Hey, wait a second, hold on. Frank, what are you doing, man? What the hell was that? “You can go about your business? Move along?” You call that an interrogation? And where do you get off saying we don’t need to see his identification? Has the heat gotten to you? Look: you see those two droids, with that old fart and his dorky grandkid? Yes, Frank, the ones that just passed us now.

Dude, these totally are the droids we’re looking for.

Come on, those are our guys, man! Seriously! What do you mean, you just have a feeling? You’re real weak-minded, Frank, you know that? And don’t you dare feed me that bullshit about “the Force” again! You know I hate hearing that religious crap. Next, you’ll be telling me you believe in little green spacemen who can lift things with their minds.

We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life. Why won’t you ever listen to me? Remember when we were supposed to capture the Princess on the ship? I said we should sneak up on her, but you had to go and yell “Set for stun!” like some nerf herder. And then she blasted Steve. Dude, you got Steve killed!

Then, after we follow that escape pod down here to a dead end, and I’m finally looking forward to a little R&R on Alderaan, you have to be all like, “Someone was in the pod, the tracks go off in this direction!” You kiss-ass. Now we’re stuck here, on a goddamn desert planet, doing guard duty in some wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Great: I’ve got sand in my armor. Agh, this sun! I think I’m melting! This is all your fault!

Okay, Frank, have it your way. You’re right: those two droids, the droids that fit the EXACT description of the two droids we’re supposed to find, are not them. Makes perfect sense. I don’t care anymore. I’m thinking of quitting this lousy imperial job anyway, maybe getting into something more freelance – like bounty-hunting. Now that’s where it’s at. Hey, dude, don’t call them scum. That’s just rude.

And one more thing: not a word about any of this to the big guy, Vader. Why? He doesn’t like you. You know what? I don’t like you either.

Must you persist in your frantic shrieking? You know, that’s actually pretty insensitive of you: sharks don’t have ears.* Way to throw that handicap in his face. If I were a shark, I’d be tempted to chomp onto your abdomen and drag you under, too.

Honestly, I don’t see what you’re complaining about. How would you feel, if someone suddenly popped into your living room uninvited? You’d likely be pretty upset and territorial – just like this poor shark. And if that did happen, you could legally shoot him for trespassing. Well guess what: sharks don’t have guns; they don’t even have hands. All they have to protect themselves are fins! That, and row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, like the ones currently sawing through your right leg.

Great. You are now spurting what looks like several pints of blood directly into the ocean. Did you know that sharks can smell a single drop of blood from miles away? Yet here you are, bombarding this one’s delicate senses with veritable buckets of viscera and gore. No wonder the little guy’s so excited; he’s completely overwhelmed, like a kid glutted on candy at Halloween.

Is anything I’m saying penetrating your haze of debilitating agony and blood-loss? Do you understand now that Mother Nature is a beautiful and primal force, one not to be reckoned with, and that you must respect her children?

Look: if you keep screaming and splashing like that, you’re not going to learn anything at all – he’s coming back.

___________________________________________________________

* [Editor's Note: Okay, so technically sharks do have ears; but they're located on the inside of their heads, so they don't count.]

Hader, the prospective love interest/murder victim in this unfolding story, claims he doesn’t care which he ends up being, and that “it’s so exciting! Just like in the movies!”

The detective in charge of the case, Sgt. Frank Foster, agrees, adding that regardless of whether the coming days lead to passionate love scenes or gore-strewn violence, he is confident the result will be “of a nature unsuitable for witnesses under the age of 17.”

Initially proposed in 1913, the Infinite Monkey Theorem states that a if a monkey were to haphazardly tap the keys of a typewriter throughout eternity, it would eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. As the 100th anniversary of the theorem’s founding approaches, the minds of the Hack Institute set out to prove it once and for all, and end a vicious dispute that has divided the academic world for over a century.

“We began with baby steps,” explained project leader Dr. Philip Blotwirt. “Rather than wait through time without end for some random monkey to type the 38 comedies, tragedies, and histories that comprise Shakespeare’s dramatic catalogue, we decided to begin with his popular play Hamlet, and to use a monkey with a proven reputation in the arts.”

The selected test subject was Bobo, a male White-headed Capuchin monkey, who had previously distinguished himself by mastering the musical ranges of Mozart, Beethoven, and Elvis, improving Picasso’s painting of Guernica with a few choice yet profound brush strokes, and playing reigning World Chess Champion Viswanathan Anand to a stalemate. “We placed our highest confidence in Bobo,” Dr. Blotwirt said. “His pedigree was impeccable.”

