The good news is, there's going to be another federal election. The bad news is, that means I'll have to buy another pair of snow boots to get to the polls.

Friends, citizens and countrypersons, have you had it...watch my hands...up to here? Is the steady diet of Paris burnings, Sudan slaughters and wall to wall Middle East nastiness playing merry heck with your digestion? Bad news, all of it. The good news is, there hasn't been a serious outbreak of bubonic plague since 1665. I'll drink to that.

For me, the crunch came as I was pumping iron at the Y. Eight pounds per arm. Don't laugh. Two months ago I almost passed out trying to hoist two Q-tips.

There are four TVs hanging from the gym ceiling, and there was George W. himself, wearing his trademark smirk, chiding the American public for failing to support U.S. troops in Iraq. And I thought; what kind of a man sends troops over there in the first place, under false pretenses, stacks their bodies in warehouses around the country in an attempt to lessen the impact of mounting casualty lists, and still manages to smirk like a used car salesman unloading a 1978 Mazda with no wheels?

I was so mad, I tossed one of my weights at the sets. Unfortunately I missed, which was bad news for the lady on the exercise bike. I hit her in the left ear.

After apologizing profusely, I came to a decision. What I seriously need, and I'm sure the same applies to your dear sweet selves, is a plethora of good news. Let us begin with an item from the Midnight Peeper.

Is that good news, or what? And all perfectly innocent, I'm sure. No doubt he was merely chalking out the incision lines for the guy (or gal's) upcoming sex change op. They couldn't find room to do it any place else, claimed the surgeon, because every nook and cranny in the hospital was chock full of budding hernias, heart murmurs, and hemorrhoids.

They couldn't resist being bitchy about the dreamy duo's formidable munching gear, but it's a nice piece, don't you think? Of course you do.

CBC radio informed us that our cousins to the south will not, for the present, drill for oil in the Alaska Wild Life Preserve. You could almost hear the massed sighs of relief gusting from thousands of hairy throats as the caribou herds realized that their traditional migration routes would not be disturbed by oil rigs, tankers, bargain lube job operations, burger joints, massage parlors, and fundamentalist temples. Although maybe a caribou might enjoy a massage and a burger after a hard days trekking.

Last weekend Paul Martin finally had the sense to lay down the law to Quebec separatists. If you go, said Paul, forget your transfer payments and free access to the Canadian job market. I'm sure that bit of good news did wonders for everyone in the Rest Of Canada who has become heartily sick of the never-ending yapping of the Bloc and the Parti, who dislike everything about Ottawa except their pay cheques, perks...sorry, perques...and pensions. Nice one, big guy.

You may recall that Omar was captured in Afghanistan after a fierce battle with U.S. troops, during which a grenade was thrown that killed two Afghan militiamen and an American sergeant, and wounded another.

The good news for Omar is that U.S. justice isn't going to execute him, which is awfully nice of it. I didn't think a soldier, which is what Omar says he was, could be executed for taking part in a battle anyway, but then, what do I know. The kangaroo court at Guantanamo Bay says he's a terrorist. Omar's good news has run out. The wounded U.S. soldier is suing his estate for $10 million. This is obviously very good news for the swarm of lawyers which will appear from nowhere, like blowflies on a dead cat.

In the bad-but-could-have-been-good news department; I can't help thinking Omar would have been laughing all the way to the bank if he'd been an American teenage soldier. He would have been a hero. Hollywood would have a movie in the works, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Britney Spears. Dolly Parton would play the Himalayas.

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