The following takes place between 10:00pm and 11:00pm.

Jack Bauer is driving down a dark road in Los Angeles at nighttime in a black SUV. It is very late. Despite it being the city of Los Angeles, there are no lights. Everything is very, very dark and ominous. He picks up his cell phone and makes sure you understand that it is Motorola or AT&T or something he can kick a terrorist’s ass with. Mashing a speed dial button with extreme urgency, he slams the phone up to his ear.

The urgency of the situation causes him to scream into the phone. “Chloe! It’s Jack!”

“Jack?” Chloe asks, annoyed. “Why are you shouting? I am indoors and you are in a luxurious 2007 bulletproof SUV and it’s totally quiet inside. With my sophisticated technology I can tell that you don’t even have the radio on.”

“What technology?” Jack shouts.

“I can’t tell you that. It’s classified. Need-to-know basis only, and you don’t need to know for this mission,” she says rather snottily. “So why are you shouting at me if you can hear my snideness so clearly?”

“I don’t know,” Jack rasps, still screaming into her ear.

“Well my ears are bleeding so I’m going to transfer you to Mr. Buchanan. Thanks a lot, jerk – I mean, Jack.”

“Chloe, wait! I need a throat lozenge, and for some reason I am gasping for breath as if I’ve just run a triathlon! Of course this makes no sense because I’ve been reclining in this very comfortable SUV for the past fifteen minutes. At any rate, I need you to triangulate my position and send a team to bring me some Ricola!”

Chloe makes an exasperated noise. “But Jack, I’m gonna have to switch the hooey converter on the WOPR while rerouting the thingy mcjobber to Milo’s ass!”

“Just do it!” Jack rasps. “And nothing with a lemon flavor! Now transfer me to Bill!”

“Fine,” Chloe whines, and transfers the call.

Jack is having a hard time waiting. Despite being totally alone on the road, he is constantly checking the rear-view mirror while looking out every single window of the vehicle except for the windshield. This is not dangerous in the slightest, because any virile male who wears nothing more than a t-shirt and a windbreaker to a gunfight never needs to watch the road, he only needs to look out for the terrorists. Finally, Bill Buchanan, the Director of CTU, picks up the phone.

“Jack,” he says mildly, “it’s Bill.”

“Bill! It’s Jack!”

“Yes, Jack, I know. I just acknowledged this. Where are you?”

“Bill! I – I -” Jack gasps, blinking his eyes a million times. It’s not enough so he gives it one more hard blink, just in case. “I’m heading east on I-5 in pursuit!”

Bill pauses for a moment, then leans over the phone, quietly contemplating the conversation. “Jack,” he says quietly, “I-5 runs north-south, not east-west. Can you figure out where you are, or should I send a team to get you?”

Jack gasps for breath, pumping up his lungs like a pair of Adidas until he has enough oxygen to start shouting again. “Not really, Bill! My eyes keep blinking rapidly! I’ve been doing this for so long now that I can’t get them to stop! They’re on autopilot!”

Bill sits down in his large, leather desk chair and folds his hands on top of the table. “Calm down, Jack,” he says quietly. His eyes squint slightly. “Perhaps then you can tell me what exactly you are in pursuit of? I don’t know of any urgent terrorist missions we are actively fighting against at this present time.”

“I’m in pursuit of a goddamn burger! I need FOOD, Bill! It’s an emergency! I haven’t eaten in like six seasons now!”

Bill nods sagely. “Understood. Report back to CTU when your mission is complete.”

“Understood,” Jack screams back.

With the phone call complete, Jack flips the phone shut with much machismo and purpose and stuffs it back into his pocket, where he keeps it near his large gun that always has enough bullets, even after he has unloaded three clips into a single terrorist and only then, narrowly manages to kill them. Blinking as fast as he can, he glances out of both sides of the car. He spots a pedestrian out for a walk. Swerving his SUV to the side of the road, he drives up onto the sidewalk and jumps out of the vehicle, brandishing his weapon.

“Get down on the ground!” He screams.

The little old lady Jack has apprehended tries as hard as she can to get down on the ground, but she’s using a walker so it’s hard for her to do much. Jack stands far back with his gun pointed to her, waiting for her to finally get down on the ground. He’s still blinking like he’s got a severe case of tourette’s.

“Anytime now, lady!” He shouts at her.

“I’m trying,” she cries, weakly.

Jack pants for breath while standing on the side of the road, while exerting no energy whatsoever. “What in the hell is that in your pocket? Oh my God, you’re a terrorist!”

“No!” The lady protests, still trying to get down on the ground. “It’s my pacemaker!”

“Well I’m gonna have to confiscate your device!” Jack shouts, waving his weapon around.

“Are you crazy?” The lady asks.

