Courtney expands on an earlier post of mine where I talked about the paradox of wanting an intelligent, ambitious woman and a stay at home mom.

Laurence Simon issues a Fatwah. Keeeeeel!!

Vodka pundit has noticed my lie and now blogrolled me. One again it has been reinforced that childish carping equals more hits.

Mean Mr. Mustard makes quite an astute observation how not all things have changed for the better.

I think Michele made this just to provoke me. It worked. Rarr!

The Sunday Puzzle has already been solved. Again, I'll post the solution Sunday and hopefully come up with a harder one. No one has found the secret message from the Links of the Day™ during the week from last week. If you can find it, send me an e-mail.

George S. from favorite stall, 16th floor bathroom asks:
Do you think all the other bombs feelings are hurt when 'smart bombs'
are singled out for praise & adulation? I mean, not all bombs can have
a low CEP (circular error probable), right?

I think you are absolutely right. Smart bombs get far too much praise in this society where we don't want to "hurt civilians". My favorite bombing technique was the good 'ole saturation bombing, in which having high tech GPS, laser guidance system would be meaningless. Saturation bombing is what really strikes fear in the hearts of the enemy, so don't toss out your old bombs just yet... unless of course it's out of an airplane and on to your enemy.

Jared from Receda, CA writes:
As next year marks the 20th anniversary of "The Karate Kid", I was wondering if Miyagi's Crane Technique ("If do right, no can defense") would be an effective counter to a random ninja attack, or if, in fact, it only works against Billy Zabka. After all, in "The Karate Kid Part 2", Chozen was able to overcome this technique with a skilled flinch.

My God, it's been like a million years since I've seen either of those movies. If I remember the crane technique, all it involves is standing on one foot and then hopping to the other while kicking. No defense my ass. Let’s see if he can crane kick a gat from 25 yards, that's what I say.

Susie from Des Moines, Thailand
How long is a lucky penny lucky?

A lucky penny (a penny found lying on the ground face up) has a luck half-life of approximately one day (23 hours, 56 minutes, 12.87 seconds). Most luck should follow immediately after picking up of the penny.

If instead one picks up a penny of death (a penny found lying face down), your chance of dying that day increases by 1000%. On the other hand, you will be one cent richer.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Part I
Part II

Rumsfeld smashed the reporter's head into the podium. "That's your head being smashed against wood," he said. Rumsfeld then slammed the reporter’s head through a window, breaking the glass. "And that's your head hitting against glass. Do you feel the difference?"

"Yes," the reporter said weakly.

"Let's continue to drive this point home," Rumsfeld said. He smacked the reporter into the brick wall. "That's your head against brick." He grabbed another reporter and slammed both their heads together. "That's skull against skull. Feel the difference?"

"I don't feel much of anything anymore."

Rumsfeld dropped his victim. "Then I think I'm finished making my point. See, while all those things seemed similar in that your head was getting smashed against something, they were different too. In the same way, Iraq is different than Vietnam, but it was an interesting analogy you tried to make. Any other questions?"

"Is it true the president and Tony Blair have been captured by the Belgians and are being put on trial?" asked one reporter.

"Why would I care?" Rumsfeld answered back angrily, "There are lots of people in the Middle East who are alive and shouldn't be, so I don't have time to worry about whether Bush or some pansy Brit has been taken prisoner by some idiotic European nation."

"But isn't he you boss?" exclaimed the reporter.

"Not so loud," Rumsfeld warned, "You'll wake chomps." Chomps, the world’s angriest dog, lay near the podium, chained to the wall, sleeping the world’s angriest sleep. His legs started moving and his jaws snapped at the air. "Aww, isn't that cute," Rumsfeld smiled, "He's dreaming of mauling someone."

Suddenly Chomps woke up and leapt to his feet. He then started barking wildly and snapping at the air. "Something making you angry, boy?" Rumsfeld asked, trying to understand.

Chomps eyes stared distantly as he continued to snarl and bark.

"Something far away?" Rumsfeld ask, "You want me to unchain you?"

"No no no!" shouted all of the reporters.

Rumsfeld unhooked Chomps's chain, and the dog immediately leapt out the nearest window. "I hope you kill whatever made you angry, boy," Rumsfeld called out as he saw Chomps speed down the street.

* * * *

President Bush was chained to the wall while the evil Belgian minister of justice kept an eye on him. The savage little badger still had Bush's cowboy hat and seemed to want nothing more than to tear away at the hapless president.

Further away, Tony Blair dangled in the air by some rope. "The first trial is of Tony Blair," the evil, bloated Belgazor announced, "If he is convicted of his war crime of making a wide right turn, he shall be dropped into the pit of eternal horror."

The floor opened from beneath Blair revealing a pit filled with angry, screeching monkeys. "Crikey!" Blair exclaimed.

"We poured eight barrels of monkeys into that pit," Belgazor laughed, "And we shook the barrels up good first to make sure the monkeys were extra angry."

"You madman!" Bush yelled, "If I had a baseball bat, I would beat you good! Oh... and if I weren't chained up, too. If I weren't chained up and I had a baseball bat, you would be so sorry."

"But you are chained up, and there are no baseball bats in Belgium," Belgazor said, "So instead you get to witness the perfection of our justice system. Instead of using biased humans to decide Tony Blair's fate, we use pigeons to determine justice." Belgazor pointed to the jury which was a stand full of pigeons. "Before each one is two buttons: one for not guilty and one for guilty. If more hit guilty, then Blair falls into the pit and justice will be dispensed by the angry monkeys. Muh ha ha ha!" He looked to Blair. "You may now plead your case."

"To the pigeons?"

"Who else?" Belgazor asked angrily.

Blair looked to the many birds who stared right back at him. "Uh... I would like to say I've always like birds, and that England is a particularly good place for pigeons. I really didn't mean to drive unsafely, and, if you find me not guilty, you're all invited to London where you will be fed many bread crumbs."

"The jury does not respond well to bribery," Belgazor warned.

The pigeons started to peck at their buttons, and the tally could be seen on a large screen. The guilties began to grow in number much faster than the not guilties.

"Oh, bugger," Blair exclaimed.

"Remember to tuck your head in and roll when you hit the ground," Bush told Blair, "That will help you with the fall. I don't have any advice, though, about how to not get torn apart by monkeys."

"That's quite alright, chap," Blair said in a depressed voice as he watched the results on screen while Belgazor laughed his evil Belgian laugh.

* * * *

Buck slowly crept through the fortress. He soon detected a sent. "Waffles," he uttered ominously.

Soon Belgian troops were all about him, so Buck made a run through the fortress as he fired back, all the while singing the ancient Marine kill'n song:

"Oh, God made fore'ners for a kill'n,
Or so says my dear old pa.
So I then shoot me some fore'ners
And then triumphantly shout, 'Ooh-rah!'

Yes, fore'ners are for a kill'n
So it's their blood I'm spill'n.
Once I kill me a million
I'll shout my last, 'Ooh-rah!'

If us Marines fire enough bullets,
The world will run out of lead.
Then we'll have to draw our Ka-bars
And stab them fore'ners dead.

Yes, fore'ners are for a kill'n
So it's their blood I'm spill'n.
Once I kill me a million
I'll shout my last, 'Ooh-rah!'"

Buck slapped another clip into his rifle and looked for any more Belgians to kill. He then ran for what seemed to be the main room of the building. Knocking the door open, he saw Blair suspended in the air, Bush chained to the wall being guarded by a cowboy badger, and the giant Belgazor standing near a wall of pigeons. "Something weird and foreign is going on here," Buck announced, "and I don't like it much!"

"Another foolish American!" Belgazor shouted. He then hit a button and the stairs Buck was standing on turned into a slide. He slipped towards the pit of monkeys, but he quickly tossed his rifle aside and drew his Ka-bar, stabbing it into the ground to slow his descent. He ended up stopping right at the edge of the pit, the angry monkeys jumping up and clawing at his boots.

"My boots!" Buck shouted, "I need those for stomping on fore'ners’ necks."

Belgazor just laughed as both Buck and Blair dangled above their imminent doom. "I guess it's up to me," Bush uttered, "So, there is only one thing left to do: a Presidential Power-Up!"

"U.S. Presidents of old hear me now," Bush shouted into the air, "for I ask of your power! Give me the level-headed cunning of George Washington, the straight moralism of Abraham Lincoln, the mighty strength of Teddy Roosevelt, the alcohol tolerance of Ulysses S. Grant, and the don't give a s**t attitude of James Polk!"

There was a burst of light that surrounded Bush, and then he tore apart his chains as if they were papier-mâché. "Time for an ass-whup'n... Texas style!" he announced.

"Stop him!" Belgazor screamed.

The minister of justice bared his sharp teeth.

"Uh-oh," Bush uttered, backing away.

The badger then leapt at him ready to bite, but he disappeared in a blur of black. The cowboy hat now floated down to the ground while Chomps stood by, swallowing the badger in a big gulp.

"Chomps!" Bush exclaimed, "You saved me! And to think I had just signed an executive order to have you put down."

"I'll have just stop you myself!" the giant Belgazor yelled, approaching Bush.

Chomps growled. "This one's mine," Bush told the dog, "You go help Buck and gay Tony." Chomps ran off and while Bush bent down and picked up his hat. He firmly fixed it on his head and yelled, "You're going down, Belgazor!"

Belgazor just growled and charged Bush who fought back with a series of kicks and punches, sending Belgazor to the ground with a mighty crash. "You made the big mistake of messing with someone who has seen every episode of Walker: Texas Ranger," Bush laughed.

Chomps grabbed Buck with his mighty jaw and helped him out of the pit. The tally board was just about to reach the point at which Blair would be declared guilty, so Chomps braced Buck as he leaned over, just barely being able to catch Blair as he was dropped towards the pit. "Ooh-rah!"

"I will destroy you all!" Belgazor shouted as he got back to his feet. He then charged Bush again, but this time Bush flipped over Belgazor who couldn't stop himself before he ended up plunging into the pit of eternal horror. His last scream of anger was drowned out by the screeching of monkeys.

The building then started shaking. "It must have been Belgazor's evil power that kept this fortress afloat," Blair stated.

"So we done here?" Buck asked as he picked back up his M-16.

"No, kill those pigeons," Bush said, "They're part of this!"

Buck launched a grenade into the jury stand which disappeared into a mixture of fire and feathers.

"Now we better get out of here before it's too late," Blair said nervously.

"What's wrong with your voice?" Buck asked.

"He's just gay," Bush explained.

"I'm not gay!" Blair responded, "I'm British."

"British sounds foreign," Buck said, eying Blair suspiciously.

Blair took one good look at the intimidating Buck. "On second though... yes, I'm gay. Very, very gay."

Buck thought this over for a second. "Well, then may Jesus’ love lead you to the right path. Now let's get out of here."

"The exit was that way," Blair said, pointing at a wall, "I took a good look at a map of this place, so all we need to do is head down the opposite hallway, take a right, take a left..."

Buck launched a grenade at the wall, blowing it apart and giving them an exit outside.

"And that works, too," Blair said sheepishly.

They all fled outside where a helicopter came to meet them. Standing at the doorway was Clancy. "Glad to see you all."

"Wow, SpongeBob!" Bush exclaimed, "Great tie!"

"Thanks, it was a father's day gift from my son."

"All my daughters gave me was a card," Bush complained, "I didn't even get the joke in it. Least they could have done was put a twenty dollar bill in there or something."

"May I remind you that the ground is crumbling beneath us?" Blair said impatiently.

"Oh yeah!" Bush exclaimed as they all rushed into the helicopter, it rising into the air as the evil Belgian fortress plummeted to the ground. They all settled into a seat and breathed sighs of relief, except for Chomps, who eyed each of the individual seats until he found one that particularly enraged him. He then began to savagely tear it apart.

Bush looked back at Belgium. "Get me a line to the... uh... big military place."

"The Pentagon?" Clancy asked.

"Yeah, that place." Bush was given the phone. "This is the president! ...yeah, the one of the United States. Nuke Belgium! Nuke it to hell!"

Bush looked out the window, waiting for a big explosion where the crumbled fortress lay, but instead he saw one far off in the distance. "I think you missed it," Bush said into the phone, "No, I don't know what country you nuked, but you better find out who and send them a fruit basket. Belgium is more to the right... no, my right... yeah, I guess you don't know what my right is." Bush looked to Clancy. "Which direction are we flying?"

"Southeast."

"So... if we are going southeast," Bush thought out loud, "Then the explosion was to the... uh... and Belgium was to its... uh..." Bush picked up the phone again. "Forget nuking Belgium. It's too hard."

"Well, that was quite an experience," Blair exclaimed.

"You can say that again," Bush responded, "This has to be my biggest misadventure since the time I got my head stuck in the banister. I did learn a lesson, though: it's insane for any one country - other than the U.S. - to try and have jurisdiction over the entire world."

"I learned that one should turn into the nearest lane and the properly signal before going into a further lane or you may be kidnapped by Belgians," Blair said.

"I learned something too," Clancy added, "but it's classified."

"And I learned that I like kill'n fore'ners," Buck said with a wide smile. He then thought for a moment. "Wait; I already knew that. Guess I didn't learn anything. Ooh-rah!"

THE END

There is a new secret message in the Links of the Day for today, and the first one to e-mail it to me gets to be declared super-smart.

There are also bonus points for finding the secret message I put in the Links of the Day during the past week.

Super-smart for last week: Scott Wright for being the first to e-mail me the secret message and Alan S. from Albuquerque for being the first to find the elegant solution to the puzzle.

Everyone bow before their supersmartness!

Here is the solution:

I noticed `an .friend of Geeks with Guns has returned.One of the reasons I am rea.d is 'from his early support of my site. So go ,give h.im a hit for me.

Not all of the French are against us, and Amphitryon has followed the war with great interest, colllecting news stories and pictures of America’s and the allies’ victtory. Here are more pictures.

Elliot Temple did not like that I compared a chimpanzee to a six-year-old. I know some people are offended by people looking down on a child, but, I’m sorry, kids are dumb. Not to offend any children who read my website, though, because you are going to grow out of it (well, most will). Sorry, but Frank always says the truth; he isn’t going to fib… Oh! Nachos! I’m going to go eat now. The thrilling conclusion to The "Attack of the Belgians" will appear tomorrow morning.

It's Sunday, which means it's time to tell filthy lies about Stephen Green.

Just look at his blogroll! There's like every damn blog in the blogosphere on there, but which one is conspicuously missing? So blatantly missing that it's almost a statement of, "Hey, look at me! I didn't link to this guy!" That's right; IMAO. It's just like that scene in Austin Powers 3 where Dr. Evil said, "Everyone leave the room except for..." and then named everybody except for Mini-Me. I think he made his whole blogroll as an affront to me. Well, I won't stand idly by! Time for lies!

I saw Stephen Green in the bar area of a restaurant, so I walked up and said, "Hey, it's Stephen Green, famous blogger! I'd like to buy you a drink."

"Thanks," he responded.

Then the waitress came by, so I told her, "I'll have a double whiskey with a beer chaser, and Stephen Green will have..."

"A Shirley Temple," he said, to my surprise.

"What?" I exclaimed, "Wouldn't you want vodka?"

"Oh," he chuckled, "That's just for fun on my website; I don't actually drink any alcoholic beverages. Alcohol tastes awful; bleh!"

"Are you joking?" I asked, quite befuddled.

"And alcohol makes you do crazy things, so be careful. That's why I sometimes suddenly disappear from blogging for short periods; it's so I can give lectures on the dangers of alcohol."

"You sicken me," I shot back at him and left the bar to drink whiskey at home.

And here is horribly photoshopped evidence that doesn't prove anything:

So there is your lie: Stephen Green hates alcoholic beverages! Tell all the other bloggers! Tell the Russians! Tell Absolut!

That will teach him for singling me out for non-linkage.

Did I say there wasn't going to be any secret message in this week's Links of the Day™? Oh yes, I did.

Anyway, it's Freaky Link to Frank Friday™! This is where I get lazy and just go to Technorati and grab some links of people linking to me. What fun!

Bitweever has a great idea for a new reality show.

And what's aimless's comment about me supposed to mean?

Kelley has some sympathy for poor politicians getting lampooned by us bloggers all the time (but not that much).

Meatriarchy added me to his blogroll (with a very intelligent observation in parentheses next to it).

Krissy has a political awakening.

Bad Money has some analyzation of humor (June 26th entry entitled "Trying to Muster Polite Laughter").

And I need more pictures for the Peace Gallery. You don't want the world to think we're a bunch of war-loving pansies.

Scott from Heartland, U.S.A. writes:
I need your help with a personal crisis. One of my friends just told me that mustard is a "Commie condiment". Is this true? I really like mustard, does that make me a closet commie? Help!

PS: I thought commies liked mayo on their fries, not mustard.

But I like mayo on my fries...

Anyway, there is nothing Commie about any condiment. Americans love choice and being able to put whatever the hell they want on their foods. What's Commie is charging for packets of ketchup or mustard like I hear they do in Europe. We're rich capitalist, we get too be wasteful with our many packets of condiments, most of which go unused.

Nothing says freedom like a drawer at work full of unused ketchup and hot sauce packets.

From Poosh from either Nanjing, China or Bexhill, England writes:
Even though you have consistently given advice that has had a negative impact on my life I have no one else to turn too, the police simply won't believe me. I took your advice and bought some anti-ninja spray and sprayed my flowers good. That was fun. I then went into my house and awaited the ninja hoards. Sure enough, just as the sun was setting, they attacked! That's when the anti-ninja spray took affect! All the flowers in my garden mutated into these crazy looking flower-monsters! The ninjas tried to fight back but for every mutant flower they felled, two grew in its place! And thus the ninjas died. Victory was mine! I jumped for joy and praised America and set a side £10 to donate to you as a thankyou present. But then the mutant-flowers evolved and somehow took over not just my garden but my house! Everywhere is green and I've been imprisoned in my room. Sometimes I think Poison Ivy from Batman is going to show up and order me to be her sex slave which would be great but that hasn't happened yet. What do I do, Frank? What do I do? I think the flowers are plotting to take over the world...

Okay, I've used ninja sprays before, and I know they work perfectly fine if you follow the directions. That means to shake the spray vigorously for one minute and then put a light coating on the plants. If you do it properly, that plants would have just enough power to repel the ninjas, but not enough to take over your house and plan world conquest. Obviously, you did something wrong, so you get a chiding.

Chide. Chide. Chide.

Now that I've finished chiding you, here is what to do next. You need to get the archnemesis of the plants: vegetarians. Round up a bunch of vegetarians and set them loose on the plants. The plants will either flee in terror or be viciously torn apart by the vegetarians.

Hope that helps.

Tim from Melbourne, FL writes:
Canada has a holiday called Boxing Day. What is so special about (aboot) Boxing Day? Why do they have it?

Wow! I thought I was the only one who lived in Melbourne, Florida and wondered what the hell Boxing Day is. There is no way to be certain, as the ways of the Canadians are tribal and mysterious, but I do have a theory.

Obviously, it can't be about boxing like in punching each other, because the Canadians are too much a bunch of peaceniks. So my guess is that on boxing day they all get together a bunch of boxes and make cool forts out of them. What fun, eh?

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Sometimes you feel like a nut (Democrat primary), sometimes you don't (general election). So which Democrat candidate will be nutty enough to win the primary, gaining that hearts of the Democrat base of drooling idiots? And will he make himself too nutty to be viable in the general election?

To find these answers, I talked to the candidates themselves.

All interviews are now up. They are of John Kerry, Richard Gephardt, Joe Liberman, John Edwards, Howard Dean, Al Sharpton, Bob Graham, Dennis Kucinich, Carol Moseley Braun, Jojo the Monkey, and Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Even I have to admit this is one awesome t-shirt. At least Russel isn't selling it in competition of my Nuke the Moon t-shirt. Did I mention I had a t-shirt for my site?

Courtney decided to make a 100 list just like Annika.

Remind me, did Bill Whittle used to write essays? It's been so long I can't remember.

Bill McCabe from Ridgewood, NJ writes:
Which are deadlier: American Ninjas or Japanese Ninjas? You see, the film "American Ninja" has the American beating the Japanese Ninja, while "Revenge of the Ninja" has the Japanese guy winning. I'm rather confused as to who is superior.

That's a rather easy question to answer: Americans are superior at everything. While American ninja might not be as skilled as classically trained Chinese or Japanese ninjas, we still win anyways because America always wins. That's because God likes us and dislikes other countries. We know that since we are the only country to get tornados; that's God's sign to us that we are all really cool... though some people interpret it differently.

Aaron from Canada writes:
Does Soy Sauce really kill bacteria? KIKKOMAN told me it did, but I'm not sure, eh.

Obviously a flash animation that well produced has to be right, so, yes, soy sauce does kill bacteria.

Is there anything soy can't do? No, there is nothing it can't do, which makes it a threat to us. Yes, it makes lots of healthy foods now, but soy could have more sinister plans in the future. Instead of a world taken over by apes, we could end up ruled by soy where they use meat from humans to make a non-vegetarian replacement to soy burgers.

I'm not saying destroy all soy; I'm just saying we should keep an eye on it.

Rustmeister from Smartsville, USA writes:
I just bought myself a Nuke the Moon t-shirt for my birthday. My question is: Will this t-shirt slow the aging process?

That's a silly question; of course it will. It will also increase your vocabulary, give you limited x-ray vision, and let you go 48 hours without sleep with no ill effects.

Of course, there was no real reason for me to answer this question, because all knowledge would become known to you as soon as you put on the shirt.

BTW, those who have these wonderful shirts now, remember to get those pictures in for the Peace Gallery.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

John Hawkins has his interview with Ann Coulter up. I'm working on getting a series of interviews ready for tomorrow. More details on that later.

Richard Gephardt seems to have a little trouble understanding what an executive order can and cannot do, saying, ""When I'm president, we'll do executive orders to overcome any wrong thing the Supreme Court does tomorrow or any other day." So, to be helpful to any potential future president such as Dick Gephardt, here is a quick guide to the powers of presidential executive orders:

Executive orders CAN be used to enforce a Supreme Court decision.
Executive orders CANNOT strike down a Supreme Court decision.

Executive orders CAN order the bombing of a target.
Executive orders CANNOT alter the flow of time.

Executive orders CAN dispatch the military.
Executive orders CANNOT override the word of God.

Executive orders CAN be used to create new offices to execute the laws.
Executive orders CANNOT control the weather.

Executive orders CAN give someone a paper cut.
Executive orders CANNOT place a voodoo curse on someone.

Executive orders CAN be made into a paper airplane.
Executive orders CANNOT be folded more than seven times (try it).

Executive orders CAN be turned over and used as scratch paper.
Executive orders CANNOT make yourself bulletproof.

Executive orders CAN be rolled up and used as a pretend telescope.
Executive orders CANNOT be rolled up to use as a weapon to defeat Aquaman.

