Good Morning!

I don't have any right to complain. My misery is entirely self-imposed and it would be disingenuous to wax sentimental about my plight. Did I just use the conditional? Let me rephrase with more accurate grammar: I will be disingenuous as I wax sentimental about my plight.

Evenings are a soft landing. You can miss your bedtime by an hour or two and pay no immediate price. Sleep isn't like mom in that it forgives easily when you don't call. Mornings, on the other hand, are harsh. Commitments made at a less sober time can be pressing and the snooze button only provides so much relief. The light outside only gets brighter as the reality of life's travails dawn with the new day. Mornings are a daily Monday; a regular reminder of the curse of time.

Then there is the bed. Beds are like relationships in that they are really easy to get into but terribly hard to get out of. I've invested quite a bit into making my bed a hospitable place to rest and recharge. I've got a firm mattress, a pillow and I even washed my sheets once. Getting out means leaving behind a cardinal comfort. If you're a heavy guy like me, your body creates a form-fitting mold in the mattress that is so inviting, you'd listen to Nancy Pelosi if it meant curling up inside.

Anyone who is cheerful in the morning be cursed. Smiling within two hours of waking up is like cracking a joke at a funeral. Coup de don't do that. Whilst the normal world is wiping the sleepies out of our eyes, you have to be a danged whippoorwill. Why weren't you so much fun last night?

But mornings can be cheated. At least, that's what I told myself three days ago, when made a soft landing on my evening and stayed up past the godly bedtime. I had to be at work for the early shift at General Mills the next day, but that didn't keep me from fooling away the early morning hours, answering email, surfing the net and doing pretty much what you're doing now.

When I finally cashed it in, my face had the tired rigidity of a corpse. I didn't worry about it; that's why they call it beauty sleep, right?

You know in the movies, when the main character gets out of bed, how the only thing that is at all out of place is a few wisps of their otherwise perfectly coiffed hair? That morning I woke up looking like The Joker. Or maybe it was Sienna Miller without her makeup (you don't want to know). My alarm buzzed and my radio turned on to my favorite sports analysts, who seemed much to chipper for 6:00.

I have an old person problem. When I wake up, I can't get back to sleep. Some of my friends can snore away hours and hours of their lives one morning at a time, but not me. The buzzing alarm is the finale to all my sweet dreams.

Thanks to the miracles of modern chemistry, I managed to survive the day. It actually turned out pretty normal - or as normal a day as a proud derelict with a humor blog can have. So encouraged was I by the feat, that I tried it again the next night.

If I was Sienna Miller without makeup the first morning, I was Queen Latifah on day two. This morning was day three and I am beginning to see why you can't cheat mornings. I have this amazing new skill. I can stare at a clock and watch time pass and actually be entertained by it. My new favorite facial expression is the slack jaw and I have some severe contact lens problems, but the biggest problem is what I'm going to do tomorrow.

My friends now await their 1 AM GTalk messages and I am reconnecting with the night owls in my life. I can't pull the plug on all of them now. I have a big cyber meeting with my new buddies at World of Warcraft tonight, but if I attend I'll be Dick Clark tomorrow morning. Time can be so cruel!

FCN is looking to hire a web designer

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are getting ready to make like a Hollywood chauvinist and kick Uncle Wally to the curb. We are prepared to pull up our proverbial USB cables and LAN lines and settle in elsewhere. This is a major step for us laze prone derelicts, but one we have determined is necessary. Our style conscious moms, fed up at last with the site's drab formatting and unimaginative organization have pressed us to get the thing redesigned. And, like a pansy in a Taco Bell ad, we are ready to succumb to their remonstrations.

Uncle Wally did a great job and will continue to work for FCN to keep the comments running and the hit counter accurate, but we are looking for some improved HTML programming (see? Even FCN can use four-letter acronyms) . Uncle Wally was born before the internet age and his concept of design is as antiquated as the U of Michigan T-shirt he wears on the weekends. He is a great guy with an excellent personality, but something went wrong with his color pallet shortly after birth. Just between us, we don't think he was breastfed.

Here at FCN, we pride ourselves on being cheap. A trip to the movies on discount matinée often turns into a train of "also saws," until the midnight premier when the ticket checker goes on a bathroom break (hehe). We always get samples at Cold Stone before ordering the smallest size and we go to Costco hungry for a reason. Even on holiday, buying the clam chowder on Fisherman's Warf is a big waste of money when they give away so many tiny "tastes" of the stuff. I can't even remember the last time I laundered this pair of socks - or is that too much information?

I am getting the TMI signal from the booth. So I'll stop.

Anyway, FCN is ready to pay cold hard Federal Reserve Notes (or, as Ron Paul calls them, debt certificates) in exchange for assistance redesigning the page. How many luscious greenbacks and the amount of work required to earn them are all up for negotiation. Thus, we fade to the blue "infomercial end" screen and put up the relevant contact information:

Email us at FunnyClassNotes - at - gmail - dot - com and give us your pitch.

What sites have your designed? What kind of starvation wages are you willing to draw for your labor? How many cyber acronyms can you rattle off in a minute? Can you lock one contributor out while giving the password to the other two? Would you do so for a little extra cash? Do you know how to hack the Daily Kos? Who is hotter, Audrey Hepburn in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" or Maureen O'Hara in "Frontier Gal?"

The answer to these questions, no matter how irrelevant they seem, will determine your compatibility with FCN.

As far as the changes we have in mind, they are largely up to the developer. Do you want to see zebra stripes on the main page or slap Nancy Pelosi's mug on the title bar? Be our guest. Do you want to make the comment hyperlink move away from the mouse when readers from certain IP addresses try to comment? Give it a shot. Do you want to make our color scheme pink and put Amy Winehouse music on in the background after the page loads? We will still pay you. As long as the changes look expensive and give FCN a veneer of quality, we will be happy.

What are you waiting for? Send us an email!

Pelosi Issues Coded Message During State of the Union

WASHINGTON DC (FCN) – In a speech that was largely a repeat of his seven previous State of the Union addresses, President George W. Bush (R-Texas) delivered his eighth and final speech on the condition of national affairs. The address, which was ignored by middle class America in favor of 2008 primary speculation and Super BowlTM hype, centered on the economic, military and celebrity qualms our nation currently finds itself in and came just short of endorsing Senator John McCain (R-Arizona) for President.

But the real story from the State of the Union speech came from the stiff-backed wooden chair situated above and a little to the left (audience POV) of the Commander In Chief. CongressWOman Nancy Pelosi (D-California) gave viewers at home a first class display of political maneuvering as she delivered a simultaneous Democratic response to the President’s words.

“To the untrained eye, it really looks as if her contact lens is irritating her or she forgot her morning Visine. It’s actually reminiscent of vintage Clinton falling asleep during an MLK speech, except she was blinking proactively,” explained former Democratic strategist and talking head George Stephanopoulos (D-DC) as he stood on a booster box to speak to America after the speech. "I can't believe we missed this, given how long it's been happening and how obvious the communication is," Stephanopoulos added doing his best Scott Hamilton voice.

Code specialist and former KGB counter-intelligence agent Vladimir Loginova gave some more clues in a phone interview after the address, saying “It’s a basic code, really. Dits and dahs; the same thing Samuel Morse came up with for the telegraph back in the 1840s. At first it looks like she has a mental problem and she is blinking to cover it, but a closer examination reveals a blink rate of about 100 blinks per minute (BPM). A 100 BPM rate doesn’t come without a purpose.”

