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THE GRUNION November 20, 2006 Volume 59 Issue 13 Letters....................................................................................4 Grunnyscope..........................................................................6 W o rld


T h r e at

Does Rumsfeld have what it takes to coach Iraq football?

10 Ways Your House Can Kill You.........................................8 T e rr o ri s m


Profiles in Courage..............................................................10 I n t e r v i e w 16 Questions with “That One Guy”.....................................11 C h u rc h A Spa Day To Cleanse The Gay Away.................................12 St a t e The End Of An Era: Is Guantanamo Bay Closing?.............13 C o v e r

St o ry

Football Invades Iraq..........................................................14 Donald Rumsfeld: Life in Pictures......................................16 H e a lt h / Sci e n c e

Asians Dlink Wine

We’re not racist, we just have a lazy copy edior Palm AIDS............................................................................19


Art s OJ: A Killer Read..................................................................20 Star Stalking........................................................................22

John Goodman takes the high road

Sp o rt s Red Staters Banish Soccer..................................................24 T e c h n o l o gy 5 Greatest Inventions..........................................................25 Editorial................................................................................26


Dog finds primo shit Disclaimer: So here’s the deal. This thing your’re reading is satire, and at this point you’re either going to throw a temper tantrum every time we run a vagina in the paper, or you’re not. I shouldn’t need to tell you that The Grunion is not affiliated with CSULB, ASI or anyone at anyplace in any time (including our sponsors), which is a shame because it’s all so damn funny that I’m sure you’ll want to take credit for it. November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION



9/11 victims: Courage Under Debris The Grunion recently asked, “9/11 Victims: Where Are They Now?” The answer shocked some, delighted few, and perplexed many. Irregardless, we have the letters to prove that thing that we just said about that issue that we just talked about. Dear Grunion, The September 11th issue was incredible. I lost my wife on 9/11 and had been unaware of her whereabouts for over five years now. Had I known that her corpse was part of a traveling freak show of patriotism—to be dragged around the country once every year in order to drum up support for a completely unjustified war—I would have bought tickets a long time ago.

ther. There was just so much… detail. You could really taste the suffering. It just… I don’t know… made me feel… so good. It uplifted my soul. Sexually. Daniel Polk Meginslaugh, AK

Thanks, Nebulous in New York New York, NY Dear “Grunion,” I’m writing to express my extreme displeasure over your tasteless “9/11 Victims: Where are they now?” feature that ran in last month’s issue. You cite absolutely no credible sources, relying almost exclusively on conjecture and metaphysical speculation. Sometimes the old creative writing edict holds true for journalism as well: show, don’t tell. Show me why the 9/11 victims are in hell, don’t just tell me.

Here’s to hoping you’ll be checking your facts very shortly, Bob Cock Enballs, AK

Dear Grunion Gents, I happened upon your wonderful “9/11 Victims: Where are they now?” feature when my grandson left it at my house when last he visited. At first I admit I was scandalized by the frequent use of the words cunt, shit, fuck, asshole, and testes, but after the shock wore off, I was pleasantly surprised to find a wellresearched, well-thought out, and above all, funny feature. I also really loved all the pictures of the adorable puppies. Aren’t they adorable?


Thanks for keeping my granny panties rolling in cream, Grandma Grun Shady Acres Retirement Estate November 20, 2006

At first I admit I was scandalized by the frequent use of the words cunt, shit, fuck, asshole, and testes, but after the shock wore off, I was pleasantly surprised to find a wellresearched, well-thought out, and above all, funny feature. Grandma Grun Dear Grunion, I’d just like to say that I was both shocked and slightly turned on reading your article on 9/11 victims. And although it certainly pushed some ethical bounds, it was apparent that your reporters really cared about the subject to dig so deeply to find the story. It requires a lot of finesse to handle such a tender subject, but I think that your approach of blackmailing victims’ families and threatening senators really handled it well. In fact, I’m kind of getting excited just think about it now. You know, like sexually excited. I don’t think I’m alone in this ei-

Hey, The Grunion, As a 9/11 victim myself, I was appalled by your complete misunderstanding and utter failure to accurately represent the pain and hardship that we’ve been through and the shameful treatment we deal with on a daily basis. You had an opportunity to tell the world our story. You had an opportunity to make the public aware of our tragedy, which so often gets lost in the goings-on of everyday life. And instead of finally shedding some light through the ashes, you chose to resort to emotional fluff and blame-slinging. Well, we’re not going to take this lying down. My fellow victims and I demand to be recognized, and we won’t stop until 9/11 becomes an indelible mark of shame on the popular consciousness. Always regret, America. John Doe Massgrave, NY Dearest the Grunion, The cover to last week’s issue shocked me greatly. I was sure that your writers had concocted yet another racist/homophobic/ misogynist/dead baby joke to fly unjustly beneath the banner of satire. And I was right! Your article on how best to eat babies (Ed. “Swift Food Nation”) was disgusting. Things that I do not morally or philosophically agree with ARE NOT SATIRE! I should know, I looked up the definition of the term on Wikipedia. You should really learn more about the history of satiric material before you claim to write it. Fucks, All of Womankind Your Coat Tails



Fancy Lash

Father McKenzie

“Onward to the gates of Hell.”

“Riiiiggggs! Riiiiggggs!

The Nothing

Uncle Feebs

“I am your ancestor.”

“I don’t know where I am. Pull the plug, please?”

Dear Grunions, I’m not sure why you’ve chosen to target me to the extent that you have, but I’d like for you to stop. I have not grown a mustache, shaved said mustache, or tempted trick-or-treaters that were dressed as me while they read Rape (and Canola) Culture Monthly (although I have appeared on multiple covers and endorse the magazine fully). You’ve stepped over the line and I will not tolerate this any longer. This is not Nam; there are rules. Sincerely, John Goodman’s Unshaven Gash GrunionI haven’t much time to write. I’m on the lam; I went down in United Flight 93, so I was a hero. But I kind of fooled around with some people I shouldn’t have, so… Long story short, I’m in Purgatory. But since the Pope closed that bitch down, I’ve been running, staying just one step ahead of the shadow demons. Oh God! The shadow demons! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Steve Wilber Treasured Grunion Magazine: I am a psychic sent to warn you that some content you will soon be printing will land the lot of you in the hottest climes of the innermost depths of Hell.


Avocado Bean Dip

“I killed fifty men.”

