n Friday afternoon Yassir Arafat promised to go without food for 50 days, and resist ousting by Israeli forces. The pledge follows a statement by Israel that they will remove Arafat, calling him an "impediment to peace," and a challenge by street magician David Blaine who called Arafat, "all dick and no balls."

The Blaine taunt is a latest in an underreported rivalry between the Palestinian leader and the American illusionist. After 2001 show of endurance in which Blaine remained encased in a block of ice for days, Arafat reputedly called Blaine a "big fakecicle." Blaine angrily invited Arafat to out-do his endurance test, and the Palestinian leader responded by sealing himself in his compound in the West Bank under Israeli assault and hasn't been outside but briefly since for almost two years. A courier allegedly carried a hand-scrawled note from Arafat to Blaine, reading, "How you like them apples?"

Them apples Blaine did not like apparently, as he began his most recent stunt Sept. 6, staying in a suspended see-through box hanging over London and going without food for 44 days. When Blaine's safety monitors were asked why 44 days specifically, they told reporters it was the scientifically-calculated limit a man could survive before his last few fans lost complete interest.

Not to be outdone, Arafat again pressed forward with some help for old nemesis Israel, promising to lock himself up in a tiny crawlspace and going without food for a full 50 days. Skeptics and people who don't like him say it is madness to attempt to live without food, surviving only on water and whatever's left in his beard for that long.

Unlike Blaine, Arafat was not a prick about granting interviews to reporters. When questioned about the troubles his organization and himself are facing from Israel, Arafat responded: "It is a very small crawlspace. Very tiny and cramped. I can barely move in there, and only meditation and praying to Allah can take my mind of the severe discomfort. Since I have only started, it is not so bad right now. But within a few days I will be in for a real hurtin', boys."

Arafat invites fans to check in on him at his website www.yassirthatsmybaby.com, while Blaine is invited to sniff his hairy backside. A webcam was installed in the crawlspace so fans can make sure Arafat is not pulling a fast one and sneaking out on the side for a bite of McDonald's.

Professor Ebb Wright, from Oxford's Department of Middle Eastern Politics and Magic, explains the difficulties ahead for the Palestinian.

"It is a quite difficult and politically deft maneuver at the same time," said Wright, digging the lint from his navel and making it into a little man. "On the one hand, it will be quite a feat to survive so long on a minimal of food, to maintain one's mind and body with so little fuel. On the other hand, it's politically brilliant because Arafat can rally the support of the rest of the world and still take calls of support. However, if one is busy building a coalition to prevent military incursion, it distracts from the various Eastern trances Arafat could be using to release his mind from his body."

Intrigued, this reporter accepted an invitation to try repeating Arafat's stunt in a crawlspace in the professor's office. Though he was kind enough to transcribe the preceding article, he was unable to help this reporter free himself again.

n the two-year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York City, many Americans marvel that in spite of the unanimously dire predictions of future attacks from the nation’s experts, the group thought to be responsible, Al-Qaeda, has been so quiet since. Too quiet.

“Weren’t we supposed to be writhing in the streets like the imperialist dogs we are by now?� questioned Doug Breiner of Minneapolis. “I thought for sure they would have nuked a bridge or drove an Amtrak train into the Sears Tower or something by now. What gives?�

“Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I’m glad nobody’s died or anything,� explained Breiner. “I’m not a sicko. But I’m kinda pissed we’ve been all worried for so long with no kind of payoff. It’s like hiding in your basement from a tornado all night and then finding out the guy on the news was talking about a Oldsmobile Toronado or something. Just kind of a pisser, sort of.�

The same sentiment has been echoed all across the country, as Americans come to grips with their lives not coming to a flaming, catastrophic end at any time during the last two years.

“Yeah, what the hell have those guys been up to?� asked an indignant Maury Jackson of Inkster, Michigan. “I guess maybe we overestimated them, I didn’t think they were the kind of terrorist organization that would just rest on their laurels after making a big splash. But I guess fame changes people. You know, that inner fire kinda fades out or whatever. It’s too bad, really. Hey, is it true Quentin Tarantino’s got a new movie coming out?�

Countless Americans remember with an air of awed nostalgia the many colorful ways security experts and politicians told them they would die only two short years ago. From jet-fuel infernos to anthrax-laced crop dusters, poisoned water reservoirs, truck bombs at day-care centers, botulism-infected milk hosed on toddlers, kamikaze suicide bombers at the GAP and nuclear power plants infiltrated by really smart Al-Qaeda moles, American security experts took an almost perverse glee in detailing the many varieties of heart-exploding terror that would inevitably follow in the wake of 9/11.

