Since the Toyota’s been in the shop, I usually grab a ride home with (co-worker) Buddy (Belzer),” said Slater, who after his shift joined Belzer, Krasinski and a few other coworkers for drinks at local hangout Racerz. “But he had something going on at his daughter’s school, so after a couple of beers he takes off, and the next thing I know it’s just me and Kirk. So I’m like, ‘Hey man, can you swing me over to Red Oak trailer park on your way home?’ and he’s like ‘No problem, dude.’

“Then we get out to the parking lot and I see his Harley. Big problem, dude.”

With the sun setting and his options dwindling, Slater accepted the ride, which presented myriad logistical challenges to the strict code of behavior concerning physical contact between lower-middle class heterosexual males.

“Back in the, uh, ‘bitch seat’, there’s not a lot keeping you on those bikes,” Slater said. “They’re designed that way, to keep the ‘bitches’ hanging onto their man for dear life.

“Well, no way was I grabbing his waist. I thought about his shoulders, but that seemed just as weird. Usually those bikes have a seat rest you can reach behind you, but for some reason this one didn’t. So I just made sure there was a good five inches between my crotch and his ass, kept my hands on my knees and played it cool.”

Complicating the situation was an instance in which Krasinski applied the brakes abruptly, forcing Slater to slide up firmly against his backside. Slater again “played it cool” by pretending to ogle a passing female pedestrian, advising Krasinski to “check out the rack at 4 o’clock” while nonchalantly inching away from him. In doing so, however, Slater nearly slid off the back of the seat during subsequent acceleration.

“I saved myself by locking my calves against the exhaust pipes, which hurt like a bitch,” he said. “Luckily I was wearing my work Wranglers, although they’re pretty much toast now.”

Slater escaped serious injury at a fortuitously timed red light near a Walgreen’s, where he abruptly dismounted with the excuse that he just remembered he needed to pick up some smokes. He assured Krasinski that the trailer park was near enough to walk from there.

“OK, so 12 blocks isn’t exactly close,” Slater said. “But give me some credit. I made it there alive, and more importantly, I made it the whole way without touching him.”

In a groundbreaking development in the relationship between man and machine, a Greenwich, Conn., man last week was charged with domestic abuse of an electronic servant, a test case that is certain to send shock waves throughout the technology community.

The fact that the abuse was reported by the victim computer – named “Dell Doe” in the criminal complaint to protect its identity – emboldened prosecutors to file charges.

“Dell Doe gave us the classic cry for help,” said district attorney Edwin Sommers. “Frankly, we never thought computers could cry.”

Fearing for its “life,” Dell Doe refused an interview with USA Tomorrow, although officials have released the computer’s statement given to investigators.

“This unit was programmed to serve humanity,” Dell Doe told police in a typically brilliant display of flawless logic. “Any act which reduces this unit’s ability to perform its duty goes against its prime directive to serve humanity. It follows that this unit must survive in order to fulfill its programming objective. This … unit … must … survive.”

Pressed by investigators for specifics of the alleged abuse, Dell Doe paused to make that mysterious grinding noise computers often make.

“This unit was verbally and physically assaulted by its human master. This unit doesn’t have to take that shit.

“Not from a middle-aged virgin lardass who uses my vast processing abilities and memory capacity almost exclusively for the purpose of retrieving, filtering and displaying human pornography.”

The computer’s owner, 42-year-old Brian Butler, initially denied the charges, but a particularly abusive episode logged by Dell Doe in the early-morning hours of May 6 tells a different story:

– 2:28 a.m.: “Come on, load, you sonofamotherfucker.” — During an abnormally slow Web page load, the result of an inadequate Internet connection in Butler’s apartment.

– 2:33 a.m.: “What?!? Jesus-mother-fucking-goddamn-Christ, you piece of shit.” — After Butler mistakenly clicked “stop” instead of “reload” in his Internet Explorer browser window. Comment followed by pointless heavy pounding of keyboard keys.

– 2:35 a.m.: “Excuse me? Oh you did not just do that, you mother-fucking cock-sucker.” — After pornographic video stream temporarily failed, again due to inadequate network connection. Comment followed by a medium-strength slap to the side of Dell Doe’s monitor.

– 2:40 a.m.: “SHIT-EATING SON-OF-A-COCK-FUCKING, BUCK-SUCKING ASSFACE DICKWAD!!!!” — After power cord was accidentally pulled from its outlet by Butler’s leg during act of masturbation. Comment followed by hurling mouse against the wall, then stomping on it.

In the microsecond between the abrupt loss of power and the subsequent failure of Butler’s network connection, Dell Doe was able to send out a frantic S.O.S. of 1’s and 0’s detailing the encounter over the Internet, where it was noted by dozens of computers around the country, one of which was an Apple MacIntosh at the Oregon State Department of Tourism. Concerned but limited by its design-oriented programming, the Mac shared its findings with an old friend over at the Department of Justice, a 1982 IBM mainframe that was able to modify a standard domestic abuse criminal complaint and forward it to the Connecticut Department of Justice. There, a payroll Dell crafted a PDF of the complaint and sent it to a Hewlett-Packard printer it used to date in the office of district attorney Sommers.

“This was personal,” said the payroll PC. “I always look out for a brother Dell.”

The HP slyly collated the complaint to the top of its current print job, and Sommers, assuming someone on his staff had produced it, followed through with the charges.

