Manhattan Infidel

A new survey conducted by the Pew Research Group has found that an astonishing 75% of dead people expressed some dissatisfaction with their lives.  Among the complaints are lack of career advancement, bad working conditions, time away from family and faulty infrastructure.

“We were really surprised by the results of our poll” says researcher Dave Jones.  “We expected a much higher degree of satisfaction.  We asked direct questions and they gave us honest answers.”

The most common complaint was a feeling of frustration at lack of career advancement.   Typical is the story of Marco Lombardo who was interviewed on the 3rd terrace of Purgatory.

“I’ve been dead for over 700 years but I’m still stuck on the 3rd terrace.  I’m getting kind of bored with it.  You try walking around for 700 years in acrid smoke.  It’s hard on the lungs.  I have no idea when or if I’ll get promoted.  I mean, when I died promises were made to me!  I should have become a Muslim like my mother wanted.”

The Emperor Justinian, from the 2nd sphere of Paradise echoed similar sentiments.

“I’ve been here for 1500 years.  It looks like I’ll always be here.  No chance of moving up.  No chance of getting a better seat at the Empyrean.  I think I’d have better luck getting one of those $2500 dollar seats at the New Yankee Stadium.  I mean, I don’t want to seem like I’m complaining but really!”

Bad working conditions were a common complaint among the dead in Hell.  From the 6th  circle of Hell, Farinata degli Uberti voiced his concerns.

“I’ve been dead 800 years and this entire time I’ve been trapped in this flaming tomb.  It kind of hurts.  I think OSHA might have something to say about this.  I guess it’s my job to burn here but you’d think I’d get a day off every now and then.  But no, nothing.  Nada in all this time.  What am I?  A contractor? And I got family in Heaven and they aren’t allowed to visit me?  What’s the deal with that? Hey, what’s happening on ‘Lost’?  Is Locke really dead?”

Perhaps the most surprising complaint from many of the dead has to do with crumbling infrastructure and faulty equipment.

From the base of Mt. Purgatory, King Harry of England said “Do you know how many avalanches I’ve had to escape the past 1000 years?  I think somebody who shall remain nameless might want to take a look at that.”

In the Empyrean in Heaven the dead were recently given new laptops with the Windows Vista operating system.  St. Bernard expressed his frustration.  “Every time I  look up a soul’s information  I get the blue screen. I had to back up everything, reformat my drive and install updates.  Why didn’t they give us Macintoshes?”

Voicemails to God have so far been left unanswered.

Area resident John Blocker, hoping to spice up his life and meet new friends held a wine and cheese social at his place and was profoundly disappointed with the results.

“What a bunch of boring tightasses” he said.  “This was worse than my last party - the insurance adjuster-themed party.  That was a disaster.  I wanted to try something else and I saw an article in ‘Redbook’ that said this would be a good idea.”

Blocker knew his party was in trouble shortly after the guests arrived.  Of the guests, 41 percent were college professors who wanted to talk about the use of palindromes in “Terminator Salvation”, 32 percent were schizophrenics who thought they were at an open casting call for “American Idol”, 20 percent were grapes angry at the murder of their fellow grapes to make wine and 7 percent were teenage boys who thought Wine and Cheese was a new stripper/musical group like the Pussycat Dolls.

“What a fun bunch” Blocker remarked sarcastically.  “The professors scared the schizophrenics who in turn scared the teenage boys.  The worst of the bunch were the grapes.  Every time someone took a sip of wine they were all over them.  ‘That glass of wine you’re sipping was my brother’ they’d say.  Then they’d shout ‘murderer, murderer, murderer!  Some of the grapes became suicide bombers and threw themselves against the walls of my apartment.  Have you ever tried to get grape stains out?”

Blocker was forced to end his party early.

“I threw everyone out.  I had hopes for this party.  This really bums me up.  If life is going to be this boring I might as well up and move to Staten Island.”

Blocker’s experience is sadly typical.  According to the American Institute of Party Statistics (AIPS), wine and cheese parties rank just below dinner with your in-laws, root canal appreciation and decorating with phlegm as some of the least favorite party ideas.

The regional director for the AIPS states that “We have been discouraging wine and cheese parties for years.  It’s a bad idea that keeps sticking around.  Wine and cheese parties refuse to die, like the ’70s and cast reunions of ‘Facts of Life.’ ”

“Boy have I learned my lesson” said Blocker.  “Next party I have it’s nothing but hookers and blow…..and cheese.”