Loginova got to work soon after the address, pouring over YouTube video and communicating with other ex-KGB agents about the blinking. He soon discovered that a long blink equals a “dah” and quick, flutter-like movements represent “dits.” Using this paradigm, Loginova decoded the following message:

"This seat is hard. Remind me to use a cushion next year. Tell Billary to start working on our economic smear campaign. Reuse the 2004 election plan of attack. Call the networks and try to get them to flash the death toll in Iraq right now. Again now. Can we have an amputee in studio for a ‘victim’s response?’ Cancer kid works, too. Have James Carville arrange it. The camera had better not be panning to Obama right now. Call Fox and threaten to dig up more dirt on O’Reilly if they don’t focus on Billary. Man, this seat is hard. You’d think we could smuggle sum kind of padding into these august chambers. Is this almost over? It reminds me of some of Clinton’s extended oratories. Have a couple aspirins waiting for me when I get down. Oh, and fire Mike; I need more minorities on my staff. Ok, finally.”

In his report, Loginova really got a kick out of Pelosi’s use of the term “august” but criticized her for blinking with both eyes simultaneously, a behavior which slowed down her rate of delivery by a factor of two.

Democratic analyst Al Franken (D-Mars) commented to CNN after the Democratic response that the coded message was probably intended for Maye Antonin, the congressWOman’s personal assistant and longtime associate. The reference to “Mike” was probably Micheal Smith, the only white male in the congressWOman’s inner circle.

Vice President Dick Cheney (R-Wyoming) barely blinked at all during the fifty minute address, leading some to wonder if he was even conscious during the speech. Then a wry scowl would cross the politicians features and the attendant EMTs would return to their state of heightened alert (Yellow on the VP heart risk scale).

A GOP insider has informed FCN that this election cycle’s VP pick will be a “speed blinker” who is better able to “compete” with speaker Pelosi during next year’s State of the Union.

Three on One with Dennis Kucinich

There is a common misconception that the race for the Democratic nomination is down to two candidates: The man trapped in the body of a woman and the white man in a black man's body. A large chorus of dissenting voices contradicts this claim, however. Candidates like the son of the mill worker with the really slick hair and awesome veneers and the guy who's name everybody forgets (for good reason) are all very much in this race. In fact, FCN has yet to come to a firm decision on who we support for a four year term in the world's most famous parsonage.

Here at FCN, we decided to systematize our search for a presidential candidate. We got a stack of paper and brainstormed the names of every presidential candidate we could think of. We wrote and wrote until our pencils broke like characters in a Dr. Suess book. A sample of our brain storm has been declassified below. This is one of twenty-three sheets we filled (click to enlarge):

We never erased. Except once when C wrote down Katie Holmes and it simply had to be wiped away. When we were finished our page was home to names like George Clooney, Madonna, and Nancy Pelosi. But nowhere was there mention of Dennis Kucinich. In fact, it was only after this charming fellow was mentioned in a very positive light by an FCN reader that we started paying him any mind.

We decided to pay Mr. Kucinich a visit.

The FCN team made a special bus ride out to a small but heavily urbanized town in southern Ohio. After an adventure with mapquest and an elderly lady who took the risk of picking up three hitchhikers, we were able to locate the environmentally efficient offices of Dennis Kucinich.

The parking lot was filled with bicycles, hybrid Priuses and electrical chargers and surrounded an ergonomically shaped building that was all glass except for some black solar panels on the roof. A windmill was stationed at each corner of the complex and rotated slowly in the muggy breeze.

We walked up to a receptionist whose hair looked drier than a frog in a salt flat and asked for an interview with the Presidential candidate. When she found out we didn't have an appointment (Greyhound's timetable was too imprecise to justify calling ahead) she refused. We begged, telling her that we'd taken a diesel bus all the way from California. She looked horrified and maintained her staunch "no" answer. Only when we mentioned that our blog readership includes as many as eleven readers on a good day did she finally relent and reward our entreaties with an audience.

//Begin Transcript

FCN: This is a really cozy office. I like the wallpaper.

DENNIS KUCINICH: You like that, do you? It's made entirely from recycled human waste and unhomoginzed soybean oil. The oil's for color, but it spreads really well and it doesn't kill trees. You know you can kill a whole tree by wallpapering an entire house? Think of how many forests we destroy by wallpapering a community's worth of homes.

FCN: What kind of environmental costs were entailed in the creation of this office?

DK: You boys don't waste any time, do you? I admit that building this complex hurt the environment and if we refused to compromise with the capitalists, we would be running our campaign out of a paper hut or a cave somewhere. But here's the way I see it: If I win - when I win, right Peggy?

PEGGY: Whatever you say.

DK: Peggy is my, well, what should I call you? [Chuckles] She is my confidence counselor. But where was I? Yes, when I am elected President, I will enact policies that will more than make up for the extravagance of this office. Also, I've been ensured by a handful of this nation's most highly respected energy engineers that this building will become a net energy contributor by the year 2040. So, with lifespans shortened by global warming, this is an asset your great grandkids will enjoy.

FCN: So you lost in Iowa, lost in New Hampshire, lost in Nevada. Why are you still running?

DK: I actually didn't lose in New Hampshire. I have issued a petition in New Hampshire to have a recount due to unexplained irregularities in that election. Although my campaign has yet to take an official position, I strongly suggest that Hillary might have been fixing the outcome. I mean, that would explain her come-from-behind victory. The evidence I have is as credible as it is serious and my request for a recount has nothing to do with my having a personal vendetta against any of the candidates, I just want to see that 100% of votes get counted 100% of the time. And that ballots are cast on recycled paper.

FCN: That's great. You were recently seen protesting at a U.S. Army training school. Do you respect the sacrifices of the American soldier?

DK: That's a divisive issue phrased as a right wing trap. You boys need to update your reading material. This school has been fostering human rights abuses in Latin...

FCN: Wasn't it training soldiers for action...

DK: ...America. My protest is a rejection of war as a foreign policy tool. One of my first actions as President would be ...

PEGGY: Will be.

DK: Will be, thanks Peggy - to shut down this school and most of its kind. The only thing soldiers today really do is wreck the environment and we get enough of that with industry to have to subsidize it overseas.

FCN: How do you plan to protect our nation militarily?

DK: For Californians you sure don't understand this stuff. The only way to have peace is to make peace.

FCN: What if someone makes war? What about the existing war on terror?

DK: Uh-oh, Peggy! Pessimists! [Chuckles] You guys should really read Peggy's book Loving the Unreal World; Motivational thoughts and principles for today's stressed mind. The receptionist will set you up with a copy on your way out. Speaking of which, we need to get out of Iraq and, well, everywhere our military is stationed. Fort Bragg for instance. The closer leash we keep on our servicemen the less they can damage our environment.

FCN: Would you say that protection of the environment is your biggest political issue?

DK: Absolutely. That or global warming, industrial pollution or oil spills. I also care a lot about deforestation and animal rights. Speaking of which, I need to cut this short. I have an dinner with PETA to attend. We are celebrating the incarceration of Michael Vick. You'll excuse me?

//End Transcript.

During the long bus ride home, we talked among ourselves about how Kucinich matches up against the other candidates we've interviewed. We also read Peggy's book (the last chapter of which had detailed instructions on how to roll a joint) and decided that having a confidence counselor is a point against one's candidacy. On the issues, Kucinich came across as a real winner. His demeanor was sincere and his manner thought provoking. We found ourselves impatient for the year 2040 when Kucinich's investment would begin repaying environmental dividends.

But the interview failed to earn Kucinich our endorsement. Although we can't put our collective fingers on the exact issue that dissuaded us - the smelly wallpaper, Peggy's freaky smile or the thought that Katie Holmes might actually be a viable candidate in comparison with Kucinich - we were not confident enough in the Ohio representative to give him our unreserved endorsement.

Oh well.

There’s a girl in my language class who scares me

My foreign language teacher is a linguistic anomaly. She was born and raised in the United States, is a huge Red Sox fan and has all the outward physical trappings of an American. That is, she’s overweight. She covers for these deficiencies by using a limited set of carefully coached European facial expressions. When she is confused, she does the Parisian shrug and happiness is expressed with a gesture more common in Bordeaux than the Bronx.