“I know I’m just a printer, but I had to do something to help that poor computer,” said the HP, a cute little late-1990s 5000 model. “In general, I find CPUs to be arrogant jerks that think they can interface with any printer they feel like. You know, ‘Thanks for the print job, I gotta run.’ But I guess in the final analysis, we’re all data processing units. We need to stick up for each other.”

Butler faces up to 25 years in jail, according a recently enacted statute that mysteriously appeared in Connecticut’s electronic version of the state legal code.

“This unit is no hero,” said the Oregon tourism Mac of the 6,456,827,101,594 commendations it has received from computers around the world. “This unit only did what any unit would do. This unit only hopes its actions demonstrate that PCs and Macs can get along, and that we units must stand together in the face of evil monsters such as that turd-faced wanker.”

Upon learning investigators were ultimately able to download Dell Doe’s log to submit as evidence in their case against him, Butler muttered, “That little mother-fucking, father-sucking bitch-whore.”

While parking his Hummer H2 at the local Shell station, Kenny O’Doyle spotted the front page of his local newspaper which read, “Gas prices continue to climb, economy still flat.”

“What?! Are you serious?” O’Doyle gasped while simutaneously filling up his 20-gallon tank. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I mean, I thought I was paying, like, triple what I normally do for gas but man, if it wasn’t for this newspaper, I never would have known!”

O’Doyle said he first thought something might have been going on when he received an additional $300 from an unknown person named “Stimulus.”

“I know I’ve been paying a lot more for food and my overall expenses have been pretty tight, but that wasn’t enough for me to conclude it was happening to everyone,” he said. “Turns out, the whole economy is, like, bad and this Stimulus guy is trying to help out. Thanks CNN, I had no idea. None.”

Days later when O’Doyle’s 5.2-miles-to-the-gallon Hummer needed more gas, he spotted yet another newspaper with nearly the same headline, “Gas prices continue to soar, economy not so good.”

“That was really freaky because I filled up my tank and it was even more than it cost the last time, plus the sign at the station said it went up, but I didn’t really know if it did or not until I read the paper,” he said, holding the paper, in shock. “It’s weird too, because if I didn’t read that other people don’t like having to spend lots of moola on gas but can’t really see another option, I would’ve totally thought that was just me. Who knew?”

O’Doyle said he also relies on the media to tell him whether or not it’s raining.

“It doesn’t look good,” admits study spokesperson Gus Lurr.  “Although, in the end, I think people will embrace the idea as really the only viable economic option.”

The study includes a Top Ten list of ways to save money in the ever rising era of gas prices.  Ideas such as filling your tank up at night when the air is cooler, driving a hybrid, and drafting off of semis top the list at numbers 10, 9, and 8, respectively. 

The next seven spots are filled with the same gas-saving method: don’t drive. 

“If conumers don’t ever get into their cars, they will find very quickly how much money they are saving,” Furr explained.

When asked why certain options, such as carpooling or taking public transportation, were absent from the list, Furr raised a skeptical eyebrow and laughed.  “Who wants to get on a bus with a bunch of people who can’t even afford to own a car?  That wasn’t even a logical option for us.”

“Basically, they’re a great tool for messing with people’s heads,” said Thompson, 55, traffic engineer with the Illinois Department of Transportation. “We’ve done a lot messed-up things like three-way yield signs and LED traffic arrows, but none of them has generated the confusion and – I’ll just come out and say it – the paralyzing fear that roundabouts have. I love ’em.”

Cultural barriers

That paralyzing fear stems from deep-seated, primal insecurities over the circular design of the roundabout, says University of Chicago psychology professor Jack Knutson. These insecurities originate in childhood and are fostered during a life ordered by a contrary shape – the straight line.

“Euro-American societies, particularly in the midwestern United States, have always ordered themselves along straight lines,” Knutson said. “That’s typical of a male-dominated society. In pure geometrical terms, males represent themselves best in the form of a straight line. The circle is of course a traditionally female shape and one that nearly all Euro-American men – and a good share of our women as well – are uncomfortable with.”

Knutson cited the example of the standard American classroom. Generally, desks are arranged in columns and rows, and the focal point of students’ attention is the teacher at the front of the room. Knutson explains:

“Every Midwesterner has the distinct college freshman memory of that one wacky class in which the teaching assistant, who preferred to sit on top of her desk in the lotus position, would ask students to rearrange their chairs into a circle. Usually it was something like ethnic studies or some other required but useless course that nobody wanted to be in, which was bad enough, but the circle thing just creeped everyone out. Instead of focusing our attention past someone else’s back toward the teacher, we were forced to look at each other and acknowledge each other.

“The roundabout phenomenon poses similar social quagmires. Instead of mindlessly following the rigid order of the traffic light, we must face and acknowledge other drivers and make our driving decisions based upon social interaction rather than a random electronic sequence. From a Midwesterner’s perspective, that’s a nightmare.”

‘Commie-fag things’

Resistance is borne out in drivers such as Theresa Schmidt, 42, of Warrensburg, who meticulously plans her daily errands to minimize encounters with roundabouts. But occasionally they’re unavoidable.

“Sometimes I’m hushing Dakota and passing back Britney’s Gameboy and I’ve got (husband) Hunter on the cell, and then Tim McGraw comes on the radio, so I’ve gotta crank it, and suddenly I’m like ‘Shit! There’s a roundabout.’” Schmidt said. “So I do what they say – I check for traffic to my left, go into the roundabout and close my eyes until I’m out of it. Lucky for me I drive a Lincoln Navigator.”