“The bicentennial is always funny.”

The Cap’n of SerousTown

Savage Fred

I honed my prophetic powers under the tutelage of a 159 year-old Hatian man calling himself Nostrilsdamis. As the sole protégé of the unrivaled genius that is Nostrilsdamis, my vision should be trusted and feared, and I advise you to heed my warning and retract all content concerning the zany things children say upon their deathbeds. Just so you know, all of your children…SIDS. Esmeralda Dear Grunion, The recipes in last month’s article, “Swift Food Nation,” are delicious. Just thought I’d let you know. Angelo Bryant Dear Grunion Warmongers: You caused the war. You keep our brave troops from coming home. How? Your publication and its vile portrayal of vagina promotes rape, causes rape, and visually rapes everyone who comes into contact with it. The vagina should be a powerful image of female beauty, but you continuously use it as a biological weapon on the troops and the innocent Iraqi people. This may not make sense to you, but I sure was angry when I saw that vagina on your cover and this was the best argument I could think of in response. Troubled in Tulane

“A profile in profiles.”


Little Giants: Mon Frere, The Sophisticated Grizzly Bear, and Flying Jellyfish November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION




23,485 Number of American

babies accidentally packaged and shipped to relatives by mothers during the hectic 2005 Christmas gift wrapping season, according to the United States Postal Service. Down from 2004’s record high of 37,445

32% Portion of accidentally

shipped babies actually received by relatives

Today Bush did something very funny and embarrassing, also I’m a horrible Weekend Update host.

2,865 Number of American

– amy poheler commenting on President Bush’s recent injury from slipping on a banana peel and sliding into Paris Hilton, who somehow took off the President’s pants as he flipped down some stairs onto Michael Jackson’s lap. It was fucking hilarious.

342 billion Dollars that

I wasn’t not invited, I just didn’t want to go. I have other things to do. I’m very busy, you know.

soldiers that would still be alive if Ralph Nader were assasinated in October of 2000 could have gone to the American educational system if it weren’t for that pesky Nader

1976 The bicentennial is always funny. Right, gang?

20 Pounds of semen found in

the average dead hobo / Vietnam veteran in 1976 – half the amount as in today’s youth

867-5309 Jenny don’t

change your number. I need to make you mine

2 Tickets to paradise. Won’t

you pack your bags, we’ll leave tonight – according to e-money

$864,000 Estimated street

value of meth found in Elmo dolls

0% of said Elmo dolls in danger of reaching children, you retard 6 THE GRUNION

November 20, 2006

– oprah on why she wasn’t invited to Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’ wedding.

Do you think he likes me? No, no, I couldn’t do that. You ask him for me. Please? C’mon, please, just talk to him for me? – British Prime Minister tony blair on that totally hawt Prez across the pond.


Yo dawg, I need these babies dawg cuz they’re like hella tight at getting me laid. Chicks totally dig babies and shit. – kevin “k-fed” federline on why he wants to retain custody of his children.

Okay, so I bought meth from a gay prostitute, but at least he wasn’t a Jewish gay prostitute. – rev. ted haggard in a plea to remain in control of his Mega-Church. Either I get the Nintendo Wii, or I’m building another nuclear bomb.

– kim jong il, the Crazy Dictator Who Cried Wolf, throwing another temper tantrum in his palace last week.



November 20, 2006


Learn to envy the homeless. Recent studies have shown that a person’s home is a veritable domicile of doom. Hiders Amongst the Home

During the construction of one’s home, certain mentally unstable pyromaniacs may attempt to infiltrate the attic and/or crawlspace area. These individuals will often create elaborate ruses that drive the patriarch of the house out, followed by the awkward courtship of his wife. This threat typically ends in murder/proposed dates to the circus.

Natural Sunlight

With the rise of global warming and an increasing dependency on domestic technological conveniences, natural sunlight has truly become one of the largest threats in our homes. Our only advice is to close the blinds, lock the shutters, slather on some SPF, and keep asking yourself which came first: the pasty-skinned hermetic chicken or the fried egg?

Toilet Snakes

According to the National Bacteria Association, because of an increase of Enterococcal coliform bacteria in the sewer systems of many cities, there has been a 67% boost in the number of toilet boa constrictors in the past three months. Feeding off the bare bottoms of unsuspecting homeowners, these deadly intruders bite without method or mercy.

Ronco Gadgetry


According to researchers, today’s children are 400 to 500 percent more dangerous than a decade ago. In fact, you’re twice as likely to be killed by a child than a crackhead, and if you’re a parent or a school principal, the numbers are even higher. Marksmanship among teenagers has been rising for 20 years, and the believed benefits of karate lessons have been coming back to haunt mothers and fathers.


You think that just because it’s your face gazing back at you that you’re safe, but think again. Whether it’s their potential for jagged edges, their hard smooth surfaces, or the always scary risk of an interdimensional mirror rift, there’s no doubt that mirrors are one of your home’s most potent hidden threats. Especially since breaking them will incur seven years bad luck. Tread carefully with this catch-22.

carpet fibers

You can’t see them, but they’re there. In fact, they’re everywhere, all over your floor – living, breathing, breeding. Fibers. Each individual fiber is giving off invisible toxins that float upward through the air, and, if you’re not careful, into your lungs. Experts recommend you wear a gas mask at all times to protect against these airborn killers.

SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome)

98% of Americans own at least one of Ron Popeil’s famous gadgets. While these items can greatly assist in the injection of solid flavor into a perfectly broasted turkey leg every time, it is highly possible that they will one day join themselves together to create a horrifying bot-net controlled, highly affordable killing machine. Either that or you could trip on you deluxe 5-tray food dehydrator while fumbling with your pocket fisherman and break your leg.

For absolutely no reason whatsoever, your baby may die. It’s part of the food cycle/pyramid. However, for adults to avoid the contraction of this deadly disease, the body must be handled with proper care. Dissolve the corpse in a bathtub full of acid (please wear rubber gloves when handling the former child) and then bleach the bones, as they may be used as part of a mobile for your next child.


It’s Easter morning and the whole family is gathered for brunch. Granny has consumed more than her fair share of champagne, and on her way out to the deck, rams her blotched and wrinkled face straight into the nearinvisible sliding glass door. Her brittle vertebrae shatter upon impact and a piece of bone severs her jugular. She bleeds to death internally in under a minute. Happy Easter, murderers!

