My predictions:
Hostilities have not yet started in the Gulf, though the ultimatum delivered Monday ends in about 80 minutes.
But if I know Bush, he won't attack. Why? The element of surprise.
If you'll notice, he said hostilities would commence at a time of our choosing. The deadline will arrive... and then pass. Unceremoniously. And there will not yet be war.
We will wait. And there will not yet be war.
One day will pass, then two. A week. And a little before a fortnight later, there will be another press conference, at which Bush will reveal the grand purpose of his preparations for war.

To make the biggest April Fool's Prank. Ever.

If the Enfranchised has slowed recently, it is because we writers have been pushing our feeble brains through the strenuous quadrathalon of classes [Foster's Note: I take a PENTATHALON of classes]. And if there's one thing the too-brief trip to the edge of my abilities has taught me, it's that I don't have enough intelligence to outdo human stupidity.

I could never imagine giving up the incorrect ("French Fries") for the inane ("Freedom Fries"). Nor would I have the audacity to propose shunning Tommy Hilfiger for the stylings of such "authentic" brands as Sean John and J.Lo. I can still hardly believe that there is one prep school for skiers and snowboarders, let alone several dozen. All this from the New York Times, which has not been New York's best humor periodical for at least the past 7 years.

At this moment, it seems obvious to me that it's easier to secure my fortune by lampooning the failures of others than attempting successes of my own. Some of you might miss the creation for the ranting, and I promise you as half-heartedly as any man ever has: when I get the time, I will return to my more properly artistic endeavors. Until then, I will restrict myself to that form of writing whose composition is easiest and fame most temporary: satire.