September 11: A retrospective in satire

After the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, Humor Gazette editor John Breneman embedded himself in the war on terror (at an undisclosed location), vowing to remain vigilant in his First Amendment duty to shock and awe the evildoers and politicians alike with a relentless satire offensive.

"Our failure to publish stories like 'Bush suffers from Iraq-tile Dysfunction' would be a victory for the terrorist asswipes," he said.

The Gazette also has scooped its rivals at the New York Times, the Onion and Al-Jazeera with stories like 'Al Qaeda's #2 man is cowardly piece of dung.' Below are some of the exclusives that helped earn the Gazette a Pull-it Surprise nomination:

Good riddance: Abu Musab al-Zarqawi dead -- June 9, 2006	Bin Laden plans debut on satellite radio -- Jan. 20, 2006	Al Qaeda reports declining revenues in fiscal '05 -- Dec. 19, 2005
Al-Zarqawi's approval rating falls -- Nov. 25, 2005	Terrorists revealed to be morons -- July 22, 2005	London attack heightens worldwide hatred of spineless terrorist jerks -- July 8, 2005
Suicide bombers get cold feet, call in sick -- June 6, 2005	Mother's Day card yields clues on bin Laden -- May 9, 2005	Bin Laden eludes Wile E. Coyote -- March 28, 2004
Comic bomb: Bush slays 'em with WMD gag -- March 26, 2004	Voice on latest bin Laden tape revealed to be Pee-Wee Herman -- Nov. 19, 2002	Rebuilding Afghanistan in our image -- Dec. 10, 2001

Ex-Chihuahua sues Paris Hilton

By John Breneman

A disgruntled Chihuahua once owned by Paris Hilton is suing the long-legged, pinheaded heiress for $2.5 million, alleging lurid tales of canine porn and doggie-style debauchery.

Attorneys for the dog, identified in court documents as "Tinkerbell 7," claim Hilton had made "certain representations" about taking care of the diminutive handbag-dwelling pooch in "the lifestyle to which it has become accustomed."

A spokesman for Hilton claimed the dog was let go after it breeched an unwritten agreement by peeing on a $500,000 jewel-encrusted minidress while sitting in Hilton's lap at Daddy Bling's in Monaco. But the dog's legal team says several eyewitnesses will testify that "Paris had already peed on the same dress at least twice that night."

The lawsuit also hints at domestic abuse. "Paris used to beat me," claims the former pet, citing one incident in which it suffered a fractured front leg when Hilton "bitch slapped" it for walking in unannounced while she was entertaining an identified pile of men.

Tinkerbell 7, who once dreamed of hauling his mistress to glory in the MTV Celebrity Iditarod, has been reduced to panhandling (yapping "Where's the beef" for spare change on Rodeo Drive) and doing guest spots on shows like VH1's "100 Nastiest Celebrity Poop-Related Incidents."

Related stories:
Al-Qaeda snatches Paris Hilton
-- June 12, 2006

Rapper 50 Cent introduces 50 Scent
-- Sept. 23, 2005

Ono! ... Yoko to blame for McCartney split
-- May 19, 2006

Anna Nicole's Supreme Court sex romp
-- March 1, 2006

Where's Whitey?

By John Breneman

The FBI would neither confirm nor deny that it tried to lure Whitey Bulger out of hiding Sunday by throwing a fake party for his 77th birthday. In this version of the old fake-lottery scam, the fugitive shows up to collect his presents and -- wham -- he's busted for 18 or 20 murders by agents in clown suits.

But Bulger's too smart for those FBI clowns. Since Whitey went ghost in 1994, he's been "spotted" in almost every state and dozens of countries spanning every continent but Antarctica - thanks to a $1 million federal bounty on the Pale One's scalp.

Whether eyeballed in Bali, recognized in Reykjavik or stared at in Stuttgart, Whitey remains at large -- and larger than life. Jack Nicholson is stoked to channel Hub gangster's signature blend of stone-cold ruthlessness and sexual deviance in a new movie called "The Departed" -- a delightfully blood-drenched Boston mafia caper also starring Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg, Leonardo DiCaprio and Martin Sheen. Sources say Whitey may try to sneak a cameo sporting his now-famous white Red Sox cap, dark sunglasses look.

But he still can't shake being linked to Osama bin Laden on all those most-wanted posters. Both men are wanted by the U.S. government in connection with a reign of terror, and both have been abetted by the U.S. government (Bulger receiving FBI protection and bin Laden arms in Afghanistan in the '80s) in connection with a reign of terror.

Word is, Whitey's ripped that the Islamo-whatever terror boss rates $25 million in reward dough to his lousy $1 mil. But hey, he's eluded justice for way longer than the tall, turbaned head of the Tora Bora Hill Gang (heckuva a job, Whitey). Come to think of it, maybe President Bush would have better luck smoking WHITEY out dead or alive.

It won't be easy, though, because Bulger -- a master of disguise with steely blue eyes -- uses an assortment of aliases. Whitey is not the man's only aka, OK? To throw authorities off his trail, Whitey sometimes switches over to Blackie.

Imaginary sources say he also goes by Whitey Ford, James Brown, Red Buttons and Mr. Pink. In Acapulco he is known as Senor Blanco. But a word of warning: Don't call him "Tighty Whitey" or he is likely to strangle you with a pair of mens undershorts.

Today, James Joseph Bulger shares a birthday with fellow paragon of moral virtue Charlie Sheen, 41, and prominent Hub merchant and "bargain basement" inventor Edward Albert Filene (1860-1937).

But the million-dollar question remains.
Where's Whitey?

Some say he is probably masquerading as a retired college president or distinguished ex-legislator. Others say he's the reputed kingpin of a Tuesday night bingo syndicate in St. Petersburg. And there are those who swear they saw him performing in the Blue Man Group in Las Vegas in 2004.

