epublican Senator Strom Thurmond of South Carolina celebrated his 100th birthday this week, a feat made even more amazing by the fact that he died 20 years ago.

"This striking news is just further evidence of Strom's amazing longevity," opined former Sen. Bob Dole, R-Kan., who himself died after falling down a well in 1996, but came back because he forgot his glasses.

Thurmond, the oldest and whitest senator in history, reached his 100th birthday Thursday surrounded by family, friends, and more zombies than a George Romero film. When asked if they ever expected to see this day after Thurmond's death from a heart attack in 1982, partygoers were philosophical.

"Strom's always pulling shit like that. Hell, he died in my pool last weekend. I thought I was going to have to spend my entire Saturday night at the morgue, but then he got better," explained neighbor Sylvester Coles.

"Sure, dad gave us a scare back in '82, and we even had a funeral, but then one day he just walked in the door, sat down, and started watching cartoons on the TV. Nobody ever really said anything about it or asked him what happened. I mean, how do you bring that up? Ever since then we've just come to accept that dad dies sometimes," said Thurmond's daughter Julie.

Thurmond, who is retiring at the end of this session of Congress because nobody appreciates Polack jokes anymore, served for 48 years, as near as anyone can remember, and goes out the oldest man ever to serve in the Senate and the lifetime record holder for scrambled eggs eaten.

Frail and confined to a wheelchair, Thurmond appeared moved by his hissing bowels and the event held in his honor. "Gaaaaah! Hsssssaaah! Fbbbbbtttsss!" he told the gathering.

Thurmond's career tracked many of the cultural changes that took place in the South he came to represent. He won election to the Senate in 1954, the only write-in candidate ever to capture a Senate seat, after he convinced election officials that he also went by the nicknames "Donald Duck" and "Hugo Fukov." Years later he secured his legacy by originating the "Southurn Manefesto" that urged defiance of the 1954 Supreme Court ruling on school desegregation. In 1957 he spoke for 24 hours on the Senate floor in opposition to civil rights legislation, the longest filibuster in Senate history. Three Senators committed suicide during the speech when Thurmond asked if he'd already told the story about his black friend Danny.

In 1964, Thurmond, then a Democrat, switched to the Republican Party when he realized he was the only Democrat on the "Back to Africa" committee. But once civil rights law became a reality, Thurmond adjusted, learning new jokes about Koreans and the handicapped.

"America outgrew old prejudices. Strom himself came to symbolize a reasoned transformation," Dole said with something like a straight face.

Referring to Thurmond's reputation as a lady's man, Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott dropped a pair of wet dentures down a waitress's cleavage to the delight of onlookers. Thurmond, however, looked terrified when informed that Lott's 89-year-old mother had a crush on him.

The highlight of the night came when Thurmond reenacted his 1982 death by having a massive stroke and slumping into a punch bowl, only to reappear later with his arms full of chocolate bunnies.

"That's dad," shrugged daughter Julie, looking slightly unnerved.

he country as a whole has not been doing anything recently. In fact, leading news analysts propose that the total United States has just been going through the daily grind since, approximately, Thanksgiving weekend.

Though a slate of news stories and pop culture events dominated American consciousness in recent months—including the potential war with Iraq, the November election win for Republicans, the murder spree by serial snipers, movie releases like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and the new James Bond movie Die Another Day, and exciting episodes of favorite TV programs—the past two weeks has found America completely, utterly bored.

A recent survey on what Americans were doing included answers such as, "Nothing much," "Nothing really," "Nothing," "Just chillin'," "Nada, man," and "Not a damn thing."

Periodic droughts of news are nothing new to the American media, such as months ago when the anniversary of Elvis' death was arbitrarily declared important by major news outlets. However, stagnation in news is usually off-set by major events both personal and public, movie releases, new albums, celebrity deaths, even birthdays and individual bits of good luck such as job promotions or marriages. During this unique time it appears virtually nothing of interest is happening; not only on a national scale, but for everyone.

Mechanic Mike Pinzer of Detroit, Michigan, is hopeful for upcoming events, but admits nothing is on the agenda at present time. "It's not like it's bad or anything. It's not bad. It's not good, either… it's just… enh. Y'know?"