Jack looks annoyed. “Listen, lady. Just tell me where the nearest fast food restaurant is. I need to know NOW”

“Oh,” the lady says, trying to get back up. “There is a McDonald’s -”

“McDonald’s?” Jack thunders, blinking wildly. “I barely have enough breath to shout at everyone, let alone be able to try and suck up their goddamn milkshake through the straw! That might finish me off, dammit! In-N-Out Burger – that’s the only one you need to know, lady!”

“It’s three blocks from here!” She points weakly with one hand, grasping onto her walker for dear life with the other.

Jack jumps back into his SUV and drives erratically off in the direction the old lady pointed in. When he finally sees the In-N-Out Burger, he swerves all over the road as if he is trying to dodge bullets even though he isn’t being shot at and his SUV is just as bulletproof as it was in the beginning of the hour. Somehow he makes it to the ordering station without driving over it and demolishing it. Jamming his finger down on the automatic power window switch, Jack opens the window and points his gun at the speaker.

“In-N-Out Burger, can I–”

“Yes! I want food!” Jack shouts.

“What would you like to order?” The speaker box asks.

“I don’t know! My eyes are blinking like they’re sweating profusely and I can’t read the menu! What do you like?”

“Uh, okay… How about a Cheeseburger and some fries?” The voice asks.

“You must be some kind of terrorist! Give me a Double-Double! And some fries!” Jack rasps into the box.

“With onions?”

“Yes!” Jack rasps. “Terrorists hate to smell oniony breath when you are interrogating them! I get up real close and gasp fairly hard up their noses. It’s quite uncomfortable for them!”

“Riiiiight… Would you like a drink with that?”

“Yes I would!” He shouts.

“Ok…” the voice pauses, waiting for the specifics, but Jack never gives up information to the bad guys.

“Uh,” the voice says, “what do you want to drink?”

Jack waves his weapon around. “I can’t tell you that! It’s a matter of national security!”

“Well, sir, if you can’t tell me then I’m not sure how to help you.”

“Maybe I can help you!” Jack shouts back.

Jack steps on the gas, peeling away from the ordering mechanism. He stops five feet from where he started, in front of the In-N-Out Window. The youth who had been speaking with him opens the window and regards him like he’s a crazy freaking nutter.

“Sir,” he says, “I need you to go back and finish placing your order before you drive up to the window. You need to give me your drink preference.”

Jack reaches through the window and grabs the young man by the throat. “I told you,” he screams, “I can’t tell you! It’s a matter of national security!”

Releasing the frightened burger worker, Jack pulls himself through the car window and miraculously squeezes his aging ass through the drive thru window. A lidless drink is sitting on a soda fountain dispenser nearby. The young man grabs it and offers it to Jack.

“How about a Coke?” He asks with a shaky voice. “It’s diet.”

“Diet? Do I look like I need a Diet Coke?” Jack grabs his gun. “Don’t answer that! Put that Diet Coke down nice and slow and get down on the ground! Hands above your head!”

Jack grabs the Diet Coke off of the ground and starts to pour it over the poor kid’s head. “Maybe YOU want some Diet Coke, punk!”

He pauses and takes a sip. “Hm, actually this is nice.” He nods with approval down at the soaked young man. “Refreshing.” He takes another sip. “All right, I’m taking this – and I need to use your bathroom! I don’t want anyone going in there until I come out, or I’m holding you responsible! What I do in there is a matter of national security!”

Jack runs and leaps over the front counter, taking out a nice couple with two kids.

“HAHA!” Jack rasps over his shoulder as he runs to the bathroom. Pulling out his gun, he kicks open the door, slamming it into the face of a patron. The man falls to the floor, unconscious. Jack grabs him by the leg and pulls him out of the bathroom, kicks the door open again and dashes inside, gun pointed and ready. There’s someone using a urinal.

“Get out!” Jack screams! “A bomb is about to go off! GO!”

The man at the urinal does not turn around. “A bomb? Where?”

“In my pants!”

Jack rushes to the man and grabs him by the collar. Grunting and groaning, he pulls the man back with all of his strength, as if they are in a fist fight to the death, even though they are not. The poor unsuspecting individual tinkles on his Cole Haans.

“Hey!” The man exclaims, trying to shake and pack himself back into his drawers. “My shoes!”

“Bill me!” Jack screams, and throws him out the door.

Jack investigates the rest of the bathroom, but he is now alone. He jumps into a stall and parks himself on the toilet. His phone is in his hand. Flipping it open, he smashes his fingers urgently down on the speed dial.

“Bill Buchanan.”

“Bill!” Jack rasps. “I’m at In-N-Out Burger and I need backup!”

Bill squints down at the speaker phone in the most non-urgent fashion he can muster. “What’s the problem, Jack?”

