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Hippies Busted! 600 Weirdoes, Peaceniks Arrested for Blowing Minds of the EstablishmentSeptember 30, 2002 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol Disrespectful hippie cops stance made famous by beloved former president Dick Nixon
According to the various protesters, who were likely extremely high, the United States, the World Bank, and the IMF have engaged in tactics of sharing wealth with nations with no dire need for it while allowing third-world countries beset by poverty to suffer. True or not, the ridiculous protests by nutcases and fruitcakes slowed down traffic and interrupted the normal flow of the capitalist machine for several hours. The police, the national heroes of September 11
he situation in Washington, D.C. was all wavy-gravy Friday when approximately 650 radical "protesters" were arrested for getting trippy on the government and local police in their attempts to denounce White House calls for intervention in the Middle East and the International Monetary Fund for its global policies.
According to the various protesters, who were likely extremely high, the United States, the World Bank, and the IMF have engaged in tactics of sharing wealth with nations with no dire need for it while allowing third-world countries beset by poverty to suffer. True or not, the ridiculous protests by nutcases and fruitcakes slowed down traffic and interrupted the normal flow of the capitalist machine for several hours. The police, the national heroes of September 11 th, were brought in to clear the way for hardworking apathetic citizens.
"Everything is returning to normal here," said D.C. police captain Gilbert Hayes. "Go back to sleep."
Protesters used glaring signs, offensive T-shirts, and shouted un-American slogans like "The president is wrong!" against police, buildings, and in the general direction of the United States. Police used justified force to make the protesters stop getting in the way of honest Americans, resulting in only one reported injury and countless bruises which couldn't be helped.
"Go back to college!" shouted one enraged cop as he kicked a hippie ten feet down Pennsylvania Avenue, a new personal record.
Some whacked-out nit-pickers also held demonstrations against the Gap, the international jeans store chain most famous for their annoying advertising and putting their jeans on shelves instead of racks. According to the fruitcakes, who were so high they took off their clothes and ran around in their underwear, the Gap exploits workforces in other countries with poor labor laws. How this was a surprise to anybody or affected the cost of American jeans was uncertain.
Most protesters were released on a small bond, like the cost of one of their dime bags, after being charged with upsetting mainstream America and refusing to do whatever the police said. Five were charged with destruction of sacred artifacts, commonly referred to as corporate and government property. A charge of treason was unlikely, but police are looking into it.
"It is important that as long as we have the freedom to speak in this country," said protester Lisa Morgan, referring to some anachronistic line in the Constitution, "we use that freedom to make our leaders aware of how we feel. Not only if our own liberty and comfort is threatened, but if those in our country are doing immoral things in the name of the United States in other countries."
Morgan's LSD tirade was ended when a dutiful officer smacked her in the head with a club, very possibly "bringing her down."
It was not expressed to the public at press time whether Washington, D.C. had the available jail space to hold all protesters who weren't released on bond, but if necessary there's possibly enough space in Camp X-Ray in Cuba to house all the militants. the commune news knows it's only rock 'n' roll, but that's all we have in our CD collection. Raoul Dunkin is a commune correspondent and wishes you could write all sarcastic news articles in bright red type.
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 November 29, 2004
The Passion of CamembertI address this column to roommate Camembert, my long-time friend Camembert, and my wheelchair-bound fellow adventurer Camembert, who has stood by me through every hardship, despite not being able to stand, and has never failed to follow me through thick and thin, mainly because he has had no choice. All these three are one person, make no mistake, in case you don't know. But what are you doing still reading this? It's for Camembert's bespectacled eyes only, I say.
I couldn't stand to sit across the breakfast table from you for this conversation, especially since after 11 a.m. it becomes the lunch table, and around 4 p.m., well, you know what happens, goddamn that dinner table. But this is a conversation that would have been quite embarrassing to hold with you, face to face, so I choose to spare you that discomfort by bringing it to you in my national column. Camembert, you are having very loud sex and it is starting to bug me.
