If you’re seeking the seminal “list” sort of “article,” filled with contemporary political jokes about the salacious details on the innards (and outards) of figures who grace the media on a routine basis, you’re in the wrong place. Really, it’s far too easy — like the combination to Bristol Palin’s lock on her chastity belt.

Here, you won’t find jokes about pin-ups of Levi Johnston’s johnson circulating underneath bathroom stalls at the Y.M.C.A. Nor will you spot a glob of Bill Love, as it’s not worth spilling more ink over. As much as I would like to, I’ll avoid my mind’s eye comparison of Sarah Palin’s vagina to the Laverne & Shirley opening sequence at the brewery. Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated! Don’t sing that.

Instead, I’d rather present a brief, slightly nuanced, picture of biology in American political science. I mean really, the modern body politic is not the type of America I like to remember. The nanosecond political intellectual brain-jackings that drive by daily are simply not a logical way to learn from our past. That’s why you kids must learn to be a bit more “micro” and a little less “macro” when it comes to United States history. Makes perfect sense. Know what I’m sayin’? Micro yo:

#5 — Captain David Dickerson’s Posterior

Capt. Dickerson. United States Army. President Lincoln’s body guard and keeper of his Executive Branch.

I know what you’re thinking: “What else is new? We all know Lincoln liked buggering dudes and all.”

Well, for those naysayers who attempt to disprove this fact noted in books theorizing multiple gay Lincoln encounters, you’re wrong. That Honest Abe was nicknamed “Honest,” and was married to one Mary Todd Lincoln is a compelling argument — consistent with society’s firm conceptualization of wedded bliss nowadays.

Honest marriages aside, when Mrs. Lincoln wasn’t home, Abe was getting a little nookie on the DL. You see, if mega-buttinski Mary Lincoln’s prying eyes weren’t about, President Lincoln was sharing his bed (using your tax-dollars Glenn Beck fans) with the good captain:

For nearly eight months in 1862-3, Capt. David Derickson led the brigade that guarded Lincoln at the Soldiers’ Home in the District of Columbia, the Camp David of the day. Derickson, in the words of his regiment’s history, published three decades later, ”advanced so far in the president’s confidence and esteem that in Mrs. Lincoln’s absence he frequently spent the night at his cottage, sleeping in the same bed with him, and — it is said — making use of his Excellency’s night shirt!”

Off came the night shirt, out came Dickerson.

Mary Lincoln -- She Tried

#4 — Thomas Jefferson’s Man Lumps

If you’re not up on your history, you might want to look up another body part President Jefferson enjoyed using. Like, if Jefferson had a future-moving gadget or something, he would totally dig the song Black Betty.

Anyhow, President Jefferson had boils on his ass:

In the third week of taking the waters at Warm Springs (1818) Jefferson developed boils on his buttocks. (The 50+ mile ride to the spa plus possibly unsanitary conditions there may have predisposed to the illness.) As may be imagined, his homeward return ride was a trial. Once home, for several weeks he conducted his correspondence lying down. He did not ride a horse for several months. “Jefferson always believed that this experience had greatly injured his health”

Evangelicals claim the boils hailed from the wrath of God due to Jefferson’s interracial sexual proclivities. Other, more scientific Evangelicals, claim the buttocks-boil infestation sprung from God’s distaste for slavery and hypocrisy.

"Why don't you shove that hat up your ass String-Bean?"

#3 — William Howard Taft’s Shadow

President Taft was a fatty-fat. You must know this. At his peak he tipped the scales at 335-340 pounds. My man was the fattest president to ever occupy the White House. He was so fat, he got stuck in the White House bathtub and had to be removed by some fat-president-pickeruppers. In fact, the good folks over at “Fat Bastards Bathing Equipment” had to make a brand new big ass fat tub for him.

But see, his whole ginormous body simply doesn’t qualify as a “body part” for purposes of this list. Strictly speaking.

