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Elvis News for Some ReasonAugust 19, 2002 |
New York, NY Red Bagel Weather Balloon Either some King fanatic's lawn or the most peculiar crop circle yet. he major news media again claimed victory over the world itself by creating news from nothing. The so-called story this week revolved around a 25-year-dead white boy named Elvis Presley.
Presley, the king of rock and roll, died August 16, 1977, which is news thanks to the lack of real stories this week as fans and the media celebrate the 25th anniversary of his death. Born in Tupelo, Mississippi, Presley was the first attractive white person to bring rock and roll to the nation, and obtained the title "king of rock and roll" in some undisclosed media ceremony.
"Elvis touched everyone," said an unidentified modern rock star pretending to be in touch with music history. "He was the one and only. There will never be another like him."
Fans flocked in ...
he major news media again claimed victory over the world itself by creating news from nothing. The so-called story this week revolved around a 25-year-dead white boy named Elvis Presley.
Presley, the king of rock and roll, died August 16, 1977, which is news thanks to the lack of real stories this week as fans and the media celebrate the 25th anniversary of his death. Born in Tupelo, Mississippi, Presley was the first attractive white person to bring rock and roll to the nation, and obtained the title "king of rock and roll" in some undisclosed media ceremony.
"Elvis touched everyone," said an unidentified modern rock star pretending to be in touch with music history. "He was the one and only. There will never be another like him."
Fans flocked in presumably record numbers to Graceland to see the place where Elvis lived in strange, hermit-like seclusion until his death on the toilet. Presley was extremely popular in his lifetime, though that popularity peaked and waned over the years, ultimately leaving him most popular after his death.
"This here's Elvis week," proclaimed a Los Angeles classic rock station disc jockey named Danger Bob. "Celebrating the king of rock and roll by playing 'Hound Dog' every hour on the hour. Elvis was one of a kind, he invented it all. There will never be another like him."
His legacy in rock and roll already firmly established, Presley added another accomplishment to his resume this week, as he helped provide filler for news programs, networks, and magazines all across the nation, despite being dead for a quarter of a century.
The face and name of Elvis Presley have graced the covers of magazines, news footage, and news websites, as if some new event had occurred to warrant his coverage. CNN has been airing specials covering the history and influence of the King, Time named Elvis their Person of the Week, and VH-1 has even been playing Elvis videos during the rare hours they play videos.
"The news media owes Elvis a ton of thanks. He's saved our hash from the fire once again," said CNN correspondent Muffy St. Clair. "The president's on vacation and unable to supply us with the usual amount of ignorant quotes. The War on Terror sure hasn't gotten any more interesting—nobody knows where Osama bin Laden is or if he's even alive. Hell, even the celebrities are boring this week. What's new? Anna Nicole Simpson? Puh-lease. A dead Elvis is more interesting than an alive her any day."
While the media has been working overtime to bring Elvis back to national attention, the public at large is invariably unchanged.
"Elvis?" said man on the street Carl Ginser. "Yeah, I like some of his stuff. That 'Suspicious Minds' song is kick-ass. I think the Fine Young Cannibals did a cover of that or something. Oh, and he would, like, raise his lip and snarl. And he always left the building and some guy would announce it, I think. I'm not sure why he's on the news so much lately, though. He's still dead, isn't he? Not a zombie or nothing?"
This reporter, for one, is thoroughly convinced he is. However, until Red Bagel agrees to spring for the plane ticket to Memphis and a shovel, we'll never know for sure. But whether he actually breathes or lies very quiet in his grave, thanks to all the needless media sensationalism, Elvis is still alive today in some way. the commune news is sorry for stepping on your blue suede shoes, but c'mon, your feet are like size 19. Ramon Nootles is a commune correspondent and trashes the office like a rock star every Friday at 4:59 p.m.
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 May 2, 2005
Every Team Stinks This YearI knew one of these seasons it would happen, and that day is finally here: Every team in Major League Baseball stinks this year. Just plain stinks, every last one of them. Sure, somebody still has to win every game, but this year it's less about winning and more about not losing quite as badly as the other team. And I don't have to tell you it's as painful to watch as the rodeo at the Special Olympics.
Granted, some fans see fit to remind me that it's still early in the season, and that for at least a few teams, early suckocity will be transformed into mere mediocrity by season's end. But I don't buy it. Suck is a stink that stays on you for months, if not years, like gas station cologne. And this year, the entire league stinks like "Consternation for Men."