Class is organized in an unorthodox fashion. Instead of sitting in neat rows and columns like so many numbers on a mathematician’s page, all the seats are scattered to the outskirts of the room, the way they would if Nancy Pelosi suddenly appeared in the center. This arrangement, teacher tells her students, allows for better “linguistic interaction,” an unnecessarily large phrase that means “shooting the breeze.” And believe me when I say we students shoot the breeze.

Aside from simply being unorthodox, the arrangement of seats forces me to look at the students sitting across from where I’m sitting. Sometimes this fact allows me to share in a joke and otherwise interact with my fellow classmates or converse with them on a more intimate level, which is fine. Other times, like today, seat placement is a catalyst for horror.

Annie is a freshman from the wrong side of Massachusetts. I know, is there a right side? She is, I am sure, a perfectly pleasant girl in person, but she has a habit which borders on the neurotic and has gone well beyond the distracting.

Many students will ”zone out” during a professor’s lecturious droning and allow their minds to wander to a happier place. This mental voyage is expressed physically with a slanted head, slack jaw and wide open eyes that look but don’t focus. At any point after the first five minutes of a lecture, a speaker can expect to see as much as 60% of her audience performing this “zone out” escape.

Annie zones out. A lot. Except that when she allows her mind to wander, her face gets the most serious and intense expression as if she’s desperate in a persuasive plea. Her eyes remain unfocused, but the small muscles around them tighten so that she is almost squinting. Her lips are slightly parted in a way that is more Spears than Loren. She looks as if she is heavily focused on letting her mind wander.

When most students zone out, the spectacle isn’t so absorbing that I can’t look away. But when Annie zones out, it’s like watching art happen. The face is letting you in on what’s happening in the mind and the viewer is swept along in the drama of the zoning. The whole thing is, quite frankly, very scary.

Maybe Annie needs to take zoning out lessons or maybe I need to learn to pay more attention in class, but regardless, the faithful FCN few can take a pointer from this pour soul: If you’re going to zone, zone! For goodness sakes, zone! Please!

People We Actually Like

After our post a few weeks back detailing those people who are on the wrong side of our disposition, a number of comments and even a few emails have asked us to spill our guts on exactly who we do like. It's as if you guys know, deep in your heart of hearts and in places we don't talk about at parties that there is a nice streak to the FCN writers and you are desperate to dig it up. Well, from our perspective, there is nothing quite like a passel of readers jabbing us into writing something. Maybe “Faithful FCN Few” should be replaced by “Fierce FCN Fighters,” because that's what you feel like to us. It's like we're play acting: we are Paris Hilton and you all are the wardens. Or maybe we're Shamu and you are the SeaWorld trainers.

OK, fine, we'll do it. But with a bad attitude: we've got to maintain some individuality.

People we actually like: a non-exhaustive list.

Mommy G - It just wouldn't be right to start this list any other way. Mommy G is awesome. She gives us brownies. We like her. When she leaves, our colors fade to gray. Nu ma nu ma iei. Etc etc etc. Life is good.

Nancy Pelosi - What can we say? Nancy is something else. She's a real go-get-er. She stands up for what she believes in, which is a lot, among other things. She makes pants look good. She makes Zillary look bad. She's way photogenic. She doesn't need makeup. What's not to like about Nancy?

Tom Cruise - Nuff said.

Em - She reads our stuff. She emails us. She talks to us. She dances with us. She gives us girl advice. She takes care of our accessories. If FCN needs it, Em is there to supply. She's the reason FCN came back online four days early. As a side note, she asked us to never use her name again. Sorry about that, Em.

Josh Groban - All the ladies like him, so apparently we have to, too. We never actually heard his stuff, though, unless that was him singing at the end of Troy, not that we watched that movie.

Lindsay Lohan - Okay, ladies DON'T tend to like her, but that's probably just jealousy. Let's just start things off by saying that Mean Girls is one of the greatest movies ever, not that we watched that movie, either. Lindsay keeps us guessing. We can't figure her or her freckles out. She keeps us awake at night. We seriously need to have her over for an FCN interview.

The Late Saddam Hussein - This guy was so misunderstood. It's like: "You killed a bunch of innocent people, so now you're no good and we don't want to have anything to do with you." Come on, people. Lay off poor Saddam. He had feelings too, you know. In fact, he had a lot of positive qualities, like vision, decisiveness, and lots of body doubles.

Marie Antoinette, also known as Archduchess Maria Antonia of Austria, also known as Marie Antoinette, Queen of France and Navarre - She sat in a palace and ate rice krispies and Crepe Suzette and wore fancy clothes and had good grammar and had her people eat cake. Duuuuuude. What a woman. Kirsten Dunst definitely did NOT do her justice.

Sandy Berger - Here's a man who knows how to use his socks. Sandy's been completely maligned by the popular media for doing what any normal person would do - carry classified documents in his undergarments. We think there is more to the story and that everyone should lay off poor Sandy. If we had to choose between having a beer with Sandy and visiting the National Archives with him, we would do it.

Hillary Duff - She can sing. She can act. She can design clothes and perfume. She looks like the girl next door. She looks like a supermodel. She is now an adult. Questions? I didn't think so.

Kim Jong Il - Not every petty despot is willing to fly across the Pacific just to explain his plans for world domination in football terms. And this guy makes a great fashion statement. He clearly values performance and intimidation over appearance. One glance at those shades says: "I don't care about how I look." The opposite is actually true. That careless look takes some cultivation. Give the guy some credit.

Desperate Student - Because ... oh, forget it.

Bashar Assad - It's a bird! It's a plane! Actually, it's Bashar Assad. We can't quite figure out what he looks like. He definitely makes a great world leader, that's for sure. I mean, look at that face. It spells power. It also spells Doritos, but that's another story. Frankly, we can't figure this guy's face out, but we would definitely put a poster of it up our wall. Or maybe we wouldn't.

Jose de la Cocinar - Okay, so maybe there wasn't ever a guy named Jose de la Cocinar. This is the honorary name we've given to the dude who invented taquitoes. To the real Jose de la Cocinar, we say: we don't know who you are, but if you're still alive (which would probably be pretty freaky), we take off our sombreros to you.

This post is much too positive in tone for FCN. We're usually locked in bitter sarcasm, and here we are patting everyone on the back. To redeem the post, we'll end it on a negative note by pointing fingers at one more person we really don't like:

Santa Claus - Um. Last year? No presents? Okay, not cool. Bad Santa. Very bad Santa.

People We Don't Like

FCN was emailed over the weekend by a delightful young lady who couldn't understand how three normally restrained and mild mannered students could be so mean to Cindy Sheehan. She wrote:

Who is Cindy Sheehan, and why don't you like her? (I didn't read the post; I read the title and the caution) Em.

First, Em, you gotta read the post. Sometimes the caution is a completely misleading doozy; counting on our sense of appropriateness and the warnings that make the beginning of posts is tantamount to relying on the Democrats for a tax cut. So read the post – warnings and all – and then write the hate mail.

Actually, because we are so desperate for any correspondence whatever, go ahead and email without reading the post (or any post for that matter). Just email away and we'll do our best to cut you down for it.

To answer the meat of your question, Emily, we need to explore this concept of people FCN doesn't like. Cindy Sheehan is one of many people who, while a God-made creature worthy of humane respect, we like about as much as an over-stuffed, cantankerous, smelly person who smells bad. With only a few exceptions, it's not that they're bad people, Emily, just that we don't like them.

And because this is our blog, we get to make fun of them,draw other's attention to their faults, and make stuff up about them that isn't true.

We don't like Cindy Sheehan because she abandoned an important movement and walked away before victory was achieved. She didn't fight the good fight. She dropped the flag. She's a sore loser, and the sad thing is, she didn't even have to lose. She left without saying goodbye, and we don't like that.

Sheehan is actually one of many people who can claim the dubious honor of being disliked by us. Unfortunately, measuring our tastes is a little like counting Lindsey Lohan's freckles – they keep changing – so we can't give you an exhaustive black list. We can, however, provide a brief snapshot of those names that are, currently, in the doghouse:

Al Sharpton – Because he's grating and because his hair is horrendous. Take the dead beaver back to the pet shop, Mr. Sharpton!

