he White House announced today that a special investigator has been chosen by Attorney General John Ashcroft to question Al Qaeda prisoners being held at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. After much consideration, Ashcroft's choice was San Francisco detective "Dirty" Harry Callahan.

"Callahan is one of the best interrogators anywhere," Ashcroft told reporters. "For an investigation of this caliber, we decided to call in someone outside the FBI and CIA to take over the questioning at this point."

Controversy surrounds Callahan, who has been labeled by the ACLU and Serial Killers' Trade Union as a "dangerous, reckless monster" who will stop at nothing until he gets what he wants.

"Say what you will," Ashcroft responded to the charges, "Callahan gets results."

Inspector Callahan, who has earned the nickname "Dirty" Harry among his colleagues, fielded a few questions after Ashcroft's introduction.

A reporter from the Washington Post confronted Callahan about charges of brutality and the disregard for procedure, particularly concerning First Amendment rights. Squinting, Callahan leaned into the microphone and whispered menacingly, "What about the rights of those two buildings?"

Ashcroft began chuckling under his breath until he tumbled out of his chair.

White House officials confirmed Callahan would be traveling to Guantanamo Bay immediately to begin his interrogation of the Al Qaeda "ragheads," in his words. Already Callahan has begun his plan, requesting five minutes alone with each prisoner unsupervised, which was immediately granted by the Ashcroft.

Assisting Callahan in matters of interrogation will be his recently-assigned partner, also from San Francisco, Ruiz de Santo. De Santo, a young officer fresh from the beat to the detective squad, is excited about his opportunity to work with Callahan.

"Sure, he's a little gruff," De Santo said with a cheery smile, "but underneath that I'm sure he's a good guy. You wait and see. After all this I'm going to invite him over to the house for dinner with the wife and kids. He'll be a family man by the time we're done, I'll bet my life on it."

Callahan has recently aroused controversy by calling the trial of alleged Al Qaeda terrorist Richard Reid a "sham" and proposing trials of terrorists be cut short so they could be taken out back and shot on live television. Civil rights advocates were outraged, especially at Callahan's suggestion that current airline policies for dealing with unruly passengers be replaced.

"When I see a whacko trying to light his shoe bomb on fire, I shoot the bastard, that's my policy," stated Callahan.

The White House is optimistic that Callahan will retrieve valuable information that could lead to the dismantling of the Al Qaeda terrorist network, and perhaps even the capture of Osama bin Laden.

"By the time Callahan's through with one of those guys," President Bush said, "we'll know everything from where he was born to how many times his girlfriend farts in bed. The terrorist being questioned, I mean, not Callahan."

n a recent poll of Enron CEO's, the American economy was said to be doing "just fine right now, just fine."

Enron CEO and acknowledged Ponzi-scheme expert Ken Lay, queried while attending a White House get-together with his butt-buddy George W. Bush, the alleged president of the United States, put to rest rumors that the economy was about to go south, or was, in fact, already in the tank.

"That's a lot of horse shit," Lay said, laughing heartily. "I mean, sure, a few thousand people have been laid off recently, and maybe one or two of 'em are going to have to sell their boats or their vacation houses, but from where I sit... ha ha, excuse me, I just find this very amusing... from where I... ha ha ha!... from where I sit... oh, dear god, this is too much..." Lay chortled convulsively for a few minutes, then paused to wipe tears from his eyes. He took a few deep breaths with the aid of what appeared to be a large canister of nitrous oxide, and shook his head vigorously. Finally somewhat composed, he continued, "From where I sit, the economy is just peachy-fucking-keen! Ha! Ain't that right, Cracky?"

Lay then reached over to smack the alleged president hard on his backside, which caused him to nearly drop the glass pipe and butane lighter he had been holding up to his face, and to cough and choke on the voluminous clouds of acrid smoke that billowed from his mouth and nose.

"Oh, yeah. Whatever you say, Kenny," Bush said, once he had regained his composure. "Kenny's my main man," he went on, "whatever he says, you can trust it to be truthorious."

When asked if he thought most other Americans shared his rosy view of the current economy, Lay said simply, "Ha! Who gives a flying fuck? What color are their parachutes?"

To which Bush chimed in, "Yeah. Joke 'em if they can't take a fucking."