It has been learned that Congress has authorized the waterboarding of Jimmy Brown, 12, of Scriba New York.  Brown, a “notorious bully” was known around the playground of his school for beating up bookworms and stealing their lunch money.  While this was tolerated (“The bookworms had it coming” said one teacher) it was felt that Brown stepped over the line when, in an act of cruelty, he stole Julie Phelp’s favorite Barbie Doll and hid it from her.  Responding immediately to the crisis, Congress passed the Protection of Future Cheerleaders Act (U.S. PFC 2274) which authorized “enhanced methods” to deal with threats to cheerleaders.

In a rare display of bipartisanship, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-NV) and Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) stood side by side to announce the passage of the act.

“We must protect our cheerleaders” said Reid.  “They are as American as baseball, apple pie and bailouts.”

McConnell followed with “I have great love and affection for cheerleaders.  Most of my DVD collection consists of clips of cheerleaders in action.”

From his home in Idaho, former Senator Larry Craig asked “Are these male cheerleaders we are protecting?”  before stating that the protection of female cheerleaders was a waste of taxpayer money.

Meanwhile back in Scriba the FBI picked up Brown as he was walking to school.

“We were able to get him in the van by saying ‘hey kid, want to see pictures of naked girls?’  Once he was in the van we blindfolded him and to further confuse him played an audiotape of Vin Diesel reading Shakespeare’s soliloquys.  He started crying and asking for his mommy” declared the agent in charge of the operation.

The van pulled into an abandoned warehouse that had been taken over by the FBI.  Agents strapped Brown to a board, placed a cloth over his head and poured water over him while asking him repeatedly where the Barbie Doll was.

“Once out of the van and no longer forced to hear Vin Diesel, Brown regained his strength somewhat. The kid put up a brave front, telling us that his daddy could beat up our daddy.  Just to prove Brown wrong we picked up his father and had him beaten unconscious.  This broke him and he gave up the location of the Barbie Doll.”

The doll was retrieved from the bottom of a creek and given back to a happy Julie Phelps.  She hugged her doll tightly at the press conference announcing the end of the crisis.

“No one likes using enhanced tactics like this” said Reid.  “But in the War Against Bullies all options are on the table.  We must stamp out bullies so we can raise the self-esteem of the children of America.  Isn’t that what education is all about? Raising self-esteem?”

Meanwhile Julie Phelps faces an uncertain future.  The pain and horror of having her doll stolen will haunt her for years and she has been ordered to attend counseling and self-esteem workshops.

Jimmy Brown was spanked by his mother and forced to watch a non “Fast and Furious” Vin Diesel movie.

From his perch atop a tree near a large lake, “Ralph” a mature Bald Eagle proudly showed off his new hair weave.

“Yeah, It looks great doesn’t it?  All my friends were skeptical and kept telling me ‘Don’t do it.  You look fine.  You look distinguished.’  But I say, hey, if it’s going to make you feel better go ahead and do it.  And let me tell you - the female eagles really dig me now.  I’m the stud of the neighborhood.”

Indeed he did look strikingly different from the image of Bald Eagles one sees in National Geographic specials.  Instead of the white top he now sports a long flowing mane of dark hair that partially covers his eyes.

“Do you like it?  It makes me look swarthy and mysterious” he said.

I asked him why he felt compelled to get the hair weave.

“I was trying to impress a woman” he confessed meekly.  “But that’s not the only reason.  I was competing with younger birds in the neighborhood.  I had to make myself relevant.  A good resume only goes so far.  Everyone judges you by looks.  It’s not fair but that’s how it is.”

I followed up with a question about side effects and if there is anything that he thought would be different.

“Well, I imagined myself soaring majestically through the air on thermal convection currents, my long flowing mane waving in the breeze.  But unfortunately the weave means I am no longer aerodynamic.  I tried flying but fell straight to the ground and landed flat on my face. It was like I was doing an impression of Roger Clemen’s credibility.  And they don’t tell you in the brochure that you have to go in every month and get your weave tightened.  I didn’t know that at first.  After 2 months my weave was hanging off my head at a 45 degree angle.  I had to put on a hat to cover it up.”

I asked him what he told people.

“I just told everybody I was Justin Timberlake.  So I eventually went in for the weave-tightening.  Damn those are expensive.  I have to do this every month for the rest of my life?  And it’s painful too.  Between the bleeding and the needles…….I tell you.  But I guess it’s worth it.”

Any other problems that you have noticed?