Bobo came tantalizingly close to the project’s modest goals only to disappoint, when he presented his keepers with a typed copy of the Shakespearean play Titus Andronicus, along with an annotated analysis of the tragedy’s plot, structure, and relevance in a post-modern globalized society.

“Not only is this not Hamlet, it is one of Shakespeare’s least popular plays!” Dr. Blotwirt shrieked as he wildly waved the manuscript. “It COMPLETELY lacks the sophistication and effortless verse we have to come to expect from the Bard’s greater works!” Hurling the offending script across the room, the scientist collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

Bobo, witnessing another living being in pain, shuffled over to Dr. Blotwirt and gently placed a paw on his arm, gazing up into face of the distraught team leader with patient, soulful eyes. After a few minutes, Dr. Blotwirt managed to compose himself, wiping tears away as he stood. “Okay, people, back to square one,” he sighed. “Get me the cattle prod.”

Bobo was summarily punished.*

* [Editor's note: No actual monkeys were harmed in the writing of this article.] **

** [Editor's other note: But if a monkey HAD been harmed, there's really no way you could prove it.]

Not to be outdone, industry rival Fiji has just released its own addition to the market: H2-Awesome, a beverage with only half the calories of regular water, and just a hint of arsenic!

“You see,” the President continued, “Palestine is like Gates, the brown man just trying to live his life in his own place, knowhatimsayin’? And Crowley is like Israel, a white guy responding to a legitimate security concern, but with a little too much force. Next thing you know, everyone’s up in arms over it. It’s just like the Second Intifada.”

President Obama may have overly simplified the problem, however. While Gates and Crowley were willing to discuss their differences over a Sam Adams and a Blue Moon, respectively, it seems that the beverage choices for the political actors in the Israel-Palestine conflict are a bit more complicated.

Mahmoud Abbas, head of the Palestine Liberation Organization, responded with outrage to Obama’s invitation. “How could I even consider drinking a beer with Netanyahu while settlements are still being built on the West Bank?” he sputtered. “That is absolutely a precondition for a beer summit.”

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was more amenable to the idea but still miffed by Obama’s beverage choice. “Would I have to drink a Blue Moon?” he asked. “Couldn’t it be something a little more manly, a good porter or something? Or better yet some manischewitz.”

“Anyway,” Netanyahu continued, “Maybe I’d consider it if I could get a Nobel Prize, like Yitzhak Rabin.”

Obama was not deterred by the negative reactions and called for both sides to drop their animosity and come have a drink. “It’s just a couple of guys have a drink at the end of the day, nothing more than that. Maybe we can figure some things out.”

Meanwhile, protests broke out throughout the Muslim world in reaction to Obama’s perceived slight of the religion by offering alcohol. Angry protesters hit the streets in Damascus, Islamabad, and Tehran, chanting “Death to Obama” and burning effigies of Obama. Ninety-five have been killed in the rioting.

The one-time civic hero, famed for his numerous rescues of heir apparent Princess Peach, has been the subject of much controversy due to his alleged use of mushrooms in the line of duty. Now, after years of sobriety, it seems that Mario has once again fallen off the kart.

Police state that Mario appeared under the influence when they arrived on the scene. Evidently under the impression he was able to fly, the suspect initially tried to flee custody. When this effort failed, he resorted to attacking officers with random debris (“Fireballs!”), before screaming, “I just a’swallowed a star! I’m invincible now—let’s-a-go!” and running head-on into a solid brick wall, knocking himself unconscious.

Released this morning on bail, the disgraced plumber made a public apology on the castle steps for his behavior. “I’m a’sorry to my brotha Luigi, the Principessa, and alla you a’little Toadies.” He added that, now the effects of the mushrooms had worn off, he felt “about two feet-a-tall.”

Princess Peach is currently looking into extradition to Italy—and if that fails, Japan.

Police questioned the suspects, ages 13 to 14, but several of the boys protested, “I got babkes!” while pulling out their pockets to indicate that they had no money.

One of the boy’s mothers, who said she’d been noshing on latkes and wasn’t aware of the intense game in the next room waved her hand in the air and said, “I’m very ferklempt. After I schlep Saul home he’s going to be cleaning out the gutters for weeks.” When asked for a statement, Saul Rubenstein said, “Moooom! Oy.”

Dear Internet Scammer,

Recently, I lost my job. Now the bills are mounting up, and I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with all my payments. I got engaged last year, and these financial problems are creating a lot of stress for both me and my fiancée. Now we don’t know if we can even afford a wedding. We’re fighting more and more, and I am worried now that in addition to losing my career I might lose the woman I love. What should I do?