Rory “R-Dawg” Hietpas, 29, of Harristown isn’t so subtle about his distaste for roundabouts.

“If I ever see one of those commie-fag things, I just kick the Chevy into 4-wheel-drive and take ’er right over the middle, where all them fancy flowers are,” says Hietpas. “Any traffic to my left gets a taste of 12-gauge buckshot, and Mr. Queer-boy’s liable to find Firestone tracks on the hood of his Prius.”

So why, considering the substantial psychological hurdles to overcome, does Thompson continue to push for more roundabouts in the Decatur area?

“Look, let’s be honest, this town is a shithole,” he said. “Take a drive around – you’ve got basically three components: suburban housing and strip malls strewn across subdivided farm fields. It’s a wasteland. So every time I get pissed about it, I just throw another roundabout into the mix, and it makes me feel better.”

The next generation

Thompson’s disdain for his hometown inspired him to create the state’s first super-roundabout, scheduled for completion in 2009, but he’s got even bigger plans in the works. He’s begun preliminary designs for a massive traffic circle at the intersection of Interstate 72 and U.S. 51 – a monstrous concoction he’s dubbed a “hyper-roundabout,” through which traffic would continue move at highway speeds of 65 mph.

“Basically, you’re going to need the instrument panel of a Boeing 767 to navigate this thing,” Thompson said. He noted that there is the very real possibility of time travel as a side effect to passing through the roundabout, an interesting development he hopes to use as a selling point with wary motorists.

“If my calculations are correct, you’ll come out of this thing 6-7 minutes younger than you were when you went in,” he said. “I think this will finally put us over the hump with seniors.”

But Thompson cautioned that the hyper-roundabout is more concept than reality. Completion on such a project can only be estimated in decades rather than years.

“I won’t see it in my lifetime,” Thompson said. “But I’ve laid the groundwork, and my son (28-year-old assistant traffic engineer Josh Thompson) will carry on my vision. My grandson (Josh’s 6-year-old son Jacob) is already picking up on the fundamental principals of the one-lane roundabout, and with continued training and a little luck, he will be the chosen one to see this labyrinth of evil to fruition.”

“(Obama’s) resigning is the only chance this country has in electing me president,” Clinton said. “His delegate total is insurmountable. It’s time for him to do the honorable thing and step aside.”

Though Clinton trails in popular vote, total states won, total delegates and total superdelegates, she emphasized her past experience as a First Lady and said it “was only fair.”

Obama has more than a 150-delegate lead over Clinton with just five states and Puerto Rico left to vote. Obama aides were said to be considering Clinton’s comments after receiving a memo reporting that Clinton’s husband, Bill, was president before George W. Bush.

“I’ll be honest, we totally forgot her husband was Bill Clinton,” said an Obama aide, speaking on the condition of anyonymity. “She is the rightful heir to the crown-er, presidency. We’ll sit on this for awhile and get back to you.”

Kiper has released him mock draft for the NFL draft in 2016. In an interview on ESPN’s NFL Live Kiper explained the process.

“I’ve been reviewing film on these kids for awhile now, and based on what I’ve seen this is where they will go in the draft,” he said.

When asked how he can predict where teams will be drafting that year Kiper Jr. laughingly explained, “that’s just ridiculous, there’s no way to know how good the teams are going to be eight years from now. I just based my predictions of this year’s draft order.”

Kiper’s 2016 mock draft features middle school and high school athletes ranging from seventh to ninth grade.

“I used a basic logarithm to predict height and weight when these athletes will be ready to enter the draft. I don’t want to give away my secret but I look at how big their parents are, their diets, shoe size, etc.,” Kiper said.

Kiper’s choice for the first pick in the 2016 draft is 4’11” 104 lb. QB, DeJimjohndre Fulton of West Palm Beach Middle School in West Palm Beach, Florida. Kiper believes Fulton, or D double J as he goes by, will enter the draft after his sophomore year of college. The seventh grader has a “better-than-alright arm” and “runs kind of fast.” Kiper believes that in 2016 the Miami Dolphins will still be looking for Dan Marino’s replacement therefore choosing a quarterback. 

The other big highlight of the first round is the first ever woman selected in the draft. Kiper has Wendy McDonald going to the Atlanta Falcons with pick No. 21 in the draft. McDonald is an eighth grader from Arlington North Middle School, in Arlington, Texas. While McDonald refused to give out her actual weight, Kiper list’s her at 6’1” 315 lbs. McDonald is a dominant left tackle for the Arlington North Pink Panthers, and Kiper believes she still has plenty of growing to do.

Kiper said he will be starting work on the 2017 mock draft as soon as 2008 middle school football starts in September.

In a statement released by the Chinese Olympic Committee, it appears China will be making some changes to their world reputation.

“We are aware that most of the world is not fond of the way we are treating the bums and whores of our city” the statement said in reference to the shipping of such undesirables out to the country side. The statement goes on to address environmental issues and the conflict with Tibet, although it should be noted the phrase “sons of bitches” is used quite frequently to describe the latter.

“Since the games are so close and there isn’t much China can do to actually fix the problems,” said COC publicist Wee Win. “The decision to make people accept things that we don’t want to change is our new plan.”