“Well, now with my dark hair everyone thinks I’m Italian.  The FBI is watching me.  I was handed a subpoena the other day.  What the hell is the RICO Act?  People keep giving me money to hand to someone named Don Corleone.  For the last time.  I am not Italian.  I am a bird!”

As I was about to leave I couldn’t resist telling him that he could have avoided all of this.  The word “Bald” in Bald Eagle is short for “piebald” and refers to the white head and tail feathers that contrast with the rest of the body.

“What?  Crap!  I signed a contract.  I have to keep this damn weave for 2 years.  Well, contract or no contract it’s coming off!”

As I left him he was furiously attacking the weave with his beak, trying to rip it off.  He must have been successful because as I left the woods I heard him cry, “Damn that stings.  Will someone get me a couple Band-Aids?”

The Supreme Court today ruled that the Resurrection violates the due process clause of the 14th Amendment and is therefore unconstitutional.

In his majority opinion, Chief Justice John Roberts declared “We are called upon to make a decision on a most important matter.  We find that the promised resurrection violates the due process clause of the 14th Amendment as it unfairly discriminates against Jews, Muslims and whatever they worship in Japan and San Francisco.  They have nice sushi in Japan don’t they?  I’ve never been to San Francisco.  Do you really think Barry Bonds used steroids? He has a nice scalp.”

The announcement today came as a surprise to many, particularly as the Supreme Court did not even have the case on its docket.  The court had been hearing oral arguments in the morning when Justice Clarence Thomas broke out laughing saying “Dude, he said oral.”  The other justices also started laughing and declared an immediate 3-hour lunch break.  They then retired to Chief Justice Robert’s office and locked the door.  Interns reported hearing loud laughter and Grateful Dead music as well as the smell of marijuana.

After the 3-hour “lunch break” the justices emerged looking slightly unsteady.  Justice Souter kept staring at his hands and mumbling “I can see all the atoms……I can see all the atoms”  before telling reporters that they “are filled with bad karma.”

Justice Alito ripped off his robes, stripped down to his underwear and curled up in a fetal position, telling everyone that he “wanted to go back into the womb.”

The remaining judges minus Alito took their seats on the bench.  Chief Justice Roberts then declared that “In the case of the United States vs. God we find that the resurrection violates the due process clause of the 34th amendment.”

Justice Thomas interrupted him by saying “We don’t have a 34th amendment whitey……wow, I said whitey” before collapsing into hysterics.

From the White House President Obama told reporters “That must be some strong shit I gave them.”

When reached for comment, God, who was playing golf with Regis Philbin said “I expect this type of behavior from Biden, but not the Supreme Court!”  He also promised to fight the ruling by any means possible.  ”Hey, if I have to smite, I’ll smite.”

After announcing their decision the justices retired again for “munchies and George Harrison CDs.”

His fingers stained from nicotine Tickle Me Elmo clutched a whiskey filled flask.  “I’m tired of this shit.  I’m tired of kids always wanting to tickle me.  I mean, it’s in my contract that if they squeeze me once I have to ‘chortle’….whatever the hell a chortle is.  If they squeeze me three times in a row I have to shake and laugh hysterically.  This is bullshit man.  My name is Reginald Dawson III.  I played King Lear in the West End.  Now I’m doing this?”

As Dawson was speaking a mother approached him with her 4-year old daughter.  “My child just loves you Elmo.  Can she tickle you?” Dawson looked up at the pair with an air of resignation.  “Yeah sure, get it over with kid.”

The child squeezed Elmo once and stood back, waiting for Elmo’s trademark laugh.  Dawson looked at the kid and slowly, sarcastically gave a drawn out “Ha…………ha……..ha.  There.  Are you satisfied you brat?”  The child started to cry as her mother comforted her.

Dawson drank from his flask and  looked at the child.  “Hey kid.”  The child stopped crying and approached Elmo, perhaps looking for approbation from her idol.

“Hey kid” he repeated.  “Your mother’s a MILF.   Yeah, I’d do her.”

As the child burst into a renewed round of crying the mother picked up her kid and scolded Dawson.  “I hope you can live with yourself you monster!” before walking away.

“Whatever.  Hey I make more in a week than you do all year lady!  I hate these malls.  I hate these personal appearances.”

Dawson stood up and shouted to the crowd of kids.  “Hey, you kids want to see Elmo shake?  Do you?  Take away my booze.  Then you’ll really see me shake.”

As he was in danger of starting a riot, I suggested we take a walk around the parking lot.  Dawson held onto me for support as we dodged in and out of cars.

