ust when you thought the limits of science were established—girl, look out! Here comes Senator Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania, the politician who magically defies the change of time and remains stuck in the 1950s.

Santorum alerted the rest of America, scared and turbulent, but still living in the year 2003, when he stated in an interview printed last Monday that the Supreme Court would endorse incest and other immoralities if they overturned a Texas sodomy law the Court is hearing.

"If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery. You have the right to anything," said the senator living in the decade of the TV dinner and TV westerns.

Some Democrats and fellow Republicans have denounced the senator's remarks and asked for his resignation, worried that living in a time period of 50 years ago would interfere with Santorum's ability to keep informed in current issues. Key Republican party leaders have guaranteed to study the senator closely and divulge his knowledge of important government and cultural stuff.

"I guarantee you," said a personal aide to Santorum, Jeff Richards, "the senator is in full control of his faculties and knows what year it is. I can't explain any more than that. I've seen the TV on in his house, I assume he must get the news and the usual programs… he's just somehow filtered them out." Girl, I tell you, that Richards gave this reporter the eye. Beep beep on the gaydar, that's all I'm saying.

Few from the scientific community have stepped forward to explain, though a group at Harvard's Department of Quantum Mechanics are posing theories of collapsing personal wormholes. Psychologists from around the world are seeking medical background from Santorum's representatives, particularly interested in previous incidents of head trauma or hallucinations. The extremely early onset of Alzheimer's has not been ruled out.

Other theories have been offered, but not yet fully explored. My girl Ladyboy Smacky, she say Santorum look just like this guy pick her up three nights in a row last April and call her "Mommy" while she dress up like Martha Washington, but that guy had a mustache and was in Frisco, but she swear that dude Santorum so deep in the closet he sittin' on the box to a Colecovision.

Despite the failure to pinpoint the source of Santorum's confusion, others are stressing the importance of bringing him up to date with the year 2003 before it becomes a problem.

"We have 50 years of history to cover with the senator, so obviously we'll have to pick highlights," said Professor of Cultural Studies at the University of Chicago and real sweetie Isis Oviate. "We should start with telling him World War II is over—more than likely he knows, but we shouldn't take chances. The geographical maps and political make-up of the world should be explained slowly so he knows all of that, about Stalin's death and, eventually, the fall of the Soviet Union, of course. We would hate to offend an ally with some disparaging remarks against Russia. We'll tell him all about Iraq, but one thing at a time. Take it slowly. The sexual revolution alone ought to leave him quaking in his wingtips. Maybe we'll just sum up the Kinsey Report and see how he responds to that."

uestions raised in the past week about the conflict of interests between Vice-President Dick Cheney and contracts awarded to his former firm Halliburton and its subsidiaries have given Democrats a weak spot in criticizing the information. The controversy rose to attention upon revelation that a 2-year contract with Halliburton subsidiary Kellogg Brown & Root to put out oil fires, repair the Iraqi oil infrastructure, and clean up oil spills could mean as much as $7 billion for the company, which Cheney was CEO of for five years before becoming the president's running mate.

The company denies any impropriety, despite senior Democratic Congressman saying the lack of any competitors and the multi-year nature of the contract is highly questionable. Halliburton spokespeople say the $7 billion return is a cap, and the real return will be as little as $490 million. The distinct sound of giggling was possibly in the background.

Deeper investigation has raised more issues with the Halliburton-Cheney connection. Subsidiary company Orlando-Dawn is the leading maker of yellow ribbons, and had been going out of business for nearly ten years before the Bush administration began its military efforts against Iraq, leading some Democrats to claim Cheney's manipulation has again resulted in increased profits for his former company.

Other beneficiaries of the Iraq war have been Keymint, makers of pro-Bush picket signs; Igog, makers of the "Dunk Saddam!" online video game; and the Stubborn Jackass country, which makes American flag-themed apparel and T-shirts reading "These colors don't run"—all Halliburton subsidiaries.

"It's hardly surprising our interests would match those of the Vice-President's," defended Halliburton spokesperson Mitchell Weeze, a tall oily guy on the thin side with a mysterious lazy eye. "Vice-President Cheney and Halliburton made for a mutually beneficial alliance because we believe in the same things—America, the military, and imposing justice on other countries. It doesn't mean anything improper occurred in the administration's decision-making or the contracts awarded our companies."

