or a record 28th year in a row, Yasser Arafat, leader of the mega-popular boy band PLO, has been voted "Hunkiest Palestinian." The award, which often leads to lucrative endorsement deals and speaking engagements, was not unexpected. Mr. Arafat had token opposition from members of PLO-spinoff bands Hamas and Hezbollah, but no one seriously expected any of them to challenge the reigning MC Mullah of the Gaza for the winner's turban this year.

In a café here on the West Bank, 16-year-old rock-throwing enthusiast Rajouba Aswan said about Mr. Arafat, "He's the OG, man. He's to die for." Friend Jamil Barghouti, 17, chimed in, while adjusting an explosive-laden vest. "That's right, yo. Yas-Dog – I mean, Mr. Arafat – is da bomb."

Cited by West Bank teenagers as reasons for voting for Mr. Arafat as the Imam of Palestinian Hunks were, among other reasons, "the way that big bottom lip of his quivers when he talks," and "his rad beard, dude." Also mentioned were his "big, sad puppy dog eyes," and his "cool sense of fashion."

Asked for comment, Mr. Arafat responded, "I am humbled to be once again chosen, praise Allah, and I would like to send my thanks and blessings to all the young G's and martyrs out there, to all my peeps and homies. May Allah smile upon you, and may your quota of 70 virgins in paradise be each one beautiful and have all of their own teeth."

n the face of countless allegations of sexual misconduct among its priests, including criminal charges of child molestation and the popularity of the high-profile “Catholic Priests Gone Wild� DVD series, the Roman Catholic Church has issued a new public statement clarifying its position on grown men having sex with little kids. And the answer may surprise you: They’re against it.

“I don’t know where people got the idea that the church is all about buggering little kids, maybe we should start covering that a bit more in Sunday school,� said Archdeacon Mavis Plum in a recent interview. “Maybe a new commandment would help, something catchy like ‘Thou shall not pork a preschooler.’ It would certainly help with public relations.�

Other members of the church seemed more surprised by the announcement.

“What?� questioned Rev. Phil Binder, shuffling an issue of Tiger Beat magazine under some papers on his desk. “Since when? What the hell else would you want to be a priest for, the dental plan? Shit.� Binder cut the interview short as he hurriedly dialed his telephone.

“These recent allegations really have shocked the church community,� insisted Mavis. “I mean, who would expect that men, deprived of normal sexual outlets for a lifetime, would eventually turn to the nearest moist orifice for satisfaction? I mean, prisoners, maybe. Guys living in Wyoming, sure. Have you seen the women there? Yikes. But men of God? It’s long been assumed that the power of the holy spirit would give them the strength to overcome the inevitable pull of a young altar boy’s beautiful, untainted anus. But I guess not. The devil must really have gotten into those boys, to seduce priests like that. It’s amazing. It buggers the mind. Boggles.�

Concerned parents nationwide were relieved by the announcement. Sandy Maynard of Des Plains, IA summed up the reactions of many. “I just sighed a big, relieved sigh. It’s stressful, trying to balance eternal damnation on one hand and having your kids ass-rammed on the other. Nobody wants to piss off God by not being involved in the church, you know? But to tell you the truth, I always thought those church sleepovers were a little weird. When I was a kid, I’m pretty sure the body of Christ you accepted during communion didn’t involve throbbing man-meat.�

The announcement is only the first step in a plan to change the public’s perception of the Catholic Church as a NAMBLA meeting with wine. This week, motivational posters featuring popular cartoon characters and slogans like “Play it straight—don’t penetrate,� “Abstinence now: Miles of underage rectums in heaven� and “When in doubt, don’t whip it out� will be distributed to churches nationwide in an effort to help priests with the transition to a sodomy-free church experience.

When asked how the church could have overlooked what must have been obvious signs of altar boy mistreatment over the years, Archdeacon Plum muttered something about not running a daycare center while frowning at the screen of his Game Boy.

Bishop Theodore Rexall would not return the commune’s calls regarding the same question, or our questions about if he’s the one who can move diagonally or if that’s a Rook.

Now I know you been lookin' at me strange lately, Shorty, an I think the time has showed up for me to do a little explainin'. Thing is, I've been changed, Shorty, and sad as it may be they ain't never no goin' back. A new world been opened up for Jeeter an it's time I got to follow my callin'.

It all started a couple o' weeks ago. I was out at Snuffy's with Carl, you know the fella what has the big compost pile offa Dirt Bank road. Carl had him one of them laser doo-dads the big shots use when they want to point out somethin' they think everybody should notice. An you know Carl, Shorty, weren't long before he was foolin' around with the doo-dad, tryin' to shine it on airplanes that was flyin' by and tryin' to flash it up ladies' skirts and whatnot, an he got himself a little carried away an ended up flashing that doo-dad right in my nekkid eye.

Now I know what you're thinkin', Shorty, but don't get scared now, since I'm here tellin' you this story so you got to know it didn't go an burn out my brain like some science friction nightmare. You still got a partner for the tic-tac-toe tourney next month, an he ain't no hole-in-the-brain mormon, neither. But when Carl done shot that flasher into my eye-ball, I did see a beam o' redness an got dizzy in my head, an when I woke up I was layin' out on the street, ass-deep in a pot hole with no memory about what had gone on beforst.

'Course, Shorty, you know that weren't much different than your average Saturday night, so I didn't think much nothing of it. But not long after that I started to notice some strange thoughts a-brewin' in the ol' Jeeter brain-trap. Not normal strange thoughts, neither, like thinkin' great big fat womens is sexy. No siree. These was some powerful brain-rumblins about science and maths an' whatnot. An the next thing I know I was in my garage, buildin' on some new-fangled inventions what gonna change the world. Laugh if you might, Shorty, but you won't be who's laughin' when Jeeter's drivin' around in his car what runs offa toilet paper, will ya? An I imagine you'll want to be warmin' up your hands around my new skunk furnace come wintertime, I have to imagine. We're gonna be rich, Shorty, as soon as I get me one of them pattons for my Smellarm Clock an my flypaper wallpaper, I tell you no lie.

But it ain't just that, Shorty. It ain't all just new doo-dads and whatnots I got spinnin' around up in the attic. I got me them deep thoughts as well. Like what for we gotta bury folks in a coffin for, anyhow? It's not like they gonna crawl on up outta the ground we don't nail 'em in a box first. An when you're makin' breakfast chow, what comes first: the chitlins or the eggos? Lots of them head-scratchers scratchin' round up in my head, Shorty.

But don't you worry, old friend. I ain't gonna get no big head just 'cause my head got bigger. I'm still the same ol' Jeeter. Just cause I learnt French last night in one sittin', while you was pickin' your toes and watchin' a fly try to get out the closed window, don't mean we ain't still tight. When we go out to the France restaurant, you an' me, you just let me do the talkin'. When I say "Parkay food, Frenchie?" to the fella in the duck suit, you just keep your trap snapped and we'll be knee-deep in corned beef before you know what.

Stick with me, Shorty. We're headed somewheres.

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