Behind the 90º angles of 110% death, killer clowns, creepy little children with scalpels and rabies, undead raccoons, rapists, your drunken father, or even Latinos could be hiding in wait to take your life. Your home may be full of corners and as such you are at risk. Remember to kick violently before turning any corner and, if at all possible, live in a cylinder.

Clean Sliding Glass Doors

November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION


By Bill Rosenhall uch print space has been devoted in the last few years to how brave our boys in Iraq and other overseas hellholes are; but what about the seedy underbelly of the coin? What about the warriors who don’t go into battle thinking they might die, or hoping that they won’t? What about that overlooked soldier of freedom: the suicide bomber? I recently had a chance to talk to one of the most prolific suicide bombers in recent history, John Asif-AlAzhoud, who allowed me to accompany him as he made his rounds one sunny Thursday afternoon. “What many Americans don’t understand,” Asif-Al-Azhoud told me, “is that suicide bombing isn’t just a hobby, or a spur of the moment decision. I myself come from a long line of suicide bombers. I’m half Japanese; my father was actually crashing a plane into Pearl Harbor at the very moment my mother was spreading her Pearly Harbor and 10 THE GRUNION

November 20, 2006

giving birth to me. My great grandfather burned himself alive in protest of the Vietnam War, shamefully failing to kill even a single other person. And the legend is that my great-great-great-great-grandfather was part of the Mongul horde that was flung at castles by catapult.” His phone rang, and he excused himself, politely, like a gentleman. When he came back he was visibly shaken. He told me he’d just been informed that his son had just blown himself up on a bus, five miles away from where we were sitting. After taking a moment to calm himself, he said, “See, we’re not unfeeling monsters. I experience pain and suffering as much as the next man. My son only dragged eleven other people with him on his way out of this world, and it’s…I’m sorry, I need another minute.” Ten minutes later he was back up on the horse again, taking phone calls with one hand while answering emails with the other, coordinating the schedules of over two dozen young, go-getting men, with destiny on their minds and high-powered explosives strapped to their chests.

IT’S A NICE DAY TO DIE: Asif-Al-Azhoud stopping in for a nice cup of Joe... and Mary and Steve and Bill

Asif-Al-Azhoud received an email late in my visit that seemed to cheer him up enough to wipe his son’s failure from his memory. I asked what the email said, and he replied, “Well, my friend, it is my time to exit…um, exit this apartment and…and go get some food. A bite to eat, if you will. Would you care to accompany me? I’ll pay.” I gratefully accepted his offer, and shouldered the heavy jacket he said I should wear to protect me against the cold evening weather.

Finally, after nearly an hour of walking, we reached our destination: the Hole in the Middle Bagelry and Café. Mr. Asif-Al-Azhoud opened the door, and beckoned for me to follow him. “This is, uh, my favorite place to eat,” he said, as I followed him insi

Bill Rosenhall lived in Los Angeles, California with his wife and two daughters.

You remember that I don’t really get along with my dad though? It has been a little bit easier since he died last Fourth of July, but my mom is still pretty upset about the whole thing. She’s seeing some blind blues singer who keeps telling me that I don’t know shit about the world or whatever. I think he plans on sitting at the head of the table and that bothers me.


ou’ve seen him at the market reading the soup can labels and picking out a ripe avocado. You’re pretty sure he grew up in your neighborhood, and have always avoided direct contact with him ever since the rumor spread that he killed Cindy Klokkerton’s dog. Now, in an exclusive interview, The Grunion bumps into that one guy: Hey, YOU? Hey, s’going on? So, how ya been? Been alright, can’t complain. There’s been a shitload of weird stuff that’s happened, been in the news a lot.

What, dude are you seeing these peaches!? Listen, I’m sorry. I made this awkward. I’ll just go or whatever. No, no man, don’t do that. It’s just that I think I may have loaned you a few bucks a while ago. I don’t want to make this weird or anything, but…you know what, you can just get me back whenever. I owe you money? From what? Actually I can believe it. For a while there I was in pretty bad shape, especially when they stopped paying me unemployment because they claimed that I wasn’t registered with the temp agency I was working for. I had to sell all of my collectibles, and before you ask, yes, even the cow!

You still working at that one place? Yeah, ya know, nine to five. ‘Nother day another dollar, punch the clock. You see those new Mustangs? Yeah, I’d like to get one, but I got another couple years on my Stratus. The insurance is pretty low, but I’m getting killed on the interest; fucking APR n’ shit. You still with what’s ‘er name? Nah, turns out she’s a whore and is seeing that other dude from down the street, kinda– Yeah, yeah that’s rough. How ‘bout this weather, huh? Pretty foggy. Good times for sure.

Right on, oh hey a sale on peaches. Nice. Sweet, you have no idea who I am do you?

So, how’s your favorite baseball team doin’? Well, it’s the off-season, so I guess they’re great. But, we did lose a few players and pick a few up. I guess you could say we’re in okay shape for next season, although–

Wasn’t college great? Those were the good ole days. Of course, that was until my roommate committed suicide. ‘Member that? I can’t believe they didn’t give me all A’s that semester. I mean, I can pretty much pinpoint that as the time my depression started and I gained all the weight. Anyway I graduate in the spring.

coming into town, which explains all the ramen here, but I haven’t really cleaned up the place or anything. After that bitch left me I kind of stopped doing laundry and dishes and feeding my dog, haven’t seen him in a while. But, yeah I usually like getting into the season and everything I just hope that I can get a refill on my pills or–

Getting some ramen huh, good stuff. Gotta have my ramen. Reminds me of college.

Cool, cool. Holiday is coming up, should be nice right? Um, yeah I guess. My family is

Awesome, I was thinking about putting up some decorations, I don’t know though.

Oh yeah? I think I should probably pick up some garbanzo beans. Those are great in salads. Wait I don’t think I know you bro. What did you say your name was? I can’t believe this man! After all we’ve been through? After all the years and stories? I’m really insulted. Jeeze, I’m sorry. I have suffered some major memory loss because of the car wreck. I was so happy we’d won the championship game and everyone was drinking. I figured I could just drive myself home since I only had like three beers or whatever. I swear I didn’t even see that little girl. It was like she was made of shadows. November 20, 2006





Ted Haggard will check into his exclusive dehomofication resort this month in an attempt to purify his body of all the unholy germs that have caused him so much pain and anguish for the past thirty years. The Zagat Survey has reviewed the top eight spa-gay aways in the country for people who wish to cleanse their souls in all the solitude and luxury that money can buy.