Executive orders CAN be used to wrap a fish.
Executive orders CANNOT be shredded up and used as a replacement for oregano.

Executive orders CAN be suitable for framing.
Executive orders CANNOT grant super-powers.

Executive orders CAN beat rock.
Executive orders CANNOT beat scissors.

I hope this was helpful to Gephardt and will make him more accurate in his future demagogic speeches.

It's the Carnival of the Vanities!

Is John Hawkins interviewing who I think he's interviewing? If he is, I hope he is doing a phone interview because that woman scares me (but in a good way, as Rachel Lucas would say; kinda like how Rumsfeld scares me).

Weird. I wonder if this is all really true?

No, I don't speechwrite for Gephardt, but he does sound like parody of himself. Actually, no, that stupid statement of his about an executive order overiding a Supreme Court decision could use more parodying. Ah! A topic for tomorrow. Muh ha ha ha!

Okay. I'm putting a moratorium on readers mentioning monkeys. When the first reader e-mailed me this story, it was funny (heh heh, they shot monkeys), but I was a little tired of it by the tenth e-mail. I don't like the fact that when people see something about monkeys, they think Frank J. That's the absolute opposite of what I want.

Also, I'm declaring an end to the cat at gunpoint caption contest. The picture is funny enough by itself, but there were a lot of absolutely hilarious entries for captions if you haven’t read through them. The one I pick as winner, though, is this one by Tuning Spork:

"Please, Miss Reno! I don't wanna go back to Cuba!!"

Congratulations, Tuning Spork. You get the super-secret prize of no monetary value.

Sorry about no Frank Answers™ today; that was bad planning on my part. Speaking of bad planning, the Attack of the Belgians was supposed to be just one post, but I never left myself enough time to write it so I had to make it a series. The conclusion is Monday.

Part I

"I just want assure everyone that the Belgians have not captured the president," White House Press Secretary announced.

"My question was about the tax cuts," said the befuddled reporter.

"Whatever." Ari took a big drink from his flask of whiskey. "Oh, and if anyone is mountain climbing and happens to see the vice president, please give us a call."

"You lost the vice president on some mountain top?" exclaimed one reporter.

"I did not say that," Ari answered, "Why do you people always have to read into everything I say?" Ari took another big drink of whiskey. "God, how many more days do I have to do this."

* * * *

The flying fortress of Belgium loomed in the distance as the helicopter continued its approach. "That's where the foreigners that need a kill'n are, right?" Buck the Marine asked.

"That's what are intelligence says," Clancy answered. He was in his usual black suit with black sunglasses, but was wearing a SpongeBob SquarePants tie.

"What happened to your black tie?" Buck asked.

"Oh... uh... this was a gift from my eight year old for Father's Day. The wife said I had to wear it at least once."

Buck sharpened his Ka-Bar. "So what do we know about the Belgians?"

"Unfortunately, we seemed to have misfiled our data about Belgium," Clancy said, "Or, at least, it wasn't under 'B'. Luckily, my six-year-old niece had to write a short report on a country, and she was given Belgium. Here is what it says:

Belgium is in Europe. Their money is called the Belgian Franc. They export machinery and chemicals. They speak Dutch and French. I like waffles."

"How sure are you of the accuracy of that report," Buck asked as he checked his extra magazines.

"It got a B-. We also used an advanced search tool to gleam information about Belgium from the internet."

"Google?" Buck inquired.

"Uh... I can't divulge my sources. Anyway, here is what we learned, most of it taken from blogs: The Belgians suck. The Belgians are possibly radioactive so don't touch them. Everyone hates the Belgians. The Belgians have super-strength and can fly. The Belgians are totally gay.

I remind you, that, with anything found off the internet, there is a 12% chance of it being true. What we have determined for certain, though, is the Belgians, so consumed about their irrelevance, have become wraith like beings unable to be harmed by normal weapons. Perhaps, though, closer to their own land they'll have more relevance and can be harmed."

"Don't worry," Buck assured him, "If there is one thing I know how to figure out how to do, its kill foreigners."

"I think the acting president Dick Cheney would like to have some words with you," Clancy said as he turned on a monitor.

"I am very cold!" Cheney exclaimed, "Someone please come and get me. I can't hold out much longer. I think I hear something rattling around in my boot and I'm afraid it's my toe."

"Don't worry, acting president Cheney," Buck said, "The Belgians will pay for their crime."

"Are you even listening to me? Please, just..."

Clancy switched the monitor so that now Laura Bush was on screen. "The First Lady also wanted to talk to you."

"Please bring my husband back home," she pleaded.

"I will not let you down, ma'am."

"And, when you find him, ask him where the heated blanket is. I know he was the last one to have it, and I can't find it now."

"I will do that. Stay strong."

Clancy shut off the monitor. They were almost to the evil flying fortress of the Belgians. "It's time to get ready. All the American people - except for the most partisan Democrats - are counting on you, Buck."

"If it involves killing foreigners, let them know that I always succeed." Buck then chambered a round into his M-16 and prepared to disembark.

* * * *

"Almost got a brick out of the wall," Bush whispered as he pried at the wall with his waffle knife.

"You know the guards are watching you," Tony Blair whispered back.

"That's why I'm trying to be inconspicuous," Bush said as he frantically pried at the wall. "Why don't you tap dance to distract them."

"Tap dance?"

"Just do it!"

Blair started tap dancing. "Stop that dancing!" ordered one of the guards.

"No, I'm British and I need to dance!" Blair answered defiantly.

"Got the brick out," Bush whispered.

"I'll stop dancing now," Blair announced.

Bush curled up on the floor and started moaning. "Oh, I'm sick... much to sick to bash you two guards in the head if you came in this cell."

"We better help him," one guard said to the other. They opened the cell and entered.

"I'll bash your heads good!" Bush yelled as he jumped to his feet and knocked the two guards unconscious with his brick.

"Wow!" Blair exclaimed, "The Belgians are even dumber than you."

"Yeah, they're stupid," Bush laughed. "Uh... now what do I do?"

"You unlock my cell and we get out of here."

Bush got the keys and let Blair out. "So, do you have any military experience?"

"Not really," Blair said, "What about you?"

"I flew some planes," Bush said, "Do you see any jet fighters around?"

"No, not in this cell block," Blair answered, "Why don't we look for a means to escape."

"First, I have to get my cowboy hat back," Bush declared.

"It's just a hat!" Blair exclaimed.

"Being, gay, you probably wouldn't understand," Bush said, "but a Texan can't leave his hat behind."

"I'm not gay; I'm British."

"Well, whatever you want to call it; I don't mean to offend. I'm a uniter not a divider."

They then sneaked through the fortress until they came to the hall of the minister of justice. Inside were numerous guards and a badger wearing a cowboy hat.

"Their minister of justice is a badger!" Blair exclaimed, "The Belgians are completely insane!"

"And he's got my hat!" Bush said angrily. "We need to distract the guards."

"But how?"

Bush pushed Tony Blair into the room. "Look, it's Tony Blair and he's trying to escape!" Bush yelled.

"Oh, bugger!" Blair exclaimed before running off with the guards in pursuit as Bush hid behind a wall.

"Now to get my hat," Bush said as he approached the badger. "You give me my hat back, you stinky varmint!"

The badger leapt at Bush's leg, biting it.

"Ow! It hurts! Get him off!"

Bush then heard the evil laughter of Belgazor. "So you thought you could escape the arbitrary justice of the Belgians?"

"Well, yeah," Bush admitted, "Until the badger bit me."

"Guess what," Belgazor said with a smile, "You're just in time for your trial. Muh ha ha ha!"

Bush looked confused. "I don't get that joke."

"It's not a joke! It's evil laughter!" Belgazor explained with frustration.

"Oh," Bush answered with faux-understanding before the minister of justice went for his groin.

TO BE CONCLUDED...

Laurence Simon fisks riding a bus.

Damn you, Scrappleface! "No virgins for you." Trying... not to.. laugh...

John Hawkins has a list of quotes of my favorite pundit, Jonah Goldberg. Apparently Jonah isn't very pithy. I have a nice short quote of his that John Hawkins missed, though, and it's particularly relevant to the recent Supreme Court decisions:

”Affirmative action is based upon the assumption that blacks cannot compete with whites. But if I say that blacks can't compete with whites, I'm a racist.”

Kelsey J. from Anytown, USA writes:
Frank, my mom and I were thinking of making a movie where all the liberals (and, if arrangements can be made, monkeys) die because they don't support gun rights. Would you like to star?

Sure, but there has to be lots of gun fights and I keep to keep all the firearms I use in the film. Plus there has to be a gratuitous katana fight scene where I quickly kill twenty people with my sword in under a minute.

And, at the end, it can't say, "No animals were harmed in the making of this movie." Instead, is should say, "Numerous monkeys were killed in the making of this movie, and we're happy with that."

Oh, and my percentage I ask for will of the gross, not the net.

Justin R. (a.k.a. Red Mist) from Hell (Grand Forks), ND writes:
I just turned 21 recently and I am trying to decide what firearm to buy as a concealed carry gun. I've narrowed it down to a Glock 19 in 9mm or a Glock 23 in .40S+W. I was also considering the Springfield XD 4 inch service model in the same calibers, but I haven't heard much about its reliability, so I think I'm going to stick with a proven gun. Can you help me with my dilemma? 9mm or .40?

I don't know; considers whether you want to kill your attacker or tickle him.

Hey, I always say go with a .45, but a .40 has plenty of punch. 9mm is just some wussy metric bullet made by Nazis. Stay away from metric ammo, or, if you must get a 9mm, instead refer to it has a .380 long.

UPDATE: I like to give joke answers, but guns are a serious thing. Anyway, I have now just got this months issue of Gun Tests magazine, and they recommend the cheaper Springfield XD 9. I still think it's better to have at least a .40 for the stopping power, though.

Also, if you are going to carry, you want to keep a round in the chamber, otherwise you can't do a one-handed draw. I just don't trust Glock's with a round in the chamber. I need either a stiffer double action on the first shot or a manual safety.

Previously, I recommended this carry holster which allows one to carry a full size auto. Here is me wearing the holster with both my Colt 1991 and Walther PPK in it. Such a holster gives you more options in what you can carry.

Stephen from Hope, Arkansas asks:
I believe your logic is flawed: strategically-placed wide moats would do a much better job at repelling random ninja attacks than tall fences. (It's common knowledge that ninjas dislike water.) Does that change your pro-random ninja attack stance?

First, don't mischaracterize my statements; I am not "pro-random ninja attack". I just think that measures such as walls and moats are wastes of time. Ninjas will climb the walls, and, remember, ninjas can jump very far. The amount of money it would take to make a moat wide enough to keep out ninjas would be too costly, plus there's that extra long bridge or gate to take care of. I still think the only real solution is to teach the death-touch to the common man. When each man himself can take on a ninja, then random ninja attacks will cease to be a problem.

Not like it affects me anyway; I'm a samurai.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Some people are now accusing Bush of lying about WMD's. I think he was telling the truth and they just haven't found them yet (hint: try checking in the camel humps), but, even if it is a lie, it will probably be soon forgotten. Presidents have told lies about pretty much every single war, and no one remembers them now:

PRESIDENTIAL WAR LIES

* WWI: President Woodrow Wilson said there is nothing more fun than trench warfare.

* Vietnam War: Lyndon Johnson told American troops that they would win the Vietnam War, no matter how smelly, filthy, hairy, and moronic the war protestors were.

* Mexican American War: President Polk told the American people the Mexicans eat babies, but the only evidence he produced was a large tortilla waiting for an unknown filling. That wacky Polk; who knows what mischief he would have gotten us into if he ran for a second term.

* War of 1812: President Madison said calling it the "War of 1812" was only temporary and they'd eventually come up with a really cool name for it.

* First Gulf War: President Herbert Walker Bush said that their victory would be so complete that the war would never be known as the First Gulf War.

* Revolutionary War: George Washington helped rally colonists to fight against the British by saying that the British has nuclear weapons they were planning to use on the colonies. After the war, though, he was unable to show any evidence of nuclear weapons or even explain what one was.

* Korean War: President Truman said the Korean War would be forever remembered with reverence and would never be the subject for a sitcom.

* Civil War: President Lincoln said the South had an army of mutant, man-eating cotton plants they planned to unleash on the North, though only one was ever found.

* African Diamond War: Completely made up war so that Teddy Roosevelt could go on safari.

* WWII: FDR told Americans that once they liberated France, the French would be eternally grateful, when, according to intelligence he had, he knew the French would be grateful for three and a half hours at most.

I'm sorry, no hidden messages in this week's Links of the Days, but there are links!

Jay Solo has moved! Yankee Herald has moved and changed its name to VRWC Inc. Disco.

On the Fritz has another hilarious satire with funny pictures to go with it. Yawn. So what else is new?

Michele of A Small Victory comes out as a misanthrope. Well, there's a headline fit for the cover of Duh! magazine.
BTW, I first learned the word misanthrope from the computer game Sam & Max Hit the Road (the first computer game we bought when the family finally got a computer with a CD-drive). Anyone remember that game?

And the Emperor still doesn't tell us which candidate he plans to vote for in the primary.

Andrea Harris wants to kill the perfect man.

BTW, I severely underestimated the interest of my readership in puzzles. Giving a four-week time limit was way too much, as it is already solved. I won't post the solution until Sunday (my elegant version of it; there are some more brutal ones), though, and, hopefully, come up with a new, harder puzzle for then.

Also, I know many of you have your shirts now. So, start taking some hella cool pictures and sending them in for the Peace Gallery. Everyone gets his or her own little page on my blog.

George S. from the Galactic Headquarters, Milky Way Division writes:
Everyone knows you hate monkeys. What's your position on Sea-Monkeys?

Monkeys are bad enough as it is on land, but for them to also to propagate their evil into the sea would be too much. What would be next? Flying monkeys ruling the air, biting and scratching all our airplanes?

Luckily, sea monkeys are actually just boring little brine shrimp, easily killed by adding a drop of bleach to their aquarium. Try it yourself; it’s fun!

Chris from Satellite Beach, Florida write:
I live in a neighboring city of yours called Satellite Beach. Do you think you and me could go hang out sometime? I could go for some hippy-hunting.

Well, I don't just take anyone on hippy-hunting, Chris. I need to know I can trust the other person. How can I be sure that when a bull hippy comes charging at us, you're not going to blink? You miss your shot, and then we could both end up smelling like patchouli oil.

Jay Solo from Quincy, Massachusetts asks:
Why is there air?

Air is needed as a medium so that things can fly. Before air, paper airplanes fell straight to the floor, and birds were forced to run around on the ground, pecking at people's feet. Finally, though, the Wright brothers came up with an invention called the airplane, named after Sir Isaac Airplane who first theorized that man could fly. They realized, though, that they needed some gaseous medium for the contraption to work in. Thus they argued to the government to begin filling the world with gas by genetically modify plants to produce oxygen, nitrogen, and some other elements that together we know as air (named after the airplane).

The only problem was that this air ended up being quite addictive, and a person will die from withdrawal symptoms when being deprived of air for a only a minute or so. It is possible to slowly wean yourself off the addiction, but it takes eighty years or so.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

The Peace Gallery is now up. I've decided to give each person his or her own page to put a description along with his or her picture. There are only a couple pictures now, but I'll be adding to it as I recieve more (including adding more pictures of me).

Also, if someone has an angry looking dog, especially a rottweiler, it would be cool to put the shirt on him and snap a picture making him our model for Chomps.

So start getting those pictures sent in.

"There's nothing better than a game of golf, is there, Agent Smith?"

"I wouldn't know, President Bush," Secret Service Agent Smith answered, "I've never played. I just stand here in the sun and watch you. Rather asinine, if you ask me."

"Yep, nothing better than a good game of golf," Bush said as he adjusted his cowboy hat, and then prepared for a swing.

"President Bush!" yelled out a voice.

Startled, Bush screwed up his swing, sending his ball into the brush. "Grrr!" Bush yelled, "Agent Smith, whoever just messed up my shot I want you to inject him in the neck with that stuff that makes it look like he had a heart attack."

"That stuff ain't cheap, sir," Agent Smith reminded him.

"It was I who called out your name," said a sinister figure, "Chief Floopergibble of the Belgian international police force." More men in black uniforms emerged from the brush. "I, under the authority of Belgium, am placing you under arrest for lying about WMD's and having an illegal war with Iraq."

"Well, I guess we'll have to go peacefully," Bush said, dropping his golf club, "Wouldn't make much sense to - KILL THEM!" Bush drew his peacemaker while Agent Smith drew his Beretta and they both started firing at the Belgians.

Nothing happened.

"What's the matter?" Bush asked desperately.

"Apparently they're too irrelevant," Agent Smith answered, "Our bullets are going right through them in search of more substantive targets."

"Dammit! Always when I’m finally making par."

The Belgians closed in on them while laughing their evil Belginian laugh.

* * * *

"The president has been captured by Belgians," Agent Smith announced.

"What!" Condoleezza Rice exclaimed, "You lose him two more times and you get a demerit!"

"Good," Rumsfeld said, "I think things will run smoother without him. Now let's there are a lot of terrorists out there who aren't getting any less terroristy..."

"We need to rescue the president," Rice insisted. She turned on the satellite connection to Dick Cheney. "The president has been captured by Belgians," Rice told him, "I think that means you're in charge."

"Good," Cheney answered, shivering, "Then I order all resources to be used to find me. I'm on some mountain top and found shelter in a cave."

"Do you know which mountain?"

"No. But find me quickly," Cheney said desperately, "I think I saw a snowman. I didn't get a good enough look, but he may have been abominable. And I'm running out of ammo for my .357. So forget about the president and find me. I want..."

Chomps knocked the TV set down and tore it apart with his teeth. "He never liked Cheney," Rumsfeld commented.

"He never likes anyone," Rice said.

"If you want my opinion," Rumsfeld said, "and you'll be getting it whether you do or not - this is all some plot from the Belgians to get nuked. And, frankly, I think their plan is going to work." He looked to the map on the wall. "So where are the?."

"That's the problem," Rice said, "Belgium is so irrelevantly, that mapmakers stopped including it long ago."

Chomps jumped up and grabbed the map and then tore it to pieces. "Yeah, destroy that useless map," Rumsfeld laughed.

"I have some intelligence that may help," Clancy told Rice. "We set up a number of surveillance devices on the Belgian embassy. At first, we thought they were speaking in some code language. Ended up, we were actually spying on the Swedes. That's when we went to plan B. We spotted a Belgian diplomat visiting the U.N., and then had one of our agents kick him the nuts, grab his briefcase, and run away. A simple but effective method." Clancy set a briefcase down on the table. "According to the documents inside, Bush is being held in the flying fortress of the tyrannical ruler of Belgium, Belgazor. They plan to put him on trial believing they have the authority to bring charges against anyone in the world."

"Those arrogant bastards!" Rumsfeld shouted, "Only America has that authority. We must kill them all!"

Chomps barked in approval and then tore out a section of a nearby wall.

"We'll need to send someone in to rescue the president," Rice said.

"I know who," Rumsfeld repliedd, picking up a phone. "Buck, do you want to kill some Belgians?"

There was a contemplative pause on the other end. "Sure," Buck the Marine finally answered, "They sound pretty foreign."

* * * *

"Captured by Belgians," Bush grumbled to himself, "This is almost as bad as when Carter was attacked by a rabbit."

"Things could be worse, chap," said a familiar voice, "At least we have plenty of chocolate and waffles to eat."

Bush looked to the other cell. "It's my gay friend Tony!" he exclaimed.

"Nice to see you, too," Tony Blair answered.

"So what did they arrest you for?"

"Said that I made a wide right turn," Blair answered, "So they kidnapped me and took me here."

"Should have been more careful driving," said an ominous voice. There stood Belgazor, the evil, bloated ruler of Belgium, a giant crown upon his head. "Now we will dispense justice upon you."

Bush noticed that Belgazor had his cowboy hat in hand. "You give me my hat back or I'll murder you dead!" Bush yelled as he tried to reach for Belgazor's throat through the bars.

"I'd worry more about your trial," Belgazor said, "First comes Tony Blair's trial for his reckless driving, then you for your illegal war, then me for my kidnapping of foreign leaders, and then all Israelis for the high crime of being Jews where they're not wanted. Muh ha ha ha!"

"We won't stand for this!" Bush shouted.

"I'm going to make sure we throw the book at you, President Bush," Belgazor said, "You'll be sentenced to a $150 dollar fine plus time served. Muh ha ha ha!"

"You monster!"

"And, as for you Tony Blair, we don't look kindly on unsafe driving," Belgazor said, "So you will be thrown into the pit of eternal horror. Muh ha ha ha!"

Belgazor then walked off, continuing to laugh his evil Belgian laugh.

"Well, chap, 'pit of eternal horror' doesn't sound very good, does it?" Blair said nervously.

"It's not like I can't afford $150," Bush said, thinking aloud, "but it's the principle of the thing."

"Um, could we worry about this pit thing?" Blair asked, "What do you think it is?"

"Probably some pit with horror in it," Bush answered, "Horror that's eternal. But don't worry, Tony, I'll think of something to get us out of here."

"That's very good and all," Blair answered, "but you aren't really known for 'thinking'."

Bush didn't hear him as he was deep in thought. "If only I had a gun, a blow torch, and weren't in Belgium..."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Someone asked for a harder secret message in the Links of the Day, and since the Sunday New York Times has the hardest crossword puzzle (and you know how I aspire to be just like the New York Times), I will make a hard puzzle for today's Links of the Day. There is a secret message hidden in it, and it is based off a scrambled alphabet. Below are three news headlines, all using the same scrambled alphabet (but shifted at different intervals).

1. LQRQG SGRDQS HTTBPBRDL LRA VHKXGA OHC KHQ R VRYHN BLLEG BK RDRIRVR

2. XYFJHJCJZBK ZBA XVYXWVHQ XVJCWK FZQ KJWIW HY CYXWBPZIWB PJXXJWK

3. WDYYNXTOUO ONJJIOUIR UD NSHCTXTCX VCHBTCYIXU UGCU AHICR VHTWIO AI PHDMIX

So, by deciphering these headlines, you'll be able to recover the scrambled alphabet. How to set it against the actual alphabet to decipher the secret message and where is the secret is for you to figure out. If someone recovers the secret message, e-mail me it and the solution and I will write a whole post about how super-smart you are. If no one solves the puzzle in four weeks, then I will post the answer and write an excessively long post about how super-smart I am, enumerating all my intellectual accomplishments since I was two (and you'll all have to read it).

The gauntlet has been laid. Godspeed.

Frank L. has the scoop on
Dick Cheney's undisclosed locations.

Annika has broken free from
her confines and beaten
back the evil Franci to
recover her lovely
blog. Not a moment too soon, I say.

Michele slanders poor
Frank J.'s Nuke
The Moon t-shirt. All the
bad things she says about my
t-shirt is false, and I
would add that sending a monkey after
me is a very
good way to put
yourself on my bad
side. That
will make make me angry, and you probably
don't want to see me angry, yo.

