Achaean warrior Achilles explained: “Quality control testing, which entailed firing projectiles at ten now-deceased heroic soldiers, revealed that the current body armor leaves a portion of the soldier’s body completely exposed to attack — namely, from the top of the neck down to the bare feet.”

In addition, Mr. Achilles said the audit determined that the soldiers should also wear pants in battle “given the numerous mosquito bites wreaking havoc on our army’s penes and scrota, thus disfiguring the flawless genitalia known throughout the world from our Grecian vases.” 

An equally important reason for wearing pants, according to Mr. Achilles, “stems from the recent incident where Helen of Troy sniggered and chortled lustily when she caught a glimpse of several of our brave soldiers on a particularly cold evening.”

Editorial by the Hon. Josiah Peckham, Editor:

Last month, Richard Henry Lee, a delegate to the Second Continental Congress from Virginia, proposed a resolution that, if passed, would dissolve the colonies’ ties with their motherland.

Readers of this publication know my feelings about this resolution and its sponsor, so I will not repeat them here. The resolution is a cesspool, an open sewer, a pit of putrefaction, a treasonous, slimy gathering of all that is rotten in the debris of human depravity. And in the center of all this waste and stench, besmearing himself with its foulest defilement, splashes, leaps, cavorts and wallows a bifurcated specimen, a traitor that responds to the name of Richard Henry Lee.

Fortunately, I have just come from Philadelphia where I’ve conferred with the members of the Second Continental Congress and have learned beyond all doubt that this Lee Resolution is as dead as a doornail, and you heard it here first. My dear friend John Adams gave me a scoop to publish in this newspaper by assuring me that although a committee has been formed supposedly to draft a declaration of independence, it is a sham, concocted to satisfy the advocates of independence without any intention of acting on it. 

Mr. Adams said I should publish this useful information and receive all appropriate accolades for it.  I thanked Mr. Adams for this, and for putting behind us that little incident from last November involving me and Abigail when I found myself in Boston (not to repeat ourself, but it was cold, and I had nowhere else to sleep . . . ). I am glad Mr. Adams is not vindictive.

No, dear readers, one-hundred, nay, two-hundred years from now and beyond, the misguided devotees of independence will have been long forgotten, and we shall rejoice, as we now rejoice, that we are Englishmen!

Commuters stuck in rush hour traffic on Interstate Route 17 yesterday morning were forced to contend with howling bands of warriors on horseback who carried off women and children, slaughtered helpless drivers stuck behind the wheel and set fire to hundreds of automobiles.

Marauding bands of Apaches are expected to attack several subdivisions and appartment complexes around the Phoenix metro area over the next several days, according to information posted under the ”attack, pillage, rape and kill” schedule posted on the homepage of the official Apache Indian Nation web site.

According to Honest Dan Jones, owner of the Trading Post on the reservation, the Apaches had been planning this uprising for some time.  “It’s been awfully quiet around here lately,” said Honest Dan. “A little too quiet.”

Governor Brewer sent an urgent telegram to the White House asking for the creation of a punitive force to put down this revolt before it spreads.

“It is imperative that these bloodthirsty savages be brought to justice before more lives are lost, more property destroyed and more rush hour commutes are disrupted,” the governor’s spokesman said. “Time is of the essence.”

The film was discovered by an employee of the Obama Administration. According to the employee, the single reel was kept in a shoe box marked “FDR  Personal Stash.”

The existence of the film has been a source of speculation among Roosevelt scholars for decades. Some, including FDR biographer Conrad Black, have asserted that the president often entertained guests with private screenings of the celluloid nasty.

“There is no doubt the film was shown at the Casablanca and Teheran Conferences,” he said. “In fact, legend has it Stalin was so aroused he had copies made for himself, which he often distributed as birthday presents to his favorite members of the Politburo.” 

Doris Kearns Goodwin, author of “No Ordinary Time,” a prize-winning account of the Eleanor-Franklin relationship, said she is certain of the identity of the participants.

“I can state categorically after multiple viewings that the woman hanging from the chandelier is Mrs. Roosevelt, and the woman on the trapeze appears to be Margaret Dumont. Now if I could just place the guy wearing spectacles holding the cigar with the painted on eyebrows and moustache who keeps walking in and out of the frame I’d be happy.”

Actor’s insistence on playing John Wilkes Booth in “Robin” costume mars documentary

HOLLYWOOD – “The Man Who Shot Lincoln” airing tonight, the anniversary of the death of America’s 16th President, is a gritty and shockingly realistic portrayal of the events leading up the 1865 assassination of President Abraham Lincoln by John Wilkes Booth, a well-known and flamboyant actor of his day.

The documentary marks the return to prime time television of Burt Ward as Booth. Ward is best known for portraying “Robin, the Boy Wonder,” opposite Adam West in the 1960’s camp TV classic, Batman.