Freeport Men’s Condominium–Freeport, TX Located on the coast of Texas’ beautiful Gulf of Mexico, Freeport provides lavish privacy for its guests, with condos that come designed in different thematic décor, ranging from a western ranch to an Italian villa. The all-inclusive resort invites guests to indulge in a series of blood purifications: intense, relaxing, and performed by the state’s top practitioners. Using the latest in leech technology

you are quickly able to suck the disease out of your system orally or anally. Only the finest and most rare leeches are used in the 72-hour process that expunges the illness from the blood by simply getting rid of the blood altogether. Surrounded by the blue waters, majestic horizons, and glorious facility gardens, ninnyness purging has never been so easy.

Steele Carson Estate–Fort Worth, TX This destination is renowned for its controversial yet successful methods of dehomofication. Jerry Steele Carson opened the estate in 1968 in dedication to his late son, who died of homosexuality, and ultimately Mr. Carson’s shotgun, at the age of twelve. Carson has since devoted his life to helping others cure the deadly disease and spared no expense in hiring the finest Italian priests who specialize in exorcism. Clients are greeted then immediately transferred

Plain View of Hope–Plainview, TX

Come enjoy the solitude of the western plains, while injecting your son’s body with steady doses of testosterone and He-Man reruns. Accommodating all ages, Plain View is identified by its child ready rooms, equipped with bowls of chewable testosterone tablets in the shapes of their favorite male heroes (Superman, Cary Grant, or Vin

The Ranch–Dallas, TX

Since 1977 The Ranch has been famed for its tough-love methods and controversial openness towards homosexuality in America. Each year the staff organizes and participates in “the roundup” where 100 captured sinners are let loose on the premises and then hunted down. During this time, or “the season,” rates are higher but the ambience is worth every penny. More than solidarity, The Ranch provides its guests with signature service and results. 73% of members have been cured, 89% of whom have yet to relapse. This stems from the traumatic process of hazing 12 THE GRUNION

November 20, 2006

to the containment chambers for demon classification and holy water glazing. The next three days are spent in seclusion to weaken the body and prepare for the painful dispossession. Witnesses of the procedure say that they can see the slimy green gay exit the infected mouth and then poof into the hellish realm of sin. The scenery leaves something to be desired, but the success rate of cured guests keeps this locale in the cream of the crop.

Diesel). With 78 spacious acres, this resort offers horseback riding, cattle herding lessons, wrestling scrimmages, women debasement workshops, and pet abuse classes for all its guests. It is great for the little boy who seems a little too interested in peace and/or the last season of Project Runway.

that the member goes through during their treatment. Installed in each room is a peephole through which the staff members monitor your solo gayness. In the middle of the night the most effeminate males are stripped naked and attacked with a firehouse in a mud pit; however, most of the techniques of The Ranch remain a secret of its members. The price of your stay also includes a lifetime membership to the Christian Leaders League and a commemorative confederate flag mug.

Is Guantanamo Bay



nce upon a time

there was a presidential administration. They were strong, well-liked, and packed to the brim with dreams and altruism. They were fighting a war – perhaps the last honorable war – and were quick to do away with hang-ups like habeas “red tape” corpus. But they needed a place where they could fight the war on their own terms, a “home field” if you will. That place was Guantanamo Bay, and it was the apple of their eye. But those times couldn’t last forever. The Republican Congress soon became the Democratic Congress, and Dennis Hastert soon became Nancy Pelosi. These days prisoners are leaving good the old camp for so-called, “CIA black” detention centers, the whereabouts of which are unknown. Soon, the boys in orange may be a thing of the past. Affectionately referred to as Gitmo by those who loved it best, the folks in the White House weren’t the only ones that favored the place. Gitmo Camp has been the hearts of Americans since 2002, when enemies of freedom were first sent there. It was Gitmo that first allowed American patriots to fight terrorism outside of the dark shadow cast by the Constitution. One of Gitmo’s first patriots, Thomas “Buck” Hudson, was an interrogator when the camp first opened. “Call me Buck,” he says as we stroll through the halls of his old stomping grounds. Buck was the first interrogator ordered to transfer to the camp. “You know, everywhere I look in this place brings back memories.” Buck has a far off look in his bigger-than-average brown eyes, recalling memories of this old testament to American freedom. “I still remember the first inmate we broke. He’d swallowed so much water he would have told us anything we wanted to hear,” he says with an aging smile. “You know, it’s funny, but everything he told us turned out to be false. I still wondered why he lied to us. Well, he paid for it, that’s for sure.”

Buck and his beloved Gitmo are quickly becoming a things of the past, he tells me as we walk past a wall of shackles. Our steps are punctuated by the sounds of echoes; our steps clicking along the cold, blood-stained floor. Buck stops to handle the rusty iron of a wrist cuff. “It seemed like we were doing good work here, but it wasn’t always easy. No matter howmany times we said that lying wouldn’t work, they just kept it up. ‘Please! I’m an innocent man! I don’t know anything!’ We just laughed and laughed.” Our walk through the grounds continues like this, Buck telling old war stories. “There’s where Johnson [a fellow guard] forgot the current in the alligator clips was still on, and shocked the hell out of himself. Christ, that was hilarious!” Every corner of Gitmo brings more memories to Buck. Desecration of the Koran here, accidental murder there. In many ways, Gitmo is like old Buck. Buck’s beard is graying, Gitmo’s days seems numbered. Nothing official, just…a feeling. Prisoners have been leaving Gitmo in droves – some transferred, some drowned. Most are being sent to high-tech, secret luxury CIA facilities spread throughout the world. Soon the old days of Gitmo will be gone. “You know, I think the war on terror just outgrew this tiny camp,” says Buck. “It’s sad – makes me sad, you know?” he asks as he chokes back a lump, and a watery tear falls. It is sad – sad that accommodations could not be provided for the multitudes of new enemy combatants that are being dragged in every day, freshly hooded and terrified, especially when the American people back the park with all their hearts. It seems too late to go back now though, and in this world of terror, it seems silly to drift into nostalgia, but I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way. I won’t forget those classic orange uniforms and their stylish black headwear. I won’t forget those patriotic tales of electrocution and starvation, and neither will old Buck. I won’t forget him either. UF


It’s sad – makes me sad, you know?



