(By all rights, J. should be fishing or cutting bait on Iraq right now, but he's trying to deal with a severe case of cognitive dissonance over the issue. Apparently, he whipsawed so hard he's seeing out of the back of his head. This has rendered him unable to type.

(So, yet again, J has handed his column to noted colleague Dr. G. Gordon Luddite: President and Founder of the Other, Much Better, Conservation Society. He's the author of "Why I'm Still Right, and Your Still A Idiot" (sic) - a collection of his newspaper columns - and hosts a call-in radio show on WACK, Tupelo. His nationally syndicated column, "Why Your A Idiot, and I'm Right" (sic) appears in four newspapers, three church bulletins and the men's room of Spanky Neuman's - Tupelo's first and finest polka hall.)

As most true Americans who read my column know, I appeared in the movie "Repo Man," back when I was a g-dless liberal tool. During the filming, I spent one evening sharing a few "lines" with one actor who's since gone to his eternal damnation in H-ll. And as we were turning our brains into pepper pate, he looked up at the trailer roof and said, in what was either drug-addled wistfulness or a moment of true, pure insight, that there had to be someone for everyone. He also said he couldn't believe this film was being produced by one of the "Monkees."

But in spite of my having sloughed that entire portion of my life away like a snake shedding its skin, what he said about someone for everyone has stayed with me. And now that I am a real American, I am elated to say that I have finally found that someone. She's fellow columnist extraordinaire Anne Coulter, late of that sorry, g-d awful appeasement rag National Review, and currently of the marginally better (if only for her presence) Frontpage Magazine. And I love her.

When I first began to read her columns, I was - I must admit - rather jealous: why was this upstart woman getting accolades for the sort of things that I've been saying since time out of mind, and hardly being paid for at all? It's almost as though she were reading my mind, or at least my columns: especially the one on Rules for Right Wing Columnists. So she wrote the definitive book on the more obvious crimes of that sorry excuse of a communist spy ex-president William Jefferson Clinton - so what?

But as I investigated her body of work, I found that she was, indeed, a worthy rival. She is most definitely not amongst the ones I excoriated for their timidity in the aforementioned column. Indeed, she should be held up as a shining example of how to get the job done! She knows how to push the buttons of both the g-dless liberal hippie drug-pusher Islamist-loving scum on the left and the pretentious limp-wristed poseurs who supposedly constitute the right, but are, in fact, paid shills for the gay branch of the American Nazi Party!

Yes, Anne Coulter is my heroine! In my fevered daydreams I imagine her and I tag-teaming the entire world, typewriters in one hand and shotguns in the other. Power Prayer-breakfasts at ten, Martinis at noon, Fox News at six and illegal immigrant baseball at Midnight, with the occasional weekend spent skiing, prank-calling the local arabs and driving to Montana to try out my cousin Floyd's latest 2nd-Amendment protected ordinance... ah, bliss.

Competition? Bah! I know that she's got around 60,000 hopelessly moderate poseur sheep at Free Republic who worship her from afar, but I can assure her that I, unlike them, am indeed 'the real deal.' How many of them have poked holes in every store-bought condom in the tri-state area, exposed the local birthday party clown as a drug-pushing Israeli spy and beheaded a Boston Globe editor, in public, with a spork?!?! (a "crime" which, as I understand it, is somewhere in the same severity as double-parking, as the city of Boston doesn't like the Globe, either!)

However, though this could be a match made in H--v-n, it is sadly not to be, for I have been blissfully shackled to my 'little woman' for quite some time. She may not be as verbose or as righteously homicidal as Ms. Coulter, but she does make a mean brisket, and says nothing about the things I leave in my underwear after a whole day of having to read the g-dless liberal media. Such saints are both rare and rarely appreciated, and I would be a terrible sinner and a damned fool to give her up.

So, any "affair" that Ms. Coulter and I might have would have to be strictly Biblical. However, we could still have a great deal of fun in one another's company. In fact, once she, too, realizes that any job worth doing should be done by yourself, I would dearly love to join her in "McVeighing" the New York Times!

Anne, you have my phone number. For the sake of G-d and country, call!

Q. How come a woodpecker doesn't bash its brains out?

A. Nobody has ever explained that.

- From the Principia Discordia