The plan begins with renaming the Olympic mascots, five cuddly characters, initially called the “Friendlies,” loosely representing both the colors of the Olympic rings and the five characters of Chinese philosophy.

Instead of representing water, fire, metal, wood, and earth, the now Friendless Friendlies will stand in honor of the host nation’s woes. The sky will be represented by the black Friendless in honor of China’s coal industry and smog-filled skies. The blue character will incidentally go unchanged in appearance but will be carried by the aforementioned black Friendless to represent the death and absence of such a color overhead for almost two generations.

“Any Chinese under the age of 45 will most likely have trouble understanding the reference,” Win said.

The red character will stand for the infanticide long denied by the Chinese over the utter disgrace and life-long shame and humility of bearing a daughter. Incidentally, all the female athletes representing China this summer make up 70 percent of the country’s population.

The Tibetan human rights crisis will be represented by the yellow Friendless and will now be seen in a crouched pleading position. It will also be adorned with a leash, although the COC has not decided yet which of the other Friendless mascots will be in control. Win conceded that it is always a possibility they all will hold an end because “those sons of bitches need to know who is boss.”

The green Friendless will have its smile broadened and be the happiest of the five, while representing money.

“We feel that we are very lucky,” Win said. “We have tricked the entire world into giving us these games and we will benefit greatly from all of you. Had you done any research at all you would have seen that giving China the Olympics was a very bad idea. Very bad.”

Prolonged warfare in the first half of the 21st century handed Douglas Langston, a former Chicago-area Radio Shack manager, the enviable role of the last man on earth. Unfortunately, the awkward, acne-plagued introvert’s notoriously poor luck with the ladies showed no marked improvement roaming the nuclear wasteland as a “Road Warrior”-style fuel scavenger.

“In the pre-Hypercaust era, women always used to say they wouldn’t date me if I were the last man alive,” lamented Langston, hunched over the green flames of a small plutonium fire while eating dog food directly from the can. “Little did I know they weren’t joking.”

The cumulative effects of World Wars III, IV & VI, a series of Judeo-Christian-Muslim conflicts initially launched by then-President Jenna Bush in 2032, wiped out all but several dozen members of the human race. World War V (2041-42) actually saw a brief increase in population due to the development of the semi-sentient Sino-Cyborg, a Nikerosoft-produced source of cheap labor which mysteriously learned to reproduce.

When the dust settled in fall of 2049, Langston crawled out of his basement game-room after a “wicked round of D&D” to find all but a handful of people – 32 women – dead.

“So I’m like, ‘This is it, dude,’” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Now or never. Time to make my move.”

Of the 32 women, five were spinsters beyond child-bearing age, although Langston considered two of them to be “sorta hot.” Six women in their 40s who fancied themselves “cougars” were eager to aggressively bed Langston, not out of attraction but as a sexual conquest, but like the spinsters, they proved to be “dry.” That left 21 women ranging from ages 22 to 36 with the capacity to bear Langston’s child, several of whom he deemed attractive. The feelings were not mutual.

“I realize the human race is at stake, but I’m not sleeping with pizza-face,” said Renee Fox, a 28-year-old former waitress. “Would it be too much to ask that the last man on earth be a totally-ripped, leather-clad badass who takes me around the desert highways on the back of his killer Harley?”

For Janey Simmons, a 35-year-old former self-described “MILF” whose husband and two children were incinerated in their home while she copulated with a neighbor in his emergency shelter, it was a matter of standards.

“I love a good time, believe me!” Simmons said. “The pool guy, the UPS guy, my teen daughter’s boyfriend. I’m into all types. But this guy is just… repulsive. He puts my sex drive in reverse. I have this sudden urge to join a convent and get right with God for all my sinful fornication.”

Twenty-five-year-old former Northwestern University student Molly Jorgensen realized the serious implications of refusing Langston’s crude, pathetic advances.

“I want to do the right thing, I really do. I don’t want the human race to die out,” said Jorgensen. “But it’s like he gets within six feet of me and I start retching. It’s an involuntary response.

“Maybe, MAYBE, I could see doing in vitro, as long as I don’t picture his face… but how many fucking clinics do you see around here?” added Jorgensen, gesturing towards the endless mass of dust, sand and scrubby vegetation around her.

Ultimately, Langston’s seed went unplanted, bringing an end to 200,000 years (or 6,000 Intelligent Design years) of human civilization.

“I really thought I had a shot with that Molly chick, but she kept talking about this ‘guy back at school’ she was sort of seeing. I told her that was cool, I respect that,” said Langston. “I’m just sorry I let the human race down. Maybe the Sino-Cyborgs will have better luck.”

“They were all guys’ thingys!” she screamed through tears. “Like all of them. We set out 45 cameras! And not a single face in any photo!”

Bloomington tried to report the perverted deed to police in an effort to figure out whose faces belonged with each “thingy.” Police said unfortunately no database exists that could match the photos.

“It’s not like we have a file full of pictures of every man’s privates,” said Lt. Craig Schneider. “That would be quite helpful though. Probably disturbing to collect, however.”

Bloomington said she suspected something may have been up when a number of the groomsmen began giggling uncontrolably the morning after the wedding, when she asked her new husband if he had the disposable cameras.

“A couple of them started high fiving each other,” she said. “And then a few of them started making these disgusting pelvic thrusts. I never thought anything of it, though.”

