President Bush Accidentally Left Home Alone

June 24, 2002

Washington, D.C.

Whit Pistol

Bush describes harrowing loneliness of 8-hour ordeal

fearful nation was relieved at the end of an 8-hour period in which President George W. Bush was left home alone in the White House. According to White House sources, though the potential for harm to the president, the nation, and the house itself was great, the president's 8-hour unsupervised period ended without incident.

It started as an evacuation of the White House after a lost pilot, flying a private Cessna, flew through White House airspace. Heightened precautions called for the White House staff and administration to leave the building until the potential threat was abated, and somehow in the confusion, the president was left unsupervised.

"I thought [secret service operative] Larry had him, Larry thought I had him," said secret service operative Todd Henry. "I guess the little bugger got away from us. It happens."

When it was discovered everyone had vacated the White House except for the president, secret service commander Dick Gautier immediately ordered agents to return for the president. It was upon their return they found the White House doors locked and the windows sealed shut.

"It's not uncommon for the president to lock us out of rooms inside the White House," admitted Gautier. "Either intentionally or by lack of understanding of the door locking mechanism. But this was the first time the entire secret service, indeed everyone in the White House, had been locked outside with the president inside."

White House officials took quick steps to keep the information silent, but White House press had already noticed the president missing from his outside emergency pen and suspected something was amiss. commune correspondent Lil Duncan broke the story with privileged information obtained from some masculine insider source who allegedly resembles Richard Grieco. With little other recourse, White House spokesperson Ari Fleischer informed the press.

"At this time, the president is believed to be alone in the White House," said Fleischer, refusing to take any questions. "He will not come to the door and does not answer the phone, but it is possible he can't hear us knocking or ringing. Keep in mind, it is a big house. We suspect right now he is watching TV in the presidential den."

Initially the secret service offered no explanation if the president had been left inside by someone locking the door on their way out or if the president had locked the doors and windows himself intentionally. The president could be seen walking briefly past an east side window, pausing, holding a hand up to his ear, and shrugging his shoulders before leaving view, a beer in his hand.

The anxious waiting ended at 7:25 p.m. when a secret service agent returned from home with a wire coathanger. The back door of the White House was then jimmied open and the secret service led the return into the house. The president was found playing Grand Theft Auto 3 in the presidential game room, apparently oblivious to the evacuation.

An angry nation will no doubt demand attention to this situation for weeks to come, as long as the networks are showing repeats. It is expected that secret service and other government agencies will take steps to prevent the president being left unsupervised in the future. There is talk of hiding an extra key to the White House somewhere on the grounds, though for the sake of national security no one is saying where. the commune has it on good information that on top of a high window shudder or taped under the mailbox are leading good secret key spots as of press time.

the commune news would never be caught dead in a suit, though we wouldn't be adverse to being found dead nude in a bathtub. Lil Duncan is the commune's Washington correspondent and is on top of the news when it happens. Don't snicker, she'll get pissed at us.

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November 7, 2005

Paging Doctor Van

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A quart of bad milk later and I'm on the way to the hospital. "Stomach pump, stomach pump," that's all I heard on the way up there. Then I threw up in the doctor van and felt better instantly. They didn't even take me all the way to the hospital. I didn't even get a lift back home either, and I told them I didn't mind riding home in the same van. They were pissed or something, but it's not my fault. Or I suppose it is. But it's not my fault in the way that all of our destiny is predetermined.

Did you know they call those hospital vans ambulances? Learn something new every day, and about once a month something sticks. But all this crap got me thinking about ambulances.

I didn't know this, but those guys who ride around in the "ambulances" aren't doctors at all. Sure, they got some medical training, they're licensed to perform CPR and they can sell drugs out of the back, but they're not full-fledged doctors. Which stinks. I don't want some guy who smells like exhaust and trucker speed to work on me if he's not a doctor. That's where I got my latest ideaâ€”they should make doctor training easier. Make it so half the people in the world can be doctors. It's basically the same thing they did with public school courses. More people pass, more people are certified, and everyone feels better since we have the false idea everyone's properly trained.

Really, how often are you going to need a real fully properly-trained doctor anyway? Once in a blue moon, at least, and let's face it, you were probably going to die when he left his watch in your chest anyway.

