The R.A.G. Files

Big Woods. The RAG Files wishes to warmly welcome the ivory-billed woodpecker back into the loving arms of western civilization after a sixty year absense. Recently declared officially extinct, the ivory-billed wood pecker had been surviving all along for these past six decades, but only now has chosen to reveal itself. In an exclusive interview, the RAG Files gets to the bottom of this mystery, along with survival tips for other endangered species, the relative merits of McDonalds value meals and 8-tracks.

The RAG Files: Welcome back, Mr. Pecker. Its good to see you again. Could you tell us why you went into hiding?

Ivrory-Billed Woodpecker: Well, I'm not quite sure how to answer such a complex, multifacted question. Lets see, uh, peck, peck, peck peck. Peck, peck. Peck, peck, peck. Peck. Double peck, peck. Meck, peck, peck, peck. Meck. Peck, peck. Also, I wanted to avoid the draft because I couldn't peck conscentious ob-peck-ter status, dig?

RAG: Right... What made you decide to come back after so many years?

IBWP: McDonalds super-sized meals, Wall-Mart, internet porn and the fact that we were running out of 8-track players out there in the Bush.

RAG: 8-track players? Weren't 8-tracks a 70's thing? You've been gone since 1945.

IBWP: Uh huh. Well, unbeknownst to most humans, I made a brief comeback in the 70's. Pimp cars, blaxploitation films like Shaft and the lure of the cutting edge 8-track technology were just too much to resist. If I had timed it a little better I could've picked up an Atari 2600 too, but I came back a little early for that.

RAG: With all these adjustments to the modern world, why didn't anybody take notice back then?

IBWP: 'Cause I capped 'em. Bird watchers are easy, booooy. They just stand and stare. I can take 'em out while they go for their cameras.

RAG: Sounds pretty cold blooded. Maybe people should not have greeted your Big Comeback quite so enthusiastically.

IBWP: You call it my big comeback. I call it my Big Payback...bitch. Eyes abouts to get even, y'all.

RAG: Even with what?

IBWP: The modern mutha fuckin' world, yo. It been messin' with my eco-crib.

RAG: Just an observation here, the gang banger posturing doesn't seem to work for you my friend, even if you already have a feather in your pimp hat.

IBWP: Don't be denyin' me, G or I'ma hafta get REAL, y'all! I got a three foot wing span, man. King Kong ain't got nuthin' on me.

RAG: Okay, Denzel.

IBWP: What?

RAG: Uh huh. You heard me...Denzel. Come on, Training Day? That was only the one line anybody remembers from Training Day, because it was so overhyped in previews. Don't pretend. Before we sat down for the interview I saw your DVD collection. Training Day Special Edition, anyone?

IBWP: Oh.

RAG: Yeah.

IBWP: I'm humble now.

RAG: Kinda sad.

IBWP: I'm trying.

RAG: I see that. You didn't cap anybody in the 70's did you?

IBWP: Well, the termites.

RAG: And thats your natural food, right?

IBWP: Yeah, but I was cold...to 'em...I let 'em have it, raw. Bang, bang!

RAG: Peck, peck?

IBWP: Let me have a little glory why don't ya?

RAG: Sorry. I know its rough out there. Well since its been sixty yearss and you only live fifteen, I assume you must have continued to reproduce with some degree of success out there in the deep woods.

IBWP: Oooooooooh yeeeeeeeeah, bay-be. Mating season comes but once a day, so I have to make the most of it.

RAG: Thats terrific. Any reproduction tips for other endangered species out there?

IBWP: Doggie style!

RAG: Right. Why don't you explain to our readers how you're different from other peckers?

IBWP: I'm like a concrete cylinder. I stay hard all the time.

RAG: Say isn't that fascinating. Who are your influences?

IBWP: Woody woodpecker and Conan O'brien and any other redhead.

RAG: You watch Conan O'brien?

IBWP: I inked a deal with a birwatcher for exclusive "discovery rights" in exchange for satellite TV for ten years. I watched Sex and the City, Six Feet Under and the Sopranos right when they came out, just like everybody else.

RAG: I must say you're not what I expected. I thought maybe you'd have some things to say about cherishing the natural world before its too late or learning to find your place in nature, stuff like that.

IBWP: Oh, sure, "put out forest fires," how about that? No, no wait a second I got a better one. How's this? "Drink milk, don't do drugs." You like that one? Oh, wait, wait, wait. How about, "don't be bitter, dispose of litter"?

RAG: Well at least the last one was original. You should seriously consider leaving the forest and becoming a Vegas act.

IBWP: Already done. I signed a deal to be a circus freak with Cirque Du Soleil.

RAG: Good grief!

Faremount. Moon Valley County's district attorney, Terry Weaselmann, known for his expertise in the plea bargain, does it again.
Harry Berg, who had Faremount's finest at a standoff last month, plead guilty of the charge of 2nd degree Burglary. Mr. Berg was spotted putting a friends shotgun in his truck and police were called to investigate. He was trailed to his home, and refused to give himself up. Police fearing he would use the shotgun against them, they called out their Big Guns, who did about 6 hours of posing for Centinial camera's, eventhough the standoff was only an hour long.
Weaselmann, stated that he dropped the charges of First degree Burglary and Obstruction of Justice because Berg was a big scary man and Weaselmann stated he doesn't deal well with confrontations. Which is the reason he leaves most cases up to his bungling assistant D.A.
Come to find out, the friend of Berg, alleged victum, said if he knew it was Harry that was spotted taking his gun he wouldn't have pressed charges against him.
Harry Berg, costing the taxpayers more money than the oxygen he's worth, received 8 months probation, a slap on the wrist, and a free month in alcohol treatment thanks to the taxpayers.
"It was good chance for us to pose down." said Sargeant Leroy Pee, "anychance we can look good in our uniforms and flex a few, then we'll be there!"

Faremount. Think "zero tolerance" policy is tough in schools? Try this "buster" on for size.
The Faremount High School has implemented it's "No hats, No cell phone" policy, in effect by the start of the 2005-2006 school year.
Yes, no longer can kids wear hats or "headgear" during school hours. Why? "It distracts the students during class." Does the fact that most teenaged women wearing "hootchie mamma" clothing cause distraction factor into this? Or screen-print T-shirts that say clever sayings like "I hate you all and will return tomorrow to shoot the lot of ya!" or "Big Dick's Hot Sausages" cause distractions? No, these items aren't as distracting as a baseball cap that say things like "John Deere" or "Bobcat" or even the dreaded "TC" which is gang for "Twin Cities".
Also being banned from Faremount High School halls and classrooms, cell phones. Now this would seem like a no brainer. I would figure that most students wouldn't have the audacity to answer or make calls during class (of course I'm 80's old-school and our cell phones required a battery pack the size of a diesel engine). But whenever going to the movie theaters, sure enough, stuck in front of a row of giggling 13 year old brats, texting and calling each other in the middle of a movie.
Knowing now that our schools are safe from those hat-wearing cell phone-using thugs, puts my mind at ease now. God bless you, school board. Now I can relax as the dance team brings in brass poles during school sports, or girls old enough to be my daughters are prancing around in french whore clothes, and boys walking around with billboards for ignorant retards on their backs. No longer can we fathom why if a woman at aged 22 without a child is considered an old maid, and a kid with acne bagging my groceries has more kids than I do.