Ward insisted on playing Booth in his old “Robin” costume, and the results are mixed. At first the colorful costume proves somewhat of a distraction, but Ward’s performance is so sure of itself and his screen presence so commanding that ultimately it doesn’t matter.

Ward’s old mannerisms are still there, and they still work like a charm, from the quick-tempered habit of punching his fist into his other hand, to even blurting out “Holy states’ rights!” at one point.

Women and gay viewers will find his leap from the balcony at Fords Theater following the shooting utterly mesmerizing — let’s just say the tights have never been tighter, the Boy Wonder never more wondrous.

All in all, this is the most realistic documentary of the Lincoln assassination ever filmed. Be forewarned: the violence of the actual shooting is palpable, vividly enhanced by the giant cartoon “POW” that bursts across the screen when Ward fires the gun, a technique Ward suggested.

Actor Charles Durning is a noble Lincoln, and Bette Midler provides welcome comic relief as nutty Mary Todd Lincoln. My only qualm is that the three hours running time is altogether too short. This is one not to be missed. The show airs on PBS at 8 p.m. Eastern Time.

“In this day and age it is simply unacceptable to use terms such as ‘crazy,’” said Ms. Betty Dogooder, spokeswoman of the advocacy group known as Frontier Women For Decency.  “We hope to impress upon Mr. Horse our belief that to refer to someone as ‘crazy’ unnecessarily stigmatizes that individual in a way that is both hurtful and offensive. The ‘differently cogitating’ are no less able than the rest of society.”

Ms. Dogooder said the group had prepared a list of possible alternative names for the warrior chief to consider.  “We have ‘Horse With Screws Loose,’ ‘Horse Who Plays With Less Than Full Deck,’ and ‘Horse Who’s Not All There.’ I’m confident he’ll find at least one of them to his liking.”

Late yesterday, Little Bear, a spokesman for Crazy Horse, said his boss would try and clear his schedule to meet with Ms. Dogooder and her colleagues.

“Right now, he’s got a wagon train massacre in the morning, and he’s going to be tied up all afternoon with a cavalry ambush. I’m going to try and get them in to see him before tomorrow night’s raid on the mining camp.”

Rejoice, my brothers, for the harvest is rich, and our men have labored mightily.  My lone regret is that I was unable to participate in the back-breaking labors attendant to the harvest this year, inasmuch as I was felled by the gout, coincidentally,  just as I was last year at the time the physical labor was most intense.  But, just as last year, miraculously, now that the harvest is ended, I am entirely well, and I shall not want this winter thanks to the labors of others.

Tonight, in profound THANKSGIVING for this bounty, I invite Squanto, he of the Patuxet tribe, and some 90 braves to join us for a feast of turkey, eel, and fowl that I fervently pray will become an annual rite of thanksgiving for the gifts spread at our feet. Fittingly, I have resolved to call this annual rite “THE FEAST OF TURKEY, EEL AND FOWL.”

I anticipate that in years to come this feast will be celebrated with parades that include giant balloons, senseless family squabbling, inexplicable overeating, and the solidification of rigid gender roles which dictate that the women serve the men, who shall do nothing but eat and fart.

Most important, I am convinced that this feast shall herald centuries of uninterrupted peace and brotherhood between the white man and the red man, two races — one highly advanced in culture, the other downright comical in its backwardness — living together in bliss under one firmament, intermarrying, melding and assimilating to the point that they shall be but one race by the year 1750 at the latest.  I have coined a phrase for this inevitable harmony between these two disparate peoples: “Manifest Destiny.”

Tonight, I intend to memorialize this harmonious relationship in a solemn written pact that will be forever enforceable in our courts and which shall insure, beyond any question, peace between the two peoples for all times. Never will either race commit atrocities against the other, and you heard it here first.

As a gesture of the white man’s affection for the Indian, I intend to bestow upon each one of our Indian guests at the conclusion of tonight’s meal a special blanket that I have been saving for this very occasion. These blankets will keep the Indians warm throughout the winter, and I am assured by my wife, Jezebel Peckham, that the smallpox that previously infested each of these blankets was driven out by good, old-fashioned Christian prayer. We bestow this gift because we must be careful never to do anything to bring enmity between our peoples. Of course, we will not handle the blankets personally, because of the smallpox and all.

It promises to be a wonderful evening! And so I say to each of you, Happy Feast of Turkey, Eel and Fowl!

Until this morning, Kennedy was widely believed to have died at the hospital on November 22, 1963 after being shot by Lee Harvey Oswald.  The hospital admitted that, in fact, Kennedy survived and has been living on the top floor of the building since the shooting.

But the hospital said the former President’s health insurance lapsed “some time ago,” and that “he must go.”

President Obama told reporters that “the shameful treatment of President Kennedy by the hospital only underscores the necessity for healthcare reform.”