“Just trust me! Have Chloe send a HazMat team to my location immediately! And I think we’re going to have to evacuate the premises!”

“HazMat?” Bill asks. “Why?”

“Because I can’t remember the last time I pooped!”

“Jack,” Bill says, looking slightly disturbed, “are you using the facilities while on the phone with me?”

Jack screams exasperatedly into the phone, “Yes!”

“That’s disgusting – oh God, did you just fart?” Bill reaches up to disconnect the call. “I’ll have Chloe send a team. Don’t ever call me from the toilet again or you’ll be on the receiving end of a Court Martial. That’s a promise, Jack.”

The next 30 minutes is spent locking down the area while HazMat swarms In-N-Out Burger. When that operation is over, Jack finally eats some food.

Deet! Doot! Deet! Doot! Deet!

wife: what about from Falcon?
wife: I’m totally going to check their site and price out a spectacular computer for you
wife: you’ll be totally amazed at my computer prowess

wife: MACH 5!
wife: the best of the best
wife: and it involves silicon
wife: which is like big boobies
wife: so obviously this is the one you want to get
wife: and I’m going to configure it for you as well

wife: I clicked on the “Bragging Rights” computer
wife: which costs slightly less than your car did.
wife: ok how about the middle one?
wife: it’s like $5k
wife: that’s chump change!
wife: for donald trump.

wife: i selected the chassis with teh FLAMES
wife: what’s a computer chassis?
wife: I don’t know
wife: but this one has FLAMES

wife: and I selected a FREE TSHIRT
wife: you can order a usb flash drive with it too
wife: comes with the package
wife: and WESTERN DIGITAL RAPTOR
wife: because raptor sounds badass
wife: I don’t know why in the hell you don’t let me order the computer shit.
wife: I totally know what to do.

wife: I also ordered you 5 raids
wife: because you love raiding and not leveling.
wife: in all of your games
me: only 5 games.
me: in the 6th game I’ll have to level
wife: oh shit
wife: but they don’t have a selection for 6 raids
wife: so you will have to give up your slot to a noob.

me: what else did you get me?
wife: I got an nVidia nForce 680I – SLI
wife: because Crossfire is bad
wife: you don’t want to get caught in that.
wife: the creative labs X-Fi Fata1ity
wife: because Fata1ty is the name of that Halo dude who quit school at an early age and will end up stupid and without a girlfriend in 10 years
wife: but he’s leet right now
wife: so that must mean you would be a leet gamer if you had that
wife: like Fata1ty
wife: the halo dood.

me: I can’t wait to own my masterpiece!
wife: oh also
wife: you are getting a silverstone 850watt Zeuss
wife: Zeus!
wife: anything less is wimpy and doesn’t sleep around nearly as much.

wife: also, you will be getting the 4GB corsair dominator DOMINATO
wife: just so you can say you have dominato.
wife: it sounds foreign.
wife: and cool.
wife: I would have totally pimped out your computer if you had let me order it.

So I walk in and I see the young customer service person (typically a young male) standing around, picking his butt and staring into space, obviously working hard to earn minimum wage. He greets me; I respond in kind and proceed to peruse the selection. When I notice a particular RPG title that I haven’t tried and am curious about, I ask the person, “Excuse me, do you know anything about ?” Young customer service person will actually sneer at me and say in his haughty, elitist voice, “I don’t play RPG’s.” Now, I don’t just play RPG’s. I’m an equal-opportunity gamer, so I play just about anything that interests me at the time. But because I have have associated myself with the RPG genre, I have entitled myself to being ignored for the rest of the time that I am in the store. Of course, it is widely believed by gamers and non-gamers alike that first-person shooter elites are hardcore gamers, because they only play games with guns. Big ones. And they kill people for fun. There are “cooperative” matches where teams are formed and pitted against each other and then it’s dog eats dog to determine the winner. It’s easy to see why this misnomer has flourished. However, I bring to you the case of the MMORPG player.

For those of you who aren’t in the know, MMORPG stands for “Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game”. In layman’s terms, this means a whackload of people – enough to populate a small country – all playing in the same game together at the same time. Okay, let’s make this as simple as possible for those who have no idea what I’m talking about. Everyone knows the game Mario Brothers, which was a spin-off of Donkey Kong. Pretend you are Mario. You’re a plumber, and you’re running around this little world, jumping around the obstacles in order to obtain a few different objectives, such as getting more money, not getting killed, etc. You know these objectives because there is a little storyline that ties in to the game. Now imagine that there are about 3,000 Marios playing this game together at the same time, and all of them have similar objectives and storyline for themselves. So, they’re running ahead of you, taking the coins that should be yours, etc. They can all talk as easily as if they were in a chat room, and they do. All at once. All the time. And they can’t spell very well. And they’re still taking all the money before you can get it, and then turn around and say to you, “YOU BUY GOLDS, KEKE??” As the game evolves over time, the game developers have to keep customers happy, so they keep adding more content, which usually means creating objectives that are much more difficult to obtain. So, clusters of Marios must band together to meet their objectives and thus, win the game. Even if you don’t like these other 50 people who also play Mario, it doesn’t matter – you must band together if you want to meet these objectives.

