n an unprecedented decision in settling world deficits, Iraq's $4.1 billion debt to the United States will be forgiven in exchange for the labor of individual Iraqi citizens, the White House announced Friday. Starting in January of 2005, the hard work of the men, women, and children of Iraq will be paid to the United States and all outstanding monetary debts will be considered paid in full.

The announcement has earned both criticism and praise for the U.S. government, as well as a lot of questions from foreign powers on how to get in on that sweet debt-paying labor. According to the president, exchanging manual labor for on-paper debts is "good news" for the U.S. and Iraq both, allowing a people plagued with infrastructure damage, caused by us, and years of accrued financial burden, also caused by us, to give back to its debtors something they can afford, and "get some fresh air and work off a few pounds" in the doing.

The White House plan, not yet approved by congress, added a smirking Press Secretary Scott McClellan, is for Iraqi citizens not currently in the employ of the new puppet government or Iraqi police to join a U.S. "workforce" for three months at a time. During the period of employment, citizens are trained to "give something back" to the country that has given them so much, from free bombs to help getting their oil rigs up and running. Most work forces will join civil service outlets for returning the debt, operating at state or federal levels in open positions. Some individuals may join highway work details, litter patrols, or low-level security positions, such as post exchange night watchman.

Relatives who have family members serving overseas in Iraq, or who have lost family members in combat during the Iraq War, may apply to have one or more Iraqi workforce members put in their personal employ. While restrictions will exist, tasks such as painting houses and fences, washing cars, or cleaning out the crapper are all perfectly acceptable.

While naysayers call the deal "legalized slavery," proponents of the debtor workforce say, "lighten up, cochise." And those people sound like they throw much better parties.

Treasure Secretary John Snow finalized the debt plan on Friday when he set fire to a box full of handwritten Iraqi "I.O.U.s," some of them once written by Saddam Hussein himself, and announced the Iraqi $4.1 billion debt "gone for good." President Bush followed that tough act by asking all other nations out there to follow the U.S. lead in an effort to help Iraq enter a prosperous new age. Ambassadors from Rwanda, Honduras, Guyana, and several other African and South American countries among the most debt-ridden in the world began to ask questions in a confusing muddle of various languages until they were forcibly ejected from the press conference.

"Well, I think it's super," said conservative economist Howard Blocher-White, lighting a fat cigar hand-rolled by a small Filipino boy standing in a corner of the room. "Finally, no more welfare for these countries who keep asking for handouts. It's 'work-fare' time. I can't wait to get me a little Iraqi lady to fix up my recreation room. Do they know Feng Shui over there, or will I have to buy her a book? I say it's about time we get cracking on all them other nations, too. Do you know how many of them countries owe us a big fat paycheck? And all of them have empty pockets. When do you think Ethiopia's gonna pay back all that money Lionel Richie and friends gave them in the eighties?"

As this reporter attempted to leave Blocher-White's home, I was reminded I had greedily consumed two and a half cups of coffee without so much as a tip; but if willing, an arrangement could probably be worked out hanging some expensive European artwork in the den.

cting quick on the heels of Thursday's stunning blow to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, the journalism's newest reporting hero, Spc. Jerry Wilson, shook the civilian world again when he revealed at least 30% of the Coalition troops operating in Iraq are, in fact, mannequins. White House and Pentagon sources would not verify or refute the claims, as they fled running from the hard-biting overnight sensation rocking the national media.

The allegation, if proven true, could be more bad news for an embarrassed U.S. government, who had to answer to Wilson's charges Thursday that American troops were being put in harm's way by being sent into battle without proper armor, due to military cutbacks. The question stunned Sec. Rumsfeld, who had only come to shmooze photos with the troops and receive questions on how come the U.S. military was so awesome, dude. Spc. Wilson described instances when U.S. troops dug through dumpsters to find refuse they could use to layer the tanks for better safety.

Wilson followed that coup-de-grace on Saturday, at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a newly unveiled Kuwaiti McDonald's, charging that at least 45,000 of the U.S. soldiers serving in Iraq and overseas are mannequins, realistic-looking plaster models of real troops. A startled, non-English speaking Ronald McDonald had no comment.

"It's a tragedy, nothing short of a tragedy," Spc. Wilson eloquently spoke, addressing the many burger-loving Kuwaiti citizens and throngs of media, "that the United States would send its troops into danger so under-prepared to meet the threat of real, living terrorists. In a live combat situation, a solider has to be able to depend on the man guarding his back. If that man is, in fact, a doll, it makes for high casualties and even higher numbers of men killed in action."

Such news, if verified, gives fuel to opponents of the war in Iraq who accuse the Bush administration and its invisible allies of initiating the "regime change" with poor planning and a military force not ready for a combat operation of such a scale.