Harder to explain were other revelations later in the week, such as the contract proposed that Halliburton would paint the White House a new off-white eggshell color over the summer. The contract, which was discussed and had not been awarded yet, was even more questionable since none of Halliburton's subsidiaries are involved in professional house painting. An administration insider said the exclusive contract would have been for $120 million and would have required Halliburton executives to paint the White House over a series of weekends off the company clock.

The same insider, a man who identified himself as Donald Rumsfeld's brother Sammy, said perks of future contracts would include extra keys to the White House doors and the privilege of crashing in spare White House bedrooms whenever board members were in town—or on the floor, if that's cool with them.

Cheney responded quickly, with Cheney-grade antagonism.

"All of those purported benefits are completely, utterly fabricated," said Cheney in a press release Friday. "The deal was they could stay in the guest bungalow out back. If they think we're giving up White House bedrooms for less than 7-figure campaign donations, they're out of their corporate mind."

Fads have existed from the beginning of time. From the original fad of the dinosaurs, through the first Christian who nervously fingered his WWJD lapel pin right before he was fed to the lions, fads have been a simple fact of life for eons. So it should come as no surprise that there were even fads during America's own ancient times, the 1930's. Just because people talked funny and everything was in black and white doesn't mean those somber times were free of people getting overly excited about stupid trends.

Perhaps the most bizarre fad of the 1930's was the practice of goldfish swallowing. The origins of this fad are unclear, though a hilarious story about a goldfish owner eating an insanely hot tamale the same day his home's water was turned off, leading him to accidentally swallow his own pet goldfish while gulping down the contents of its bowl, has persevered over the years. True, or just funny? We may never know, but the exact same thing happened to my cousin and I wouldn't rush to credit him with being the first person to do anything.

In 1939 Dickie Lunds set the modern-day record by swallowing three hundred goldfish, after which a tapeworm the size of Doris Day was coaxed out of his large intestine with promises of a film career. Though like most aspiring starlets arriving in Hollywood, the tapeworm was then unceremoniously hit upside the head with an oar and sold to the rich as an exotic house pet. Lunds' short-lived fame then quickly deflated, since without the tapeworm puffing him up he had so much excess skin he looked like a giant scrotal flap. And no matter how many cut-rate children's pets you can cram down your disgusting throat, that's just not something the chicks dig. Unless you're Hugh Hefner, it wouldn't surprise me if that nasty old guy experiences full-body erections that cause him to grow to eight feet tall.

Lunds would later set the record for eating the most antacids after attempting to set the record for iguanas eaten in 1944, and would die alone in 1953 while trying to eat more hermit crabs than Lyle Downey of Hershberg, Kansas, who had spent three weeks accidentally locked inside of a pet store that had gone out of business. Even though he would end up as only a footnote in the history of lousy children's pet eating, Lunds has to be admired for his resolve and "never get a clue" attitude.

The most impressive fad of the 1930's had to be the dance marathon. Every Saturday night, couples would pit themselves against each other in this iron-willed test of resolve and lack of healthy perspective. In this bizarre ritual, dozens of men and women would dance to the death for weeks on end inside high school gymnasiums, the last couple standing crowned the king and queen of the killing floor. All the while, a dance "moderator," perched inside a lifeguard's tower with a rifle, eliminated contestants who clearly had lost the will to dance. Eventually this fad died off when people realized there were easier ways to get a door prize.

Though by this time they've probably eclipsed the statute of limitations on what can be considered a fad, drive-in theaters deserve a mention for their sublime tackiness. The first drive-in theater was opened by Delmar Hughes in his back yard in 1935, when he charged his neighbors admission to park on his lawn and watch footage of Delmar's wife having sex with a polo team projected onto his garage door. Never was the popular saying truer, that revenge is the mother of invention.

Drive-in theaters grew in popularity amongst people who were afraid to leave their cars for nearly fifty years, providing generations of Americans with warm memories of half-seen movies watched in pantomime form because dad didn't pay good money to not be able to listen to his smooth jazz station when he was in the car. If lip-reading were a real science and not just a bluff used by conmen to bilk the FBI and make deaf people feel inadequate, it would have got its start at the drive-in.

As you may have noticed, the big fads of the 1930's were decidedly low-budget affairs thanks to the Great Depression. But they were memorable in their creativity, and certianly worthy of a chapter in You Look Like an Asshole, my upcoming book. Speaking of which, it's starting to look like eight chapters isn't going to be nearly enough, so I need each and every one of you out there to put your heart into creating fads that will define the current decade, and fast. I don't care what; wear an oil filter for a hat or something, paint your dog. Just make sure it catches on in the next few weeks. Thanks.

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