Ever since I was a little girl, I have periodically played a game I like to call ‘What would happen if…’

Leaders Balk at Supporting Pro-Abortion Presidential Candidate, Consider Third Party '08 Run

Why doesn't the Iraqi government have the explicit legal power to expel or adjudicate the U.S.-contracted troops that are killing its citizens?

I Was A Teenaged Communist Nymphomaniac

A True Story

My sordid story began the day I bought my new Sperry Top-Siders. I was on my way to Fuel to show the rest of the hipsters when a swarthy old man beckoned to me from an alley off Center. Like any thrill-crazed teenager I followed him back amongst the dumpsters, hoping he would expose himself. Instead he offered me a gnarled little cigarette.

"Go ahead" he lisped lecherously, "You'll like it, and the first one's free."

"What is it?" I asked naively.

"Why, don't you know, sweetpea?" he smirked lasciviously. "It's ... COMMUNISM!"

Like all addicts I told myself that I could try it once, just for kicks, and then quit. But the first pungent, sweet suck of smoke sent me slack-jawed and slavering into a socialist stupor. From that moment the fatal intoxication of anarchy had me hooked, a slave to the International Conspiracy. I craved more and harder stuff and soon began to mainline Maoism. Unable to concentrate on anything but my daily spoonful of socialism, I dropped out of Hi-Y Club and took up with perverted peace-pukes, hustling pinball to support my habit. Sometimes I brought my straight friends to orgiastic communist parties, urging them to snort some Stalin or turn-on to Trotsky.

Yes, I was a real Red Freak but I could't stop. Once, at Thanksgiving, I tried the Cold Turkey cure. The agonizing symptoms of Marxist withdrawal -- runny nose, smelly feet, night soiled sheets -- sent me in a desperate frenzy to Tijuana or TJ (pronounced tee-jay) as it's known in the leftist subculture. There I hit rock bottom, performing the famous "Chiclets-and-a-donkey" perversion for an audience of taxi-drivers. With the dirty money I earned I bought ten lids of Leninism, hid it on the donkey and prepared to run the border.

Then, while waiting in the customs line I received my salvation! I noticed a group of smiling, care-free people dancing and singing the beautiful Joop chang :

"Joop Wah Joop Wah, Wah Wah Joop Joop........"

They brandished a taser and overtook me like a horde of bees, explaining the cosmic mysteries of the Jim Jupiter Crusade. I said "Don't Taze me bro!" but it was too late. I immediately embraced Joop conciousness and found that I no longer needed Communism to get high, I was naturally high on Jupiter! Now I am completely cured and have taken a useful place in society. Take the advice of one who's "been there", listen to Joop and never take that first puff of rancid Radicalism.

(Story handed down by generations of Mr. Zog's Sex Wax users)

Yep, you've done some horrible things in your life... but.....