PRESCRIPTION DRUG DREAMS Due to a semi-serious infection, yer old pal Jerky has been prescribed an antibiotic that goes by the name of Novo-Norfloxacin. While reading the little information pamphlet that the pharmacy shoved into the bag with my drugs, I noticed with some amusement that one of the listed side-effects -- right there between “drying of the sinuses” and “peeling of the skin” -- was “disturbing dreams”. Well, my sinuses didn't dry out, nor did my skin peel off, but I sure as fuck got the disturbing dreams. I’ve been on this drug for three nights now, and these are the dreams I’ve had so far. Night One: I am backstage at a late-night comedy/variety TV show in the Letterman/Daily Show vein. I am involved, somehow, in this production. Perhaps I am a writer, or maybe even the host. The people around me are behaving as though I am the boss; not kowtowing, but filling me in, keeping me updated. Everybody is excited and running around because none other than Pamela Anderson is a guest on that evening’s show. Pam shows up, dressed in a leather and lace get-up, and the office is thrown into happy chaos. She is very nice to everyone, very sweet. Everybody is getting ready for the show, so people start moving from the office to the studio. Soon, it’s just me and Pamela. She’s drinking cooler water from a paper cup. We haven’t spoken yet. I invite her to accompany me to the studio by way of the elevator. She begins absent-mindedly chattering about something or other as I enter the elevator and push the “open door” button. She clip-clops on high heels towards me. As she steps into the elevator, I push at the floor with my feet, like a snowboarder, exposing the empty shaft below. Pamela, caught by surprise, steps into the void. Her wide open eyes stare down with shocked surprise and I note in passing that her hair, stiff with spray, barely moves. As the floor settles back into place beneath my feet, I hear her initial squeal of disbelief replaced by a rapidly receding scream of horror. As the elevator begins moving up to the studio, I am seized by an overwhelming sense of guilt and grief. “My God!” I think to myself. “Why did I do that?! What do I do now?!” And then I woke up. Night Two: I am going on some sort of voyage with a group of friends, family members and former classmates. A crowd has gathered outside an office building in an unfamiliar city, in the middle of the night. The street is quiet as we load the bus with our baggage. We set off. Some stuff happens on the bus, but I don’t remember much of it. Our destination is an old fort or castle in a hot and mountainous terrain that is completely unfamiliar to me. I spend most of my time looking over a beautiful valley from a parapet. The sun is boiling down on us from a deep blue sky. Later, we return to the city. It’s late in the day, and I enter a small apartment. There, my mother and some of her sisters are sitting on the balcony, chatting. I listen for a while, and they get up and leave, one by one. I sit on the balcony. A female cousin joins me on the balcony and beckons me inside. We go to her bedroom, illuminated only by dim sunset through half-drawn curtains. She briefly performs lazy, uninspired fellatio on my impossibly huge penis. I attempt to return the oral favor, but the look in her eyes as she stares down at me from between her upturned thighs fills me with sadness. I stop licking her meaty, unwashed vulva, and we just kind of look at each other, bored and annoyed. And then I woke up. Night Three: Last night's dream was relatively banal compared to the other two, featuring neither murder nor incest. It was probably inspired by this creepy video I watched just before going to sleep, which purports to show Champ, the lake monster allegedly living in Lake Champlain, swimming just below the surface. It involved an infestation of scaly, hairless Tribble-type things in the woods surrounding my home town. These alien eggs were growing into pale, spiky, salamander-like creatures and attacking people. A friend and I set out in his 4x4 Toyota to collect the eggs before they hatched. There was a lot of driving down logging roads and through muddy riverbeds and shoveling soccer ball-sized blobs of pink, leathery flesh into bonfires. And then I woke up. Godzilla help me, I've got another seven days of this perscription to get through. Send all Jokes, Letters and other stuff to Jerky: jerkyleboeuf@gmail.com