The bitterest part of this pill is the fact that at least a couple of these teams were supposed to be half-way decent this year. The Red Sox just won the World Series, for crying out loud, giving their fans unprecedented high hopes about not having their whole miserable lives remind them of smoking a turd like a cigar for a few short months this season. So naturally, they turned around and "re-vamped" their pitching staff by signing one guy most known for a goatee that looks like a thatched doormat and another so old and out of shape that he recently went on the disabled list with a pulled finger. And the Sox had to fire their team doctor after learning that Curt Shilling made it through last...
º Last Column: That's the Last Time I Go into a Coma in October º more columns
I knew one of these seasons it would happen, and that day is finally here: Every team in Major League Baseball stinks this year. Just plain stinks, every last one of them. Sure, somebody still has to win every game, but this year it's less about winning and more about not losing quite as badly as the other team. And I don't have to tell you it's as painful to watch as the rodeo at the Special Olympics.
Granted, some fans see fit to remind me that it's still early in the season, and that for at least a few teams, early suckocity will be transformed into mere mediocrity by season's end. But I don't buy it. Suck is a stink that stays on you for months, if not years, like gas station cologne. And this year, the entire league stinks like "Consternation for Men."
The bitterest part of this pill is the fact that at least a couple of these teams were supposed to be half-way decent this year. The Red Sox just won the World Series, for crying out loud, giving their fans unprecedented high hopes about not having their whole miserable lives remind them of smoking a turd like a cigar for a few short months this season. So naturally, they turned around and "re-vamped" their pitching staff by signing one guy most known for a goatee that looks like a thatched doormat and another so old and out of shape that he recently went on the disabled list with a pulled finger. And the Sox had to fire their team doctor after learning that Curt Shilling made it through last year's postseason on an ankle held together with glitter glue and spunk. Gross, I know, and I didn't even tell you whose spunk it was.
But truly nobody can statutorily rape high hopes like the New York Yankees. Fielding a team so expensive and inept it should qualify as a socialist government program, the Yankees seem determined to prove just how much caviar a drunk can barf up on the national stage this year. Some see this as the inevitable result of the team's policy about not signing any players who are too young to remember M.A.S.H., but personally I'm more likely to blame it on the fact that the team's run by a character from Seinfeld. Learn your history, folks. That never ends well.
Who else is sucking? Take your pick. The Cubs? Like you needed to ask about the Cubs. That team could field an entire roster of Jesus Christ clones and still find a way to have the whole lot of them go down with sandal splints and blown elbows from high blessing counts and excessive water-to-wine conversions. They've got the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost all on the 60-day disabled list, and I don't think the Holy Ghost will even be back for next season.
Houston's entire team has been too focused on the Social Security debate to keep their minds on the game at all this season, and San Francisco has been crippled by the fact that they traded the best closer in the game for a catcher who could get kicked out of the Hell's Angels for being an asshole. Also, they just got news that doctors found a Fraggle living in Bonds' left knee. I don't know what that says about the whole steroid debate, but those designer Jim Henson Mupplements he's been taking are starting to look mighty suspicious.
Washington? The joke this year is that they gave Washington a team, but haven't given them any equipment yet. Still, those guys are doing pretty well considering they've been using milk cartons for gloves and are playing in their street clothes. Minnesota fell for the old "The season starts on May 1st" gag again this year, so they're already twenty games back, with some serious catching up to do. Atlanta? Fags. Sorry, but they are a bunch of fags. Read the team's press kit if you don't believe me. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Sure, a few teams may have decent records so far, but don't kid yourself. The Dodgers? The White Sox? Check the records a little closer guys, it wouldn't surprise me if at least one of those teams was being run like Enron and is just writing off dozens of losses as "extended spring training" or some other dodge. You'll know I'm right if they're still 16-6 in August.
But contrary to what some may assume, you won't hear me complaining about the state of things. Not more than usual anyway. I actually kind of like it when teams suck major egg, as a fan it gives you more to talk about. Blathering on about who's pitching great or who just hit a home run so far it killed a hang glider gets real old, real fast. But the details of pathetic performance can be dissected on into infinity with no loss of enjoyment. Just ask a Cubs fan. º Last Column: That's the Last Time I Go into a Coma in Octoberº more columns
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|  December 22, 2003
Old Lame Sign"May old acquaintances be forgot, and their money remain all mine."
My favorite holiday is coming up quick: New Year's Day! I like that they put it at the end of every year, so I know right when it is.
