CURRENT ISSUE 7/6/04 Front Page Weekly Features Ain't That America? McQuigly & Moss Moth's Diary Musing With Mitch The Probethicist Probe Film Strip: Spider-Man 2 Info Previous Issues Crap Shop Who's at Fault? Contact Us! Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty!	Monday 5th July A return to diarizing. Chipping the rust off the cart wheels with a cold chisel, as it were. The winter has passed, sweaters have been discarded, and one is once again pleasantly reminded that women possess such things as nipple rings, butterfly tats and appendectomy scars. It's a yearly surprise! Let's see: so much has happened in This Land Is My Land since we last spoke, diary. Mel Gibson is now a billionaire, and his father, Asmodeus Gibson, has been chained and is surrounded by jars of water, for his safety and for ours. Britney Spears has been declared officially passe by a convocation of teenyboppers, some of whom are said to be blessed with the gift of literacy. But that doesn't mean she has to go away, diary, never fret. As a result of the collective bargaining agreement of 1999, by-laws state that she can tiresomely linger on in the spotlight for decades, accruing fortune after fortune in perpetuity like Madonna, say, or Marilu Henner. Iraqi prisoners have been made to appear as extras in the latest Blair Witch movie, but Muslim diplomats bitterly protested their non-speaking roles and having to yet again watch American harlots smoking cigarettes brazenly. City Hall clerks tell me that there has been a precipitous drop in the number of baby boys being born named "Rummy," but that "Gin Blossom" is making a comeback for baby girls in Kennedy Country. The upcoming presidential contest promises to be ghastly and boring and may come dangerously close to ruining summer. And that's not right. We gagged on winter for eight months, after all. It's time for America to field a surprise candidate. Tristan Fabriani has been biding his time in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, tending his dairy farm with the kind of quiet stoicism that would make Lincoln weep with nostalgia, living a simple, rugged life, his handshake as good as a bar of gold. He waits patiently for the tide of human events to sweep up his unpaved drive and carry him away on its shoulder as the cheers echo into eternity. Think about it, America. He's not going to live forever, you know.
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