- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Do not panic. Remain calm. A level head is key in any doppelganger situation. There’s no reason to assume that your doppelganger is harboring nefarious intentions without first considering all the possibilities.

Is it possible that your doppelganger is simply a dead ringer? A good three out of five doppelgangers are nothing more than harmless people who, due to the random nature of genetics, resemble you exactly. If this is the case, perhaps the two of you can come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement. (For example: Have you any need for an alibi while hiding a body in the woods?)

Does your doppelganger share a birthday or birth place with you? If so, it’s quite possible that the doppelganger is a long-lost twin. Be wary. Twins tend to come in sets of one good and one evil. According to the Twin Department of the University of Virginia School of Sibling Research, double-good or double-evil sets only occur in one out of five cases. Take a good, hard look at yourself. If you are not evil, there’s a very good chance that your doppelganger is. It will probably try to steal your identity. Do not let it do this. Invent code words with friends and family members. Get an identifying tattoo. Have a magnetic strip inserted into your wrist.

Do you and your doppelganger share an exact DNA? You may need to find a genetics laboratory to make certain. Just one fallen eyelash or pint of blood from your doppelganger can help determine if it is a clone. If this is the case, ask yourself these questions: a) Did I leave my DNA lying about unguarded? b) Am I in possession of something of great value that some person or government organization might be trying to get at? c) Am I a forgetful genetics engineer? (If the security guard at the genetics laboratory greets you by name, it’s likely that option c is the case.)

If your doppelganger does turn out to be a clone, what use might you have for it? Are you in need of a new liver, or are you simply interested in exploring parts of your body that aren’t easily accessible without a mirror. Examining your clone can be a useful pathway to greater self-understanding, and it is a rare day when a person can get a very close look at his own anus. However, and I cannot stress this enough, do not, under any circumstances, have sex with your clone. According to research done by The Klemp Institute of Narcissism and Proctology in Prague, examination of the anus fires neurons in the brain that are very similar to those that occur during mating rituals. Or, to dust off a tired old Marcel Proust quote, “The sphincter is the doorway to a passage that leads directly to the heart.” So, though temptations may be high, resist this urge. This can be incredibly psychologically damaging for both you and the clone.

Does your doppelganger speak in outdated or not-fully-grasped slang? Does it sometimes slip into a foreign and violent-sounding tongue that involves gurgles and hisses? Do your doppelganger’s eyes glow red when it is annoyed? If so, your doppelganger is probably an alien shape shifter from another galaxy, or perhaps even another dimension. Find an easy way out of the conversation and leave as soon as possible. Your doppelganger is meaning to eat you. Do not let it do this. Once it has digested you, it will assume your identity and then begin eating your friends and family members, one by one. Once you are to safety, notify your local extraterrestrial policing agency. They won’t believe you at first, but, as the city falls to ruin, they’ll come around. (Please note: There is absolutely no evidence to support recent “bizarro” universe hypotheses. Nine out of ten “bizarro doppelgangers” can be easily explained as mentally retarded twins. See above.)

Does your doppelganger seem slightly older than you? More world-weary? More wise? Do its clothes seem ultra-hip? Have you been tinkering with plans for some sort of time travel machine in your basement? If so, your doppelganger is most likely you. You may engage you in pleasant conversation, perhaps over coffee at the shop around the corner, but steer away from learning sensitive information about your future as it may cause you to blink out of existence. And, again, do not sleep with you, as this can be incredibly psychologically damaging for both you and you.

* * *
This piece originally appeared in the now sadly defunct Haypenny.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

- – -
There once was a young man named Darwin
Who spent five years tossed to the far wind
He wrote a book for his peers
After only twenty short years
And now he’s as pop as George Carlin.

They say we all came from a monkey
But I say that theory is bunky
Because as anyone knows
Who talks with creationist pros
That some people are closer to donkey.

Asked the petrified School Board of Kansas:
“I wonder why everyone slams us?”
The answer it seemed
As if from space it were beamed
Was: when God gave out brains, they were panned thus.

We’ve all grown to fill in some niche
Unless there’s some DNA glitch
In that case we change
Perhaps expanding our range
But more often, go face down in a ditch.

Upon a darkening midnight so dreary
While pondering evolutionary theory
Bob said with a wink
To his partner the twink
I fear for our fitness, my dearie.

Tad Crass was an irascible ass
Who came-on to any available lass
But by group affirmation
To stop Ted’s procreation
All said, on these genes, we will pass.