Some people say they love Thanksgiving, but I say, what for? I can eat turkey and fall into a coma sleep any time of the year, thanks to my extra-sensitive allergies. When can you go out and totally shit-faced drunk? Not every day.
As for Christmas, I say, phooey! Which is little kiddish for "Fuck this, fat man!" I never got one thing in my life for Christmas that I wanted, except maybe the year I wished my dad would get off my back and he disappeared forever. No telling what happened there. Needless to say, I tried to make my Christmas wishes as detailed as possible after that.
No, New Year's is the time for me. There's the refreshing feeling, as all old mistakes and the old news gives way to the newness, a blank canvas is set up for the next year. It's like a big douche for the entire world. I wonder, if you were actually doing it, where you would stick a douche to do the whole world? I've heard the asshole of the world was Texas, but that might have just been what that guy from Arkansas was saying when he was mad after those Texans kicked our asses. I should probably find a globe. The whole thing is starting to turn me on, in a weird way.
Sometimes if you go out on St. Patrick's Day, my other favorite...
º Last Column: Pure Garbage º more columns
"May old acquaintances be forgot, and their money remain all mine."
My favorite holiday is coming up quick: New Year's Day! I like that they put it at the end of every year, so I know right when it is.
Some people say they love Thanksgiving, but I say, what for? I can eat turkey and fall into a coma sleep any time of the year, thanks to my extra-sensitive allergies. When can you go out and totally shit-faced drunk? Not every day.
As for Christmas, I say, phooey! Which is little kiddish for "Fuck this, fat man!" I never got one thing in my life for Christmas that I wanted, except maybe the year I wished my dad would get off my back and he disappeared forever. No telling what happened there. Needless to say, I tried to make my Christmas wishes as detailed as possible after that.
No, New Year's is the time for me. There's the refreshing feeling, as all old mistakes and the old news gives way to the newness, a blank canvas is set up for the next year. It's like a big douche for the entire world. I wonder, if you were actually doing it, where you would stick a douche to do the whole world? I've heard the asshole of the world was Texas, but that might have just been what that guy from Arkansas was saying when he was mad after those Texans kicked our asses. I should probably find a globe. The whole thing is starting to turn me on, in a weird way.
Sometimes if you go out on St. Patrick's Day, my other favorite holiday, they give you little green hats. For fucking free! I usually slip out the back so I don't have to return it when I leave at night. Or the next three or four days, whenever. But it's totally sharp, you can wear it to high-class social parties and stuff. I assume. One day I might know. Either way it's funny just to put it on and stand in front of the mirror and pretend kids are after your cereal and you have to destroy them with magic powers. I tried to pitch that show to a network guy years ago, but he claimed it was already in development.
They should give you free stuff on New Year's Eve. It would be the best holiday ever, hands down, because all Christmas has over anyone is they give you stuff for free. Easter tried to cop, giving out eggs. Yeah, thanks. Like I can't get eggs. Nobody likes hard-boiled eggs, man, that's why the rabbit gives them away. Tons of people turn down hard-boiled eggs for breakfast, they start to pile up. Maybe that's a Bible story and I just don't know the significance. Jesus got pelted with hard-boiled eggs by the Greeks or whoever and turned them all chocolate and had the last laugh. "Now who's the asshole?" That's probably something Jesus would say.
Free food doesn't make for much of a holiday, though. If you hang out at the right shelters they give you free food on every holiday, but you got to be faster than some of these frostbitten bums to get it. And they have free beer nuts and pretzels at a lot of bars on New Year's. They hand out condoms, but I don't need gag gifts. Hey, fuck you, I know I'm not getting laid tonight. Why do I have to have that thing staring at me in the morning when I wake up on the curb out front? Adding insult to injury. Occasionally injury to injury, too, if you try to put those things on while a cop is watching you. I was just testing to see if it glowed or anything, officer. Chill out.
And Happy New Year. º Last Column: Pure Garbageº more columns
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Quote of the Day“It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that's completely impossible by the laws of physics and laughable to every sane person.”
-Mark TwaintFortune 500 CookieThis is the week you finally snap. All those years spent strengthening your middle finger and thumb are really going to pay off big-time, playa. Try keeping your dehydrated mashed potato flakes and your dandruff collection in different-colored boxes this week, just in case that last date ever comes back. Oh, that autobiography you wrote in l33t? Yeah dude, nobody can read that shit. This week's lucky porn cameos: Jenna Jameson in the pilot of that awesome new Hoarders spin-off, Whoreders, Big Bird in Larry Bird: Big Bird, The Ghost of John Holmes in everything else you watch because you burnt that shit into your plasma, dumbass, and …wait, Ron Jeremy in your wedding video? WTF?