Sure, at first I tried to turn a blind ear to it, until I discovered there is no such thing. I thought I would get used to it. I don't like to talk about sex as much as the next prude, and I never believed it would come to this. For one, I never believed you would have sex. I could handle the loud masturbation, the sound of bed springs squeaking loudly and the headboard bumping against the wall, and the ugly squishy sound permanently stuck in my memory. It was only three or four times a day, up to nine on the weekends, and...
º Last Column: The Costumer's Always Right
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I address this column to roommate Camembert, my long-time friend Camembert, and my wheelchair-bound fellow adventurer Camembert, who has stood by me through every hardship, despite not being able to stand, and has never failed to follow me through thick and thin, mainly because he has had no choice. All these three are one person, make no mistake, in case you don't know. But what are you doing still reading this? It's for Camembert's bespectacled eyes only, I say.
I couldn't stand to sit across the breakfast table from you for this conversation, especially since after 11 a.m. it becomes the lunch table, and around 4 p.m., well, you know what happens, goddamn that dinner table. But this is a conversation that would have been quite embarrassing to hold with you, face to face, so I choose to spare you that discomfort by bringing it to you in my national column. Camembert, you are having very loud sex and it is starting to bug me.
Sure, at first I tried to turn a blind ear to it, until I discovered there is no such thing. I thought I would get used to it. I don't like to talk about sex as much as the next prude, and I never believed it would come to this. For one, I never believed you would have sex. I could handle the loud masturbation, the sound of bed springs squeaking loudly and the headboard bumping against the wall, and the ugly squishy sound permanently stuck in my memory. It was only three or four times a day, up to nine on the weekends, and most of the time I could drown it out with a loud TV show. But my behavior is my own business, and what you do with your girlfriend is something else entirely.
I'm glad you met Girl Elvis, and I remind you I am the one who played the instrumental part in bringing you two together when I foolishly invited her to stay with us for as long as she wanted. Who knew she would? Her brazen mooching aside, I think you two make a very nice couple, though quite unsettling to see together in any fashion. At least you have companionship, and you have been good for her act with your Anne-Margaret impression. But the sex… once again, it's kept me awake one night too many.
Dating is one thing. Finding you two lip-locked on my couch in the evening, that's one thing, too. Together that's two things. But having loud, boisterous sex when someone else isn't having any, that's a third thing, and this third thing I will not stand for. You two will simply have to find an apartment or house or something, or perhaps some kind of sex booth available for rent or by-the-minute fees. I need to get some work done already!
By the way, Camembert, congratulations for "hitting it," as the young people say. I would have thought your lower-body paralysis would have negatively affected "li'l Rok," as I call it, but I'm impressed to find out differently. You should also be impressed I named your penis after myself. That's how much the little devil impresses me.
But again, back to the subject, this every night "bang bang bang" has got to stop. And I don't mean stop in a climax, like when you make that gurgling sound and Girl Elvis starts singing "Viva Las Vegas." I mean cease and desist, start being considerate of your housemates. After all, it is my commune employment which pays for nearly half of the cost of our mortgage.
I'll even make a deal with you, to play fair. Find somewhere else to do your nasty business and I'll only practice my bagpipes during the day, as you've asked for many weeks. But this offer is going fast, so deal quickly. Act now and I'll throw in a key to your room, so you can get in there when I'm not there. º Last Column: The Costumer's Always Rightº more columns
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|  January 1, 2000
Fortune 1There is a very tricky method for applying a neutral shadow to animal consciousness. If a lion could talk, it would be too low for humans to hear, but he would tell the story of the Greatest Elephant That Ever Lived. If we could hear him, which we can't. Duh. Squirrels don't warn the bourgeois because they find their hairstyles threatening and their accents an act of war. They're not seeing your make-up, they're seeing remarkable cariboo and gnats from Dusseldorf. According to the latest Gallup poll, at least. It also said that global warming actually makes you a better feminist and helps with Windows 95 conflicts. Though regardless I still can't get these birth control pills to load. The moon's reflective quality made the crab nervous so he took up smoking Virginia Slims, he was still using Windows 3.1. The lion whispered in my ear and it sounded like he said I needed to write a book called "Chicken Soup for Assholes", that it would sell like hotcakes. It was either that or "get me out of these hotpants", he was quite a mumbler.