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all of his brains in a bucket
They said, he’s the kind
Who screams “Intelligent Design!”
I.e., when the bucket got full, he’d just chuck it.

If I gave you my genome to play with
Would you deem me as someone to stay with
Or would you scramble my genes
Like tossed salad spring greens
Just to see all the sequences I’m made with?

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Last weekend, Candace, Will and I visited my mother. And, while I was there, I realized I was very tired. Granted, I had not slept well the night before, but it suddenly occurred to me that I am often tired when I visit my mother. Then, on the way home, it also occurred to me that I often feel tired when Candace and I visit her father or mother. I brought this up to Candace. I asked her if she thought I had some kind of problem. “Have I developed a mental association with our parents…some self-imposed Pavlovian condition…is it my way of checking out around them?” Candace, defending me from myself, offered another perspective – “maybe you just relax when you visit our parents. You know, kind of like going back to your childhood home. You don’t have any obligations or chores like at home. You chill.”

Good, I thought. Then I realized that our eight month old son often seems tired. He certainly sleeps a lot – three solid naps a day and he snoozes through most of the night. He can barely keep his eyes open after two hours around us. Then I thought about all of the other parents that I know. And, you know what? Their babies sleep a lot, too. And when we get together with these parents all we talk about is how tired we are.

I am beginning to suspect that its not babies that make parents exhausted…its themselves. It is us.

If my supposition is true, parents are a sedative, even to themselves. We (or at least I) get sleepy around our parents, our children get sleepy around us, and we get sleepy around other parents. In fact, for the last eight months all I’ve talked about is how tired or not tired I am (usually the former). My daily condition is based on this. But, I’ve been eyeballing the wrong culprit. It is not Will. It is myself.

I wonder if babies were left to their own devices if they would stay up all day like a “normal” human being. Maybe that’s the way it should be. We let the babies hang-out and play with each other all day, while we parents hang-out with ourselves and breath in the sweet sedative that is us. Then we could all curl up on the floor, like in kindergarten (maybe they used to keep a stash of parents in the closet so we’d get tired at “nap-time”). It certainly would be nice to give into the red-eyed junky-demon that is exhaustion sometimes.

The more I think about it, the more this makes some kind of wicked sense. All of my older friends who suffer from insomnia either don’t have children or their children have grown up and moved on. Perhaps the sedative-effect only occurs while you are actually parenting.

You know, I could rent out parents to insomniacs. I could set up sleep clinics where those who suffer from sleep disorders are administered three or four parents a night until they can return to restful nights or sleep. Or I could even create a Parent Channel that features a line of parents jumping over a fence like sheep to help those who need a little assistance to drift off. Yeah, that’s it.

Besides, who likes warm milk anyway.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

1. A chemical microbiologist, a pathologist and a clown are flying in a small commuter plane between Kansas City and Omaha. Halfway there, the plane bursts into flames and the pilot bails out. The passengers discover there are only two parachutes. Which one dies?

2. 1,4-dihydro-2,6-dimethyl-4-(2-nitrophenyl)-3,5-pyridinedicarboxylic acid dimethyl ester walks into a bar. On the stools next to it are a leprechaun, a unicorn, and Santa Claus. The bartender has a keg of Guinness, a bag of oats, and a plate of cookies behind the counter. He says to the newcomer, “These three regulars beside you are mean bastards if you screw up their orders – the unicorn will gore you, the leprechaun will steal your soul and Santa Claus will eat your children. Now, I’ve got to step out for a few minutes to make a phone call and I need somebody to watch the bar. $20 says I come back to find you a broken, childless, soulless man.”

1,4-dihydro-2,6-dimethyl-4-(2-nitrophenyl)-3,5-pyridinedicarboxylic acid dimethyl ester is always up for a bet and agrees. When the bartender returns, he finds all three of his regulars dead on the floor. Aghast, the barman asks 1,4-dihydro-2,6-dimethyl-4-(2-nitrophenyl)-3,5-pyridinedicarboxylic acid dimethyl ester what happened. It replies:

3. Why did the prion get fired from its job at the steel mill?

4. The lac operon is trapped in a room without windows or doors. The walls, the ceiling and the floor are made of steel three feet thick. All it has are a deck of playing cards, a pound of walnuts and a pair of swimming goggles. It can escape three different ways. What are they?