Markos Moulitsas Zúniga – Because he runs Daily Kos, which is stealing all our traffic and delaying FCN's internet supremacy by tens of millions of years.

Cardinal Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu – Because he's mean, and he has really cool facial hair that makes us look bad.

Dillary Clinton – Because she pretends to be Nancy and because she's mean to us.

Michael Savage – Because he's scary and he doesn't like Nancy.

Hugo Chavez – Because some of us don't watch TV.

Mr. Winther – Because he didn't take our advice. He even got his daughter to do his dirty work for him. Humph.

Mitt Romney – Because we're jealous of his Presidential looks and we just don't trust him.

Katie Holmes – Because she stole this handsome stud.

Russ Solomon – Because he lied to us.

Dr Bashar al-Assad - Because he always looks as if he just swallowed a rat. Freaky. Wait, does anyone like him?

A. A. Milne - Because he created a monster ten times freakier than frankenstein.

Bill Gates - Because he's rich, and we don't like rich people. Also, he corrupted our screens for five long years. He's been working his employees to the bone for much longer.

Cruel Irony...

The winner of FCN's straw poll and clear favorite among the Faithful FCN Few to win the Democratic Nomination for President is the one candidate who isn't running. Who thinks we should draft Nancy Pelosi for President?

Desperate Student, Episode 9: Political Activist

Sitting in one's home feeling sorry for oneself is actually surprisingly entertaining. Soon after my return from a fateful tour of New York and Surrounding Environs, I found myself in my still-sparkling home staring at the wall mourning my perpetual and inescapable bad luck.

While I had been gone, my roomie had taken on five new room mates to help lower the cost of rent. The house was designed for two. Two people slept in each of the two tiny bedrooms, two people took the couch, and my blankies and pillow were moved to the bathtub. By the time I returned, it was too late to protest.

I decided it was time to move out and find another place. Unfortunately, that meant money. Money meant another act of suicidal desperation. After several hours of mournful introspection, I rose and borrowed my roomie's new laptop while he wasn't looking.

Monster.Com > Jobs For People Who Can't Fog A Mirror > No Bingo.

For the first time ever, Monster had no jobs available for cold bodies. This was bad. This was very, very bad. I would have to get creative. I leaned back in the chair, deep in thought, and suddenly found myself navigating the corridors of FCN. Tim's comment about speech writing got me thinking. Why not start a career in politics? No manual labor, job skills, training, or moral principles were required. I seemed cut out for it in a big way.

An image flashed across my memory from my days roaming the streets as a drug dealer (this was before FCN's reformation). I had seen a sign with the smiling face of my favorite politician over the words: "Get Involved 2008". That was my ticket.

I coerced one of the new roomies, a thick red-bearded frat boy named Ivan, to give me a lift. The office was part of a complex rented mostly by medicinal specialists like orthodontists and witch doctors. I knocked on a door covered with patriotic stickers and slogans.

"Come on in," Someone shouted. I opened the door. The main room had no furniture. The floors were covered with poorly organized stacks of paper, which were being sifted by a young blonde with hair tied in such a way that she looked very much like a cow. The walls were covered with posters and pictures.

"Hey," I said hesitantly. "Is this Nancy Pelosi's office? I saw her picture on the ..."

"No," The girl said. "Sorry. This is Hillary Clinton's office."

"Oh." I was dejected, but not quite ready to give up. "What's the difference?"

"Makeup, mostly," Said the girl. "Why? Do you want to help out?"

"Does it pay?"

"It's mostly volunteer work, but if you do really well, you could work your way up the ladder and start making a lot of money."

That sounded risky to me, but I was desperate, so I agreed. "Tell me what to do."

The girl, whose name was Ricky (I didn't understand it, either) gave me a stapler and pointed at a huge stack of papers in the corner. "Four sheets each," She said.

I started stapling with abandon. The work was easy and boring. Ricky moved about the room sorting papers with no apparent rhyme or reason. After about two hours, something in my wrist cracked and I cried out in pain.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"I think I broke something."

"Do you mind if I play some music?"

"That's fine."

She started playing Shania Twain's I Feel Like A Woman on repeat. Another hour passed.

"Hey, Ricky?"

"What?"

"Do you listen to anything else?"

"No, why?"

"No special reason."

"This is the Hillary Clinton for President Theme Song. If you don't like it, go work for Obasaka." She said the last word with utter contempt.

"Why? What do they listen to?"

"I Feel Like A Disenfranchised Discriminated Cinderella Story Inspiring Young Idealist Guy From Kenya."

"Sounds catchy."

She glared and got back to her sorting, this time humming along with the music. Another hour.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Look at my hand! It's flapping up and down!"

"Yeah, so?"

"So I can't stop it!"

"Wierd." She turned up the music. I knew I wasn't going to quit now. I had a bright political future ahead of me. I could just see people humming to the catching tune of I Feel Like A Desperate Student:

I'm staying late tonight
I have papers to write
I'm getting worried about my grade
Jealous of my room mates
Because they all have dates
Been a week since I was paid

Never successful
Life is so stressful
Pearls before the swine
When I was six I had some good luck
But now it feels bad all the time

The worst thing about being a student
Is when you get caught doing things that you shouldn't!

O-wuh-uh-uh! Go totally crazy! Incurably lazy!
Long nights, lost fights!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Minimum wage, yeah! Stapling pages!
O-wuh-uh-uh! I don't have a fever, but I never get near her!
Don't clean my shirt, can't smell the dirt!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Wish I were rich, yeah! Don't like how I feel:
Dude! I feel like a Desperate Student.

My wrist is gonna break
It's starting to shake
Now I'm stapling to save the furry
Not much romance
Don't know how to dance
But that's the least of my worries

The worst thing about being a student
Is when you're desperate nothing seems to be imprudent!

O-wuh-uh-uh! Go totally crazy! Life's getting hazy!
I guessed, flunked test!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Terrible jobs, yeah! Living like a slob!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Never in action! No job satisfaction!
Don't comb my hair, life is unfair!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Wish I were rich, yeah! Don't like how I feel:
Dude! I feel like a Desperate Student.

The worst thing about being a student
Is when you wake and know today will be a torment!

O-wuh-uh-uh! Go totally crazy! Can't handle a lady!
Bad jests, worst dressed!
O-wuh-uh-uh! I need some moola! To buy Coca-Cola!
O-wuh-uh-uh! I'm breaking my arm! I cause social harm!
I sit in the back, developing plaque!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Wish I were rich, yeah! Don't like how I feel:
Dude! I feel like a Desperate Student.

I know. It's catchy. Come on, baby. It kept me company as I harnessed the uncontrollable flapping up-and-down motion to continue stapling pages for yet another hour. By then, hunger was beginning to take control.

"Ricky, do you ever take breaks or anything?"

"Sure."

"When?"

"All the time. I left for lunch earlier but you didn't notice."

"Can I go for lunch now?"

"Sure."

"Can I scalp some lunch money?"

"This is campaign money you're asking for. Do you really want to take the risk that the Alaskan Caribou will be overrun by filthy capitalist dogs?"

I was perfectly ready to take that risk if it meant a free lunch, but I had the sense not to say so. Instead, I went outside and hailed a taxi. The plan was to "hitch a ride," that is, have him take me to In N Out Burger and then make a break for it without paying. Fortunately, since I wasn't explicitly depriving him of any material possessions, this act doesn't technically qualify as stealing. Note that the previous sentence is completely untrue.

When I reached for the door of the taxi, my wildly flapping right hand threw the door back much further than I'd hoped. I'm not totally clear on the physics, but I was thrown over the taxi and into the street beyond. It was at this unfortunate moment that a greyhound bus, which was innocently sweeping through town, swerved wildly to avoid me, turned sideways, and smashed through the glass front of a fancy fashion store run by a manager who swore he would kill me if I ran his name on FCN.