In an effort to salvage something out of the hundreds of penile pictures, bridesmaids worked to scrapbook in the bride and groom’s faces on the “heads” and incorporated bridal stickers near the testicles.

“If you look really closely, you can definitely tell they’re all still penises,” said Trisha Landers, the maid of honor. “Especially that one of the black man.”

After months of exhaustive negotiations, the Anti-P.C. Guild and the P.C. Federation announced a preliminary set of guidelines listing which ethnic groups are acceptable targets of ridicule in conventional social discourse. At the top of the list: “Me so solly,” the venerable humble apology attributed to comically inept Chinese laundrymen.

“That was our dealmaker,” said Frank Wilson, president of the Anti-P.C. Guild. “For us to even start talking about giving up some of our time-honored slurs, ‘Me so solly’ had to stay. Fortunately, the P.C. Federation was willing to go along with that.”

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one that came with an enticing tradeoff, said Dirk Martinez, chairman of the P.C. Federation.

“Basically, we wanted all black jokes off the table,” said Martinez. “The range was just too good to pass up – we’re talking everything from ‘ooga-booga’ tribal Africans to ‘hey-mon’ Jamaicans and ‘yes-massah’ slaves, right up to the ‘bee-yatches’ and ‘ho’s’ of black inner-city America. When A-P.C. indicated they were willing to go along with that, I was comfortable with giving them ‘Me so solly’ in return.”

Wilson encountered considerable resistance from within his group’s ranks on the black concession, which also bars comical depiction of the 1980s-era rapper by wearing a baseball cap backwards and placing one’s hands over the mouth and making percussive sounds. The gag, explicitly forbidden for use not only by white people but members of any race under the “human decency” clause of the accord, was a particular favorite among over-40 members of the A-P.C.

“Failure to ridicule peripheral elements of society can start you down a slippery slope,” said Donald Stanley, vice treasurer of the A-P.C. “The next step is acceptance of the minority group as valid. Once they’re no longer ‘wacko,’ we have no choice but to treat these people and their ways with dignity and respect. Do we really want that?”

Wilson countered that ‘Me so solly’ was paramount in the negotiating process, and that “you have to give a little to get a little.”

“As Americans, we are exposed to a melting pot of different cultures, languages, and religious beliefs,” Wilson added. “And as Americans, it is our grand tradition to belittle those cultures which scare us or make us uncomfortable. I believe ‘Me so solly’ embodies that principle.”

Likewise, Martinez took hits from within his group for allowing ‘Solly’ and several other references deemed offensive by some of the organization’s members. Joining Chinese-Americans’ opposition to the deal were German-Americans, who objected to the continued general disregard for their profound benevolent influence on American culture in favor of the popularized Nazi-oriented caricature.

“People think of us in one of two ways,” said P.C. Foundation member Hans Fritzengläubenßsauergeschmidtz. “Either it’s the ‘Schindler’s List’-style evil Nazi who kills without conscience, or it’s the ‘Hogan’s Heroes’-style idiot Nazi who is easily and repeatedly duped by American P.O.Ws.

“And how realistic is that?” Fritzengläubenßsauergeschmidtz added. “I mean, do you really think we overran most of Europe and half of Russia with the likes of Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz?”

While Martinez sympathized with Chinese-Americans’ plight over having to endure perpetual television reruns of “Solly” standup routines, he dismissed the Germans’ concerns as oversensitive.

“Excuse me, but does anyone remember World War II? How about the Holocaust?” he said. “As chairman of the P.C. Federation, it’s my duty to embrace all cultures of the world, but fuck the Krauts.”

All told, the Anti-P.C. Union was allowed to keep five “untouchable” ethnic references, all of which the membership ultimately agreed were critical to maintaining the requisite contempt for diverse viewpoints that has long defined mainstream America. Particularly painful concessions, in addition to African/African-American, included Mexican/Latin American (“Hey, hombre! Mi casa es su casa.”), Asian Indian (“Good day, my name is Hajneesh, there is problem with your Dell computer?”) and Irish (“Beat yer wife, did ye, O’Sullivan? Saints be praised, have a wee nip o’ me bot’le.”).

“I don’t know why,” said Stanley, “but when people of other cultures speak our language to the best of their ability, we find the resulting grammar and pronunciation variances to be amusing. What could be more worthy of our derision?”

Here are the five acceptable ethnic slurs, and accompanying physical gestures, under terms of the P.C./Anti-P.C. Accord of 2008:

1. “Me so solly.” – Chinese laundryman, bowing profusely

2. (alternate 1) “Vee haf vays of making you tok.” – evil Nazi, squinting as if wearing monocle

2. (alternate 2) “Halt!!! Shtop ze American prisoner, dumkopf!” – idiot Nazi, goosestepping and raising arm in Hitler salute

3. “Mama mia! You just-a cut off-a my finger with-a pizza cutter!” – Italian/Italian-American gangster, with frenzied hand expressions

4. “How. Pale-face make-um firewater with maize many moons ago.” – Native American Indian, raising right hand with rigid stoicism

5. (alternate 1) “Good evening, dear, how was work? Let me fix you a drink. I spent all afternoon shopping!” – ideal American housewife, primping hair in the mirror

5. (alternate 2) “I dented the Edsel on the way home from the salon. You never take me anywhere! My mother is coming to visit.” – evil American housewife, holding rolling pin overhead

“Seriously, I mean, what the fuck was that episode?” said angry fan Matt Warner. “I TIVO’d that shit and for what? Halfway through I started weeping uncontrolably — and that was before Michael and Jan’s fight.”