THEY SAID IT! "The more people learn about the transaction that has been scrutinized and approved by my government, the more they'll be comforted." - Didja catch that, folks? It isn't Preznit Dubya's administration anymore, it's his GOVERNMENT now. I agree with Marty Kaplan when he says this isn't a Freudian slip; it's an Orwellian siren. *** **** *** "This deal wouldn't go forward if we were concerned about the security of the United States of America." - No shit, Sherlock. That's why everybody is getting together to stop it dead in its tracks. ON THIS DAY February 21 On this day in 1828, the first American Indian newspaper debuts. A weekly, Georgia's Cherokee Phoenix is mostly remembered for its boring comics page, which consisted exclusively of stick figure men chucking spears at crudely drawn buffalo. On this day in 1885, the Washington Monument is penetrated-I mean dedicated, in Washington DC. On this day in 1887, the first US bacteriology laboratory opens in Brooklyn, New York. Bacteriological research ensues. On this day in 1947, inventor E.H. Land demonstrates the first ever "instant developing" camera in New York. Later that afternoon, the first ever "Beaver Hunt" begins. On this day in 1991, the USSR announces that Iraq has agreed to a proposal to end the Gulf War. The USG calls the plan unacceptable, because they hadn't killed enough beige people yet. One year and one day ago, today:

JOKES! Today's first joke was sent in by Ralston! Gallagher opened the morning newspaper and was dumbfounded to read in the obituary column that he had died. He quickly phoned his best friend Finney. "Did you see the paper?" asked Gallagher. "They say I died!" "Yes, I saw it!" replied Finney. "Where are ye callin' from?" *** *** *** Thanks to our old pal David for sending in today's second joke. A Cajun man wants a job, but the foreman won't hire him until he passes a little math test. "Here is your first question, the foreman said. "Without using numbers, represent the number 9." "Without numbers?" The Cajun says, "Dat is easy." And proceeds to draw three trees. "What's this?" the boss asks? "Ave you got no brain? Tree and tree and tree make nine," says the Cajun. "Fair enough," says the boss. "Here's your second question. Use the same rules, but this time the number is 99." The Cajun stares into space for a while, then picks up the picture that he has just drawn and makes a smudge on each tree. "Ere you go." The boss scratches his head and says, "How on earth do you get that to represent 99?" "Each of da trees is dirty now. So, it's dirty tree, and dirty tree, and dirty tree. Dat is 99." The boss is getting worried that he's going to actually have to hire this Cajun, so he says, "All right, last question. Same rules again, but represent the number 100." The Cajun stares into space some more, then he picks up the picture again and makes a little mark at the base of each tree and says, "Ere you go. One hundred." The boss looks at the attempt. "You must be nuts if you think that represents a hundred!" The Cajun leans forward and points to the marks at the base of each tree and says, "A little dog come along and crap by each tree. So now you got dirty tree and a turd, dirty tree and a turd, and dirty tree and a turd, which makes one hundred. So, when I start?" WORST JOKE OF THE DAY Today's groaner was sent in by McTubers... Q: What do you call a Mexican without a lawnmower? A: Unemployed.

