I don't even see why Fox bothers with actual writers any more. When this thing ends, all they should do is send reporters to small-scale conflicts around the world to make snuff videos. Slutty chicks competing for the attention of some faux millionaire have nothing on a Tomahawk missile burninating some hapless peasant's thatch-roofed cottage like Trogdor on a Jägermeister bender. They could call it "The Ultraviolence Channel."

By far, my favorite program thus far has been CNN's "M1 Tank Porno Show" with Walter Rodgers, racing across the desert live in Camwhore-vision. I don't usually go for gay porn, but as he bounced along with his videophone, drooling over the destructive power of the Seventh Cavalry, I could almost feel Walter's hard-on straining against his standard-issue fatigues. He seemed so excited, in fact, that I bet he would have gladly lubed up one of those 120 millimeter smoothbore cannons with axle grease and "embedded" it in his anus. All that he was missing was a little lesbian action-say, Veronica Zemanova and Kyla Cole as a couple of horny tank commanders, or maybe a surprise guest appearance by Tatu, courtesy of the USO-and the show would have been a surefire hit.

A close second, though, is Kyra Phillips, the perky little female reporter on the aircraft carrier who has mini-orgasm every time an F/A-18 takes off. All I wanted to know is, how many of those pilots' missiles has she sucked, and how does her husband or boyfriend feel about that? Despite her journalistic training, she must hardly be able to help herself-the excitement, the danger, the phallic missiles, all those studly pilots ready to lay down their lives for their country, the smell of jet fuel and male pheromones mixing together into a heady cologne redolent of death and napalm. Women are biologically programmed so that if they do not put out in such a situation, their own uterus will actually reach up and strangle them.

I had to turn the TV off, though, when the missiles started slamming into Baghdad like some Wagnerian chorus. A thunder-and-lightening storm was raging outside my New York apartment, and I lost the objectivity necessary to keep reality in the little box. Mother Nature's special effects were giving me the full surround-sound experience, and, well, it was too much like living through 9/11 all over again. Which proves my point: War, much like really rough anal sex with no lube, is the most fun when it happens to other people.