Courtney thinks that Harry Potter is a libertarian. I say he
is a witch!
Burn him! Set
him on fire and watch him melt!

Blaster has had some flood trouble and is
trying to recover. Thus is life.

Heh heh. Poining a Beretta at a kitten is funny.

Put your caption in the comments section. Whoever comes up with the best caption will get a super-secret prize of no monetary value! (will need an e-mail address for it)

It's a little known fact, but I had a small cameo in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones.

Just like Samuel L. Jackson, I was able to argue to George Lucas to give me a unique colored light saber. (Thanks to Sam from Unigolyn for the picture)

And, if you haven't seen the Animatrix yet, I think they did a great job of digitally inserting me in it.

(Thanks to Fritz of On the Fritz for the picture)

Also, I had asked what that monkey was that was in my last caption contest, and one reader, Mike Peck, identified it as a golden snub-nosed monkey. I found a picture of one.

That is freaky, but freaky in a different way. I think the monkey in question must be some other sort of snub-nosed monkey, but, if we kill all monkeys, it doesn't really matter what it was.

It's Sunday. Means I can write something semi-serious.

I figure one of these days Frank J. is going to have to settle down and get married. I just wonder what that will mean for me. It seems most women I know all have their own plans for a future career, and I find myself looking down on younger women who don't at least have plans for college. And while it would be cool to be a DINC (dual-income, no children) for a while, marrying someone who earns a salary near mine (but not more than mine, because that would make me feel insecure), and enjoying the spending power that would give the two of us, I still feel it would be cool to have a house wife, someone who would take care of the house (as you can see, I don’t know how to decorate), iron my shirts (I've always wanted to wear something that was ironed), and cook me dinner (or, at least pick something up from Taco Bell). So, my question is, does that make me a caveman? Will no one but an uneducated woman with low self-esteem want to be a housewife? Have the feminists succeeded in rounding up all the Donna Reeds and taking them to reeducation camps?

Quite seriously though, if I were one day to have a family, I wouldn't want kids raised in daycare. At the same time, I have trouble respecting a woman without ambitions. Is that a paradox?

I said I wasn't going to post today, but I'm a goddamn liar.

Anyway, I have some pictures of me for the Peace Gallery. Here is a sample:

As you notice, the shirt has a nice slimming effect (I weigh over 300 pounds). That's my trusty Colt 1991 just visible at my right hip.

Kim du Toit was the first to get a picture out (thanks to Mrs. du Toit for taking it). He says a bunch of mean things about me, thinking that just because he has an AK-47 with a 40-rd magazine he can get away with it. Well... he's probably right. Then again, he is miles and miles away from me, so I might as well insult him back.

So what's with the size of that magazine? You compensating for something?

Anyway, the reason I haven't bought his Nation of Riflemen mug or lunchbox is that I already have a Rachel Lucas mug and a tin G.I. Joe lunch box to take to elementary school (dented by the heads of many would be bullies). Quick quiz, complete this phrase: "And now I know..."

Still, that large size mug du Toit has would save me more trips to the coffee pot, thus increasing my productivity at work. Also, if I had a kid, it would be neat to send him to school with a "Nation of Riflemen" lunchbox. He'd probably be suspended from some zero tolerance rule, though. Hopefully, if I one day have kids, they'll be smart enough to learn quite quickly not to trust me.

I want to get the Peace Gallery up and running soon, but I'm still thinking of how to organize it (any suggestions would be appreciated since I'm not the most experienced with web design). I like the idea of each person being able to have a short description along with their picture. Also, photoshopping is okay (all my pictures are of me standing where I hope to one day be a pool table; maybe I could put myself somewhere more exciting) but you have to actually be wearing an actual Nuke the Moon t-shirt. Otherwise, you're subverting capitalism which makes you a Commie.

Wait, didn't I say less t-shirt whoring next week? Oh yeah, next week starts tomorrow.

Let's see... I'm tired so
I'm just going to Technorati and link to people
Nice enough to link to me. Then you can click right back to me.
Kind of a cool idea (at least to me).
I'm going to start with dyoder who does a plug of my
Nuke the Moon t-shirt.
Good for him.

Thanks to Laurence Simon for also plugging my shirt
Once he had a traffic surge due to his international fame.

My word, Dead Ends argues Rumsfeld should be fired!
Egads!

Instapundit got called names. Boo-hoo.
Sure, I would like Oprah to mention me.

Sure been a big week for me with my blog.
Might need a little break, so I'm taking tomorrow off from blogging.
Also, expect 60% less t-shirt whoring next week.
Really!
Type to you later!

While in my first caption contest I got over eighty entries, almost no one tried to caption my last one. I guess the picture was too scary (anyone know what type of monkey that is, BTW?). So I declare myself the winner with my title caption of:

"Buy My T-shirt, or I Won't Kill This Monkey"

Thus I get the prize of having a song written in my honor. Actually, this is a song I wrote some time ago when I one day decided I needed a theme song.

So here it is...

Meryl Yourish from a secluded island in the Pacific writes:
I got a letter back from with one of those messages that said it failed to deliver my email to the recipient. It was my letter to you on the Hulk and Rumsfeld fight. Yet you answered the letter without having received it. Can you explain this miracle? Does it have anything to do with the shirts?

Yes, I didn't want to mention it because it has not been confirmed by scientists, but my Nuke the Moon t-shirt gives me psychic powers. I am able to tell what a person is going to e-mail me and respond even without seeing the e-mail!

Actually, when you e-mail frankj@imao.us, it forwards the e-mail to imao@cfl.rr.com, but it also saves the e-mail. Apparently, the frankj@imao.us mailbox filled up - thus the bounce back messages - yet I still get the message forwarded to my other account. So, all you people who thought I never received your subtitle submissions, I did receive them and summarily rejected them... if that makes you feel better.

So, until I get my mailbox cleaned out, just ignore the bounce back messages.

* * * *

More Frank Answers™ later!

...if I feel like it. Actually, screw you; you write some funny posts. I've been writing for the whole week and I feel burnt out now.

Ah, I shouldn't take it out on you, my readers. Didn't get much sleep last night so I just didn't have time or energy to think of something to post today. I should have just pulled something from my ancient archives of funny stuff and put that up... oh, I have the perfect thing! But I'm at work now, so it will have to wait until I get home about 5pm. But it will be great!

Until then, for those of you who have received your shirts by now, here is how to turn it into a cool ninja mask. Sure, you're saying, I can do that with any black t-shirt, but only the Nuke the Moon t-shirt gives you actual ninja powers!

Oh, and I have been putting secret messages in my Links of the Day™ for like a week now; did anyone notice?

Congratulations to Mike Krempasky of Krempasky.com and Pave France for coming up with the winning entry:

"Unfair. Unbalanced. Unmedicated."

Out of 928 votes cast, it recieved 250 (27%).

Here are the other totals:

You can have any humor you like as long as it's black. 63 votes (7%)

...because where you work won't let you look at porn. 144 votes (16%)

...truth, lies, and everything in between 36 votes (4%)

Let's play Cowboys and Liberals! 85 votes (9%)

...throwing grenades, seeing what blows up 79 votes (9%)

...political satire from the mind of a clever and gifted ninja fighting, monkey hating, katana wielding engineer 44 votes (5%)

...infinite possibilities; finite intelligence 109 votes (12%)

...riding the Cycle of Violence since July 9th, 2002 83 votes (9%)

...a weapon of laugh destruction 35 votes (4%)

I voted for "...a weapon of laugh destruction" which came in last place; show you what I know.

For those who didn't win, you don't have to feel like a loser, because you can still buy a Nuke the Moon t-shirt, and anyone who wears one feels like a winner! As for Mike Krempasky, if he wishes to take a picture of himself triumphantly wearing his t-shirt, he'll have a special place for him in the Peace Gallery.

Thanks to everyone who participated, either submitting entries or voting. Now we just need to slowly get used to the new banner. It will be weird at first, but soon we'll all soon love it.

BTW, I have a longer post today because I have a big secret message
Uh... I mean a lot of links to point out.
Yay for Laurence Simon and his fame! (Wired article mentioning him)

Mr. Scrappleface takes on N.O.W. and Roe v. Roe v. Wade.
Yargh... damn you Scrappleface and your level-headed moralism!

So now I'm appearing in people's dreams!
How that happens, I can't say.
It's not like I'm putting up subliminal messages or something.
Really, that would be
Too insidious for me to have done for a number of days in a row.

Only from ThoseShirts.com, the same maker of my shirt, comes a
Rare new design, available on both shirt and mug.

I get a Smarties cake because I am so smart.
That's right; me smrat.
'
So "nyah nyah" to you.

A day of celebration: Fry the Spy Day™.

So, tomorrow debuts the new subtitle.
Tune in nice and early to find out who takes the prize.
Really, though, a lot of people
Are deserving, but only one gets the free shirt.
Now vote if you haven't done it yet.
Got to get record turn out!
Look for... uh...
I just can't do this anymore...
N
G
!

Well, I just spent a full day wearing my Nuke the Moon shirt, and what a day it was! First off I was late to work, so I was speeding 90 mph down a 25 mph limit road. Unfortunately, a cop pulled me over. He looked real mad, but, as soon as he saw me and my shirt, he said, "I was going to give you ticket for speeding, but we only have those limits because most people aren’t skilled enough to control a car on these roads at higher speeds. I bet you know what you were doing, though, so continue on your way."

And I was like, "Thanks, pig!"

He chuckled. "Normally, if someone called me a pig, I'd pull him out of his car and beat him savagely, but, from you, it's charming."

When I got to work and tried to head to my office, the ladies were all over me and I was like, "Hey, I need to get some work done; there's time for that later." So that part of the day was the same as normal, but, when I got to my office, my boss saw me and said, "For some reason I suddenly just realized we aren't paying you enough. I'm going to look into fixing that."

"Thanks, boss," I said, "So what do you want me to do today?"

"Know what, you're so exceptionally smart, I just feel silly telling you what to do; you should probably be telling me what to do."

"Okay. Go get me a soda, bitch."

"Yes sir!"

I think the shirt actually improved my intelligence, as I was easily able to solve all my engineering problems, and then everyone else's. By the end of the day, I had won my company's cherished "Actually Competent" award.

After arriving home from work, I decided to take a nice stroll. It took me near a stream where I was suddenly attacked by a Florida gator. Fortunately, his teeth were unable to get through the high quality, preshrunk cotton of my t-shirt (nor was he able to damage the awesome print job). I then grabbed the gator by the tail, and, using the super-strength my shirt imbued in me, I swung him around and around, eventually flinging him hundreds of yards in the air where he landed in some store where they sell stuff made out of hemp. The gator then proceeded to bite numerous hippies.

Quite satisfied, I began to head home, but then I was swarmed by a number of angry monkeys who had escaped from a lab. I was worried, but, as soon as the monkeys caught sight of my t-shirt, they all dropped dead from fear. That's right, the Nuke the Moon t-shirt kills monkeys on sight. Just wear one and go to the monkey house of your local zoo to see for yourself.

I was about home when I suddenly saw none other than Jesus Himself. "Hey, Frank," He said, "We don't normally do this, but for some reason we just decided to tell you today that it's a done deal and you’re getting into Heaven... and not just the regular part, but the really nice part of Heaven we usually save for just popes and star athletes."

"Wow, thanks, G. So does this mean I'm certain to get into Heaven even if I were to go and have lots of pre-marital sex, steal stuff, and go on a killing spree."

"Well, when We make a decision, it is final," Jesus said, "but it's not like you're going to go do all those things."

"Uh... yeah... I would never do those things."

So I said bye to Jesus and just now sat down to tell you all about my day. Wow, what a great t-shirt! And, at the price we're selling it at, you'd have to be criminally insane not to buy one! I mean, you'd have to be like "I voted for Clinton twice" moronic to pass up this deal.

So be like Frank, and get a Nuke the Moon shirt today!

Anyway, hopefully I'll get pictures of me wearing it this weekend, and then the Peace Gallery will start next week.

Meryl Yourish from a secluded island in the Pacific asks:
Who do you think would win in a fight between the Hulk and Rumsfeld?

That's a hard one. One is a boiling pot of rage that thinks of nothing more than destruction, and the other is large and green. Personally, I'd put my money on Rumsfeld… as long he took his arthritis medicine before the fight.

Vince from NS, Canada writes:
As an evil conservative, I can understand keeping women pregnant and in the kitchen. But why barefoot!? It seems kinda unsanitary. Hopefully you can
clear this up.

Giving women shoes is a big mistake. As soon as they have shoes, they might feel safe venturing outside the house. And if they're out of the house, who will bring you your beer when you are watching football? And next thing you know, women may use the freedom of shoes to go out and vote, and that's how people like Bill Clinton got elected. Even Dole would have won against him if men had just kept their women barefoot and in the kitchen.

And, of course, once women get one pair of shoes, they'll want more. Me, I have one pair of worn sneakers, and, whether I'm going jogging, going to work, or going to the governor's ball, they're all I need. But women will want all sort of wacky shoes for reasons unconceivable to men. Soon, your whole closet will be filled with them and your wife will be saying, "We need to get rid of some of your power tools to make room for more shoes."

Barefoot and in the kitchen; that's the only way to go.

To women readers of IMAO: I'm just kidding!

Michael Colwell of Ucluelet, BC, Canada asks:
You seem to be an expert on monkeys. I want to know this: Why did The Man With The Yellow Hat continue to rescue Curious George from the perilous situations he created for himself? And why was he always dressed in yellow with those funny boots? Frankly, The Man looks French to me. I read Curious George stories to my young kids and I'm worried that I might be corrupting them. Should I stop?

Yes, stop immediately!

My mother read Curious George stories to me as a child, until my father heard one and correctly identified it as a subversive threat. He then burnt all the books and we were better for it.

Why is George so "curious"? Why is he sticking his nose where it doesn't belong? Because he's a spy, that's why. And he relays his information back to France, the most monkey and terrorist friendly government in Europe, through the man in the yellow hat. Of course, most people don't notice the monkey as a spy, because he and the man in the yellow hat (who we quite conspicuously never hear the name of) disguise his intelligence gathering efforts as "misadventures."

Well, no one's pulling the wool over my eyes. Curiosity not only kills the cat, but the monkey as well if I have anything to do about it.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

The poll for what should be the new IMAO subtitle is still open and will be so until Friday morning when the winner is announced. If you haven't voted yet, go do so. If you have voted, wait in breathless anticipation for the results to appear tomorrow.

I'm wearing my t-shirt at work right now, BTW. When I get home, I'll tell you how a day of wearing such a dynamic piece of clothing affects one's life.

UPDATE: Bravenet seems to back to normal, so the poll is up again. Get your vote in and support democracy!

I've had a lot of requests to have a post on monkey pox, but I had avoided it until now because monkeys scare me. Finally, though, I've set my crack research staff on the topic and here is what we came up with:

FUN FACTS ABOUT MONKEY POX

* Monkey pox was either developed by evil monkey scientists or by God because of our sins. If someone sinned, please fess up.

* Poxes are all named after the animal that made them to try and overthrow humanity. Chicken pox was made in the long long ago by chickens in a failed attempt to destroy mankind, and later cows did the same thing, making cow pox, which ended up being a vaccine for the ancient and evil small pox, made by leprechauns to keep us from getting their pot of gold.

* Monkey pox is spread by prairie dogs, which are not actually dogs (or prairies) but instead are evil, stinky rodents who sold their soul to their monkey masters.

* If a monkey comes up to and offers to inject you with something he swears is not pox, don't let him. It probably is pox.

* Monkey pox is rarely fatal, but, while it has not been proven that it allows monkeys to control the victim's mind (or even hypothesized), it has not been disproven either. Do not trust anyone who is itchy.

* If you have monkey pox, no matter how tempting it is, don't eat a banana; that will just inflame it. Instead eat things a monkey wouldn't like such as chalk and suntan lotion.

* The symptoms of monkey pox are fever and itchy rashes. It's not much fun, but, if you're young, I'd say it's worth it to skip a couple days of school.

* Doctors say don't scratch the rashes as that will just make them worse. Know what; doctors say lots of damn things. Scratch those damn rashes; screw the doctors.

* If you seen prairie dogs, kill them and burn their bodies. Do not get them mixed up with Chihuahuas, though, or you will probably make someone mad.

* Monkey pox is a virus. A virus is an entity (not technically classified as a living organism - much like a monkey) that uses one of your own cells to reproduce itself. That's just mean. You work long and hard making those cells, and they shouldn't just be stolen like that.

* In a fight between Aquaman and monkey pox, monkey pox would probably win unless Aquaman had been taking a lot of vitamin C lately.

* A Nuke the Moon t-shirt will make you immune to monkey pox. When wearing one, you can lick all the prairie dogs you want without fear.

* The best cure for monkey pox is to eat monkey brains like in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Ha, and you thought that was all fiction. You are so foolish I should rip your heart out of your chest.

God help us! Annika has been murdered and replaced by Franci!
One who calls herself a "raving far left-wing nut" and is a member of
The Green Party! And she says she hates America!

Yet another Carnival of the Vanities.
Oh, but this one is run by women.
U better hope they don't screw things up (you know women).
Really, I'm just kidding.

Speaking of the Carnival of the Vanities, the founder, Silflay
Hraka has finally made the move to MT and his own URL.
If you want to succeed, you need to move from Blogspot.
Rarely does one reach success while still on
That volatile service.
?

Just got my shirts in the mail today, and Doug did an awesome job with them. The printing on them is absolutely perfect. Can't wait to show it off at work tomorrow.

This weekend I'll try to get some photos of me wearing the shirt while I show off pieces from my arsenal (but not all my arsenal; there is only so much space for photos on my web host). For everyone else, when you get your t-shirts, e-mail me some photos of you with your favorite "peace tools" so I can get the Peace Gallery up. More details on that soon to come.

If, for some reason, you haven't ordered a shirt yet, do so now so you don't miss out on all the fun!

CPT Brook A. Nelson asks:
So, uh....you know... What's up with the whole monkey hating thing?

Many people would probably think it started when I was shot by a monkey, but I've had suspicion of simians well before then. You see, monkeys have always hated us and were jealous of us since we became the ruling primate. They plot and wait, looking for the best opportunity to bring on our downfall.

As a kid, I would sometimes see a monkey peering in through my bedroom window, and then swing off into the forest. My mom assured me there were no wild monkeys in New Jersey, but I knew better. They are everywhere, watching us, waiting, finding our weaknesses...

In the least, a monkey will bite you. In the worst, it will destroy all of society. The smart man would be prepared.

John from Bagdad, Arizona asks:
Why is it that I like hippy music, but can't stand hippies?

Ah, the siren song of hippy music. It gives you the warm feeling of a life without responsibilities or logical reasoning, but it must be resisted. It's good you still hate hippies, but I would recommend not listening to anymore hippy music for the good of your soul. Suddenly one day, you may think, "Hey, I can skip taking a shower for a day or two," or say about some foreign conflict, "Maybe we can talk it over instead of bombing." It will start slowly, but one day you will be too forgone for any intervention, and even a Nuke the Moon t-shirt will not be able to save you.

Wind Rider from Baja, Hungary asks:
What exactly is "the heartbreak of psoriasis"?

Well, it's that when someone get psoriasis, it's very heartbreaking.

I knew this guy, and he was like, "My heart is broken."

And I asked, "Does this have to do with a girl?"

"No, psoriasis."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said with faux sympathy (I don't actually like other people or care about their problems), "Is there anything they can do?"

"Doctor says he'll have to cut me open and fix my heart with duct tape and twine." The guy then rose to his feet and shook his fist in the air. "Psoriasis!"

I hope that clears things up.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

It was some hard work, but I've picked my ten favorite subtitles. There were a lot of great ones that didn't make the cut for one reason or another, and I'll probably do a post of all my favorites later.

Without further ado here are the finalists... right after a word from our sponsors.

Buy a Nuke the Moon t-shirt today! It will make you more intelligent, extremely attractive to the opposite sex, and may grant you super powers! Buy one before they're all gone!

Thanks for staying tuned. Here are the finalists:

"You can have any humor you like as long as it's black." submitted by Brian Noggle

"...because where you work won't let you look at porn"
submitted by Michael DeFelice

"Unfair. Unbalanced. Unmedicated."
submitted by Mike Krempasky

"...truth, lies, and everything in between"
submitted by condrieu

"Let's play Cowboys and Liberals!"
submitted by John Collins

"...throwing grenades, seeing what blows up"
submitted by Chris Rowe

"...political satire from the mind of a clever and gifted ninja fighting, monkey hating, katana wielding engineer"
submitted by Serenity

"...infinite possibilities; finite intelligence"
submitted by Mike Spitzer

"...riding the Cycle of Violence since July 9th, 2002"
submitted by Jennifer

"...a weapon of laugh destruction"
submitted by Tom the Friendly Ghost

Congratulations to all the finalists. I've made my choice, but it's ultimately up to you, my readers, what the new subtitle will be and who wins the t-shirt. Please, one vote per person.

THE POLL IS NOW CLOSED; RESULTS ARE HERE

The running poll results will not be visible to keep the winning subtitle a surprise. Tune in Friday morning to find out what the new subtitle is and who wins the t-shirt.

Rumsfeld didn't know where Chomps got his copy of Living History by Hillary Clinton, but there appeared to be a couple drops of blood on it. Chomps, being the world's angriest dog, could have easily shred the book to pieces in seconds, but instead he destroyed it slowly and methodically, seemingly enjoying the careful destruction of each and every page. Every once in a while Chomps looked up from the book to view the sidewalk that raced by and getting angry at whatever he saw, be it a man, a squirrel, or a mailbox, but then he would turn his attention back to the demolition of the book and down a bit. It looked as if he was saving the cover with the picture of Hillary for last.

"Doctor says I need to get more exercise to help control my rage," Rumsfeld told Chomps as he drove his Buick through the streets of D.C. "So I was thinking, 'What better way to get some exercise than vigilante justice?'" Rumsfeld petted Chomps on the head. "You up for killing some street punks?"

Chomps barked in approval. His happy expression was short lived, though, because he soon saw a trashcan that completely enraged him. "Erg-row!"

"Save it for the street punks, Chomps," Rumsfeld told him, "We can take our anger out on inanimate objects any day." Rumsfeld stopped his car and pulled over to the curb and started looking around. "Now all we need are some criminals. Wouldn't think they'd be hard to find in D.C."

"Nice car, old man," said one carjacker, pointing a Glock at Rumsfeld.

"Here we go," Rumsfeld smiled.

Chomps immediately leapt over and snatched the gun in his mouth. He crushed it with his mighty jaw and then swallowed the pieces.

"Now you did it!" Rumsfeld said angrily, "Chomps can't properly digest composites, so he's probably going to vomit all over the carpet when we get home." Rumsfeld's hand shot out and lifted the man up by the neck. "Rarr!"