November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION


FOOTBALL INVADES IRAQ hree weeks ago, Donald Rumsfeld shocked the world when he stepped down as the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America. When President Bush announced the decision, he told the world that it was because Rumsfeld had accomplished all he could in Iraq, and that America was more secure as a result. But what Donald Rumsfeld didn’t tell the President – or the world – was that he was leaving office to pursue a dream, and to tie up some loose ends in the country nearest to his heart. As a young boy, Donald Rumsfeld lived for football – he lived, breathed, and sweated football. Captain of his high school and college teams, Don lead his men through thick and thin until an unfortunately ironic ankle injury forced him to retire two days before his final game. His playing days may have been over, but Donald led his team from the sidelines that fateful Saturday to the biggest comeback win in college football history. From that moment on, Donald knew that he was born to lead men into battle from a distance. With his work as Secretary of Defense done in America, Donald was offered the job of head coach for a scrappy team of amateurs from Baghdad, Iraq. He jumped at the opportunity. Donald Rumsfeld arrived in Iraq this past week a changed man. The time off had done him well; the lines of his face were little more defined and his hair had grayed slightly, but you could see it in his eyes: something was different. He was, in a word, more mature. On the eve of the biggest game of his young coaching career, The Grunion had the opportunity to sit down with the Former Secretary of Defense at his Baghdad home to talk about war, peace, drugs, bicycles, Joseph Goebbels, and of course, football. When asked what was different – what he had learned – since leaving office, Rumsfeld was eerily silent. Rocking slowly in a porch swing overlooking Baghdad at night, the coach turned to Joyce, his wife of 51 years, and while looking deep into her eyes, said only, “I guess, I’ve realized that life can start over at 74.” On Friday November 17th, Donald Rumsfeld took the helm of the Iraq Liberators, a semi-pro football team located in the heart of Baghdad for the first game of his coaching career against the Rock ‘Em Iraqis. He hopes to prove that the best offence is a great Secretary of Defense. 14 THE GRUNION November 20, 2006

November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION



Donald “Coach”Rumsfeld It’s no small secret that Donald Rumsfeld’s first passion is football. The Grunion was lucky enough to dig up these photos from throughout “Rummy’s” life.

From top: Rumsfeld scrimmages with his high school team; a young Donny runs for the end zone; Donald shaking hands with Iraqi football commissioners; Donald in college – on and off the field.

16 THE GRUNION November 20, 2006

Liberators Rocked By Rowdy Rock ‘Em Iraqis ormer Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld took his Liberators onto the dirty, muddy field, ready to play their first game against the home team, the Rock ‘Em Iraqis. His pregame speech was a demonstration of his fluid speaking style and his infectious excitement. “Gather round, gentlemen, gather round. You! Get up! That turban is not a chair, gentlemen. You are to stand tall. You are to stand proud. You are Liberators! And you will play as such, and you will be greeted as such! Now get out there and do my country proud!” With a mighty roar the Liberators ran to midfield, about to play the game of their lives. What followed was one of the most bungled and confused attempts to play football that the sport has ever seen. Rumsfeld didn’t bother to provide his men with the proper equipment, and over half of them played without a helmet or shoulder pads. He coached his team to tackle anyone they thought might be about to touch the ball, no matter where they were on the field, and no matter how little reason there was to suspect they’d be a part of the play. Ill-equipped and under-trained, the Liberators suffered several injuries, none of which seemed to faze Rumsfeld. In fact, he seemed to neither notice nor care as one by one his starters were dragged off the field, covered by black sheets to keep the press from exaggerating the injury reports. By halftime, the Liberators were down an impressive 42-0. But still Rumsfeld tried to coach his men into fighting spirit. “Listen up men! We

are not losing! The scoreboard may tell you we’re losing, the fans may tell you we’re losing, hell maybe even the refs think so. But I tell you right now, we- are- not- losing! We’re just winning in a really complex and subtle way. Now gather close men, gather close. I’ve got what may be a winning strategy here.” The Liberators took the field and proceeded to implement Operation Shock and Awe, with “preemptive strikes” by the D-Line drawing innumerable offsides calls, and Hail Mary bomb after Hail Mary bomb failing to land in the receivers’ hands. As the score got worse and worse and Rumsfeld got crankier and crankier, the manager of the Liberators, Al Davis, decided he’d had enough, and in an unprecedented and shocking move (even for Raiders owner Davis), decided to yank his coach in the middle of the fourth quarter. Rumsfeld would later accuse Davis of pressuring him to run Nickel and Dime defensive formations so often he could’t get anything done. Rumsfeld was replaced by Robert Gates at head coach, who, along with offensive coordinator Nancy Pelosi implemented a new “cut and run” offense that involved a lot of fast talking, a razor-wire lined football, and an already-running bus waiting in the parking lot. The Liberators managed to escape, barely, with their lives; not, unfortunately, with their dignity. Donald Rumsfeld, who completely missed the bus on this one, was left behind to try and calm the angry crowd, and pack up the Liberators’ scattered and useless equipment. Davis promised to return to pick him up, but, as of print time, hadn’t yet come back.

Rumsfeld on Goebbels

Rumsfeld on Jamaican Pirate Rum

Although Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s Propaganda Minister, is cast as one of history’s villains, his complexity is misunderstood by the common American. Yeah, I said it. The genius of Goebbels is too great for the average, idiotic American like yourself to understand. Goebbels took over the media, ensuring that every piece of reporting supported Nazi policy. We could only hope for that kind of backup in the media. Plus, Goebbels widely distributed single-frequency radios that broadcast only Nazi propaganda. We attempted that with Fox News, and tried to get people to watch more TV, but never had those kind of numbers.

Okay, okay, okay—okay. Listen. Ima tell you schomething. Okay. I counan’t be a pirate. Okay. Becush—firstly, they maked a jar of wormbs all over they penises. Thash gross. M’okay? Second—second, they—okay, second—pirates life’s for me. Aha ha! Pirates life for me! I wen’ as Captain Depp for Hall’ween. Bitch was like—okay, thirdsly—pie-ress hava bury treasure. No. My—forf—my face is a burn is a sting of glass fire. Okay?