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

The Scantron 8950 (A.K.A. “Lil’ Helper”). Attention, teachers! How many times have you arrived at the scantron machine with your stack of answer sheets and realized that you forgot to fill out the answer key? And where is your pencil? Hang on, because help is on the way. The 8900 may not help you remember to fill out your answer keys, but with its elegant pencil holder and built in pencil sharpener, you’ll be able to remedy that in no time.

The Scantron 9000 (A.K.A. “The Compassionate One.”). Attention, teachers! How many times have you looked out at your tired, burdened class and felt it wrong to judge them based on categories like correct and incorrect? There is another way. With the Scantron 9000, you can feed the answer sheets through and expect that no one will get under a ninety percent. While the Scantron 9000 makes the loud whirring and beeping noises you have come to expect from Scantron products, it doesn’t rely on pre-critical ideas of ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ It leaves a few marks on the answer sheet and assigns a grade that will make your student’s day.

The Scantron 9100 (A.K.A.“The Teacher’s Assistant”) Attention, teachers! How many times have you wanted your very own assistant.to help you with your lectures? The 9100 is here to cut that lecture prep in half. Enter in your multiple choice questions or true/false – then sit back. Suppose you enter in the following scantron compatible question and answer:

Q: “Aristotle was the student of Plato”
A: True

The 9100 returns, “Good morning class. I would like to take as my theme Plato. The question is did he have a student? If so, who? Aristotle was the student of Plato. This is true. It is not a statement with any sense of falseness. Modern philosophers do not deny that Aristotle was the student of Plato. “Nobody was the student of Plato” is not true. It is false. What is true is that Aristotle was the student of Plato. Thank you. I look forward to the lectures that follow.”

The Scantron 10000 (A.K.A. “The Eliminator”) Attention, college boards! How many times have you had to waste precious time dealing with a student requesting a grade change? Consider that problem eliminated with your purchase of the Scantron 10000. When teacher student relationships are harmonious, you will find this model to be the smoothest of our Scantron machines. But when the a student complaint arises, stand back as the 10000 unit unfolds into a 6’5” fully functional Dean.

The Dean is as precise as you have come to expect from Scantron technologies. True or False, A or B. The Dean has no time for your ambiguities, nuances or grey area. The Dean will deliver justice. Is the student at fault? Was the paper in fact demonstrably plagiarized or the product of collusion? Then the Dean will issue a pink slip, which reprimands the student. Is the teacher at fault? The Dean will behead the teacher or take whatever actions deemed appropriate by your college’s board.

And finally, be sure to look for our Scantron 20000 in years to come: It will of course combine the Scantron’s 10000’s administrative abilities with mad teaching skills.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

I didn’t win the Nobel Prize in Physics again this year. What’s a guy got to do to win that thing? I was made to win that prize, but for like the umpteenth time in a row I’ve been given the shaft. Annoying! Who cares if I’m not a physixcist or however you spell it? I’ve been doing lots of cool physics-type stuff forever and deserve some recognition and money.

Since a teenager I’ve done this kick-ass trick where I put a quarter in each of the palms of my hands and then I quickly slam my hands down against a tabletop. When I lift my hands I reveal that one of the quarters has magically moved from one hand to the other. SHAZAM! It’s kind of hard to explain in writing, but basically when I slam my hands down I quickly flip one quarter into to my other hand. I do this so fast that nobody can see the quarter change hands. It’s awesome.

So, you see what I mean? That trick has “Nobel Prize in Physics” written all over it. I’ve been doing it for close to twenty years now. A guy from high school taught me the trick during a down time in chemistry class. He shouldn’t win the Nobel Prize in Physics, though. I should. He’s a jerk. At least he was. Haven’t seen him in a while. Last time I did we got into a big argument over VH1. I love VH1. He doesn’t. What a jerk.

Anyway, screw that guy. I do the trick better than him, anyhow. People love it. My trick makes people happy, especially four-year-olds. My son marvels at it every time. He thinks I’m awesome. If there was a Nobel Prize in Dad I’d win that every year. My other son doesn’t like my quarter trick as much, but he’s only two and can’t fully appreciate it. He’s always takes the quarters out of my hands and pretends they’re airplanes. Annoying!

My quarter trick isn’t the only cool physics-type trick I do. I can crack an egg with one hand and hardly have any of it spill on the kitchen counter. Yep, pretty much the entire egg goes right into the bowl. It’s awesome. All with one hand, too. With my other hand I often pump my fist because I did the trick really well. Sir Isaac Hayes probably did the same thing when that apple fell on his head.