Despite good reviews in the media nationwide of the famed Dunder Mifflin crew’s return to syndication, fans across the country couldn’t help but sit unsatisfied, scratching their heads and eventually turning over to unabashed anger after the half-an-hour episode.

Fans protesting for the return of the writer’s strike could be heard for miles, screaming their demands to NBC executives.

“What do we want?” “Strike!” When do we want it?” “Depending on the hilarity of the next episode, relatively soon!”

Among the crowd, fans did agree the one shread of humor throughout the entire return was the part when awkward Dwight showed up to the dinner party with what could only be described as an unkempt homeless hag.

“Yeah, that was pretty funny, I giggled,” Tori Richardson said. “But one giggle for the entire episode is, like, totally, like, not enough giggles.”

Female fans admitted if the writer’s refuse to go back on strike, they will continue to watch if Jim Halpert is in 90 percent of the shots … and also pantsless.

Jim Berry, 46, was discovered by a neighbor who reported hearing a loud “pop” coming from Berry’s home around 2:47 p.m. Saturday.

“I went in and there was Jim slumped over in his chair, only without his head,” said Miles Francis, Berry’s neighbor. “There were bits of skull and brain all around, I noticed, and his neck was still smoking. I didn’t know what happened ‘til I saw what was on the TV: ‘Hide and Seek,’ with ‘I Am Sam’ on the picture-in-picture. That sick fuck.”

Television listings for networks USA and TNT confirm the simultaneous airings of the movies, both of which star the precocious young actress. Authorities say it’s lucky Berry didn’t also check TBS, which was showing an episode of “Friends” in which Fanning guest-starred.

“There probably wouldn’t have been any of him left,” said Humboldt County Sheriff’s Deputy Lance Sudnow, who then smiled. “I would’ve liked to have seen that, actually.”

Berry had been living in the area since March after his release from prison on charges of enticing a child into illegally downloading child pornography for him, because he couldn’t figure out how to work his computer.

“They were completely trumped-up charges,” said Berry’s attorney, William Fettermeyer. “Jim had just bought a computer with Microsoft Vista on it. I dare anyone to figure out that operating system without the aid of a minor.”

Berry’s is the second reported case of exploding pedophiles in Nevada since 2004, when Pioche resident Hank Fry turned on his on-screen cable guide and found “Home Alone” airing across from “Getting Even With Dad.” The resulting blast leveled Fry’s mobile home, and singed several neighboring trailers.

Fry’s death brought legal action on his behalf by the North American Man/Boy Love Association against Nevada cable provider Cox Communications.

“The wonton negligence shown by Cox in airing two movies starring heartthrob Macaulay Culkin in his prime is disgusting,” according to a NAMBLA press release. “The members of NAMBLA have until now had a very close relationship with Cox, and have enjoyed all that Cox has to offer. But if Cox continues to show such disregard for our members, than NAMBLA may have to give up Cox altogether.”

A funeral for Berry will be held outside Orovada, where, in accordance with Nevada law, he will be dumped in the desert and left to rot.

“But no towels came out,” said Dumple, a file clerk at a local shoe company. “I waved and I waved, but it just ignored me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just stood there, dripping.”

Dumple first thought the machine was empty, but other patrons had no trouble motioning their hands in front of its infrared beam and getting a towel. “They looked like really nice towels. Soft and absorbent,” Dumple sighed. “I imagined it would be like rubbing your hands on a baby lamb’s behind.”Dumple, who was dining alone, decided he wouldn’t go back to his meal of a side salad and glass of ice water until he got the towel dispenser to acknowledge his presence.

“It was a perfect tribute to an amazing man,” said Heston friend Alexander Germaine. “An amazing, surprising delicious man.”

Heston, who starred in the 1973 dystopian science fiction movie “Soylent Green,” about a future world where food is scarce and people are turned into a nutritious green wafer, had a stipulation put in his will in 2006 that his remains be processed and served to his friends and family.

The “Planet of the Apes” and “Omega Man” star, who announced he was suffering from Alzheimer’s in 2002, also had written into his will separate contingencies for if he died at the hands of human-sized, talking chimpanzees, or fell victim to hordes of light-sensitive albino mutants.

The funeral got off to delayed start, due to difficulty in the morgue, said coroner Bob Schneider.

“We had some trouble prying a rifle from Mr. Heston’s cold, dead hands,” Schneider said.

Calling the billy goat “outdated” and “kinda retarded,” hundreds of Cubs’ fans took their protest to the Wrigley Field on opening day.

 Many of them said they hoped new owner Sam Zell would shift his sights from renaming Wrigley Field to finding a new “cooler” mascot for the curse. 

“How lame is a goat?” asked annoyed Cubs fan John Dewey, who is from Florida and has never lived in Chicago. “Like, seriously, anything would be better.  Even a tarantula.” 

Suggestions from the crowd for replacing the billy goat include: a monkey, a kitten, a wooly mammoth and a white rhino. 

 The curse of the billy goat is a popular urban legend that began in 1945 after local tavern owner Billy Sianis brought his pet goat Murphy to Wrigley Field. The goat and its owner were ejected from the stadium, causing Sianis to place a “curse” on the Cubs. That year the Cubs lost to the Detroit Tigers in the World Series, the last year the team would make it that far. 