Herein lies our dilemma.

In a first-person shooter, you always move around, never stopping, because to stand in one place for too long would mean your death. Both hands are involved when you play, never stopping. Therefore there is not a lot of chatting in a first-person shooter, unless you are on some sort of voicechat system. But certainly not much typing and socializing, unless your idea of socializing is wasting someone with your BFG. Not so in the MMORPG. People who play these games must put up with things far worse than those who play first-person shooters, and it’s about time we got our due. Allow me to explain why.

For those of you who are gamers and have had to endure my painful explanation to those who do not game, I appreciate your patience. We will now charge on toward things you can relate to.

Reason #1 MMORPG players are hardcore: AFK’s

Now I realize that this would have been on most people’s list as to why MMORPG’s would not be hardcore but I assure you that it is. AFK’s (“away from keyboard”) is definitive proof that people who play MMORPG’s put up with the most ridiculous shiat from other people. And we’re forced to because we have objectives to meet and we need these dumbasses to complete our objectives. Because these games are generally more social, and people spend hours on end playing them, the AFK has developed for people to step away from the computer to use the bathroom, grab a glass of water, or whatever. In the beginning, AFK’s were generally quick because otherwise an entire group of people has to stand around doing nothing, waiting for your ass to get back. And most people are generally considerate, because they know this. However, there are always one or two people who have no consideration of other people’s time.

I play World of Warcraft. I’ve been playing it since beta, and I have been in the same guild for the past two years. In the beginning, it was a very small group of friends. We liked it that way. As a small group we used crazy strategies to accomplish things that only larger groups did. Eventually we became popular for some reason, and everyone started inviting their friends, who invited their friends, and so on and so forth. Back then we weren’t a guild that liked to exclude people, so we allowed everyone. And now, we have a guy in our guild who loves to play games. He is an addict who plays every single day and night. His wife doesn’t really care for games, nor does she “get them”, so the only way he is allowed to play is if he agrees to do one thing: At 9:00pm every night, he must go AFK for 20 – 25 minutes…

…to brush his cat.

You think I’m kidding. Allegedly his cat has long hair and if they don’t brush it every night the cat gags on hairballs. Of course we all have other ideas as to what is really going on during the 9:00 cat brushing – you can use your own imagination. This really isn’t so annoying except that he is addicted to group excursions in areas that have a maximum player amount of 5 people. So every night he insists on signing up for weeknight groups and then proceeds to go AFK at 9:00pm for 20 – 25 minutes in the middle of the excursion. He’s a nice guy, but he has absolutely ZERO respect for other people’s time.

I have another person who leveled up to 60 (maximum level for WoW) and began to raid with us. Now, my guild only has a big raid once a week. And really not that big – we aren’t uber. Half way through the raid, the person says to me, “My girlfriend says I need to come eat dinner now. I will be AFK for 45 minutes. Can I put you on autofollow?” WTF, 45 minutes? I actually thought I misread that and had to scroll up to read it a few times. First of all, no you can’t go AFK for 45 minutes. Secondly, you do not put me on autofollow for that long because I will do everything I can to drown you or burn you in a fire. Lastly, grow a pair. AFK’s are a necessary evil when you’re playing for a long time, but they are proof that MMORPG players are hardcore. And that we probably need to rise up and destroy the cat brushing AFK’ers.

Reason #2 MMORPG players are hardcore: Timesink

In the time that is spent leveling a character, exploring all content that the game has to offer, and getting some decent equipment, you could get a PhD. Most Everquest characters have well over 100 days played – that’s 2400 hours, or the amount of time a student should spend on 1200 credit hours worth of coursework.

Speaking of Everquest and timesink – anyone who has ever played an MMORPG has played EQ. Anything group-oriented that you do in EQ comes with an incredible timesink. If it’s been a long time since you’ve raided in EQ, or if you have no idea what an EQ raid means, allow me:

It’s 4:45pm; you leave work in 15 minutes and you have to get out of the office right away because you have a raid as soon as you get home. In fact, you’re raiding every single night as soon as you get home, so today is really no different than any other. However, you don’t want anyone claiming your zone so it’s important that your guild is FIF – first in force. 5:00 comes – you’re out the door and in your car. You race home, get through the door and turn on the computer. As the computer is booting up, you run into the kitchen, rip open a bag of Tostitos Pizza Rolls, throw them into the oven, run back to the computer to click on the EQ icon. Then you run to the bathroom before your bladder bursts. Running out of the bathroom, (I assume some haven’t even washed their hands – eew, you have Tostitos in the oven!) you manage to kick off your shoes and get online to head to wherever your guild has decided to go. As soon as you get there, three guild members need help because they’re lost even though you’ve been going to the same zone every night for a month, and two other people died and need a rez. By the time everyone is at the zone entrance, it’s two and a half hours later and your Tostitos are lumps of charcoal. You deftly type in /pizza and order your pizza online. 45 minutes later, your pizza arrives and your guild has only just started to move. You spend the next five hours in a raid, listening to the monks whine about not getting Kunark armor. Because you are confined to your desk and you have to eat pizza, there’s sauce and cheese all over your mouse and keyboard, and you are beginning to wonder why you and the pizza delivery guy have become such close friends over the past year. By the time the raid is finished, you have an hour to sleep before you have to get up and go to work. You look like hell, you didn’t get any loot from the raid, and that one enchanter is an annoying asshole who keeps telling everyone how to play their class. It sucked ass and you now hate 2/3 of the people in your guild with a burning passion, but you’re addicted like Courtney Love is to crack, so you’re going to be back the next night to do the exact same thing you did tonight.

That, my friends, is hardcore. Or a glutton for punishment – but I am beginning to think that they’re the same thing.

Reason #3 MMORPG players are hardcore: The Nerfbat

Ah yes. Every game’s disclaimer reads on the box: “Game experience may change during online play.” It’s the oft-told tale of the super-fun game that was released, the character you loved and dumped six months of your time into, and the developers who came and reduced the abilities of your character to resemble a hobbit on crack – and there is nothing you can do about it. If you’ve never picked up an MMORPG before, please be advised that it is the one realm where customer satisfaction is not guaranteed. Those affected by the Nerfbat do one of three things: #1 – Cancel the account and play another game. #2 – Play a different character until that one is beaten by the nerfbat, too. #3 – Continue to play the character even though it sucks and is no longer fun, and no one will invite you into their group. It sucks, but such is the way of life for the MMORPG gamer. It happens to everyone, in every game. You’ll be bitter and scarred for the rest of your life because of it. And for all you care, City of Heroes can go to hell because they’ll never get another penny for what they’ve done to your blaster.

Reason #4 MMORPG players are hardcore: Gender-bending is A-OK

Two naked female elves are cybering under a tree. Little do they know that the people behind the toons are 40-year old men who have never been laid.

The great thing about playing a female toon is that people you do not know will give you free stuff. The bad thing about playing a female toon is that everyone suspects you are a hot, barely legal chick in heat, even if you apologetically explain that you are a hairy, old man named Gunther. They will continue to try and get you to cyber until you put them on ignore or log in a different character. Because “I’m someone’s dad; leave me alone” somehow translates to “I’m a hot blonde who wants to bang you like a screen door on a windy day.” And to put up with that, you must be hardcore.

So you see, it isn’t easy being an MMORPG gamer. The conditions are rough and the competition is fierce. We deserve our due, just like the elitist first-person shooter gamers. We don’t mow other players down with guns, or shoot them in the heads all sneaky-like with sniper rifles, but we work hard. And that’s because we have a lot to prove, because it’s difficult to look like a badass when you’re wearing a dress while hurling an ice bolt at an elf named “Leegollaas”.

Welcome back from the holiday, everyone. Now back to the grind, workin’ for the man.

Today, thanks to Dan Quayle and the invention of the internet, news is abundant, not to mention redundant.

Google News is one of my main sources of news. It’s handy because it picks the day’s top headlines in a few different categories and sort of “collects” all of the articles pertaining to that particular headline for you to choose from – and for many headlines, there are anywhere between hundreds to thousands to read all about the same topic.

I have no idea how the hot topics of the day are chosen – for example, today under the Entertainment section, one of the hot news flashes happens to be that the dog from Frasier died. Sad as that may be, is that really pressing news that Americans absolutely need to know? Then again, it’s the Entertainment category and I can’t think of anything more pressing on the celebrity circuit unless my wish came true and Lindsay Lohan was hit by a bus of people wearing “Fire Crotch” t-shirts. But enough about celebrities and their ridiculous lives; I’m not some pathetic moron who spends their time talking about them. I have important news to relay to you, like how horrible Paris Hilton’s new video is.

I have a lot of news articles saved up from over the last week, but my absolute favorite one arrived the other day: Authorities at the Palm Beach International Airport detained Rush Limbaugh for more than 3 hours, after finding Viagra in his possession. The Viagra did not have Limbaugh’s name on it – the doctor wrote a prescription with the doctor’s name on it, so no one would know it really was for Rush Limbaugh.

