ichael Jackson was caught on video like a red-handed bandit man Tuesday, salaciously nibbling on his youngest son's toe in full view of the German media. Jackson, who was staying in a Berlin hotel while visiting that country for a Save Dem Childrens benefit, waved to the cameras and flashed a "kissy-peace" hand gesture to his fans before he closed the blinds and proceeded to partake in what can only be speculated as an orgy of underage cannibalism.

"It just sickens me when I close my eyes and think about it," sighed small-town cop Bufus Randall, who answers questions 24 hours a day and is like a procrastinating reporter's wet dream. "Just picturing that monster, slurping the baby's entrails like spaghetti, munching his bones like peppermint sticks and licking the baby's empty hide clean like a goddamned dinner plate. God. I think I'm gonna be sick."

Professional housewife Mandy St. Clair echoed Randall's concerns.

"It's like it makes you, I don't know. Want. Want to do something to make that thing different. You know? Different so he's not eating those babies. Because that's just wrong, even if the babies want to be eaten. Because how could you really know? They might smile and wave their arms around like they want to be eaten, but it might just be because they're remembering something nice from when they're in the womb. Or they might have gas, sometimes babies smile who have gas. So you shouldn't just eat them."

Jackson's fans were quick to defend the troubled star, who recently sort of testified in his own defense in a courtward lawsuit.

"Even if Michael did eat that baby, he only did it for the fans. That's how much he cares," explained Kyoko Matsui, a screaming Tokyo fan of Jackson's appearances on cereal boxes in her home country. "People were yelling, 'We want to meet the baby!' and I guess since it was so noisy, Michael probably thought they were saying 'We want you to eat the baby!' It was just a tragic misunderstanding."

But noted sports psychologist Dr. Mandra Jimsack was wary of letting Jackson off the hook so easily.

"Fans yell out all kinds of crazy requests to stars, that doesn't mean they have to follow them. It's the star's job to set boundaries and know where to draw the line. Signing some autographs or flashing your tits out the sunroof of a limo? That's being a good star. Jerking off in a men's room at the park or shooting a rival recording artist in the testicles? That's just going too far. And also, lighting a fart on fire at the Golden Globes? That's very bad, Mr. Sandler. Very bad."

Activist groups rallied within minutes of the tape airing on the German news, calling for whatever kind of social services Germany might have to step in and take Jackson's remaining children away before dinnertime. Lawyers for German's Die Station news network were also preparing a lawsuit against the singer. According to sources, Jackson caused two of the station's cameramen to fall out of an evergreen tree near the hotel when he refused to leave his blinds open, forcing them to attempt filming through a small opening in the bathroom window.

Hours later, Jackson appeared at a puppet museum with the live toddler in tow, setting off ripples of speculation through the "thought he ate the baby" community. Randall, however, was not so quick to forgive and forget.

"Jesus Christ, how many of those things has he got? Well, I guess we can add human cloning to the list of charges. Fuckin' fruit."

ess than a week after the Republican smack-down known as the 2002 election, giddy conservatives were chomping at the bit to address their priorities for the upcoming session of Congress. Saturday night, an after-hours weekend meeting and weenie roast for GOP Congressmen both incumbent and newly elect set the tone for the upcoming session. Among the top priorities addressed were mandatory lobster bibs for all Democrats, the implementation of segregated Democrat bathrooms down in the basement behind the boiler room, and the requirement that Democrats sing the teapot song before speaking during congressional debates.

"Well, those boys is some messy eaters, so we figured we'd help 'em out so they can keep their shirts clean," chuckled Senator Thad Cochran from Tennessee.

"The American people have spoken, or more importantly they scribbled in some little bubbles with a pencil, and they've sent a clear mandate about what they want to see in the next two years. Few can deny that Americans are clamoring to see Democrat Representatives with embarrassing words like 'Dickless' and 'Miss Thang' sunburned onto their chests while they are chased by bears on rollerskates. The American people suffered through a long ballot, they had to fill in a lot of pointless bubbles for judges and people they'd never heard of just to make the democracy machine work, and now we owe it to them to hold up our end of the bargain. Let me be the first to wield the spankin' paddle in the name of the American Way," announced Sen. Pat Roberts of Kansas with a gleam in his eye.

When asked by a visibly concerned President Bush when Congress would find time to approve military action in Iraq, Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott looked confused for a moment before replying.