You've heard the rumors (they count as rumors if I make 'em up, right?) -- the aging gangster has replaced old cronies Stephen "The Rifleman" Flemmi and "Cadillac Frank" Salemme with geriatric bruisers named "The Salad Shooter" and "Station Wagon Fred."

Meanwhile, the Whitey sightings continue to pile up. I saw Whitey Bulger drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's. His hair was perfect. No wait, that wasn't him. Or was it?

John Mark Karr linked to Pee-Wee Herman

By John Breneman

Authorities say John Mark Karr, confessed non-killer of 6-year-old beauty queen JonBenet Ramsey, has now implicated himself in the Natalee Holloway case, a Fallujah terror bombing and the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa.

The spooky-looking Karr, a natural-born weirdo who suffers from a rare form of attention deficit disorder, has also claimed responsibility for visiting a Thai sex-change clinic, fathering Britney Spears' second child and a kidnapping scam involving Paris Hilton's pet monkey.

"Yeah, that's it. That's the ticket," said Karr, adding that he used to be married to Morgan Fairchild and is a distant cousin of Pee-Wee Herman.

Karr denied any connection to the Valerie Plame leak, U.S. intelligence failures in Iraq or the administration's sluggish response to Hurricane Katrina - but then quickly recanted, saying he was to blame. Then he asked if he could have another nifty free airplane ride with champagne, roast duck and shrimp cocktail.

Though his DNA ruled him out in the Ramsey slaying, authorities are still investigating Karr's claim that he is the bastard son of Shirley Temple's love child.

Though some folks favor lemonade, root beer floats or iced tea, old-timers know there's nothing quite like a refreshing Roast Ox Smoothie to take the edge off on a sweltering summer day.

INGREDIENTS

1 600-lb. oxen, freshly killed
2 dozen cloves of garlic
1 large sack of onions, cubed
9 gal. Worcestershire sauce
1-1/2 fistfuls of paprika
8 oz. plain yogurt

Throw the onions and garlic into a mixing bowl and thrash them viciously with a studded leather belt until they begin to resemble a pile of severely abused chunks of onions and garlic.

Rub some of the garlic and onion mix onto your teeth and gums to ward off evil, then place the rest in an all-weather trash bin. Fling the paprika on top and seal with duct tape.

Next: Decapitate, skin and gut the ox using an ordinary household oxen shiv, medium-sized chainsaw or a crew of illegal Mexican laborers. Lightly brush the grotesque uncooked flesh with Worcestershire marinade and cover with a tarp to protect from flies and maggots and neighborhood dogs.

Dig a hole in your backyard and fill with wood, coal and construction debris. (environmental enthusiasts may prefer to substitute alternative fuels such as switch grass, Duraflame logs or oxen dung).

Construct a makeshift oxen spit, then muscle the bloody carcass onto the contraption. Douse the bonfire pit with lighter fluid or gasoline (at least 89 octane for best results) and ignite, making sure flames do not exceed 15 feet in height.

Cook for approximately half a day, continually rotating the gigantic slab so it chars evenly while the center remains pink and tender. Remove from heat and trim into blender-sized slabs.

Shovel ingredients into industrial-sized food processor and puree for 45 minutes.

Dump into a tall glass over ice, garnish with a sprig of anchovy and serve.

Crack found in foam of shuttle fuel tank

By John Breneman

The above headline from the New York Times Web site on Monday raises troubling questions about America's space program.

Most pressing: How did a crack dealer get close enough to the shuttle to hide a stash of rock cocaine in Discovery's foam-insulated fuel tank?

NASA engineers are now analyzing whether the mission should be scrubbed so they can check the O-rings for angel dust.

A source close to the shuttle's janitor said one of the astronauts was planning to conduct unauthorized experiments on the effects of crack cocaine in a weightless environment.

Police reportedly have questioned Lt. Tyrone Biggums, whose NASA bio identifies his hero as legendary Apollo 11 stoner Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin.

Related story:
Shuttle repair costs 'out of this world' -- Aug. 3, 2005

Jacko's inner child cites years of abuse

By John Breneman

The judge in the Michael Jackson molestation trial has agreed to allow shocking photographic evidence of the singer’s most severely traumatized alleged victim, his once-adorable childhood self.

To substantiate the charge that he abuses young boys, prosecutors introduced a photo of Michael Jackson at age 10, then placed it next to a recent image of the freakish-looking pop star.

“Just look what Michael Jackson did to this innocent little boy,” said Assistant District Attorney Ron Zonen. “He took this precocious, joyful African American lad and gradually turned him into hideous, perverted white woman.”

The jury gasped at the apparent physical and psychological trauma evident in what the prosecution called “Exhibit ABC.”

Jackson covered his face and pretended to almost faint. He was then hospitalized overnight for dehydration, guilty conscience and a quick nose job.

Meanwhile, the courtroom braced for blockbuster testimony from another surprise witness, former Jackson confidant Bubbles the Chimp.

Watergate source revealed to be porn star

By John Breneman

The identity of America's most famous anonymous source has finally been laid bare. The Watergate informant known only as "Deep Throat" is porn star Linda Lovelace, who also starred in a movie by the same name.

Media analysts agree that the revelation gives new meaning to the term "whistle blower."

Lovelace became a key figure in the 1974 resignation of President Richard Nixon by offering the Washington Post sensational information about kinky Republican shenanigans at the Watergate Hotel.

Lovelace always denied her role in blowing the lid off the Watergate scandal, saying in a 1999 interview with Hustler magazine, "Mmmph bwallph gagh Nixolphg."

But investigative reporter Bob "The Wood Man" Woodward today confirmed the explosive revelation about Lovelace and said the spunky source urged him and colleague Carl Bernstein to "follow the money shot."

After their reports revealed the president's role in the Watergate coverup, Nixon resigned in disgrace and went on to star in the soft-core political porn movie "Tricky Dick Does Dallas."

Mobster memo

Idea for mobster Vincent “The Animal” Ferrara… Pick a specific animal. No need to hog the whole animal kingdom, dude. There’s plenty of species to go around.