So the next time someone is choking at your local restaurant, you can raise your hand and tell them, "Excuse me, I'm a doctor." Then cut their neck open and just take the McNugget right out with your bare hands. I'm not sure what's involved in sealing the neck back up so it works right, but that's the kind of training we don't need. Let the super doctors or whatever the regular guys are do that. We'll just freeze the neck so they can reattach it later. You can freeze things and reattach them now. It's just one of our modern medical miracles, and I saw it on the TV.

Come to think of it, is there really any reason we have to drive sick people around in a van? None, so far as I can tell. It's just more to clean up when they throw up and don't get to go to the hospital anyway. Most of these guys probably aren't going to make it anyway. I say we should buy Camaros and Thunderbirds, all sorts of really cool convertible cars. For one thing, then everyone would suddenly want to be an ambulance doctorâ€”they might even go through the full hard training! But the main thing is, if you're choking on a McNugget and about to die, and you're not going to make it anyway, wouldn't you rather be going full speed toward the hospital in a car like the Knight Rider rather than some big clunky van that can't even drive on its side wheels if it needs it? I know my answer.

If you see me zipping by you on the freeway, driving a really hot car with some guy turning purple in the passenger seat, you'll know I made my dream a reality. But keep your windows rolled up, in case he pukes.

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October 24, 2005

In Cognito

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Have you ever seen Tom Cruise slying around town, trying not to be recognized? Well, if you live in one of the piss-poor excuses for a town that aren't Los Angeles or New York City, it's not likely you have. But if you do live in the regular world I do, you probably have. The sunglasses, the hatâ€”it's all a disguise. There's a very attractive celebrity under that stuff!

Because celebrities are often actors or performers in some way, they have an innate ability to disguise themselves. You can't teach that kind of stuff, and it's good we already know it because no one does teach it. Celebrities know that putting on a hat shields the hair area and the forehead from being recognizedâ€”and the sunglasses? They expertly hide the eye area, which is important place to be seen so a celebrity can be recognized for their famous features. If you ever see a celebrity in a movieâ€”and you probably willâ€”wearing glasses or something, you'll notice they'll always take them off so the audience can say, "Hey! It's (so and so)!"

The reason for this is that normal non-celebrity people cannot see a celebrity in real life without storming them like a rampaging rhino. That's dangerous enough, and if there's more than one it can cause a riot. How would you like to be standing there, famous and all, and all of a sudden be swarmed by a couple hundred ravenous fans? Well, it's not gonna happen to you. But for celebrities, it sure sucks. That's why they wear the stuff they do.

For you novices out there, I'll give you some quick tips for going "in cognito," as we celebrities call it: The hair and eye areas need to be disguised. I've seen some celebrities disguise themselves with facial hair, and if you're as famous as J-Lo it's a good idea. But really it's a mistake to spend a lot of time and risk doing yourself permanent facial damage just to cover your chin and nasal ridge. Unless you're really famous for your chin, like Jay Leno or Popeye, it's not going to make a difference. Hair and eye areas. I repeat: Hair and eye areas.

I remember one time, this should tell you how fantastic an in-cognito artist I am: I was being followed into a grocery store once by a lunatic fan/bill collector. There's not a hat in the store, and all the sunglasses are sold out. Anybody else would've panicked and signed the autographs/summons papers. Not Clarissa Coleman. I made a quick disguise out of a box of Kellogg's Cornflakes and some Fruit Rollupsâ€”I literally had to eat the eyeholes out of my "glasses," and I was picking cornflakes out of my hair for hours. But I sure as hell got out of that store without signing anything. An expert? If I can say so modestly, fuck yeah.

If you're wondering what all this has to do with anything, it should be obvious by now: Since I'm no longer going to be using these skills on a regular basis as a big-time celebrity (having walked away, by choice, from the spotlight) I decided I would pass these skills onto tomorrow's generation of stars. For a price, of course, I'm not some good-hearted Gandhi giving it away for free.

The classes will be $30 a day, or $60 per hour. This is all based on how much money I think you'll spend on it. And don't go asking for acting lessons, because I've been ordered by a judge not to teach any more acting classes for moneyâ€”apparently it constitutes fraud in this state. So all you get is the disguise lessons. It's just like the old expression goesâ€”if you're going to act the part, dress the part first.

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Milestones

2002: Office prick and former Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley successfully turns 30, leading us on an endless week-long binge of bitching, moaning, and strange acts of vandalism we hope not to repeat this year.