I also have an uncanny ability to find the remote control when it’s lost. It’s like I always know exactly where to look. Just last week the remote was missing and my whole family was a wreck. I saved the day by looking under the couch cushions and–SHAZAM! There it was! It was like I knew it was there all along. Kind of spooky. I guess that’s more of an example of how I am a psychic and not a physickcyst or however you spell it, but whatever, you get my point: I’m really talented and awesome and I should be swimming in Nobel Prizes.

Oddly enough, the guy who won the Nobel Prize in Physics this year lives in the same town as me. He’s like 80. I drive by his house all the time. Not sure what the big deal about him is. He’s got an okay lawn, but his shrubs suck. My shrubs are way better than his. I have half a mind to knock on his door and show him my quarter trick. The few old people I’ve shown it to have liked the trick a lot. Bet he’d feel real bad about winning the Nobel Prize in Physics after seeing me work my magic. I wonder if he likes VH1?

At any rate, I rest my case. May this essay serve as a wake up call to the Nobel people. Here’s hoping when they give their prize in Physics next year, my name, Christopher Monks, will be on it engraved in big blinged-out lettering. I can’t wait! SHAZAM!

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Jack and Jill went up the hill.
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown.
And Jill came tumbling after.

First of all, we are not sure there’s enough clarity in this text. Scientific literature, in particular, should leave little room for confusion. Where exactly did Jack fall down? Into the well? A little ways down the hill? All the way down the hill? It’s just too vague. Worst still, we’re not convinced that the science conducted is of high enough caliber. I mean really, who would be stupid enough to put a well on the top of a hill? In conclusion, we feel that this manuscript should be rejected in its current state, but are not opposed to viewing a revised version in the near future.

—

Twinkle twinkle little star.
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the sky so high.
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle twinkle little star.
How I wonder what you are.

Initially, we were quite intrigued by your work, especially since it appeared to contain several elements that merit genuine excitement. However, it was then brought to our attention that this body of work had remarkable similarities to a previously published report (The Alphabet Song). It was upon further investigation, that our worst fear was confirmed to be true – that this manuscript constitutes an act of plagiarism. We must state that we feel this to be a serious breach of scientific ethics, and must therefore strongly decline your manuscript.

—

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men.
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

Although otherwise promising, the reviewers felt that the research in its current state is incomplete. Quite frankly, it was agreed that your principle subject needed to be put back together again. Several of the reviewers suggested courting the expertise of a mathematician who could perhaps create an appropriate algorithm to solve this problem. Alternatively, one reviewer suggested glue. As a final note, questions were also raised regarding the treatment and well being of Mr. Dumpty. Why exactly was he made to sit on the wall? And why exactly would you allow horses (of all things) to put him together again. No matter, the reviewers overall impression was that if you were able to address each and every one of these issues, they would see no problem entertaining a revised version.

—

Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle.
The cow jumped over the moon.
The little dog laughed, to see such a sight.
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

The reviewers felt that not enough data was presented to support your claims. For example – how many times did your group observe the cow jumping over the moon? From the text and supporting figures, it would appear that you base this conclusion on one data point as no calculations regarding standard deviations were presented. As an analytical journal of high repute, the reviewers felt that this is simply not acceptable. In addition, several of the reviewers felt that the word ‘diddle’ was inappropriate, and should have been replaced by the more scientifically correct, ‘Hey fornicate fornicate.” Because of these, and other problems, we are sorry to inform you that your manuscript has not been accepted for publication.

—

Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub.
And who do you think they’d be?
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.
Turn’em out, knaves all three.

Thank you most kindly for allowing us to see this marvelous manuscript. We feel that it is a great privilege that you and your colleagues decided to submit it to our journal. We truly feel that it represents seminal work that could even one day lead to a Nobel prize. To be frank, we were quite surprised to receive your submission, in that we all felt it could have easily been accepted by the more high profile publications (The Nature and Science journals for instance). In any event, we are very pleased to inform you that, we, the reviewers are unanimous in our decision to accept your manuscript.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

The recent popularity of math and science based plays and movies, such as “Proof”, “A Beautiful Mind”, and “Copenhagen”, has catalyzed the recovery of lost plays from famous mathematicians and scientists themselves. Below is the complete text of “To Teach the Calculus,” which was recently “recovered” from the notebooks of Max Planck. After winning his Nobel Prize in 1918 for work in radiation physics, Planck explored a variety of other fields. This is his only known foray into the theater. Planck had a reputation as a difficult and demanding teacher among the students at the University of Berlin, and several science historians have suggested that this tension is reflected in his play. Planck dedicated the third act of his play, via a marginal, handwritten notation, to his young friend Erwin Schrodinger, the father of Quantum Mechanics. Upon Planck’s retirement, Schrodinger was selected to succeed him as the Chair of Theoretical Physics at the University of Berlin. The translated text of “To Teach the Calculus”, which appears here, is currently under option to Miramax.

