Apparently, in a televised press conference, President Bush noted that the United States of America was set to “invade and bomb The Rock,” instead of Iraq.

“This was just a spelling error. Whomever’s job it was to load the teleprompter should have used the spell check feature,” said Gail Belle, spokesperson for the White House.

The WWE, however, doesn’t believe the White House at all.

“This is just a way the President is trying to increase his popularity with younger voters,” commented Vince McMahon, owner of the WWE. “But I’ll make my message loud and clear, if the White House wants to bomb The Rock, they’re going to have to do it live on pay-per-view,” continued McMahon.

President Bush insists the United States do not want to invade and bomb The Rock. “I like The Rock, especially in that movie the Scorpion King. He doesn’t have the oil we (Republicans) want to make us even more wealthy,” said the President.

A written letter to the WWE reiterates its intentions to go to war with Iraq, and not The Rock. “There is no benefit in bombing The Rock. Our interest is with Saddam Hussein, the man George Bush Sr. did not take out when he was in office due to the huge stake the Bush’s have in the oil industry. If we have caused any tension between the WWE and the White House, we are sorry.”

Fans of the WWE support the wrestling organization by setting up a website opposing the war on Iraq, The Rock, or anyone else that goes away from World peace.

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I admit it, I am not the easiest person to shop for. Since the age of four when I lambasted my mother for buying me the 24 count box of Crayolas instead of the designer, neon, 64 count with built in sharpener, shopping for me has been a challenge. As I grew, I made holiday shopping easier for my loved ones by providing them with not only a detailed description of my desires, but the store address where they could be purchased and the SKU number on the price tag. And while it did not allow for many surprises — wait, there was that year when they gave me a Gift Certificate for Gas Struts for my car — it did insure both a happy giver and a satisfied receiver.

When it comes to Valentine’s Day, I have probably been the hardest person to shop for…until this year that is. This year I know exactly what I want. Flowers? Candy? Jewelry? Not even close. Flowers die within a week. I’d rather receive a bouquet of dollar bills. Heart shaped boxes of candy always contain at least twenty pieces I squish open in search of caramel, only to be disappointed by nondescript nougat. And jewelry? Sorry, but that diamond tiara just doesn’t go with my Mommy wardrobe of sweatpants and that Hope diamond necklace would just get in the way when I wash the dishes.

No, this year I want the pinnacle of pampering. This year I want the mother of all indulgences. This year I want to boldly go where no man in his right mind would want to go. This year I want a trip to the new Chocolate Spa in Hershey, Pennsylvania!

If you have not heard about this place, pull up a Reese’s Cup and I’ll fill you in. Nestled, no, not Nestle’d, nestled in the hills of Pennsylvania is the town of Hershey. Birthplace of a chocolate conglomerate and home of a glorious lodge and entertainment mecca, they have now pushed the boundaries of cocoa. A complete Spa dedicated to the aromas, the sensual pleasures and believe it or not, the therapeutic benefits of chocolate.

Therapeutic? Yes, we all know how therapeutic a handful of Kisses can be in the midst of a PMS meltdown, but did you know that soaking in a Whipped Chocolate Bath can moisturize your skin and relieve stress? What about a Chocolate Fondue Wrap to release toxins or Chocolate Mud Hydrotherapy to stimulate and rejuvenate? Personally, I can think of nothing more decadent or divine than being slathered with chocolate mud, wrapped in silver foil and left to melt like a Kiss in the sunshine. Well, maybe a glass of cold milk and a straw…you know how chocolate makes you crave milk.

Ever since hearing about this spa I have fantasized about being a human chocolate chip. Daydreamed that I’m a marshmallow floating in a sea of hot chocolate. Envisioned myself a caramel encased in a fondue wrap. In the grocery store I actually reached out and feeling a special kinship, stroked a Kit Kat bar.

Do I think I will actually receive this incredible gift for Valentine’s Day? Of course not. Aside from being incredibly expensive, there is no way my three children will ever allow me to be surrounded by an abundance of cocoa products without their intense participation. No, this Valentine’s I shall once again make do with the homemade cards, grocery store roses and requisite Whitman’s sampler. But when they are all tucked into bed and my darling husband is watching yet another basketball game, I shall lock myself in my bathroom, fill the tub with hot water and dump in a canister of Swiss Miss Instant Cocoa.

