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 November 1, 2004 |
President-Elect Al Gore reacts in good-natured WTF disbelief when informed by Airhead the Good-News Lady and assorted supporters that he will be the next U.S. president
Though Gore has not been a frontrunner in most of the supposedly-reputable national polls heading into the election’s final week, a highly scientific sampling of unregistered voters within a two-block radius of the commune offices has confirmed the reports of future correspondent Future Bob, who recently contacted the commune from the year 2006 with the news that Gore is president and that pop music had gotten really, really shitty. Also: buy stock in flavored condoms now.
Th...
sing state of the art poll-tracking technology, the commune has been able to predict this year’s presidential election winner two days early with a probably 98.77439% accuracy, and the result may shock or disinterest you. That’s right; Al Gore will be our nation’s 44th president.
Though Gore has not been a frontrunner in most of the supposedly-reputable national polls heading into the election’s final week, a highly scientific sampling of unregistered voters within a two-block radius of the commune offices has confirmed the reports of future correspondent Future Bob, who recently contacted the commune from the year 2006 with the news that Gore is president and that pop music had gotten really, really shitty. Also: buy stock in flavored condoms now.
Though it is unclear as of yet whether the Gore win will be the result of an unexpected groundswell of support in the election’s final days, or the emergence of thousands of 2000 absentee ballots from Post Office limbo hell, one thing is unmistakably clear. More on that later.
Perhaps even more surprising than the Gore win was the news that both presidential incumbent George W. Bush and Democratic challenger John Kerry finished well out of the money in the general election, trailing such surprise write-in candidates as The Rebel Billionaire, J.R. Ewing, and “that black guy from 24.” Also receiving strong shows of support were Candidate Zero from the NetZero Internet Service commercials, baseball commissioner Bud Selig, and the soothing, dignified voice of actor James Earl Jones.
Though the point may be moot due to the tenth-place showing of Jones’ voice, it is unclear whether the entire personage of James Earl Jones would have been inaugurated had the actor’s voice won, or if Jones would have had to stay out of sight while his voice was electronically matched, Wizard of Oz-style, to a projected image of either Darth Vader, the dad lion from The Lion King, or some kind of CGI morph of the two.
The revolutionary new poll, devised by the commune’s in-house expert expert Griswald Dreck using the latest Polish technology, also revealed some surprising news about America’s political affiliations. Long-though to be a nation composed almost equally of Democrats and Republicans, this latest poll shows a surprising 74% of citizens who list their party as “Yes!” Another 10% belong to the hard-line “Fuck Yeah!” Party, with a small but vocal minority standing behind their “Not Since We Had Kids” Party affiliation. Also of concern to the current establishment are the upstart “Where?” and “Can I Bring My Brother Dave?” Parties, which appeared to grow in size exponentially between our 10am and 4pm polls.
The demographic splits were even more surprising, with over 80% of likely white trash voters believing that gun control means using both hands. And in a minor note, a surprising 82% of Americans believe Gore is our current president, and are happy enough with the job he’s done to vote for a second term.
In other political news, 65% of likely voters expressed their strong opinion that commune reporter Lil Duncan belongs in the “Hot” category, while teen correspondent Boner Cunningham led the “Not” voting with a skyscraping 92%. Though disheartened by the news, Cunningham informed the commune that he hopes to do better in the upcoming 2008 election, by which time he expects his mustache to have fully grown in. the commune news has been accused of making premature calls on elections in the past, but we still stand behind our claim that Steve Toner was jobbed out of his rightful place as our student body president in 1989. Lil Duncan is the commune’s White House correspondent, a title we would have defined more specifically if we’d known she was going to buy a white house just so she could telecommute on a bullshit technicality.
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Argument over which hotties men would do turns violent
Ohio IT guy offers last jellied donut for capture of MyDoom virus author
Jobs' Last Laugh: Suri Cruise Somehow Inside Your New iPhone
eBay halts sale of three Vietnamese sex slaves over postage dispute
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Popular TV Clown Robertson Delivers Weekly Outrageous Banter Terrifying children worldwide with his announcement that not all dogs go to heaven, Christian doorknob Pat Robertson reprised his role this week as America’s favorite amusingly religious guy. Nation’s Three Remaining Liberals Turn to Humor to Survive Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines Eminem, Ex-Wife Reunite to Work on New Material |
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 April 4, 2005
Cordially Requesting Your RestraintI've always thought there should be some kind of intermediate step that comes before a restraining order. Because after all, "order" does sound pretty bossy. And Americans don't like being ordered around any more than we like paying for music or a legitimate cable TV connection. So I have no idea why we're still stuck with these old bullshit English laws. Our country should have something like an official Restraining Request, like "Stay the hell away from your ex-wife, if you don't mind." That'd be way more to my liking.