Washington D.C. Thank you's all around to Janet Jackson who staged a nipple peek during the superbowl and now the FCC is fining everyone and jailing everyone.
President Gee Dubya and his party, setting standards for decency in television, film, radio, and such, are seeking to rewrite the First Amendment in the name of child protection.
Broadcaster's such as Howard Stern, Imus and the like have been silenced, fined or jailed for their outburst of un-christian, obscenities. They have now found themselves safely nestled in the airwaves of satellite radio. But does this mean the government won't try to silence satellite. Before you scream "viva la satelite", keep in mind that cable TV was supposed to be free of the FCC, then Satellite TV, Even radio in it's glory days. The internet has low-life self-proclaimed christians policing the internet for Frank Charlie Charlie.
The other side of the coin has it's own hideaway in the media as well. It's called C-Span. The government knows that the only people who want to watch politicians argue with each other are other politicians, and conspiracy theorists. President Dubya can flip you off anytime he likes calling it his "one-fingered" victory sign. Prick Cheney can tell other members of congress to "shut the fuck up!" on C-span.
The Republican government is patting the controversial Haliburton Corp. (ran by Prick Chaney) on the back with a $145 million grant for feeding our troops in Iraq. Yeah, they fed them rotting food! According to Army inspections.
Do you think if I emptied out the green and wiggly food from my fridge and gave it to our troops I'd be given a $5 grant? Or do you think I'd be considered a terrorist and beaten to a pulp and disappear in the waters near Cuba?
It's a Dubya standard.

Faremount. This reporter tested the new security measures at the Moon Valley Security building and the court house instituted by the valiant Sheriff Gephardt and Jail Administrator Sparky Gerdles, and a whole lotta input from Tonya Skowl.
It all started when this reporter decided to not pay on an NSF check. Court date was set for March 8th. When attending court appearance, (the other party not showing up for court), I walked into the courthouse, up the stairs to court administration, signed in and attended court. No security check, no anything.
There was another court appearance that I did not know about, (hence Failure to Appear Warrant), as I paid the other party what was owed to them but I was supposed to go to court to prove that bill was paid.
I was then brought in on my warrant to the Moon Valley County Jail, my former workplace. I told my old boss Sparky that he could pat search me, as per procedure, and he refused. I was then placed in a holding cell until they could get to me. Corrections officer Tom Farry did a welfare security check and neglected to check my cell. (More than likely because he's afraid I'd kill him for trying to get on my girlfriend).
So, obviously nothing has changed there, as my complaint was that there were cigarettes, dope, and knives being smuggled into the jail without anyone pat searching the inmates as they came in to be processed.
I was bailed out by my girlfriend. I was then sent a notice to return to court on today's date if I wanted get my bail money back. I walked into the court administration office, no "visitor" badge, no sign no anything. I then went down into the lobby and obtained a badge (not really liking the idea of being in jail again) from Captain Vlad Shady of the Moon Valley Sheriff's department. As I watched other's signing in, I noticed one guy ask captain Shady if he could bring a pocket knife into court. Shady replied, "Yep, that's fine. Just don't use it. hahahahahaa!" If that isn't a setup for a bloody day in court. I wonder what they said to the terrorist who brought in a boxcutter to the planes on September 11th, 2001.
But, I got my badge, #14 (didn't want the consecutive one #13 as I'm superstitious and had enough bad luck to last a lifetime). And I also received some of my bail money back. A whopping $74.50.

Faremount/Brewman. The Catholic church bitter at their coverage in the R.A.G. Files, even more bitter as Lost Bird has acheived official "sainthood" at the Church of Justin and Latterday Saints.com.
Saturday, Lost Bird's girlfriend's two little girls celebrated their 5th and 9th birthdays. It didn't look well for the birthday plan at Seemore Crack Park in Faremount's south side. As the city's Park board did not see it fit to "accomodate" Lost Bird or the lovely Miss Spinner. Being resourceful, the two borrowed tables from good friends and set up at Seemore Crack, and went ahead with the party.
But, mom Suzanne Spinner, had contracted the Ebola virus the day previous, and could only help Lost Bird so much until reaching unconsciousness. Thanks to Spam Spinner, proud nanna and mom, who stepped up to help.
It was close to 12 kids, ranging from ages 4 to 9, mostly girls. Then the question came..."Can we all stay at Nanny's (Spam's) house?" Spam smiled and said it would be fine but Lost Bird and Suzanne would have to stay the night as well.
After a full day of setting up, entertaining, cooking, hiking and pinata bashing, Suzanne was losing consciousness. Lost Bird was concerned that she would start losing black ichor, like his cohort Hair-e-guy.
When the crew reached Spam's home in the country just outside the Brewman city limits, Suzanne took a hot bath and gave into unconsciousness. Lost Bird did not lose hope though, as Spam stood strong with him. Then, one of the party guests acquired the itchy bloody eye! Spam saw this as an opportunity to flee, and off she left with the infected guest.
Thats when the little girls began to form a circle around Lost Bird. "We're hungry!" they chanted, over and over again. Thinking quick on his feet, LB produced left over pork patties and bratwursts and with the help of a microwave, fed the starving mass before a "Donner Party" incident occurred.
Finishing the meal, a few of the older girls decided it would be fun to paint each other with the birthday cake. Lost Bird, holding his temper in his bloody ulcer ridden abdomen, cleared the mess out. In the meantime, they found cans of whipped cream and began to war with each other in the kitchen. Lost Bird felt the old familiar facial twitch and the ache in the hands. Going from feeding little kids, nursing his girlfriend, and cleaning up poop and pee from Dizzy the "Te Mimi Wha Kei Waewae" which is Maori for "bladder on four legs".
"Okay!" he tried not bellow, "Everyone into the living room!" in they went. One lonesome boy from the party, already turning effeminate from the level of "girlishness" concentrated in one area, hung close to LB.
"Us men must stick together." LB told the boy. Then an idea struck him, "Dillion," he told the boy, "collect all the firewood you can and put it in the firepit, we're going to have a bonfire!"
With the fire successfully lit, the gaggle of girls came out and sat happily by the fire and they were ready for bed by the end of the night. Lost Bird, goes down in history as Saint Los Cheep Cheep.

St. Paul. In a bout of wallowing in self pity, Hair-e-guy contemplated changing his name to Bleeding Sores Guy, Open Wounds Guy, Never Ever Pain Free Again Guy, the Hydradentitis Suprativa Diva, or Perpetually Cluster Fucked By Antibiotic Resistent Staphlococcus Aurius Guy.

Fortunately for our readers, all those names were taken so Hair-e-guy will remain Hair-e-guy, at least until the last line-of-defense super strength antibiotics finally quit working and he finally dies an agonizing but quick death from sepsis, blood poisoning, necrotized body tissue once the bacteria reaches the flesh eating stage or just plain old immune system failure. Contemplation of thse future outcomes made Hair-e-guy wax nostolgic for the good old days when all a fella had to worry about was leprosy, bubonic plague, end stage rectal rot, or Storlie's barking syndome: Chihuahua type.

Things are a little more complicated these days, what with the staph beginning to chip away at ye olde nether regions. The underarms have been savaged enough, but why not the man boobs or the hair-e-gut, why does it have to go right for the junk? Hair-e-guy lamented with woeful lamentations.