Rumsfeld on LSD I told Bush, I says to him, I says ‘HEY I don’t need this stuff guy!’ He took it okay I guess. Hey do you see that? Someone should give a shout to the boys about those flying discs in the air. I was like ‘What you NEED is to NOT be such a puss about all this war blah blah blah.’ It smells like oranges in my fingers right now. That is so cool.

Rumsfeld on a Bike What is this? Can it be? Such a world of fancy-free? Oh my! I feel as though the fingers of a child are tickling the insides of my tummy! Oh, how I hope this feeling ne’er ends! Look at the dandelions! Oh, how they whip past. And at such tremendous speed! Would it were that someone had told me of this fabulous contraption sooner my life, I would be rid my frightmares years ago.

Rumsfeld on Rumsfeld Oh well hello. What’s that? You do have beautiful eyes, but you hide them behind those spectacles. Though, you make up for it with your pursed lips and cold stare. Yeah that’s the one, give it to me. Colder, colder, straighter eyebrows, there you go. I may not have always done the best job at leading troops or anything to do with politics in general, but that stare! It’s piercing. Ah, the mirror, my worst enemy.

Rumsfeld on Syphillis There’s a real syphilis epidemic out here in Iraq; a lot of people don’t know that, because of the other…problems. You know, the starvings and murders and so forth. Do you know the origin of syphilis? It’s Columbus’ fault; he fucked a lot of camels in Mexico and brought it back to Europe. It sounds amazing, but I swear to the highest of the high heavens that that’s a true story; I read it in a book in elementary school. That’s why our teacher told us if we’re going to fuck camels we’ve gotta wear a sheepskin. November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION



THREAT WATCH: PALM-AIDS very serious new disease seems to be

reaching across the nation, and there have even been reports scattered across Europe, Asia, South America, and Africa. The highest concentration seems to be among American teenaged boys, particularly those with Internet access, followed by single men, attached men both gay and straight, married men, Catholic priests, and fat girls. There is little known about the disease, other than that the symptoms include blindness, and hair growth on and around the palms. Hundreds of thousands have been stricken blind across the county, and countless more across the globe. Scientists are baffled, and have yielded little to no leads on the causes of what some scientists are beginning to call, PALM-AIDS.

There is little known about the disease, other than it contributes to shrunken penises in males, and only seems to affect the index and middle fingers of females, as well a stinky pinky for blonde females. Although females are among the minority affected, most infections reportedly occur during their “long, hot baths.” A possible connection could be the tremendously increased sales in shower-massages among females, as well as the tendency for those shower-massagers to grow hair. Whatever scientists find, whatever results the labs turns up, this disease is poised to become a full-blown epidemic, and although most middle-class Americans would prefer to deny it, the disease could be coming to their very own bathrooms, and it could be coming tomorrow.



In 1996, 200,000 men in North America alone were diagnosed with PALM-AIDS.

Here is a short list of dos and don’ts that will help you get a grip on the PALM-AIDS epidemic, and how to protect yourself from it.

By 2006, due to vaster Internet access and celebrity sex videos, nearly 2 million men in Hollywood contracted PALMAIDS. There is currently no link of PALMAIDS to the use of sharing tube-socks.


The worst way you could roll; offers plenty of comfort but no protection. Jerking bareback is a definite no-no.

The first man who contracted PALM-AIDS died in 1969, after masturbating to Planet of the Apes. In 1992, a PALM-AIDS outbreak at an Elementary School in Southbridge, Nebraska was linked to a drinking fountain recently used by a boy who was simultaneously masturbating while using said fountain. Approximately 23 fraternities throughout the 1970s were stricken with PALMAIDS after countless hazing rituals that involved “circle jerks.” Although they stated that they were unknowingly participating in the spread of disease, it was later proven that the lights were, in fact, turned on. 30 metric tons of Vaseline was ruined from 1999-2005, and at least 20 ladles of PALM-AIDS infected semen was splashed during this period. In 1980, there were a reported 18 million calluses on 15 hands. An estimated 450,000 drains were clogged last year. Each household had at least one male ranging from ages 11-22.


You’re only fooling yourself; the skin-on-skin contact, this gloves biggest asset, is also its biggest danger.

Dos Magnums:

They’re thick, but these will fit even the heaviest-handed of masturbators. Use sparingly; don’t think you’ll impress the ladies by walking out with a pair of these bad boys on.


For the kinky jerk-artist who wants to forget that no one will ever share their sick and twisted fantasies, if only for one night.


Probably not for you, but just in case, Trojan Hand makes a size for everyone, from one-fingered Martys to long-wristed Lennys. November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION




November 20, 2006

Passing Judgment On OJ’s “If I Did It” Now, an intelligent man would have grabbed my wife by her silky blonde hair with his left hand and pulled it tight to the point where her scalp is about to bleed, then in a downward thrust, lunge the blade into and through her windpipe releasing a spray of blood. Leaving her to gurgle on blood in an attempt to stay alive, but I wouldn’t do that…cause you know, I loved her and all. * * * * * * * * * Now, as Nicole lay flailed out on the cold concrete of our front porch, I would’ve straddled her in a reverse cowgirl position repeatedly thrusting the murder weapon in and out of her vagina, destroying that which bared our children and which also carried her adulterous seed. Thus reliving many a night of lovemaking. God, I wish I could have my Nicky back. * * * * * * * * * Now, if I HAD killed them, what I would’ve done in court is lied, but I didn’t. Kill them that is. Or lie. * * * * * * * * * Now, when I saw Ron, or would’ve seen him, I’d probably have tackled him to the ground due to pent up aggression from having not played football in a few years. I’d then bludgeon his face with fists into an unrecognizable mash of flesh and shattered bone. All the while yelling into the ground meat in my paws, “Get a taste of The Juice!” From what I hear, Ron sounded like an all right guy, his dad’s kind of a douche though. * * * * * * * * * Now, I’m not a religious man, but if I HAD done it, it would’ve been cause Jesus told me too.