Trip to the doctor to ask him to keep your Viagra order a secret: $10 copay

Bottle of Viagra: $350

Reading all about your Viagra on the internet: Priceless

Speaking of the press and their big mouths, there’s a big bruhaha going on between the NY Times and Peter King, Chairman of the House Homeland Security Committee. What happened was, the NY Times did a Geraldo, running a report on how the U.S. Government has been catching a lot of terrorists through a “secret financial monitoring program”. Now that the NY Times has spilled the beans, it will be impossible to catch terrorists this way again because, and apparently the publication didn’t think of this before, terrorists can read. The outrage stirs up the old debate of whether the press is more concerned about getting a scoop than they are with national security.

However the war in Iraq isn’t totally lost. One of Saddam Hussein’s attorneys was recently killed by masked gunmen, and in protest, Saddam proclaimed a hunger strike, refusing to eat his meals. Apparently he wasn’t all that fond of his lawyer because he only missed one meal. Once dinner was served, he ate his meal. Maybe we tricked him into eating by telling him we were serving the blood of his enemies. Yeah, we’re sneaky little infidel bastards. Oh, while we’re on the subject, there’s been some talk about a report that was released regarding WMD’s found in Iraq since we invaded. Apparently we’ve found a lot of really old weapons caches, some people say they are degraded and beyond use, some say they’re still dangerous. In either case, there is no proof that Iraq has created any new WMD’s over the past few years, but the Democrats have lashed out at Republicans saying, “You suck.” Republicans responded, “Bite me.”

There’s actually a lot to cover about Iraq, so I’m just going to make it short and sweet so we can get to the good stuff – like how much Paris Hilton sucks. Ok, so everyone knows that the Democrats all want to start putting together a plan for pulling our troops out of Iraq. The House voted on setting a timetable and it was shot down. Undaunted or insane, and knowing full well it would continue to get shot down, Democrats prepared to bring it up again and call another vote. Meanwhile, Iraq has asked Japanese troops to start departing from southern Iraq, where things have been pretty peaceful. This may or may not be interesting news, because the Japanese claim to be pacifists, so who knows how helpful they may have been. I mean, as pacifists, what in the world could they possibly fight terror with – grenades that explode used panties purchased from vending machines? At any rate, when I read that, I was actually pleased that the Japanese had worked with the Iraqi government on their pull-out date, rather than just up and leaving them high and dry. (Yeah, that was a mean stab at Dems, sorry.) Anyway, shortly after all that happened, the Iraqi government is trying to offer amnesty to insurgents.

Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki on Wednesday proposed a limited amnesty to help end the Sunni Arab insurgency as part of a national reconciliation plan that Maliki said would be released within days. The plan is likely to include pardons for those who had attacked only U.S. troops, a top adviser said. (Washington Post)

The Denver Post also has a nice, short article on it that is a pretty good read: Caution on Iraq Amnesty Plan. Now Democrats are furious because of all that America has done for Iraq, and all of the soldiers who have died or been wounded in the line of duty will go unpunished.

Ok, so keeping in mind that the House voted against the timetable for bringing troops home:

Senate Democrats reacted angrily yesterday to a report that the U.S. commander in Iraq had privately presented a plan for significant troop reductions in the same week they came under attack by Republicans for trying to set a timetable for withdrawal. (Washington Post)

Bush responded to the plan saying he was working with the top U.S. Commander in Iraq, General George Casey, saying that whatever recommendation came from Gen. Casey, it would be geared toward achieving victory. And cake.

Moving along. Over the years, the workforce has placed importance on different things, whether it be a work from home policy or casual dress. Now, a new trend is emerging in the office space: Pet-friendly work environments.

She can do ‘sit,’ ‘lie down’ and ‘shake hands’.

The next step will be teaching these same manners to co-workers.

One of the Backstreet Boys has quit the band. Americans left wondering, “The Backstreet Boys were still together? WTF?” It’s a world gone mad.

In the f*cking awesome department, stem cell research has cured a rat of paralysis.

In scientific news, a huge asteriod will fly past earth on July 3. The asteroid will be so “uncomfortably close” that onlookers with a good telescope can watch it fly by. For the paranoid, the article includes a link to LiveScience’s “Top 10 Ways to Destroy Earth“.

Here’s something amusing for you – CBS apparently doesn’t know the difference between China and Japan.

Andrea Yates, a mother who drowned three of her five children, is appealing her conviction. Why they had to go through a trial to find that she was completely nutso for killing her babies is beyond me. But now she is appealing, attributing this to severe postpardum psychosis.

Those verdicts as well as community outreach and education efforts about mental illness are encouraging to Yates’ attorneys and advocates, who say her severe postpartum psychosis prevented her from knowing her action was wrong. (ABC News)

Tom Cruise unavailable for comment.