You will affect the president's ability to act decisively in a crisis. Try again...
º Last Column: The Costumer's Always Right
º more columns
There is a very tricky method for applying a neutral shadow to animal consciousness. If a lion could talk, it would be too low for humans to hear, but he would tell the story of the Greatest Elephant That Ever Lived. If we could hear him, which we can't. Duh. Squirrels don't warn the bourgeois because they find their hairstyles threatening and their accents an act of war. They're not seeing your make-up, they're seeing remarkable cariboo and gnats from Dusseldorf. According to the latest Gallup poll, at least. It also said that global warming actually makes you a better feminist and helps with Windows 95 conflicts. Though regardless I still can't get these birth control pills to load. The moon's reflective quality made the crab nervous so he took up smoking Virginia Slims, he was still using Windows 3.1. The lion whispered in my ear and it sounded like he said I needed to write a book called "Chicken Soup for Assholes", that it would sell like hotcakes. It was either that or "get me out of these hotpants", he was quite a mumbler.
You will affect the president's ability to act decisively in a crisis. Try again later. º Last Column: The Costumer's Always Rightº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I have a dream… uh… nope, drawing a blank. It was clear as a fuckin' bell this morning, I swear to God. There was something about dolphins, that's all I can remember right now.”
-"King" Luther MartensFortune 500 CookieDon't be so hard on yourself, we all know mama told you not to come, but it ain't so easy when the bitch got titties til' Tuesday. Also, don't give up your dream of eating a tree like it was an ice cream sandwich, we've been charging admission. This week's lucky cancers: fingernail cancer, breath cancer, split ends cancer, silicone implant cancer.
Try again later.Top Recent Mother Mary Appearances| 1. | Wad of wet toilet paper, Gas station restroom floor, Houston TX | | 2. | Numerous, Mother Mary's Gift Shop, Albuquerque NM | | 3. | Fur pattern on Dalmatian's ass, Kingley OK | | 4. | Burrito Del Maria, Taco Bell Extra Value Menu | | 5. | Mary, Mary, ABC Thursdays | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 12/9/2002 Hello, Young America! Time to saddle up and get on the Entertainment Train one more time, and this time we're going to ride it all the way to Not Wasting Your Money City. I hope you brought plenty of trail mix and travel Yahtzee and stuff, because… have you ever ridden on a train before? Talk about slow. I mean the director's cut of a DOGME film slow. You'd think in this day and age they could kick it in the ass with some rocket boosters or wings or likewise for the trains, but train people are like some weird branch of the Amish or something—totally resistant to change. So you can thank your lucky ass we're not actually getting on a real train and I'm just being colorful in my language. Let's get on to the movies:
In Theaters
Hello, Young America! Time to saddle up and get on the Entertainment Train one more time, and this time we're going to ride it all the way to Not Wasting Your Money City. I hope you brought plenty of trail mix and travel Yahtzee and stuff, because… have you ever ridden on a train before? Talk about slow. I mean the director's cut of a DOGME film slow. You'd think in this day and age they could kick it in the ass with some rocket boosters or wings or likewise for the trains, but train people are like some weird branch of the Amish or something—totally resistant to change. So you can thank your lucky ass we're not actually getting on a real train and I'm just being colorful in my language. Let's get on to the movies:
In Theaters
About Shit
It's long been a growing trend to have trailers for films that tell you jack about what's actually in the movie. We probably should have seen it coming that movie titles would eventually follow suit, as evidenced by Jack Nicholson's latest dance with the devil. The title tells you nothing, of course, and the trailer is just one long shot of Jack standing there, scratching his nuts. Though this is probably an effective tactic for drawing in viewers whose nuts itch, I'm not sure it's going to attract the throngs of teenage girls who make movies successful. The film itself was fine, with Jack walking around and being all old, and it'll probably win him plenty of awards since, after all, he is only like 25 in real life.
