It is with some reluctance that the authors of this column withdraw their names from consideration for the Bush cabinet . . .

Finally saw Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and we'd like to alert Well Hung readers to the fact that there are no tigers and no dragons (though they might well have been hiding). Don't believe the hype, kids: Ang Lee remains the dullest man behind the camera this side of Michael Apted, and his so-called magnum opus is little more than a faux-action pic for downtown chicks and their sissymary artfag boyfriends. It's like the Queens of the Stone Age album, which is metal for those very same folks! The truth is that Dude, Where's My Car might well be the Finest Film of the Year 2000, with the possible exception of Road Trip and that Iranian flick where the thief befriends the little orphan boy. For those of you who'd like to check out a true masterpiece of HK Cinema, do yourself a favor and get the new DVD release of Tsui Hark's stunningly brilliant Once Upon A Time In China. It's so great that you'll want to watch it again an hour later!

Elastica are moving to NYC at the same time Michael is set to make his return. That friggin' Justine keeps stealing our ideas: First we start a Fall cover band . . . Speaking of pretentious art-punk bands we could give a fuck about, those kooky Scotsmen in Mogwai allege that their next LP sounds like Houses of the Holy. Only without, you know, songs . . .

While we've been waiting months for Rhino to become the Unified ECW Champion, we live in hope that Paul E. can find the scratch to keep the company alive long enough for RVD to finally get the top strap. He is, after all, the Whole Fuckin' Show . . . The NBC affiliate in Austin, Texas continues to show San Antonio Spurs games instead of Frasier. We, of course, blame the President-elect. The good part is that they also didn't air Three Sisters, which continues the inevitable process by which every NewsRadio cast member reappears in a show that sucks dirty donkey dick. We are, however, looking forward to NBC's other hilarious new sitcoms, Uncle Vanya and The Cherry Orchard . . .

To relieve some of the pressure of this hustle-bustle world, McDonald's recently unveiled their new Speedpass. Of course, your money is the only thing that passes quickly. The food still stays in your large intestine for fourteen days . . . Midnight Vultures getting a fistful of Grammy nods only proves our theory about NARAS being run by Scientologists. Also, what's up with Shelby Lynne as Best New Artist? It's not like she used to be a Fugee or something . . .

It's gonna be fun to watch the Right blast the new Trey and Matt show without understanding that they would have done the same thing to Gore. Additionally, we also have no truck -- none! -- with any member of the media who raved about Bigger, Longer and Uncut but still doesn't watch the TV show . . . The big J20 event grows near, with the Free Mumia a-holes plotting to disrupt the inauguration. Isn't it time to stop defending cop killers? What about all those retarded guys that Bush likes killing?

Who the hell is Johnny Potsmoker???

Is there anything creepier than a funeral home located directly across the street from a retirement community? Yes, actually: the fact that ninety-eight-year-old Strom Thurmond has a twenty-eight-year-old son. Ewwwwww!

If W actually read books, you just know he'd be a fan of LaHaye and Jenkins. Fortunately, he doesn't read anything but ESPN Magazine and SI For Kids . . . Yet another reason we're psyched for the XFL: "I'm going to find that one delightful little hole you girls have and open it up," says the league's director of cheerleading in the new Men's Journal. We can't wait to find out which hole . . . That reminds us, Rosie O'Donnell is getting into the Book Club racket. First up, The Well of Loneliness, followed by Camryn Manheim's autobiography and Personal Best: The Screenplay. We would like to call Ms. O'Donnell's attention to a promising woman writer from Squamish, British Columbia. Well Hung At Dawn is proud to reprint, without permission, the stirring poem "The Difference" by Mary Billy:

The difference between
Making love and rape
Is the difference between
Reading a book,
And ripping out the pages.

e-mail to Sqwubbsy@aol.com MICHAEL KRUGMAN and JASON COHEN
(January 12, 2001)