By Monica Alonzo
By Ray Stern
By New Times Staff
By Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Monica Alonzo
By Stephen Lemons
By Robrt L. Pela
Last of alland perhaps most daringI shall lobby for the throwing out of the presidency, Democracy and the Constitution. Who are we trying to kid? They never worked for the people in the first place.
In closing, if you let me be among the New Times crew to survive the apocalypse, I'll buy the first round of margaritas to celebrate.
SFNDPMH seeks USBSG for WWIII:
Short, Fat, Non-Drinking, Post-Menopausal Hypochondriac is now accepting invitations to join an Ultra Secure Bomb Shelter Group in case of World War III. HURRY! ONLY THE FIRST 100 INVITATIONS WILL BE CONSIDERED.
Okay, enough of the soft-sell humor, let's cut to the chase: you need me.
It's all planned, right? When WWIII begins, you'll grab the sexy co-worker you've been ogling for months and swing that perfect postapocalyptic mate off to submerge with the rest of your group; half of whose members have done the exact same thing. Your survival group will then consist of assorted ad hoc pairings, each composed of A) one semi-kidnapped person who's a 10, and B) one person hoping that their 10 will find them sexually irresistible under the circumstances.
You have limited food, limited space, limited privacy, limited chances of success, and probably very limited stocks of essentials like deodorant, toilet paper, and breath mints. Plus limited alcohol, desperate, stress-stimulated sexual/procreative competition, and no way to predict your partner's physical responsiveness after months of living with other unwashed bodies in a confined space.
Oh, Possums, this doesn't look good.
Think! How will you know when the war's over and it's safe to leave your shelter? How will you survive the months or years till then? Will you have the skills needed to survive in the New Stone Age world that's left? Will your Perfect 10 reproductive people willingly do dirty or dangerous tasks to help the group survive? (Clue: No.)
I'm the perfect solution: too old for reproductive competitiveness, too young for senility, and just right for cooking, shelter cleaning, post-holocaust food-gathering, safety-testing, and other onerous chores. Since I'm short, I can tuck under a table or into another inconspicuous storage area when not in use. I won't eat your food or deposit its remains in your shelter because I carry my own pre-eaten, pre-digested energy supply with me in the form of bodyfat. I don't drink alcohol, so the stocked bar is ALL YOURS. Plus, there's no need to endure living with a real doctor while I'm around: This genuinely compassionate hypochondriac has memorized the entire MedLine database; symptoms, diseases, treatments; and my personal First Aid Kit would make the Mayo Clinic salivate with envy. Also, I've been tested for everything and found to be perfectly healthy; when emergencies arise; no raincoats needed.
Most importantly: as a non-reproducer, I'll be dispensable in the depopulated world that's left after World War III. Don't waste our fecund people on dangerous or everyday tasks; I'll risk my neck assuring the holocaust is over and fighting off rival survivalist groups. I'll hunt, fish, clean, and cook, leaving you free to concentrate on (ahem!) the Post-Annihilation Repopulation Project.
And if that means the brave new world gets filled with beautiful, strong babies genetically predisposed to promote creative arts such as writing and graphic design instead of war...
We've all won.
Who Gets the Juice?
We Americans live in a very complex culture and we face many complicated problems. We stand at the brink of a war, which seems to be very unpopular with the rest of the world. Here at home we stand poised at the operation dream sickle level of alertness. People are wrapping themselves in plastic and duct tape just to go out to mow the grass. The United States has been accused of being a warmongering bunch of bullies by Hollywood and people who live in caves half a world away. We have only ourselves to blame for the recent debacle where France and Germany stole a round of applause during the show at the UN. The French have not gotten over Euro Disney. We should not be surprised anytime they take a shot at us. Besides, who really cares what the French think. Let them have their day in the sun. It's only a matter of time until those charismatic Germans grow weary with having to apologize for the misunderstanding they had with the Jews in the late ‘30's and early ‘40's, (it's been over 60 years for the love of god) and decide that France needs a landlord who can put an end to the long lunches and cause the trains to run on time.
Our president, George W. Bush has every right to be angry with Saddam Hussein. You would be angry too if Saddam had threatened to kill your dad. The biggest difference between the president and the rest of us is that we don't control the entire armed forces of the United States of America. A couple of years ago someone stole my vehicle, took it out to the desert and trashed it so badly that my insurance company declared it a total loss. If I had control of the armed services I would have used the assets of the CIA to uncover the thug that committed this heinous act against me and declared war, using the full force of naval battle groups, tanks and commandos (I was very upset at the time). On a scale of 1 to 10 when some world leader threatens to kill your father I would rank that around an 8-9, having your vehicle stolen and wrecked is maybe a 4 (in this case it was more like a 2-3 because it was a gently used vehicle with 60,000 miles), so I can understand where Mr. President is coming from. The problem with this line of thought is our form of government does not allow a person to use the publicly held establishments, like the military, for personal vendettas (unless of course you happen to work for the IRS or you are a building inspector).
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