As Hair-e-guy prepares for yet another futile visit to yet another sympathetic but utterly ineffectual doctor, he contemplates a new "tough love" approach in an open letter to the bacteria that have afflicted him for over a decade, now made public and reprinted exclusively in the R.A.G. for the first time.

Dear Staphy,

we know each other well. We've been together for a long time, even longer than I've been going out with my girlfriend. By the way, she's not taking it well. She thinks its time for you to go. She knows how you treat me: I really cannot hide it anymore. Yes, yes I know you keep saying I'll come back to you but isn't it the other way around? You've been coming back to me for eleven years, maybe longer. In fact, you never left. Though you won't admit it, I think you are probably responsible for the cystic acne that made me a mutant in my tender adolescent years and kept me a virgin until age 19. No, that's not funny. Once that nightmare ended, I thought my debilitating skin problems were finally over. It was a short, sweet vacation that ended a year after the acne when you laid me out on a surgeon's table with a baseball sized cyst protruding from my left armpit. Don't apologize, it only took me about and hour to convince the doctors that an alien wasn't going to pop out of my pit and devour their children. Seriously, the pictures they took for the new addition of Mosby's Medical Dictionary of Bizarre, Grosteque and Incurable Medical Disorders in exchange for reduced cost treatment were very flattering. You know, come to think of it, getting picked to be in a medical dictionary is a real honor. It means you're a special case, a truly unique freak that might only come along once every twenty years or so. And, speaking of freaks, I still have offers on the table to join John Bartleby's Traveling Educational Exhibit of Oddities, Mutants, and Natural Perversions. Its kind of like Ripley's Believe It Or Not meets the Antiques Road Show meets the Elephant Man. They used to call these things freak shows, but now they are called educational exhibits. Thats why its banned in only 36 countries. If I want to audition, they tell me they'll pay my airfare down to Buenos Aires, no problem. They want to call me the He Has the Gross Swollen Lymph Nodes Man or Senior Infectionado de Muerto. I think the second name sounds more poetic, don't you? All these wonderfull opportunities, and I owe it all to you Staphy. But anyway, I'm rambling. Let me get to the point.

Basically what I am trying to say here is that, although our relationship has been a real treat, I'm afraid I am going to have to ask you to vacate my groin. And I'm afraid there isn't any room for negotiation on this one. See, the stuff down there is what makes me a man. I hope you understand what I'm getting at. I hope I'm being clear enough. You already claim a lot of real estate in my lymph glands elsewhere. By now you have permanently damaged nerve endings, and given me deep, permanent scars that have irrevocably ended my dream of becoming an armpit model for Vogue magazine. Isn't that enough?! Really, what more do you need to feel important? You're the Donald Trump and Bill Gates of the bacteria on my body and that will never change.

Once you gave up your penthouse apartment on my nose, there was no going back. You sold that back to my sweat glands. Please Staphy, don't blame me that negotiations between you and Subcutaneous Oil Gland Prodctions Inc., came to a stand still. Thats one loss you just gotta take for the team, buddy. Besides, you've had plenty more victories then losses in your time, my friend. Like the way you did in the Tetracycline, that was almost supernatural. Boom, boom. Bullet to the back of the gelcap and game over. Even the doctors were impressed with how quickly you became resistent. Tetra's older brother Doxycycline wasn't much of a contender either. Two years later that heavyweight bit it in round 12. TKO. Nowadays, even Keflex, the 800 pound gorilla of antibiotics, weighing in at 500 mg's per cap, can barely fight for its own life when its up against you. So I'd appreciate it if you stop acting like a sorry loser. You're not and you know it. After you finally annihilate the Big K-man, then its on to hospital antibiotics and fast track to the internal organs.

Don't think I won't fight every step. Don't think that my organs are going to lay back like pantywaists and let you do them in. Listen muchacho, I gotta liver thats already been through way more than you can ever throw. Think you're a big cat? You'll be lapping up milk outta my hands before you can even utter the words "renal failure." Think you can go for my heart, hombre? I gotta take drugs just to slow that bad boy down, its so powerful. Listen puta, consider this your final notice: you drew the first blood, I'll draw the last. You're school ain't even chartered, and I got me a ten pin o' whoop ass in the back G thats vintage oldschool '92 and waiting to pop they tops and go to towwwwwwwwn-a! I'm TNT (Turner Network television). I'm a....okay, no more Pulp Fiction ripoffs. Just get on out of me, ya hear?

--Hair-e-Guy

St. Paul. For all you internet careful Minnesotan's out there, guess what? All your private information was available for any hacker to view on the MNDMV website.
After an inspection of the website that allows Minnesota drivers to renew their plates or DL, they've found that the site is the most insecure site this side of Karachi.com. They've ordered the site closed down until they can firewall and protect the information inside. Leaves a citizen of the state of 10,000 lakes to wonder how much of us bouncing around out there wide open like a festering sore?

St. Paul. Sick and tired of spending $68 to fill up your GEO Metro? Or taking out a second mortgage to fill up your SUV?
Well, too bad, says Guv Nah Plenty in a new tax hike he's presenting. The current .20 cents a gallon tax will be raising it's ugly head this summer as he's submitted more taxes including higher taxes on cigarettes.
The gas tax hike comes in support of President Gee Dubya's plan to open oil refineries in the Alaskan Wildlife refuge. "President Dubya needs money to build them, they don't go up themselves."
Minnesotans everywhere will be looking at other modes of transportation for the summer. Or just cancelling summer vacations. Figure on paying more for products and produce, as transportation costs will escalate. Bus fare will rise, and if Minnesotans try riding their bikes to their destinations, there will be a tax on using bike trails and road shoulders.
If anyone sends me another meal about "...well milk is $2 something a gallon...." because guess what? So is gas!!! And if those people can power their little vehicles with milk than "kudos" otherwise, shut the (swear word) up!

Faremount. First of all, let's give thanks for the safe return of Hair-e-guy, and second, lets thank him for writing an article on the new Pope so that I can return to the mundane antics of this backward burg that I dwell in. ahhhhh....
Miss Suzanne Spinner is planning a birthday party for her two girls (turning 5 and 9) at Seemore Crack Park this Saturday. Calling the park board to rent out the picnic shelter in case of rain, the Faremount Park board stated that the shelter was already rented for that day. She then asked if there would be any picnic tables available. "Nope." they stated and left it at that.
Her boyfriend then called the park board, (pretending to call about the matter for the first time) they gave him the same answer. He then asked if there was a possibility to acquire some picnic tables. "Nope." came the answer. "So there's no picnic tables available out of the 15 some odd parks in this city, there's no table available anywhere?" the boyfriend asked. "Nope." was the answer. "I can pick them up myself, no one would need to transport them, I'd do it with my pick up." The answer was the same.
Realizing there was a pattern going on here. The last two weekends, with the spring weather being beautiful, Ms. Spinner and her boyfriend have taken the kids to the parks to barbecue. There were no tables, no trash bins, locked bathrooms, no anything. The couple began to wonder what they were spending their city tax dollars on.
A secret investigation followed the incidents and found that there is a "Sh!t List", started by Moon Valley Sheriff Vlad Gephardt. The list is pages of names he's given to all city businesses, services, etc of people to snub.
When asked what would cause a person or persons name to be on the list, he simply asked, "Who is this??" When told that this was an inquiry from a local news service, he commented, "Oh the Centential?" When told that it wasn't and this was a call from the R.A.G. Files, he said, "Your on the list, don't call me anymore!"
Sheriff Gephardt, then released a statement to the Centennial stating, "The area parks will be open to the public on Labor day through the start of school, only Meth heads or people with chemical abuse problems would think of using parks this early."