The Shark. The Panther. The Tarantula. Now those names evoke danger, power and terror as well as The Animal but with a little extra zing. Though, you have to admit, The Animal does have a certain uniquely animalistic quality to it.

But how about The Piranha? Man, those mothers are vicious.

The Wolverine. The Badger, nah.

Actually, I’ve always been partial to the fire ant. They make a lovely nickname and they can also be utilized to “rub out” an adversary with their fiery venom.

The Porcupine? I’m not messin’ with him.

The Penguin, wait that’s taken.

The Mongoose has potential. The Viper has a nice evil ring to it. And you can’t beat The Jackal.
I don’t know, just a thought. The Animal probably works best. Plus it would be a pain to change all the checks and credit cards.

(Note to Mr. Animal. Please don’t "whack" me... Sincerely, fire ant.)

Atomic thrill-a-buster...

Congratulations, fellow "nuclear option" survivors. The thrill-a-minute filibuster crisis is history.

Democracy as we know it has been saved, in a riveting Senate showdown that most Americans find hopelessly boring compared to the unfolding drama involving Saddam Hussein’s underpants.

A recent IBS News poll reveals that 92% of U.S. media consumers instinctively fall into a deep slumber when hearing the term "stalled judicial nominations," but are easily revived by the words “half-naked Iraqi madman.”

Meanwhile, with all the attention focused on the Senate’s so-called “nuclear option,” Iran has reportedly developed the capacity to suppress dissent using chemical and biological filibusters. Worse yet, North Korea is said to be six months away from deploying a neutron filibuster that destroys all humans within earshot but leaves the buildings standing.

Click here to visit John Breneman's new blog at BostonHerald.com

Hussein pulls lawsuit out of briefs case

By John Breneman

Saddam Hussein is threatening to slap The Sun with a $1 million lawsuit for publishing pictures of him in his skivvies. Hussein contends the incident has caused him emotional distress, though not quite as much as being bombed out of his palace then busted cowering in a dirt rathole.

The murderous dictator, who gassed his own countrymen for fun, is also claiming the media has tarnished his image by portraying him as a murderous dictator who gassed his own countrymen for fun. He is being represented by the Zarqawi, Chalabi & Dershowitz.

After debriefing President Bush, a Pentagon spokesman briefed the press on the latest developments swirling around Saddam's briefs.

But Newsweek got the scoop again: According to an anonymous source close to the guy who does Hussein's laundry, the half-naked madman is distraught that U.S. personnel allegedly ruined his copy of the Koran in the washing machine.

Related fake news:
Saddam Hussein seeking work as a media pundit

By John Breneman

President Bush said today that photos published in a London tabloid prove Saddam Hussein possessed a terrifying arsenal of BVDs.

Calling the images "horrifying" and "definitely not sexy," Bush invited the civilized world to join him in mocking the defrocked dictator and his feeble act of "half-naked aggression."

When reminded that his reason for war was Hussein's WMDs and not his BVDs, the president grinned and said, "Naked aggression, heh-heh."

Responding to charges that the U.S. only inflames anti-American hatred with stories about Koran shenanigans and photo of scantily clad dictators and pig-piled detainees, President Bush said, "C'mon, we're not trying to humiliate the man. I mean, we've almost got that sucker potty trained. Wacky little madman. I've got his pistol."

Bush explained that the controversial photographs were actually part of an elaborate prank pulled by Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld.

"Yeah, Rumsfeld punked him," said Bush, "somehow convinced him he was getting a conjugal visit from Angelina Jolie." But instead of a pouty-lipped sexpot, Hussein instead found himself on a blind date with an elite U.S. paparazzi unit.

A spokesman said Hussein is eager to begin filing lawsuits and added that, despite the circumstances, the aspiring Hanes poster boy feels "good all under."

A high-ranking lieutenant in the Hugo Boss organization said Hussein could have a promising future in the underwear industry. "Bad is good, evil is money and Hussein's got this sort of Marky Mark meets Hitler thing going."

Calvin Klein could not be reached for comment.

Shiite hits the fan over bum Newsweek report

By John Breneman

Newsweek reported today that, for the third consecutive week, the Koran is ranked #1 on the New York Times most-flushed-down-the-toilet list.

The magazine's controversial report about alleged mistreatment of the holy book has sparked outrage in the Muslim world and, of course, plenty of senseless killings. Osama bin Laden vowed to seek vengeance by farting on a Bible if someone could just FedEx one to his cave.

Other books contending for the top spot on the prestigious most-flushed list: "Suicide Bomber's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams, Mitch Albom's "Tuesdays With Moammar" and the final installment in the Star Wars saga, "Revenge of the Shiite."

Plumbers have also reported handling an increase in wadded-up copies of "The Da Vinci Code," particularly in Catholic households. Also swirling in the literary hopper, best-selling vowel movements by Jane Fonda, Bob Dole, Zell Miller, Suzanne Somers, Queen Noor, Jenny McCarthy and the Welches, Jack and Suzy.

And just out on paperback, "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Insurgents" and Mitch Albom's other chart-topper, "The Five Nubile Virgins You Meet in Heaven."

(Real news alert: "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" by Dr. Hunter S. Thompson clocked in at #33 on the Times' Paperback Nonfiction list … right behind "The Making of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith.")

By John Breneman

The Rolling Stones, affectionately known as the Rolling Fossils, have announced plans for a worldwide "Rock the Hospice" tour opening Aug. 21 at Fenway Park and marking the first time the Stones have played Boston since 1918.

In a related development, archaeologists have unearthed evidence that the band, originally thought to have formed in London in the mid-20th century, actually were created by geologic forces during the waning days of the Neolithic Era.

Rock historians are ecstatic over the discovery, reportedly a Stone Age fossil bearing the impression of a giant set of human lips with a tongue sticking out.

Also found at the scene, several flint guitar picks and a sheath of woolly mammoth skin with the lyrics to the Stones hit "Monkey Man," now being interpreted as a biting musical commentary on mankind's evolution from Neanderthal to Cro-Magnon.