Big news is promised in the immediate future for all, from the possibility of military action in Iraq to the Christmas and New Year holidays. Until then, most Americans are left in a state of blah awaiting better times.

"Next year will be the best yet, I believe," said Hoboken, New Jersey Office Manager Stacey Krendel. "I have a strong feeling I'm getting that promotion I've fought so hard for. My boyfriend and are set to get married in February, and after that we'll start house shopping. But right now… piss on all of it. Even the new episodes of all the TV shows are turds."

"My life is completely miserable," said Kansas City, Missouri Barnes & Noble sales clerk Byron Hymen. "But on the up side, the new Lord of the Rings movie is coming out real soon. And the new Star Trek! If I can avoid suicide just another week or so things will be great!"

Politically, news is ready to bloom as well. With the ever-escalating Iraq situation, the growing possibility that Bob Kerry will announce his bid for presidency, and the Supreme Court ready to hear arguments on affirmative action, late December could be filled with presents for the news media. Yet this week, at least, America will need either patience or booze to get through the malaise.

Joey "Glory Hole" Stucker, a resident of the California penal system, summed up: "I'm up for parole in a month, which is good. And I hear the Supreme Court is going to rule on sodomy soon, which will be fantastic. But right now, it's just the same ol', same ol'. Hey, what is Michael Jackson doing right now?"

Good people, I'm experiencing the most unusual feeling of my entire life. You might call it respect. In fact, I believe that's what it is called, I've made a study of it over the years and I'm 99.9% sure. But it's new to me, and I must say, I like it.

No doubt you believe I've lived with respect every day of my life, but good people, in the interest of telling the truth, I have an admission: I've never been a well-respected man. I know I carry on loudly and speak with conviction like a man rolling in oodles of respect, but it's all been a charade. A big, gay-sounding charade. I've usually been the butt of other people's jokes and nothing but a big joke to those I know, all my life, and it's time I admitted it. Why now? Well, because now I'm getting respect, of course!

As many people will agree, joining the mob was the best thing that ever happened to me. I get 10% off on all my Amoco fill-ups and the organization pays for all my suits. And, it's a subtler difference to most, but people look at me in a new way wherever I go. Except for here at the commune or inside the confines of my own home. But on the way to work or home again, respect! R-E-S-P-E-C-T. You tell 'em, Aretha. I'm feeling you now.

I've always been one to live a humble life, though not by choice, of course. I never knew I had any alternatives. And until putting a hurtin' on Boguslaw Sadowski last week, I didn't. But my fresh new position as mob lieutenant has brought me something I never thought obtainable, and I'm not just talking about a well-fitting suit. People on the street look up to me, even as they're looking down. Store merchants give me "tabs" now, and ask for my help in influencing the mob. Children run up to me and ask if they can do me any favors, instead of knocking me down and stealing my shoes as in the old pre-mob days. And little old ladies remark how nicely dressed and threatening I look. It's an amazing change when just two weeks ago they didn't know my name, and called me "the gargoyle" behind my back.

Of course, there is a downside to joining the mob. The risk of long-term prison sentencing and the morally taxing life of brutal murder and extortion. And frankly, I can tell you, good people, but I've never been much for Italian food myself. It's a superfluous complaint, given my mob is more Eastern European in origin, but if I ever get into some kind of mob exchange program I'm afraid it will be something I have to confront. But when people tell you crime doesn't pay, don't believe it. I have achieved a golden new era of respect thanks to my newfound criminal cohorts. Unless, of course, you are a young and impressionable child who happens to enjoy reading my column. In that case, crime never pays! And drugs are for dopes.

All this is not to say I have given myself over to the mob without reservations. I called far in advance. Forgive my little joke, it's mob humor. All the mobsters really do laugh when I make jokes now. Another little nice addendum to my newfound respect. But there is a nugget of truth in that pearl, and I am still not convinced a life of crime is meant for me. Sure, it's fine if you're a criminal, or aspiring gangsta rapper. But I'm too straight and narrow for these clothes to fit too well for too long.

I lament the day I ever married Felchyana against her will. After all, if you live far enough in denial, this is all her fault, in a way. Still, I don't blame her, or maybe just slightly, and realize Rok Finger got himself into this, Rok Finger will have to get himself out. With Camembert. I'll make Camembert help.

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