Vatican City. After nearly having my flesh rendered by crowds of salt worshipers hungry for sacrificial blood, I was able to apply my $35 internet ministerial knowledge toward the task of pacifying the faithful. A few Hail Marys and several tear gas canisters later I was well on way to being, well...on my way. But measely tear gas would not have been enough to beat back the catholic zombie hoardes, lost in spastic fits of rage which are characteristic of a disease called Pope Anticipation Anxiety or PAA. Sufferers of PAA become ill from excessive masturbation while trying to delay orgasm until a new pope is elected. The results are not pretty. Blue balls, tender tits, psychotic rage and sexual attraction to anything or anyone wearing white are the symptoms. The only cure is a new pope or barring that, to cut off the head and burn the body. In the later stages of PAA the sufferer is reduced to bestial howling and grunting, and roaming the streets like a wild animal looking for another crappy made for TV biblical knock off to latch on to and fixate on as though it was real.

Fortunately for this internet minister, I didn't need to save the last bullet for myself. As the white smoke emmanated from the papal smokestack, dozens of ecstatic revelers blew theirs and as it became known that German Cardinal Ratzinger had become Pope Benedict XVI, Hail Marys suddenly turned to seig heils, a sign of respect for the former German soldier and member of Hitler's Youth. Supposedly Ratzinger has repeatedly claimed he was forced to join Hitler's Youth, and this claim of innocence because it has been repeated so often, made Ratzinger a far more worthy contender for pope than any of those 3rd world wannabes. One wonders why the Roman Catholic Church would choose a former Nazi as its supreme leader even while it still copes with the fallout from having turned a blind eye to the holocaust and sheltered fleeing Nazi war criminals. If nothing else, at least the Catholic Church is consistent.

But today Ratzinger traded his brown shirt of the Nazis for white papal robes and pictures from the paparazzi. And while he is no Nazi, Ratzinger is an arch-conservative who is said to have been the Dick Cheney behind many of the repressive and medieval doctrines favored by Pope John Paul II. No birth control, no abortions, no gays, no married priests--not on the watch of the man who blamed the American priest sex abuse scandal on the media. Add "taking responsibility" for catholic policy fuck ups to the long list of things Pope Benedict will certainly not support.

At least the tenure of the new 78 year old pope is bound to be a short one.

Chicago. In the wake of the Pope's death the Catholic church seems to be holding the media attention on themselves. Without being able to vote for a new pontiff, the Catholic church body seems to be disintigrating.
People have camped out in St. Peters square awaiting the smoke from the chimney above the Sistenne Chapel. Millions of people could hear "Hey, it's white!!....It's White!!! It's...no wait...it's black....dammit!!" The white smoke means the Pope has been picked, black meaning no pope yet.
In Chicago, catholics have gathered around under a bridge where they beleive the image of The Blessed Mother Mary is said to have appeared. Candles are lit, and people are praying to the image. The R.A.G. files sent reporter Hair-e-guy out to the windy city to investigate. I trust his judgement on these miracles as he is an ordained minister via internet. Hair-e-guy sent in this tape as transcribed:
HG: I'm talking with the Illinois D.O.T. director, Guiseppe Fadone. Guisseppe, how do you explain the image of the Virgin Mary on this bridge overpass?
GF: Well, it looks like its just salt run-off from Lincoln Expressway thats stained the cement.
HG: You don't think that this is some sign from God? A miracle perhaps?
GF: (laughing quietly) No.
HG: Why are you whispering?
GF: Have you seen these people? They're insane. They're talking about trying to find a blood sacrifice for their blessed Mother.
HG: What? (turns to the crowd) You people are worshipping a salt stain and now you want to sacrifice to it?
(there is a dead silence)
HG: Oh crap!
Crowd: Blood expiation! Blood expiation!
HG: Uh, L.B., this isn't going well....Guiseppe! Where are you going?? You nut jobs let go of my herb pouch! What are you......

Hair-e-guy has yet to report back from Chicago.

Rome. Ever wonder how a pope is picked by a pack of pius paupers? Sorry, couldn't resist. The R.A.G. Files have gained access to this secret ceremony on how the pope is picked.
First of all, their are nine cardinals that are picked. Elected if you will, by a board of Church Elders. These nine cardinals, are then brought into a secret location far below in the Vatican's subchambers.
There are a series of tests that are performed on them. The following are some of these tests that we've gained access to:

1. THE HOLY TEST OF TEMPTATION: here a series of animatronic altar boys will parade around in the robotic buff, tempting the future pope.
2. THE HOLY TEST OF GREED: here the future pontiff hopeful has to give a sermon in front of a hand selected congregation, about giving 10% of their income and make them either commit suicide or take out a second mortgage on their homes.
3. THE HOLY TEST OF PONTIFFICATING: each contestant will have to eat a number of "foods" in a "Fear Factor"-type eating contest. Items included are: the unbaptized baby fat of a heathen infant, a glass of t-cells from an aborted fetus of a nun, bottled and distilled urine from the former pope.

After the Pope has been chosen, a child from every protestant religion on earth will be burnt as offerings. Black smoke reveals a bad choice, white smoke reveals a righteous choice. Fox television will air the secret conclave meeting in a new reality show pilot called "Pope on a Rope".

I, _________________________ (fill in the blank), being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of ignorant politicians who couldn't pass ninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it. If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to sit up and ask for a cold beer, it should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my spouse, children and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes and call it a day. Under no circumstances shall the members of the Legislature enacts a special law to keep me on life-support machinery. It is my wish that these boneheads mind their own damn business, and pay attention instead to the health, education and future of the millions of Americans who aren't in a permanent coma. Under no circumstances shall any politicians butt into this case. I don't care how many fundamentalist votes they're trying to scrounge for their run for the presidency in 2008, it is my wish that they play politics with someone else's life and leave me alone to die in peace. I couldn't care less if a hundred religious zealots send e-mails to legislators in which they pretend to care about me. I don't know these people, and I certainly haven't authorized them to preach and crusade on my behalf. They should mind their own business, too. If any of my family goes against my wishes and turns my case into a political cause, I hereby promise to come back from the grave and make his or her existence a living hell.


