espite anxious protestations from the Iraqi public upon hearing the president’s quote, George W. Bush vowed this week to push Iraq “out of the frying pan,� in response to a week full of bad news for the U.S. occupation forces. In the face of a continuing bloody standoff in Fallujah, record U.S. and Iraqi casualties in the month of April, and evidence that U.S. soldiers abused prisoners in Baghdad, citizens from across Iraq are telling occupation forces “Thanks anyway, but please stop helping us so much.�

This latest development is discouraging news for U.S. officials, who were encouraged by poll results last week showing that the Iraqi public feels their lives are slightly less horrible now than they were under Saddam Hussein’s rule. According to the poll, 32% of Iraqis prefer the George W. Bush regime to the Hussein regime, opting for the excitement of unpredictable daily bloodshed and abuse at the hands of U.S. soldiers, which locals rate as not quite as bad as the torture of Hussein’s Fedayeen militia. 28% of Iraqis polled instead preferred the predictable oppression of the Hussein days, while the remaining 30% said you could flip a fuckin’ coin.

Upon being reminded that Saturday was the one-year anniversary of his now-darkly ironic “Mission Accomplished� speech aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln, President Bush reminded reporters that he’d never specified exactly what mission he was referring to, and that the one he was thinking in his head was most definitely accomplished, no problem. Bush also stressed the necessity of ousting Hussein, explaining that “a madman cannot be trusted in a position of power.� Even Bush’s harshest critics nodded along with this statement from the president, though many admitted that they were thinking of a different war-crazy madman at the time.

Bush also expressed “deep disgust� over the images that surfaced on CBS’ 60 Minutes II last week, which show U.S. soldiers dressing up Iraqi prisoners in embarrassing Halloween costumes and forcing them to perform in poorly-written variety shows. Bush’s apparent revulsion to the photos was odd, considering he had reportedly known about the images for weeks, indicating that he was disgusted mainly by the fact that the pictures got out to the voting public.

While some Iraqis consider the U.S. occupation a nice change of pace in that their abusers are now white rather than the same old Arab thugs they’ve had for generations, many express concerns that without the stabilizing influence of Hussein’s regime, Iraq will descend into years of bloody racial and religious conflict. The president’s chosen figure of speech in his most recent statement did little to quell these fears.

“Is like... how you say? Out of cooking pot and ass is on fire? Is like that,� explained grocer Jalal al-Batayneh. “Things bad before, yes, but now? Oh shit.�

Mechanic Zainab Akram Kalaf agreed. “We Iraqi have saying, ‘I used to have sunburn, now am on fire.’ This is like trade of Saddam for Bush.�

“Once was screwing pooch,� added schoolteacher Ali Thaib. “Now pooch screwing me, this is saying. You have this saying?�

Residents of the embattled Iraqi city of Fallujah indicated similar sentiments through flag-based signals from apartment windows to the few binocular-toting reporters willing to get within ten miles of the city-shaped deathtrap.

In spite of the worsening situation in Iraq, president Bush has vowed to stay the course with his thus-far botched stab at nation-building.

“We’ve got to get this country out of the frying pan,� Bush explained, gesturing like a chef with his hands. “Once we do that, no matter what happens after, they’re better off. Because think about it, what could be worse than being in a frying pan?�

he election debates have grown extremely heated, even in mid-April, and with Ralph Nader tossing his durag in the ring, the outcome in November is ever up for question. Analysts are even trying to predict the effect frustrated gay Republicans will have if they pull out of the president and get behind John Kerry. Which leads many to speculate: What the fuck? There are gay Republicans?

Apparently so. They even have a national organization, the Log Cabin Republicans, which possibly a reference to a place Lincoln used to "entertain" visiting dignitaries. the Log Cabin Republicans, or "Loggers," as I've just said, aren't completely sold on voting for Bush this November, following the president's hard-on stance for a "Defense of Marriage" act to amend the constitution. Neither party has come out publicly in support of gay marriage, but the Democrats have taken the bold step of saying they wouldn't fuck with the constitution. According to polls mysteriously conducted, average Americans are against homosexual marriage but also against a constitutional amendment outlawing it.

As a heterosexual woman trapped in the body of a man, I've always found homosexuals something of a mystery. But at least they seem pretty straightforward, no pun intended, in their political support of candidates who pledge their support. Why would homosexuals want to support Republicans, with their history of voting against issues that support them? It's almost as crazy as the notion of a black Republican.