Heck, I may even treat myself and get the kind with those dehydrated mini-marshmallows. After all, it is Valentine’s Day.

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Take any situation and just look around you – rarely, if ever, will you see a truly equal relationship, and by that I mean one where the man and woman genuinelydeserve each other. When was the last time you saw the sweet, attractive girl walking around with the nurturing, sensitive (and gorgeously handsome) man? Unless she just happened to be there collecting her child support, I’d guess not too many! Nope, instead this beautiful doll of a woman is roaming around with the scum from the bottom of the bucket – a guy who never listens to her, maybe even knocks her around every once in a while, and basically treats her like garbage…but she hangs around anyways.

If there were any justice in the world, he’d have ended up with the woman who rarely comes home before dawn more than three days a week, drinks herself to sleep those nights that she is home, and couldn’t hold a steady job to save her life, but no, no – guess who ends up with that one?! That’s right, while the good girl is off mopping up beer and chips after her boyfriend’s rowdy poker game, the good guy sits at home watching Leno, wondering which bars his girlfriend is hitting up tonight with her own drinking buddies. Two individuals whom anyone with half a brain would think were made for one another, yet they both chose their respective paths themselves – one probably out of sheer desperation and the other, well, we don’t actually know why the other chose her path, but damn it – that’s what we’re here to try to figure out in the first place!

So that’s the question at hand – Why do perfectly decent women choose to be with jerks? I’m sure that better men have psychoanalyzed this very same question, although maybe not after as many drinks as I’ve had, so just hear me out for the next few minutes. Unfortunately, this Buddhist-like question, very similar to “Why is the Earth round?” or “Why do hotdogs come in packages of ten, while hotdog buns come in packages of eight???” simply doesn’t have one definite answer, so I’ve taken the liberty of dividing my time amongst the following three theories, each just a little bit zanier than the one before…

1. Women are Idiots

Now don’t get me wrong, men are most certainly idiots, too (Wiener-Mobile, anyone?), but for the purposes of this theory, let’s just forget everything we already know about the ignorance of the human population as a whole and focus on the fairer sex for just a moment. How does that old saying go again? “Never trust anything that shops for three days and doesn’t die…” or something like that!From the perspective of a nice, wholesome guy looking in, the entire scenario just doesn’t make any sense:

Woman wakes up and proceeds to spend countless hours primping and preparing for another night on the town.
Woman arrives at bar where she is immediately considered as prey by ever drunk and horny man within 6.2 miles.
Man approaches woman, buys her several drinks, “dances” with her and ends up taking her home at the end of the night.
Man has sex with woman…twice!
Woman, realizing that man is a complete and total scumbag, hails a cab home and cries herself to sleep that night.
Woman wakes up and proceeds to spend countless hours primping and preparing for another night on the town…

So basically the only take on this that I can manage to figure out is that in order to find a woman, one must reduce his own level down to that of a pedophilistic, drunken tree slug, and since the majority of guys that are already at this level, the ladies aren’t bright enough to keep looking until they find something a little higher up the evolutionary ladder and simply default to sleeping with whatever slithers her way. You might say that it’s not the woman’s fault if the guy’s a jerk, but if he’s a jerk, then why does she sleep with him in the first place?! I suppose it could be any combination of denial, sexual deprivation, or ever-thriving hope that there might really be an angel somewhere underneath the cutoffs and tattoos, but frankly I ain’t buying it. When all is said and done, if you can’t tell the difference between a sadistic coke-head looking for a quick screw and the man you slept with last night, you’re an idiot.They say that ignorance is bliss? Touche.

2. The Gripes of Wrath

I think that if I had to do the math, I could honestly say that out of all of the women whom I have ever known, probably all but three have taken some sort of personal joy out of complaining…bitching and moaning…playing the role as the belligerent shrew-beast…feel free to choose whichever terms strike your fancy the most. (…wait, make that four – there was that one girl back in ’98…but I somehow managed to lose her phone number…idiot!) I used to simply blame it on PMS, but after still leaving the other twenty-eight days unaccountable, I knew that there had to be another explanation…I have yet to actually find this explanation, but nevertheless it does help to lead us towards a solution for the task at hand – if a woman were to simply date a decent guy that’s right for her, she wouldn’t have anything to complain about! Yeah, I’m sure the occasional dishes or garbage or drop-dead gorgeous secretary with the dynamite ass that’s everything she’ll never be would come up, but those alone couldn’t possibly be enough to fill her daily quota so instead of risking the need to outsource the leftover reticule, it’s just easier for her to date a man whose bound to give her plenty to complain about! I know, it sounds a bit odd, but I never said that this was going to make any sense, now did I?