* * * *

"For the third night in a row, the Rumsfeld Strangler has struck, killing multiple criminals during in the D.C. inner-city," Anchorwoman Jane Eyrehead announced, "We sent reporter Jack Assman to see if Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld had any reaction to this killer who has been using his name. Rumsfeld gave the cryptic response, 'I'm the one who killed those people, you f**king dipsh**t.' Assman was later found dead, apparently ripped apart by an extremely angry dog."

"He will be missed," Anchorman Ron Goodhair commented.

"Not really, Ron," Jane replied, "He was a bit of jerk."

"That's true. Anyway, these killing of criminals are threatening to bring law and order to a city where it's unwanted. To address this issue, D.C. Mayor Xander Crackhead has called a press conference which we now go to live."

"Citizens of D.C.," Mayor Crackhead announced, "This city has long been a safe haven for criminals, a place where they could mug and kill without worry of injury. We've kept law-abiding citizens from owning handguns, carrying cudgels, and limited them to the most innocuous pepper sprays. We've even banned Nuke the Moon t-shirts since they might intimidate criminals. We've had a near perfect utopia for criminals, but now this 'Rumsfeld Strangler' has upset that. Criminals are fearing to mug people, thus unable to bring home the money they need to feed their drug habits. Well, I assure you this mayor won't stand idly by while people strangle our treasured street punks. From now on, shoelaces and piano wires are banned from D.C. Plus, all citizens are required to wear mittens so they will be unable to use their hands for the purposes of strangling."

"This is Killer Charlie from the muggers union," spoke up one man, "Will these new laws affect the criminal community in any way."

"No," Mayor Crackhead answered firmly, "As always, criminals are not expected to follow any of these laws; only law-abiding citizens are expected to disarm. If any criminal finds himself being defended against by an otherwise law-abiding citizen, that criminal should immediately report such an incident to the police. The District of Columbia will not tolerate people defending themselves. The police have been instructed to crack down on law-abiding citizens carrying anything that could be used as a weapon. If any criminal is stopped by police, though, he should immediately identify himself as a law-breaker so that police know he is supposed to have weaponry and to leave him alone."

"Will there be any extra effort to catch the Rumsfeld Strangler before he delivers street justice again?" a reporter asked.

"Yes there will be," Mayor Crackhead asserted. "I'll have my consultant, Drug Dealer Eddie, explain our strategy." The mayor looked around. "Where is Drug Dealer Eddie?"

"He's dead!" exclaimed one of the mayor's aides.

Everyone rushed over to the body of Drug Dealer Eddie who lay still on the ground. On him was a business card with the words, "Strangled by your friendly neighborhood Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld."

* * * *

"The criminal community is my main constituency!" Mayor Crackhead exclaimed, "If I can't keep them safe from justice, they'll find an even more incompetent crack junkie to elect as mayor."

"Don't be so hard on yourself; not everyone can be Marion Barry," T-bone, Mayor Crackhead's right hand man, assured him.

"We need to find this 'Rumsfeld Strangler' and stop him! Muggings is one of the foundations of our city’s economy; we can't have this vigilante justice destroying that."

"Maybe we could set a trap?" T-bone suggested.

"Yes, a trap," Mayor Crackhead said, savoring the thought, "We will leave out some bait he can't resist, and then he will be ours. Muh ha ha ha ha!"

* * * *

Rumsfeld banged the teenager's head into the lamppost one last time. "So has having your head repeatedly slammed into a metal lamppost taught you not to jaywalk anymore?" Rumsfeld asked.

"Yes, sir," the kid said before running off.

"Where are all the real criminals?" Rumsfeld complained to Chomps, "We didn't scare them all off, did we?"

"Grr-rah!" Chomps growled as he attacked a nearby building, ripping a brick out of its side.

"That building making you angry, boy?" Rumsfeld asked, going towards the front door for a look. Inside he spied two hippies.

"Let's smoke pot and protest the war!" suggested one.

"Yeah, that's a great idea!" said the other.

"I'm going to go in and strangle those two hippies," Rumsfeld told Chomps who was continuing to attack the foundation of the building, "You stay here since I'm the one supposed to be getting the exercise."

Rumsfeld approached the two hippies who stood at the center of a large room, his hands readying for a strangling, but as soon as he reached them, they both turned and produced shotguns. Rumsfeld then found himself completely surrounded by hoodlums and thugs, all pointing their guns at him.

"Well, I should have known," laughed Mayor Xander Crackhead, "The Rumsfeld Strangler was Donald Rumsfeld himself all along. What made you think you could dispense justice in my city?"

"I have a doctor's note saying I need exercise," Rumsfeld answered, holding up a piece of paper. It was shot from his hand.

"You going to strangle us all, old man," laughed one of the thugs.

"Only the lucky ones," Rumsfeld answered, the rage boiling inside.

"And don't expect your dog to help you," Mayor Crackhead said with faux sympathy, "I have of my men putting that beast our of its misery right now."

There was the sound of gunshot and a pain filled yelp. Rumsfeld looked in the direction of the sound with intense worry.

"Does Rumsfeld miss his little friend?" Mayor Crackhead asked in a mocking tone.

"No," Rumsfeld answered. Suddenly the brick wall was knocked down, and there stood Chomps, a severed arm in his mouth which still clutched a Beretta. "It's just nothing pisses Chomps off like getting shot in the head with a 9mm."

"Stop them!" Mayor Xander yelled as he fled up some stairs.

Chomps immediately jumped at the nearest criminal and disappeared into a crimson mist. Rumsfeld used the distraction to spin around as he drew his twin .45's, shooting a number of punks as he ran for the stairs.

"I'll chase after Mayor Crackhead while you finish everyone off here," Rumsfeld called to Chomps as he headed up the stairs. He soon made it to the roof where two thugs waited for him. He rolled from their shots and then returned fire, the .45 slugs knocking them both backwards off the building. Rumsfeld then glanced upward to see Mayor Crackhead escaping in a helicopter.

"We'll meet again, Rumsfeld Strangler," Mayor Crackhead called out.

"You can bet on it," Rumsfeld swore as he reloaded his pistols.

Up behind him came Chomps, covered in blood. He started making some hacking noises as if he was choking on something.

"What's the matter, boy?" Rumsfeld asked as he patted Chomps on the back.

Chomps coughed up a boot.

"That's my dog," Rumsfeld laughed as he petted Chomps on the head.

Chomps panted happily, but then he soon saw a star in the sky that made him angry for some reason, so he tried to jump up and bite it. Rumsfeld wasn't sure which star it was that enraged Chomps so, but he vowed that one day future generations would destroy it.

* * * *

"A dozen criminals were found dead in an abandoned building this morning," anchorwoman Jane Eyrehead announced, "Apparently killed by the Rumsfeld Strangler. He left new signatures this time, including bloody paw prints and large bites in the walls."

"That's right," anchorman Don Goodhair added, "And now police have updated the profile of the Rumsfeld Strangler to a Latino woman with the ability to turn into a werewolf."

"A scary thought," Jane said, "Anyway, stay tuned after the break for when are joined by famous internet personality Glenn Reynolds who will teach us how to turn a cute little puppy into a nutrtious energy drink..."

Less than fifteen minutes left to submit entries to the subtitle contest. Anyway, the ten finalists and the poll will be up early tomorrow morning along with the most violent Rumsfeld-centric In My World™ post ever.

Being that Rachel Lucas is still alive,
Understand that it's not safe to say anything stupid.
Yet, some people still do.

A bit of commentary on bad gun statistics by lawguy.

So, now NRO is having a pledge drive.
Hey, I think they're worth it.
I would also like to
Remind people if donating to me through Amazon
To make sure I get your e-mail address so I can send you a little gift.

Only Laurence Simon could come up with a list this wacky about the
Right brothers, but he blames inspiration on me.

Escape from the brink of death for John Hawkins.
Let's all go wish him well.
Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
Each day is to be cherished.
!

You only have until midnight tonight Eastern time to submit those subtitle ideas. I've gotten some great ones so far, but there's still time to blow me away with your idea and get a chance to win that shirt and the glory that comes with having made the subtitle for IMAO. So keep e-mailing in those entries with the subject "Subtitle", and tomorrow I will start the vote.

Kelsey J. from Tshane, Botswana asks:
In a fight between you and Aquaman, who would win?

Oh, come on. In any usual fight I would just blow him away with my .45 (does he have any fish powers to stop bullets?), but let's say he somehow catches me unarmed; I'm still going to bounce his head off the pavement.

If he gets me in water somehow, sure he can breathe there and I can't, but that still won't keep me from strangling him. And maybe he'll call some fish on me, which just means I'll kick the ass of some Tuna and Marlin along with his.

Now, if for some reason I fell asleep on an inner tube while unarmed and floated out to sea, then maybe they're be a bit of a fight because he'd have the drop on me. But he'd still end up known as “Aquabitch” in the end.

Maybe the reason Aquaman seems so wussy is that orange outfit of his. Instead, he should try putting on cool t-shirt and then maybe he'll get more respect.

UPDATE: This came in from Stoney and Medb.

I take back all those things I said about you, Aquaman. Please don't kick my ass! (Just wait until I get my own shirt...)

Mark from Omaha, Nebraska writes:
As much as I hate to ask this question, it must be asked. A friend has been converted to the ways of Michael Moore. How do I release his soul from the clutches of that evil man?

Well, if it ever happened to me, I'd hope a close friend would end me quickly with a gunshot to the head. You might try taking him to a priest and see if they'll do an exorcism. Also, you could buy him a Nuke the Moon t-shirt, which has been known to magically convert lefties. Other than that, I'd just slap him silly. It might not cure him, but it will make you feel better.

Paul from Nukus, Uzbekistan asks:
Is the speed of light slower at night?

Good question. This calls for the scientific method. What I did was got a flashlight and a stopwatch (with a nanosecond hand). I marked a spot on the ground to stand, and then timed how long it took the light to reach the tree, both during the day and during the night.

Now, you're probably saying, "You don't have the reaction time to stop the stopwatch as soon as the light hits the tree."

Being Frank, though, I already thought of that, of course. I recorded what my reaction time is, so, once I minus that from the stop watch, I'll have the length of time it took the light to reach the tree.

Anyway, I did it a bunch of trials in each scenario (six times), and it was conclusive that light took on average a couple nanoseconds longer to reach the tree during the day, quite contrary to your hypothesis, Paul.

Here's why, at night, the light has clear sailing and can fly forward without anything getting in its way, but, during the day, there's all this other light it has to dodge around.

It's like, "Hey, could you please let me pass by?"

While the other light is like, "I was here first, bub. Go around me."

So that's why light is slower during the day.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Recently I offered a solution for peace in the Middle East, but now I've decided to get a military opinion on the matter. That's why I've asked Buck the Marine for his ideas on solving the conflict between the Israelis and Palesinians.

Hi, I'm Buck, Buck the Marine. I kill foreigners. Usually I'm not involved in no strategery though; I just take orders like, "Go kill those foreigners." Then I kill those foreigners and leave the reasoning to other people, like Rumsfeld, who's smart and hates all foreigners. But I was asked for my opinion, so here it is.

Now, as I understand it, a bunch of Jews decided they wanted to live in the midst of angry Muslims. Seems like a crazy idea, but there's no reason people should be blowing up little children. The Palestinians think it's all right to do that because of their religion, but Jesus wouldn't like people blowing up children. He probably wouldn't stab those people with a Ka-Bar, but you're asking for Buck's solution, not Jesus's. I'd go door to door asking, "Do you like blowing up children?"

And, if the person answered, "No, I do not."

I'd say, "Good evening, sir," and be on my way.

But if, the person answered, "Yes, blowing up children is good," I'd stick him with my Ka-Bar. When all the people who like blowing up children are good and stabbed, then you'll be on the road to peace. And, if I understand it correctly, that should stop the suicide bombing, since you need to be alive to commit suicide.

The other problem is this Hamas, who the Israelis want a cease-fire with. I have a lot of experience with situation where I wished the other side would cease firing. My best solution was to shoot those people with my M-16 which would usually caused them to cease fire. Once, though, some guy I shot got a death grip on the trigger of a machine gun, so it kept firing even though he was dead. At that point, we just had to wait for it to run out of ammo. I guess the lesson there is that sometimes peace takes patience, so I could probably sum up my philosophy for peace as being "patience and killing", not necessarily in that order.

Now, whoever is left could just try and talk things out, but, if that don't work, things can always be settled the Marine way. Get all the Israelis and all the Palestinians together and have them battle outright, and the first one all dead loses.

Well, that about all this Marine has to say. Just remember that peace takes time, energy, ammo, and, sometimes, tactical air strikes.

And one last thing: Ooh-rah!

Thanks, Buck, and, because I couldn't fit in here in some subtle way, buy my t-shirt!

Only one more full day left to submit subtitles for the contest (submission will not be accepted after midnight Tuesday ET). Here's more samples of those received so far:

help preserve our wildlife. pickle a monkey today.

professional satire from the worlds most critically ignored man

Like Scrappleface, plus talent. [Ed. Too mean, heh heh]

Humor served hot with a side of intelligence

...Not half so cool as Jamiedmcdonald.com

Bane of all that is monkey

International Monkey Abolitionism Organization

Steadfast friend to English-speaking countries the world over

I Nuke, therefore I AM.

Making you snarf Coke since July 9th, 2002

if Steven Den Beste is Spock and Bill Whittle is Kirk, then Frank J is the doomed guy in the red uniform. [Ed. Pretty damn funny, but that's not all I'm looking for in a subtitle]

Remember, you're trying to capture the essence of all that is Frank J. and IMAO in a simple little statement; only that will get you a chance at the glory of owning a free shirt. There's been some great ones so far (some of the best I haven't shown you), but there is still time to get more in by e-mailng me with the subject "Subtitle". The poll to vote on the best entries will go up Wednesday morning along with an In My World™ post centering on Chomps and the Rumsfeld Strangler™.

Blaster's Blog has moved to MT.
U have to make that move if you want to go big time.
Yet, Volokh sure waited for the longest while.

A game involving the Peterson case and movie titles.

Save the Grant Park Cross is a new site from Fritz.
However, it's not as funny as his other site.
In all seriousness, check it out, especially if you live in the area.
Really hope they can do something to stop this frivolous lawsuit.
Tired of hearing about crap like this.

Yet another observation from Acidman.
Even I leave my counter visible to everyone.
The reasons others don't, I don't know.
?

Homiller from Keokea, HI asks:
Do you have a feel for when we are going to start stealing Iraq's oil? I'm eager for my share.

Patience, patience. Right now there is too much focus on Iraq, and stealing oil is a delicate thing. Soon, though, we'll distract the world with some other conflict, either North Korea or Iran, and then we'll drop this phoney-bologna setting up a new government shtick and get to our real work. As soon as the world's attention is back to Iraq, we'll be long gone with all the oil. Then world will be like, "Where's the Americans?"

And the Iraqis will answer, "We don't know. They just suddenly left with barrels full of something or another. Those gringos are plum loco." (I think I'm getting Iraqis mixed up with Mexicans, but you get the gist).

Anyway, then all us war supporters get to split the oil profits which we can spend on more guns, SUV's, and cool t-shirts.

Buck Hicks from Yazd, Iran writes:
Are you for real? I mean how do we know that you are not some lefty making fun of us conservative readers behind our backs? It would be the perfect scam, don't you think? Here you are making fun of your audience on a regular basis and we are just lapping it up and asking for more.

That's just crazy.

Excuse me for a second.

Muh ha ha ha ha... Bwa ha ha hah ha! Ah ha ha HA HA HA!!

Anyway, I'm as rightwing as they come. I really do like guns and punching poor people and all that other conservative stuff.

Carl from Alexandria, MN writes:
Lately it seems that I've been hearing over and over that Democrats are for the "Little People". I was hoping you could tell me why they like little people so much. Also, my girlfriend has been suggesting recently that I begin to diet and lose some weight. Is she part of a vast conspiracy to turn me into one of the "Little People"? Can I really trust her at all? If I do actually lose some weight, will I gradually turn into a foul smelling hippie? Thanks for your answers Frank. I really hope you can help me.

Yes, it's true, years of believe the tripe Democrats spew twists and mutates people into horrible little mutants known as the "Little People." They are tiny in size, but have even more hatred and ill will than a full size man. These are the tiny, evil foot soldiers of the Democrats' crusade to destroy mankind, and they must be stopped.

Where Little People are involved, trust no one, including your girlfriend. Spend your well-earned money on capitalistic items like junk food, candy, and cookies. And, if you hear little feet scampering about and high pitch voices whining about the rich, load that shotgun. Make sure to identify your target, though, because if you accidentally kill a hobbit instead of a Little Person, that's seven years bad luck.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

George and Laura Bush stood out on the balcony admiring the night sky. "It's a full moon," Laura said, cuddling close to Bush, "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'Why'?"

"Well, it's just some big floating rock... that glows. Why's it glow? Is it radioactive?"

"That's just the sun reflecting off it, George," Laura explained.

"But sometimes its dark over parts, like it's trying to hide something," Bush said, looking at the moon suspiciously. "And we always see the same face? What's it trying to hide on the other side?"

"George," Laura scolded, "The moon should make you feel, romantic, not paranoid!"

"I saw something move!" Bush exclaimed, "I saw something move on the moon!"

Laura sighed. "No you didn't."

"I better alert everyone!" Bush said and then ran off.

"I'll leave a blanket and pillow for you on the couch!" Laura called out to him before storming back into the White House.

* * * *

"How certain are you that you saw something move on the moon?" Condoleezza Rice asked, pacing the floor of the war room.

Bush squinted his eyes and said in an ominous voice, "Not very."

"I then recommend we immediately nuke the moon!" Rice responded.

"What do you think, Rumsfeld?" Bush inquired.

"I don't give a rat's ass," he answered angrily, "I want to attack another Middle Eastern country! I hate this piddling crap!"

"Rumsfeld seems to be opposed," Bush said, thinking it over, "I better ask Cheney." He turned on the satellite hookup to Cheney. "How is your undisclosed location?"

"It's not an undisclosed location!" Cheney yelled angrily, "I'm dangling from a rope from the Brooklyn Bridge!"

"So what do you think about nuking the moon?"

"I can't hear you," Cheney answered, "Ahh! The winds picking up." He blew off camera.

"No use talking to him," Bush said. "Where's Rover?"

"I'm here," Karl Rove said, emerging from the shadows. "A fire on the moon was prophesized by the elders. It will precede the fall of the Democrats."

"Coo'. But I better get another military opinion. General Tommy Franks, I understand you have some military experience."

"Yes, and I can also juggle. Watch." Gen. Franks picked up three apples from a fruit basket on the conference table and started juggling.

Bush was still skeptical. "Hmm, but can you juggle four things at once?" He tossed an orange at Gen. Franks.

Gen. Franks caught it uneasily at first, but was soon juggling all four items quite smoothly.

"My God!" Bush exclaimed, "Everyone listen to what this man has to say!"

Gen. Franks tossed all the items back into the basket. "I think there is a great tactical advantage to nuking the moon. It tells terrorists and other enemies that there is no hiding from us, even in the heavens."

"So, Condi, how many people do you think will be killed by this nuclear strike?" Bush inquired.

"I estimate zero casualties," Rice answered, "Give or take two million."

Bush considered this carefully. "Sounds acceptable."

"I'd just like to point out," Colin Powell interrupted, "That the moon doesn't actually pose any threat, and the use of nuclear weapons could have high costs diplomatically."

"Thanks for the opinion," Bush said. He then looked to the Secret Service. "Take Powell away and then zap him with tasers."

"Hey!" Powell exclaimed as the Secret Service dragged him away.

"That was very decisive of you," Rove commented.

"Thanks, but I'm still not sure about this whole nuking idea."

A man in a black suit with a black tie and black sunglasses approached. "I have some information that may help," he said.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Clancy, from one of the intelligence agencies."

"Which one?"

"You'd have never heard of it; it's too secret," Clancy answered and then handed a folder to Bush. "This intelligence was gathered at great risk; many of our best agents got paper cuts compiling this report."

There were drawings of some astronaut uniforms. "What is this?"

"This is the conceptual design for the uniform the Chi-Coms will use to walk on the moon," Clancy answered.

"What the weird thing at the mouth?"

"That a special airlock allowing them to shoot saliva from their helmets while on the moon."

Bush thought about this for a moment, and then a terrible thought struck him. "They’re planning to spit on the American flag we put on the moon!" Bush exclaimed.

"Precisely," Clancy answered.

"We can't let the Commies spit on our flag!" Gen. Franks exclaimed, "We need to nuke the moon to keep them from ever thinking of landing on it."

Bush was silent in contemplation for a moment. "Do we dare to reach to the heavens and heavily radiate them," he mused allowed, "Will we boldly blow up, what no man has exploded-ed before?" He caught the eyes of everyone in the room with steely resolve. "I say it's time to be pioneers. Let's nuke the moon!"

A big portion of the table was then ripped away from under Bush. It was Chomps, the world's angriest dog, who proceeded to bite the piece of table into smaller and smaller pieces.

"I told you not to bring your dog in here!" Bush shouted at Rumsfeld.

"I left him outside," Rumsfeld said, "He must have chewed through the steel door again."

"Have you at least been giving him his pills to control his severe paranoid schizophrenia?"

"I've tried," Rumsfeld said, "The vet told me it would be suicide to try and force the pills down his throat, but I think I found a good way to get him to take them. I give them to a hippy, telling him they’re psychedelic drugs. Then, when the hippy swallows them, I sic Chomps on him."

The phone rang in front of Bush, and he answered, "Who is it?"

"It is I, the evil Commie dictator of China," the evil Commie dictator of China answered, "and I warn you to drop your foolish plans to nuke the moon."

"What are you talking about?" Bush said innocently.

"Don't lie to me, foolish American," answered the evil Commie Dictator of China, "If you try and stop us from going to the moon, there will be grave consequences!"

"Ha!" Bush answered, "You don't scare me. I don't care if you have brilliant tacticians like General Tso; we can kick your Commie ass any day. Now stay off our moon!" Bush then hung up. "Someone ratted us out to the Chinese!" he declared. He then pointed a finger at Rumsfeld. "Was it you!"

"I'll murder you for accusing me! Rarr!" Rumsfeld shouted as he tried to leap across the table. The Secret Service stopped him.

"What about you, Buck the Marine?" Bush asked suspiciously.

"Only thing I have ever said to a foreigner is, 'You die now,'" Buck answered.

"How about you, Chinese guy with surveillance equipment hiding under the table," Bush said, looking under the table, "You see anyone suspicious?"

He shrugged his shoulders innocently.

"Well, we better be prepared to take on the Chinese," Bush said, "Gen. Franks, how many men do we have left to fight China?"

"I'm afraid all our forces are either in Afghanistan, Iraq, or drunk off their asses," Gen. Franks answered.

