getting to the bottom of 2002
. . . hopes for peace soar when Saddam Hussein, as ordered by the UN, finally turns over a list of materials that could be used to make weapons of mass destruction. These hopes are dashed when U.N. inspectors begin translating the list from Arabic and find that the first item is ''a partridge in a pear tree.''
Not to be outshone on the international stage, Osama bin Laden issues a press release stating that he is involved in ''serious negotiations'' with a ''major studio'' for ''an important role in Jackass II.''
On the economic front, a group of troubled U.S. airlines, faced with overwhelming losses, announces that, in an effort to cut fuel costs, their pilots will periodically turn off the engines during flight and coast for what an airline spokesperson describes as ''a reasonable distance.'' The spokesperson stresses that this procedure ''is perfectly safe'' and will be used ''only over soft terrain.''
In another troubling story, a new medical study shows that Americans are not only fat, but they are also starting to give off what researchers describe as ''a really bad smell.''
In a surprise political development, Al Gore, having apparently received a status report from earth, announces that he will not run for president in 2004. Within hours the Democratic party leadership, reacting to this devastating news, runs out of champagne. On the Republican side, Sen. Trent Lott gets himself into hot water when the news media report that (a) he suggested Strom Thurmond would be a good president; and (b) his DNA is virtually identical to that of a mackerel.
Congress, in a widely hailed and long-overdue effort to control the worsening celebrity glut, passes a law requiring that when a TV show such as American Idol creates a star, at least one existing star must be deported. Within hours, the Backstreet Boys are on an Air Force transport bound for Uzbekistan.
But the news is not so good from a remote, forbidding mountain region near Westport, Conn., where SEC agents prepare to attack a 24,500-square-foot, centrally heated, country-French-style cave containing Martha Stewart, only to discover that their worst-case nightmare scenario has become a reality: The fugitive taste goddess has gotten hold of a nuclear food processor. ''If she presses the power button,'' states one official, ''New England is radioactive cole slaw.'' In response, the National Security Color Code is ratcheted up to its highest level, Traffic Cone Orange (''Yipes'').
And thus the year ends on a somewhat disturbing note. But this does not prevent the nation from pausing, on the eve of 2003, to gather with friends, to drink champagne, to blow into cardboard horns, to sing Auld Lang Syne, to reflect on the year gone past, and above all to realize, a little too late, that those cardboard horns are manufactured abroad and would make a perfect vehicle for spreading chemical or biological warfare agents.
But happy new year, anyway.
i am so in awe of dave barry.
*heather beams with the future job prospect*
i writhe in excitement when i think about dave barry.
"I sit in my underwear all day and look out the window, trying to be funny."
that is what i do.
imagine getting paid for it.
yizzah.
Not to be outshone on the international stage, Osama bin Laden issues a press release stating that he is involved in ''serious negotiations'' with a ''major studio'' for ''an important role in Jackass II.''
On the economic front, a group of troubled U.S. airlines, faced with overwhelming losses, announces that, in an effort to cut fuel costs, their pilots will periodically turn off the engines during flight and coast for what an airline spokesperson describes as ''a reasonable distance.'' The spokesperson stresses that this procedure ''is perfectly safe'' and will be used ''only over soft terrain.''
In another troubling story, a new medical study shows that Americans are not only fat, but they are also starting to give off what researchers describe as ''a really bad smell.''
In a surprise political development, Al Gore, having apparently received a status report from earth, announces that he will not run for president in 2004. Within hours the Democratic party leadership, reacting to this devastating news, runs out of champagne. On the Republican side, Sen. Trent Lott gets himself into hot water when the news media report that (a) he suggested Strom Thurmond would be a good president; and (b) his DNA is virtually identical to that of a mackerel.
Congress, in a widely hailed and long-overdue effort to control the worsening celebrity glut, passes a law requiring that when a TV show such as American Idol creates a star, at least one existing star must be deported. Within hours, the Backstreet Boys are on an Air Force transport bound for Uzbekistan.
But the news is not so good from a remote, forbidding mountain region near Westport, Conn., where SEC agents prepare to attack a 24,500-square-foot, centrally heated, country-French-style cave containing Martha Stewart, only to discover that their worst-case nightmare scenario has become a reality: The fugitive taste goddess has gotten hold of a nuclear food processor. ''If she presses the power button,'' states one official, ''New England is radioactive cole slaw.'' In response, the National Security Color Code is ratcheted up to its highest level, Traffic Cone Orange (''Yipes'').
And thus the year ends on a somewhat disturbing note. But this does not prevent the nation from pausing, on the eve of 2003, to gather with friends, to drink champagne, to blow into cardboard horns, to sing Auld Lang Syne, to reflect on the year gone past, and above all to realize, a little too late, that those cardboard horns are manufactured abroad and would make a perfect vehicle for spreading chemical or biological warfare agents.
But happy new year, anyway.
i am so in awe of dave barry.
*heather beams with the future job prospect*
i writhe in excitement when i think about dave barry.
"I sit in my underwear all day and look out the window, trying to be funny."
that is what i do.
imagine getting paid for it.
yizzah.