Unfortunately, many of our nation's lawmakers aren't regular My Friend Polio readers, so I'm stuck dealing with the restraining order my new neighbor Hamms slapped on my tender ass last week. Can you believe this shit? I swear to God, the cops catch you naked in your neighbor's basement in the middle of the night, the carpet saturated in cherry Jell-o to create a room-sized Slip 'n Slide, and you might as well not even have a trial. I've always thought being caught naked doing anything puts you at an automatic legal disadvantage, and now I have the proof.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have brought over that giant boom box, since the thudding bass from that Mexican polka music is undoubtedly what brought the attention of the law and woke Hamms up in the first place. But like they say, hindsight's on 20/20, and that bitch Barbara Walters asks some mean questions.
So now I have to stay 100 yards away...
º Last Column: My New Neighbor May Well Be a Vampire
º more columns
I've always thought there should be some kind of intermediate step that comes before a restraining order. Because after all, "order" does sound pretty bossy. And Americans don't like being ordered around any more than we like paying for music or a legitimate cable TV connection. So I have no idea why we're still stuck with these old bullshit English laws. Our country should have something like an official Restraining Request, like "Stay the hell away from your ex-wife, if you don't mind." That'd be way more to my liking.
Unfortunately, many of our nation's lawmakers aren't regular My Friend Polio readers, so I'm stuck dealing with the restraining order my new neighbor Hamms slapped on my tender ass last week. Can you believe this shit? I swear to God, the cops catch you naked in your neighbor's basement in the middle of the night, the carpet saturated in cherry Jell-o to create a room-sized Slip 'n Slide, and you might as well not even have a trial. I've always thought being caught naked doing anything puts you at an automatic legal disadvantage, and now I have the proof.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have brought over that giant boom box, since the thudding bass from that Mexican polka music is undoubtedly what brought the attention of the law and woke Hamms up in the first place. But like they say, hindsight's on 20/20, and that bitch Barbara Walters asks some mean questions.
So now I have to stay 100 yards away from my neighbor at all times, which really bites the bits since it means I can't go in my den at all, since it's too close to his house. I've been sending Foghat to fetch things I need from that side of the house, since the plaintiff foolishly forgot to include my dog in the suit, but his oversight is my gain. The real pain in the ass is that I had to drop four grand to have hidden cameras installed all over Hamms' house just to comply with the ruling, to make sure where I am in my house and where he is in his are at least 100 yards apart at all times. Next thing you know I'll be hearing from Hamms' lawyers about the Neighbors Gone Wild hidden-camera DVDs I've been selling on the Internet. Sometimes you can't win for losing.
Not that I'm sweating the whole restraining order thing, since this is probably the wimpiest one I've ever had tossed in my lap. One time I couldn't go into Kentucky Fried Chicken for an entire year, that was a real bitch. Especially since I'd been running a home-based business off their pay phone, and we'd already had some problems about KFC and I not seeing eye to eye on what their "business hours" should be, which led to the restraining order in the first place. Well, that and the whole thing about letting 400 live chickens loose in their men's room.
I have to admit though, I've always wanted to file a restraining order against somebody. Doesn't matter who, I just I think it would be hilarious to chase someone around town knowing that I've got the power of the law on my side, should they ever let the chase get too close and breach the invisible 100 yard barrier. And if you brought along a video camera, I bet you could make some mad cash selling a DVD of that shit on the Internet. Restraining Order 2: Run, Yuppie, Run.
But so far Hamms doesn't seem like the fun type at all, I think he sincerely wants me to stay out of his house. I've tried to reason with the guy that I've got so much of my shit over there we should just trade houses, but I don't think he was too impressed by the offer after he saw Foghat's treasure room, where the dog brings all the stuff he's found around the neighborhood over the years.