"What about the gay guy who is always helping me out?" Bush asked, "Does he have any spare troops."

"That's Tony Blair," Rice told him, "and he's not gay; he's British. And, no, he has no spare forces."

"I guess it's up to you then, Buck," Bush told the Marine, "If things go sour, I want you to take out all the Chinese." He looked to Rice. "How many are there?"

"A billion."

Bush turned back to Buck. "Better take a billion rounds of ammunition with you, then... no, make that a billion and ten to be on the safe side."

"Uh... okay, sir," Buck answered dubiously and then looked to Rumsfeld.

"Just meet me at the bar after this meeting," Rumsfeld whispered to him, "He'll soon forget all about this."

Chomps jumped up on the table and began barking at the ceiling. He then tried jumping towards it, his jaws snapping at the air.

"What's he doing?" Bush asked.

"I think he's trying to bite the ceiling," Rumsfeld said, "It must have made him angry somehow."

"Why?"

"I dunno," Rumsfeld answered, "But I tend to trust his judgment. Buck, eliminate the ceiling."

"Yes, sir." Buck emptied a thirty-round magazine into the ceiling. "Ooh-rah!"

Seeing that the ceiling was properly destroyed, Chomps lay down on the table and went to sleep.

"He can't sleep on the conference table!" Bush exclaimed.

"Well don't try and wake him," Rumsfeld warned, "He'll rip off at least three of your limbs if you do."

"What's happening in here?" Senator Tom Daschle demanded.

"How'd you get in?" Bush asked.

"There was a big gaping hole chewed into the door," Daschle answered, "So what are you planning?"

"Important things like war," Bush answered, "That's why there is a 'No Democrats Allowed' sign out front. Don't you have some poor people to whine about or something?"

"I'm interested in war, too," Daschle replied, "I'm still waiting for your evidence of WMD's in Iraq."

"It's right here on the table," Bush said, walking over to Daschle.

"Where?" Daschle asked, looking closely at the table, "I don't see any?'

"It's right... THERE!" Bush slammed Daschle's head into the table. The shaking of the table then stirred Chomps who looked at the two of them both groggily and angrily.

"Uh-oh."

* * * *

"The White House would like to wish Senator Daschle a speedy recovery from having both his legs and his left arm reattached," White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer announced, "Also, we’d like to quash any rumors that we are about to nuke the moon."

"Uh... we haven't heard any rumors about you nuking the moon," said one reporter.

"Of course you haven't," Ari answered, "Because that would be just silly."

"There are a number of places here on earth where people have said bad things about us," the Fox News Reporter said, "Why haven't we nuked them?"

"I keep telling you there is a diplomatic process to things," Ari answered, "and... are you wearing a saucy French maid outfit?"

"The Fox News Channel refers to it as a saucy Freedom maid outfit," she replied, shaking her feather duster at Ari, "My boss keeps pushing me to get better ratings for these boring press conferences."

"Oh, I thought you were just moonlighting at another job," Ari chuckled.

"I have a follow up question," she said angrily, "What reflects more of the sun's light? The moon, or your bald head?"

"Just ignore it, Ari; you're almost done with this job," Ari said to himself.

"Why does Bush want to kill the lunar children?" Helen Thomas asked, "What have the lunar children ever done to Bush?"

"There aren't any people on the moon, you crazy old woman," Ari shot back, "Then again, maybe you do have relatives up there since you were probably around when the moon first formed by splitting off from the earth."

"I believe in the condensation hypothesis about the moon's formation," Helen answered.

"You would believe that discredited theory, you old hag!" Ari looked at his watch. "Now excuse me while I shield my eyes from the moon for no real reason."

* * * *

George and Laura Bush stood out on the balcony admiring the night sky. A mushroom cloud was just visible rising from the top of the moon. "Isn't it beautiful?" Bush said.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'Why'?"

"You nuked the moon, George," Laura said irately. "Why is that beautiful?"

"It's the ultimate combination of the glory of nature and the ingenuity of man," Bush answered.

"How?"

"Uh... well, it's a big explosion on the moon, and it's romantic... just like the movie The Matrix."

"I didn't find the movie The Matrix romantic," Laura said irately.

"But you were all over me while we were watching it."

"That's because I was bored and wanted something else to do."

"So is the nuclear explosion boring you too?" Bush asked, winking at her slyly.

Laura rolled her eyes. "Put on your flight suit and meet me in the bedroom."

"Woo-hoo!"

Here are more random samplings of the subtitles entries:

Nuke 'Em 'Til They Glow

I'm here for a good time. Not a long time.

If you touch me I'll eat your offspring [Ed. That would be a good caption for the picture below.]

Here's The Beef

Shoddy merchandise and low-brow humor; the Wal-Mart of blogs.

Just the faux, mam

The funny side of the VRWC

one small step for a man, one giant leap for manslaughter.

There is only two more days left for the contest, so come up with that genius subtitle soon so you can win that t-shirt. As always, keep e-mailing the subtitles to me with the subject "Subtitle".

Best way to do a lot of scientific studies is by comparing twins.
Using this method, Fritz shows that kids are bad for the skin.
Yes, it looks conclusive.

Another Father's Day story from the Emperor.

Seems that I've been neglectful with my blogroll.
Here's someone I forgot to add, Meryl Yourish.
If you think you should be on my blogroll,
Right now it's full. Sorry.
There's always next year.

Never would have suspected it, but Muslims thinks sex sells, too.
Or, at least that's what Kevin found out.
What a world.

Just to remind you why all monkeys must be eliminated.

As you see, it already has a nice caption, but, if you need a break from trying to come up with a new subtitle for my site, think of a new caption for this picture.

Oh yeah, I never declared a winner of the last contest. The winner is Anna (hey, another cute blogger) with the entry:

"With its 4" barrel, dove-tailed front-sight, 15-shot magazine, original checkered grips with motif and matte blue finish, he was proud to own the finest of all the Rhesus Pieces."

Anna wins nothing.

The winner of this contest, though, will get a short song made in his or her honor. So caption away.

Writing satire is fun, but I'm starting to think maybe I should put my skills towards doing something good in this world. That's why I'm thinking of starting the Charlton Heston Memorial Fund (I know he's not dead, but "Memorial Fund" sounds better). I would use my humor to fundraise money towards the eventual eradication of all monkeys, thus preventing the horrible "Planet of the Apes" scenario that Heston warned us about. First, I'd start with all the monkeys that are near extinction since they'd be easy to finish off, and then I'd later move on to the monkeys with greater populations, ending, finally, with the eradication of the very last capuchin monkey. After that, the left over money could go to fight Alzheimer disease.

So what do you think? Maybe the next t-shirt can be one showing support of the eradication of all monkeys. Until then, buy the Nuke the Moon t-shirt.

I got this automated phone call the other day from the police warning that there have been a number of nighttime break-ins in the area, so I immediately though, "Hey, I need a shotgun."

So I went to Wal-Mart today and bought a nice 12-gauge pump action (my first ever gun purchase; my dad had given me all the handguns I own), but boy was that a hassle, made only a little bit easier since I have a CCW. I didn't think that had to do background check for shotguns, but I guess they do in Florida. At least on the questionnaire it asks if you've ever renounced your U.S. citizenship; nice to see they're keeping lefties from buying firearms.

So, if I hear a strange noise at night, that person is going to be hearing a very familiar sound. Pump action shotguns are cool.

John Hawkins recently took a post of mine about Hillary Clinton and turned it into a top ten list (he has special permission to do that). In the comments section, though, some woman named Elaine, angered by my attacks against Hilary just because she is "democratic, outspoken, and a woman", took it upon herself to prove that I'm a fraud as a satirist by saying that almost all the jokes I made about Hillary could easily be applied to any politician and be just as funny.

Oh, silly, silly girl.

If you don't mind me being long-winded and not very funny for a bit (though there is a brand new top ten list at the end of the post), let's take some time to analyze this. Let me put on my scientist hat...

UPDATE: The Gingrinch list has put placed on the Democratic Underground by my inside man, my brother Joe foo' the Marine. Let's see if Whinus Liberalus reacts to the stimuli.

Happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there!

Without the influence of my father, I would not be the man I am today. He taught me to hate the French. He taught me how to fire a gun (though I learned not to cross your thumbs when firing a Glock on my own). He showed me what hard work is so I knew without a doubt that I am lazy. He caused me to have my sense of humor by teasing me as a child to the point of near insanity:

"Dad, I'm hungry."

"Nice to meet you, Hungry."

He's always had old-fashioned values. Back in the day, he dodged the draft by signing up to go to Vietnam. He always told my brother and me, "Remember: You can't wear an earring if you don't have ears." He's always voted straight Republican, except for that one time he voted for Toricelli for Senate since he thought the ads of his Republican opponent, Dick Zimmer, were too scummy. Mom was very angry when she found out, though.

Still, he often played the role of the permissive parent. Though mom didn't like lots of candy in the house, he always kept a secret stash hidden somewhere, and I'm still sorry for the one time I ratted him out. Once mom put a ban on us kids watching Married with Children, and he secretly watched it along with us.

I've learned a lot from my dad. Like, when a man gets angry, he doesn't get all emotional, he just uses passive aggressiveness ("I'm not angry; I just don't feel like eating now."). My dad has given me love, support, wisdom, and multiple firearms. Thus, I use the infallibility I have on my own site to declare my dad the best dad ever.

Oh, and he could beat up your dad.

Here's more random sampling of entries received so far for the subtitle contest:

Home of the closed minded and opened mouthed

This is the Subtitle that won the free T-shirt

...one man, one monkey.

Blood and Irony

Bomb. Rinse. Repeat [Ed. Where have I seen that before...]

Nothing satisfies quite like a huge wad of ham!

My Wisdom is Priceless.....the Tee Shirts cost $15.95--

In God (and Superior Firepower) We Trust.

I want to take you to a gay bar

...I like monkeys too, let's exchange recipes.

While I've gotten a lot of funny ideas, what I really want is something that best expresses the essence of IMAO and Frank J. in a concise manner. So keep e-mailing me your ideas with the subject "Subtitle". Remember, only one person gets the free t-shirt (plus a special place in the Peace Gallery if he or she wishes to submit a picture) and the bragging rights. All others get the bitter taste of defeat.

Mmm... bitter taste. I'm going to make more coffee.

More blogging tomorrow, including a tribute to my Old Man, an analysis of why I am funny and others aren’t, and a caption contest.

Ciao.

BTW, I now have Laurence Simon's adulation and praise.
U know what you have?
Yeah, nothing, that's what.

Man, Bill Quick makes me wish I knew anything about bicycle racing.
Yet I only know about the cycle of violence.

Sure, I have wasp trouble, but Mrs. du Toit had some spider trouble.
Hey, I've seen some giant ones down here in Florida.
Irate ones that get high off
Raid and would just get mad if you hit it with a shoe.
That's what my telescoping baton is for.

Wasps were trying to build a nest in front of my garage door. So I got a hose and sprayed the little buggers, and then finished off their nest with my bokken (wooden practice sword). Well, today I find a new nest... not even a nest. Just a tiny little piece that two wasps were standing on, though they barely fit together on it since it is so small. Cheeky little bastards. Guess they don't take a hint. Next step is chemical warfare.

For others with wasp problems. Here's some use useful facts:

FUN FACTS ABOUT WASPS

* Wasps tend to build nests where they can have shelter from the rain and best piss people off.

* While bees will only sting in defense of themselves or their hive, a wasp will sting you just because he's a f**king jerk.

* While many people would think the wasp is closely related to the bee, it's actually more related to the badger.

* Wasps tend to come from rich families and have good upbringings and join exclusive golf clubs... or maybe I'm thinking of a different kind of wasp.

* While bees collect pollen to make honey for food, I don't know what the hell wasps eat. I think it's like birds, rodents, and small children.

* Wasps usually register as independents, but tend to lean Democratic in elections.

* In a fight between wasps and Aquaman, Aquaman would think he could win by hiding under water. But, as soon as he lets his guard down and emerged from water again, the wasps would jump out from behind a rock and sting him dead.

* While wasps building a nest on your house is bad, it's better than having a monkey nest.

* You cannot cohabit with wasps. First they start out in a nest in front of the garage, next they'll be in your living room controlling the T.V. remote.

* Wasps, like the zebra, cannot drive a car.

* A Nuke the Moon t-shirt will make you immune to wasp stings.

* Wasps are not very intelligent, but do have just enough intellect to let them be evil... much like Islamic fundamentalists.

* OT: Do not let Islamic fundamentalists build a nest off your garage either. Immediately spray such a nest with a hose.

John Hawkins has always made it a cause of his to help new bloggers, and he recently posted 11 tips for bloggers. Now, I don't usually give tips to bloggers, because I hate the idea of their being other blogs that distract from me. I also fear of another Scrappleface emerging ("Oh, let's only mention Scrappleface when we talk about funny blogs. Let's ignore IMAO. Isn't Scrappleface a genius for coming up with 'Axis of Weasels' even though IMAO had like the exact same joke that day.")

Damn you, Scrappleface!

Anyway, here are ten tips for new bloggers:

1. Don't f**k with me. I will destroy you.

2. Don't just blog about what everyone else is blogging about. If you can't find anything unique to comment upon, make up a news story and put a phony link to the story that just leads to a broken link screen.

3. Steal from other bloggers. Catch another blogger just as he or she posts a new post. Then steal the whole text and post it with the date saying you posted it even earlier. Then accuse that other blogger of stealing from you.

4. Be a sexy woman and put up a picture of yourself. People like to listen to sexy women... or pretend to listen.

5. Buy a Nuke the Moon t-shirt, take a picture of yourself wearing it and holding a weapon, and then e-mail it to me for my future Peace Gallery where you will get a free link to your site.

6. Steal someone else's identity. Everyone thinks that's cute.

7. As Michele well knows, the best way to get more traffic: boobies.

8. Pose shirtless on your main page.

9. Suck up to Glenn Reynolds... or spread vicious lies about him.

10. Post lots of links to my page. Then people will know you are smart.

I realized I'll need some special tools to install the flag holder in the masonry that makes up the exterior of my home. No one else in my neighborhood had flags up, though, except for the kind old man across the street from me who installed a flagpole and has a flag up every morning, God bless him.

Well, while I was outside, the mailman came by and gave me a package containing my Rachel Lucas mug and Celebrate Diversity t-shirt (items that go great with your order of the Nuke the Moon t-shirt... did I mention that's out now?).

Ahh, a new coffee mug. Did I ever mention how much I love coffee? If I could only keep one vice, either coffee or beer, coffee would win hands down. And I only drink it black and can't imagine drinking it any other way.

Hey, look! There's a cup of coffee in front of me right now! Hooray!

D'oh. I didn't realize today was flag day. I've had a flag kit sitting next to my front door for like two month now and have been too lazy to go outside and figure where to install it on my house. Better go do it now before people think I hate America (I don't).

Until then, here's a flying kitten and two kittens in viking helmets singing about a gay bar. It has nothing to do about homosexuality, and, for that matter, the phrase "gay bar" makes absolutely no sense the way they use it. Anyway, the song's catchy and I now have "gay bar" echoing over and over in my head, and I want to spread the pain. Click on the link and hate me later.

It's Saturday, which means it's time to tell filthy lies about Andrew Sullivan.

"Hey! Look at me! I'm Andrew Sullivan I used to write for the New York Times! I made $80,000 dollars in donations 6 months ago and now I want more money!"

That's the idea behind his pledge week, which makes me so mad I almost wish I hadn't donated $20 to him. I probably should have spread this filthy lies before his pledge week, thus leaving more money to be donated to me (or spent on shirts), but now it's even more spiteful to put out a lie because it makes no sense. Anyway, here is the filthy lie:

So I was attending this big party, and it looked like it was going to be a lot of fun, but, when I first got there, I didn't see any women. "This isn't a gay party, is it?" I inquired hesitantly.

"Might as well be," said one man angrily, "Andrew Sullivan is here."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I shot back, surprised by what I thought was his homophobia.

The guy then led me to another room where there was Andrew Sullivan, getting it on with every woman at the party! He was making crass moves on all the ladies, drinking domestic beer, and getting in fights with any man who approached him. The guy was a total, flaming hetero!

"Hey, Andrew Sullivan, I thought you were supposed to be gay," I said to him.

"Nah!" he answered, slapping a nearby woman on the ass, "That's just shtick I made up to get hired by the Times. Now go get me another beer, bitch."

He then shook his fist at me threateningly, so I got him his beer. Everyone then tried to enjoy the party, but Andrew Sullivan was just a little too much. He kept acting all macho and tried to make out with every woman there to the point that it became too distracting. Finally, I got the courage to go and talk to him.

"Now, Andrew Sullivan, I like sex with women just as much as the next guy, but you have to turn your heterosexuality down a notch. Everyone is staring at you."

"You want a fight with me, pussy?" Andrew Sullivan yelled.

"You see! That's exactly what I'm talking about!" I shot back, "It's that kind of behavior that gives us heterosexuals a bad name."

He then hit me with a beer bottle.

Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Come on - a conservative homosexual? That just doesn't make any sense. Why would a homosexual want low taxes, gun rights, and a strong foreign policy? That's just silly.

Now here's poorly photoshopped photographic evidence of him getting it on with the ladies to back up the lie:

Okay, I was too lazy to use Photoshop; that's just Eminem. I think it's good enough evidence, though.

So there is your filthy lie: Andrew Sullivan is a flaming hetero. Tell all the bloggers. Tell his donors. Tell the New York Times... no wait; no one believes them anymore. Tell the New York Post!

That will teach him for successfully making money with a blog.

Oh yeah, and buy my t-shirt.

UPDATE: A reader, Ryan Sullivan (hmm), has sent in properly photoshopped evidence.

Now the lie is complete. Muh ha ha ha!

Here's a random sampling of entries so far to the subtitle contest:

A Monkey-Free Zone since July July 9th, 2002

Hillary's Favorite Web Site

Yes, we have no bananas.

Frank J: Thwarting Ninjas, Puppy Blenders, and liberals since June 4th, 1979

...inciting the masses

I can see your point, but I still think your full of sh*t

Nuke the moon (and monkeys).

Keeping Tiger-riding Ninja Monkeys at bay since July 9th, 2002

Like I said, that's just a random sampling. The judges (me) will wait until the deadline Tuesday to pick our (my) favorites. Then it's up to you people to vote for the next American Idol... I mean IMAO subtitle.

Remember, there will be no second place. Only one subtitle will grace the banner, and only one precious t-shirt will be given out. So keep the entries coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Subtitle".

Unlike most Saturdays, there will be more blogging tomorrow, including a brand new filthy lie. Now I'm going to drink beer and work on my novel and other intellectual projects.

Rachel Lucas, the sweetest most lovely blogger of them all, has wrote a very nice post about me and my t-shirts, and says she'll model one for me for my future "Peace Gallery." I would be remiss to not mention that, from the same place you can buy my shirt, you can also order the cutest mug ever made. I have one coming to me in the mail right now, and I can't wait to show it off at work. With my Nuke the Moon t-shirt and Rachel Lucas mug, I'm sure to end up on the management fast track.

Courtney tells the story of a U.S. Army Colonel who played a sick joke on women through the internet... and then she rebuffs me in the same post :( To be honest, I once tried internet dating, but it was to meet someone in the immediate area. And... well, not all stories are lovely fairy tales (or even very interesting).

Frank of On the Fritz reports on a new terror plot that has been stopped. Also, he has already ordered his Nuke the Moon t-shirt (really, he has) which I guess means Fritz must be the evil twin.

Here's some miscellaneous commentary from John Hawkins before he leaves for the weekend.

Roger L. Simon loves Chairman Deng Xiaopeng! Hooray for dirty Commies!

Michele of a Small Victory will be sporting a Nuke the Moon t-shirt as well. Wow, the internet is full of lovely women, and I don't just mean the porn.

How long are you going to keep constantly plugging your shirt?

At least for the week, lasting from now until next Friday (but no promises). I'll definitely stop when all shirts are sold.

Anyway, I promise this to be the best week at IMAO ever. There will be weekend postings and two of the best In My Worlds™ yet (including a big ensemble one on Monday and the return of the Rumsfeld Strangler™ on Wednesday, both of which will include Chomps).

Now try and think of some good subtitles for the contest. We need something that captures the essence of IMAO and Frank J. in one tidy phrase. I've now decided to lift the three entries limit, so go crazy. Just make sure to follow the instructions on e-mailing them to me. Later I’ll update with a random sample of the ones received so far.

Richard R. from Moabi, Gabon writes:
Over on USS Clueless, SdB has a very long technically precise answer to the following question:

I'm figuring you'll have a better answer than his.

How the hell would I know?

...I mean, of course I'll have a better answer than Stephen den Beste. As everyone knows, I'm smarter, I'm sexier, and I have better t-shirts than him.

Due to the rotation of the earth, it's tilt, it's path around the sun, and it's dynamic metarysimal action (a term so scientific that I only know it), there is actually only one point on the earth that gets exactly 12 hours of sunlight every day. The location is unknown, but it is prophesized in the bible (one of the psalms; I forget which) that there lies at the spot a hidden cave guarded by evil leprechauns who kick and bite. These leprechauns are even more angry and drunken than the ones in Ireland, and hardly a man would ever be able to survive an onslaught of their tiny fists.

If somehow one would survive the leprechauns, inside lies The Holy Grail. Well, maybe not The Holy Grail, but a holy grail, nonetheless. Anyway, there will certainly be some stalagmites, which are cool to look at.

I didn't read Stephen den Beste's answer, but, if he didn't mention leprechauns and stalagmites, then he obviously just pulled the answer out of his ass and I would never trust him again.

Max from Fairfield, CT writes:
Dear God, Michael Moore is fat. So if we do eventually, God willing, nuke the moon, could we launch Michael Moore into space and have the sun reflect off of him?

Yeah, right. We're going to nuke the moon, but not nuke Michael Moore. Please put a little more thought behind your questions, people.

Jared from Littleton, Colorado writes:
I've noticed your Japanese subsidiary produces a line of smiley-face spatulas (http://www.imao.co.jp/gift/index.html), among other trinkets. Is the work in these factories being performed by small children, or, due to Japan's higher labor costs and overly-stringent child labor laws, are you forced to use tamed ninjas?

Hey, that's supposed to be a secret product line I'm working on (that's why it's in Japan). Anyway, there is no such thing as a tamed ninja; were a ninja ever to stop flipping out and cutting people's heads off, he would cease to exist. Instead, the spatulas are being assembled by trained seals. One of them is named George and he likes to eat fish.

Anyway, right now I'm just focusing on the t-shirts. Smiley-faced spatulas is my next empire.

Tara from Guernica, Spain asks:
Why are you so cool? How can I learn to be more like you?

Asking why I am so cool is asking like why does the wind blow or why does the bird sing.

...well, I guess there are technical answers to those questions. Anyway, let’s move on to how to be cool like me.