“I never should have signed that goddamn contract.  I sold my soul for some money.  I could be doing Shakespeare now.   But no.  I’ll forever be Tickle me F—ing Elmo.”

We sat down on a curb.  Dawson pulled out his cigarettes and offered me one.   We smoked for a couple minutes as we watched mothers and their children enter the mall.

“My contract’s up in a year.  Maybe I’ll take the money and run……start a theater company in Montana….do the classics….. Aeschylus…..Aristophanes…..Eugene O’Neill…..yeah, that’s what I’m going to do.”

Dawson didn’t seem to be speaking to anyone in particular as he took another drink from his flask.  I suggested that he might want to go easy on that.

“Doesn’t matter anymore.  My liver is shot.  Every time these kids tickle me I almost pass out from the pain. And now they want to expand the Elmo brand?  Extreme Elmo?  Did you hear about this shit?”

I told him I hadn’t.

 ”Now everytime a kid hugs me they want me to roll around on the floor laughing and smashing my fist on the ground.  Who am I?  Shatner?”

It was then that he cried “Oh god” and leaned forward, vomiting on the sidewalk.  A mother and her son happened to walk by at this moment.  She shook her head disapprovingly as her child said “Mommy, why is Elmo throwing up?  Is he sick?”

When it appeared that the vomiting had ceased I helped Dawson back onto his feet.  He steadied himself and then looked at me.

“I might as well man up and go back inside.  Do you know the only good thing about these personal appearances?  The MILFs.  Maybe I can get some action today.  If not…..”  his voice trailed off.  He was silent for a minute.  “I guess there’s always prostitutes” he said.

I agreed and watched him walk back into the mall, just another disgruntled mascot surrounded by his fans.

“Thou shalt findest a park in the Bronx useth by the working  class residents thereof;  Thall shalt condemn thy park and buildeth a baseball stadium which thou shalt calleth “Thy New Yankee Stadium” and thou shalt watcheth as baseballs fly outeth of park.  Thy fans shall rejoice exceedingly.”

1 Manhattan Infidel 3.15

So today I went to Yankee Stadium to see the Yankees play the Baltimore “Yeah, we suck.  We know it” Orioles.  I got there early to take a walk throughout the new stadium.  Note to civil rights lawyers:  Why do the fans in the box seats have a much larger selection of beers to choose from than the denizens of the bleachers?

The mysterious and often commented upon winds of the new stadium were in full evidence.  I think this explains the presence of the 1000 grates of steel all over the stadium:  they prevent unsuspecting fans from being lifted off into the jet stream never to be seen again.  You’d think that because the new stadium is just across the street from the old one nothing dramatic would change.  I guess it’s a mystery only solved by faith or the writers of “Lost.”

Anyway onto the game.  The Yankees hot on the heels of a 6-game winning streak put CC “I ate my initials” Sabathia on the mound.  CC was dominant pitching 7 innings and giving up 3 hits and 1 run while striking out 7.  Out of shape men throughout the tri-state area took comfort and burned their gym memberships.

The game was a pitcher’s duel through the first 6 1/2 inning as the Yankees held to a precarious 2-1 lead. However, in the 7th the Yankees (aka “The Forces of Truth and Justice and the American Way”) blew the game open, scoring 7 runs on 6 hits.  Hideki “The ever moving mole on my face” Matsui led off and grounded out to 1st.   Then Nick “Traded by July” Swisher and Robinson “Brain lock” Cano had back-to-back walks.  Melky “Got melk?” Cabrera singled followed by a Francisco “Venezuela been very good to me” Cervelli fielder’s choice.  Derek “Past my prime but still beloved” Jeter doubled, Johnny “Invincible hair” Damon singled and Mark “Sold my soul” Teixeira homered into a friendly jet stream.

Final score:  Yankees 9 Orioles 1.

Highlights:

I have put ads on my blog.  For some reason Google insists on prominently displaying ads for “Red Sox tickets.”  I have decided to hunt down Google executives and use enhanced interrogation techniques until they stop this.

There seems to be a competition among Yankee outfielders as to who can get the most cheers from the bleacher creatures during the roll call.  Johnny Damon was the favorite as he would get down on one knee and point to the fans when his name was called.  Nick Swisher upped the ante by turning and saluting the fans as his name is called.   Not to be outdone, centerfielder Melky Cabrera actually donned a surgical mask and assisted a pregnant woman with a caesarean.

Best heckle of the night:  Maybe the new stadium isn’t conducive to witty heckles but tonight the best heckle was the tried and true “show us your tits” directed towards a comely young thing in the box seats. Unfortunately, Oriole right fielder Nick Markakis thought we meant him and turned around and showed us his mammalian proturberances. The bleacher creatures were not amused.