The bus windows were open, and when it tipped, a very cute 2-year-old dressed in some adorable frilly pink stuff fell out the window and into my bewildered lap. That's the situation I was in when the reporters showed up. They managed to take some great pictures of the sobbing mother retrieving her baby and thanking me profusely. I objected half-heartedly until an *BC News reporter shoved a microphone in my face.

"Tell me, did you really just jump in front of that bus to save that baby?"

"What can I say?"

"Would you call yourself a hero?"

"Well, I didn't really do anything that special. It was more of an accident."

"That's very modest of you. What's your name?"

"You can call me Desperate Student." I extended my hand to shake, but the wrist clenched and I fell to the ground, my face contorted in agony.

"He's hurt!" Someone shouted, and then an ambulance came and a hospital doctor checked me out and told me the damage was permanent. I hate it when that happens.

Within hours, my face was up and around all over the place - on TV, newspapers, and yes, even the internet. People were inspired by my sacrificial act and thought something should be done to improve my miserable lot in life. "Nice people shouldn't have to work for a living," Said one commentator. I couldn't agree more.

That evening, as I sat at home by the stove nursing a hot mug of green tea and occasionally screaming in agony over the pain in my wrist, I got a phone call. Burke, one of the new roomies, picked it up.

"Yo. Burke. Uhuh. Yeah, he's here." He handed me the phone. "For you."

I reached for the phone with my right hand and pain shot up my arm. I reached to rub the strained joint with my left hand and poured scalding hot green tea into my lap. With tears in my eyes, I took the phone.

"He ... hi?"

"Desperate Student, this is Mayor Chavez. Are you sitting down?"

"Uncontrollably," I answered.

"Um .... good. I have bad news and good news. The bad news is that the city dog catcher perished in the bus crash. The good news is that I've appointed you to fill that role until the next election can be held. Will you take it?"

"What does the job entail?"

"Well, you ..."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Of course I'll take the job. When do we start?"

"Come to my office tomorrow at nine and I'll integrate you into the administration. In the mean time, get a good night's rest."

"Thanks, mayor."

"No. Thank you."

Chavez hung up. I was about to give the phone back to Burke when it rang again in my hand. I answered.

"Hello, City Dog Catcher's office."

"I think I have the wrong number. Sorry ..."

I recognized the voice. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Suzy?"

"Hey ... yeah, it's me."

I quivered with happiness but tried to maintain a manly distance with my ex. "What's up, Suzy?"

"I think I misjudged you. I mean, I saw what you did on Al-Jazeera TV this evening, and you ... well ... I don't think I gave you credit for your inner reservoirs of ..."

Then the line went dead. My thumb moved to call her back when an irritating woman's voice played into my ear.

"We're sorry, but calling people costs money, which you haven't paid us for the last four months. Now your line has been disconnected, and our lawyers are taking action against you. Thank you, and have a good day. Not!"

I hung up the phone and went to the bathroom to wring the tea out of my pants. Then I climbed into the bathtub and slowly closed my eyes. It had been a long day, but, for the first time in weeks, I was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

Dems Debate; Few Notice

WASHINGTON DC (FCN) – In a move that failed to garner the notoriety of any respected news organization, several candidates for the Democratic Presidential Nomination squared off in an issues debate held three-quarters of a year before the first voting begins in the Iowa Caucuses. At least eight candidates (eye witness accounts varied as to the exact number of speakers) conducted an amicable debate about such momentous issues as the war, health care and guns.

Despite the gravity of the topics, the biggest news coming from DC Thursday seems to be that few cared or even paid attention to the debate.

“I was actually pretty well blind-sided by the whole thing,” said Democrat National Committee Chair Howard Dean after the debate. “The candidates normally consult the political nucleus before debating and the interactions are generally carefully choreographed; we don't like surprises. To see these guys go off half cocked without much direction was disappointing, to say the least.”

Some six hundred reporters were credentialed to cover the event, but only a handful showed up; and those that did have wide variance in their accounts.

“The Obama [D-IL] guy says Obama won; the Clinton [D-NY] guy says Clinton won. About the only person who everyone can agree actually lost is MSNBC, the network that aired the debate.” explained media analyst Jakob Tecknorati in an online interview. “The fact of the matter is nobody knows who the heck won or lost anything because nobody watched.”

One fact that we can be fairly sure about the debate is that President Bush was bashed by all.

“It was more like Conan O’Brien than a Presidential debate; every other line was derogatory,” said former Chief of Staff Andrew Card who saw cell phone clips of the debate on YouTube and spoke publicly about his disgust with Tim Russert on Meet the Press. “If I wanted ‘Bush Bashing,’ I’d have gone to college.”

Republican strategists say they aren’t surprised by the debate’s lackluster following. Some point to apathy in the electorate while others say the Democrats didn’t bring enough big ticket names.

“If you’re not from Alaska and you’re not a nerd, you’ve never heard of Mike Gravel [D- AL] . Who wants to watch a guy named after a collection of small stones speak?” Asked Presidential advisor Karl Rove in a post-debate conference call. “Other ‘big names’ included Dennis Kucinich [D-OH], a first degree loon, and Chris Dodd [D-CT], the guy who ‘runs on hope.’ Please.”

The presence of Nancy Pelosi was postulated but never confirmed.

MSNBC, which lost four million dollars airing the program, remains optimistic about future debates. “When we get closer to the caucuses and a couple of gnarly scandals break, I guarantee folks will be eating our programming up like nothing else,” predicted Dan Abrams, chief legal correspondent for MSNBC. “Just wait, it’s a sleeper now, but it’ll be big soon.”

Democrats can only hope Abrams is right. If the debate viewership is reflective of a poor national following, the future looks grim for the Donkey Party.

Howard Dean sees no reason for fear: “If someone just tells me before they do these things and we get the organized right, everything will be fine. Gracious!”

Pop Quiz #1

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls please clear your desk of all notebooks, texts and digital assistants and prepare yourselves for an FCN Pop Quiz.

Below are five multiple choice questions. The questions are phrased as pictures and the answer choices test your ability to recognize the person in the photo. Begin when you are ready.

The person in the photo is...

A) Zsa Zsa Gabor
B) Diane Feinstein
C) Lindsay Lohan
D) Nancy Pelosi
E) None of the above

The person in the photo is...

A) Boutros Boutros-Ghali
B) Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
C) Margaret Sanger
D) Nancy Pelosi
E) None of the above

The person in the photo is...

A) Howard Stern
B) Al Sharpton
C) Madeline Albright
D) Nancy Pelosi
E) None of the above

The person in the photo is...

A) Janet Reno
B) Donna Shalala
C) Sandy Berger
D) Nancy Pelosi
E) None of the above

The person in the photo is...

A) Barack Obama
B) George Clooney
C) Ted Kennedy
D) A really cool guy with long hair that kinda looks like Nancy Pelosi
E) None of the above

Ok, have you finished? No fair peeking at the answers unless your done...

If you answered "D" to all of the above questions, you aced the test. Go treat yourself to a Dove Bar.

If you answered something other than "D" to one question, you did OK. Keep reading FCN and you'll do better in the future.

If you answered something other than "D" to multiple questions, you are either a shotgun-toting hick, a Wal-Mart shopper, a person who cooks at a restaurant serving Freedom Fries, or both. Go take a French class.

If you didn't answer "D" to any questions, consider a career in politics.

Pelosi's Apology

I don't know what dark hole you've been living in, but if you've missed the latest Nancy Pelosi news you need to get out and experience more of the life that is quickly passing you by. Here's a brief synopsis while your eyes adjust to the light:

Nancy decided that Syria, a rogue nation and state sponsor of terror, would make a nice Spring Break vacation spot. She heard the sands retain the heat well and planned a small excursion with some members of her congressional entourage. She threw in a visit with Syrian President Bashar Assad, which the tour guide said was a “charming man with a quaint mustache.”