First you have to be super smart. I mean like super duper smart. So you have to go to college and study hard things and buy books on science and actually read some. Then you have to have mad skilz, which means taking martial arts and practicing everyday. Owning a katana is a plus. Also, you need to own a 1911 style firearm (that's a .45 baby; no metric ammo for Frank), and constantly practice your aim at the range.

Then there is personality. You have to have charm and wit, and, when those don't work, you have to know how to throw a sucker punch.

Of course, there is the sense of humor, but that's basically just a gift from God. So you need to pray to God to give you a sense of humor. Subtle threats aimed at Him might help.

Of course, the cheapest and most efficient way to be cool like Frank is to buy and wear a Nuke the Moon t-shirt.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

As I announced yesterday, Nuke the Moon t-shirts are now printed and ready to ship.

If you are a regular reader of this site and have never read the peace treatise “Nuke the Moon”, do so now. NOW!

I know you want to show your support for world peace and for this website, and there is no better way that buying one of these t-shirts. And think of the interesting conversations you'll have when wearing this shirt.

"Nuke the moon? But why?"

"For world peace!"

"How would that lead to world peace?"

"How wouldn't it? Now get out of my way before I punch you, hippy."

And, to be clear, I don't want to actually destroy the moon as some people who like the moon have mistakenly thought, I just want to have a nice light show to scare our enemies and put yet another crater in the big rock. We have the full right to do so; our flag is on the moon so we own it and can do what we want with it.

Anyway, what I want to start is a "Peace Gallery". People can send in pictures of themselves wearing the t-shirt and displaying their peace tools (known as weapons to layman). Whether it be a rifle, shotgun, handgun, buck knife, sharpened screwdriver, ax handle, or just martial art skilz, show it off with your t-shirt and send me the picture with your name and website URL (if you have one) and be immortalized in the Peace Gallery. Or, if you're shy, wear a ski or hockey mask and give some scary sounding pseudonym; that's cool too. Eventually, we'll have a big gallery showing how many people there are who are ready for the excessive violence that peace entails.

So buy t-shirts! Now!

"But I want a free t-shirt!" you probably whine.

Fine, you win. There will be a contest for a free t-shirt. I've grown tired of the current subtitle to my site ("...political musings of a dumb smart guy") and want a brand new one. Thus, there will be a contest to make a new subtitle for IMAO, with the prize being your very own Nuke the Moon t-shirt. So e-mail me your idea with the subject line reading "Subtitle". You can send as many entries as you want, so go crazy. The deadline will be midnight Tuesday (that's eastern time). Until then, I'll keep updating with samples of the entries received so far. After the deadline, I will then pick my favorites and put up a poll on Wednesday for everyone to vote between them. The winner will then be announced Friday, with the new subtitle taking its place on the banner.*

So tell everybody about these t-shirts and make them a success. Then, in the future, there can be more IMAO merchandise such as an Enrage Me Rumsfeld doll (you tickle him, then he attacks you violently while yelling, "Rarr!") and a Buck the Marine action figure (foreigners for killing sold separately). Eventually, maybe IMAO can be a successful business... or a whole conglomerate. And then I'll be rich and be able to step on the little people. Crunch, crunch go the little people as I step on them. Muh ha ha ha!

Well, I'm getting ahead of myself. As soon as I get my t-shirts, I'll be the first to post some pictures of me with my favorite tools for peace (and this time I'll get a friend with a good camera to take the pictures).

Now start thinking of a new site subtitle, and, if you can't think of one, just buy the shirt.

Can't wait for shirts... Can't wait for shirts...

* Contest is not open to IMAO employees (damn, I had a great idea) or their immediate family (that's means you, Joe and Sarah) or any former girlfriends of said employees. Contest is void where prohibited, whatever that means. If you're in one of those weird contest prohibiting zones, tell me about it; I'm curious.

Nuke the Moon t-shirts are now in stock (available in Medium, Large, XL, and 2 XL) and will be shipping to those who preordered them.

Of course, this calls for a big promotion and celebration. Details soon. Until then, order your shirt.

UPDATE: If anyone has ideas for promoting selling the shirt, please tell me. And they can't involve giving away free shirts. More posting on this tomorrow.

Finally, after months and months, Amish Tech Support's Dead Pool scores its first points. What a morbidly happy day.

Annika points out the inequity of the "Miss Universe" contest. She's just upset because she didn't win.

I've decided to add Jay Solo and Chipstah! to my blogroll for reasons of my own. I will no longer accept solicitations to be added to my blogroll; don't call me, I'll call you. You can still send me a posts of interest, though, to be included on my Links of the Day.

UPDATE: They always come in pairs. The Dead Pool has now scored its second hit in the same day.

Jack from Missouri asks:
How many virgins could I get for insulting an Israeli or just annoying one?

This seems like a question for my local blind cleric. So I sought out the cleric and asked, "Do you get virgins in heaven for just annoying or insulting Israelis?"

And he replied, "Kill the Jews!"

"That doesn't really answer my question..."

"Jews!!! Kill!!!"

I knew this wasn't going anywhere, so I snatched a pebble from his hand and ran away.

Next I decided to consult Allah himself. Susprisingly, he was available for questions. "So, Allah, do you get any virgins in heaven for just calling an Israelis a 'doody-head'?"

"That is a great question, my son," Allah replied, "To know the answer you must... kill the Jews!!!"

"What?"

"Kill!!! Jews!!!"

"Hey! You're not Allah! You're Satan!"

"Yeah, you got me," Satan admitted.

"I can't believe you; trying to trick people into killing Jews!"

"Yeah, but you were too smart for it," Satan said, "Why, I bet you are so smart, you could kill way more Jews than those silly Muslims."

"Well, yes, I am quite smart... Hey! Now you're trying to appeal to my vanity to get me to kill the Jews! You get out of here you mean bad Satan man!"

So, in conclusion, I'd say if you want virgins, I wouldn't mess around with those Israelis. They have uzis.

George S. from Austin, TX asks:
What's this Middle East Cycle of Violence I keep hearing about? Is it Lance Armstrong's new bike that he'll be riding in the Tour de France?

Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted a cycle of violence. One that could launch missiles at the other kids and had bladed spokes to take out the wheels of other cycles.

The Middle East Cycle of Violence is that dream come true: a ten speed bicycle loaded with weaponry (and reflectors to keep you safe when riding in the dark). It's the first truly original product to come out of the Middle East, and will hopefully finally give them an economy not reliant solely on oil and hating the Jews.

Poosh from Nanjing, China writes:
I took your advice and unleashed Kung Fu on the ninja as you instructed. It was tough at first because life is tough, but, in the space of two hours, I beat his ass into ground. He fled. I thought that was the end of it and contemplated donating some money to you for giving such great advice and helping me face my ninja, BUT, when I looked out the window the next day, there was a squad of ninjas in the garden, messing up the flowers and throwing ninja stars at my window. Apparently if you beat up a ninja he gets his older brothers and cousins onto you... YOU HAVE MADE THINGS WORSE!

First off, IMAO and all it's subsidiaries (of which there are none) are not responsible for the consequences of following the advice given on this site.

That said, here is some more advice. Yes, defeating one ninja may not be enough to stop the problem, but if you go out and defeat all of them, then they will finally leave you alone. Don't be too worried; the ninjas' usual tactics are to circle around you and then attack you only one or two at a time.

Also, to keep ninjas out of your flowers, there are some sprays you can use. You can't always get them at the supermarket, but ACE Hardware or Home Depot should have some.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

While taking a shower this morning, I had an epiphany on how the Israelis can have peace with the Palestinians:

Bomb. Rinse. Repeat.

Actually, they might even be able to skip the “rinse” part. As I started to drink my morning cup of coffee though, I realized how futile this search for peace is. It's completely unrealistic of Israel to have peace when they tried to set up a country surrounded by angry Muslims who want them dead. It's just never going to work out, so they need to leave.

So where do we make all the Muslims leave to? Since it was my idea, I say America gets first dibs on all the smarts ones who will become doctors and scientists and stuff. As for the really dumb ones, who only know three words of English - "kill", "the", and "Jews" - maybe they could go to Australia since there is plenty of open land there. Hopefully they don't teach the kangaroos to be suicide bombers, though, since their pouches are perfect for it.

The rest can be spread out all over. China could certainly use more Muslims, and there is plenty of room in Russia. And how many Muslims are in Mexico or Columbia? They could use more. We can send some to Antarctica to bother the scientists there (stupid scientists). France could get plenty - hell, they can take that place over. Maybe they'll assimilate, though, and we'll soon be yelling, "I hate those cheese-eating surrender Muslims. I curse their mustaches."

Now the Jews will have the whole Middle East to themselves, and can form a giant Jew-topia. They can sell us the oil there at a discount since we have always been so supportive of Israel, but they get to gouge Europe all they want. Ha, those jackasses will probably have to ride around on bicycles now like caveman.

So what to do about Mecca? Muslims should be allowed to visit as long as they sign a "No Jew Killing" agreement upon entering. But everyone else should be allowed to go too. I know some families from Minnesota who have been dying to tour Mecca. We need to be respectful of Mecca, though. No roller coasters, but maybe a 50's theme restaurant or two. As for that covered thing they have there, I say leave it covered because it's mysteriousness adds to the draw. Oh, and I get free season passes to Mecca for coming up with the idea.

I know no one could think my idea was bad, so please comment on how much of a genius I am.

Carnival of the Vanities is at Overtaken by Events. Get your blogging goodness while it's hot.

From like the 80 article pings I got from chipstah!, I've noticed he has moved to his own domain using MT. So update your links... wait, I never linked to him in the first place. Forget I said anything.

Here is Laurie Dhue sporting the cutest smile and an uzi.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Anyway, maybe the nameless Fox News reporter now has a name. What do you think? Discuss amongst yourselves while I take a cold shower.

One more thing. Emperor Misha has a post about a site for rescued German Shepherds that needs some help. I got a discussion going about the trouble of being single and taking care of a dog. To me, it seems the best solution is get married so there is someone home all the time to take care of the dog. Any takers? I'm pretty desperate, because I really miss having a dog.

I feel like Chomps right now; angry for no particular reason. Let me look through the news for something to yell about...

Well that was easy to find something. There was another bus bombing by sub-human terrorist ass wipes. If it's any consolation to anyone, you can be assured the suicide bombers are down in hell screaming like little bitches, wondering why Allah abandoned them. How retarded do you have to be to think you reach eternal paradise by murdering people.

I bet they're will be some celebration in the streets over the bombing. I hope this time Israel drops a bomb right on it. That can be the new message: Those you commit terrorism will die. Also, those who like terrorism will die.

People in Europe will probably be in an uproar. Then it would be nice if America helped out Israel and bombed those whiners. That could be another message: Those who don't like people who like terrorism dying will die.

If we could just get those messages across, it will be a safer world.

Well, Israel has already gotten some Hamas people in response. Good for them. I gotta finish my lunch and get back to work.

With North Korea theatening to get nukes for numerous crazy reasons and Islamic extremists continuing to threaten to kill American and Jews for far from coherent reason, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld held a press conference to answer concerns.

"These press conferences are taking too long, and my doctor says I need to keep them short so that I don't have so much time to fester with rage," Rumsfeld explained, "Thus I have brought my friend Chomps, the world's angriest dog, and chained him to the wall."

At the front wall was a massive rottweiler, furiously chewing away at the metal chain that bound him.

"That chain is made from reinforced steel," Rumsfeld continued, "and thus it will take him about ten minutes to chew through. I recommend you all have asked your questions and left by then if you don't wish to be eviscerated."

"I have a question about finding WMD's in Iraq," said a reporter as he stepped forward while cautiously eyeing Chomps.

"Let's me you save you your breath," Rumsfeld answered, "I don't give a rat's ass."

"But people are concerned that this war was done for false reasons."

"What people? Bad people are dead, people are free from tyranny. No American would be concerned about the reasons for attacking. Sounds to me more like something Europeans would be worried about." Rumsfeld grinded his teeth. "I hate Europeans!"

"Grr-row!" Chomps growled at the mention of Europeans, and then went back to chewing angrily at his chain.

"So you don't think people care if a conflict was started for legitimate reasons?"

"Americans like killing bad people," Rumsfeld answered, "We're all for making up all sorts of excuses as long as bad people die in the end. If I claimed we were invading North Korea because they had imprisoned magical elves, and then we destroyed their evil regime and freed their starving oppressed people, would you guys still whine about where the elves are afterwards while the Koreans celebrated in the streets?"

The reporter thought about that. "Yes, we would."

"Rarr!" Rumsfeld yelled, picking up the reporter and throwing him out the window. "Next question."

"What about those in the military who were brought overseas?" asked another reporter, "Don't they need to know the reasons they were sent to Iraq were legitimate?"

"As long as our troops got to kill bad people, they're happy," Rumsfeld replied, "It's not like anyone joined the military to not kill evil foreigners." Rumsfeld looked to Buck the Marine who stood at the far end of the room. "Did you join the Marines to not kill evil foreigners?"

"Quite the opposite, sir."

"See," Rumsfeld said smugly.

"North Korea says they need nuclear weapons so they can reduce the size of their military. What is your response to that?"

"I would like to remind North Korea that we also have a plan for reducing the size of their military that involves nukes. Next question."

"What would you say to those who characterize the Iraq mission as a failure since no WMD's were found and Saddam may still be alive?"

"Grr-row!" Chomps growled as he lunged at the reporter, the chain barely holding him back. His massive jaws snapped at empty air, making a hideous clicking sound. He then went back to chain, chewing at it now with even more irrational fury.

"I don't have anything to add to Chomp's remarks," Rumsfeld stated.

"What is your reaction to Israel's botched assassination attempt on Hamas co-founder Abdel Aziz Rantisi?"

"Well, we've missed people in the past," Rumsfeld answered, "So I can't be too critical. Next time, if they think a terrorists is in a building, they should level the entire block. I demand more dead Palestinians!"

"Isn't the Bush administration against the attack?"

"I don't listen to those whiny pacifists," Rumsfeld said angrily, "They want pin-point accuracy destruction while I support barely focused carnage."

"What about..."

A loud metallic snap resonated throughout the room. There stood Chomps, a piece of chain now uselessly dangling from his collar. In his fevered dog brain, he could no longer recall exactly why he was angry, but he was quite certain that he was angry and his eyes scanned the room for something to take vengeance upon. They soon settled upon the horrified reporters, and the back of his lips curled to reveal jagged teeth. Drool dripped to the floor as he recalled the sweet taste of blood. A low growl emanated from his throat, in its own way resembling the hiss of a fuse to a powder keg that is about to explode.

"I'm sorry," Rumsfeld chuckled to the reporters, "but it looks like your time is up."

It is agreed; Frank J. is sexy. Quite spontaneously, both Annika and Courtney have declared this so (blogspot direct link isn’t working for Annika, so just go to her page and search for “Frank” or “sexy”). Mothers, hide your daughters; Frank J. is on the prowl.

BTW, just to show I wasn't objectifying Annika, read her list of 100 things about her, which was a big part of my deciding to link to her.

Speaking of attractive women, here's a list of 10 things Rachel Lucas curses today. I hope none of them are referring to me :)

I better link to at least one non-woman today. Despite his name, Kim du Toit is not a woman and updates with his usual flair on that complete injustice in New York City about prosecuting Ronald Dixon for defending himself.

Acidman, who, as always, is too sexy for his shirt, talks about blogger identity theft. If someone else starts calling himself Frank J. (I'm looking at you, Frank L.), I swear to God I'll...

Virginia from Virginia writes:
A question has been bugging me for a long time now: Is there more potato in a bucket of large potatoes or a bucket of small potatoes?

The best way to answer this is by the scientific method. I took a bucket of small potatoes and a bucket of large potatoes and filled them with water. Whichever took less water to fill would have less empty space and more potato. Unfortunately, the potatoes floated. To keep them from floating, I decided a good idea would be to fill them with lead shot. The most efficient way of delivering lead shot to them seemed to be to shoot them with a shotgun.

Anyway, all my potatoes were destroyed, so I had to find another way to get the answer. I decided to call my parents since they live in Idaho and most know all sorts of things about potatoes. My Mom answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Frankie-boy!"

"Who?"

"Your son."

"Joe?"

"No, your other son."

"Other son?"

"You know, who lives in Florida."

"Oh... you. What do you want?"

"I wanted to know whether there is more potato in a bucket of large potatoes or a bucket of small potatoes."

"Now I remember you; you're kind of an idiot. It's the bucket of small potatoes. Being smaller, they fit in more compactly."

"Great. So, do you think I could come home for Christmas this year?"

"Sorry, no room for you this year. Maybe next year."

"Aww. Well, anyway, I just wanted to say... you still there?"

So there's the answer: it's the bucket of small potatoes.

Shawn from Roselle, IL writes:
When I read about the recent outbreak of monkey pox in the Midwest, I instantly suspected you were involved. My question is, is this some sort of genetically engineered virus that you created to destroy monkeys that somehow got out of control and is now infecting humans? Or is it a genetically engineered virus that the monkeys created to destroy you, and they just don't care how many of the rest of us they take down too?

I am not specifically involved with the monkey pox outbreak. For one thing, I never resort to chemical or biological weapons; I just like plain 'ole shoot'n when I want something dead.

My theory is that it was created by the monkeys - like many other viruses such as Ebola - to wipe out humanity and thus bring on the "Planet of the Apes" scenario. They decided to first test it on prairie dogs, though, before using it for a full attack.

Do I recommend that we hunt down and kill all monkeys as a result? Yes I do. Of course, I've been recommending that action for some time now.

Bill Cimino from Virginia Beach, VA asks:
Do you hate it when people say "frankly"?

Frankly, Cimino, I don't give a damn.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Hillary Clinton has a book out! I know all of you must be racing to not read it, but I'll save you the trouble and not read it for you. Here's what I didn't find out from the book:

* Exactly how many people she estimated her universal health plan would kill.

* That Chelsea Clinton was played by a child actor.

* Whether she shot Vince Foster execution style or gangsta style.

* What are the exact details of her pact with Satan.

* How entrenched into our government is her lesbian conspiracy.

* Whether her banshee-like scream can cause people's heads to explode just like if she were a Scanner.

* Whether regular bullets can kill her or do you need to use silver ones.

* That every time she lies, her thighs grow larger.

* How many genetic scientists did she kidnap to make flying monkeys for her.

* For what purpose does she like to drink the blood of small children.

* Who would win in a fight between her and Aquaman.

* That the only thing that actually surprised her when she heard about the Monica Lewinksy affair is that her husband had relations with a "dirty Jew".

* She's not a natural blond.

Bill Whittle's last essay "Magic" was actually a bit short for him, so short it was almost readable. Whitler has since decided that the reason it was short was because he gave into peer pressure to make shorter essays. Now, he's decided to do his own thang, and has rewritten the entire essay, making it longer. So here is "Magic: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut". I think it actually grows in size as you read it.

Since my blogroll has gotten so large, I no longer just add people to it by request, and instead am trying to come up with better standards for who gets added. The new one is now being an attractive female who write great posts. Thus Annika gets added to my blogroll just like Courtney did. Maybe I can use my links section to subtly flirt with them; just no one tell them that or it will seem insincere.

Andrew Sullivan is having another pledge drive. Last time I heard he made $80,000. Well, let's show him. Help me raise $100,000 dollars. Currently, we're about $100,000 short, so start pledging!

John Hawkins has another blogger symposium, yet again without me. Argh! I hate things that don't give me more attention.

Emperor Misha I has something just like my Frank Answers™, but he'll probably say he thought of it first. Liar.

Condoleezza Rice is doing beer ads. Unfortunately, it's not like that famous Miller Lite one.

Poosh from Nanjing, China writes:
Why does it cost so much money to fight wars these days? The recent Iraq war cost billions and we were not up against much of a foe. I mean I heard a tank costs like a million dollars and I can’t afford that.

I know what you mean. I keep getting really angry at some countries, but, when I estimate the cost of doing war with them myself, it's way out of my price range. That's why it's usually a function of the federal government to kill bad foreigners. Problem is, a lot of our tax money goes for other things than paying for weaponry. Like they take money out of my check each week for social security even though I don't want social security since I have a 401k. I even went to the IRS guy and demanded that money back because I don't like paying taxes that don't lead to the death of bad people. But the IRS guy said I had to pay it, and then some guys came out with machine guns to emphasize that point. And they were really scary, so I ran away.

Anyway, maybe war is too expensive for an individual, but maybe if a bunch of us Americans get together we can pool our money to buy lots of weaponry and then go country to country killing dictators. It's our America duty to solve all the world’s problems, and we can't always wait for the government to do it. We'll just get a deal with the U.S. government to overlook all our activities; they'll just deny all knowledge of any involvement with us. We'd be like the A-Team, running around the world with guns helping people, but, unlike the A-Team, we would actually hit whom we're shooting at.

If anyone is interested in joining, write so in the comments. You don't have to be an America to be a part of it; as long as you share our love of killing bad people, that's American enough.

Susie from God writes:
In one of your Frank Answers you said: "but now sign your e-mail with what name you want me to use, and also include where you are from". Is the latter instruction a philosophical or geographical question? My parents told me I came from God; this e-mail is coming from Indiana.

If you have a philo-mo-spohical answer, fine, but I prefer a geographic location. I don't want to start getting a bunch of crazy-ass answers from some po-mo's.

Stephen from Hope, Arkansas asks:
What are your feelings on human evolution? How about evolution in general?

I like the theory of evolution, because it's the best scientific explanation of how people came about. I admit though, it's hard to conceive all the random mutations that must have happened to go from an amoeba to Frank J., the most perfect of God's creatures. I don't like the idea that God just one day went POOF! and people appeared without any back story, because that just seems sloppy - kinda like something I would do if I were God.

As for human evolution, I don't think that happens physically anymore because we now live in a world where any idiot can survive and reproduce. Instead, we evolve technologically. Sure, it would be cool one day if humanity evolved the powers to shoot lasers out their eyes, but at least every few years we get new video game system with even higher polygon counts. Frankly, that's enough evolution for me.

Now, that main problem with the theory of evolution is that it take millions of years to have noticeable effects, thus it is hard to empirically prove it. I say one thing we can try is subjecting monkey after monkey to high doses of radiation to try and mutate them. If one suddenly becomes a person, evolution is proven. If all the monkeys just die, results will be inconclusive, but at least all monkeys will be dead.

I hate monkeys.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer was less forthcoming than usual in his latest press conference.

"What is the White House's opinion on the Palestinian prime minister?"

"Wow, the Palestinians have a prime minister now?" Ari exclaimed.

"Yeah, don't you know that?"

"Know what, I think I remember Jon Stewart mentioning it on the Daily Show."

"Well aren't you privy to special information in the White House meetings?"

"Yeah, but I haven't been to one in a while; I'm trying to use up all my sick days before I leave in July."

"So why are you holding this press conference?" demanded one reporter.

