pocket, wedged towards the Cap'n, there's a..."

"Nail file!" the other two shouted in unison.

Richard gave the TSA officer the thumb clipping signal, and immediately an alarm went off and flashing yellow lights began to strobe. Several TSA officers rapidly approached the scanning booth with pepper spray cans and tasers in their outstretched hands.

"Sir, we have reason to believe you have a disallowed item in your possession! Keep your hands on your head and come out slowly."

Mukhtar panicked. They weren't supposed to detect the explosive! He was supposed to get onboard the plane, and detonate there. But, he had been told if he couldn't make it aboard, then take out as many of these Satanists as possible. He reached down and pulled down his zipper, pulled out the detonator and explosive and began to rub vigorously.

"What is he doing?" someone asked.

Richard ran up to the scanning booth that was now surrounded with TSA officers. "No, he's trying to arm his Heat-seeking love missile. That's just not right!"

"What?" a fellow officer asked him, keeping his eyes glued on Mukhtar.

"His wedding tackle!" Richard screamed.

The man nervously looked at Richard with no comprehension.

"One-eyed yogurt chucker? Mancrank? Trouser snake? Tally-whacker?"

Mukhtar kept rubbing away.

"Pork sword? Little soldier? Power drill? Magic wand? Joystick? Captain Winkie?"

"Oh," the man finally acknowledged. "That's sick!"

"Yeah, probably a perv. I'll show him, " and he walked up to Mukhtar who was furiously rubbing but couldn't get a big enough static charge.

"Dude, you a are a sicko," Richard said with distate, and aimed his Taser at what was in the man's hands. "Take this Captain Winkie!" and he pulled the trigger.

Boom.

***

It's The Woman's Fault

The Real Story

"Blame the victim: Religious leaflet claims ‘ungodly’ dressed women provoke rape. "

http://www2.tricities.com/tri/news/local/article/blame_the_victim_religious_leaflet_claims_ungodly_dressed_women_provoke_rap/42253/


My Story

"Welcome to the Westborough Baptist Church Rape Outreach Group." Penelope Gurman looked at the group of shy woman sitting around her on chairs in a circle in the Church basement's Social Hall. These women were all members of the Westborough Baptist Church, and had been identified through an outreach program as recent rape victims. "So just that we can all understand who we all are, everyone here has been raped, am I correct?"

Everyone gave different head nods of varying degrees. A woman to her right barely raised her hand.

"Did you have a question?"

"No, I just wanted to say I was raped 12 times."

Penelope's eyebrows shot up as several other women gasped. "Oh my, that's... quite a few."

"By my father."

"I see. Well, so just to understand, all of you have been involved in rapes. Now our pastor, the Reverend John Waldron, has recently begun preaching about rape. It has come to the pastor's attention, that many women in fact may have been compilcit in their rape, by dressing provocatively, causing men to lust in their hearts, and then in their loins. No, please understand," she quickly cut in as loud grumbles arose, "I am not denying these men are guilty. But most likely by wearing provocative clothing, you may have invited the rape attack to occur."

A woman to her left who looked aghast didn't even bother to raise her hand. "Excuse me, have you ever been raped?"

"No, and I can assure you I have never worn any attire that would cause a man to lust or sin in God's sight." Penelope adjusted her beige turtleneck sweater underneath her flower pattern vest. It was warm inside the church hall but she had no intention of removing the vest, as it would reveal too much even though the sweater was quite thick.

"So how do you know what we were wearing when we got raped?" the woman bent over to look at Penelope.

"Well, many woman are raped during dates, after visiting bars and clubs, while out jogging in tiny spandex outfits, and other such provocative attires." Penelope noticed the woman was wearing a skirt right above her knee and didn't even have her legs crossed. She wanted to tsk tsk.

"I was attacked in my bedroom, in the middle of the night. The man broke into my house, and I was underneath blankets and a comforter. I don't think he had any idea what I was wearing." She sounded angry.

"Well, were you wearing a sexy negligee, or are you one of those women who sleep in the nude?"

"Honey, this is Kansas, and it's cold as hell outside. I keep the heat down to keep the heating costs down, and I was wearing flannel pajamas. And believe me, they ain't sexy." Some of the other women snickered.

"Well, perhaps he had seen you at some other venue and followed you."

"No, he was a burglar, who when he discovered I was home, decided to help himself. I was about as ugly as can be."

"well, I still think-"

"I was raped by my father," a diminutive voice across from her cut in. "I was eight years old, and my mother used to dress me. I don't think anything I wore was sexy or provocative."

"Well, perhaps your father-"

A much older lady shouted out, "Hon, I'm 72 years old. And the man who attacked me in my nursing home room was blind as a bat. But blind or not, he was stronger than I was, and I was too weak to resist. But, at my age you can't complain, and I didn't even press charges, just asked that he be confined to his room. But sexy? At my age I can't even spell it, much less dress it."

More woman began to shout out their explanations of how that could not possibly have been the cause of their rapes.

Penelope was getting flustered. This was not proceeding at all as she expected.

"Excuse me, excuse me!" she shouted over them, trying to get them to quiet down. Finally the hubbub dimmed. "So are you all saying that none of you were dressed provocatively?"

One woman, sitting caddy corner to the side, raised her hand. Penelope had noticed her when she first came in. She was wearing a thin emerald green sweater with lots of cleavage showing, and it did not appear she had a bra on. And she had thigh high black leather boots and green iredescent tights under a short skirt. Yes, she was the perfect example. "Yes?"

"Well," the middle aged woman began with a big smile on her face. "I was at Finnegan's pub, down there on Chester and 13th street, celebrating St. Paddy's day last year."

Everyone quieted down and gave this woman their rapt attention.

"And I had just gotten my divorce a month earlier, and so this was my first time out on the social scene. You know it's never too soon for a woman to find an eligible partner to share her home and bed with.

So I had this leather skirt I hadn't worn since my days at Kansas State University, but it fit perfectly, and, oh my, I had this very same green sweater on. You know how you're supposed to wear green on St. Patrick's day? I thought it would be perfect. So me and a few girlfriends went down, and we were having a wonderful time. The green beer was flowing and then we were doing lime green Jello shooters, and I even threw back a few Bailey's Irish Crème liqueurs.

There were some gentleman sitting at the bar, and they joined us. They also had had a few pitchers already and we were just having the best time. Well this one gentleman started to take a fancy to me. He snuggled up to me in the booth, and his elbow kept "accidentally" nudging me in the side of my boob.

I was being polite and pretending I didn't notice, but then when it was finally closing time, we went out to our cars, and he offered to give me a ride since I clearly was in no shape to drive.

Well when we got to my place and parked in my driveway, he was all over me. Well, I just didn't feel right about having sex on the first date, and then I noticed the wedding band on his finger. So I told him I didn't think it would be appropriate, but he got upset and said after buying so many drinks, he deserved a little reward. Well, I just didn't feel like it would be right, so I tried to get out of the car. But he grabbed me by the skirt and dragged me back into the car and had his way with me."

Penelope finally felt like she had found justification. "And now, do you think that with your thin green sweater and your leather skirt and boots, you hadn't provoked him into doing this act?"

The woman crossed her arms and smirked. "I don't know, but at least Reverend Waldron bought me a nice pink Cadillac like those Mary Ellen Cosmetic girls have. He's a very thoughtful man. So you think it was all my fault? Gee, maybe I shouldn't be wearing this green sweater again."

***