"Ira-? Oh, right, right. Don't worry yourself, Dub. There'll be plenty of time for that after we pass this hilarious bill Orrin's been working on. Get this, we're going to have all of the… Jesus, excuse me, it still cracks me up, we're gonna have all the Democrats carrying around these dog bowls with their names printed on them, to drink out of, you know. And whenever Moynihan goes off on one of his tangents, you know, like he does, I'm going to stand up and do the little pinky-finger thing, you know what I'm talking about. And I say 'Could someone please throw the Senator a frickin' bone here?' Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that we're going to keep a few cases of dog biscuits on hand for everybody to throw at Moynihan when I say that. Shit, let me start over. This is going to be great."

Lott was cut off by Rep. Elect Saxby Chambliss of Georgia, who was doing an impression of a Democrat Congressman in the upcoming 2003 session.

"I'm a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle and here is my spout! I object!"

The gathered Congressmen erupted into laughter and applause, which rose another notch when Sen. Elect Jim Talent of Missouri shot milk out of his nose.

You're reading a man who, by all rights, should be dead, good people. And I don't just mean according to the doctors who do my physical. A few days ago I came this close (indicate approximately a foot and a half) to death. So close I could smell its breath, and let's just say death could use a Certs.

The hand-indicated distance is a fair estimate of how close the bullet of Boguslaw Sadowski came to killing me. I shit you not, good people. Apparently the mad "Russian" misjudged my height by just enough, not doubt thanks to the cowboy boots I had been wearing all last week prior to the duel.

Luck alone should not get all the credit, my lack of modesty prohibits. I was somewhat of a tactical genius in the art of dueling, extremely good for my first time out. One brilliant tactical maneuver was using the slap with the dueling glove to put one of Boguslaw's eyes out of commission for the duration of the duel. As I predicted, it went to my benefit. Let's just say I planned it that way and avoid further examination.

And never let it be said the Moonwalk is good for nothing. I knew my weeks spent learning to dance would eventually come in handy, and Moonwalking during a duel is a very handy way to close the distance between you and an opponent. Bigmouth Camembert may have insisted it was cheating, in the interest of fair play, but Boguslaw's English is not the best, and I believe he thinks "cheating" is the fastest of the earth-bound animals. In a way, that helped, too, because he was looking over his shoulders frantically when I fired my shot.

Never let it be said Rok Finger has no mercy, though. I would also appreciate it if you would make them quit calling me "queerbait." However, when it comes to the mercy, I had it in spades, as I only wounded Boguslaw with my shot. I attempted to aim for his heart, not because I'm such a bad shot, but because I knew it was the smallest target in the cruel bastard and I would most likely miss. Unfortunately, when I brought my gun up in my quick dueling manner, I did not realize how close in proximity we were, and fired my gun into his lower waist area. I believe "the goodies" is the medical term.

Well, let's just say he's not going to insult Rok Finger anymore. Not as a man, anyway. I even offered to go halfsies on his Swedish surgery, but he was too busy cursing in that Slavic language of his to appreciate it. Which is fine, more surgery for me.

The best part of all this was the respect I earned from Yogi, my whatever-in-law, Felchyana's cousin, and head of the vaguely-Russian mob. He complimented my unusual dueling tactics and said I fight like a Nazi, which is a good thing to them, I suppose. He slapped me on the back, and then when I tried to shoot him in the crotch, disarmed me, telling me he wanted me to save my strength to be a new lieutenant in his mob. Which is no small feat, as I did not know how to spell lieutenant before the promotion and had to look it up. I told him I would think it over, and promptly accepted, just to let him know who was boss. I'm not sure the point of it all, but it did keep him on his toes.

I know what you're thinking, good people: "But, Rok, how can you join the mob?" To which I say, fuck you. You've always been trying to keep me down. However, if you then said, "But, Rok, I mean, isn't it a moral quagmire at best? How do you feel about the idea of committing crimes after years of being an establishment tool?"

I respond, first, what's a quagmire? Then I thank you for your backhanded compliment, and admit I agree with you. What to do, good people? I have no doubt the mob is up to some less-than-legal activities. Now that I consider it, I'm not sure shooting a man in the jewels is completely on the up-and-up. I may already be on the slip-and-slide to hell. It is a question.

But don't give up on me yet, good people. I won the duel against all odds, maybe I'll be able to come out on top in the end after all. By the way, thanks all the same for all the funeral flowers and condolences sent to my home. I'll donate them to some dead people's charity.

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