The discoveries suggest that wrinkly frontman Mick Jagger, until recently thought to be 61 years old, is actually closer to 6,100. Nevertheless, cocky, Viagara-popping rocker was recently named "Sexiest Sexagenarian Alive" by AARP magazine.

The Stones (also known as "Their Arthritic Majesties") have updated many of their best-loved songs to reflect their advanced age. The following is a partial list of old favorites the band is expected to play.

Homeland Security Dept. spokesman Jason urged Americans to be extra alert on Friday the 13th.

Homeland Security issues
'bad luck' alert for Friday 13th

By John Breneman

The Department of Homeland Security issued a "bad luck" advisory today, Friday the 13th, urging Americans to avoid the heightened threat of misfortune by protecting themselves with rabbits' feet and four-leaf clovers.

The CIA would neither confirm nor deny that it has detained thousands of black cats and taken many for interrogation at Guantanamo Bay, where they have been described as aloof and uncooperative.

Pedestrians are urged not to walk underneath ladders or step on any seemingly harmless sidewalk cracks, to minimize the risk of one's mother suffering a possible spinal injury.

Warning: Individuals resembling this police sketch may pose a threat of bad luck.

Leading economists speculate that 3.2 million of the lost or abandoned pennies scattered across the American landscape will be picked up today by people who ordinarily wouldn't waste the 10 seconds it takes to bend down for a useless one-cent piece.

The Justice Department issued a statement reminding Americans that breaking a mirror is punishable by up to seven years bad luck. President Bush began the day by rubbing Dick Cheney's head and planned to spend the afternoon playing horseshoes.

The president said Americans needn't worry about Friday the 13th because he has everything under control, but conventional wisdom suggests keeping your fingers crossed just in case.

Tonight on The Jacko Channel …

5:00 p.m.   "Jacko Celebrity Poker"  --  Watch Jacko try to bluff his way to riches with a measly pair of jacks.

5:30 p.m.   "Everybody Loves Jacko"  --  Deborah frets about whether to leave Jacko alone with the twins, Jeffrey and Michael.

6:00 p.m.   "Entertainment Tonight: Jacko Edition"  --  Exclusive unsubstantiated chatter about Jacko's affair with Paula Abdul's kid brother.

6:30 p.m.   "World Wrestling Federation Presents: Jacko Smackdown"  --  Can you smell what Jacko is cookin'?

7:00 p.m.   "Jacko Fear Factor"  --  Watch the Speedo-clad Jacko eat live maggots while dangling upside-down from a moving helicopter.

8:00 p.m.   "CSI: Neverland"  --  Gil Grissom and his team of forensic sleuths comb Neverland for clues about Jacko's involvement in a grisly serial killing.

9:00 p.m.   "Law & Order: Jacko Victims Unit"  --  Detective Ice-T comes down hard on an alleged pop star pedophile.

10:00 p.m.   "The O'Jacko Factor"  --  Jacko berates hapless liberals, says he doesn't see anything wrong with sharing his bed with Rush Limbaugh.

11:00 p.m.   "Extreme Race and Gender Makeover"  --  An exclusive, behind-the-scenes report on how Jacko fulfilled his dream of becoming a scary-looking white woman.

12: 00 a.m.   "Mister Jacko's Neighborhood"  --  Can you say "molestation"? A friendly, cardigan-clad Jacko entertains the kids with help from King Friday and Mr. McFeely.

Mother's Day card yields clues on bin Laden

FBI profilers say Osama bin Laden's psycopathic behavior is rooted in conflicted feelings about his mother (pictured above).

By John Breneman

Authorities hunting for Osama bin Laden tracked the elusive terrorist mama's boy to Akbar's House of Flowers in Afghanistan, where he sent his mom a cheap bouquet and a cheesy card promising "the mother of all Mother's Days."

"Dear Mimsie -- Ten thousand virgins could not stop me from showering you with hatred, I mean love," read the card, which was intercepted by U.S. authorities and also included a gift certificate for a new burka from Old Navy.

One FBI profiler claims bin Laden's all-consuming quest to "kill whitey" is rooted in unresolved feelings about his mother, who reportedly pushed him to become a doctor, lawyer or oil tycoon and did not hide her disappointment when he instead became an international hate-monger.

Sources say the young bin Laden grew up hopelessly confused about how his mother's reverence for Allah squared with her passion for Western television programs like "Maude," "The Jeffersons" and "Love, American Style."

Margaret "Ma" bin Laden once told Geraldo Rivera that she tried to get young Osama to play baseball or marbles, but he was always too busy waging backyard "holy wars" against imaginary "infidels." She also confided that she long ago gave up her dream that he would someday buy her a cable-ready condominium in Palm Beach.

Forces nab Jacko's #2 man in Pakistan

Authorities say Abu Faraj al-Libbi is Michael Jackson's #2 man in Iraq.

By John Breneman

Al Qaeda's #3 leader, captured this week by Pakistani forces, is also a top-ranking Michael Jackson lieutenant in the region, according to completely fabricated reports.

Abu Faraj al-Libbi, a blotchy-faced Libyan terror kingpin, reportedly suffers the same skin condition as the embattled King of Pop, whom he met at a vitiligo victims support group in 1992.

Sources say the pop star had a profound influence on the young jihadist, who later worked as a Michael Jackson impersonator and is known in some circles as "Iraq-O Jacko."

Al-Libbi refused to reveal any information about his relationship with Jackson, but under intense questioning with women's underwear strapped to his head revealed that he once saw Osama bin Laden molest his pet chimpanzee, Lord Fauntleroy.

He said he had last seen bin Laden six months ago at a Ramada Inn in Baghdad, where the al Qaeda boss had arranged a secret rendezvous to share tips about eluding manhunts with notorious Boston mobster Whitey Bulger.