Taft’s shadow fits into this List-A-PaLooza and obviously is a body part. And you know what? The shadow knows. The shadow knows President Taft probably never saw his own adult wiener.

#2 — Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s Pigmented Lesion

FDR. One of the nation’s greatest presidents. The obvious body parts here are his legs — which were as useful to him as a life-preserver tied down with massive lead weights and thrown to a drowning monkey at sea. President Roosevelt had a bout of the hysterical polio. :(

His pelvis didn’t work either. Elanor (ER) could not be reached for comment at the time of publication.

Lemme tell you something (Mean Gene), the lesion doesn’t get enough pub:

Two independent lines of evidence suggest FDR had a malignant melanoma excised while in the White House:

1. Between 1920 and 1932 FDR developed an enlarging pigmented lesion above his left eye. This lesion vanished between 1940 and 1944, leaving a scar and a sparse lateral eyebrow.
2. During lectures in 1963 and 1965, Dr. George Pack stated that his friend, Dr. Frank Lahey of Boston, had seen FDR in consultation in 1944 and had informed the president that he had a metastatic tumor, and advised him not to run for a fourth term.

Did you see that? The lesion vanished. Gone. Why? Some theorize this was the first noted instance of cosmetic surgery and therefore, the disappearance of the fiendish pigmented lesion. Others question the veracity of such reporting, wondering why FDR would really care. Ain’t like he was goin’ dancing trying to look purty for some hottie.

#1 — Bobby Kennedy’s Finger

November 22nd, 1963. A day that will live in infamy (until September 11th had to go and ruin everything).

President John F. Kennedy was assassinated and the eyes of the world turned to his younger brother, Bobby. What most people don’t know is where Bobby’s finger went to prior to his untimely demise:

Six months after JFK’s death, during a May 1964 dinner cruise on the presidential yacht the USS Sequoia, Bobby and Jackie “exchanged poignant glances” before disappearing below deck, leaving Ethel upstairs. “When they returned, they looked as chummy and relaxed as a pair of Cheshire cats,” according to Schlesinger.

At the Kennedys’ Palm Beach estate during Christmas 1964, socialite Mary Harrington saw Jackie sunbathing topless, with Bobby kneeling at her side.

“As they began to kiss, he placed one hand on her breast and the other inside of her bikini bottom,” Harrington recalled.

“I was shocked. It was clear that Bobby was sleeping with his sister-in-law.”

For any inaccuracies here, I’m sorry. Might have been two fingers. Peace.

***

Follow me on Twitter.

In 1993 George Carlin asked his friend, and former National Lampoon editor Tony Hendra to help him write his autobiography. For almost fifteen years, in scores of conversations, many of them recorded, the two discussed Carlin’s life. When Carlin died at age seventy-one in June 2008 with the book still unpublished, Hendra set out to assemble it as his friend would have wanted. Last Words is the result. Check out the video, audio and contest. We are lucky enough to have a few copies of the book to give away, so play with us on bookface and the ever so popular twitter.

(Brevard County, FL) Are you ready to be Saved! I mean ready? Really ready? Ready for the miracle of weed?

Oh ye Brothers and Sisters of the… Temple Of Lampoon? I feel The Holy Spirit inside me. Yes. A Spirit who grows and expands deep inside my very core (in fact, it kind of burns). The blessed Lord gives me power to rise up (maybe I should sit down) and reverse a terrible injustice. I embark on this journey and implore you, my disciples, to join me on a most important mission. To free the Holy Father Of Ganga. Can I get an “Amen?”

The heathen “judicial” system of Florida has taken a Brother from our midst. A Priest. A Minister. The Holy Man of Herb from the Hawaiian Cannabis Ministries (by way of Florida and The Internet):

“Was that your cannabis?” a judge asked.

“Yes sir,” replied Swallick.