Concerns over Somalia increase. If you have not been following what is happening there, take a gander at the article from Human Events Online, called “Stability Comes to Somalia, but at What Cost for Women?” It’s one page of reading, very informative, and it won’t hurt you. Islamic militias are now ruling in Mogadishu, and the strict laws that are being enforced are causing great concern that they are not on the path to becoming a Taliban-like government.

Some of the new chiefs in Mogadishu are taking quick steps to enforce what they consider Islamic law. In some places, they prevented Somalis from watching the World Cup on the grounds that Islamic law bans Western films and television (and men wearing shorts!) Militia men even entered houses and brutally beat anyone watching the games. In addition to arresting men and shaving their heads, the militias have instituted a ban on coed beaches even when women wear full-length dresses on these beaches.

Globeandmail.com reports that the Islamic Courts Union has convicted five rapists to death by stoning. Many fear that this is another sign of a strict, Taliban-like government. Personally, I think it’s great policy. But that’s just me.

Last but not least, Paris Hilton’s new video is out. The video is basically about Paris dancing around, looking like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, singing a really horrible song that sucked so much, Britney Spears probably turned it down and that’s why Paris recorded it. Not being able to get through a great deal of the song, I found the lyrics.

Those other guys all wanna take me for a ride

Okay, am I the only person who just got this image in their head?

That’s all for this week. Stay tuned for more news.

“Tonight’s top story: A squirrel has chewed through a homeless man’s shin. This and more at 11.” (The preceding was not true. This never happned, but would probably be on the “news”.)

This is not news. This is unfortunate, but not news. This is the sort of event that should be posted on Halffull.org. The rest of the “news” would be some lame-ass tongue-in-cheek between some fugly looking, wanna-be primadonnas who dress circa 1983. They will pretend to wax intellectual about a freaking pumpkin fest or some damned fool who makes some tasty chili. It gets worse.

Every night you can be sure 3 topics will be broadcast on the “news”:

1. Somewhere in Buffalo, every night, there is a fire. If an outsider were to watch a weeks worth of Buffalo “news” programs, they would believe the freaking city is burning to the ground. Lame.

2. Some stupid shit about a Bass Pro Shop coming to Buffalo will inevitably be mentioned as the savior to all of Buffalo’s financial problems. BWWAAHHAHWWHAHA!!!! They sell freaking fishing poles and rubber worms!! What city have you ever heard of that was saved because of some place that will help you catch a sweet bass? I don’t care if they help me catch the Loch Ness monster, it isn’t going to do crap. Nobody cares.

3. Lastly, there will a shot of some talking head in front of our local political building. He will be so excited that he is coming to you live from the Rath building. Why? It’s 11 o’clock at night. It is dark. Nobody is inside that building. Why the hell does it matter if you are live in front of the building where nothing is going on to tell me later in the day a bunch of overpaid bureaucrats sat around and screamed about nothing… ultimately accomplishing nothing. The whole thing is stupid, lame, out-dated, stupid, lame, and unecessary.

This rant was fueled by a tiny spark at work this morning. As I come in to Buffalo General Hospital, there are camera crews from NBC, CNN, and FOX News. Ok. There are shooting a story on a boy who saved a nurse’s life. It turns out she was the same nurse that saved his life 7 years ago. That is cool. Heart-warming and touching. I didn’t have a problem with it… until… local “news” dweebs show up. Mind you they have given new meaning to “beating a dead horse”. This story has been on every “news” channel for three days straight. Every day, every hour, every time I turn on the television, these idiots are telling about this kid that rocked out and saved this lady’s life. I get it. They weren’t here for the story though. The big time story for the day… CNN is here!!! The local yokels were shooting pictures of the CNN guys shooting pictures. What the crap is that?!?! Who gives a crap what these wieners are doing?!?! This is not news, this is “news”!!!

I hate people. Deep down inside I am a closet misanthropist.

In summation, all news sucks. But some news sucks a considerable amount more than others. (Buffalo “news” takes a bow). Ladies and gentleman, don’t believe everything on TV. Just because it is on Crossfire or FOX News doesn’t mean it’s true. They are all owned by giant media conglomerates attempting to subtley sway you one way or another. If your local “news” is telling you the only news in your area is a fire and a kid who picks his nose, you are being horribly mislead. Walk around and see for yourself. There are far more pressing issues than what your “news” crew is showing. Fuck those schmucks. I went there.

WB

I have a bone to pick with all of you. First and foremost I would like to share an anecdote. The other day while I was shopping for a few hundred pounds of fine Quaker brand oats, I was approached by a crazed lunatic. Before me was a gentleman dressed in a wizard’s cloak holding an owl and a broadsword. I was dumbfounded. I have never seen anything like this while riding horses on my ranch in the Rockies.