"I'm not holding a press conference," Ari said indignantly, "I just sat down to read the latest issue of Maxim and then you guys gathered around me."

"Well, do you have any comment on how American forces have not found any WMD's?"

"We did find some!" Ari shot back, laying down his Maxim and standing up. He held out a vial of green liquid. "Here is the chemical agent XL-6 we just got back from the Iraq. If quickly becomes airborne, causing a painful death by..." Ari accidentally dropped the vial, shattering it. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, covering his mouth, "We're all going to die!"

The reporters look terrified, but Ari started laughing. "It was filled with Mountain Dew. I've been playing that gag on people all day." He sat back down and started reading his magazine again.

"I have a question," said the Fox News Reporter, "I just did an expose on how many different countries there are and how the number of foreign nations is a threat to our national security. Is the White House doing anything to reduce the number of other countries?"

"Is this you?" Ari asked, holding open his magazine to a picture of a woman in lingerie.

"No!" the Fox News reporter answered angrily. She then looked more carefully at the picture. "Oh, wait, yes it is... but you still have to answer my question."

"I have don't have to do anything," Ari asserted.

"You said you had measles!" yelled one voice from the crowd. Ari turned to see it was President Bush.

"So, I lied; what are you going to do about it," Ari challenged.

"Uh..." Bush thought for a moment. "I'll have you executed for treason!"

"Whatever," Ari said dismissively as he went back to reading his magazine.

"Why do you want to kill Iraqi children?" Helen Thomas asked Bush.

"Because they smell!" Bush sprinkled salt on her. "Why won't you finish shriveling up?"

"Ahh! A voodoo hex!" Helen exclaimed, running away.

"Why haven't you found any WMD's?" one reported asked Bush.

"We have plenty of WMD's," Bush answered, "Hell, we have enough nukes to kill everyone on earth."

"I meant found WMD's in Iraq," the reporter clarified.

"Oh... why would need to find WMD's there?" Bush asked, "We just went there to steal their oil." He saw Ari shaking his head. "Uh... I got confused. We're currently preparing a military strike against North Korea for the oil stealing."

"You're going to attack North Korea?" one reported said with surprise.

"Uh... why? Is that a good or a bad thing?" Bush asked, getting nervous. All the reporters now crowded around him and shouted questions at him. "Damn you, Ari!" Bush exclaimed, "That's why you're supposed to do all the talking!"

"Sick with measles," Ari answered, flipping through his magazine.

Bush spied some man jogging down the street near them. "Uh... that guy over there is the replacement," Bush said, pointing at him, "Ask him the questions."

The press swarmed the surprised man while Bush made a quick escape into a nearby manhole.

"Going to miss this job," Ari sighed.

Back when I was in college, my roommate Nathan had the somewhat common problem of figuring out whether one girl really liked him or was just being nice to him. Liz, new to his Navy ROTC, had told him that on a datability scale, he ranked a 9. Nathan wanted my opinion of what that meant, and, being a good and honest friend, I told him, "She probably just said that because she pities you."

Anyway, they just got married over this weekend, and it was a lovely wedding and reception. Hell, the reception had an open bar, and that, plus the facts that I was the only groomsmen who wasn't already attached and that - if I do say so my self - I was devilishly handsome in my tux (almost made me wish I brought my PPK to complete the "James Bond" look), meant I spent most the night dancing and hitting on the maid of honor, brides maids, and various other single women. So, in short, I had tons of fun while you all were deprived of my witty and hilarious posts.

Now what was my point... oh yeah: if you're a terrorist, don't try getting through the Melbourne, Florida airport. I went there at about 1700 on a Friday when you'd think they'd be busy if they ever were, but the airport is so small there was practically no one there. But, at the security checkpoint, they still had like twenty people standing around even though they only had like two people a minute walking through. So you have like five people watching the x-ray monitor anytime they finally get a chance to scan something, and they don't mine being thorough. While my briefcase went through just fine (which only contained small pieces of plywood and a couple empty cans of shaving... don't ask, I don't have an explanation), they spent a while examining my old sneakers. Eventually they decided to test them to make sure they weren't bombs. That was fine with me as I wasn't in a hurry, and neither were they. I was pretty sure my old, worn sneakers weren't explosive, but it was remotely possible a terrorist had switched my normal sneakers with explosives ones, matching the wear pattern on the original sneakers so I wouldn't notice. Also, I don't always watch what I'm walking through, and maybe they could have become explosive by accident. They turned up clean, though (I mean not explosive), which not only makes the other passengers feel safe, but let's me sleep soundly at night as well. I still don't keep my sneakers near my bedroom, though, when I retire for the evening; you can never be too cautious.

As always, thanks for being a reader. I'll return with normal programming tomorrow morning. I haven't thought of what the post will be yet, but, God-willing, it will be funny.

I'm going to D.C. for most of the weekend and am a bit busy, so don't expect another post until Monday (another In My World™, most likely). Thanks for reading, and see you later.

Michael E. from Austin, Texas asks:
If we took all the communists, hippies, and liberals and shipped them
off to Antarctica (or other barren wasteland), would they be able to
create the perfect utopia that they're always yammering about? If so,
would you live there?

I don't know if it would be a perfect society, but a bunch of frozen liberals sounds like a good start towards one. And, no, I would not live there, but I would hunt there.

Doug Morris from North Carolina asks:
If a tree-hugger falls out of a tree in the forest, and there's nobody around to hear her scream... is it still funny?

Here you ask the nature of humor: can humor exist without a human observer. I'm sure deer get distracted all the time and run smack into trees, but, most of the time, people aren't there to watch, and all that does is scare squirrels. But remember that God is always watching, and I believe He has a sense of humor because that's essential to me not going to hell. So, when the tree hugger falls from the tree, God would chuckle. And then, when she's lying there dazed and wondering what happened, God would knock the tree down on top of her and then laugh His divine ass off. Nothing better than a good smiting.

My silly sister Sarah, the silliest sister of all, took time out from being a big shot Hollywood costume designer to ask me:
Why does the sun make people sneeze?

Yes, it is true that looking at the sun causes a certain number of people to sneeze, and the explanation is not a simple one. I first went to my local Research-atoritum to ask the scientists there. They were not receptive.

"Bah! Tis a silly question no one would care to know the answer to," shouted one scientists as he studied the flow of ketchup from a bottle. All the other scientists were similarly dismissive, almost suspiciously so. Finally, dejected, I left the Research-atorium, but before I reached my car, I heard a whisper from the shadows.

"Do not follow this line of questioning. It will lead you to your doom."

"Who are you?" I demanded.

He stayed hidden in the darkness. "It matters not. Just know that many brave men have tried to solve this puzzle you ask, and none have been heard from again."

"But I need to find the answer!" I pleaded, "My little sister asked the question, and, if I can't solve it, she'll make fun of me and call me 'Stinki'."

"It's a better fate than what awaits you," warned the mysterious man, "but if you really wish to pursue this, your journey will take you to the Himalayas."

"Then that is where I go," I vowed.

I was not able to find any guide willing to take me on this journey, so I trudged through the snow myself, climbing the rocky precipice. It seemed all unfamiliar, yet somehow I knew where to go. Eventually, harsh winds forced me to find shelter in a cave. Inside, I saw an old man.

"You seek answers," he said, staring through me into my very soul.

"I wish to know why some people sneeze when they look at the sun," I declared.

"Ah, a good question," the man said with a mysterious smile, "but first I must know if you are worthy of the answer."

Suddenly a knight in armor attacked me with a sword. "You must defeat the demon knight in a battle of swordplay!" the old man announced, "Then the answer will be yours."

"I'm really subpar at sword fighting," I admitted as I drew my katana.

"Just stick and move," the old man assured me.

The demon knight bared down upon me, and I barely dodged his sword which cleaved rock from the cave walls as if it were cutting through a carrot. I caught him off guard though, and swung in, my sword clanging uselessly against the armor.

"Oh, funk this!" I exclaimed, dropped my katana and drawing my .45. One shot fell the demon knight.

"You are the chosen one!" the old man exclaimed.

"But I didn't sword fight him."

"But the prophecies said the chosen one would do battle with a weapon of fire." The old man held a torch so I could see the ancient writing on the wall. It was all written in text I had never seen, except for the last part which said, "Chosen one will use a weapon of fire." It looked like that had just been added with a magic marker... a purple one.

"I don't know about this..."

"Look, you even bear the mark of the chosen one." The old man held up my hand to reveal the mark.

"That's a smiley face you just stamped on me," I protested.

"No, you are the chosen one, and it is up to you to end the curse of the sun."

"What curse?"

"Back before time was time, an ancient demon named Ahchoo saw man and was reviled by him. Thus he forever cursed the sun, causing about 25% of people who look upon it to sneeze."

"You still haven't gotten to the part where I care."

"You are the chosen one, and you can end this curse by destroying orb of Ahchoo that lies deeper within this cave."

"How long will that take? I have a plane to catch."

"It is a perilous journey, with each step you take full of danger!"

"Each step full of danger!" I exclaimed.

"Well, there are a couple steps without danger," he admitted, "but, by far, most steps are full of danger."

"I'm going to have to say no to this quest then."

"Why? Are you a pussy?"

"I'm not a pussy!" I shot back, "It's just I don't give a rat's ass. I mean, I don't sneeze when I look at the sun; just my stupid sister does. Why would I risk my life over that?"

"But it is your destiny!" the old man exclaimed, "You cannot walk away from your destiny!"

"I'm not going to walk away," I said, "I'm going to try and find a ski lift down. Barring that, I guess I'll have to use a sled." I then headed for the exit to the cave.

"Destiny will find you one day!" the old man yelled, "You can try to avoid it, but it will find you!" Finally he just grumbled to himself. "Wanker."

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

The Carnival of the Vanities is up today, and for some reason I'm not in it. I blame others.

All of the rest of the links today are about me.

Susie from Practical Penumbra has a post praising me.

Morpheus of The Dreamland actually takes the time to analyze my humor to show why it's both smart and funny. More people should write long dissertations on me.

Oscar Jr. says I'm the funniest blogger. Oscar is smart (and will still be delinked eventually for reasons I've long forgot).

Kevin, blogging from an Undisclosed Middle Eastern Country™ (like anyone hasn't figured out which one by now), started to write something about me, but it got messed up. Maybe he was attacked in the middle of writing it. Even if so, that's not an excuse.

If anyone else wrote grandiose praise about me that I missed, e-mail me the link so I can add it.

I have decided to declare June 4th, my birthday, to be National Gun Safety Day. Here from the Frank J. archives is a gun safety manual I wrote a number of years ago. Now go out there, shoot bad people, and be safe.

Today marks two dozen years since I first took a breath with my own lungs. In celebration of the day of my birth, you must use the comment section to shower me with praise.

Now, go ahead; shower away.

Part I
Part II

"Until this whole interdimensional mess is taken care of, you better lay low in your new undisclosed location," President Bush told Dick Cheney through their satellite uplink.

"It's not an undisclosed location!" Cheney said angrily, "You just stranded me on the median of some highway."

"Yeah, but do you know which highway?" Bush pointed out.

"No, I can't tell from here, but everyone driving by gawking at me probably knows."

"Well, stop looking so conspicuous. Dig a hole or something."

"But I'm in a three piece suit... and it's hot out!" Cheney yelled. "Ah! And someone just threw a beer bottle at me. And now I'm tasting copper..."

Bush cut the link. "Whine, whine, whine."

"Honey, I have an article in this month's issue of Today's First Lady," Laura Bush said, entering the office and placing a magazine on Bush desk.

Bush grimaced. "This isn't another article about drapes, is it?"

"No, just read it."

Bush picked up the magazine. "'Signs a coworker may be a supervillian,'" Bush read aloud, "'Sometimes a close associate may be plotting world conquest and you may not even notice. Here are some signs to look for:

"'1. Maniacal Laughter.'" Bush looked to Laura, "So what is that exactly?"

"Well, if someone, instead of laughing at other people’s jokes, laughs after bold statements of power or evil," Laura explained.

"Kinda like how Condi tends to laugh when she explains the destructive power of a new weapon," Bush said.

"Yeah, that might be an example," Laura answered innocently.

"So what's next?" Bush looked at the article again. "2. Lives at odd, isolated location." He turned to Laura. "Speaking of odd, you should see Condi's place. I went to the address, and there was a hollowed out volcano. When I tried to find to entrance, I was attacked by ninjas."

"Look at item three," Laura pointed out.

"3. Is protected by hired thugs or ninjas." Bush thought for a moment. "Wait! I know what this is about! You're trying to convince me that Condi is a supervillian!"

"I don't trust that woman, George," Laura said sternly, "Last time Barbara and Jenna visited, I swear I saw her trying to hire them to be twin assassins."

Bush chuckled. "That' silly; you want identical twins for that."

"I think you need to stop that Black Project Insano," Laura told him, "I think it's giving Dr. Rice too much opportunity for evil and world conquest."

"What? How do you know about that secret project?" Bush exclaimed.

"You're always leaving your papers scattered everywhere making me clean up after you," Laura chided him, "I bought you folders - even labeled them for you - but still it's paper lying everywhere."

"I'll try to be more organized in the future," Bush moaned.

"That's not what this is about," Laura said sternly, "You need to pull the plug on that project and stop Dr. Rice from taking over this world and countless others... or before she gets us destroyed by some evil alien warlord."

"But... but if I make her mad, she may feed me to a Krackeldozer," Bush said timidly.

"What's a Krackeldozer?"

"That the name she said she's going to give to the alien creature she'll feed me to if I bother her while she's plotting."

"It doesn't matter, George, you're the President of the United States, and you have to stand up to her," Laura told him firmly, "Didn't the American people elect a president with character who will stand up for what he believes?"

"I have plenty of character," Bush insisted, "Why compared to the last president..."

"Oh, George," Laura interrupted angrily, "Why don't you just say you're a champion runner by comparing yourself to a man without legs. Now you better go talk to Dr. Rice or your going to be spending a lot of time sleeping on the couch like that 'last president' you love to bring up."

Laura then left the room leaving Bush to think by himself. "Aw, dang it," Bush grumbled, "Better at least make sure my will is in order first."

* * * *

Laughter echoed throughout the room. "You're a clever adversary, Buck," the disembodied voice of Lipitor said, "You've broken into my fortress. Still, if you had any real intelligence, a mortal such as you would never dare to contend with a god such as me. Now that you are in my lair, you will find yourself in situations that will challenge your very understanding of physics itself."

"My understanding of what now?" Buck asked, taking another sip of beer.

"Do not mock me, Buck," Lipitor said angrily, "I will rip you apart, scattering your pieces among countless universes."

Buck stared a while at his can of beer, and then looked quite displeased.

"Is that fear I see, Buck?"

"That was my last beer." He tossed it away, and then saw it torn asunder by an unseen force. Buck looked about him with some confusion. There were glowing portals among doors and windows floating in nothingness. At times the room appeared quite small, and then he looked at if from another angle and it appeared infinitely huge. He really wanted another beer.

"Better go to my all purpose plan B," Buck announced, "Throw grenades everywhere and see what blows up."

* * * *

Bush knocked on the door of Condoleezza Rice's office. "Can we talk for a moment?"

"I'm busy with military matters," Rice answered with annoyance, "Why don't you go watch your A-team reruns."

"Uh... we really need to talk now."

"You're starting to bother me," Rice said, a bit of menace in her voice.

Bush took a deep breath, then barged right into her office. Rice stared at him angrily as a map of the world with attack plans sat on her desk. Bush then glanced behind him to see the mysterious Cookie Eating Man standing in the shadows. "Uh... I had a whole speech prepared about how we shouldn't fool around with the fabric of time and space," Bush said nervously, "but I was distracted by a squirrel on the way here and forgot it all. So I'll just cut to the chase: I'm going to shut down Black Project Insano."

"Why? Don't you see the power it gives us?"

"Well, that whole thing with that alien warlord appearing and threatening us..."

"Bah, Lipitor is a fool," Rice said dismissively, "I'll find a way to defeat him." She rose to her feet. "Then the multi-verse will be MINE!"

"See, there's the other thing," Bush said, "I think you're becoming too drunken with power and are not pursuing all this for the interests of the American people."

Rice laughed unconvincingly as she sat back down. "That's ridiculous."

"Well, my decision is final," Bush said, trying to look resolute, "Black Project Insano will be shut down."

Rice laughed again, this time more insidiously. "You don't even know which phony orphanage it’s funded through to be able to shut it down."

"Well... well I'll... I'll defund all orphanages then, smartypants."

Rice shot to her feet again. "You can't do that!"

"Yes I can," Bush said firmly, "because I'm the President of the United States, the leader of the free world, and I can do anything."

"You fool! I'll destroy you!"

"Oh, and come to think of it," Bush added, "I'm taking your Snoopy mug as well." Bush snatched the mug from her desk.

"But... but... that my Snoopy mug! You can't just take it!"

"Yes I can," Bush asserted, "because I'm the President of the United States, and I can do whatever I want. Good day, Dr. Rice." He then headed out of the office.

"Bring back Snoopy!" Rice shouted. She then became intensely angry. "You'll rue the day you ever heard the name Condoleezza!”

"Can I go now?" asked the Cookie Eating Man.

"Yes, you're getting crumbs everywhere."

* * * *

The fortress crumbled, as the demonic Lipitor stood there surrounded in flames. "I guess I underestimated you, Buck. First you broke into my fortress, solved the puzzles of the room of eternity, snuck into the kitchen and ate my lunch, and finally destroyed the stabilizers that kept my fortress existing between the universes."

"Yep, don't mess with a United States Marine," Buck answered, finishing off his four dimensional sandwich.

"But the last laugh will be mine!" shouted Lipitor, "When my fortress is gone, you will be trapped with me forever in the void between dimensions. Muh ha ha ha!"

"You must flee to the portal to your world," came a voice in Buck's head.

"Is that Jesus?"

"No, it's one of us aliens talking to you telepathically."

"Doing what now?"

"Talking through your mind," the alien said with annoyance, "Now go through the interdimensional portal to your homeworld."

"Uh... and what's that exactly?"

"Go into the bright light to your right!"

"Okay, okay. You don't have to telo-mathematically yell," Buck said, heading from the crumbling fortress.

"You're other right!" the voice shouted.

"Oh, whoops." Buck jumped into the glowing portal.

"I will have my revenge!" he heard Lipitor shout, just before the world around Buck disappeared.

* * * *

"Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen." Rumsfeld cocked his hand back really far for the last punch. "And twenty!" He dropped the reporter to the ground. "I hoped that answered your question about whether the war in Iraq was started for false pretenses. If you didn't understand the answer, I could repeat."

The reporter just moaned in response.

Suddenly a bright light appeared in the air, and out from it fell Buck the Marine.

"Buck, you're back!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "What happened?"

"Well, I was transported to an alien world where I killed me some freaky aliens, and then I went to fortress of this evil warlord Lipitor who wanted to conquer earth. I destroyed his fortress, casting him forever into the void, escaped back to my dimension, and then, having preserved American values and apple pie from the cold grip of alien forces, I shouted, 'Ooh-rah.'" Buck thought for a moment. "No, wait; I hadn't done that last part yet." He held is rifle over his head. "OOH-RAH!"

"Good job, Buck," Rumsfeld said, "and you’re back just in time for happy hour. Not let's go get hammered and pick some country to invade through conventional mean, forgetting forever this interdimensional crap."

"But we have more questions!" whined one of the reporters.

"Buck, fire your rifle into the air," Rumsfeld suggested, "That should scatter them."

Buck fired a three-round burst into the air, and the reporters fled in terror except for one woman who held her ground. "Who's that?" Buck asked.

"That's the Fox News reporter," Rumsfeld explained, "She's a little harder to scare away." Rumsfeld then clapped his hand loudly in front of her face. "Now shoo! Scram!"

"But I have more questions about whom America will destroy next with its righteous power," she asserted.

"Hey, that's a nice dog you have with you," Buck commented.

"Oh, that's Chomps," she said, "He's been following me around since the last press conference. Problem is, I have too busy a schedule to take care of a dog."

"Well, I could see why he would want to follow around a pretty lady such as yourself," Buck said a bit shyly.

"That's so sweet," the Fox News reporter replied, blushing.

"Maybe we could go get some coffee and I can tell you all about how I saved the world," Buck suggested.

"I think I'd like that."

The two of them then walked off.

"What about alcohol!" Rumsfeld called out. He then looked to the dog. "I guess it's just me and you, Chomps. Know what? I'm suddenly feeling angry for no particular reason. What about you?"

"Erg-err!" Chomps growled angrily, and then ripped a metal folding chair apart with his teeth.

"I guess you and me are a lot alike," Rumsfeld said, walking to the exit. Outside he saw a bunch of hippy protestors with anti-war signs. "Well, look-ee here. Maybe we should match their right to free speech with our initiative to kick ass."

"Rah-grr!" Chomps said, not liking the sight of hippies.

"Hey, dog, no blood for oil!" one hippy yelled at Chomps.

Chomps's whole body started shaking with anger. Rumsfeld was almost frightened the dog was going to explode. Suddenly, with a loud yell, Chomps jumped into the crowd of hippies, flying forward with his mouth wide open ready to bite.

"That's a good dog," Rumsfeld said with a smile, and then ran into the fray. "Rarr!"

THE END

Since Hitchens left, I only read The Nation for chuckles, but this is actually an intelligently written article about racial issues that not very ideological... for The Nation.

Tim Blair has good old fashioned jokes. Yay jokes!

John Hawkins had a blogger symposium yesterday on the important issues of the day. He should have a blogger symposium on humor with people like me, Laurence Simon, Fritz, and damn you Scrappleface. That would be a great idea.

Finally, if you want a story, Acidman has one to tell. Well, actually, he's got a few, and that's one of them.

Martin from Mississippi asks:
If humans are sooo smart, how did monkeys, dogs, and communists achieve space flight before the first human?

Space travel is one of the greatest of human endeavors, but it is an extremely dangerous pursuit. Early on, we weren't sure how zero gravity would affect a living creature. Why, it might cause someone's guts to spew out their ears for all we knew. Human life is precious, so we couldn't just go haphazardly into space without first knowing what would happen. Thus we waited to see space’s effects on monkeys, dogs, and communists (with special interest on the monkey, since it was closest to human) before sending the first human, Alan Shepard, into space.

Jason Hannemann from Austin, Texas asks:
Can cockroaches be considered better than "Palestinians" because they are actually willing to live with Jews?
And then asks:
Will that question be considered too "mean" for you to use?

Sorry, that question is way too mean. My guess is that if cockroaches had the ability to bomb children, they would then hold parades and celebrate afterwards as well. That makes Palestinians who support terrorism at least as good as cockroaches.

Brian Medcalf from Keller, TX writes:
God created the world in six days. On the seventh day, he rested. What did he do on day eight?

