There's smelling salts, bath salts, the salt

There's smelling salts, bath salts, the salt of the earth, the SALT treaty, salt empires, and salty dogs, but the kind of salt I'm talking about

is the salt that accumulates in then creases around the elbow joint when sweat evaporates. When rubbed on a joint of pork it produces the crispiest crackling. Bono sweats profusely

when he conspires with members of the WTO. "Am I just a front-man?" he silently wonders. Residual Catholic guilt slowly eats at his Irish liver. "Pork rinds," Bono whispers to

his sidekick, Rabbi Manischwitz. "Eat the pork rinds here & now...as a sign of goodwill & religious tolerance." The rabbi stared at Bono & then at the faces of the WTO. Peace was

too costly. The rabbi couldn't trod on traditions like that. Bono began singing, 'In the naaame of love...' A WTO spokesperson cut in, "Won't you reconsider?" "Anything but porkrin

se makes me look pasty-faced and bug-eyed," pleaded Bono. Rabbi Avvakum said, "Let it be. The chickens are silent. There is nothing more to be prophesied. We wait, and we live."

Bono decided to ask Rabbi Avvakum about the Torah while they waited.

Unfortunately Bono's Hebrew was a bit rusty and the Rabbi's explanation sounded like jibberish. Bono looked at the clock on the wall. When was it going to happen? How were they

going to feel once it was all over? And if it never happened, would their bodies be found here together, would the tabloids say that Bono had converted in the arms of the Rabbi?