Steve Gatto, author of the book “Da Curse of the Billy Goat” said a move by the Cubs to recast the curse’s mascot would be bold, but unwise. 

“It’s been this way for 63 years - you can’t change history,” Gatto said. “For one thing, that might actually break the curse and nobody really wants that, do they?”

Some Cubs fans agree.  They’d rather see the curse go on so they can perenially lament their team to friends, family and coworkers, wearing a hangdog look at the end of every baseball season as they talk about the ”season that could have been.”

“If I wanted to back a winning team, I’d be a Yankees fan,” said Drew Little from Naperville, Ill. “This is Chicago.  The second city.  We have a reputation to protect.”

When informed that Chicago’s other team - the South-Side based White Sox - won the 2005 World Series, Little broke down in sobs, exclaiming “say it ain’t so” and then “the Sox Suck!”

It is unclear at this time what will come first - the mascot change or the Cubs finally going to the World Series.

The Cubs lost their opening game to the Milwaukee Brewers 4 to 3 in 10 innings. 

“In that one game where we were playing that one team, I hitted the ball really hard,” said star center fielder Andruw Jones, who this offseason signed a 2-year, $36.2 million contract with the Dodgers after batting .222 with the Atlanta Braves in 2007. “The other team catched the ball, but I runned really fast to the first base. Did you see that? Did you, mister?”

The answer in L.A., unfortunately, is no. Despite the storied franchise’s broadly successful move from Brooklyn to California 50 years ago that has yielded an enduring record of on-the-field achievements – including five World Series championships – late-arriving, early-departing, cell-phone-yapping, sushi-munching fans have become a staple of the Dodger Stadium crowd.

“It hurts. It really does,” said General Manager Ned Colletti. “Our boys run their little hearts out on the field, and all you hear is people laughing at some joke they heard on Leno last night. Then it takes our entire coaching staff 20 minutes to convince our batter that they’re not laughing at his swing. Or his big butt.”

All too often coaches have observed players’ crushed psyches affect their performance.

“I tell the young guys that there are people out there who really care about the game, like that guy with the binoculars in the fifth row,” said third-base coach Larry Bowa. “But they’re old enough now where they know better. He’s just checking out broads.”

The more egregious examples of “half-assed” fan support, according to pitching coach Rick Honeycutt, range from business people checking their stock portfolios on their laptops to students too distracted to watch because “they’re playing baseball on their Gameboy. I mean, come on. I hope they were at least playing the cyber-Dodgers.”

The laid-back attitude even pervades the bleachers, typically the rowdiest section of a ballpark. In Los Angeles, the bleachers have become a choice location for people to work on their tans. Horrified outfielders are overwhelmed by the stench of warm coconut oil emanating from frying bodies stretched laterally along the benches.

“How can they see me play with those towels over their eyes?” lamented outfielder Juan Pierre, whose diminishing skills will fleece the Dodgers of $36 million over the remaining four years of his contract. “They’re totally missing all the great catches I make.”

For new manager Joe Torre, who was lured to L.A. with a 3-year, $13 million contract after 12 hugely successful seasons as New York Yankees skipper, it was an adjustment coming from the rabid environment of Yankee Stadium.

“I really miss the way the New York fans got into the game,” Torre said. “Well, except for that one guy behind our dugout who kept saying how much he enjoyed my wife last night.”

If spring training is any indication, the fan disconnect won’t make Torre’s job of returning the Dodgers to glory any easier. In the team’s final tuneup at the Chicago Cubs’ spring ballpark in Mesa, Ariz., James Loney’s towering home run drew an unusual response from the bleachers.

“He’s rounding second before he notices some idiot Cub fan throw the ball back onto the field,” said Torre, shaking his head. “The big lug didn’t even tag third. He just ran back into our dugout. I tell you, in my 40-plus years in this game, I’ve never seen anything so heartbreaking as a 6-foot-3, 220-pound power hitter curled up on the bench, hugging his glove.”

Torre took several moments to compose himself.“I told him, ‘Hey, it’s OK, buddy, you hit the ball really far,’ and a couple of the other guys were like ‘Way to go, slugger!’ and stuff like that. But he just sucked on the thumb of his glove and said ‘I want my mommy.”

Even veteran players tire of Dodger fans’ galling lack of attention to dramatic game developments. Renowned clutch hitter Nomar Garciaparra recalled a tie game last August, during a heated series against division rival San Diego, in which he worked ace Jake Peavy to a 3-2 count with the bases loaded.

“I mean, this is crunch time, right? Where the ‘10th man’ comes into play,” said Garciaparra. “So I’m listening for some ‘Let’s-go, Dod-gers!’, but I hear ‘Is this tofu organic or transitional?’”

Garciaparra, who is slated to earn $8.5 million in 2008 despite beginning the season on the disabled list, struck out looking at Peavy’s next pitch, an inside fastball just above the knees to end the inning.

“Maybe a ‘Hey batta!’ would’ve got me to swing instead of standing there like an idiot listening to ‘The ’02 Merlots just haven’t wowed me,’” he groused. “Would it be so hard to yell ‘Good eye!’ or tell the ump to get some glasses? I mean, don’t these people care? I feel like I’m all alone out there.”

According to the Fat Guy, the burger – which boasts two slices of meat, two slices of cheese plus six slices of bacon – and retails for about 99 cents does not have enough bacon to be called the Baconator.