____________________ ____________
signed date
____________________ ____________
witness date

Washington. Almost every incident that costs lives in history has been caused by stupidity of our leaders.
Let's take wars...shall we? When the Nazi's were killing Jews by the thousands, we stood by and said to ourselves, "Hmmmm, sucks to be them." Then there was Korea, how many people died there until our government decided it wasn't politically poplular to be at war and the conflict still goes on. And, they have nuclear weapons now. Vietnam, how many of our boys died over there until the government decided it wasn't popular to be there. So we pulled out, leaving some of our men behind, not resolving that either. Somalia, hell the press knew more about what we were doing over there than the Marines did. We never took out the warlord oppressing the people there, and we pulled out as the election came near. The Gulf War, we went in to kick Saddam's arse and decided, since we freed Kuwait we could get out. Rowanda, another popularity contest, and yet unresolved. Afgahnistan. Iraq.
School shootings. How many of these kids could of been prevented from doing what they did. How many professionals in schools today are trained, educated and experienced at spotting warning signs of emotional troubles? How many did something about it? How many intervened? How many after the fact said, "Yeh, we knew he was depressed. And we knew he was picked on a lot. He was a loner." A "loner", and how many people in this world? And there's people out there that are loners.
9-11. Okay, how many warnings were there about that incident? If you owned a flight school and some foriegn student who is from a country that hates Americans asks you "I only want to learn how to fly a plane, not land it." What would you do? And we trained and armed the Taliban! Why are we giving favors to foreign students, when our own American-born students have to scrape to go to college?
What's going on recently? First of all, an Asian flu virus that killed millions, found it's way to over 2 dozen laboratories in America. They claim that it's highly communicable, and that they haven't found any signs of anyone getting it from their staff. They are now claiming to be destroying the virus.
Also, the U.S. Government is now banning cigarette lighters from all airline flights. Why? Because of the incident in 2002, yes 3 years ago, where a man tried to light an explosive on his shoe with a match. But still, you are allowed to carry on matches, 4 packs of matches (in case you can't get it lit the first time) just not lighters. Can you not light bombs with matches too??
The worse part about any of this. No matter what kind of catastrophe happens that wipes out a large percentage of innocent (if one conservative christian tells me that no one is innocent, we are all born sinful i'll smoke you) people. Stupid people will still be alive. In the aftermath, going "Hmm, maybe we were wrong." or "Hmm, I guess I shoulda seen that coming."

Faremount. The city's finest brandished their big guns and put on their best tough-guy look as the Centenial newspaper photographer Flip Fearsen clicked away.
Just outside the home of one Larry Berg, Faremount police officers swarmed over the yard waiting for suspect of a robbery to come out. Dressed in street clothes and their kevlar vests, some in camoflage riot gear, and others in their regular uniform, they had a stand off for over 1 hour.
Not all Faremount and Moon Valley officers were available. Faremount Officer Waller was at his moonlight job, trying desperately to take off a bolt on a Harley he's customizing. Moon Valley Deputy Chuck Longfuse was picking up the dangerous, Failure to Appear Bandit, on a warrant. And Faremount Sargeant Mack Humper was over at an ex-lovers house trying to get him some before he gets married this month.
Mr. Berg did finally give himself up. After doing so, took him out back and gave him some "education" on surrendering etiquette.
Faremount Police cheif began to speak when Sheriff Vlad Gephardt pushed him aside stating, "This is a Moon Valley Sheriff's Office matter now. I'm in charge, I got Berg to give up. I was here first."

Faremount. It was a day that followed one stressful one. This reporter was just getting home from a fairly good day. The contemplation of the upcoming $2,500 bill for IT services for virus bombing the company computer was overshadowed by the success of his three fantabulous commercials written for the local "Dairy Sneeze".
It was a reading of the daily mail, which usually consists of bills and past due bills. Then, a check of the caller I.D. and phone messages, usually just telemarketers. Then, the usual strip down and a jump in a hot shower.
Shower interrupted this day by thumping at front door. I looked out the front window and there sits a Moon Valley Sheriff's Squad. I opened the front door and an old friend, deputy Chuck Longfuse smiles at me and says, "Hey, LB, I've got dis warrant here for your arrest."
Now before I go further into this story, let me just say that I used to work for the Moon Valley Sheriff's Department. And I've heard every excuse from every kind of person there is, about why they have warrants and that it was all just a screw up on Moon Valley County's part. "Sure," I'd think to myself, "maybe you should just show up for your friggin court date you friggin mow-ron!" hahahaha!
Well, there before me, printed on a form I knew well from 5 years with the department was a warrant with my name on it, stating I failed to appear in court on March 22nd. The story behind that? I went to court for an NSF check(yes, I'm not proud of that, but my divorce has really messed with finances) at the beginning of March. The other party didn't show for the court date so they postponed the hearing to March 22nd, so I asked the court if I could just pay the fine and be done with it. They said to work it out with that party. I called them and they agreed to accept payment (via cashiers check in the amount of $74.66) and call it good.
Well, it evidently wasn't good, because I received a warrant for failure to appear and went to jail for it. Thank God, girlfriend Susan Spinner came with bail money and got me out that evening.
So looking back at how Karma has worked in my life: when I weighed only 138 lbs, I used to make fun of fat people. I then gained weight and weighed in at close to 300 lbs. I did lose the weight though and went down to 225 lbs (but climbed up to 240 now). I used to have a predjudice against Asian people, (Lao and Mung especially), I worked in the hearing industry which consisted of 95% Asian (yes, Lao and Mung). A Lao co-worker, was determined to be my friend and used to buy me gifts, bring in homemade food for me and a $65 case of rice beer and called me his "brother". I used to come down on divorced couples and now I'm newly divorced.
So, it's been a bad week so far. I still can't wait to see this IT bill. I wonder if I can't write off the cigarette breaks I took with the IT tech?

Brewman. Known Hepatitus C carrier and crack whore, Dizzaray Fahl, was struck last week by a pick up truck. Due to complications of her injuries, she died last Saturday at St. Joseph A. Manual Hospital in Pankato.
"Dizz", as she was called by her friends, "White Tornado" by her clientelle, made her living early in life as a stripper for many different "gentleman's clubs" in the area. During which time she developed a cocaine habit. The "exotic dancing" gig wasn't paying the bills or the supplier so she decided that prostitution would do the trick. Along with the stipend of her rich parents (the infamous Fahl's of Faremount, Fahl Lake named after them), she was making money hand over fist.
Eventually, the legality of her career caught up with her and she was arrested by the Moon Valley Sheriff's department. Then headed by Sheriff Bob Messy, who was really a puppet for captian Kent Seegar. Ken worked out a professional relationship with her, she would do "favors" shall we say for him, and he would overlook any legal trouble she'd get into. Favors from sexual, to tipping him off on other crimes.
The relationship was fruitful until Sheriff Messy lost the election to Vlad Gephardt. The new sheriff replaced retired Seegar with Vlad Shady and "Dizz" lost her legal connection.
Due to her "service" to the area, Mobile Moguls, Inc. has donated a memorial speed bump at the spot on highway 15 where she was struck.
"Well, with the spring season here," commented Mobile Moguls CEO, Hair-e-guy, "we don't have much business in mobile mogulity."

Faremount. How do you get your news? The paper? Controlled by the advertising dollar? The radio? Controlled by the Republican influenced F.C.C.? The internet? The television? In Faremount, they rely on good old fashion rumor.
Rumour's have perpetuated the news in small towns across America, hell, the world for eons. Some communities have phased out of going by rumours, but not good 'ol Faremount. Because in Faremount, they don't like change. Technology. Even the Centinial newspaper runs their circulation department with a typewriter and an Apple II E computer. The source of most news stories come from rumours called in to the paper.
Sheriff Vlad Gephardt basis most his investigations on rumour. And usually when it's found out to be just that, a rumour, he makes up his own facts and goes ahead with his investigation anyways.
Elmer Academy for troubled youth, likes to cover their tracks with rumours. Usually, it's better to make them about past employees who aren't there anymore to defend themselves.
Big L, formerly L Mart, likes to perpetuate rumours to cover up their mismanagement of store operations and the high turn-around of their employees.
Why do people like rumours? Because their lives are pathetic. Uninteresting. And why not see if we can scare up a little pain and complication in someone elses life. People like to see how far their words can go whether true or not.
This reporter has fallen victum to this "newssource" in this town many times. As well as my girlfriend. Not once but quite a few. It has cost us our jobs, our reputation, and our peace of mind. But it's nice to know that our lives are so interesting that people need to know about them.