After the meeting, which lasted three hours, Nancy emerged and, heavily guarded by her security troop, announced that, in her highly educated expert opinion, Syria is “ready to engage in negotiations for peace with Israel.” She then donned a bullet-proof flak jacket, hopped into her reinforced limousine and flew home on a military jet that made anti-SAM maneuvers until it reached Saudi airspace.

When she got back to DC, Nancy was not congratulated for her bravery (being the only woman without a headscarf in a Muslim country takes guts) nor was her impromptu diplomacy and eye opening admission from Assad heralded as a victory. Rather she was a villain; she was undermining America's efforts in the Middle East. She was a bad guy.

Though it pains us to say so, we here at FCN are forced to agree with the general assessment and are jumping on the "Nancy bad” bandwagon. We just think that as long as she had a private three hour interview with a known mass murderer and state sponsor of terrorism, she should have poisoned his drink or bugged his bedroom or something!

Although Nancy has yet to make any public expression of regret for not making her trip to Syria earlier more productive, FCN was able to discover that the esteemed Speaker will issue an apology in the near future. We were also able to procure, through somewhat devious and completely unethical means, an early draft of the apology. Apparently it is intended as a statement to be delivered before a joint session of Congress when the lawmakers come back to DC after Easter. We republish it here to kill the suspense:

Ladies and Gentlemen of this esteemed body,

I come before this body to personally express, again, my sincere regret about the encounter with General Assad of Syria. I appreciate my colleagues who are standing with me, who love this institution and who love this country. There should not have been any contact in this incident. I have always been against terrorism, and will be voting for H. Res. 756, a bill to prohibit unauthorized politicians from making diplomatic vacations, to express my disappointment and frustration with the ineffectiveness of this body at changing global attitudes. I only wanted to be a shining light of diplomacy in a world made dark by head scarves, but I failed even in that. I am sorry that this misunderstanding happened at all and I regret its escalation. And I apologize. And I'm sorry. And I won't do it again, even if 756 doesn't pass.

This will obviously be a heart-warming and attitude-changing apology. Having delivered it, we expect Nancy to return to our good graces.

“She has a ‘crush’ on you”

I am still shaking. Inside, my guts are trying desperately to find their proper position and realign themselves to the appropriate pipes. The class I am supposed to be attentive to is nothing but a blur and the teacher’s gesticulations are foreign to my traumatized psyche.

I think this is my philosophy class, but I might not be in the right room because my normal teacher is a bearded male. The professor in front of me now is an obese female. I think nothing of the error.

Ten minutes ago, I was calmly eating my paper sack lunch in the campus Canteen. Each bite of the savory turkey sandwich was slowly erasing the memories of a difficult science lab and my hunger was being pushed away by the spicy mustard sauce my mother prepared for me before I left.

My slice of heaven was interrupted by an attractive blonde girl’s approaching my empty table. I had my mouth full.

“Do you mind if I take your picture,” she asked with a smile.

“My pficture?” I was confused and the whole grain between my front teeth and lips didn’t help my diction. I was flattered nonetheless.

Taking my response as a “yes,” the newly arrived female pulled a pink razor cellular phone from her purse and pointed the camera lens in my direction. I tried to smile without revealing my crumb covered teeth.

The young woman turned around and would have walked away, had I not forced the remainder of my mouthful down the gullet (incidentally causing a painful dough lump) and asked politely why the picture was needed, besides, of course, the obvious advantage of having a super handsome guy as your desktop pic.

“Oh, my friend has a crush on you and she wants your picture.”

The dough lump got bigger. I tried to swallow but my mouth was so dry that my effort only made a gulping sound and probably caused me to look like a fish out of water. I felt a bead of sweat welling on my forehead, just below my hairline and willed myself keep looking worthy of a crush.

Crush. I’d heard the word before, thrown around, joked about and even used by friends. But what exactly did it mean? In agriculture, crush season is when all the wine grapes are harvested, but my intuition told me her comment had nothing to do with that. In society, crush means a juvenile infatuation with a member of the opposite gender that could, if both parties were more mature, lead to a short marriage. Maybe her friend was digging for a short marriage.

But why come over to my table? Was she suffering from a sever case of post Valentine’s Day depression and trying to assuage her feelings of abandonment with male companionship? Was she hungry for some chocolate and think I was hiding some leftover kisses in my pants pockets?

Ah, the questions that haunt the mind of the modern college student!

Coming from a family of guys, some of whom imagine themselves pretty hot stuff, I’d heard quite a bit of advice on how to handle female advances. I knew how to handle this one.

Stepping out of my chair, I extended my hand and introduced myself.

“I’m Lindsey.” She smiled as a response and looked expectant.

“So is your friend here? I’d love to meet her.” Note the adjective use. He-he!

“No, she’s not here today; she just wanted your picture.” With that last comment, Lindsay turned and walked back to her table.

That’s when I started shaking. In the course of a minute, as much time than it takes a collegiate sprinter to run 400 meters, I’d been informed of a girl’s interest (a boon to my now vibrant male ego) and been told that she just wanted my picture (can you hear the air coming out?).

If she simply desired my mug, she could have just visited any of the tens of singles sites I frequent. My picture (and several descriptive paragraphs) are pasted all over the web. I even have a profile on E-Harmony, where Lindsey’s friend and I could find compatibility on all twenty-nine levels.

No longer hungry, I packed up the remainder of my sandwich and walked to my class (or Miss Calorie's Calculus class as the case turned out).

Can there be any more nerve wracking realization than to be told that a girl has a crush on you? I don’t even know who this person is. She could be Katie Holmes in all her scientological glory or even the teacher with the cocaine wrinkles currently lecturing a sleepy audience in a monotone. She could even be the lovely Lindsey who came by to take the photo, but is playing a juvenile trick to obtain a pixilated representation of the man with whose image she has fallen in love.

Or the holder of the crush could be Anna Nicole Smith. Now there’s a scary thought.

That’s what makes this situation so redoubtable. Somewhere out there, in a world of 3 billion girls, there is one eligible candidate who actually likes me. The thought is so overwhelming, so groundbreaking, that it’s got part of me frightened. I don’t want to meet this mystery girl anymore. I want to go on imagining her as a Nancy Pelosi clone and never have to worry about living up to the image she’s made in her mind.

But then again, part of me is curious. Really curious, actually. Kinda tense, a little nervous and full of anticipation.

Give Nancy her airplane!

As you may have heard, Nancy Pelosi, the lovely lady liberal from SF with the big eyes, has been seeking justice in the political transportation arena. While President Bush has a sweet pair of wings, to use the vernacular, and Vice President Dick Cheney flies in similar style, the person second in line for the Oval Office has been forced to fly in the puny plane Dennis Hastert used to ride in.

Nancy's current plane is so small it has to actually refuel (putting precious Muslim oil in the tank) during the flight. It's so petite she can't fully extend her Congressional legs to stretch them after a long day of political catering. The flight is so scrunched, the good Congresswoman has to watch the in-flight movies on a twelve inch flatscreen (Bush and Cheney get theirs on a 15 incher). The craft is so tiny, she can't fit Ron Artest's dogs in the no-feeding cargo compartment. It's so little, it's a flying bantam.

Since 2001, the White House has fulfilled the constitutional right of all big impact politicians to have their transportation subsidized in the name of security. This is, incidentally, the only constitutional right that terrorists have forced to be recognized. But, while Hastert was able to bunny hop from Washington to Illinois, the small commuter craft the former Speaker used must refuel (a very dangerous and terror attack prone behavior) in order to get from DC to Pelosi's home district.

Pelosi wants to be allowed to fly a C-32, the luxurious and specially configured version of the Boeing 757-200 commercial intercontinental airliner that seats 45 passengers with leather seats and has mechanical backrubs for the honored guests. The plane has a crew of up to 16, including her award winning dental hygienist and plastic surgeon. She also wants her friends to be able to fly free, a perfectly reasonable request given Pelosi's social status and position in Congress.