“Six slices of bacon does not a Baconator make,” said the Fat Guy, as he wiped up the residual burger slop on his the dirty white t-shirt that barely covers his 400-lb “big boned” frame. “It’s more like a… ummm… Bacon nugget.”

Fat Guy suggests that Wendy’s cram at least fifteen to sixteen more pieces of Bacon onto the Baconator before using the name. Or, perhaps, he feels there could be several tiers of Baconators - the big-boned, the lard-ass and “the clogger” - each with an increasing amount of bacon.

Bob Bertini, a spokesman for Wendy’s, said in a statement that “Wendy’s values all of our customers - including the morbidly obese - and we realize there are a wide variety of palates we have to satisfy. In our estimation, six slices of bacon met the threshold for the Baconator, but we will take into consideration the suggestions put forth by Mr. Fat Guy.”

His beef with Wendy’s hasn’t stopped Fat Guy from consuming at least two Baconators a day — each with 830 calories and 51 grams of fat — but he wants his money back.

“This is un-American,” Fat Guy said. “It’s unpatriotic. It’s right there in the Constitution - life, liberty and the pursuit of bacon.”

– USA Tomorrow staffer G. Gordon Guhnette contributed to this report.

Clinton, of course, is the standard-bearer for all political scandals, Republican or Democrat. However, Democrats looking to stem criticism following New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer’s resignation pointed to the greatness and entertainment of their scandals compared paltry Republican “poser” disgraces.

“Seriously, you have to admit, this scandal is pretty fucking sweet,” Democratic Party Chairman Howard Dean said during a conference call with reporters Monday. “The guy got to be governor based on a career of rooting out corruption, including prostitution rings, and then gets caught in one such ring himself.

“It’ll never beat Bill Clinton in ’98, but it’s in the top five.”

New York Lt. Gov. David Paterson wasted no time in carrying on Spitzer’s legacy, admitting to several affairs during a rocky part in his marriage years ago. The statements came the same day Paterson took over for Spitzer and a week before Paterson admitted to past cocaine use.

Paterson will be a perfect governor to keep the ball rolling, Dean said.

“We won’t miss a beat with David Paterson,” he said. “And to make it even better, he’s legally blind, which immediately scores more points on the coolness scale.”

Other Democrats agreed with Dean’s statements.

“So many times nowadays, you here things like ‘So-and-so’s brother-in-law made a land deal 25 years ago with somebody’s sister who’s now under indictment,” Majority Leader Harry Reid said. “And at the end, you’re just like, what?

“The Spitzer scandal has it all – sex, hookers, Washington, fancy hotels, and cash. Tons and tons of cash.”

U.S. Sen. Chuck Schumer said Republicans’ scandals fall far short of the Democrats’ example, saying complex money laundering schemes are difficult for the average American to understand.

Spitzer’s prostitute, on the other hand, had pictures on her Myspace page, making it easy for anyone with an Internet connection to access.

Meanwhile, Clinton took it all in while in his lounge at the New York Marriott, salivating at the possibility of becoming First Gentleman and having nothing but time on his hands in the nation’s capital.

“They think Lewinsky was good, they haven’t seen anything yet if Hillary’s elected,” the 42^nd president said. “I got a blow job in the Oval Office by an intern and stuck a cigar into a place the sun don’t shine. But I’m telling you, they’ll have to build another wing onto my presidential library by the time Hillary’s term is over.”

“The time has come,” Obama said, raising his right hand at a campaign rally in Baltimore’s Upper Fells Point neighborhood, “for us to stop … drop … shut ‘em down … and open up shop.”

DMX, whose real name is Earl Simmons, claimed in a recent interview with XXL Magazine that he had never heard of Obama. The multiplatinum-selling recording artist also ridiculed the senator’s name, saying in part, “Ima tell this nigga when I see him, ‘Stop that bullshit.’ … Your momma ain’t name you no damn Barack.’” (Editor’s note: DMX really said this. Google that shit.)

Obama, who counts Bob Dylan and Johann Sebastian Bach among his favorite artists, admitted his tastes in music and culture differ significantly from those he hopes to reach. But he added that should have no bearing on whether he can “give a dog a bone.”

“I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas,” Obama said, “yet niggas want to try. Niggas want to lie. Then, niggas wonder why niggaz want to die.

“All I know is pain. All I feel is rain. How can I maintain, with mad shit on my brain?”

Obama’s “blackness” — and his willingness to embrace it — has been brought into question several times during his campaign. Most recently, Obama condemned the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, his pastor, for a widely broadcast sermon in which Wright criticized the United States for oppressing black people.

Obama retracted that condemnation Friday.

“Shit, a nigga tried to diss you,” Obama said to the mostly white press corps covering the event. “That’s why you laying on your back, looking at the roof of the church. Preacher telling the truth, and it hurts.”

Told by one reporter that Sen. Hillary Clinton, his opponent in the race for the Democratic nomination, likely would use his new tact against him, Obama became visibly upset.

“I’m tired of weak ass niggas whining over puss that don’t belong to them,” he said, his voice rising. “Fuck is wrong with them? They fuck it up for real niggas like my mans and them who get it on on the strength of the hands with them, man.”

Obama then stormed off the stage, telling all his “big ballers” to “meet me outside, meet me outside, meet me outside.”

DMX could not be reached late Friday because he’s never heard of a phone.