“I guess they’re probably pretty distracted now that we blew up their country and stuff,� mused NYU junior Patsy Washington about Al-Qaeda. “Which is good I guess. But it would’ve been kinda cool to see what crazy shit they dreamt up next, you know? Somebody told me they were gonna hide razor blades in all our toilet paper, that would’ve been nuts.�

“I guess it was inevitable that after a while all those constant terror alerts that never put out would lose their impact,� said retiree Sharon Henline, stroking her Yorkshire terrier. “Tell you the truth, at this point I’m more worried about that black guy who hangs out by the pay phone down on the corner. He looks kinda shady.�

That black guy who hangs out by the pay phone down on the corner, Tyrell Hughes, expressed similar sentiments. “Al-Qaeda? Nah man, fuck Al-Qaeda. How’ve I got time to worry about that when I’ve got some crazy bitch siccing her little dog on me every morning when I’m waiting for my ride to work? Damn.�

I don't know why everybody expects me to know everything around here. "Omar, what's your car doing parked in my office?" "Omar, who the fuck hired Menudo to tile the break room?" "Omar, what ever happened to that Japanese woman you had living in your house?" What am I, Google? Get your lazy ass over to the library and look it up yourself, Curious George. AskOmar.com don't run for free and when I charge, I charge in pain.

I have to admit though; the "Japanese woman" question did get me thinking. I seem to remember something like that, some kind of foreign squatter in the Bricks Manor a little while back. At first I thought I must be remembering some lame sitcom, but according to resident prick Orson Welch, The Jap of Luxury went off the air years ago.

I definitely remember the house smelling like soy sauce a lot last year, and a quick peek into the compost heap outside shows strong evidence that there was a lot of chop-sticking going on around here during the same time period. So it certainly looks like this place was all Japped up for a good couple months last year. Weird.

I decided to hit the Internet for a little research, which mostly turned up strange cartoon pornography that's likely going to screw up my Saturday mornings for the next few years. But the most useful info came from the commune itself (no shit, we're on the Internet now) in the form of my own Polio columns from last fall. That was really a trip; I was wondering how in the hell people got to our site. Turns out all you have to do is search for "Japanese cat-piss cornhole" and you're there.

So now with that confusion out of the way, I'm faced with a question: What in the hell happened to my Asian live-in cohort? Jesus, you turn around for nine months and these people disappear on you, it's insane.

The last thing I remember, we were teamed up in this rickshaw polo tournament I had organized for charity. Osaka had been building up some serious skills carting me around town during those carless days, and I was getting pretty sharp at not eating shit out the back on sharp turns, so I figured we should put those skills to use for a good cause. There was some static about a school for training immigrants to pull Omar Bricks around town like a dogsled team not being a real charity, but those whiners were weeded out pretty fast and most of them had some pretty sad sack rickshaw-pullers anyway, to say the least. Mostly scrawny neighborhood kids or hookers trying to get off the street, Osaka and I would have poloed circles around them without either of us breaking a sweat.

In retrospect I wouldn't have minded if those guys stayed on, because the poloers who did stick around were a pretty rough bunch who favored a brand of full-contact rickshaw polo that wasn't for the faint of heart. I really felt sorry for anyone who parked their car on Brown Street that day, that's all you need to know.

In the end nobody there could match the skills Osaka and I brought to the arena, but they didn't need to since we flipped the 'shaw while popping a wheelie on the victory lap after I'd scored our first goal. Needless to say the rickshaw was destroyed, which Osaka probably wasn't too thrilled about since she'd paid for it and I'd talked her into getting one of the nice ones, really the Mercedes-Benz of rickshaws, it had a mini-fridge and a doorbell and everything. After the crash there was rickshaw shit all over the street, a stray dog even made off with the portable DVD player. It was a sad scene, especially for me, because I was right in the middle of Rollerball when it happened. I still don't know how that movie ends.

Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing Osaka after the crash, she may have given up on America or been kidnapped by the Triads for all I know. Hell, she could still be at the bottom of that pile of rickshaw rubble, but I bet they've cleaned that up by now. I probably could have stuck around and found out for sure, but the cops were on their way and we only had about ten minutes to make the half-off beers at Runyon's, so nobody was exactly volunteering to hang around for casualty detail.

It's probably all worked out for the best, unless she died. In that case, Osaka, or whatever your real name was, I'll never forget you. Again. After this time, never again. So I'll only forget you once. Probably, can't promise anything. But if you are still around and have learned to read English by now, Foghat's been sleeping on a pile of your stuff, so if you want it back you'll have to talk to him. Bricks out.

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