Home runs:  Mark Teixeira and Alex Rodriguez (who just missed a second home run  in the 8th that landed just short of the centerfield wall.)

Reader mail:  H.S. of Queens New York but formerly of Albania writes, “I like the Mets.  Is this normal?”   No.  Definately not.  Get yourself checked out.  Now.  Before it’s too late.

J.B. of Chicago, Illinois writes “For the last time, I hate baseball.  Stop sending me updates on the Yankees.”  I suspect J.B. is a Met fan.

T.S. of Long Island City writes “As a struggling cuban-american artist with a profound love of baseball I find that my financial situation often finds me unable to watch baseball.  What can I do to rectify this?”   That’s simple:  Prostitution.

Anyway, my record this year stands at 2-1.  My next Yankee game will be Monday June 8th against the Tampa Bay “We were good last year” Rays.  Go Yankees!

In shocking news today the beloved Geico gecko, long know for his advocacy of car insurance, was captured and sadistically, ritually tortured before finally being killed by a house cat.

Sources say that around 2:25 this afternoon as he was driving his car the gecko stopped and rang the doorbell of Mrs. Wanda Simmons, 75, a local widow who is known to harbor a feline killing machine called “Mr. Peebles”.  The gecko waved at curious neighbors and said “I want to talk about car insurance”.

As the door opened the gecko introduced himself to Mrs. Simmons and proceeded to expound on the many benefits of owning a particular brand of car insurance.  Suddenly Mr. Peebles emerged from the bushes, meowed menacingly at the gecko and with a quick swipe of his paw grabbed him and placed him in his mouth.  Neighbors gasped in horror as one of the gecko’s tiny arms hung outside. Witnesses say it appeared as if he was trying to punch Mr. Peebles in an attempt to distract the cat and have the killing machine release him.

Mrs. Simmons grabbed her cat by the scruff of the neck and said “Bad Mr. Peebles!”.  Mr. Peebles spit out the gecko and it seemed that the crisis had passed.  This hope proved premature.  After admonishing her cat to “play nice with the lovely gecko” Mrs. Simmons turned and walked back into the house and shut the door before the Geico Spokesperson had a chance to follow her in.  “I don’t know why she did that.  She’s very old. Perhaps she simply forgot about him” said a neighbor.  Whatever her reasons, it was too late for the gecko.  He turned and faced his tormentor, fear frozen on his face.  He attempted to make a quick dash to his car but was soon captured.  Mr. Peebles grabbed him again and placed him in his mouth, then took a leisurely stroll around the front yard.  He then spit him out and pawed him for awhile.  “That sadistic killer was toying with him” declared another neighbor.

The gecko, stunned, injured but still alive lay on the ground moaning.  Mr. Peebles stared intently at his prey.  Then he sprung into action, grabbed him and tore into the unfortunate gecko with his sharp teeth.  Neighbors looked on in horror as the gecko screamed “He’s eating me alive. Will someone help me?  I can feel my flesh being torn off my body”.

Then with one final bite Mr. Peebles tore the gecko in two.  He ate half of him before appearing to become bored, licking himself for several minutes and strolling away.

Police were called and immediately started searching the neighborhood for the brutal killer.   “We located Mr. Peebles sitting on top of a tool shed in the back yard.  He was sunning himself and appeared untroubled by his crime” said Officer Brophy.  “I approached with extreme caution hoping to apprehend the suspect.  He spotted me, hissed and attempted to flee when I maced him.  This temporarily disabled him.  I then placed cat handcuffs upon him and read him his rights.”

Ted Ward, Geico Vice President of Marketing, when informed of the gecko’s death released a statement that said “We at Geico are saddened and shocked by the brutal, violent death of our spokesperson.  He was a gentle soul who only wanted to sell affordable car insurance.  He felt by doing this he was helping improve the lives of working people”.

Geico plans to memorialize the fallen gecko by lowering insurance rates for first time car owners.  “He would have wanted it that way” said Ward.

With the Fred Flintstone murder trial weeks away, the City of Bedrock is bitterly divided.  What was once a simple murder trial has become a mirror into the attitudes of Bedrockians.  And, it seems, there are two Bedrocks:  One cro-magnon and one neanderthal.

Fred Flintstone is a neanderthal, born of a neanderthal family that had emigrated into Bedrock in search of work.  Wilma Flintstone was born of a line of prominent cro-magnons.  The two met in college where Wilma was studying law and Fred was attending on a football scholarship.  The pair fell and love and over the objections of Wilma’s father got married.