Lay then stared hard at his compatriot for a few long seconds, and finally commented, "You know, you really are a fucking idiot, Cracky, just like everyone says."

"Shut up!" retorted Bush. "Am not!"

The two then engaged in a slap fight that lasted nearly ten minutes, with Lay appearing to get the best of Bush by feinting with his left hand and repeatedly connecting with his right on Bush's cheek.

Asked for further comment on the state of the economy, Lay just waved his hand in dismissal and chuckled some more.

Signaling that the interview was concluded, Bush then turned his attention back to the glass pipe and lighter, ignoring both Lay and this reporter.

The event was a simple Saturday morning gathering that featured Colin Powell doing a sprightly tap dance for the guests, followed by John Ashcroft demonstrating some of the latest torture techniques on a group of unnamed Middle Eastern detainees and a ritual deflowering of all the underage daughters of the White House staff. Brunch was served, and it was a hearty Texas-style repast, composed of hearts of retarded felon salad in a balsamic vinaigrette and baked Mexican baby head with truffles.

Don't wet your pants, readers, but the news is true: I have returned from my mission: impossible and can safely say it was more precisely mission: not-too-bad. At times with my traveler's discount I could arrange a pretty swank motel and it was mission: quite-enjoyable. However, on the darker side, there were certain areas of the South where it was more like mission: avoid-violation; the less said there the better.

When I left you all mysteriously shortly before the New Year began, I explained how everything was so hush-hush the details could not be revealed. Has anything changed? No, and don't bug me about it. I didn't say anything in that Barbara Walters interview and I'm not about to give it up so easily for you. Suffice to say that the problem was "taken care of" in a mafia/Navy S.E.A.L. sort of way, but—hey! That wasn't Barbara Walters at all! Didn't even look like Barbara Walters, but I just figured she had more cosmetic surgery. It seems so obvious now, with no tape in the camera and a ninja working the soundboard. Oh, well, no since dwelling on that.

I have returned, though, and I am almost nearly improved, or at least 100% as good as I was before. If anything, I have improved for my venture. There comes a time at which every man must go into the woods and go crazy for a stretch of time to really know themselves; that's what the Indians used to do. When you can turn your head, look over your shoulder, and see the other side of your face, then you know yourself sufficiently to return to the cozy life. Any minor neck injuries can be worked out with a chiropractor, or a large man in an alley who has had informal chiropractic training.

If there is a bittersweet part of my journey, it is that America will never know the sacrifices I have made to ensure its future. At least not until 2005, by which time Future Bob should have reported it sometime in the past already. But even if that day never comes and that article is never edited properly, I can live in anonymity. I didn't drag ass across America's outback and brave death and fire (and sometimes splinters) for fame and glory, or flame and gory. I did it for the future. Show's what that rewards. Don't count on me to do it again, everyone—bail yourselves out next time.

I've had enough of living in the past, though. Unless I could live in 1965 for a small period of time and see the Beatles play live, that would be sharp. But for me, I busted my ass for the sake of the future, and that's what I'm concentrating on.

First and foremost is shaping up the commune. Any fool can see leaving Ramrod Hurley in charge while I was gone was the worst mistake I made since suggesting to Rob Schneider he had a viable film career. I apologize whole-heartedly for the devil-embracing way he ran the commune, and mostly for the blasphemous columns he ran in my stead. Ramrod is entitled to his own opinions and beliefs, of course, but he is wrong. If I ever get him out of my old office I'll take my revenge out of his ass with methodical, metric-based accounting procedures.

Yes, the commune will be the commune of the past from now on—challenging authority, walking hand in hand with the outsiders, and giving voice to the voiceless, as long as they can do sign language or something. We shouldn't have to just make up what they're saying. the commune is not a tool or puppet for the rich gluttons who run this country—just this one. When I started the commune, I had a vision that one lone reporter with nothing but a stout heart and true vision could call the president a gaylord and there was nothing he could do about it. I still think that's true. Especially now that the tide seems to be turning against ol' "president" Bush again.

By the way, you may hear allegations of a missing columnist by the name of Sampson L. Hartwig who was last seen in my company. This is just more establishment rhetoric to bring down the threat that is Red Bagel. There was never such a columnist, no matter what the spin doctors or Hartwig family says. This ratty old hat? It's mine. I bought it while on the road.

It's good to be back.

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