- – -

Act 1. Differential Calculus.

(A classroom, modern day.)

Teacher: Okay, say you were driving in a car.

A moron: You were driving in a car.

Teacher: Okay, that’s fine too, it can be me. So, I’m driving in a car, and that car is going a certain speed, let’s say two miles per hour.

A moron: Two miles per hour.

Teacher: Yes, that’s right. Now, two miles per hour is a velocity. It’s a rate of change, which is an expression of a differential equation: the change in distance, with respect to the change in time. The car’s speedometer is actually solving a differential equation for you.

A moron: Two miles per hour.

Teacher: Yes, that’s right, two miles an hour is the value of the differential at that moment. If distance is capital “D”, and time is “t”, then we would denote the differential as “dD/dt”, where the little d’s here mean “change”.

A moron: Dee-dee.

Teacher: Yes, dD is the change in distance, dt is the change in time, so, dD/dt is the change in distance with respect to time.

A moron: Dee-dee. Dee-dee, dee-dee, dee-dee.

Teacher: No, it’s dD/dt! dD/dt!

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee! Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: Yes, that’s it! dD/dt! dD/dt! dD/dt! dD/dt!

(They sing “dD/dt” together for several moments, sometimes simultaneously, sometimes alternating, as the lights slowly fade).

- – -

Act 2. Integral Calculus.

(The same classroom, later that same day. As the curtain rises, the teacher is relaxing at the desk and is smoking a cigarette.)

Teacher: (Rising, and extinguishing the cigarette.) Now we’re going to talk about another form of calculus. While differential calculus is an expression of dynamic processes, integral calculus is an expression of summation. You can almost think of it as an advanced form of addition.

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: No, we’re not talking about differentials now, we’re talking about integrals.

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: Okay, you have to stop that and listen now. Okay? Now, imagine that you have a glass of water.

A moron: Can I?

Teacher: I’m sure you can, just think of a glass of water.

A moron: I want a glass of water.

Teacher: Well, can’t you just imagine one, just for the moment?

A moron: I want a glass of water.

Teacher: Okay, fine, just a moment. (The teacher exits. While the teacher is offstage, the moron gags repeatedly, as if choking on a hairball. The lights slowly fade.)

- – -

Act 3. The birth of Quantum Simultaneity.

(The same classroom, a few moments later. The moron is silent.)

Teacher: (Already on stage when the curtain rises, holding a glass of water.) Okay, now see this glass of water?

A moron: Yes.

Teacher: Now the volume of water in this glass can be explicitly expressed, because the glass has a specific geometric shape, correct?

A moron: Gimme.

Teacher: You want to hold the glass? Okay. (The moron takes the glass and drinks most of the water.) Well, then, now the glass has less water in it, but we can still use it for our example. May have it back please? Thank you.

A moron: Thank you!

Teacher: Now, because this glass is a cylinder, the volume of water in it can be exactly calculated. But, imagine if this water were contained in an irregularly shaped container, how might we estimate its volume?

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: Good guess, but we wouldn’t use differential calculus for this problem. This is where integral calculus comes in. Imagine the water in a lake, or in the ocean: highly irregularly shaped containers, indeed!

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: Now, you’ve got to stop saying that so we can–

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: I’m sorry, but you’ve got to be quiet for a moment.

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Can I have more water?

Teacher: Not right now, okay, so imagine–

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

Teacher: Shut Up! Shut Up! You ridiculous person!

A moron: Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee. Dee-dee-dee-Tee.

(The teacher lunges at the moron. They struggle. The lights go out. A horrifying scream is heard. The lights come back on. The teacher and the moron both lay dead in pools of their own blood on opposite sides of the stage.)

(Curtain.)

* * *

*Translator’s note: Some critics of Plank’s play have suggested that the reference to cars and driving are anachronistic, and that the play is actually a recently written forgery. However, gasoline powered cars had been manufactured in Germany by Karl Benz since the 1880’s, and steam and electric powered cars even predate this by several decades.