Started smite'n. Every play Sim City? After you finally build up an entire city, what’s left to do but then click that little tab to start Godzilla stomping through town? You build, then you destroy. Of course, I'm assuming that God is just like me, which seems a reasonable assumption.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Bush is in Egypt today to talk peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Me, I'm not as patient as the Israelis and would have long ago gotten together a bunch of "Corrie Crushers" and flattened all the Palestinian buildings, but I guess the Israelis want to be nicer and so be it. I just hope Bush takes a hard-line, standing up at the beginning and saying, "See my roadmap? Notice how all the roads lead to saturation bombing if you f**k with me."

Anyway, there have been a number of hold-ups to peace talks. Here are the worst of them:

TOP TEN HOLD-UPS TO MIDDLE EAST PEACE TALKS

10. Bush mistook the traditional Muslim garb as people wearing sheets, and came dressed for a toga party.

9. It’s hard for the Palestinians to give up Jew-hating, as it’s their favorite pastime and spectator sport, followed far far behind by touch football.

8. The Palestinians will only recognize Israel's right to exist if Israel recognizes their right to kill Jews.

7. Bush kept interrupting Sharon while he was speaking, asking, "I don't get it; why don't you just bomb them all?"

6. The Muslim kept to their usual tradition of five times a day facing Israel, shaking their fists, and yelling, "The Jews!!"

5. Arafat wasn't supposed to attend, but all the baby wipes were mysteriously missing.

4. Because of their clothing, Bush mistook a number of Muslim wives in attendance for ninjas and kung fu fought them. He lost.

3. Palestinians kept demanding that they could still do one annual suicide bombing so they could remember the good times.

2. Bush kept insisting everyone try his pork-ribs he ordered for dinner.

And the number one hold-up to Middle East peace talks...

The meetings were cut short when the building was destroyed by Israeli bulldozers.

The essay Rachel Lucas wrote today is so good, I decided to make it my sole link for today. Go read it.

Clint from Macon, Georgia asks:
How does an internal combustion engine work?

I don't think you want to know, because then, like next time you drive a car, you'd be like, "Holy crap!"

See, the whole engine is like exploding constantly from lighting that gasoline on fire when it’s on, pushing pistons and what not so that the car goes, "Vrooom! Vroooooom!" It's total chaos in there.

So you're probably now asking, "So what keeps the combustion internal and not external so that it doesn’t combust me too?"

Well, if you check around the engine (do this when it is off and on a non-haunted car), you'll see a magic rune imprinted on it. This spell keeps the fire inside the engine. Were it ever scratched off, the next time you start your car, KA-BOOM!

Every 100,000 miles, you really should have the rune re-enchanted by a sorcerer. Check you car's owner manual for more information.

Krista from Bonduel, Wisconsin asks:
Why is it that evil people (like the Nazis) always get the spiffiest looking uniforms?

As everyone knows, the secret to a good movie is good enemies. That's why the Empire in Star Wars has all these nice clean uniforms, because you go, "Wow! Those guys are organized! They must be evil!"

That's also why WWII was considered such a great war, because we had serious villains with cool uniforms. But look at Vietnam; no spiffy uniforms on our enemies, and many people thus look on that war with regret.

And take today's wars, those people don't know how to dress themselves at all. They make piss poor villains, because no one in their right mind could think they could actually win. From the looks of a lot of them, our troops are racing to get their kills before starvation can claim all the credit.

Well, hopefully we can have a war with China teamed up with North Korea. Those guys have spiffy uniforms, and I could see some real drama and suspense in that war.

Alan Forrester from from Balti, Moldova asks:
What is the meaning of life?

I assume you're not just looking for the dictionary definition, which is readily available.

If you're asking what the purpose of existence is, I tried to get a comment from God, but no one returned my phone calls. As always, though, Satan was on hand to give his opinion.

"Life is purposeless. God created you all to watch you suffer for His amusement. That's why you must join up with me and rebel..."

Hey I said no more recruitment speeches, Satan.

"Fine. Can I at least plug my book? It's Chicken Soup for the Damned Soul and it will be on bookshelves in August."

Great. Now be gone, foul demon.

Anyway, I wouldn't worry so much about the whole meaning of things and just follow your conscience, doing good deeds and what not. I always have been a little worried that whether you get into Heaven or not might be based on other things that how good you are, though, like there will be an obstacle course and movie trivia or you have to run a mile in under six minutes, but that's probably not true. I'd be prepared, though.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Part I

"Buck the Marine here. Can anyone hear me?"

"I hear ya, Buck. This is the president of the United States, George Dubya, but, as long as we're using the radio, refer to me by my CB handle: Porn Star."

"Okay, Porn Star. I have set up base camp in Lintuvia."

"Did you experience much resistance?"

"Well, when I first arrived, the Lintuvians said, 'What are you doing here, foreigner.' And then I said, 'I'm not a foreigner. You're the foreigners, foreigners.' You get that? The stupid foreigners didn't even know they were foreign. Anyway, they're dead now."

"Good job, Buck. Be careful of those Lintuvians; they're extremists."

"Religious extremists?"

"Maybe, I'm not really sure. They may actually be extremists against people with religion, or maybe they just like extreme sports. But we are certain they are extremists and you need to be careful."

"I can tell you they ain't Christian extremists; Christians shoot straighter."

"So what is your condition right now?"

"Well, I set down to make base camp, so I opened my cooler I brought and took out a good ‘ole American beer. Then snipers started shooting at me, so I then I shot back at them, rifle in my right hand while I continued to drink the beer in my left hand. Then I remembered I had to radio you guys, which meant I had to put down either the rifle or the beer. I think I made the right choice." Buck paused to take a sip of beer.

"Sounds like you got a handle on things. Soon people will be there to implement Black Project Insano. Whatever you do, do not look at what they have, as you do not have the proper clearance."

"To clarify, Porn Star, what am I supposed to not be looking at?"

"Uh... I'm not really sure. But, if you see something that you think you shouldn't be seeing, stop seeing. Is that clear?"

Buck took another sip of beer.

"Good luck, Buck. We're counting on you. Porn Star is over and out."

A sniper shot hit near Buck, so he put down the radio and picked back up his M-16 and fired back while finishing off his beer. That seemed to be the last of them; no more foreigners left to shoot. Suddenly Buck noticed a number of men in black suits and sunglasses approaching him.

"Are you foreigners?" Buck asked suspiciously.

"That's classified," answered one of the men.

"Hey, that thing you guys are carrying has some rust on it," Buck pointed out.

"He's seen too much!" one of the men said to another.

"What I do now?" Buck asked, confused.

"Put him the target radius," one of the men in black said as they operated the device.

"Hey, that don't sound like a good thing..." Buck started to say, but then saw a bright light followed by nothingness.

* * * *

"Wow, I've never seen this room before!" Bush exclaimed as he explored the underground war room. "What do these buttons do," he asked as he reached for a control panel.

Condoleezza Rice slapped his hand. "That's why I haven't let you down here. Now go sit at the conference table."

"Hey, I'm the president," Bush said meekly, "I tell you what to do..."

"QUIET!" Rice screamed.

Bush took a seat at the conference table along with Donald Rumsfeld, Colin Powell, and Ari Fleischer who was busy playing at a computer in front of him. "They let you down here, Colin?" Bush asked with surprise.

"He knows how to behave," Rice said.

"As long as I don't speak, they don't hurt me," Powell explained.

"I'll strangle you for speaking!" Rumsfeld shouted.

"There is no time for strangling," Rice said, sitting at the head of the table, "It is time to discuss Black Project Insano."

"First off though," Bush interrupted, "Who is that mysterious looking guy standing in the shadows smoking a cigarette?"

"Ignore him," Condoleezza answered.

"But he's creeping me out."

"Then he is doing is job," Rice said irately, "As I was saying, more details of Black Project Insano are becoming known. Bush, remember when the aliens visited at the beginning of your term?"

"Sure do. The decided that since we no longer had a lecherous hillbilly as our leader, we were now ready to meet with them. They said they would share technology that would end disease, famine, and ketchup stains. Then Rumsfeld strangled them all because they looked funny."

"And I'd do it again," Rumsfeld vowed.

"Well, the secret hidden government within the U.S. government took possession of the alien technology," Rice explained, "And then began reverse engineering it to see if it could be used for evil instead of good. Thus was born Black Project Insano, and we finally have seen its results in Lintuvia."

On a giant screen appeared an image of the island country of Lintuvia. A bright light was seen, and then most of the country disappeared.

"What happened?" Bush asked.

"Apparently we ripped apart the very fabric of time and space itself," Rice said with glee, "and transported the Lintuvians into an alternate dimension!"

"What about Buck?" Rumsfeld asked.

"He saw too much, and was transported as well," Rice said dismissively.

"But he was my favorite drinking buddy!"

"You fool!" Rice exclaimed, "Do you not realize how much more important this is than one silly Marine? We now control the fabric of the universe. We'll be able to instantly transport anywhere in the world for a surprise attack, and escape just as easily. We can also disappear entire cities, such as transporting the entire population of Paris into an alternate dimension where they will be eaten by the Velociwargs and the Jangowizers."

"What's a Velociwarg and a Jangowizer?" Bush asked.

"Those are the names I will give to the first two creatures that eat French people," Rice answered. "Now, not only will we be able to conquer this world, but we'll be able to travel to other worlds as well, conquering and uniting an uncountable number of planets into one nation ruled by one person alone." Rice rose to her feet. "Empress Condoleezza! All shall love me and despair!" She then paused for a second. "I mean, all worlds will be united under the protection of the U.S.A.," she said meekly, sitting back down.

"I have just one question," Bush said, eyeing Rice with suspicion, "What about back in the fifties when everyone smoked? How would you be a mysterious guy who stood in the shadows? Would you not smoke a cigarette and be known as the 'Non-Smoking Man'?"

Rice shook her head with exasperation. "Why did I even involve you with this? This is all-important, highly classified material that must never leave this room. If even..."

"Sorry to interrupt," Laura Bush said, walking into the war room, "but I need to get the laundry."

"How did you get in here?" Rice demanded angrily, "You're not allowed through security!"

"Poppycock," Laura answered, "I always come down here to do the laundry." She opened a machine at the other end of the room and started pulling out pieces of clothing.

"Those aren't washing machines, you fool!" Rice screamed, "Those are matter destabilizers!"

"And they sure get the stains out," Laura commented.

"That's it!" Rice exclaimed, "Cyborg ninja monkey zombies, stop her! Yes... that's right, go towards her... now KILL! KILL! No... no... DON'T HELP HER FOLD!"

"I never heard anything about cyborg ninja monkey zombies," Bush said.

"It was a line item in the last budget I gave you," Rice said innocently.

"I've got my laundry, so I'm heading out," Laura announced, "The cookies I'm baking should be done soon; who wants some?"

"I do!" said the Cigarette Smoking Man.

"You're not supposed to talk!" Rice exclaimed, "You're supposed to be mysterious!"

"But I want a cookie."

"Fools!" Rice screamed, "I'm surround by fools!"

"I know who is not getting a cookie," Laura said, giving a sharp glance to Rice before leaving the war room.

"This is so much crap," Rumsfeld finally commented, "All this interdimensional gobbledygook and whatnot is a fools game. Give me a good old fashioned war with shooting and stabbing."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Powell commented.

"You're not supposed to speak!" Rumsfeld shouted, "Rarr!"

Rice finally noticed Ari working busily at a computer. "What are you doing?"

"I always get bored by meetings," Ari said, "So I decided to play some space invaders."

"That's not a videogame!" Rice shouted. She then looked at his screen. "You've destroyed most of Luxemburg!"

"So?"

"So you have to go talk to the press and explain this," Rice told him.

"Yeah, stupid," Bush chided him.

"Whatever," Ari answered.

"And make sure they know nothing about our plotting!" Rice commanded him.

"Okey-dokey," Ari said as he left the room.

"Oh man; I'm outta smokes!" the Cigarette Smoking Man exclaimed, "Can I bum one off someone?"

* * * *

"I see they let you wear clothes today," said the CNN reporter snidely.

"The producers and I came to an understanding," the Fox News reporter answered, fixing her blouse.

"If that skirt were any shorter, it would just be a frilly belt," the CNN reporter laughed.

"Oh, that's witty; you should share that with your viewer," the Fox News reporter shot back.

"People, can I have your attention," Ari Fleischer announced, "As you know, I am going to be leaving my post as White House Press Secretary soon, so I have two people here who will be trying out as my replacement."

"Yes, according to your press release, one had his former job as guard of a junkyard and has been diagnosed with a severe anti-social personality disorder," pointed out one reporter.

"Yes," Ari answered, "You're referring to Chomps, rated by the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's angriest dog."

The rottweiler Chomps simmered in its irrational fury, looking ready to explode at any moment into an orgy of violence.

"And you describe the other candidate as quote 'A fat load of s**t who makes sham documentaries and, as hard as it is to believe, is actually uglier on the inside than on the outside."

"You're talking about Michael Moore," Ari said, pointing to Michael Moore himself who stood near Chomps.

"And I'm going to tell the truth about the fiction that is the Bush administration," Moore blurted, "I'm going to... AHH!!! GET HIM OFF ME!!!"

Chomps attacked Michael Moore as if the devil himself was in him.

"AHH! THE PAIN!!!"

"Well, it's going to take Chomps a while to chew through that many layers of fat, so let's go on to questions," Ari said in a bored tone.

"OH!!! WHY WON'T HE STOP!!!"

"Did you just set this up so that Michael Moore could be attacked by the world's angriest dog?" asked a reporter suspiciously.

"Please stick to policy questions."

"I think... he stopped... AHH!!! HE GOT HIS SECOND WIND!!!"

"Michael Moore, what do you say to people who feel you deserve to be chewed on by the world's angriest dog?" the Fox News reporter asked Moore.

"PLEASE!!! SOMEONE HELP ME!!! DON'T JUST STAND THERE FILMING THIS!!!"

"Hey, questions go over here," Ari said angrily.

"Do you have any explanation for the sudden cruise missile attack on Luxemburg?"

"No. Not really."

The reporter thought about that for a moment. "Thank you for your candidness."

"What do you say to reports that you've sent a Marine to the small island country of Lintuvia in preparation for an experimental use of alien technology?"

Ari laughed unconvincingly for nearly a minute straight. "That... that is the craziest thing I've ever heard. Who, by the way, told you such a crazy thing, because I would like to meet that person and say, 'Hey, you're one silly person.'"

"Well, I can't reveal my sources," the reporter answered.

"Even at threat of death?"

Two large men in black suits approached the reporter from both side. "Well... uh..."

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light. When it faded away, there was a ghostly image of a demonic face floating above Ari. "I am Lipitor!," it said in an earth-shaking voice, "Tyrant king of the multi-verse! You have disturbed my dimension, and now you will all pay dearly. I will destroy your world, and make you all my slaves! There is nothing you can do to stop me! Muh ha ha ha ha!" The image then faded away.

"Dammit," Ari sighed, "You just know that right before I retire there is going to be an inter-dimensional incident."

"Will this conflict with Lipitor distract from Bush’s war on terror?" asked one reporter.

"Has France the technology to appease evil dictators in alternate dimensions?" inquired another.

"Why haven't we collapsed threatening dimensions into a singularity?" demanded the Fox News reporter, "Is it because we lack the technology, or is it because the Bush administration is a bunch of momma's boys?"

"Where are my pills?" asked Helen Thomas.

"Everyone let's calm down for a second," Ari told them, "before we get on to answering more questions, let's first have a break for refreshments. Right now, a couple of men are handing out a cherry flavored beverages that may or may not erase your memories."

"Can I have one to forget this pain?" Moore asked meekly. "AHH! HOW LONG CAN HE KEEP BITING MY GROIN!!!"

"No, you can't have any," Ari answered.

"Mine has more of a raspberry taste," said one reporter.

"Just drink it!"

* * * *

"This is Buck the Marine," Buck said into his voice recorder, "That date is... Tuesday? I think Tuesday. The time is..." He looked at his wrist. "I cannot tell the time from the hairs on the back of my hand. Apparently I forgot my watch. Anyway, I have found myself on an alien landscape." He looked about him at the purple sky and yellow, rocky ground. Ominous mountains loomed in the distance, and strange creatures flew overhead. "Note to self: no longer accept missions where the objective is more complicated than 'Kill the foreign people.'"

"So what are rules for engagement on an alien land," Buck thought to himself as he put away his voice recorder. He then took out his USMC Rules of Engagement Manual. "'Rule one'," he read aloud, "'Kill foreigners.' Hmm... I already knew that one. What about aliens." He flipped through the small manual. "Here we go: 'When on an alien world, be extra careful. You cannot know how creatures may react, so it is best to try and avoid them. Only attack a creature if it appears it is about to attack you or if it is just really really freaky looking.’"

Buck looked around. Overhead flew a creature resembling a manta ray. "That's not attacking me," he mused aloud, "and it's only somewhat freaky looking, so I'll let it live."

A large lizard like creature charged Buck, mouth agape of sharp teeth. "Now that's just mildly freaking looking, but it appears to be attacking me... so it dies." Buck fired his M-16 at it, dropping it dead.

Near him he saw a giant animal, it's body like that of a brontosaurus, but it's head like that of toucan. "Now that is pretty damn freaky looking, but honestly not really really freaking looking, so I'll let it live."

Below him he saw a bug with three heads, each one with snapping pinchers. It also had bat like wing and the tail of a mouse. "Now, that is not attacking me, but it is really really freaking looking." He crushed it with his rifle butt. "Now it's dead. Ooh-rah!"

"Greeting, outworlder," said some voice from behind Buck.

He turned to see three humanoid aliens, each with pale skin and large black eyes. "Greetings, alien creatures," Buck responded, "I am Buck the Marine from the planet America. I come in peace, but, as you see, I am well armed in case non-peace breaks out. In summary, I will talk to you, but, if you make any sudden movements, I'll kill you all."

"We understand your terms, outworlder," answered one of the aliens, "We have come to warn you of a threat to your world."

"A threat to my world!" Buck exclaimed, "That's bad!"

"Yes it is," the alien continued, "The evil tyrant Lipitor wishes to destroy your world and put you all in slavery. It is up to you to stop him."

"Just tell 'ole Buck what to do."

"You must travel the trail of despair to Lipitor's citadel which rest on the edges of many dimensions. Inside you will find his transdimensional oscillator, and through it's deactivation will Lipitor become vulnerable to the plasmic discharges within his inner sanctum. When he is weakened, then you can destroy his stronghold by overloading its stabilizers with positronic energy. Finally, you must then escape to your dimension through a dimensional portal of your proper dimensional frequency."

Buck considered this for a moment and then took a sip of beer. "Why don't you break that down into pointing me in which direction I should walk and describing what thing I'm supposed to kill."

"You must head that way," one of the aliens said, pointing to a dark fortress in the distance, "Your enemy, Lipitor, is a transdimensional being, both massive and small, both there and not there. He is known by his presence, which disturbs the air with a..."

"On second thought," Buck interrupted, "Why don't you just draw me a picture."

TO BE CONCLUDED ON WEDNESDAY...
Same danger time... Same danger channel...

Jose from Bombay, India writes:
I'm a film student, and I would like to make a movie about your life based upon your website. How do you feel about Tobey Maguire playing the role of
Frank J.? Or maybe Val Kilmer?

That's funny; I got told twice in one day that I look like Tobey Maguire (that was when the Spiderman DVD had just some out). Val Kilmer sounds good to me, but I hear he is hard to work with.

I'd say go with a no name actor and spend your entire budget on the car chases and shootouts.

If you need a costume designer, you can contact my sister.

No, she'd probably dress me in French clothing just to be spiteful.

Serenity from Argentina writes:
I finally got a real blog site (http://www.serenitysjournal.com/). Will you help spread the word?

No.

mrmii from Atlanta asks:
Who wrote the Bible?

I guess the best way to find out is to check one. Hmm... doesn't seem to list an author on the cover. Maybe it was written by Anonymous. I don't think Joe Klien wrote it, though.

Oh, now I remember. It was Gutenberg. He was inspired by God, and thus he smashed metal, paper, and ink together and there appeared the words of the Lord. And all Gutenberg's friends were like, "Wow, Gooty!" (his friends called him "Gooty") "That's so cool you got the word of God there. Let's go drink some ale."

So Gutenberg printed up a bunch of copies of the Bible and went drinking. While he was away, some people broke in and stole the first half of the Bible and ran off. They used that to form their religion, the Judaism, and immediately started on their Zionist conspiracy which involves space lasers (of which I believe they are still working on today).

So then the pope comes by, and he's like, "Hey, Gooty, you do a gooda job writing down the word of the Lord. Here's a magical amulet to protecta you froma the spiders. They no longa bite-a you and make-a you itch."

And Gutenberg said, "Thanks, pope-a! You sucha nice-a guy!"

And he was so happy, but then some Muslims came and were all angry and said, "Infidels! We kill you for not believing what we believe!"

And the pope said, "Momma-mia! But whata do you believe?"

And Muslims responded, "Well... er.. we'll get back to you on that."

So they got Mohammed to write the Koran so they knew what to kill people for not believing. And thus there was peace in the world... or was it that the status quo prevailed? I get those two confused sometimes.

If you want to learn more about all this, you can read Religion for Dummies, unlike me.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Why hadn't I heard of Equilibrium (2002) before? Apparently, it was a regular movie release back in 2002, but they must have given it so little publicity that I never heard of it. But the DVD came out about the time of Matrix Reloaded, and I heard a number of people mention it (including Ebert) saying that if you wanted more cool action, check it out. So I did, and hot damn! Some of the action scenes in this movie are so cool that everything else pales in comparison. If you had just watched one of those kick ass shootouts, and then Fonzie walked into the room, you'd beat him up for being a nerd. Yeah, they're that cool.

Basically, Christian Bale is this guy called a cleric, and they practice gun-katas, the turning of fighting with two handguns into an actual martial art. It's just something that has to be seen to believe. And, they actually save the best for last, a final fight with one man against dozens of others with machine guns, ending with a gun-kata vs. gun-kata battle at close range which is half martial arts fighting, half gun battle. Again, it just has to be seen to understand how cool it is. Oh, and in their dress uniforms, they carry katanas, so there is a gratuitous katana fight at the end as well. It's like they said, "This movie already has lots of awesome action, but let's throw in a katana fight just to make the film more appealing to Frank J."

Oh, yeah, the plot. It's about emotions being repressed in people so that war and conflict will be avoided. Christian Bale does an awesome job acting, but I think it just can't help but be a B film. The villain, to me at least, is just too cheesy. Maybe other's will like the plot better, but it was hard for me to care when the action was that cool. If Gattaca had tons of awesome shoot outs, I probably wouldn't have cared so much about the whole genetic issue because it just got in the way of the action.

Anyway, if you're like me, and you occasionally pop in the Matrix DVD and skip straight to the lobby scene, then the best thing I can say about Equilibrium is that after watching it the first time, you'll soon want to pop it back in and skip straight to the final battle sequence.

Four out of five stars.