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NOTE: The April 13 column will be posted around 4:30 p.m.

Memo to the following individuals and/or groups: FUCK OFF.

Yes, it's that time again. Time for the buckshot of hate, the issuance of official You Are Dumb Dot Net fuck-offs to the minor annoyances that grate on us every day like sandpaper gloves on the universe's chalkboard.

Mariah Carey: FUCK OFF. - Her new album is called "The Emancipation of Mimi". Mimi, in this case, is apparently what her friends call Mariah Carey when they don't want people to overhear them, and it's developed into a nickname. Yay. And the "emancipation" does not appear to be from sucking. I think, deep down, that Mariah Carey knows that Mariah Carey doesn't get to use the word "emancipation" without being told to FUCK OFF, but only at a gut level, not at an actual rational level that would stop her from doing it. ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

"I didn't want to call it The Emancipation of Mariah Carey. That would have had connotations of the whole celebrity thing, and all the misconceptions and baggage that come along with that." - Sentiments about the whole celebrity thing that "Mimi" has now expressed to dozens and dozens of journalists as she pimps her new "emancipation", complete with guest shots by Snoop Dogg and Nelly. Mariah also bitches about not being taken seriously as an artist, so she's apparently spent the intervening time since the release of "Glitter" firmly ensconced up her own ass.

Rick "Silent P" Santorum: FUCK OFF. Your pathetic attempt to distance yourself from Tom DeLay this weekend fools nobody. Well, except the national media, who dutily reported your mealy-mouthed Sunday morning comments about how DeLay needs to answer questions about his slime trail even though you're sure he did nothing wrong.

At least if DeLay goes down, and it's not, despite the hopes and prayers of us all, a foregone conclusion that he will, but if he does, he'll go down old-school, kicking and screaming like the embarrassing little Jim Henson's Nixon Baby that he is. DeLay may be a slug, but it's better to die on your monopod than live on your knees, as they say. And you're just an opportunistic weasel who's terrified that the rank hate and homophobia that got you into office in the first place may not be enough to keep you there when 2006 rolls around. It's a tricky political maneuver. When the handle gets pulled to flush DeLay, can you stay close enough to the rim to stay afloat, but still be seen as part of the Big Tent Toilet? As amusing as your little dance is to watch, you can fuck right off, Rick.

Pitt's Penis and Jolie's Vagelina: FUCK OFF. As little as I care about each of these body parts individually, they still dwarf, by several orders of magnitude, my interest in whether the twain have met. And where. And when. And how often. And how many times they deny it. Or, at least, Pitt denies it. Jolie appears to be keeping her nerf lips sealed about the whole non-issue. There's a first. A situation in which Angelina Jolie is the role model.

Buca patrons: FUCK OFF! Another Pope-related pointless furore. For those of you not in the Midwest, there's this chain of Italian restaurants. Buca di Beppo. And apparently, at Buca, there were private dining rooms, and the private dining rooms had Pope John Paul II busts in them. Don't ask me. I think it'd be creepy pulling mozzarella sticks off a platter while the Pope stared at me, but apparently, people love that shit. Someone ought to open up a "Planet Vatican" chain, the way things are going.

Anyway, after the Pope died, the restaurant decided to take the 90 busts out of the dining rooms, maybe give them to Catholic schools to remind children that Pope John Paul II was an albino with no arms or lower torso who frequently had marinara stains all over him. And the customers got cranky, saying the "pope rooms" weren't the same without a pope.

What surprises me most, to be honest, is that the Roman Catholic church doesn't already have a rule covering this. I can't believe, in two thousand plus years of cataclysms, lactates, or whatever the hell the Catholics call their version of the Magic: The Gathering Rules Errata, that the subject of how to dispose of papal busts from an overdecorated American-Italian chain restaurant never came up.

I hope they reach a compromise. And I hope that the compromise involves 90 funny hats and a bucket of Krazy Glue.

Cookie Whiners: FUCK OFF. Seriously. Unless you are either younger than six years old, or work in the children's television industry, there is nothing interesting, relevant, or erudite you can say about the fucking Cookie Monster. You don't own things just because you grew up with them. And if the Sesame Street people want their blue-furred bulimic to deliver a more healthy eating message, it's not some betrayal you get to bitch about.

It's not like it matters to most of the people who are complaining. Their memories of Cookie Classic are still intact. They're not, or at least I fucking well hope not, avid watchers of current Sesame Street. They can pretend Cookie Monster never sings "Cookies are a sometimes food", and PBS can go about its business of being a barely viable alternative to TMNT toys at Taco Bell.