the Funnelwhich

Republicans and Democrats unite in apathy.

[WANI, INDIA] In a breathtaking vote, Republicans and Democrats have voted to officially shun the American public. In a 509-3 vote in a joint Senate-Republican vote, our legislative branch of government has decided to officially make the foremost and only concern of the nation themselves. “We’re tired of going through each and every election cycle, wandering aimlessly without getting anything done,” said Representative Harold Goldback, Missouri. “It’s time to do things right. It’s time for us to be happy!” he screamed, pulling off his suit and unleashing his inner surf rock.

Most are riding ponies around the Congressional dome that once stood proud to generations of statesmen. Some have affixed horns to their ponies so that they are pony-unicorns. “I always wanted a pony,” Representative Leahy yells at me from his 20-feet tall pony or, more accurately, Bronco God. He bought his Bronco God after he sanctioned stem cell research for the sole purpose of enhancing recreational horse size. He also reduced the size of the Congressional dome so that his horse, whom he has named Grant, can jump over it whenever he pleases. In addition, Leahy and many other senators turned horse-riders have removed the agricultural incentive programs suppressing oat growth so that they may feed their colossal, horrifying genetically engineered pets. When little Susie asked if she could have a pony, the answer was a resounding No. Susie would have cried had not a law banned that the previous day because the new horses melt at the first sight of water.

They melt into a pool of disillusion, quickly coined the Reflecting Pool by many D.C. tourists because, if you lean far enough in so that your reflection touches your nose, the acid will instantly blind you. Thus, you are given the rest of your life to reflect upon where the dilapidated state of American politics.

In addition, many statesmen have taken to the streets, naked. Everybody else, horrified. “My eyes,” screams one. “My eyes,” screams another. Demand for optometrist surgeons have skyrocketed in the local D.C. downtown area as naked representatives of our once great nation parade their birthday suits up and down the streets screaming, “Table this, bitches!” and giving the finger to the Ways and Means Committee, a committee of losers largely ignored and ridiculed among all the other more popular Congressmen.

The 2008 election cycle immediately stopped in its tracks. Instead of pandering to the retarded middle class of America, politicians from Obama to Booth have instead entered into a physical competition for presidency. Many hold Kucinich as a contender because most people want to see people get beat up or, failing that, see the analogous versions on prime-time reality TV or digg’s vigilante justice of the week category.

However, the White House remains impotent. Upon inquiring, all the press found was the president sitting on his regal throne, clearing brush from his faux ranch built inside the Lincoln bedroom. “Yeah,” he said shortly before I left.

Pakistanis confused amid a surge of presidential candidates

[UNNAO, INDIA] It’s a bustling scene at Saturday’s Pakistani elections as the nation’s hard-working citizens gather to vote for their presidential candidate of choice. This year, however, Pakistanis have more than one candidate to choose from. As a result, thousands have committed suicide faced with more existential angst than before.

“Does free will really exist in a society of millions where each and every individual has disparate needs and wants?” one man screams as he plunges toward a taxicab with broken taillights, coincidentally christened “Death” by a drunk reveler after said reveler accidentally smashed a bottle of champagne on the license plate. So it goes.

Another complains: “The guy that we normally vote for … where is he on this ballot? He’s always number one! That’s how my ancestors have voted, and that’s how I will vote. This whole non-totalitarian thing is silly and confusing,” exclaims one confused woman at the heart of Bazaar, a city without any bazaars but plenty of churches.

Long time citizen Dennis Izen Smith tells us, “Back my days, whoever you voted for didn’t matter. Now it does; I saw these candidates debating on television. Real live debate with questions left unanswered. What are the answers? I need to know. What is the Liberal party candidate’s favorite lapel pin?”

Pressed, Smith admitted he only recently immigrated to Pakistan from his birthplace of Newark International Airport. “Back home, what did it matter what the name of the guy was: Clinton, Kerry, Clinton, Obama, Booth. Here, everything is crisp and different. Sure they look the same, and sure that whole twin plot might not play out, but voting for the wrong Musharraf could definitely land us in hot water. Was he a bad person or something?”

Smith is referring to the recent announcement of Musharraf for his bid for the presidential seat against incumbent Musharraf. Though they look alike, many political analysts have determined that ultimately their platforms differ enough to be significantly important. Says one political analyst, “This election decides the future of Pakistan democracy for the next century, at which point we may or may not have another election. We might be too busy being intimated to not have an election. I don’t know; I’d have to check my itinerary.”

I waited as he pulled up his Sunbird calendar.

“Let me see. Yes, yes, it looks like we are busy that year.”

One thing’s for certain, though. Everybody’s glad there aren’t Republican or Democratic candidates available because there’s no amount of pooper-scoopers in the world to clean up that mess.

Firefighters to combat fire with giant marshmallows.

[FIROZABAD, INDIA] Here at the Oregon Pine and Oak Reserves off a little meander of the interstate’s I-281, firefighters are coming up with new and innovative ways to combat fire. “Water just doesn’t cut it anymore,” says Fire Marshal Timothy Pyron. “The customers want zazz. They want pop and bling and, above all, kablowie!”

After receiving enough venture capital to synthesize a marshmallow so large it casts a photosynthesis-inhibiting shadow over the three lakes nearest to us, all they had to do was wait for deployment day. “I can’t tell you how many days we spent ignoring the puny housefires and waiting for a great, big, wooden fire! A fire with real zazz and pop and bling and, above all, kablowie! A fire with grrreat big tits.”

That day came today. At 4 AM, the triple-alarm warning sounded. Firefighters sat up in their bunks, waiting. Was this the one? Then it came: that sweet melody over the intercom. “This is the one, ladies and gentlemen. Everybody to their stations! Suit up! We’re going to the Pine and Oak Reserves!”

Says one firefighter, “I’ve prayed really hard this entire week for a fire of this calamity. I think this is proof that it’s not what you pray for that matters; God just likes persistence.”

Says another, “Can’t … breathe …”

Upon being asked, local citizens generally ignored the issue and whined about their lost homes.

Mahdi Army soldiers’ manlinesses are in doubt tonight

In light of their allegiance to radical cleric Moqtada al-Sadr, the Mahdi Army have been thrown into an existential crisis of virility and general manliness. “We’re, like, being controlled by a nerd sitting up on his high throne while we risk our necks,” proclaims anti-al-Sadrist Josh Fighter, who hands me a brightly colored pamphlet calling for democracy among the Mahdi Army so that they may impose a Shi’ite theocracy upon others. “We have been long oppressed!” the pamphlet exclaims. “It is time we brought democracy upon ourselves! No fights without representation! No anger without recognition!”

In his room, al-Sadr paces nervously as he attempts to resolve this crisis. “The pen is mightier than the sword,” he mutters to himself every now as if to reassure his demons away. Still, al-Sadr sweats profusely, and now his desk is bathed in the brackish water like a Red Sea, pre-Moses who in the 18th century severely disrupted the aquatic ecosystem by parting it. “I always thought my army liked me, you know,” al-Sadr says. “Where did this resentment come from? Why doesn’t anybody talk to me rationally like an adult? Can’t we just discuss this?” al-Sadr has attempted to enroll in a sword-fighting class in case any of his guerrilla army is a feudal knight. He tells me he wishes he could write a computer program or a thesis to magic away this anger.

Mean while, Josh Fighter prepares to wage a long and unfathomable war to bring democracy to the Mahdi Army hoping that one day, he too can spread something nobody wants to a region nobody understands.