He calls himself Reverend Steven Swallick of the Hawaiian Cannabis Ministries and took the stand in clerical garb identical to that of a catholic priest. Even though he faced prison time, Swallick openly admitted to the jury that he grew more than 100 marijuana plants at his home in Palm Bay. But Swallick said he did it because he had a higher calling. [Ed. Note: What kind of schmuck would use an easy pun like that?]

“The cannabis that was growing in your converted garage, that was your cannabis that you were cultivating?” the judge asked.“Yes sir, for religious purposes,” repled Swallick.

The 53-year-old says he was ordained through the Universal Life Church, a group which will ordain just about anybody almost instantaneously on the Internet. Swallick was prevented from discussing what he claims are religious uses of marijuana in front of the jury. The judge declared there was no evidence he practiced any recognized form of religion.

It took a Florida jury a mere fourteen minutes to convict Reverend Swallick on charges he engaged in the unholy manufacturing of cannabis. What Florida calls a crime, Rev. Swallick embraces as a religion. He also inhales his religion:

“I do inhale it. I do use it as an anointing oil. I do ingest it as a food product. There are over 25,000 beneficial uses for the plant,” Swallick said.

But, because the judge excluded testimony concerning marijuana’s long-standing religious use, the Pontius Pilate lot of a Florida jury would never hear or see Father’s testimony. His incantations can only be described as the very word of God Himself: “Cannabis is the ingredient in the Holy Anointing Oil, as given to Moses, though the Lord, when he appeared in the Burning Bush.”

Let there be light! And a cough.

Cannabis, he tells us, “is a holy sacrament recognized in the Bible.” Jesus used marijuana to heal. Reverend Swallick only immersed himself in the blessed herb, “as a priest;” thereby making his humongo pot lab kosher. While Father Swallick contended his stash was protected First Amendment exercise of religion, the judge thought it was an unholy affront to the science of God.

Our good reverend now faces up to ten years in Florida State Prison as he awaits sentencing and possible crucifixion of the Hawaiian Cannabis Ministries.

I am outraged Brothers and Sisters. A minister! A priest! A saint appointed by God Himself! Ten years? It is our holy Lampoon duty to pray for his immediate release and raise the Holy Gravity Bong (in those states where it’s legal) as we join together:

Please bow your heads.

Our Father. Who art a big bag of Trainwreck. Seedless be Thy strain:

Please help our Brother in his time of need… which rhymes with “weed.”

Forgive Florida, for they know not what they do. Which is nothing really out of the ordinary.

Now, we shall inhale you. And stuff.

Amen.

***

Challenge Me To A Wrestling Match On Twitter.

By: Eddie “Cube” Rawls

(Miami, FL) We all know South Florida is a vortex for all that is unholy and will likely spell the demise of humankind and the entire galaxy… to put it mildly. Florida’s a haven for newlyweds and nearlydeads. It has endless miles of bad road filled with strip-malls; where each store seemingly runs and smells like the D.M.V. And, if you’re famous like me, Vegas has back-room odds in a Deathpool on you — with prop bets on whether you’ll get shanked in a Meth deal gone South or run over and turned into a greasespot by some random midget octogenarian wantonly driving a Caddy from the late 80’s.

I can understand folks making irrational decisions to dwell in the toe cheese of Mickey Mouse (see e.g., Florida Recount 2000), however, animals have no choice in the matter.

Horse murders are on the rise and apparently there’s a market for horsey meat in these depressed jazzy economic times:

She was a bay — a dark brown thoroughbred. She had a shiny coat and new horseshoes, all signs that someone took good care of her.

But Saturday night, the 3- or 4-year-old mare was found cut in pieces along a rural roadside in Southwest Miami-Dade, a spokesman for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty for Animals said.

The mare was the latest horse slaughtered, possibly for her meat, in a rash of such killings this year in Miami-Dade and Broward counties. …

The number of horses killed since January now stands at 21, Couto said. …

In Florida, it is illegal to sell horse meat without proper labeling. A pound of the flesh can sell for up to $40 on the black market. A 1,400-pound horse may yield about 400 pounds of meat, Couto said.

