CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas -- Vice President Dick Cheney accidentally shot a 78-year-old man in the neck while the two were hunting together on Saturday. Harry Whittington is recovering in stable condition, but is offended that Cheney thought he was prey, a local hospital worker said.

Cheney and Whittington have been hunting minorities together for years. "The thrill of hunting people is addictive," a fellow hunter told reporters. "The Armstrong Ranch is perfect because most of the workers there are immigrants. Cheney prefers hunting blacks, but they aren’t allowed at the ranch so we had to settle for Mexicans."

During a lull in the action on Saturday, Whittington apparently snuck up on Cheney intending to give him an atomic wedgie. The Vice President didn’t hear him coming, and when he spun around to shoot what he described as a "dirty wetback," he shot Whittington instead. Whittington’s wife told reporters that this is not the first time her husband’s sense of humor has gotten him hurt while hunting. "You know, I’m just not sure he understands the rules about this sort of thing."

After being shot, Whittington apparently "freaked the fuck out," according to a local ranch hand. "He just kept screaming 'You shot me you son-of-a-bitch, you fucking shot me!'" When Cheney realized what had happened he immediately ran to his friend saying, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t tell George, don’t tell George."

Cheney visited his friend in the hospital soon after he was admitted. The irony of the Vice President’s fruit basket gift was not lost on Whittington who immediately started yelling, "I am not a fucking Mexican!"

No charges have been filed regarding the incident. Though Whittington is still a little upset, he has said that he and Cheney will remain BFF.

by Elsie Kay

If my twenty year old self woke up in my bed tomorrow, what would she think?

The closet would be the first of many hurdles my young, hopeful, self would have to get over. It’s pretty scary in there. While trying to find something to wear amongst all the dingy crap she would wonder aloud what happened to my impeccable sense of style. Then she would find that old Beastie Boys t-shirt and forgive me a little for the rest of it. Then she would find the sweater with the reindeer and mutter something filthy under her breath.

Before too long she would figure out that I haven’t moved out of the country and that would start her on a whole thing about my lack of adventure. When she realized that my anthropology degree has done nothing more than collect dust on the bookshelf of my adult life, she would sigh. Then she would wonder what the hell I am doing if I’m not off traveling the world. I don’t want to tell her that I still work for the same company. You tell her. Uh oh, now she’s pissed. Maybe if I show her a paycheck she’ll calm down. Nope, now she hates me even more. She’s yelling something about selling out and trying to buy her off. Man, she’s kind of a bitch.

After she settled down a bit she would immediately realize that she was old enough to drink legally and that alone would make up for half that day’s disappointments. (Please do not tell her that hangovers worsen with age, she can’t handle that right now.) With a few beers in her she would cut me some slack and even throw out a compliment or two. In the end she would wind up sitting in a bar, talking with the good friends she's always had and coming happily and sloppily to terms with her future.

I guess this is my way of coming happily and sloppily to terms with my present. Beer me.

LCK

Well, it's finally happened. I'm corporate. So corporate in fact that I have a breakfast meeting with the VP of marketing tomorrow at Starbucks. What the shit? I keep waiting for my boss to point to the hidden camera and tell me to get my ass back to the trenches where I belong. Sigh.

Now that I have my finger on the pulse of the company, it dawns on me that where I used to have my finger might not have been so bad. Sure, it didn't come with a company credit card, all expense paid trips across the country, or my own office, but it did come with a very tangible sense of hard work. Hard work these days is trying to keep the guy that just walked into my office from seeing the obscene headline on my Onion Page-a-Day calendar. Seriously. Last Wednesday's headline was a poll about how America likes its cock. Black, it should be noted, was ahead in the polls by nearly 25%.

I know a lot of people would love to have my job and all its status affirming little nuances, but I miss being the person that the corporate office had to call when they wanted to know what was really going on out there. Now I spend most of my day leaning dangerously far back in my chair and wondering what the weather's like outside.

Oh well, at least I'm always home in time for Lost.

28 years ago the lord brought Moody into this world. And by the lord I mean biology. And by biology I mean your mom's a slut.

Come on Lois, dance the Dance of Life with me.
Happy Birthday.

Love,
LCK

We all know that people are stupid. Just the other day, for example, I saw a video where a gun safety teacher shot himself in the foot in front of his whole class. Now most of the time the children of these idiots can go on to lead successful lives, though it usually involves moving out of the south. There are some children, however, who are destined from day one to suffocate under the rotting carcass of their parent’s tutelage. These are the unfortunate souls whose parents have named them things like Aquamarina, Chandy, Spring Moon, or Keagan.

What the hell?

Seriously people, lives are being ruined here. Aquamarina will grow up to be a stripper, Chandy will change her name to Cathy right before moving away to college and severing all ties with you, Spring Moon will think her name is cool until that first job interview and by then it will be too late, and Keagan, poor Keagan will get his ass kicked everyday by kids named Tommy and Billy. Is that what you want?

So please, before you decide to spice up your child's life with a name that no one has ever heard of, or written down, or been able to pronounce correctly more than 50% of the time, remember that this is FOREVER. It's a lot like that tattoo you got right after high school graduation. You know, the one with tribal significance? Someday little Gunner is going to ask you what it means and you'll have to explain to him that Daddy doesn't always think things through. Good luck with that.