Faremount. Sister station to KFMT, KSOM aka 1730 am Todays Best Country, has a program called the "Trading Post" at 8:30am. The program accepts snail mail, email and faxed submissions of items for sale by individuals around the area. The following is an actual submission by a woman, aged 57, from Faremount:

"Fur Sale, I don gots on baby hammer. i don paye $25 fo it. will acce exxe tak better munny fo it. baby hammer fo sal call me if want baby hammir. 507-555-3234. dun leef a messag if I not hom. baby hammer. or best munny."

First off, a "fur" sale? What's a "baby hammer"? Is this a "hammer" to split the skull of "Baby" seals for their "Fur"? Is "Munny" ancient currency? What the hell?

If anyone out there knows what a "baby hammer" is, please tell the R.A.G. Files. We were under the impression we knew everything, ie. Mobile Moguls, Inc. But there's always something new.

Faremount. Having inadvertantly invited a virus to play havoc upon the company computer system, Lost Bird has been barred from the internet at his place of employment, radio station KFMT (aka Best Real Classic Rock Mix 105.6 FM).
It was innocent enough, looking for some news stories on the local web page when pop-up windows filled the screen like bunny rabbits in spring.
KFMT general manager, Goodie Goodard, told Lost Bird that he could not use the internet on company computers indefinitely, and could only use his measly MS Word program to type out his commercials about hybrid soybeans, with corn-borer insecticide, or the S225 Skid Steer Front Load Capacity tractor, etc.
So now, Lost Bird, hiding in the recesses of the janitor's closet, hops on the internet when he can. Wary of the oncoming viruses waiting to invade again.
Lost Bird is charged $60 per hour that it takes the IT tech to fix the problem. So far, the IT Tech has been working on the problem for 40 hours. Lost Bird stopped having smokes with the IT Tech, as he realized he was paying for this time and was borrowing said IT Tech smokes.

St. Paul. Fallout from a Spinner hair coloring mishap sent shockwaves through this sleepy community of beer swilling hotdish addicts. After the final devastating outbreaks of uncontrolled giggling were extinguished, Nice Spinner was left with a head of white orange hair. After briefly pondering a possible career posing as "Orangey" the moldy orange, who speaks to elementary school classes about the dangers of consuming moldy or spolied fruit, the Spamster stepped up to the plate with her U Have Power N' Stuff positive attitude and her Get R Done enthusiastic spirit of service and said, "we're gonna fix it kiddo." The very next day at the crack of noon, the Spinners went to a hair salon and the Spamster watched over her emotionally wounded offspring as a doctor in hair color-ology lovingly returned Nice Spinner's hair, strand by tender strand to back to the realm of non-moldy orange reality. Today, Nice Spinner remains a vibrant, vivacious, firey auburn with a fiesty spirit and can-do atiitude to match. She reflects on the incident as a turning point in her life, and ponders the lessons she learned in a tell-all memoir entitled My Life As An Orange, the Sacred Journey of Mothers and Daughters and Oranges. The book is already being hailed as an instant chick-lit classic and has made best seller lists despite not having yet been released. Find it in bookstores soon.

St. Paul. Today marks the opening of the much anticipated Man Stuff City Park, near an abandoned industrial site near the Mississippi River. The idea for the park came about as an epidemic of old dude hook-ups began to get worse at Crosby Farm Park in spite of stepped up undercover sting operations by St. Paul police officers. Crosby Farm Park is well known as the site where the 2005 medallion was found during the winter carnival’s Pioneer Press Treasure Hunt. It is also known as a place where many dudes are found, examining others dudes' treasure trails.


Despite the success of the sting operation, it did not act as the deterrent that the police department had hoped it would. “Yeah, we expected the number of pot-bellied males seeking pot-bellied males would level off as publicity of the enforcement effort increased,” said Sgt. Lance Rimroy. Currently, once a sweaty dude tries to make nice with a police officer they are arrested, humiliated, photographed and the photographs are published on the internet along with the perp’s name and address. The officer then calls the dude’s wife. After being photographed and paying the fine, which most perpetrators do on the spot, they are handed the arresting officer’s service pistol, one round, directed to go behind the bushes “where its less messy” and aim carefully for the forehead before pulling the trigger. “Unfortunately, even more encounters resulted from the publicity. We later learned that the officers involved in the sting effort were actually getting some man to man action out of it, leaving many of our cases in an expensive and dubious position.”


The rate of dude hook-ups ceased to level off, and people on family outings were complaining to the city about injuries due to slipping on used condoms. "It was out of control," said Sgt. Rimroy. "One kid broke his arm after slipping on a rough rider. That isn't fair." Therefore, the City of St. Paul decided to opt for a more novel approach: Man Stuff City Park, where middle aged, closeted gay men will be welcomed and even encouraged to do their mouth breathing, sweaty palmed, middle aged pot-bellied dude thing in a sheltered environment.


According to Sgt. Rimroy, “there will be some very clear rules of etiquette that will be vigorously enforced with a vigorous pumping motion and anyone who violates those rules will be kicked out of the park. First of all, no minors are allowed. The park will be managed by an attendant and open from noon to 2:00 a.m. All men entering the park will be checked to make sure they at least thirty nine years of age, balding, rumply and gross. The patrons will be required to lift up their shirts to determine the size and sag of their man boobs and belly. Men with fun bags that have no hair or don’t wiggle like blobs of jelly will not be admitted. Men with stomachs that do not give the appearance of late stage pregnancy will not be admitted to the park.” In addition to these rules, dudes seeking a more authentic exhibitionist thrill must still retreat behind one of the many spare bushes located in the park. They must also read and sign a pamphlet published by the city titled The Dangers of Wanking With Strangers.


Sgt. Rimroy further explained that a large three sided shelter with a concrete floor and wooden stalls will be set up to further enhance the man stuff that will take place. Priests will be given a separate area marked with a cross so that they can hook up with other priests if they choose, and have a religious bang.


Funds for Man Stuff City Park were allocated from the city budget by slashing extra services for the disabled. “All it means is that deaf and blind people won’t get a mandatory interpreter when they go to traffic court,” said Sgt. Rimroy. However, funding for extra services will probably be restored if the new park turns a profit, which is anticipated do to entrance fees, stall fees and condom and lube sales.


Several sweaty, anonymous dudes have proposed starting new city festivals in Man Stuff City Park, but several city council members have expressed concern that the general public might not be ready for Wankathon 2005, the Renaissance Rimjob Festival, or to install a money shot target practice range even though archery ranges exist elsewhere in the city. Nevertheless, such proposals have been enthusiastically flooding the switchboard at St. Paul City Hall. One group, the Sweaty Officer’s Ass O See A-shun, has proposed a special area in the park for dudes with badges to get their fireman fix or rub mustaches with other cops. Because the proposal was made by a police officers’ group, it will be taken seriously by city council.