“South Florida is probably one of the only places in the United States that a dead horse is much more valuable than a live horse,” he said.

That’s reassuring! A dead horse in Florida get’s more money on the pony market than one with a pulse. You see, in the recessed gene pool of The Sunshine State, it’s not the carnage and bags of bay organs done at the hands of some deranged lunatic roaming the streets of Miami that governs the shock value here, it’s the economic analysis on the worth of a dead horse found in the crux of this story. This makes sense – in Bizarro Florida.

What the Hell? Forty dollars a pound for horse meats? What a rip off. You’re telling me horse bits are more expensive than lobster? I didn’t even know there was a “black market” for horse meats. Who eats horse meats? Where are these people?

Florida.

Look, I’ll partake in the eating of dog at my local Chinese joint anytime (without knowledge of said dog in food). But, I draw the line in the sand of craziness with dead horses and their trending patterns on the horse-eating stock market.

by Eddie “Cube” Rawls

(Moorestown, NJ) Where to begin? Hmm… I know! Some copper from Jersey f*cked five cows and got off the hook.

Now, I gather you’re thinking this some tawdry Lampoon ploy – a catchy headline, “Moorestown, NJ” as our setting, and the super-popular bestiality/law enforcement shell game trick. I can hear it now: “Moorestown! Ha-ha! I get it! Cows go Moo!” No. This is a good, old-fashioned, veritable act of cow raping.

I couldn’t make up a pile of dung like this if I tried. Well, I could, but that’s not the point. For example, if your humble and reserved author were to conjure up a fictional town for this gripping piece of legal drama, unquestionably I’d avoid a stupid pun like “Moorestown” to represent man-bovine love – Newark makes much more sense.

Judge James J. Morley dropped animal cruelty charges against New Jersey Police Officer Robert Melia Jr. after he allegedly had sex with some baby cows. Here’s the kicker, the ruling was based on a premise that the cows may have liked and welcomed Mr. Police Officer’s dong:

[Judge] Morley ruled that oral sex with cows cannot constitute animal cruelty since the cows aren’t talking and may not have been “tormented” or “puzzled” by the experience.

In a simply amazing exchange with prosecutors, Morley went into the uncertainties of man-cow relations: “If the cow had the cognitive ability to form thought and speak, would it say, ‘Where’s the milk? I’m not getting any milk,’” …

Morley went on to explain that children are comforted by pacifiers and perhaps cows are equally pacified by police officers in these cases: “They [children] enjoy the act of suckling,” the judge said. “Cows may be of a different disposition.” …

Morley ignored that one cow head-butted Melia in the stomach and appeared far from happy. The prosecutor objected that the cows were “very upset” by Melia’s action and stated “I think any reasonable juror could infer that a man’s penis in the mouth of a calf is torment.”

You see, bestiality is not a crime in New Jersey. And to answer your question, yes, now’s a good time to buy real estate.

While the omission of bestiality from New Jersey law should really not come as any big surprise, animal cruelty prohibitions are etched in Jersey concrete. Here, there was no animal cruelty as a matter of law. It is to the law of animal cruelty, not bestiality, the judge was duty bound to follow. Clearly, Judge Morley made the right call. By the way, when I write the word “clearly,” I really mean the opposite of “clearly.”

To sum up the court’s logic, the prosecutor couldn’t offer up enough evidence to prove the cow did not dig giving Melia blow jobs. Simple. Case dismissed. Hooray for strict construction!

Here’s where I disagree. It’s not as if the cop’s from Detroit — the man’s from New Jersey. What decent cow would give a cop from New Jersey a hummer?