Defense Secretary Rumsfeld has been under fire for his answer to Thursday's question, "You go to war with the Army you have, not the Army you might want or wish to have." Rumsfeld, hiding under his desk at the Pentagon, was found by reporters and offered a Woody Allen-esque stuttering reply. "That's a good, uh, good question. We, er, that is to say, the government… who we all are, the government, you know… we are looking into, um, the, er, charges of this, uh… what was the name of the guy you wanted again? Oh, Rumsfeld! He left for the day. I'm, uh… Fumsreld."

While no one would go on record to confirm or deny the allegations, some sources in the Pentagon agreed to speak on the condition of anonymity, and that we at the commune would buy lunch. Applebee's, of course.

"What do you think we meant by 'stop-gap' measures to deal with the military shortage?" said one four-star general, whom we'll call General Mills. "It means, 'Stop asking for more troops, 'cause we got none—here's some replacements from the Gap, though.' You got a problem with it? Enlist, wiseguy."

Soldiers in the field were less willing to talk with us, even off the record, and some could not even open their mouths, refusing to move entirely while in our presence.

Pansies everywhere agree: Feminism is important. At least that's what I hear every time my TV gets stuck on the women's channel, OBG or whatever it is. The Bricks TV does that sometimes, flips randomly through channels, which I guess is to be expected since the nerve center of the Bricks Manor entertainment center is a 1957 Tesla from Eastern Europe, which "came with the house" since it's too heavy to move out the front door. It's not even supposed to get cable, but I fixed that quick with a hand-hatchet and some wire I dug up out of the yard. Now the TV works fine, except Foghat barks at the thing like crazy whenever it's raining, and no plants will grow in that room.

But regardless, Omar Bricks has always had a great respect for women's issues. Seriously. It might surprise some to be informed that Omar Bricks is considered by many to be one of the great feminist thinkers of the 21st century. By whom? There's got to be somebody out there. Prove me wrong.

Now that that death-threat dodge is out of the way, we can get to the meat and beans of the column. I was sitting out on the roof the other day, engaging in the hallowed spring ritual of throwing Easter eggs at Mitch's dogs when I had my stroke of genius: What was stopping me from setting up my own mobile mammography business?

I'm not sure where the idea came from, but I didn't want to question that too deeply in case it turned out to be voodoo or something I saw on M.A.S.H. last week. Instead I launched into action, borrowing my neighbor Hamms' Winnebago and hitting the road with a coat-hanger still sticking out of the door lock. Thinking smart from the start, I figured that a traveling cross-country mobile mammography business stood a better chance for success than one that was just parked in the parking lot of a Circle K.

That's a lesson I learned when I was driving a bookmobile before coming to work at the commune. Before you get your chinos in a bunch, let me clarify that I wasn't working for the library or whatever pack of nerds it is that unleashes the bookmobile from deep in the bowels of the Book Cave early every morning. No, I was just driving one, because they left it running and I needed a ride to the commune. But that day I learned just how valuable location can be. That bookmobile was parked outside the commune offices for three days and only two people took out books: Rok Finger checked out The Small Man's Guide to Talking Big and Bagel snaked Charlotte's Web because he thought it was about a Byzantine international conspiracy. That thing needed to be parked in front of a book store or something, not right outside this idiot-hole. Location, location, location.

For the first few states things were taking off pretty slow, I admit, and it occurred to me that the "NO FATTIES" bumpersticker I had put on the door was probably driving away business. But in this business, that's business Omar Bricks can afford to lose.

Business continued to puff a dong until I got to Pennsylvania, when I ran into a dude who wanted a boob job, which meant I had to alter the "BOOB JOBS: $5" sign I had mounted on the Winnebago's windshield. This dude was an especially impressive knob since I had written the sign backwards, so I could read it from inside the Winni, but I guess this guy was really determined to get his boobs jobbed.

So I had to make a new sign that said "WOMEN'S BOOBS JOBBED" instead. I wasn't sure about the technical terminology for mammography, or even exactly what it entailed beyond a feel-up, but either way "mammography" was way too long a word to fit on my sign without buying a smaller sharpie. And my business expenses were already way into the red from buying two slurpies and the posterboard back in Jersey. But there was no way around those basic expenses, otherwise I never would have been able to make that life-saving "TEST YOUR GAS FOR PHLOBYNOL" sign with the arrow pointing to the Winni's gas tank. Do you have any idea how expensive gas is nowadays? And do you have any idea how gullible people can be when you make up a word like Phlobynol?

Anyway, according to commune head chunk Gay Bagel I can't take seventeen pages to tell my column stories any more, no matter how badly this compromises the truth or the juicy details. Suffice it to say that Winnebagos can't float, even if they do look exactly like house boats, and a good mobile mammographer has to be able to get a bra off faster than it takes a mobile home to sink to the bottom of the Potomac. On the bright side, I'm already way ahead of last year's pace for losing other people's vehicles in large bodies of water, with over seven full months still to go. That's the other key to successful mobile mammography: Staying positive. Bricks out.

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