Vatican City. Pope John Paul II has now joined the ranks of hundreds of other dead popes who have been dead longer than six days. The difference between Pope John Paul II and the hundreds of thousands of other popes who have been dead longer than six days is that this pope is still above ground, getting around and performing his pope-ly duties just fine with a little help from his friends. Though most cardinals wearing red coats and pointy hats only weigh approximately nine ounces and spend most of their time perched in twigs and branches, it is these same hardy little fellows who have been hauling the pope around on a large pope-slab for days on end. After the tenth or twelfth day of hauling the pope around, they will remove the pontiffs glitzy vestments, his spiffy duds, his sweet ass staff and the emergency spliff the pontiff always kept hidden in his personal frankincense burner. Tu Placer Tu Weedum Internum Thereum, the pope always used to say or translated from the Latin, “you put your weed in there.”


These items were designed by famous Italian clothiers four centuries ago, and are considered priceless. They are recycled at the end of each popehood, and given to the next pope, whose electability rests at least in part on his indiscriminating sense of smell. The pope’s vestments were specially designed to resist wine stains, cigarette smoke, and the body odor emanating from a dead pope long before mortuary science had devised modern embalming techniques. Nevertheless, ten days of even the best preserved pope seemed to be stretching the limits of what the special vestments and the pope’s successor are prepared to tolerate.


This reporter phoned the Vatican to see how they were handling the situation and was referred to Cardinal Tortellini, special representative of the Dead Pontiffs Society, a unique, secretive holy order within the Roman Catholic Church which sees to all aspects of the care and needs of deceased Holy Sees as well as the screening of films dedicated to uplifting the hearts and minds of us all by illuminating us through the story of oppressed private school children who need to be educated by Robin Williams that literature can teach us to better appreciate life’s blessings and liberate our spirits to transcend our authoritarian, dogmatic social environments. Or stuff like that, you see.

The R.A.G. Files: Your Eminence, how did you get into the Dead Pontiffs Society?

Cardinal Tortillini: I’ve always been interested in the problems of dead popes ever since I was a kid. Especially the odor issue. I used to sew together miniature vestments and put them on road kill I found, just to, you know, see what would happen.

RAG: And what did happen?

Torti: Well my experiments always failed. I tried to freeze them, but I didn’t realize at the time that a dead pope has to be ambulatory. A frozen dead pope just is not going to meet the needs of grieving people. We can’t really do too much with a popescicle, can we? [laughs maniacally]

RAG: I wouldn’t know, Your Eminence. Is there any kind of Vatican protocol or canon laws on what can and can’t be done with a popescicle?

Torti: No.


RAG: Moving on, what exactly do your job duties consist of?



Torti: Great question. Nuts n’ bolts. I like that very much. Sure. Once the pope is good and nasty, we have to take his vestments off and clean off the dead pope goobers for the new live pope. Its that simple. I can go into exactly details about the process which we have a special dead pope vestment cleaner formula which would cease to be profitable if every layperson knew what was in it. I will tell to this: ten days of being dead makes most people bloat, popes included. Sometimes the vestments are so tight we have to cut them off. We have to be very careful not to puncture the skin because of the potential gasses—

RAG: —Thank you very much for your time Your Eminence, it seems you have too much of it, if you’ll pardon a little sarcasm.


Torti: My pleasure.

London. It's been a media battle that's been fought since the Church of England (Anglican) broke away from the Catholic church.
It started when Lady Diana was killed by the paparazzi in France, in the meantime Mother Theresa died of natural causes. What did world audience want? Coverage of Lady Diana. From her funeral, biopic's and books. Did people want to hear about how one woman gave up worldly things to serve the poor? Hell, no, they wanted to hear about how Lady Diana was whoring around on Prince Charles and visa versa. They wanted to make a saint out of Lady Diana. Did she give up the lifestyle and money to serve her causes for AIDS or landmines? No, but she was a Princess. A hot one at that. One that thought it would be cool to live the life of a royal, but she didn't want to follow the rules of a Royal. She had weeks of media coverage, while Mother Theresa got a 15 minute stint on CNN.
Now, in this corner, Pope John Paul II. One of the longest serving pontiffs in Vatican history. In the other corner, Prince Charles. Sire to the future king of England. Living off his country men's taxes when not really doing anything for the country. One is getting married, the other buried.
The victor? Pope John Paul. Prince Charles one mistake, mumbling how much he hates the press into a hidden microphone.
So, Prince Charles has been forced to concede and he postponed his wedding day ahead one day to attend the Pope's funeral.
With the score tied, we'll have to wait eagerly by our television sets and await the next media sensation. I mean "News".

Rome. Catholics and Christians everywhere are wondering just what the hell is going on.
In a huge media attempt, the entire Christian and Catholic community prayed to keep Terry Schiavo alive. It didn't work. Then, in one last deperate attempt, they all turned their efforts towards the Pope.
Sadly, the Pope expired in his apartment on Saturday evening. The crowd in front of St. Peters square looked up to the heavens and were like, "What the...?"
Some report that, "The Lord works in mysterious ways." the old cliche when something you pray for doesn't happen.
Others say, "I ain't prayin' for no Pope to live! Them heathen Catholics wuz! Us Looterns don't worship no Pope! Hell, we done wanted him gone anyhoo!"
The otherside of the coin, "It was those bloody protestants! Always prayin for us Catholics to go to hell! We're the original church! Not them! They prayed to their Mary-less god and did this!"
Muslims stated, "If dah Pope would have followed Allah, den none of dis would've happened. Look at Osama, he prays to Allah daily, and he is still alive."
There were also statements made blaming the devil, "I don't know why our prayers haven't worked, I think it has to do with Satan. He's killing us all little by little, seducing us in the ways of the world, seducing us...making us touch ourselves...making us want things carnal and primeval...oooh....making us want....WANTING....WANTING....always WANTING!!!"
At any case, it seems that prayer is not working. Of course, if they did work, the world would be full of Angelina Jolie look-alikes, that wanted nothing more than to date half-maori half-irish men in their mid-30's. And that...is just plain silly.

I couldn’t. At least, the odds would be against me if I was ever foolish enough to apply. But then again, why would I want to go to school at Bob Jones University? Why, indeed.


When I was standing in line just before the start of the commencement ceremony to receive my Bachelor of Arts degree from Metropolitan State University, the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences joked to me that it was fitting that we moved the tassels on our caps from the right side to the left at the completion of the graduation exercises. Moving the tassel merely symbolizes the completion of one’s education, or a part of it. Yet, the Dean was referring to the ideology of right and left, and how it was appropriate that we moved the tassel to the left given what he knew about my personal politics. I jokingly asked him in turn what he thought they did for commencement at Bob Jones University. “Oh,” he said with a wink, “they probably just keep the tassel on the right and shake it a little, if they move it at all.” Even though I was joking, I think the Dean may have been serious.


Browsing through their website, I found that BJU is a place of strict limitations and strange, surreal contrasts. Bob Jones is arguably the most conservative university in the United States. It received some minor publicity in recent years because it was the only remaining university that forbade inter-racial dating among it’s students. President Bush was also criticized for making a campaign visit to BJU, in light of its dating policy. It is a policy that Bob stubbornly adhered to right into the millennium, even though it disallowed them from ever receiving supplemental federal funding after a 1983 court decision that revoked their tax exempt status.