In a stunning and surprising move, President Barack Obama signed a declaration of war against the cable news network Fox News in the Oval Office earlier today. He then announced his decision that fighting a television station is clearly a higher priority than focusing on health care reform.
“It is Fox News who is going to need health care,” said Obama, “when I’m done kicking their asses.” Obama then gestured for Fox News to “suck it,” and swaggered away from the podium.
Confrontations between the Obama Administration and Fox News have been occurring for some time now. In recent weeks, the White House had accused Fox News of not being a real news network, to which Rupert Murdoch, chairman of News Corp, replied: “then why is it called Fox News?” White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs has yet to give a rebuttal to this argument.
Additionally, White House communications director Anita Dunn has branded Fox News as being on the payroll for the GOP. Fox News pundit Glenn Beck responded on his show yesterday saying, “We’re not on the payroll. That is offensively false. We gladly do this for free!” He then wept for four and a half solid minutes of airtime.
After signing the declaration of war, Obama instantly gathered the chiefs of staff and Keith Olbermann to the war room to begin plans of attack. Olbermann was forced to leave the meeting early when he ejaculated in his pants at the sight of Obama.
Two main criticisms of Obama’s war on Fox News have already surfaced. The first is that he did not seek a resolution of approval from a worldwide, peacekeeping organization such as the U.N. or The View. Insiders claim Obama feared a veto from Elisabeth Hasselbeck of The View’s security council. The second criticism is the White House’s alliance with liberal biased cable news network MSNBC. But Robert Gibbs claims the prayers and self-flagellations led by Keith Olbermann every morning in the MSNBC offices for their lord and savior Barack Obama in no way make them a biased news network.
The first shots of The Great Fox News War were fired by the Obama administration announcing it will not be sending officials to Fox News shows for interviews. Additionally, Robert Gibbs urged other networks to not allow Fox News into the White House press room and to defriend them on Facebook.
Verbal assaults from Gibbs and Dunn from the White House have proved the most dangerous attacks on Fox News. Dunn’s insistence that Fox News was biased so enraged Bill O’Reilly that on his show, The O’Reilly Factor, he began a rant claiming rumors of bias had been spread by “pinko, liberal, faggy pinheads!” His head then exploded, and O’Reilly became the first casualty of the Fox News War.

The bloodshed continued when Chris Matthews began a violent rampage through Fox News’s New York headquarters, tearing employees from limb from limb. Those present claim the offices fell into a Cloverfield-esque state of mass chaos. Women and children and Shepard Smith huddled in corners, crying in fear, as a bloody, growling Matthews hulked past. His ferocious attack was only stopped when Neil Cavuto’s head proved too large to eat, and he retreated back to MSNBC’s base.

One glimmer of hope between the war of the biased news left and the biased news right came when former co-hosts Sean Hannity and Alan Colmes were seen embracing one another on a fire escape, singing “Tonight” from West Side Story.
Throughout this bloody combat, the Switzerland of the cable news networks, CNN, has remained both neutral and last place in the ratings. To respond, Wolf Blitzer has added an additional two screens to his Situation Room (bringing the total to 47) and Anderson Cooper is now doing the news fully nude.
Obama claims he will not end this war until Fox News is destroyed. “I will not stop the battle against biased information until every news network agrees with me and repeats that message. And I will not stop this war to maintain our freedom of speech until this news network is destroyed. Can we destroy Fox News? Yes we can.”

Book by Zack Parsons

Review by Aaron J. Waltke

Perhaps it is a sad state of affairs when I can say that I am no longer fazed by the outlandish and disturbing extremes that human beings will go to in order to distinguish themselves as depraved outcasts in a society already overpopulated by the corrupted and insane. I don’t mean to suggest with that statement that I’ve become some hardhearted war veteran, calloused to graphic images of genocide, death, inequality and evil in its purest forms. Those are all still pretty bad, even in my eyes.

I just mean I’ve been on the Internet a lot.