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

TONY BLAIR (PRIME MINISTER OF THE UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND NORTHERN ISLAND) DRESSED AS BJORK DRESSED AS A SWAN: Hey Jacque. Nice dye job. Is that some yellow fungus growing off the top of your forehead?

JACQUE CHIRAC (PRESIDENT OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC) DRESSED AS TIN-TIN: No Tony, it’s my costume. Can’t you guess who I am? I’ll give you a hint. “Snowy, stop that immediately! You stupid chien!”

TB: Ha ha! I love Halloween. Much more fun than Guy Fawkes Day. Do you know who I’m supposed to be?

JC: You are dressed as a bird, non?

TB: Righto. And not just any bird, I’m Bjork dressed as a swan. Let me sing for you.

JC: Non non, that is quite alright. Maybe after the drinks, mon ami. Tell me do you think President Barroso will be angry that we neglected to tell him about this meeting?

TB: Maybe – although he should be used to it now – stupid E.U.er (they both laugh heartily).

SILVIO BERLUSCONI (PRIME MINISTER OF THE REPUBLIC OF ITALY) DRESSED AS GOD: Hello everyone. Check out my beard.

VLADIMIR PUTIN (PRESIDENT OF THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION) DRESSED AS HIMSELF: That is a nice beard. How come nobody told me this was a fancy dress party?

TB: Sorry Vladimir, old chap. You must have missed the email that was sent out yesterday. Silvio, that is a cool beard. You think George will listen to you now? Look here he comes with Paul.

PAUL MARTIN (PRIME MINISTER OF CANADA) DRESSED AS AN ICE HOCKEY PLAYER: I brought beer!

GEORGE W. BUSH (PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA) DRESSED AS A HURRICANE: And I brought taco chips.

VP: Comrade, what’s up with the hurricane costume. A bit insensitive don’t you think?

GB: I know I know. Look Vladimir, I don’t want any grief tonight. Laura worked her little heart out sewing this for me, and that was months before it happened. I’m not going to let a good costume go to waste. Besides, I did the best I could with Katrina. I really truly believe that God was on my side.

SB: (standing next to Bush) You mean like this? (Martin laughs so hard that beer comes out of his nose)

GB: Nice Paul. Really, you need to grow up.

PM: I need to grow up? Maybe you should grow up.

GB: Maybe you should make me.

PM: (lifting his hockey stick) Maybe I will.

GB: Yeah, and like maybe I should sign Kyoto.

PM: Creationist!

GB: Bono-lover!

JC: George, Paul! That’s enough! Mon amis, let us be civil!

SB: Hey, what’s wrong with Creationism?

JUNICHIRO KOIZUMI (PRIME MINISTER OF JAPAN) DRESSED AS SOME POKEMON CHARACTER: Pikachu! Pikachu!

TB: Oh thank goodness, we’re almost all here now. Just Gerhard now, maybe he’s depressed over the election. Oh wait, here he comes.

GERHARD SCHRODER (CHANCELLOR OF THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY) DRESSED AS BJORK DRESSED AS A SWAN: Sorry I’m late. Had trouble starting my car. Great costumes everyone. Hello Paul, Silvio, Tony, Oh shit! You’re wearing the same costume as me…

- FROM THE ARCHIVE -

Chicken Pox
This is the Frank Sinatra of animal-themed sicknesses. A timeless classic, although the younger generations might not appreciate it. I remember fondly going to a Fourth of July Parade as a child, just recovering from the pox, and my mom not letting me look around too much lest other parents see my pox and get upset for contaminating everyone else. I also have a few choice scars from the ol’ poxy. Drawback: Some children are getting ‘vaccinated’ for this. Wimps.

Avian Flu
While this is the hot disease of the moment, it still can’t measure up to the grandaddy, pox del pollo. I don’t know much about this disease other than that I saw a Chinese man piling handfuls of live chicks into garbage bags on “Today,” so I think it’s gross. Downside: While I don’t really care about full-grown poultry, I’m never happy to see cute baby chicks fall ill with the flu. Do they get little bowls of vegetarian chicken soup?

Monkey pox
This was the disease du jour a few summers ago, but I think that most people just liked saying “Monkey Pox,” and maybe imagining a sad little chimp with a heating pad and tiny thermometer, than really knowing what the disease was about. Downside: Things are sad on the planet of the apes.

Prairie dog pox
This was a form of monkey pox passed on by pet prairie dogs, and what I want to know is, who has pet prairie dogs and where can I get one? For scientific research, of course. And oh yes, terrible about the disease, just terrible. Downside: Too many syllables.