Cannibalize That
Turns out the American public just can't get enough of that face-eating crybaby Robert DeNiro. I thought the first movie was a cute idea, having DeNiro running around and gobbling up stockbrokers and whoever, then running to his shrink and crying about how he can't sleep at night and gets all emotional watching cooking shows and all that. But do we really need to go on that ride again? I may still go, just in case there are any surprise Mohawk freak-outs in this one, but if he doesn't eat Billy Crystal at the end I'm definitely going to demand my money back.
The Hot Chick
My first thought upon hearing about this one? If this ends up being about a cute little pig, somebody's gonna get their ass killed. Thankfully for that somebody, they didn't make the Babe mistake twice, but they did pull off something almost as awful by switching out the hot chick from the title for Rob Schneider half-way through the movie, like we weren't going to notice. Call it artsy if you want, but people have been shot for less than that. And I know it's hard to find hot babes who are funny, or comedians who are also hot babes, but when you use a movie title like that you're making a pact with the audience that you break the second you let some washed-up former SNL boob ooze his way onto the screen. If the audience wanted that, they would have paid to see Rob Schneider and Some Tits That Talk, and I didn't hear anybody asking for that at the ticket window.
Maid in Manhattan
Jennifer Lopez was born to wear one of those little French maid outfits, though I hear they had to take some of the poof out of the back end so that she could fit in the elevator. This is yet another installment in the fine tradition of maid-themed pun movies, a lineage that includes Maid to Order, Maid in the U.S.A., the worst TV movie ever The Devil Maid Me Do It!, the Innerspace rip-off Maid Up My Mind, the cross-dressing mafia farce Maid Men, the Korean love story I Was Maid for You, and Kirstie Alley's terribly misguided Maid for TV. This one's about par for the course, and though at first I was pissed to see that J-Lo had made another movie, I quickly realized the upside is that making it probably kept her too busy to burp up any more songs to torture my radio this year. With any luck she'll land a sitcom soon on a channel I don't get.
Star Trek: Eminemisis
Faced with lagging interest in a series that has become increasingly irrelevant in the face of flashier and less embarrassing fantasy films, the producers of Star Trek decided to beam up a hot new commodity as their latest villain: offensively white rapper Eminemineminemi… emin… Slim Shady. Though the results definitely kicked some new life up the ass of this tired franchise, the question remains as to whether the pasty faithful are ready for the film's coarse language, which is enough to make a Klingon blush. The film's theme song alone should be enough to weed out any theatergoers who thought they were going to get some Muppets talking in French: "Eminem steppin' in again/to save the whole goddamned world and give it a spin/I got Gene Roddenberry's head in a pickle jar/rolling around like Tom & Jerry in the trunk of my car/you damn right bitch, you better beam me up/watch me bitch-slap the computer till she shuts the hell up/I don't need no rubber mask to act like some space retard/But my jumpsuit's all scarred because Picard makes my dick hard-Ahh!"
That's all we're going to squeeze out of the turnip this week, folks. In the mean time, I'll be keeping an ear open for more rumors about the all-naked remake of Flashdance that's in the works, and you'll know some time after I know. Unless someone out there has been going through Joe Eszterhas' garbage, in which case you should probably give me the word. Because you know Roland McShyster's one to make it worth your while with a free Entertainment Police tee-shirt and other fabulous shwag. Not that we actually have tee shirts printed up or anything, but I could hook you up with something from my private stash, no problem. Something I don't wear anymore, and chances are I probably wore it some time when I was writing the column or at the movies or something. Right now I'm thinking the Budweiser frogs shirt, It's starting to look like that joke's probably run its course. Though if it ever becomes some kind of kitsch collector's item and you sell it, I want half.   |