The profound impact of the Internet on the human psyche, specifically the combined aspects of anonymity and the open platform for expressing oneself it provides, has summoned from the cyber-depths and given a voice to some very, very strange individuals. I’ve seen whole online communities dedicated to a sexual fetish revolving around the collecting and popping of birthday balloons. I’ve seen forums where people believe they are capable of firing Dragonball Z kamehameha energy blasts from their palms if they flail their arms and yell into their webcams. I have stared deep into the eye of the digital abyss, and I pray to whichever patron saints are in charge of Google Image Searches and browser histories that those perversions of cyberspace have not stared too deeply into me.

Zack Parsons’ new humor book entitled “Your Next Door Neighbor is a Dragon” takes the grotesque fascination of Internet voyeurism one step further than I am comfortable with— that is, meeting face-to-face with the reprobates and weirdoes of the World Wide Web and documenting his encounters with them in real life (or IRL, in internet-speak).

Mr. Parsons, whose familiarity with online weirdness stems from years as a staff writer for the popular humor website SomethingAwful.com, takes an approach to exploring the bizarre substrata of Internet culture that is as dodgy and nonlinear as his subject matter.

Parsons dives in head first, taking us on a whirlwind tour of the Internet’s Most Infamous denizens. He allows us to meet firsthand the type of people who believe the sugar substitute aspartame is a poison designed to suppress our collective will to rise up against the New World Order (as implemented by the reptilian alien shadow government). This segues with startling ease into the blind “zeppelin-centric” fanaticism of the online Ron Paul movement at a launch rally (“They’ll be able to see the blimp from the overpass and think to Google Ron Paul!”). Next, we are given a chance to meet Roger, a man who believes he possesses the blood lineage of elves and all of their inherent supernatural powers after he found an Otherkin newsgroup where likeminded individuals proclaimed their own ancestry is descended from dragons, orcs, fairies, and their favorite anime characters, which in turn imbues them with special abilities beyond their frail human brethren.

It just gets weirder from there. There’s a particularly vivid scene in a chapter dedicated to vorarephelia or “vores”, those who have the fantasy of being eaten alive and share their love of this enterprise with others on the web. Imagine my surprise when the author sits down with an otherwise conservative girl in her early 20’s living with her parents on a ranch in central Texas, sipping sweet tea in her rocking chair as she sketches out images of princesses being dissolved in the stomachs of giant frogs, with similar gory scenes adorning every square inch of her otherwise girly bedroom.

These are just a few strange examples in a book comprised entirely of strange examples.

The book itself is written as a sort of gonzo travelogue, spanning styles from faux-journalistic brevity to bouts of wildly subjective fiction, drug-induced hallucinations, and appeals to Super God (it makes sense in the book). As I was following along, I did have the thought that the real world characters in this book are strange enough that there’s really no need for embellishment, even with the artistic license granted by satire. An interview with a man who claims he can sense the “dragon-ness” of a jar of mayonnaise in a Dollar General makes for a fascinating train wreck no matter how you slice it. That being said, if you accept the trope of an unreliable narrator who confronts characters with unreliable perceptions of reality, then it can still make for a very entertaining read.

What Zack Parsons is most successful with in “Your Next-Door Neighbor is A Dragon” is putting a face, if a somewhat doughy and ill-shaven one, to the odd impulse for irrationality that is buried in the icky subconscious of everyone who is given an open forum to express dumb ideas that they secretly want to believe is true—and have other lonely people who embrace their stupidity. In the end, it turns out that White Supremacists can throw a friendly barbeque and Furries (people who dress as anthropomorphic animals) are often cockteases (tailteases?). These are the ties that bind.

Thanks to Zack Parsons, we all know that now.

Zack Parsons is a writer for SomethingAwful.com and author of “My Tank Is Fight!” His second book, “Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon”, is available now at Amazon.com.

Aaron J. Waltke is a contributor to the National Lampoon. You can email him at awaltke@nationallampoon.com.