I asked the gentleman,”Sir, why do you hold an owl and a broadsword. And why are you staring at me.”

He replied, “Foul Goblin Warchief Gnut-Kreft, silence yourself before I cast a level 12 fireball spell at you!”

I had no idea what he was carrying on about. So, I asked him. “Son what the devil are you carrying on about?”

“SILENCE! You are the devil and I will slay you!!”

At this point I was feeling a bit threatened.

I thought to myself for a moment, “Does this guy know who he is dealing with? I am Wilfrod freaking Brimley! I once wrestled three Grizzly Bears to death by tearing their faces off.”

I had no idea what this kid was screaming at me for. I thought maybe I should try and calm him down a bit.

“Now son… what is your name?”

“My name is Vince Klortho and I am a level 15 Battle Mage.”

“…..”

“My Battle Mage skills are so strong I will slay you.”

“….Son you are starting to piss me off.”

“Is that so? Than you can taste the power of VINCE KLORTHO!!!!!”

At this point the Battle Mage threw his owl in the air, screaming some kind of gibberish, and it came screeching down upon me; talons glinting menacingly in the fluorescent lighting of this whole food arena.

I had enough of this little turd. I took one massive swing and punched his owl right in the beak. It sailed limp across the aisle, knocking over my Quaker Oats. The owl laid lifeless on the floor. I approached this Vince character. He seemed distant and incoherent.

“Vince, what is your damage? Are you some kind of brokeback mountaineer!!?? I told you, I am Wilford freaking Brimley! I can kill you. What is the problem here?”

Vince Klortho level 15 Battle Mage responded, “I am on a LARPing adventure and you just killed my pet bird.”

Ladies and gentleman, I hope we all learned something from this little story. If you LARP, you are a loser. Not just any loser, mind you, you are the kind of loser that probably humps livestock.

Nobody gives a shit if you can cast a level 37 confuse spell on your effin’ goldfish. You don’t know magic, you aren’t a wizard, and your goldfish hopes you die. Grow up.

Why don’t you try gaining enough experience to cast a level 48 Summon Hot Girlfriend spell. Instead of going on “adventures” to rid the world of Kobolds and bands of pillaging orcs, why don’t you go on a quest to get laid, or go on a date.

You are a fruit cake and should hang up your magic flail and body armor for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
I hope your 378-sided die aids you well in rolling a dexterity save while some beer-chugging bro dude is about to pummel you for calling him an Ogre and trying to slay him.

That is just plain silly.

Good night now.

WB

My Dearest Reader,

I write to you under the direst of circumstances. In this place where I have been trapped, the laws of time and space have no meaning. I am trapped in a state of limbo – a purgatory of sorts, if you will. There is little to sustain me in this place and I feel my mind slipping away, succumbing to the strange sound of bad 80’s music whispering so softly in the back of my mind. It is as if I am waiting in an eternal line-up of poor wretched souls, also trapped in the same damned fate:

I have been stuck in a check-out line at the grocery store since Thursday night.

You see, my friend, this is the era of automation. Every day, customer service dies a little more as corporations cut prices by cutting back labor costs. It began with the self-serve gas stations. We saw it, and it was good. Now, it is rare that we ever go inside of a gas station as we can pump our gas and pay the bill without stepping more than a couple of feet away from the car. As this type of automation becomes more of the social norm, it is being instituted everywhere.

Over a year ago, grocery stores began to implement self-checkout lines so customers could scan in their own items and pay at the station without having to bother interacting with another human. At once I embraced the grocery self-checkout, for when one is in a hurry and has only a couple of items, it will be your friend. Unfortunately, many grocery stores (or Wal-Marts) have restrictions on these particular self-checkout lines. I give you the three major flaws of the grocery store self-checkout stations:

1. People over-estimate their own intelligence in figuring out how to use them

2. Murphy’s other law is that you and twenty other people will have only two items to ring up, but some asshole with a cart full of unscannable shit will get in line ahead of you

3. Rules 1 & 2 will apply every single time you try to use the self-checkout line

On Thursday night I ran to the grocery store to pick up some chocolate chips so that I could walk everyone through a graduated chocolate chip cookie recipe in keeping with the Thanksgiving holiday, but upon getting into the self-checkout line, I was stranded here. That’s why my news post came so late – I had to type it from my cell phone. In fact, yesterday was a voting day in New York State, and I feared that I would not be able to vote, but some merciful soul came by with absentee ballots. A couple of seniors standing in line behind me were so delirious by then that they actually ate the ballots. I am not sure what day it is or even what time it is, just that I’ve been standing next to a rack of magazines for so long that I think my proximity to Britney Spears’ picture on the cover of US Magazine may have given me a raging case of scabies.

Please, send help. I must go now – some woman is trying to fit her ATM card into the machine that spits your receipt out. She must be stopped.