|
 |
|
|
"Don'tcha Fuck wit Ma Allah" in heavy rotation
|
 |
|
Attorney General seeks to nip terrorism in the bud
|
|
Enron CEO says economy couldn't be better
|
|
|
Congressman determined to be "number one story"
|
|
|
Corporate America Has Jerked Us Around For Nothing
Who wouldn’t be outraged to hear the truth about how their contribution was exploited and wasted by the corporations involved?
• Last Issue: The Real Reason for Afghanistan
• From the Vaults: Nope!
• more columns
Sick and Tired
Three sure signs that you’re getting butt-raped by lady luck: you’re sick, you’re stuck in a waiting room watching a Behind the Music special on someone under the age of ten, and you’re listening to Aaron Neville.
• Last Issue: Handle with Care
• From the Vaults: Why "My Friend Polio?"
• more columns
Flush it Down, Charlie Brown
Ned Nedmiller come from a long line of popular sloganeers. Nary a time has this great nation hoofed it off to war without a snappy Nedmiller slogan a-hummin’ in their brain boxes. In the big one it was “Give a Hoot, Smoke a Boot” and in the big one, the sequel, it was “Damn the Gravy Crank, Macie!”
• Last Issue: Ringing in the Root Beer
• From the Vaults: Check His Nipples, He May Be the King
• more columns
|
|
|
|
I Have Been Certified A Dancing Machine
It appears my vertebrae are especially springy and soft, which explains why after starting my early twenties at a good five foot two I’ve shrunk so badly over the years to now stand at three foot nine. Though I’m not complaining, it’s a small price to pay for perfectly filling out a pair of boogie shoes.
• Last Issue: Ask Not What Your Country is Doing
• From the Vaults: I Will Destroy the People Living In My Trash
• more columns
Pants
My mother insisted on buying all my clothes until I was 18, much the same way my father cut my hair in order to prevent shagginess and the use of pomade, which he called ‘Satan’s lubricant.’
• Last Issue: Airplane
• From the Vaults: Vase
• more columns
Conundrums Along the Mohawk
All right, listen up, we haven’t got all day here. This is some important stuff, so pay attention. Being the philosophical sort of sonofabitch that I am, a lot of folks have asked me over the years, “Reed, what’s the meaning of life?” and many other stupid and useless philosophical questions.
• Last Issue: I Was Real Funny Before Everybody Got Politically Correct
• From the Vaults: When's God Gonna Quit Bustin' My Balls?
• more columns
|
|
January 21, 2002
Fat chance, America! I get the distinct impression that you thought there would be no Entertainment Police this week, in observance of MLK day or what have you, but I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken! The media reviews must go on, and I think we both know that Michael Keaton would have wanted it that way.
Volume 12
And couldn’t the dog have just carried a note to someone who could get a park ranger or something? Instead of addressing, stamping, and mailing a letter. Puzzling.
Fortune 8
"We brought the outside indoors by having gallons of clean gasoline sloshing around inside a giant plexiglass dolphin," he explained, showing me around the lobby.
|
|
|
|
The Man in the Baloney Suit
There once was a man in a baloney suit, who danced on the street corner all day. He’d dance a jig when the mood struck him, and then repeat it without much delay.
When I Was Nine
When I was nine I had a very fine time, and a very fine time had me. I bothered no one and I high-fived the sun and I slept in a mulberry tree.
Call of the Bugle Boy
All this talk of suckin’ reminds me of an awful urge I gotten lately, Shorty. You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Yessir, every once in a cycle I get me the hankerin’ to lissen up to some bugle music. Which reminds me here of a story I do believe you ain’t heard none yet. It’s about an ol’ army boy, bugle player, Donny Calhoun.
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
Milestones
1979: A young Omar Bricks writes the first incarnation of what will
eventually become his “My Friend Polio” column, originally titled “Why I Peed in the
Water Fountain.”
|
|
Now Hiring
Web Site Designer. Must have little to no professional experience, critical eye, delusions of
grandeur, and think every current website sucks big ass compared to own Helmet fan page
with FAQ. Starting pay of $90k to $250k, based on sheer swagger. Position will replace
current asshole Neal, who should be finding out about this… just about… now.
|
|
Best Selling Albums
1. |
Come On
Britney Spears
|
2. |
I Keep Returning Like Freddy Krueger
Madonna
|
3. |
Passable Generic Metal
Creed
|
4. |
Farting to Critical Raves
Radiohead
|
5. |
Fossils
Aerosmith
|
|
|
Copyright © 2002 the.commune Inc. All rights reserved.
Reproduction in whole or in part without permission is likely to piss off her dad big-time.
|
|
|
U IGNORANT
|
Handimaster 3000
|
Miniver Cheevy's 1000-Watt Television Paradise
|
UPC Television Network
|
Now Playing at You're Shittin' Me Theater
|
the commune's
Quote of the Day |
It's Here! |
|