3. Fuck It – Who Wants Pie?

There are some mysteries of the universe that we’re just better off not knowing the answers to and as much as I hate to admit it, my friends, I think that this may very well be one of them! Sure, I could rack my brains day and night in search of the solution to eternal happiness; I could even establish monthly focus groups, gathering hundreds and hundreds of people in hopes of collectively uncovering the truth…and you thought that the Million Man March looked impressive! Nevertheless, when it’s all over we’ll still no doubt come up a day late or a dollar short, so maybe we’re simply better off skipping the small talk and jumping straight to dessert.

It would be safe to say that we could probably file this one away with the legend of the Bermuda Triangle, the secret ingredient in that cheesy-garlic bread at Red Lobster, and how The Anna Nicole Show ever made it on the air in the first place as yet another perpetually-unsolved mystery of modern society. I guess the only advice I can truly give to my fellow men on this Valentine’s Day would be that if somehow you have managed to find a woman who completely contradicts everything I’ve just covered, for God’s sake hold on to her and don’t let her out of your sight! Seriously, use ropes or chains if you have to because I’ll guarantee you that there’s a line of decent guys waiting a mile long to take advantage of the first time you drop the ball…

I know this because I’m one of them and I’m getting damn close to the front of the line by now! Just something to keep in mind…Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

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If only it were as easy as waving a magic wand to make things disappear. Whether it’s telemarketers, people who drive slow in the left lane, or that obnoxious teenager blasting his car stereo, we’d all like to wave a little stick and — *ZAP!* — make these annoyances vanish from our lives forever, like this:

Well-meaning adult: You know, young man, if you play your stereo too loud, you could permanently damage your hearing.Obnoxious teenage slacker: Bite me, you old geezer!

Well-meaning adult: *ZAP!* Wow, this Magic Zapper sure comes in handy. Now where’s my brother-in-law?

Or like this:

IRS Agent: Well, Mr. Johnson, although we’re 99 percent sure it’s our error, we’re not going to grant your tax refund. In fact, we’re going to audit you, take away your house, and put you in jail.Innocent taxpayer: *ZAP!* Thanks, Magic Zapper.

Of course, we all know this is impossible, and that magic wands aren’t real.

Okay, maybe not all of us. Joann Zansky of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania thought it could happen.

She bought three magic wands — for $1800 each — from a self-described psychic (Official motto: “Look at me, I’m a psychic!”) who said the wands would erase Zansky’s negative thoughts. Instead, all it did was make her money disappear, and magically make her the topic of several humor columns and late-night talk show jokes.

According to an Associated Press story, Zansky contacted Bethlehem police “…after she became suspicious about the effectiveness of the wands.”

Exactly when did Zansky become “suspicious” that the wands were fake? Was it when the psychic told her a stick would erase negative thoughts? Maybe it was when she said that one wasn’t enough, and that Zansky actually needed three. Or was it when she charged $1800 per stick? Or was it when Zansky finally realized a bottle of whiskey would have been more effective. And a lot cheaper.

But the funniest part of the story is that Zansky only became “suspicious,” instead of coming to an all-out realization that she had been duped. I can only imagine the call she made to report her “suspicions.”

911 Operator: Nine-one-one. What’s the emergency?

Zansky: I think my wands are fake.

911 Operator: I’m sorry, did you say “wands?”

Zansky: Yes, I did. I bought some magic wands for $5400 from a psychic. She said the wands would make my negative thoughts disappear. But they didn’t work, because I’ve had negative thoughts about her, politicians, and my 7th grade English teacher. But mostly her.

911 Operator: *ZAP!* Thanks, Magic Zapper!

Actually, instead of zapping Zansky, Lt. Robert Righi of the Bethlehem Police told the Associated Press they were investigating the charges, and said it could be “…some violation of consumer fraud.” He then pointed to his forehead and made a “DUH” face.

So what did these wands look like? For $1800, they’d better diamond-studded sticks made of gold that also operates my television. But my guess is they were nothing more than glitter-painted dowel rods with plastic stars on the end.