READER'S SOAPBOX! Got a gripe? Pet peeve? Have your say in the Daily Dirt! Columns can pretty much be about anything, as long they meet the following criteria: 1) don't write shit that'll get us in trouble. 2) Keep it interesting. 3) Keep it short. 4) We don't edit your mistakes. Oh yeah! feel free to send a picture of yourself if you want. TOPIC: MORE ON CHENEY'S GUN care of: An Old Marine J-man; Hope all is well with you and yours. Hugs and kisses, etc. I have been in the presence of firearms and the manly men who use them almost all of my life, at least so far. I even own a few myself. All of the free advice you have received over the past several days addressing the merits of various calibers and gauges and types of shootin' irons has stimulated my own thinker on the topic. Harry was struck by pellets that were fired from a 28 gauge shotgun, wielded at the time by Big Dick Cheney, our very own Vice-President of these here United States of America. The blast knocked Harry on his ass. Several pellets in the load of bird shot that struck Harry penetrated meaty tissues in his body, to the extent that at least one pellet came to rest near his heart. These, at least, are what have been reported as undisputed facts regarding the incident in question. Okay so far. Every serious blue-collar bird hunter knows that a 20 gauge shotgun is what a fellow really needs, if he wants to bring birds home for supper. The 28 gauge is an antique design that had far greater popularity in the British Isles than it ever had over here in 'Murka. However, it is still manufactured and for sale world wide, so far as I know. I do know that ammo for the 28 gauge is prohibitively expensive. It is an almost exotic gauge that has largely fallen out of use - mainly because its small size kills its versatility. The bore on this firearm is so small that an adult male human cannot insert the end of his ring finger into the barrel to the first knuckle. All reports that I have heard about this incident place Harry at approximately 30 yards away from the Veep. This is bullshit of the 100th magnitude. At 30 yards, the "spray" (or "pattern") of bird shot pellets would have fit inside a circle approximately four to six feet in diameter. Thirty yards is the maximum effective range for the use of this particular gauge of shotgun on small birds. In other words, at thirty yards, Cheney would have had a 50% chance of killing a quayle (sorry - I can't help myself), provided, of course, that he actually HIT the bird. Here is where I should point out that it is MUCH easier to kill a quayle than it is to kill a human being, especially with a 28 gauge shotgun. Had Harry really been 30 yards away from Cheney, a shotgun blast from a 28 gauge MIGHT have embedded a pellet or two superficially below his skin. Surely several pellets would have struck and stung him, much like the sting of the so-called "sweat bee". Perhaps even one of Harry's eyes might have been damaged. Perhaps the shock of receiving an unexpected dose of bird shot from 30 yards away might even cause his 78-year-old heart to skip a beat or two. By comparison, the only real "kill shots" that can be used against humans with a 28 gauge would be with the muzzle pressed to the flesh somewhere on the victim's head or sternum. These two points are the only ones where an instant mortal wound can be applied to an adult male human with a 28 gauge shotgun. Even then the odds are 50-50 for a kill. In order to insure that all pellets in a load of bird shot fired from a 28 gauge would penetrate the skin of an adult male human, said human would have to be no further than 15 yards (45 feet) away from the muzzle. In order for all pellets fired from said shotgun to land in a target no larger than one foot in diameter, the muzzle could be no further from the target than five yards (15 feet). From what was described by witnesses and reported by the press, Harry took the whole load of shot in one side of his face, breast, and shoulder. That area will fit inside a circle one foot in diameter, which means Harry was no further than 15 feet away from Cheney when the shot was fired. This distance is the furthest distance that will allow these tiny pellets to penetrate the meaty tissues of Harry's torso to a depth sufficient to come to rest just outside the heart. It was also reported that Harry was assing around in the grass, purportedly looking for one of the hothouse birds they were shooting. So here is what HAD to have happened... The whole damned lot of them were out there just a-blastin' away at all these birds who had just been awakened in their coops. I bet they were having a grand old time, too. And, what with them being the inconsiderate, irresponsible bunch of pricks that they really are, nary a one of them was exercising anything that would be recognized as safe hunting practices. And why would they? They ARE The Anointed, after all! Lucky Harry assles one of these critters off into some high grass, behind and to the right of Cheney about 10 or 15 feet. Harry bends down to pick up the dead quayle. Cheney hears something rustling in the grass behind him and to his right. He whips around and fires at the first thing he sees moving, which just so happens to be Harry, who is standing up to proudly display his latest kill! Harry is NOT a quayle, but he takes the full blast from Cheney's shotgun in his head and upper