By Judge Lance Ito

s many of you know, I do not usually talk about O.J. Simpson, or his trial over which I presided. But recently, Regan Books approached me in my lesser known capacity, that of a freelance book reviewer, and asked me to comment on Mr. Simpson’s new book, If I Did It, his fictional story about how he would have killed his wife and Ron Goldman, had he actually killed them. When they offered, I accepted, most humbly. His publisher, Nancy Regan, has said that she considers this book his confession. My biggest question, then, is why now? That son of a bitch could have saved me so much time, so much energy, so much media circusocricity…ah. Forgive me, I digress. It will be my goal to extinguish the self of myself from this review, and focus on Mr. Simpson’s writing. It’s easy to see Simpson’s book as another in a recent deluge of celebrity autobiographies, along the lines of Bill Clinton’s My Life. But If I Did It, I feel, is of a deeper literary significance, more in the tradition of the Confessions of St. Augustine or the Diary of Anne Frank. First, the juicy stuff: yes, there are unbelievably detailed accounts of how O.J. “would” have killed his wife and Ron Goldman, and they are truly unbelievable (the knife/vagina scene I found particularly distasteful and vulgar). But although the “If I Killed Them” chapter has gotten the most press, it really is only one chapter; the rest of the book is dedicated to such topics as “If I Got Convicted,” “If I’d Paid Up,” and “If I Hadn’t Killed Them in the First Place.” While these passages are less interesting on a visceral level, they belie a subtler O.J., an O.J. we could all do well to see more of. All in all, I would have to recommend this book, no matter what my personal feelings of it; it’s a landmark publication, and O.J.’s taught prose sizzles on the page. Not a must read, but it may become one. November 20, 2006 THE GRUNION





Angelina Jolie Oh what’s this?


Tom Kat...

Why it’s K-Fed’s latest attempt to get back at Britney for the divorce! Now it appears he will be auctioning off her crusty Paul Frank undies to the highest bidder. Apparently Britney was in such a rush to leave Fed-ex that she left some of her unmentionables in the bottom bathroom drawer. This matters because meanwhile in a small village outside of Motambiki, four children are wandering through the jungle trying not to wake the panthers, while fleeing from the rebel militia who want their kidneys.

was recently seen in public with little baby Suri. It is a pretty big deal considering the fact that the kid was raised in a box (see page 6). They were only trying to enjoy a modest meal at Miyagi’s and relax from an arduous day of Thank You For Smoking DVD release parties. Listen, the fact that these two can call themselves parents, but spend hundreds of thousands of dollars buying their way into a magician/alien heaven is ridiculous. I know that I used to wear B. Bob’s blood around my neck, but c’mon! These people are just oblivious to reality, and the fact that America can’t get enough of them is proof that this country is obsessed with superficial bullshit.


So it looks like...

Gyllenhaal and Witherspoon are snuggling up together on the set of their new film, Rendition. Wow, I’m sure the nation will be enthralled with this story even though children in Uganda are starving and getting raped in the night. It makes sense though; I mean she is a major activist for Chihuahuas or whatever it is. So right, here is a picture of them canoodling.


Justin Timberlake’s career...


seems to be on the rise, as he tours the country in preparation for his international pop assault. Last night he was spotted as Hollywood’s illustrious Sky Bar with gal pal Diaz sipping on Mai Tai’s and…I’m sorry I can’t do this. A war is going on right now in Iraq. People, families, BABIES are being bombed as you sit here reading this. Invest your money in a trip to a country in need. Donate your millions to these people. Quit your meaningless job and devote your life to being part of the world. You shallow, insignificant, selfcentered jerks! Get a clue! I’m in the UN!

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW : JAKE GYLLENHAAL 4HE'RUNION: You seem to be on top of the movie world right now. It seems like you’ve dominated and penetrated all aspects of the industry. Has it engorged your ego at all? *AKE'YLLENHAAL: I wouldn’t say it has, I’ve just been blessed— 4': So it’s true that your gay then? *': Excuse me? No. Absolutely not. I find that highly offens— 4': Well, I saw a video on the internet with you and Heath Ledger that says differently… *': That was a movie, Brokeback Mountain. It was nominated for an oscar. 4': Is that a gay film award? *': I’m not gay. I’m just an actor. Can we please get off this topic? 4': I see I’ve touched a tender place, so is your boyfriend gay? *': No. I mean, I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not gay! 4': If it were opposite day, would it not be unthinkable that you might not be disinclined to not have non-anal sex with nobody who’s not a man? *': I’m not gay. 4': So you hate gays then? *': Clearly I don’t. Look, Brokeback Mountain was about love. If you can’t see past the gender issues I don’t think we should continue this cockamamie discourse. 4': did you just say “cock?” am I turning you on right now? *': I think I’m going to punch you. 4': Alright, well that’s all I really had for this interview. How about Heath, is he gay? *': Oh totally. THIS IS A REAL ADVERTISEMENT – PLEASE SUPPORT OUR SPONSORS

November 20, 2006 THE THe GRUNION GrUNIoN

13 23

#1 high school basketball recruit OJ Mayo has signed a letter of intent to attend USC next year, shocking the basketball nation because most expected Mayo to attend a basketball powerhouse. His penis has a few things to say to clear the air.

I mean, aren’t the reasons obvious enough? OJ and I had a decision to make. We had to decide where he and I could both flourish. I mean, OJ is the best basketball player in the nation at his age. He could go to any school, but that decision was up to both of us. OJ doesn’t make any decision without me. That will eventually change as he gets older, but for now it’s at least 50/50. Some people are giving us a hard time for choosing USC instead of a hoop powerhouse like Duke or UNC, but I don’t think people realize that USC is LA. We are going to get so much poonani it’s not really even funny. Wait, yeah it is. OJ won’t have to say anything, and the breezes will flock to us. If we build it, his reputation that is, they will most defiantly cum. Pun intended. This is what we want; some pink baked potato, and a lot of attention. Both will be in large supply in LA. We will have to be careful, though. This is not our parent’s college; there is no such thing as free love. And I know more than anyone how uncomfortable a condom can be, be we must do what we must do. I can’t wait. Honestly, I’m standing up just thinking about it. Ballin’. 24 THE GRUNION

November 20, 2006


Hick McGee is leading a movement to outlaw soccer in the United States. His group, whose headquarters are located in BFE, Kentucky, is called One Nation, One God, One Football and they are mobilizing all anti-soccerits to abolish the game here at home. The Gunion’s Mon Frere sat down with McGee on his trailer portch (also known as those wooden steps you park your trailer in front of) to discuss his group and their future.

Grunion: So, how did this group, One Nation, One God, One Football, get started?

Nazi Faggots, every single one of them

McGee: Whay did it take dis long to get started, is the real question. This “sport” is ridiculous. Communist keep away, as far as I’m concerned. It’s time for it to go away. Get all those youngins out of AYSO and into YLGC, your local gun club. Or, any other sport for that matter.



dammit, it’s just boring. Grunion: I see you are wearing a Dale Earnhardt hat. You’re a NASCAR fan then right? McGee: Hell yah. Some dagum NASCAR!!! That’s a sport.