Jobless in Seattle

Dear Jobless,

I am a senior vice president at English National Bank in London, UK. Your resume was forwarded to my attention, and I am pleased to offer you an executive position here in the bank company. Before we send you the job contract and plane ticket, I need you to mail me a reference letter from your last employer, your social security number, a valid international passport, and $600 for the Right of Residence Permit Fee (RRPF). All of this stuff will be mailed back to you after we have confirmed it is not fake. (In this economy, you can?t be too careful.)

Congratulations! We are looking forward to having you here with us, and we hope you find conditions pleasant and your work challenging and rewarding.

Sincerely,

An Internet Scammer

Dear Internet Scammer,

I’m a shy person. My friends tell me I should get out more to meet women, but I always get uncomfortable and awkward when I’m around new people. I look okay (I think), and I have a lot of hobbies, but I just really don’t know how to start a conversation with a girl. What can I do to throw out more of a fun and confident vibe?

Wallflowers for Algernon

Dear Wallflowers,

Hi sexy! I’m glad that you wrote. So . . . what are you doing tonight? I’m soooo glad it’s the end of the day, I had a long week and can’t wait to let loose a little tonight My girlfriends and I are going out to this party . . . maybe you’ll join us, hehe!!

Well a few things about me then you could tell me more about you. I’m not looking for a long term relationship, just the nonchalant sexy evening with a champagne breakfast in a nice hotel room. So, can you sneak away a night or two? I already know what I want so you don’t have to worry much . . . Just be yourself. I like to role play alot, I can be a naughty girl and need a spanking! Can you send me a picture of you, like a copy of your driver’s license, or maybe a birth certificate, so I know you are 4 real? Sometimes people can be real creeps and aren’t who they say they are. I’ll talk to you soon, I hope!

Hugs-N-Kisses!!!

An Internet Scammer

Dear Internet Scammer,

My name is Sadiq Abdul. I am an Iraqi national, and accountant for an oil refinery in Bagdad. When the U.S. invaded, I moved $45 million to a call deposit account abroad for safe-keeping. In my capacity as the company accountant, I was the only person aware of this transaction, and the money can only be released to someone I introduce as the beneficiary.

I cannot travel outside of the country now, I am wanted by the government. So I am seeking for a partner I can present to the security company, so they release the $45 million to your account, as part of the money being owed to you by Bagdad Oil Refinery Company. As soon as this deposit is released to your account, I will then inform you on how to safeguard my share (70%) for investment in your country, and you can keep 30% for helping.

On your acceptance on this transaction I will send to you the deposit certificate naming you as the beneficiary for refunds owed to you by Bagdad Oil Refinery Company. I will need your passport number, a photo ID, your home address, and your savings account number.

Awaiting your quick response,

Sadiq Abdul

Dear Sadiq Abdul,

Wow. This sounds really cool! I don’t know how you got my info, but I am DEFINITELY interested in getting involved and helping out with your business proposal. I don’t know why you need my bank account number or address, but the reward seems totally worth the hassle. I am also going to send you my cell phone number, because I am uncomfortable giving my information over the internet (you always hear horror stories about that).

Sincerely,

An Internet Scammer

Wilbur Fleck was found at home late last night, collapsed in his Barcalounger, an open can of warm Schlitz still clenched in his lifeless hand. It was only when a forensics team was clearing the pork rind residue from the deceased’s face that police noticed his suspiciously clean-shaven visage.

“It appears the victim tried to defend himself with a Gillette© safety razor,” Sheriff Donald Wilcox told reporters this morning. “I’m warning you folks right now: it’s gone way past that point, this mother’s too big. You’re going to need to get yourselves some heavy-duty garden shears. Or maybe a weed whacker.”

Aiding in the investigation is renowned stacheologist Dr. Phuman Shu. When asked his opinion, he says, “Contrary to popular rumor, what we are dealing with is not a handlebar ‘stache, but a member of the horseshoe family—a particularly sinister parasite that will grow on the upper lip for months, before eventually devouring the brain of its host.”

Dr. Shu explains that symptoms of the afflicted may include a weakness for unlicensed firearms, trailer parks (and their female occupants), and Confederate Flag-based décor. He also cautions authorities not to confuse the fugitive with its close cousin, the man-eating mullet.

As the stache-hunt continues, Sheriff Wilcox advises citizens to remain vigilant: “Remember people, this thing could be right under your nose, and you’d never know it.”