The policy of discrimination extends far beyond the realm of race relations at Bob Jones. Interestingly, Bob has what it calls a “nondiscriminatory policy” but this only extends to minorities of “race, color, national or ethnic origin” not minorities adhering to different “creeds” or to sexual minorities. The “nondiscrimination” is further revealed in a nuanced but a careful reading of the online student application. The online student application asks for three references, but one has to come from a pastor. The application also asks detailed questions about church attendance, the potential students’ marital status and the potential students’ parents’ marital status (by asking for mother’s and father’s last names separately). Presumably, potential students who are divorced or whose parents are divorced are denied admission. Added to that list might be students who answer the further nosy questions about drug and alcohol use. After all, god never had a problem with punishing the sons for the “sins” of their fathers, so why should Bob Jones University?


Interestingly, aside from the intensive purity test there are not very many questions on the application that seem designed to asses the intellectual capabilities of potential students. From what I can tell, BJU does not require anything beyond GED or some other type of highschool graduate equivalency. In shifting focus from what Bob expects of students to what Bob offers, one comes back to the brick wall of what Bob expects.


Bob offers its students the intellectual rigors of a Creationist Biology department of “scientists” whose sole pursuit is putting a scientific veneer on attempts to validate biblical propaganda. They use big words, wear white coats and use the title “Dr.” the way I use the bathroom—freely and without guilt.


Bob also offers students the opportunity to thrive in a spiritual environment where strict dress codes are enforced at all times. Men must wear ties, shave every day, cannot wear baggy pants, t-shirts or any other worldly clothes item. Women must dress like your great grandmother did, and the sexist rules at Bob even explicitly insist that women’s hairstyles must be “feminine” and not cut too short. Given the extreme lengths that Bob goes to prevent any possibility of male-female interaction (let alone fornication: men and women on “dates” at Bob are chaperoned at all times, meaning no hand holding allowed, among other things) one would think that the university would have incentive to encourage women to look less feminine. Ah, but given the fact that same sex interaction is the perfect ideal at Bob, I can see how that might present too much temptation for even the straightest sex starved gentleman or lady.


For those Straight Edge folks out there who feel they could survive four years of no sex, no drugs, and no booze at a university they should realize that rock n’ roll and un-made beds are added to the list of prohibitions at Bob. It only takes three music infractions to get expelled from Bob, and just about every type of music qualifies including rock, jazz, new age, and yes even Christian Contemporary! But that’s not all. Like a military academy, Residence Advisors actually inspect beds daily to make sure they are made. An un-made bed can result in more infractions. More than half a dozen different kinds of mandatory prayer group sessions must be attended as well. And work? Forget about it unless you have a chaperone with you at all times, and unless you can find a job that does not serve alcohol to patrons. Between making sure your tie is perfect, finding an ideologically pure job, mandatory bed making and prayer meetings and “touch free” dates, where does one even find the time to attend class?


If you do find the time, you’ll have a wonderful array of majors to choose from. Four different degrees in “bible,” five separate degrees in Christian ministry, four degrees in—I’m not kidding—missionary aviation, but for the extreme student, bent on thrill seeking there is always a rebellious degree in…piano pedagogy. Sure, who said music was banned? Just don’t bring your Jerry Lee Lewis sheet music to class!

Bob it seems, is something of a sheltered workshop for those poor souls who might desire transportation to another century. The university takes youth on the cusp of adulthood, and turns them into children who must expend equal amounts of mental energy crafting an excuse or apology for an un-made bed as they do preparing for their next test in Christian piano music. It is interesting that many schools are accused of not adequately preparing students for life in the “real world” by virtue of providing an atmosphere that prolongs adolescence.

But one wonders what Bob’s students do once they are released from their four years of university paternalism and their roles as totally dependent children. Do they panic when they find themselves in an apartment of their own and having to decide between making a bed or getting to work on time? Do they fold under the pressure of making a selection at the music store? Even the Christian music store? Or do they avoid the uncertainty of modern life altogether by banding together with other emotional invalids and hopping from the sheltered enclave of their rigid university life to the sheltered enclave of a church residence, a remote mission, or a religious gated community. One thing that is certain, is that Bob does not prepare its students for life in the 21st century.

St. Paul. On a recent trip to the Big City to visit her eldest daughter, Spam Spinner decided she wanted her red headed daughter Nice, to return to the blonde world she once knew. Ms. Spinner suggested her daughter purchase a box of Mega Magic Super Blonde, whose motto states: "Your Friends Will Swear You're A Swede Or Your Money Back...In Euros!!" She promised to apply the Super Blonde, to her daughter and so she did.

Disaster struck when the strong dye was applied, and the rinse revealed a head of rainbow colored hair that went from white in front to orange in back.

"I followed the directions exactly!" Ms. Spinner (a.k.a. the Spamster) swore up and down under intense questioning. "I'll make it right! I'll pay to get it fixed at any salon, whatever it takes!" she said.

"I don't want to spend the whole weekend at a salon," Nice Spinner said in reponse.

Madeline Spinner, who was present during the disaster made no comment but rolled her one good eye, sighed and placed her paw on the reporter when questioned about her role.

Several phone calls to Mega Magic Super Blonde were not returned, but in the interests of full disclosure we must reveal that they are not open during the hours we called.

The reporter and Spam Spinner avoided laughing for as long as they could. And when they did laugh, it was muffled laughter and they turned aside and lowered their heads in shame. Although no tangible evidence exists yet, this reporter believes that Nice Spinner may well be plotting a painful, slow death for him at this very moment.

Faremount. Well, where else did you think the begining of the End would start? In some biblical location of significance??
Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce, and a trillion others predicted the End Times, and now we know they are finally here.
"...and a third of the earth will perish by fire, earthquakes and flooding..."
-Well, the tsunami and earthquakes over in Indonesia are having there way with the people as we speak.
"...and the Beast shall make the peoples of earth take a mark on their right hand or their forehead. It is a human number...that number is 666...and no one shall be allowed to buy, sell or barter lest they receive the mark..."
Gee Dubya is joining with the European Union in making it's citizens, (ie. us), carry a biometric card, or National Identity card. The card has a microchip in it that has all our information in it, as well as being able to be tracked by a built-in GPS. Dubya stated, "You will not be able to travel without this card. You won't be considered a citizen and you won't be able to vote."
"...in those times, father will go against son, mother against daughter, brother against brother...they will be terrible times like none have ever been...."
Hey, if society didn't suck now, there wouldn't be things like the R.A.G. Files. C'mon!
"...and the lamb will be struck down..."
The Pope, let's not kid ourselves people....

And finally: "...and the Heavens will be silenced, and the earth...."
In some freak weather pattern, the wind stopped blowing for five straight minutes in Faremount. According to local meteorologist (okay, a pig farmer who's never stepped outside of his 40 acre plot), "Hell, I don't remember a day in my 87 years uh pig farmin' that the wind done stopped. Looky like the 'pacolips goin' tah happen."

As the residents of Faremount gather in their churches praying for God to have mercy on their souls, (God by the way laughing as they have no souls), this reporter is getting out my frog, locust with the head of a man stinger of a scorpion repellant, and my girlfriend, a bottle of tequila and I'll see you at the end!!!