Grunion: Some people would say that NASCAR is boring. What do you have to say them? McGee: …..

Grunion: What do you have against soccer?

Grunion: Mr. McGee?

McGee: I refuse to watch almost 90 mintes of a bunch of fairies runin round in short shorts just to play to a 0-0 tie. ITS REDUCULOUS! Nazi Faggots, every single one of them.

McGee: Nazi Faggots!

Grunion: WHOA, are you saying that all soccer players are Nazis? McGee: Might as well be. They suppress the public’s enjoyment of real sports. They burn the right to say “football” and not get confused, and they…

Grunion: Okay, how do you plan on getting rid of soccer? McGee: Well, it’s just a gross root campaign rit now, but we are closing down all the youth soccer leagues in the area, and we got a petition goin round. We hope that in a year we can be rid of this bullshit… and hockey, don’t think we don’t see you, either. YOU’RE NEXT!!!


#1 SLICED BREAD Not a big fan of loafed bread? Neither was Sir Thomas VonTreech in 1874 when he decided to take his hunting knife to the unlikeliest of victims: his wife’s freshly baked wheat loaf. After many unsuccessful attempts, about a pint of blood, and a broken marriage ,Thomas came out victorious with the best invention since fatted calves, and the one that tops our prestigious list.



HOMOSEXUALITY #4 While this isn’t so much an invention as it is a movement, and isn’t so much a movement as it is a choice; the growing acceptance of homosexuality has improved the lives of millions. Before homosexuality, the average man had to compete with legions of well dressed, physically fit, Adonis-like men for even the most plain of the fairer sex. Now that they are all pretty preoccupied with each other, shopping, and Brangelina, the playing field is leveled once again; placing homosexuality just this side of the middle of our prestigious list.


The question has been pervasive for the last 15 years, which came first: The internet, or internet porn? Modern research leads us to the conclusion that the invention of the internet actually unlocked the countless volumes of internet porn that have been in existence longer than modern dating techniques can reveal. Without the internet we wouldn’t have been able to uncover what is arguably the world’s most valuable resource, and that is why it almost made the top of this prestigious list.

SSRIs #5 SSRIs, or selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, are drugs used most commonly to treat suicidal depression. It is estimated that without these drugs the entire fanbase for musical artists like Dashboard Confessional, A Thorn For Every Heart, Taking Back Sunday, and Bright Eyes would have killed themselves years ago, leaving 26year-old virgins with nobody to sing their songs to. Thanks to this contribution to American music, SSRIs are bringing up the ass-end of this prestigious list.


Thanks to this liberating invention penises everywhere have been freed from their oppressive latex prisons. Many have speculated that the invention of the Pill has actually saved countless lives from enduring famine, overcrowding, and annoying plane rides, which is why the Pill is sitting in the most neutral position on this prestigious list.

RUNNERS UP Some inventions that just missed our prestigious list include: Pants With Pockets, Gutenberg’s Printing Press and The 9 Month After Pill.



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EDITORIAL By Stanley Fudderman • Grunion Staff Writer

Marriage—Can It Still Work Today? y wife is sleeping as I write this. We’re both creeping into what some would call our “twilight years,” and both of us sleep much more often than we used to. I’d love nothing more than to join her right now—snuggle up beneath the quilt I stitched for her on our 25th wedding anniversary—but I’ve got deadlines and can’t afford the precious gift of a noontime nap until my 1,000 word article on Bosnian elephants is completed. Such is life, I suppose. And while my wife of 55 years rests peacefully, I think of how lucky I was to have met her in a time when marriage wasn’t the travesty that it is today. The love my Marsha and I share is eternal. But my, how things have changed! Nowadays our children believe that the two-year tryst shared by Britney Spears and Kevin Federline qualifies as a marriage. Phooey! Those two couldn’t even decide on a last name, let alone “‘till death do us part!” And as shameful as it may seem, young people regard this behavior as “no big deal” or “totally cowabunga.” Maybe I’m too old to understand. Lord knows my editor would fire me in a minute if it weren’t for my history with the publication. But it seems to me that even an old fuddy-duddy like myself has more than enough fodiodo to know when an institution is broken. For example, when my Marsha wanted to leave me within the second year of our marriage, I told her that our immortal souls would be damned to hell if we broke God’s sacred union. She, however, persisted. Her bags were packed and she’d bought a plane ticket to Chicago where she’d stay with her mother. I tried everything, but I couldn’t make her stay. Absolutely nothing worked. And on the day that she began to walk out the door, and my life, I shot her with an old German luger. The bullet grazed her skull, and incapacitated her long enough for me to saw those sexy gams right off of her body. I took the arms too, for safety’s sake. The point is, I wouldn’t let my Marsha quit on our marriage and in turn I wouldn’t quit on her. When I knocked all her teeth out and chained her by the neck to the radiator, I felt sick inside. This bloody pulp of bruised tits and empty uterine promises was not the woman I had married. But I remembered my

vows. “In sickness and in health,” I had said. And just because my Marsha had a brain sickness that made her want to leave and not give me the children that my faulty sperm had so desperately wanted to become, that didn’t mean that I was going to leave her. Ever. Yes, I guess our love is just old fashioned that way. And darn it, why shouldn’t it be? When the sodomites tried to stain marriage with their filthy Naval love-making, a lot of people, myself included, took a lot of flack for standing up against them. They claimed that they wanted equal rights and to be treated as human beings. The truth was that they wanted to turn the church into a leather bar. They wanted to stab each other with their own “Spears of Longinus,” while poor Jesus looked down from the cross and wept. Well I’m sorry ladies, but churches aren’t sex palaces and if we can’t have The Wizard of Oz back from your penis-hungry clutches, then you can’t have marriage. My Marsha is waking up now. She loves to watch me work. Sometimes when she’s just woken up and I see her, she pretends that she’s still sleeping. But I know better. My Marsha and I have a very special kind of love. I know her insides well. And I’d like to think that somewhere out there, there’s another couple like Marsha and I that still believe in FL silly little things like true love.

As shameful as it may seem, young people regard this behavior as “no big deal” or “totally cowabunga.”


November 20, 2006


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