Many have donned one. Many have cultivated one. I am unable to grow one. But no one has ever, EVER, in the history of mankind attempted to comb through the great encyclopedia of humanity to rank them. But why rank 100 when you can lop ten off?

Ladies and Gentlemen: the Top Ninety Mustaches of All Time!

90: Jason Giambi- Steroids, bad for the balls, good for the stache.

89: Dr. Phil- “All those things you do that make your wife angry, you need to not do those.”

88: Walter Cronkite- The most trusted mustache in America.

87: Mel Gibson- Might have been responsible for that time when he did all that stuff.

86: John Cleese- And now for a stache completely different.

85: George Orwell- Big Brother won’t let him shave it and he has no problem with that.

84: Any Barbershop Quartet- mustache… mustache … mustache … MUSTACHE…

83: Carlos Santana- The stache wanted no part of the Rob Thomas duet.

82: Biker from The Village People- Believe it or not, the stache was totally straight.

81: Danny Glover- This stache is getting too old for this sh*t.

80: Pat O’Brien- I wanna f*ckin go crazy on that mustache.

79: Phil Jackson- Perfected the art of the triangle mustache.

78: Sean Penn - “People on ‘ludes should not grow mustaches!” - Jeff Spicoli

77: Wesley Snipes- A tragically underappreciated mustache constantly being upstaged by arm pit hair.

76: Walt Disney - A true OG. What’s with the Lost clue on the tie, though?

Slow walkers move in packs and are devastating obstacles for city folk with things to do and places to go. They come in many forms: old people, fat people, drunk people, tourists, small dog walkers, and couples so in love they are oblivious to their surroundings. They have given me problems my entire life, mostly because walking around as a loser with no friends has made me impatient. Once, I took a two block detour because I knew it would be easier than getting around two old women with canes. Even when I’m not pressed for time, I still feel as if I have to get to the destination as early as possible. It is a curse that has forced me into more awkward situations than I’d like to admit.

Deciding whether or not to pass sidewalk snails is difficult. I am always a bit fearful that someone I pass will take offense, beat me up, or worst of all, make fun of me for being in such a hurry. If its a group of scary, thug-looking people, I usually slow down and wait for our paths to diverge. This way I can remain out of the way and avoid any chance of a violent confrontation. If its a jumpy, nervous single lady, I usually make a quick move around and trudge onward. Lurking behind a girl like Gollum increases the risk of getting undeservedly maced. Of course, the most embarrassing scenario is when I pass someone only to find that the person was only temporarily slowed and is now at my heels trying to get by. If I do not gear up into power walk mode, he will make me look like a complete ass.

Over the years, I have discovered a number of specific maneuvers that can be used when faced with a troublesome slow walker situation. Some have worked out with great success while others have been catastrophic failures. The key is to fully commit to the plan you choose and never look back. Here are a few options:

No Pass

Effective Idea 1: The Gradual Slowdown

Once you notice that you are closing in on a group, begin slowing down your pace to keep a sizeable distance. Take smaller steps, drag your feet, or let your leg your leg stay suspended in the air twice as long.

Not So Effective Idea 1: The Sudden Slowdown

Maintain a hurried pace until you absolutely cannot continue walking without causing a collision. Take one step to slow yourself down and continue on with inches separating you and the person in front of you.

Effective Idea 2: Read

Observe the buildings you pass and find something you can stop and read. This can be as complex as a restaurant menu or as simple as a list of store hours. Pretend to struggle interpreting the information, then have a breakthrough once the person ahead is a good distance away.

Not So Effective Idea 2: Write

Pull out a pen and pad. Bring your stride to an abrupt halt and write a few words down. Continue walking behind the slow group and if you catch up, repeat the process. Attempt to look like you are conducting scientific research on the people you are trailing if at all possible.

Effective Idea 3: The Phone Check

Take your phone out of your pocket as if a text message just came in. Pretend like it is long and important, requiring you to come to a stop in order to absorb the information you have just received. Recover and continue on once you have allowed for some separation. This also works with music players.