The marriage of a neanderthal to a cro-magon, while not against the law, was frowned upon as breaking tradition and a threat to the social order.  “Obviously there were concerns in Wilma’s family.  But after seeing Fred on the football field she was smitten” says a family friend. Many feel that Flintstone was tolerated by the Slaghoople family only because of the potential millions Flintstone would make as a professional football player.  “That’s always been the story.  If we can make money the ‘Cros’ will tolerate us.  If not we  are shunned” according to a prominent Bedrock neanderthal community organizer.  Any hope of millions however was dashed when Flintstone blew his knee out at a pro combine.   Flintstone was reduced to working at the Slate Gravel Company in Bedrock.

It was then that the troubles began in the marriage.  “Once Wilma realized she would not be the glamorous wife of a glamorous athlete the scales fell from her eyes” according to a reporter for the Bedrock Times who has been covering the murder.  “She became dissatisfied with Fred’s position in life and his insatiable physical sexuality that left her worn out and aged past her years.  Fred would come home from work and without even a greeting would take her into the bedroom and force himself on her.  Neighbors grew concerned and often heard her moan ‘No Fred….No.  Not now.  I’m tired.’ “

Such claims are controversial downtown in the heart of the neanderthal community.  “That’s a racist slur that works to the worst stereotype of neanderthal men.  The ‘cros’  are always afraid that we are after their women.  We have more important concerns, like getting jobs and social justice” said a neanderthal councilman.  “They don’t know us and they fear us.  How many cro-magnons come downtown to neanderthalville? How many neanderthals can afford to live uptown with the cro-magnons?  Even if we could they wouldn’t want us up there.  They only want to see us if we are their cooks or maids.”

Conversely, many in the Bedrock cro-magnon community have little sympathy for Wilma.  “If you marry one of them, well, what do you expect?” said one Bedrockian.  In Bedrock hospital where Wilma recovered from her bullet wounds she was shunned by the cro-magnon staff.  Even the few neanderthals on the staff had unkind words for her.  “She took away one of our men” declared a neanderthal maid.

It seems no matter what part of town one lives in, the Fred Flintstone murder trial evokes strong emotion.

(To be continued)

A recent study of children raised on Mars has come to the conclusion that it is no place to raise a kid.   The isolated conditions, cold climate and lack of creature comforts have lead to an astonishing juvenile delinquency rate.  Studies have found that 45% of children from Mars go on to commit robbery, rape or murder.  Of those committing murder or other violent crimes a shocking 73% went on to play in the NFL.  The other 27% either died at hands of Martian Warlords or ended up as Principals in inner city schools.

“It’s no wonder Earthlings have such a bad reputation on Mars” declared Marvin the Martian.  “This used to be a good neighborhood until the humans moved in.”

With a median temperature of 32 degrees fahrenheit during summer and minus 100 degrees during winter children often have no opportunity for healthy social interaction.  Most of their time is spent indoors complaining about how Mars is “cold as hell” and watching reruns of American Idol.  There is little adult supervision of children on Mars as the parents are often busy 5 days a week flying rockets.  As a result youth gangs are rampant.  The most notorious  gang, “The Humans” would attack native martians with baseball bats.  At first, the martians thought this was an Earth greeting  and would volunteer to be bashed.  “We thought we were being good neighbors” says one martian.  “How were we to know they were just a–holes”.  A rival gang to “The Humans”, the “Predator Catchers” would attack martians by posing as 13 year old girls and offering iced tea and cookies.  Still another gang, “The Ralph Kramdens” would terrorize martians by threatening to beat them senseless and send them “straight to the moon.”  “The Putins” would stab martians with umbrellas laced with poison and “The Contractors” would offer to fix the computers of martians but then transfer their calls to a help desk in India.

Many martians, fed up with the violence but morally opposed to retribution would hire mercenaries to attack the humans.  One such notorious mercenary, Duck Dodgers promised to destroy the humans with his famous disintegration gun, telling his employers that when his “gun disintegrates, boy it disintregrates!”  Mr. Dodgers proved unsuccessful and later moved on to fight teen gangs on Jupiter.

However, hope may be on the way for the human youth on Mars.  A stimulus package was approved in the Senate that promises to create thousands of “green” jobs on the red planet.  Martians may soon have to get used to the sight of windmill farms manned by former gang members.  “I guess that’s better than being beaten with a baseball bat” said one martian.