Faking the Funk on Terrorism [Jan 6, 2003]

Despite the best efforts of the shadowy figures on the unmarked, black dogsleds who chased me into a forest Friday evening, I, Matthew Tobey of Haypenny, have returned to further strip bare the many faces of the group truly pulling the strings of the puppet that our sweet and saintly flibbertigibbet of a President so eloquently refers to as the "axis of evil." Mr. President, I salute your intentions and respect you like an uncle, but you have no idea how evil and how axial the real miscreants are.

Needless to say, I made it out of the woods, literally and figuratively. All I'll say is it involved a few twigs and a lot of cunning. I'll surely be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my uncertain life, especially in light of the revelation I'm about to make.

If you were blown away by my indictment of the Eskimos, just imagine how you'll react when you get to the end of this sentence and discover the involvement of the Harlem Globetrotters.

"But they can't be terrorists. They were on Scooby Doo!" you're hollering to anyone who will listen, continuing until you're too hoarse to be heard or your very lungs bleed.

“So were Pol Pot and Mama Cass!” I’d retort, were I in the room with you.

Fact: In 1973, in an attempt to establish his standing among elite figures in the world of secret international bodies of hegemony, Curly Neal ate alive half-a-dozen high-ranking freemasons.

It's starting to make a little sense now, isn’t it? Their hilarious and awe-inspiring mutation of Dr. James Naismith's creation is merely a distraction, enchanting young and old alike the world over, while behind the scenes they participate in and fund the blood-thirsty pursuit of fascist world-domination. Let us never forget the words of the misguided, but nonetheless prophetic, Karl Marx: "Pantsed referees and buckets of confetti are the opiate of the masses."

Prepare, friends. For merely possessing this knowledge will change you like you've never been changed before. The name Meadowlark Lemon will conjure images of enforced conformity and suppressed liberty, and a single note of Sweet Georgia Brown will send chills up the spine and sweat down the brow. Terror lives in red, white and blue shorts.

Email me. Read Haypenny. Buy Neal's book. Buy Niels Bohr.