Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Take My Freedom—Please!
Attorney General and Dark Lord John Ashcroft has been on a kind of a book tour lately, and by “book” I mean to say "horrifying Draconian evisceration of the cherished priciples of our free society." He's very disappointed with all of us and our failure to get on board the Civil-Liberty-Smashing Train that is the "USA Patriot Act," which was originally to be called the "Terrorism is Bad Act." He wants us all to stop worrying about little things like constitutional protections, the rule of law, and such, and focus on the big picture of the need for the government to be able to abuse the rights of its citizens unchecked in pursuit of dangerous terrorists such as telemarketers. The idea is for the public to put its faith not in mamby-pamby laws like the Bill of Rights or the equal protection guarantees of the Constitution, but in the good intentions of a benevolent protector government, which he assures us is really acting in the best interest of us all—and by "us all" I mean to say "the Republican Party and other non-troublemakers." I trust him, don’t you? He has such an honest face.

In Happier News
I don’t know about you, but I just love seeing the phrase “appreciation for a woman's round, tight butt” in a news story.

Take Me Out to the WULAD
The S.F. Giants clinched the National League West title last night, making them the first team in the majors to seal up their division. They have spent the entire season in first place, which has only happened nine times in baseball history, and have been at least 8½ games ahead of their closest competitor since July. How boring.

The Mets, meanwhile, are proving to be gracious losers, resisting the temptation to play “spoiler” by beating any playoff-contending teams. Apparently their historic sweep of the Braves last month was a kind of last hurrah before rolling over and inviting the rest of the National League to slap them around, ridicule them, sleep with their wives, call their children names, and dance on the grave of this pitiable season. But wait ‘til (the year after) next year!