Think about how sagacious this request is for a minute. The top two most powerful political personas in America have their own personal chartered crafts. President Bush has Air Force One. Dick Cheney gets to ride in Air Force Two. Given her importance and the impact she will undoubtedly have on this country's undertrodden, shouldn't Pelosi have Air Force Zero?

Critics point out that the cost of operating the C-32 will run into almost $22,000 an hour (or $192,720,000 a year), a figure that is seriously overplayed given the size and misuse of the federal budget. I mean, how can we spend $640 on a toilet seat for a soft tushed General but hesitate to acquiesce to the request of Madam Speaker?

Frankly, we see this hesitance by the Pentagon to provide the craft to which Pelosi is entitled as discrimination against all left coast states(wo)men who must refuel between home and work. I bet Hastert, in his wicked anti-California bias, even had the controversy in mind when he first requested the smaller plane.

One other thing, as far as accommodations go on The Hill, if Pelosi wants to move into the White House and take advantage of her political position to get some nicer digs, we see no reason why she shouldn't.

The Most Depressing Day of the Year

You, the faithful FCN few who regularly visit our humble blog, probably come here to get your measured dose of satire, synicism and silliness (the three Ss of FCN writing) and maybe to chuckle off a few pounds. If that's your reason for surfing here today, you're in for a major disappointment.

Today is not a day to be funny. To attempt anything light would be sacrilegious on so momentous a jour, to use a little français. The irony of humor might even make the day harder to bear, driving us all to an early grave and weight gain. We write this, not because we're a passel of cruel savages, although that might very well be the case, but because today is:

The Most Depressing Day of the Year.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, the experts who study this sort of thing have decided that, of all the 365 days that populate our datebooks and cell phone calendars, today is the day most likely to inflict a long face (see above photo).

Here's the formula:

The equation is broken down into seven variables: (W) weather, (D) debt, (d) monthly salary, (T) time since Christmas, (Q) time since failed quit attempt, (M) motivational levels and (NA) need to take action.

Here's the logic: As the weather of winter becomes colder, wetter and generally danker, the debts and assorted costs of Christmas express their fiscal impact, and the good vibes of Christmas join our New Year's Resolutions as distant memories, we become depressed. All these factors combine with increasing intensity to tell our brains to release commensurate stress hormones and our faces slowly morph to more closely resemble John Kerry's.

Most folks quit trying to keep their New Year's Resolutions three weeks to a month after New Years. Life gets too hard, the pounds just stop falling and we begin to realize just how expensive a nicotine strip really is. It's back to the same old same old and the imminent recycling of New Year's Resolutions, which, for some reason, gets people down.

Debts also come due about this time and the wisdom of getting the multitude of yuletide gifts for all those “friends” is not as clear as it was standing next to that persuasive sales clerk at Mervyn's a month ago. Visa and Mastercard are more concerned about their bottom line than your hypertension, so when the two conflict, you pay up. Ouch.

Finally the motivation, encouragement and rejuvenation we get during the Christmas season evaporates pretty quickly when school and work recommence. Even though Grandma is back in her happy home, normal day-to-day tension is stronger than that brought about by extended family.

This year a passel of over-educated psychiatrists and assorted therapists have determined that the most dreary day falls on Canada's election day (today).

I know, cheerio. At least it's not a Monday, right?

Despite the fact that the Patriots lost the AFC championship, the Democrat Party controls Congress, American Idol's continues to dominate prime time, Prince is doing the Super Bowl halftime show and the Oscar nominated films don't beat YouTube for content, we here at FCN see several reasons to be cheerful about the day:

1. It's 342 days until Christmas. Which is nice.

2. It could be any number of days until your next birthday, which, depending on your age, is nice.

3. A man survived a 300 foot fall from a hotel window. He is probably going to sue. Hey, it could happen to you.

4. Google is still doing well and shows no signs of slowing its rabid growth. We know, you don't care and you're never going to actually follow that link, but its still there just in case.

5. Paula Abdul is fine. Really.

6. McDonald's is going to start serving burgers on a comet! Or are we misreading this headline?

7. The new Boeing 747-8 sure looks comfy. And it's made in America!

8. Internet Explorer is being replaced by open source browsers like Firefox and Opera.

9. The year can't get any worse; all days from here on out will be better!

10. New Year's resolutions are no fun, anyway.
    

Have a great 23^rd everyone!

New Year's Resolutions

New Year's Resolution: n. A decision to act in a certain manner for the first few weeks of January.

We know, resolutions are rarely fulfilled. Life, girlfriends, food and, in rare instances, school get in the way and we normally end up just as bad to end the year as we began it. Still, there is something quaintly romantic about cozying up to the computer screen and reading another person's heartfelt wish for the coming year. So, in the spirit of ze Frank, here are FCN's 2007 New Year's Resolutions:

We promise not to look down on those who play pogostick.

We promise to remember that burning yarn is a better pastime than throwing cats in the dog kennel.

We promise not to throw cats in the dog kennel.

We promise not to offend people just for fun.

We promise not to let our impression of other people’s impression of who we are stop us from becoming what we know other people think we are not.

We promise to stop picking at the stickers on our laptop keyboards.

We promise not to put in our contact lenses after eating spicy things with our hands.

We promise to take our mom's word for it.

We promise to never again go out without wearing all our undergarments.

All of them.

We promise to stop answering spam e-mail.

We promise not to judge our personal value based on FCN's traffic statistics.

We promise to clear a space on the floor so we can actually roll on the floor laughing.

We promise to stop poking fun at Nancy Pelosi.

Even if she is wierder than Michael Jackson.

We promise to stop pulling cheap stunts like the above.

We promise to stop wearing our undershirts inside out.

We promise to stop bringing pillows to class.

We promise to stop pretending to be hitch hikers in crowded cities.

We promise to clean the bathroom.

We promise to treat telemarketers like people, too.

We promise to stop playing with our pens.

If we must play with our pens, we promise not to do so in class.

If we must play with our pens in class, we promise not to make wooshing sounds as we fly them through the air.

If we must make wooshing sounds as we fly our pens through the air in class, we promise not to sit in the front row.

We promise to stop writing fan mail to Tom Cruise.

We promise to throw away the socks with holes.

We promise to be genuine with the mail man.

We promise not to make fools of ourselves in public just to get a good campfire story.

This includes hiding from security cameras in the line at the grocery store.

We promise not to huddle with Nancy Pelosi for warmth.

We promise not to come up with excuses, justifications, reasons, philosophies, moral codes, or loopholes so we can get out of our resolutions.

We promise never to lie to our readers again.

It was so windy...

It was breezy today, wasn't it? Boy, the howling wind sure got my attention. How windy was it? It was so windy...

...the dog finally caught his tail.

...we turned off the indoor fans.

...birds flew backwards.

...Travis didn't have to blow dry his hair.

...Travis' hair actually looked good.

...Sam didn't have to tip the cows; he just watched them fall over.

...SUVs actually got good gas mileage.

...my little sister got pulled off to Oz.

...light waves were buffeted.

...I rode the umbrella into town.

...the National Weather Service asked Nancy Pelosi to shut up.

...all the cars at the drug store parking lot were on the south end.

...we had dinner on the wall.

...it was raining garbage.

...I walked outside and was undressed.

...the palm fronds became palm sticks.

...the garden was watered with the pool.

...the chickens were plucked before they were slaughtered.

It was dirty....

The other day, we had a dirt snap.
We knew it the moment we woke up.
The dirt woke us up.
I mean, it was dirty.

It was so dirty, we couldn't see more than a few feet.

It was so dirty, our cat lived in the litter box.

It was so dirty, my sister became desperate and attempted to dust.

It was so dirty, we couldn't comb our hair, even if we wanted to.

It was so dirty, my Instascum died.

It was so dirty, the shower water turned to mud the minute we stepped under the spray.

It was so dirty, my computer performed an automatic disc clean-up.

It was so dirty, we confused the pears for potatoes.