Not So Effective Idea 3: The Prostate Check

Pretend that you are a trained medical professional and you have just realized that you are overdue for a prostate check. Treat the issue with an exaggerated sense of urgency. Stop walking, remove your pants, and conduct the procedure yourself. After you have allowed for some separation, conclude that the prostate is normal. Take a second to recover and continue.

By Alex Moaba , read about Alex here

Mr. President: I’ve been asked to give you a briefing for your upcoming trip to Yellowstone National Park, having myself ventured there on vacation a week ago. I too traveled in a giant SUV, was accompanied by my family and tried to leave the car as rarely as possible.

Driving through Yellowstone is like taking a safari of the American West just as it was 200 years ago. You’ll see things you’ve only read about in the history books — bald eagles soaring through the sky, herds of buffalo freely roaming the plains, dead Native Americans lining the side of the road. Think Dances With Wolves meets Jurassic Park.

The beauty of the pristine landscapes is awe-inspiring. As I overheard a Hell’s Angel say to his 250 pound bearded lady of a girlfriend at a scenic overlook, “this is Church for the day.” You’ve been looking for a new church, right? Nevermind. Tell the cameras you’ve come West for a weekend of peace, solitude, and reflection that can be found here, in God’s Country — it sounds like something Lincoln might’ve said.

Yellowstone should be a nice place to get away from the toxic politics of this week’s health care debate. Then again, Montana is the home state of Sen. Max Baucus, head of the Senate Finance Committee and grand poobah of the “Blue Dog Democrats.” You may need to show up on his porch with a bottle of Roughstock Montana Whiskey, get him really sauced and refuse to leave until you’ve secured the public option. Two words — Whiskey Summit.

Another plus - for now, there are no loaded guns allowed in National Parks, unlike your recent Town Hall event in New Hampshire, where wingnuts showed up armed and yelling. Although thanks to a provision put into the Credit Card Bill you signed in May, that firearms ban will be lifted next February. Well done, sir!

Be sure to give a speech in front of the Roosevelt Arch. It’s like the Brandenburg Gate of Yellowstone, except this time Angela Merkel can’t tell you not to use national monuments for your personal political stagecraft.

As to the message of said speech, consider something like this: “National parks - a shining example of one good thing the federal government has accomplished in the last 100 years!” The National Parks Service was established in 1916, something most people can agree was a pretty decent idea, and after you trashed the Post Office a few days ago the federal bureaucracy is in dire need of a hug.

Be sure not to jump in any hot sulfur springs. While these pools may look like the awesomest of hot-tubs, Yellowstone is a live volcanic site, and the pools are fueled by superheated water and gas that could burn your skin off, leaving you with Michael Jackson Disease. Though the sulfurous stench that radiates from them does provide excellent cover should you feel the need to rip one.

Skip Old Faithful. One of the biggest geysers in the country, it’s been shooting eruptions of water over 100 feet into the air every 78 minutes for the last 10,000 years. It’s also a tourist trap packed with fat asses and mullets. You came here to be in nature, not wait on line for Splash Mountain.

Drive the Bear Tooth Highway. First commissioned by Herbert Hoover and then continued under FDR as government make-work, it’s a windy mountain highway with phenomenal views that ascends up 11,000 feet. If there was a project this cool in the Economic Recovery Act, you’d probably be there this weekend, but there isn’t, because it’s impossible.

Don’t get on a horse. Seriously dude, no. We all loved City Slickers, but there is major Dukakis on a tank/ John Kerry in hunting gear potential here. You may also want to avoid cowboy hats.

Don’t expect to be able to use a cell phone, Blackberry, or access the Internet while in the park. This will mean no checking White Sox scores or texts from Rahm, as well as the possibility of Joe Biden running the country for a few hours while you’re off the grid. In other words, this trip is a terrible, terrible idea.