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Are You Radioactive? Take Our Quiz | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Edible Lunch Bucket | | 3. | We All Live in a Yellow Sub-Basement Apartment | | 4. | Angels: Assholes in Disguise? | | 5. | Never Have Sex Again | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Squirrel Robinson 12/9/2002 PLuGged UpScreamin' firecrackers were going off in my head. Pop pop pop. That's how firecrackers sound.
I literally fell out of the chair, and metaphorically threw up. I stood with a scream, a loud, "Arrrrggh!" That's what a scream sounds like. The clients grabbed me and strapped me back into the chair.
"You big gaywad," said Toro-san, the Japanese businessman who led this pack o' goons. "Fredddy Hotwire, if you can't take the heat, get out of the electronic kitchen."
Fredddy Hotwire, that's me. If you need someone to store all your memories, all your brainwaves, everything that makes you a person—that's me. I carry people's personalities in my head, like a backup disk. It's a luxury only the rich can afford, and if you're rich and dying like Toro-san, for...
Screamin' firecrackers were going off in my head. Pop pop pop. That's how firecrackers sound.
I literally fell out of the chair, and metaphorically threw up. I stood with a scream, a loud, "Arrrrggh!" That's what a scream sounds like. The clients grabbed me and strapped me back into the chair.
"You big gaywad," said Toro-san, the Japanese businessman who led this pack o' goons. "Fredddy Hotwire, if you can't take the heat, get out of the electronic kitchen."
Fredddy Hotwire, that's me. If you need someone to store all your memories, all your brainwaves, everything that makes you a person—that's me. I carry people's personalities in my head, like a backup disk. It's a luxury only the rich can afford, and if you're rich and dying like Toro-san, for example, it's a necessity.
Toro-san is not an old dude, he's a young dude, like me. But he's a dude that pissed off the wrong dudes, if you catch what I'm slinging, and he's about to be a dead dude. So he needs a righteous dude like myself, a memory-storage unit dude, to store all his memories until a new dude can be sacrificed to receive an overwrite of his old memory data. Dude.
I barely had a chance to get a solid breath before the doors burst open in rings of flame. It was a flamethrower, duh, held by Frankie Pyro. Pyro was a 7-foot fruitcake with nuts on top—metaphorically—who took big checks to wax anybody who got in someone else's way, and his waxing style of choice was a flame thrower. As the firespitter stepped into the room, behind him came Gyro Jim, the schizophrenic cyber-head who offed people with a rotating food processor gun. Also with them was their associate Karl. I got no beef with Karl, really, we get along alright.
"Long time no see, Fredddy Hotwire!" said Pyro.
"Your mother's a fucking bitch-whore!" I shouted to my old enemy. I like cursing.
"You won't be so silver-tongued when I cut it out of you," Gyro Jim said.
Hey! I just noticed—Pyro and Gyro. Their names rhyme. But that was the least of my problems right now. Still, pretty cool and all.
Pyro and Gyro came charging at me as I sat like a sitting duck in my duck chair, or nest or whatever. Now, I may look like hot shit, but I ain't able to take on two bad-asses at once, and Karl, whom I've got no beef with, even if I was hot shit. And I was about to become real hot shit in a second, if Pyro got me with that torch.
Just then, as opposed to much later after an ass-whipping, Toro-san stepped in the way of Pyro's torch and burst into flames. At first I thought he was being all kind and shit, and I didn't get him even a birthday card. Really, I didn't know when his birthday was, though he kinda looks like a Taurus. Probably just because his name sounds like Taurus. But no, Toro fell to the floor by my feet as his bodyguards held off Pyro, Gyro, and Karl.
"Fredddy," he groaned, words smoking off his lips as they crackled and sizzled like Canadian bacon. "You have my memories. All that's left of me is in your head now. Take care of us… get me out of here! Hello, Dolly!"
Strange last words, but the dude ran in front of a flame thrower, not the kind of guy you can easily explain. Toro-san turned his head to the side, coughed, and a penny came out. Dead.
I didn't need to be told twice, or even once, it just so happens I was ready to leave when dumbass-san stopped me to tell me with his dying words to leave. I did a triple flip out of the chair and landed behind Gyro Jim—thank DataGod for my cybernetic calf implants! I shouted a quick "hi" and "bye" to Karl on my way out, then I was on the run—to the NetDome.   |