Bin Laden usually registers under the aliases Al Carter, Fred Bush or Sammy McLaden, according to Al-Libbi, who also confessed that bin Laden hates broccoli, has a schoolboy crush on Laura Bush and never travels far unless accompanied by his harem of bisexual monkeys.

Frito Bandito busted on immigration charges

By John Breneman

Immigration officials say they arrested the Frito Bandito at the Mexican border today trying to transport an 18-wheeler full of illegal aliens to a corn chip-processing facility in Chula Vista, California.

While officials from Homeland Security and the Department of Justice wrangled for jurisdiction over the case some FBI men tried to interrogate the alleged Bandito, but all he would say was, "We don't need no stinking badges."

The legendary snack food icon reportedly went "underground" after Doritos and Cheetos and extra-strength Tostitos surpassed his once-dominant Fritos in popularity among American consumers, then quickly climbed to #1 on the INS "most wanted" list.

The heavily armed Bandito surrendered without a firefight, but he now claims he was roughed up by Immigration Dept. agents who he claims yanked his mustachio and ruined his sombrero. He referred all questions to his attorney F. Lee "Speedy" Gonzalez.

Related story:
Bin Laden eludes Wile E. Coyote

Also under investigation
by the Humor Gazette:

Jolly Green Giant files racial discrimination lawsuit

Pres. Bush awards Congressional Medal of Freedom to Captain Crunch

Runaway bride-to-be abducted by aliens

By John Breneman

The Georgia bride-to-be who disappeared days before her wedding and told police she had been kidnapped has vanished again, this time leaving a note saying she had been abducted by two alien beings in a blue spaceship.

Jennifer Carol Wilbanks, 32, hopped a bus to Las Vegas last week and turned up Friday in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she faces charges of false reporting of a crime and yelling "Fire!" in a crowded theater.

Authorities say that upon returning home to Duluth, Georgia, Wilbanks reunited with her jilted fiancé, rescheduled her nuptials for today and upped the number of bridesmaids and groomsman to 18 each.

But this morning family members found a note from Wilbanks saying a pair of alien thugs had forced her to board a late-model UFO. There was also evidence that she had shed her Earth clothing and shaved her head.

Police say they are not buying the UFO story and are pursuing an anonymous tip regarding alleged DNA similarities between the bride and groom. They said other possible reasons for her latest disappearance include depression over how the moral decline of the media threatens the sanctity of marriage and bad hair day.

President pumps petroleum plan

By John Breneman

Stating that America will run out of gas by 2041 if we do not act now, President Bush last night unveiled an Energy Security reform plan that gives people the option of establishing personal petroleum accounts.

The nation forgot to have an energy strategy for the last few decades so "now we find ourselves in the fix we're in," the president explained during a rare press conference. He said as soon as he heard Americans were worried about high gas prices he invited the Saudi prince out to his ranch to talk about reducing our dependence on foreign sources of oil.

Bush's own quest for black gold began shortly after college when he bummed some capital off his dad's pals and started an oil company called Arbusto. But his drills came up dry and the thing went busto. Energy analysts say it is too early to tell if his military drilling of Iraq will yield dividends.

President Bush also used the news conference to remind people of his controversial plan to fix Social Security by funneling tons of funds to Wall Street.

Asked for his view on the role of faith in American politics, President Bush said each individual's relationship with his or her SUV is "a personal matter."

A White House spokesman gave the president's performance high marks, except for the part where he accidentally distanced himself from powerful right-wing religious fanatics.

Related story:
Jon Stewart explains Social Security reform

Bush puts the moves on Saudi prince

Despite some flirtatious hand-holding, sources say President Bush couldn't get to second base with swarthy Saudi Crown Prince Abdullah.

By John Breneman

Holding hands with his special friend Prince Abdullah, President Bush said today he tried everything to get the bashful Saudi monarch to drop the price of oil -- from flowers and chocolates to butterfly kisses and promises of geopolitical favors.

But don't expect Bush's wooing to pay off at the pump. Despite charming him with pickup truck rides and brush-clearing lessons, sources say the president couldn't even get to second base with the sexy Saudi.

However, the two men did share a hearty laugh at one point. When Bush asked what he could do to reduce America's dependence on foreign oil, Abdullah quipped that he could urge people to drive more fuel-efficient vehicles. The president managed to keep a straight face for a few seconds before erupting, "Heh, heh, heh. Heh, heh, heh."

Sources say the president rejected diplomatic advice from Tom Bolton, the controversial United Nations nominee who said Bush should order a Secret Service man to get the prince in a chokehold and push his face into the windshield of Bush's pickup truck until he cried "Uncle Sam" and agreed to drop oil prices.

Instead, Bush gave the prince a piggy-back ride around his Crawford, Texas, ranch and engaged in some playful banter about Saudi Arabia's woeful human rights record. The prince also showed off his mischievous side, at one point gesturing to the Bush twins, Jenna and Barbara, and asking the president, "How much for the women?"

When pressed about the high cost of crude, the prince said he could maybe knock off a penny or two, but explained that he had a fiduciary responsibility to his wealthy backers to keep their profits as high as possible. Bush said he understood completely.

After his play date with the prince, Bush said he will keep trying to seduce the Saudis but won't waver from his strategy of seeking new sources of oil in protected wildlife refuges and politically unstable regimes.

Pope says: Don't call me 'Eggs' Benedict XVI

By John Breneman

The new pontiff, Pope Benedict XVI, today sent a strong signal that he will have little tolerance for anyone blasphemous enough to address him by the nickname "Eggs," as in Pope "Eggs" Benedict XVI.

A source close to the Egg Man said he was afraid this might happen when he selected the name Benedict, but decided to forge bravely ahead rather than switch at the last minute to Pius or Cyrus or Dubya.

The new pope, a German cardinal named Joseph Ratzinger ("Joey Rats" to his Sicilian friends), has been called "Panzer Cardinal" and "God's rottweiler" by critics, but he also answers to "God's pit bull" and "God's schnauzer." He did serve in the Hitler Youth as a boy, but escaped without being tagged with the nickname "Nazi Joe."