Now Hiring

Big Fat Patsy. 'Cause we're not taking the rap for this, see. We must look like a real all-day sucker to you, yeah, a sucker, with a big fat wrapper. Boy, should we have seen it coming! Played like a two-bit piano from day one. Backstabbing dames need not apply.

Least Effective Protest Signs

1.	Stop Iraq War and Tooth Decay
2.	France is Against It!
3.	Smooth Move, Ex-Lax
4.	Prevent Tyrannical Military Action and Stop U.S. Globalizâ€” (see other side)
5.	Bush is Just Lame Nirvana Wanna-Be

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

10/4/2004

Buenos Nachos, Americanos, it's time for another weekly injection of the Entertainment Police serum. Hope you've all been good boys and girls out there in boy and girl-land, I don't really have the technology to follow up on that in order to deny the latest movie reviews to those of you who have been bad, so I guess we'll just have to keep on with the honor system on that one. You bad ones, you know who you are, you miserable fucks. And I bet you feel just awful poaching the straight world's movie-reviewing good time. You should. As for the rest of you, sorry for that ugliness, but now let's get on to the new releases!

In Theaters Now:

The Forgotten
Sure, I'll be the first to admit that it's a major bummer when somebody's supposed to pick you up at the mall and they completely forget about you, but is that really dramatic fodder for a major motion picture? It is if you're Julianne Moore, the queen of overreacting on the big screen. And although I'm sure you're waiting for me to give this turkey the patented McShyster "McShit!" razzle, I'm afraid I'm going to have to blow your mind by cracking open the stunner that I actually enjoyed this movie. Sure, the idea's batshit, but Moore's just touched enough to make it work on that crazy big screen. At first, when she starts ranting to strangers in the mall parking lot about how her son didn't show up to give her ride and how that means he never existed and her whole life is a giant alien conspiracy lie, you just shrug your shoulders and start making that cross-eyed, finger-twirling "crazy" gesture to your fellow theater patrons. But then you start to think. What if your ride doesn't come pick you up from the mall after the movie? How much would that suck and just how far out of your own ass might you crawl? Though I didn't see the rest of the movie, I'm sure it was fine. I had to go out in the hall and call my ride for a preemptive bitching-out.

National Lampoon's Gold Niggers
Let me be the first to make it clear that I don't approve of this film's title. No need to beat down the commune's doors and beat Roland McShyster to a bloody, racially insensitive pulp. Save that rage for the exploitive pencil-dicks over at the studio, if you don't mind. I don't care how many hard-core rappers you put in the cast, that kind of boorish insensitivity hasn't been welcome in movie titles since the 1950's. Or the mid-90's, in southern states. Though I'm sure the guys over at National Lampoon have been especially desperate for cheap laughs ever since John Belushi died and Chevy Chase had his soul removed in that infomercial accident, this one still has to go down with the infamous Skating Chink and the typo nightmare Emaneulle in Jew Zealand in the annals of the most offensive movie titles ever. But how was the movie, you ask? Are you shitting me? You think I was going to parade my white ass into that theater and announce that I'd just paid $9 to see some gold niggers? I got the hell out of there, and stopped to rent Roots on the way home in case anyone had followed me from the theater. Shit.

Shy Captain and the World of Sbarro
Maybe I spent too much of my childhood out in the sunshine, but I somehow managed to miss the comic book about the Italian-fast-food-loving WWI-era fighter pilot captain who was famous for never landing, due to his paralyzing fear of social situations. Nor did I catch wind of his most famous adventure, when he ends up being the only pilot left to fight off an invasion after the entire air force is destroyed on the ground by giant flying desk lamps. Did you read that one? Or maybe Hollywood is just starting to make this shit up, since audiences obviously don't care what they're getting as long as it's some kind of half-assed escape from reality. It's gotten so bad that I've even had offers to develop that Hero Gang comic I used to draw in high school, but I decided to take a pass since they wanted Ashton Kutcher to play me. Some things are just more valuable than money, and not spending the rest of your life having everyone think you're a gonad is definitely one of them.

And that's a wrap, but not the kind that come filled with delicious meats and shredded vegetables. Sorry about that, I wish it was that kind of wrap too. We'll be back in another few weeks with even more movie reviews for you to peruse, but probably still no wraps, so you might want to look into bringing your own lunch next time.