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The presidential commission on intelligence and WMDs failed, in its recent report, to further illuminate the events encompassing 9/11 and the ill-advised invasion of Iraq. In short, the government willingly tossed aside the testimony of Hans Blix and Mohamed El Baradei, and chose instead to build a case for war on the pixilated histrionics of someone named “Curveball.” The FBI and CIA, to paraphrase, are inept, politically corrupt, sophomoric fraternities, consumed both by internecine skirmishes and interagency turf wars. Our borders are sieves, our ports unguarded and any semblance of intelligence sharing – which would have precluded the hijackers from entering our country in the first place – remains a matter of pure fantasy. In a word, we’re fucked.

Or are we? In a paradigm-shifting display of cross-departmental coordination, the FAA barred passengers from carrying cigarette lighters onto commercial airliners while at the same time a FDA advisory panel lifted the ban on silicone gel breast implants. Margie Grigsby of the Amalgamated Union of Flight Attendants beamed: “Now we don’t have to worry about our tits melting while we reach over to those window seats.”

The Senate, meanwhile, delayed a vote on the nomination of John Bolton as U.N. Ambassador. Bolton’s troubles stem from a series of statements in which he incrementally erases the world body from the administration’s consciousness: “It is a big mistake for us to grant any validity to international law… If the U.N. Secretariat building in New York lost 10 stories, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference… There’s no such thing as the United Nations.” Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-CA) was left to muse, “Where, then, will he go when he leaves for work in the morning?” To be fair, Bolton’s distain for the United Nations is well founded. Secretary General Kofi Annan’s son pilfered, without consequence, $700,000 from the Iraqi Food for Oil Program, while U.N. troops in Kosovo and the Congo routinely forced refugee children into having sex in exchange for supplies.

None of these secular consternations, however, could dampen the spirits of the Christian Right this week. Terri Schiavo and the Pope may have been lost to history, but Born Again fundamentalists are nonetheless trumpeting victory. It’s as if they pulled a Roman slave out of the blood-soaked maw of a Coliseum lion. Hallelujah for Eric Rudolph who joined the “culture of life” via a plea bargain with federal prosecutors. Authorities agreed not to pursue the death penalty when Rudolph admitted killing two people and wounding dozens more in four separate bombing attacks. Rudolph is worshiped between the pews because two of his blasts targeted abortion clinics while another hit a gay nightclub. Of course setting off an explosive device at the 1996 of the Olympic Games in Atlanta didn’t look so good, but, hey, no one’s perfect.

So you may lose a few along the way. The good news is that The God Squad, unlike the U.S. military, is having little trouble attracting new recruits. Guitarist Brian “Head” Welch formally left the nu metal band Korn to become, in his words, “a baby Christian.” The discordant ensemble inexplicably sold millions of CDs over the last decade, enough, even to justify a greatest hits compilation. One spin of their angry, anti-social lyrics and any mystery surrounding their success is swiftly dispelled:

Somehow, why lay
Broke, the pain between her thighs
I see your pretty face,
Smashed against the bathroom floor!

Or the ever catchy:

The rag I’m on, we are justified
Ball Tongue!
Congrats you just fucked up my make-up and shit
Ball Tongue!

Perhaps “Head” was miffed that The Library of Congress spurned Korn while selecting Nirvana’s Nevermind and Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet for archival preservation. Perhaps the well of poetry has run dry. In any event, Welch seeks to turn his young fans away from violence: “I want to say to them, ‘Hey kids, come over here. Let’s bounce back and forth and have fun.’” A solo act for less than a month and he already sounds like Michael Jackson.