The custom of papal nicknames dates back to the very first pope, St. Peter (32-67 A.D.), an orange-faced, triangle-eyed pontiff called "Pumpkin Eater" by his foes.

Almost every Pope Boniface has been called "Old Bony Face" and Pope Eugene IV (1431-47) was haunted by the epithet "Gene, Gene, Pontificating Machine." Of course, the papal wagsters were merciless with Pope Sisinnius (708 A.D.).

The newly installed Pope "Don't Call Me Eggs" Benedict pledged to be a divider, not a uniter, by spreading his message that Allah and Buddha can hit the bricks because the Roman Catholic Church is the one true religion.

Humor Gazette spokesmodel Tiffany Tiara-Smith celebrates being crowned Miss Satire.

Humor Gazette thanks
'the little people'
for Satire Awards

By John Breneman

Thanks largely to an impressive turnout by the "my mom" demographic, the Humor Gazette has won first-place honors in four categories in the quarterly contest sponsored by The Satire Awards.

The $1.2 million in imaginary prize money ($37.25 after taxes) will be used to break ground on the 56-story Humor Gazette Building in downtown Manhattan and hire five new writers, four of them monkeys.

Below is a scene from the lavish, red-carpet Satire Awards ceremony, held this year at an abandoned warehouse in Pismo Beach, Nebraska:

"In addition to the proverbial 'little people,' I'd like to thank President George W. Bush, without whom none of this would be possible. Thanks also to Donald Rumsfeld, Saddam Hussein, John Kerry, Yasser Arafat, Britney Spears, Speed Racer and Jacko. My sincere gratitude Humor Gazette technical guru Jeff Raper; yes ladies, that's his real name.

(Red light flashed 10 seconds ago; music begins playing)

… and I'd like to thank my crack team of attorneys, agents, publicists, existential satirists, botox aestheticians and liposuction technicians. Oh and Johnny and Ronnie and Pee-Wee and Osama and Moammar and Groucho and Hunter and Jose and Howard and we'll always have Paris … and Martha and John Paul and the Donald … and Jesus Christ and Condoleezza Rice …

(Long hooked cane appears from Stage Left and yanks hapless douche behind curtain)

Satire Award winners from the last quarter include:
1st -- Most believable: Rumsfeld offers proof of link between Saddam Hussein and ... Rumsfeld
1st -- Best Headline: Speed Racer busted for speeding, possession of speed
1st -- Best Current Events: A tip of the hat to Arafat
1st -- Best Celebrity: Scent of a pop tart: Britney's new perfume
2nd -- Best Presidential: Pet Goats for Bush in '04
2nd -- Best Related Picture: Baby Pees on Bush
2nd -- Best Site Design
3rd -- Best Sports: Donkeys defeat Elephants in political football

Humor Gazette CEO Arturo DiMaunchie today announced a new initiative to get people to vote for the Gazette in the next installment of the seemingly perpetual Satire Awards competition, saying the awards boost morale on the publication's one-person staff.

Enter private voting booth here

EDITOR'S NOTE: After a brief sabbatical from 20 years in real journalism to focus on fake news writing, I am back in the workforce as an overnight online editor at BostonHerald.com. Looks like I'll be writing some columns too.    - - John Breneman

Boston Marathon fan wins Armchair Division   (April 19, 2005)
Opening Day at Fenway: Hub fans bid curse adieu   (April 12, 2005)

Boston Marathon fan wins Armchair Division

By John Breneman

The Boston Marathon is insane, right? I mean just do the math. Twenty-thousand runners times 26.2 miles of ankle-busting, knee-crunching pavement from Hopkinton to Copley Square.

By my calculations that's total 524,000 miles traveled … on foot. I found that quite an impressive statistic until I realized I could get that same mileage -- without the estimated 40,000 blisters and umpteen cardiac seizures -- from a couple of old Toyotas.

I was actually planning on running this year because I could really use the $100,000 grand prize. But I had to pull out because of, uh, a ruptured flexor ligament in my, um, quadriceps. Yeah, that's it.

I'm kidding, of course. I could no more run 26 miles than sneak into the papal conclave and cast a ballot for my favorite Cardinal, St. Louis first baseman Albert Pujols.

Believe me I tried, and nearly died, at last year's race. Here's what happened:

I got to Hopkinton real early to get a prime parking space, then walked eight miles to the Main Street starting line and waded into the scantily clad sea of humanity. The aroma was a pungent blend of Ben Gay, Aspercreme and Triple-Action Gold Bond Powder.

Just as I was elbowing my way into position, the starter's gun went off. Bam! I was instantly trampled by a pack of 9-year-old Cub Scouts jogging for the Jimmy Fund and a contingent of bald hippies raising money for bone marrow transplants and medicinal marijuana.

Before I could even scrape the burnt wheelchair rubber off my back, I looked up and saw a couple stringbeans from the Kenyan junior varsity whiz by at approximately 35 mph. "See you in Beantown fellas. I hope."

Once I found my stride, I was like Rocky charging up those stairs in Philadelphia with that inspirational soundtrack blaring in my head. I was able to keep that up for nearly 200 yards.

That's when my right kneecap flared up as if I'd been stung by a giant bee, but it was actually just my ACL snapping like a dried-up gumband. No problem, I thought, I'll just tough it out. But by the time I reached the first mile marker I had tripped over my shoelace, twisted my left ankle and tried four different breathing methods, finally settling into a sort of arhythmic "gasp-wheeze-gulp."

At around three miles, I narrowly avoided a 10-runner pileup on Route 135. EMTs arrived on the scene within seconds, took one look at the twisted heap of human wreckage and radioed for the Jaws of Life.

Assuming the slow pace of that fabled long-distance champion, the tortoise, I somehow made it to the five-mile mark in Ashland. I swung my hand out to grab some water, but missed and accidentally punched myself in the face. The force of the blow knocked me into a motorcycle cop and, though the pepper spray clouded my vision, I managed to scramble away before he could cite me for resisting cardiac arrest.