Zansky: That looks like a plastic star.

Psychic: No, that’s not plastic. It’s made of moronite. It’s a precious compound, found in the energy-filled mines below Stonehenge. It channels the cosmic energies of the universe to erase your negative thoughts.

Zansky: It says it was made in China.

Psychic: Quick, wave the wand and have a drink of whisk– uh this magic potion.

As of last Wednesday, no charges have been filed against the unnamed psychic. However, one would assume she already knows what’s going to happen, and has already channeled a good lawyer to defend her.

Understandably, Zansky says there was a very good reason she was duped.

“She was a terrific actress,” she said of the pshady psychic.

Actually, the psychic’s acting abilities had nothing to do with it. It’s because you a) believed in someone who probably had a big neon hand on the front of her house, and b) honestly thought that waving a stick around like a kid with a Fourth of July sparkler would get rid of your negative thoughts. How stupid can you get?

Everyone knows you can only dispel negative thoughts by placing crystals on your forehead while you sleep.

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Valentine’s Day, the Sweetest Day, Christmas, etc. are the absolute worst days for men. For women though, it’s a dream.

For hundreds of years, women have always claimed that they’re not materialistic. In reality, that’s all they are (NOTE: I am not referring to all women, just “all” women). If a woman doesn’t get some ravishing gift for one of the aforementioned days, a man can bet he will be calling the couch ‘bed’ for the next several weeks.

So what’s a man to do? Good question. Fortunately, there are alternatives.

The first one is simple: A man can test his significant other’s theory, the ‘I don’t care about materialistic things,’ by making her gift. That’s right, put all those art classes and creative writing skills you learned in grammar school to good use. Break out that construction paper and plastic safety scissors and get to work. Also, don’t forget the Elmer’s glue and crayons because you have a lot ahead of you. Remember, time is money, which is a good excuse to use if your spouse shows that look of disappointment. If this doesn’t work, tell her, “It’s the thought that counts.” This last statement usually does the trick, but sometimes it triggers a response like, “Think again.”

Second: Test your loved one’s non-materialistic views by giving her a lint remover, a toothbrush, or an empty notebook where she can write down her thoughts and feelings. By doing this, men are telling women, “If you really love me, you’ll accept this blue toothbrush with the bristles that fight tartar.” They can use it with the tartar control toothpaste, whatever that is, and if she isn’t materialistic, she’ll be grateful.

Or third: Men can do what I do. Now this may give you a reputation of being an unsteady man that can’t hold a girlfriend, something that women have said about me (I go out and listen to people talk about their lives and relationships).

Of course, men should only use this method if the first ones are absolutely not working. So don’t use this unless it’s necessary. When is it necessary? If you are unsure, email me at: Jason.Tanamor@JustLaugh.com and tell me your situation. In the subject line, please put “Help me!” so I know which email NOT to open.

What I like to do is break up with women days before Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and any other day I have to break out my credit card. Now I know what you’re thinking, what a jerk. And that’s fine, because I still have my health.

Since a lot of these days are close together, I find myself single for most of the year. I used to be upset by this, but I realize, the stage I am in my life, it’s so much easier being single.

Because, you see, I used to be plural. There was a time when I would walk around and say things like, “We are going out here tonight,” and “We might stop out.”

The problem was, I was always by myself. People I told this to thought I was crazy, which was the reason I decided to go back to being single again. Now, whenever people approach me, I say things like, “I’m going out here tonight,” and “I might stop out.” And now it just makes much more sense.

This exactly isn’t the most practical method. So hopefully it won’t have to come down to this. But if it does, and she’s still not convinced, there’s always room for expensive gifts, fancy restaurants, and romantic evenings that will once again prove that all women wear the pants in the relationship.

As for me, I usually end up looking at myself in the mirror and saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jason.” And as pathetic as this may seem, I am happy to be a person not victim to the brash reality of the materialistic society we live and breathe in, knowing deep down that it’s what’s in the inside that counts, and not the inside of a man’s wallet. So for all you materialistic women out there, just remember one thing, if your boyfriend or husband tells you that he’s out with the guys, you better drive by the strip clubs, because as I mentioned before, I go out and listen to people talk about their lives and relationships. And at times, I put dollars in front of those guys.

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