Paula Squatt, a spokesperson for the Loggers and big-time lesbian, espoused the organization's point of view.

"Just because you're gay doesn't mean it's the only thing that affects the way you vote," said Squatt, feathering her hair in a mirror. "We are multi-layered individuals, and issue-conscious voters. We believe in an unrestricted market and stressing the power of the individual to make his own fortune in our society. We think social programs do not encourage people to make better lives for themselves. And overwhelmingly, we believe in a stronger defense for this country, and putting more money into the military. Just because you're gay it doesn't mean you can't vote for Bush in November. I'm not voting for him because I'm a woman, and his gender politics really piss me off."

Still not convinced, I interviewed some gay Republican friends I know from a local dancing establishment. Why did you vote for Bush in 2000?

Del Beauchamp: "He had it goin' on."

Smonika: "He had more 'strut' than Gore."

Roberto Love-Package: "I've always had a thing for Texans."

Vera Wadlow: "The ballot was confusing."

Obie Dufresne: "I liked how he wanted to get tough with crime. I'm a criminal, Mr. President. Get tough with me."

Pete: "I'm a masochist."

Admittedly, they might not be the most representative of gay political groups, but they know how to party. The ultimate answer for why homosexuals would support Bush, even in the much smaller numbers than they support Democratic candidates, should lie in the numbers. Republicans and Democrats both have a history of voting for and supporting legislation that by a large margin favors those with incomes over $150,000 a year. Since a great majority of Americans live far under that annual income level, the question becomes: Why would anyone vote for either party?

The tale of how I escaped the angry mobs of Haitian dissidents is the most chilling, exciting, and inspiring story that has ever happened to me. Consequently, I sold the rights to it so it could be made into a Hallmark movie (look for it on CBS this Fall, with James Woods as the handsome Rok Finger-type character). This means I can't tell you about it, but don't worry, I have a number of stories almost as amazing. Have I told you how I started the Atkins diet this week?

It's part of my effort to rebuild my life now that I'm back on steady shore and have forsaken my pirate ways. No doubt anyone would miss the charming shanty of the sea, but I believe I'm better off—some are meant to sail the sea and poach whales or whatever else there is to do out there, while others of us are landlubbers. And I lub land. I was meant to wear stifling three-piece suits, grease my hair with my own homemade pomade, and live in tract housing. No sense in defying your true calling.

It's been a difficult transition, no doubt, but made easier by the boost from the friendly Hallmark people. I've bought my own home in the West Hills neighborhood of New Jersey, not more than a stone's throw from the commune offices—in fact, this morning I hit Raoul Dunkin from my bathroom window. It's a lovely neighborhood, full of friendly and successful people, the kind of neighborhood that usually gathers together to sign a petition keeping me out. But in this case they were slow and I benefit from it.

Back to the old routine, the kind of life Rok Finger was meant to live. I get up, eat breakfast, read the morning paper, make tomorrow's breakfast, and drive to work to get a full day's job done making up column ideas. It's such a natural fit I don't even know why I ever left. Which is not an exaggeration, I have completely blanked on the original reason I left the country. I'm not even sure where I went—Angola? They had accents but spoke English. I seem to remember having a wife, but the specifics escape me.

Don't worry about my companionship, though—as always, in tow with me is good friend Camembert. But he's only towing me until my sprained ankle heals. Those violent political revolutions can be hell on the joints. It's just as well I need his assistance, because now I'm in a position to finally pay back all the friendship Camembert has shown me over the years, allowing him a room in my new house. He repeatedly told me he was content to return to his old apartment, but since the mob torched it in our absence, it's not quite as nice as it once was. It's all for the better—two better roommates you could never find! Camembert and I have never even had an argument. I tell him what to do and he does it, no argument.

Not that we don't have some minor problems. He complains the house is not handicapped accessible, but I say as long as you have a window the house is accessible. Camembert's requested I put in a ramp somewhere, either that or move his bedroom down to the first floor, and I suppose I might throw him a bone on one of those requests. A ramp would be a lot of fun to ride that chair down, if you put it at the right angle. I might even be able to put a loop in it, as the rollercoasters do, as a nice surprise.

Some might call this new old life of mine boring—well, I say shut-up. In a pleasant, smiling sort of way. I welcome the safe, the secure, the familiar. At least until something better than the dead-end suburban existence comes along.

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