By now my carbo-loading pasta dinner from the night before was really paying off, but my Cuervo-loading experiment was having the opposite effect. Pretty soon the acid reflux kicked in, warming my esophagus with the tangy taste of peptic acid and ravioli. Fortunately, I became distracted by what felt like an ice-cream headache in my left lung.

I switched to kilometers for a while to make it seem like I'd covered more ground, but got depressed at Mile 8 in Framingham when a guy with a peg leg and a bandaged head marched by playing a fife with two drummers close behind.

Around this time things were getting a little fuzzy, and I really couldn't say where I got that pony, but I rode that little guy all the way to Natick -- part Paul Revere, part Rosie Ruiz -- before a vigilant race official ordered me to ditch my steed.

Was I there yet? Nope.

Shortly after I crossed into Wellesley, I was overtaken by the Grim Reaper (with #17642 pinned to his long black cape). I assumed he was looking for the tubby, crimson-faced guy who blew by a few minutes earlier with a purple vein the size of a Vienna sausage keeping time on his left temple.

Halfway up Heartbreak Hill, I was gripped by the sensation that an angry falcon was trying to claw my heart out of my chest cavity. But that was just a hallucination. What really happened, an MRI revealed later, was that my aorta got plugged up by a chunk of Power Bar that I found on the road.

Undeterred, I ignored the brush fire burning its way through my innards, from my pancreas down to my bladder, and convinced myself that the dark blood trickling from my right ear was probably normal. But then one of my leg cramps began emitting a high-pitched whining sound, something like a circular saw cutting through a fibula or femur.

To this day, I have no recollection whatsoever of Miles 22-25.

I must have regained consciousness with about a quarter-mile to go because I distinctly remember the ghost of the legendary Johnny Kelley (#1 now and forever) tapping me on the shoulder and yelling at me to "keep going, kid."

Reliable sources report that when I finally staggered across the finish line, I guzzled four gallons of blue Gatorade and hailed an ambulance.

The doctor said I would eventually regain most of the feeling in my pelvis, but advised me to get used to the sandpaper sound between my second and third vertebrae.

Later on, I would be disqualified for the pony incident and for purchasing piggy-back rides through much of Brighton and Brookline.

But that's OK, because I actually have a small confession to make. I never even tried to run the Boston Marathon last year, and a ruptured quadraplexor tendon did not prevent me from joining the field.

I was home watching the action on TV. Somewhere along the line I decided to crown myself winner of the Armchair Division. And you know those ceremonial garlands the winners get to wear on their heads? Well, mine was made of guacamole Doritos.

You see, most of us can only imagine what it would be like to run those 26.2 miles, to participate in a singular event that symbolizes mankind's capacity for not only endurance and perseverance, but also for good will.

Twenty-thousand hearty souls logging half a million miles, raising millions for charity. We salute them all. This concludes our live coverage of the 109th running of the most patriotic race in America.

Related story:
Rev. Jesse Jackson mulls pope bid

Bush names Patriots football ambassadors

By John Breneman

President Bush welcomed the New England Patriots to the White House for the third time in four years on Wednesday, then stunned the Super Bowl champs by asking them to serve as U.S. ambassadors for football.

The president told Patriots coach Bill Belichick he has learned that millions of people throughout the world refer to "soccer" as "football." This could pose a potential threat to national security "or something," he said.

"Football is an American game and people ought to play it around the world, like democracy" said President Bush. "We need to make sure we live in a world where football means football. Soccer calling itself football is like communism calling itself democracy."

The president explained that in many countries, young school children are brainwashed with anti-American propaganda and taught to love soccer instead of real football.

"In Texas we have a word for soccer -- boring," said Bush. "There's no action, no good-lookin' women in beer commercials, no pickup trucks, no Viagra. I guarantee you're not gonna see me choking on a pretzel from watching soccer on TV."

By the time President Bush reached the climax of his speech -- "Either you're with us or you're with the soccer people" -- the Patriots had slipped out the back.

Hub fans bid curse adieu

By John Breneman

Diamond rings the size of baby's fist. Fighter jets tearing across the sky and soldiers in wheelchairs rolling across the Fenway grass. A Red Sox championship banner billowing from the Green Monster.

All of a sudden, 1918 doesn't seem so long ago. Not when Johnny Pesky (circa 1942 Sox) is standing right there soaking it all in with Dom DiMaggio, Dewey and Yaz and the rest of us 35,000 lucky stiffs, all crammed into this hallowed baseball artifact, swept up in the emotion of a shared dream.

Everything is different this spring, right? The Sox made history, choked the Yankees, broke the curse, swept the Cards and made grown men cry. World champs. Aw yeah. It feels good.

What, you say the Yankees are back in town? OK, now that another New England winter has frozen the exhilarating memories of last October into Red Sox lore, it's time to come out and play once more. But first we have a couple small matters to attend to.

You know, distributing gaudy and symbolic chunks of etched gold. Singing songs to honor the glory of Red Sox past and present. Unfurling gigantic World Series banners … in your stinking Yankee faces.

Or cheering like idiots when the announcer calls out "Mariano Rivera." You didn't have to be at the park to hear Fenway erupt with a standing O for the once-dominant closer turned hapless tomato can.

"What can I say -- just tip my hat and call the Red Sox my daddy," Rivera said in my imaginary pre-game interview. He scoffed at any suggestion that the tables have turned, that perhaps now the Yankees will be haunted by the Curse of the Splendid Splinter, and said, "Wake up Ted Williams, I'll drill him in the ah… frozen head I guess."

We were almost done saluting our heroes of 2004, honoring Red Sox warriors of games gone by and bidding farewell to the ghost of Mr. George Herman Ruth. Almost ready to ring in the new year with an 8-1 Yankee spanking, a savory and immensely satisfying Wakefield knuckle sandwich.