chest. The force of the blast knocks him on his ass. He cannot speak, because he has had his breath knocked out of him. His chest is on fire, because about 100 itty bitty pellets have just ripped through the flesh of his chest and his face. He is oozing blood, and those around him have the concerned expressions of people who have just witnessed a homicide. The entire entourage then goes into "OH SHIT - CHENEY JUST SHOT HARRY" mode. And we are shocked that Cheney doesn't want to talk about it. Harry's not talking - he knows that he just got the purplest of Purple Hearts, a real live Billion Dollar Wound. Cheney's not talking, at least not in any really meaningful way, and NOT without his attorney present! Who in the word has the right to be shocked that a super-rich, privileged frat boy, who has just shot a guy he calls a "dear friend" at near point blank range with his rich-boy-showing-off shotgun that no REAL man would deign to carry on a hunt, is doing what he does best? He is minimizing his own role in the accident, almost to the point of having Harry fall on his shotgun barrel. He is playing up his affection for Harry, while ignoring completely that such accidents only happen to the willfully reckless among us. WHAT - AN - ASSHOLE. And he's just one defibrillated heartbeat away from the Oval Office..... An Old Marine Smyrna TN [Thanks for your expert analysis, O.M. It's always appreciated. - Jerky] FIRST AMENDMENT ZONE / ASK JERKY! Jerkz; A while ago, you posted a letter from someone that displayed things actually in today's christian bible, (referencing the book and passage,) that go against everything people of that persuasion seem to be for these days, (i.e., if you run short on funds, you should sell your daughter into slavery, etc.,) I tried to find it in the archives, but I'm not having any luck. Can you give me a clue where that damn thing is? I get into many arguments about this and I need to back myself up. Thanks, dude. McTubers [I believe you're referring to the Open Letter to Doctor Laura, which is an online classic, indeed. - Jerky] *** **** *** Dearest Jerky, How does a man seperate himself from his ego? I can keep mine quiet for a while, but it always comes back snappy and clever, looking for something to overreact to. Love you bunches sugar-nuts. Sincerely, YOP Matt up in Canaduhhhhhhh [There's a trick you can do with three mirrors, but I forget the exact positioning. - Jerky] *** **** *** Hey Jerky; This guy does Dubya so well it's freaky. Andy S. [He's okay, but he doesn't have a sufficiently alcoholic slur. - Jerky] *** **** *** Jerky; I have about 45 years of hunting in my life. Has anybody looked at how close you would have to be to put 200 shot from a 28 ga. in that small of an area? I would think it would have to be very close. We have people on death row thats less guilty than these son-of-bitches. Apeman [Sure seems like it. - Jerky] *** **** *** Hey, At some point listen to a bit of Fox Sports Overnight. Un-be-fuckin'-lievable. There is but a smattering of sports talk -- 90 percent is non-stop anti-Democrat invective, yelling at them as the "party of hate", the "race-baiters", "the party of lies", going on and on about how blessed we are to have had the country and the media rescued from their grip - interesting, too, how any accusation of racial discrimination is termed "race-baiting" and "playing the race card". There is also thinly veiled contempt for blacks (unusual in a sports setting), and a constant stream of trash talking about Martin Luther King and Jesse Jackson. The weird thing is that about every third caller has a really thick black accent and gushes over how refreshing it is to hear them "tell it like it is". It's so creepy it's actually rather entertaining... ACD [FOX News and professional sports... two great hates that hate great together! - Jerky] *** **** *** Hello; I want everybody that I know, to know, how proud I am of our Bureaucratic Plan D. It has really helped me a bunch. Last year, my Asthma medication insurance premium & all ran $560.00 This year under Plan D, it will only cost me $1600.00. It saved me $1040.00 that I probably would have wasted on Propane to heat my home, or stuff as foolish as food. Everyone that voted for this den of thieves, stand up & take a bow. Thanks for taking time to read this. Feel free to pass this on to whomever you wish. Gasper [Cheer up. Things are about to get a whole lot worse. - Jerky] *** **** *** any time you go dove hunting or any up wing hunting there is a good chance that you may get shot, iv been shot,my grandson been shot, my wife been shot, but they never told it on the news. there are 1,000 of people get shot every year hunting but they aren't told to the news because they don't want to hear about it, Cheney ant know better than me,he put his clothes the same way i do,if he can be put on the news for shoting some one then the man that shot me shude be on the news, that is why you can't put a gun in anyone hands with out leaning how to use it safe... wayne [In Texas, over the last decade, only one hunter in 26,000 has been involved in a hunting accident. In 2005, only one in 36,000 was involved in a hunting accident. In fact, there were 1.1 million hunting licenses issued in Texas last year but only 30 reported accidents. So you're wrong. - Jerky]

Send all Jokes, Letters and other stuff to Jerky: feedback@dailydirt.com