(I couldn't resist. Put on your schmaltz and chuckle. I hear you grinning from over here!)

JOKER: I tell you, Saddam is churning out records like early-career Elvis. The regional cable networks are spinning him like he's bribing them, helping his bid to glom a smash hit with the Arab world.

STRAIGHT MAN: Well, what's he saying?

JOKER: ...Singing. Thought you'd never ask, brother -

(I'm still floored as to why, if he survived the military campaign with his sons, Saddam Hussein so poorly executed his prepared strategies. He might as well have been incapacitated.)

UPDATE: It just occurred to me - what if the King loads up this webpage? What'll he say? Of course, he's still alive and in hiding, right? Right?

Via IP, Josh Fielek lampoons John Kerry's stab at now-taboo American machismo. Which of these is not like the other:

Kerry, not stilted and genteel? That's like Celine Dion dropping her normal setlist at Vegas for a lineup of MC5 covers.

Lemming-like, the blogosphere has been falling over itself in a competitive bid to deface their patron saint's photograph in good-natured, Lileksian style. Smudging photos is my specialty - I work partly as a graphic designer - so this is one game I couldn't pass up.

I took about an hour or so out of my life for three Instaportraits:

That's right, Ice-Man. He is dangerous. The flippers keep his blood pressure level during high-G maneuvers.

They can take our lives, but they can't take our broadband!

My personal favorite. This gives a new meaning to, uh, "Getting into Deep Water." As Glenn would say, "Heh."

Enjoy! If you're conservative or are otherwise fairly well built to taking an honest joke, scroll down for more in this category.

UPDATE: One more. Now Glenn's in a proper cockpit.

"Mister Gephardt says: Don't worry yourselves! Justice is in my hands. (Vote for, no, obey the Democratic Party)"

I don't think Dick Gephardt is an incarnation of Hitler. But when he makes statements like this to anything but a mirror or a comedy club, you have to wonder. He earned this lampoon.

Glenn Reynolds figures that O'Reilly has gotten off easy with the blogosphere, especially since the Factor host hasn't been accused of any heinous crimes.

Oh, but Glenn - Glenn - if you only knew about Bill O'Reilly's checkered, sordid past.

Back in the day, he was Fast Billy: a dirty pool shark who hustled most of the South Side before Big Matty got mad and had Billy's thumbs broken. Ever notice why Bill sometimes holds that sign-off pen with his index and middle fingers?

Alright, just kidding. It's a vicious lie. I went a step further than Frank J. might have, however, by engaging in some earnestly Photoshopped photographic evidence.

This was more or less spontaneous as I wrapped things up for the day. Quarter dollar for scale. The sketches of both literally took me less than ninety seconds - apparently, enraged "monkeys" and arrogant, eugenicist "robots" come naturally.

If you have no idea what this is about, educate yourself.

So there I was, flipping through a few channels last evening while I continued to unpack in the new apartment.

Pokémon was on. I watched. About three minutes later, an epiphany:

The Democratic Party: Team Rocket of American Politics.

UPDATE: It occurred to me that once the animé door is opened, I'm essentially required to continue matching political figures to Japanese cartoon characters. Whether this is simply a logical completion of the exercise or a psychological need not unlike the inexplicable appeal of animé, even to non-enthusiasts like myself, I am uncertain. In any case, Donald Rumsfeld as Pikachu, bristling with a crackling, pastel blue as he fields petulant questions from reporters:

Q: Mr. Secretary, please go back to Afghanistan for a minute. General Myers said that there were 20 people that attacked that American patrol. Does that number surprise you? Does it concern you? Is that suggestive of the security situation in that region?

RUMSFELD: (beat) Pika pika?

I consider myself lucky seeing as how Rumsfeld knows neither who I am nor where I live. If I were tough-as-nails, spending my retirement years mobilizing, deploying and streamlining the military in a time of war - and somebody turned me into a lovable, electrically charged, live, stuffed animal - I'd break his jaw.

I'll celebrate my 400th post with a Haiku created in deference to a stinging critique of nescient fools/useful idiots/peaceweenies over at Anna's:

The protesters' prize

Is a special kind of "peace."

They're first to be shot.

[Snaps fingers, strokes imaginary goatee while beating bongoes]

Kalashnichicks. Babes with bullets. Hip shots. Blunderbroads. Submachine girls. Hit me with your breast shot (fire away!).

Via The Bitch Girls.

What can I say? Andrew Sullivan commented on Michael Morford's defense of antiwar throngs - the tenor of his critique inspired me.

UPDATE: I misspelled "Francisco." How stupid unlikely is that?