But wait, what first-ever Red Sox defending world champion Opening Day extravaganza would be complete without a special appearance by the president of Rwanda? From up in the bleachers I couldn't see whether or not President Paul Kagame brought his mitt but it looked like he had finally ditched Mitt Romney.

After three innings on the mound it was clear Wakefield had stepped forward as one of the Yankees' new daddies. Wake had the Yanks shooting blanks with his 54 mph fistball and his knee-buckling knuckler, leaving a breeze of whiffs and nicks in his wake. After the game, Wakefield declined to comment on his role on the 2016 Sox pitching staff.

Fans from around the region flocked to Fenway for the mind-expanding '05 opener, high price of gasoline be damned. High price of beer be damned too, while we're on the topic. According to my crude calculations, Sam Adams premium unleaded carries a ballpark pump price of roughly $72 per gallon. (Psst, we smuggled in our peanuts. My friend only paid a couple bucks at the grocery store, but the nuts have an estimated Landsdowne Street value of $50-$75.)

Yes, it is definitely good to sit in the Fenway bleachers with a cold brewski while Tedy Bruschi of the three-time world champion New England Patriots throws out the first pitch alongside Richard Seymour, Bobby Orr and all-time undisputed ring king Bill Russell.

The true significance of what this all means to the generations of people who have placed hope in something called the Red Sox cannot be captured in words (though the Boston Herald headline "Joy of Sox" comes close).

For me, it is all in the emotion of the thing. It's the way you feel when the Sox do it -- when they battle back from so far down and really finally do it -- while you're screaming at the TV with your family and friends.

It might be that shiver you feel when the scoreboard on Opening Day flashes a giant black-and-white of young Johnny Pesky, looking like the kid Moonlight Graham in "Field of Dreams." It might be remembering when your dad took to that first game and there he was, Roberto Clemente. Or Yaz. Or Mickey.

I think loving the Red Sox -- sorry, I mean the world champion Red Sox -- is all of that and much more. It's a whole Zen, Ken Burns, Pudge, Cooperstown, Cy Young, Tony C., Babe, 1918, Impossible Dream kind of thing. You know what I mean.

Today's story can also be found on the website of my new employer, BostonHerald.com

By John Breneman

Dissatisfied with the amount of attention he received by poking his nose into the Michael Jackson and Teri Schiavo media events, the Rev, Jesse Jackson is said to be talking with his advisers about a possible campaign to become the first black pope.

When informed that he can't be pope because he is not Catholic, Jackson reportedly became infuriated and vowed to "fight the racism that oppresses non-Catholic, African-American adulterers by saying they can't be the Dalai Lama, an ayatollah, or even pope."

A source close to Jackson's massive ego said he formed an exploratory committee after being encouraged to run by such influential figures as P. Diddy, LaToya Jackson and the Rev. Al Sharpton. Father Guido Sarducci has also thrown his full support behind the "Jackson for Pontiff in 2005" movement.

Jackson, who ran for president in 1984 and 1988, said his qualifications for the Vatican position include his "brotherly love for all mankind, even the Hymies" and a "God-given ability to pontificate with the media."

"Plus, I gotta lotta words that rhyme with 'pope'," said Jackson, 63. "Rope. Dope. Yeah, rope-a-dope like Muhammad Ali. That pope could float like he's beatified and sting like a bee."

Political analysts speculate that since he has no realistic chance to become pope, Jackson may just be angling for a Cabinet position in the next papal administration, like Secretary of Vatican Affairs or Under Secretary of Magniloquent Pomposity.

Humor us with this foolish questionnaire

In order to better serve YOU, the reader, I have compiled this questionnaire as part of my work in the cutting-edge field of humor column research.

My bosses are pressuring me to provide 8-10 percent more laughs in each edition of the Humor Gazette. I'm hoping the data you provide here will help me tap into the very marrow of the human funny bone.

The first 100 respondents will be eligible to win a gold-embossed collector's edition copy of my new best-seller - "Blah Blah Blah, Etc." (Offer void in parts of South Berwick.) To ensure optimum results, I must request that you please hold your laughter until the end of this column.

Warning: The following questions are "multiple choice," so respondents will need a working knowledge of the "alphabet."

Questions
1. When is your favorite time to read humor columns?
A. During an intimate moment with a loved one.
B. While speeding down the freeway and chattering on the cell phone in heavy traffic.
C. After the weekly liposuction treatment.
D. In those peaceful, solitary moments just before flushing.

2. Do you prefer humor columns that are:
A. side-splitting
B. knee-slapping
C. rib-tickling
D. windpipe-constricting

3. What is your favorite snack to nibble on while reading humor columns? (select up to 6)

• kippered herring
  
• tofu jerky
  
• lima bean pizza
  
• Meat Whiz
  
• refried chitlins
  
• Oysters Rockefeller
  
• Venezuelan caviar
  
• animal by-products
  
• Spam-flavored lollipops
  
• Tender Vittles
  
• Pepto-Bismol smoothies
  
• that nasty brown stuff that Grandma used to make
  

4. What is your current employment status?
A. pencil pusher
B. suit
C. dot-com geek
D. brown-collar slop jockey

5. What is your current family status?
A. single
B. double
C. disowned
D. married, divorced, remarried and living in squalor with 3.5 kids, 6.5 cats and an incontinent gerbil named Petey.

6. What is your current financial status?
A. mo' money
B. no money
C. self-made pauper
D. assets not sufficient to maintain the lifestyle to which you have become accustomed.

7. How much would you pay for this column if it was not provided free as part of this fine newspaper Web site?
A. 1 yen
B. a plug nickel
C. a red cent
D. $1.2 million

8. What are some of your favorite humor column topics? (select up to six)
o society's seamy underbelly
o squirrel terrorists
o philandering politicians
o humpbacked sperm whales
o humpbacked politicians
o porcelain fixtures
o the role of monkeys in U.S. foreign policy
o algebraic equations
o machine gun-wielding gnomes
o blonds
o Polish sausages
o the mating rituals of the