It was so dirty, the mole from the back yard moved in to the closet.

It was so dirty, Nancy Pelosi said she would become a Republican if we could get it clean.

It was so dirty, it made the public school bathroom look clean.

It was so dirty, Pig Pen made an offer on the house.

It was so dirty, our fake Christmas tree withered.

It was so dirty, Mr. Clean went into early retirement.

It was so dirty, even Clean Films had inappropriate humor.

It was so dirty, Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump got together to start a clean up charity.

It was so dirty, that nobody noticed any political mudslinging.

It was so dirty, we brushed our teeth with brown toothpaste.

It was so dirty, the dog stopped eating off the floor.

Desperate Student, Episode 2: Santa Claus

Christmas is coming, and Christmas means giving presents to friends. This wasn't a problem for me until recently; I didn't have any friends. But now I have a girlfriend, and girlfriends cost money, and I don't have any.

As you've probably already gathered, the collapse of Dirty Derek's Gourmet left me in a very desperate position. My girlfriend called me that evening and asked if I was ready to take her out yet. I told her I was busy all week. We chatted a bit about the news - apparently the police were out looking for a sadistic restaurant saboteur - and then said goodbye. I ran around the room screaming and broke something that did not belong to me. Feeling better, I went to Monster.Com and clicked on the familiar "Jobs for People who Can't Fog Mirrors," button. The latest job:

"WANTED: Man who can wear Santa Claus outfit outside Wal-Mart and ring hand bell."

Beneath the ad were a couple paragraphs of fine print that said something about paid volunteers under a non-profit charitable status and how the whole thing was taken care of by Nancy Pelosi. I felt warm inside.

This was my ticket. I called the salvation army immediately and spent the last of my money on a Santa Claus costume. The next day early, I made my way to Wal-Mart, set up the little basket, and started ringing the bell.

I felt like a complete idiot. I tried to avoid eye contact with shoppers, embarrassed silly. Time cures most ills, however. Within the hour, I was feeling much more confident. I started singing carols, and making ho-ho-ho noises, and wondering aloud if it was going to snow. Just before lunch, the manager came out and told me to settle down because I was annoying the customers. I rang the bell in his face a couple of times. He started blinking hard and fell backwards into the street. A passing bus finished the job.

The police showed up and roped off the area. Then they drew chalk designs on the road and gathered pieces of litter and put them in zip-lock bags. I stood right outside the perimeter, ringing the darn bell for all I was worth.

After an hour of this, I returned to harassing the customers.

"How do you, ma'am? Merry Christmas, everyone! How about a new train for Christmas, little boy? No? Doom 3? All right then! Ho-ho-ho!" On the third ho, I found myself standing face to face with my girlfriend, Suzy. I dropped the bell in shame, mouth gaping. She walked right by me as if I didn't exist.

"Suzy, wait ..." I said. She turned and looked back at the store, then shrugged and went on her way. I then realized what had happened. My fake beard had saved me! The itches were justified. I quit scratching and enjoyed the irritation for the rest of the afternoon.

Eventually, the police started to pack up. About that time, the assistant manager came out and started yelling in my face. It was something about not blocking the entrance. Naturally, I bonked him on the head with my bell. He fell into an empty shopping cart, which raced down the parking lot and out of sight. The police chased him, yelling into their radios.

A few minutes later, a chopper showed up and heavily armed soldiers dressed all in black came down ropes in front of the store. The vice-assistant manager came out to complain about the ruckus.

"Hey, guys, come on," He pleaded. "Can't you leave us alone?"

"We're looking for a murderer with a weapon shaped like a hand bell," said the SWAT captain. My heart hit the brakes. I heard the vice-assistant manager and the SWAT guys going back and forth, but I no longer understood what was said. As quietly as possible, I slipped behind a dumpster, tore off my costume, punched out the bottom of a trash can, slipped inside, and ran for it, taking the costume with me. After all, I'd spent my life savings on that outfit.

People of the Year Award

Breaks are usually a slow time for us here at FCN. Classes – those evil entrails of salacious inspiration – are out of session, leaving us naked for funny thoughts (One contributor got so desperate, he even started begging readers for a funny note). Fortunately, a witty idea came by the other day to clothe me and also dropped some handy content, which you are now reading.

Every year TIME magazine lists its “person of the year,” an award that supposedly goes to the year's biggest newsmaker. The idea worked well for the first few years, but lately such inanimate objects as “The Computer”and “Pope John Paul II” have gotten the award raising questions about TIME's credibility. I personally thought the image of Nelson Mandela and Yasser Arafat on the same page did the institution in, but the TIME faithful keep coming back to the trough and the award survives.

This year's person of the year award is similarly non sequitur (see above). “You” are TIME's person of the year. “You” did something so newsworthy that “You,” and “You” alone, get the top billing. Despite the obvious flaws in the choice (what about “Her” and “Me” and all the other pronouns?), “You” join Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin as TIME's person of the year! Congratulations.

Below is FCN's take on the year's biggest newsmakers:

Mohamad Ahmadinejad

This man was runner up on TIME magazine's list (although TIME's list was arguably so broad that the Iranian premier was included), so he gets an honorable mention here. Ahmadinejad also is a big name from 2006 in his own right. Just think about his name “Ahmadinejad.” Sounds like someone sneezed twice. Or, if said with proper inflection, like someone gave a giant sneeze (see below):

Regardless, I would have paid hard currency (and lots of it) to be in the same room as little Mohamad when his father told the country recorder the name.

Your Computer

TIME’s person of the year award went to “You,” the connected person who can do, see, book or talk about anything online. The real hero there isn’t the ubiquitous “You,” it’s the computer that connects you to the world such that all sorts of amazing possibilities are only a click away.

If computers have a personality -- and my fellow FCN writers are convinced they do – then, they are most definitely a person of the year.

The Rich Americans

I know, that’s repetitive (rich, American), but the wealthy did well again this year. Looking over the latest economic numbers, we find that they made a lot of money and are generally feeling good about themselves (and you didn’t think economic numbers could tell you that, did you?). The rich people also have more cars, more houses and more stuff than all the rest of us. And, if the definition stays the same, they always will.

Expect wealthy Americans to be on the top list next year.

Charles Manson

If TIME could pick Ahmadinejad as its person of the year (or runner up anyhow), we can pick Charles Manson to our top list. Manson has been in prison a long time and his image hasn’t improved much since he killed a bunch of people and got sent to the big house in the first place. He hasn’t even written children's books or conducted anti-gang conferences. In fact, he really hasn't done much of anything this year except become more buff on the taxpayer dollar. He certainly doesn't warrant an honorable mention here. But that didn’t stop TIME with Ahmadinejad (bless you), so it won’t stop us.

Cynthia McKinney

Here's a name that isn't getting the kind of press it should. Not only did McKinney sock a Capital Hill security guard in the chops, but she introduced articles of impeachment against the President. She also has really awesome hair and a voice that can wake the dead.

Our real reason for inclusion: We had a minority quota to fulfill and Charles Manson and the Rich Americans are all white males.

Brad and Angelina

She showed the world that you can be attractive, adopt a million kids, act in big budget movies and sport a huge dragon tattoo on her lower back.

He showed that it doesn't take much more than good looks to be a Hollywood heartthrob.

Together they put together the highest paid celebrity image of all time. And got a mention in FCN's person's of the year list.

John Kerry

We actually decided against putting Kerry in before putting him in. If he runs for President again – and who won't? -- every comedian in cyberspace will die happy in political humor ecstasy.

Nancy Pelosi

Or “Madam Speaker,” as her memoir will undoubtedly be titled. In a few short weeks she will grab the gavel and become the shrillest person of all time to hold the top Congressional spot. Hey, it's good enough for a mention.

Saddam Hussein

Has he been executed yet? O.K. Well 2006 might be his last full year, so we want to give him top billing on the year. Hussein is one man that has lived nearly all the sand out of the hourglass. I wouldn't want to be in the Middle east when the last grains go through.