But I think he'll come around once he realizes that a restraining order just means Foghat's going to be over at his house twice as often now, running errands for me and searching the house for cream of asparagus soup on his own dime. Hamms can say what he wants about Omar Bricks, but at least I never barfed on his collection of antique pillowcases after eating a case of canned cat food.
I give this restraining order thing about two weeks. Bricks out. º Last Column: My New Neighbor May Well Be a Vampireº more columns
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|  May 2, 2005
The Good Name of Rok ???The good news: I've finally nailed down terms of my divorce from my soon-to-be ex-wife, Felchyana. The bad news: We elected a war-hungry idiot for president, not once, but twice.
But I suppose that bit of news is hardly news, and certainly doesn't have a place in this column about my own troubles. There is more bad news, that does concern me. Felchyana's only request in the divorce settlement is she gets custody of my last name. Not simply co-custody, as you see in many divorces, but sole custody. I have to give up the name Finger! Can you believe that? Why would anyone not divorcing a cold-blooded shrill Russian viper give up a good, solid name like Finger? I can't imagine any circumstance. Except my own.
I'm backed into a corner, and it's full of piranha. Piranha that can fly through the air and still eat me, so don't think I'm talking floppy, panicked fish. I have no choice but to give up my name to Felchyana (or Felchyana Finger, as all the hot-to-trot bachelors will soon be calling her). I'm too much in love with my betrothed-slash-business consultant Ginger Baker to think of not divorcing Felchyana.
Sure, if I had time to spare, I could simply move back in with Felchyana and let nature do its work. She'd be signing over both her names to me then, just to be granted the sweet relief of divorce! But I don't have the time to let my personality do the dirty work for me. I have to get divorced by June, or Ginger is going to slip...
º Last Column: Satellite Killed the Radio Stars
º more columns
The good news: I've finally nailed down terms of my divorce from my soon-to-be ex-wife, Felchyana. The bad news: We elected a war-hungry idiot for president, not once, but twice.
But I suppose that bit of news is hardly news, and certainly doesn't have a place in this column about my own troubles. There is more bad news, that does concern me. Felchyana's only request in the divorce settlement is she gets custody of my last name. Not simply co-custody, as you see in many divorces, but sole custody. I have to give up the name Finger! Can you believe that? Why would anyone not divorcing a cold-blooded shrill Russian viper give up a good, solid name like Finger? I can't imagine any circumstance. Except my own.
I'm backed into a corner, and it's full of piranha. Piranha that can fly through the air and still eat me, so don't think I'm talking floppy, panicked fish. I have no choice but to give up my name to Felchyana (or Felchyana Finger, as all the hot-to-trot bachelors will soon be calling her). I'm too much in love with my betrothed-slash-business consultant Ginger Baker to think of not divorcing Felchyana.
Sure, if I had time to spare, I could simply move back in with Felchyana and let nature do its work. She'd be signing over both her names to me then, just to be granted the sweet relief of divorce! But I don't have the time to let my personality do the dirty work for me. I have to get divorced by June, or Ginger is going to slip right through my fingers. Damn! Do I have to stop referring to those parts of my body, too? I never considered the extent of this wicked trap.
I can't even think of my digits now, though. I have to worry about losing the reputation I've attached to my name over the years. There are upsides, no doubt—I should be able to eat at a Shoney's once more. And likewise, that Best Western ban should lose all its power. But what about my checks? I designed all those checks on my pajamas to spell out "Rok Finger," is that all to go to waste? And I might have trouble getting paid as well. Let us not forget either that the very name of this column would be in jeopardy. "Giving You the Feinstein" doesn't have the effect I have with my current moniker.
Seems like sad prospects for yours truly, and myself. But I shouldn't forget what the Buddhists say. I can't understand it, since it's all in foreign-ese, but a friend once translated that all bad things are just positive things waiting for the sun to shine on a dog's ass, or something to that effect. I get my Buddhist bits of wisdom easily confused. But I think somewhere in there is the concept that a bad thing can be a doorway to a good thing. Meaning I might be able to make this name change thing work for me.
For instance, if I changed my name to Rok Bagel, I bet some doors would probably open for me around here. Half of those doors might lead to angry creditors, but I'm hardly losing anything in the bargain. If I changed my name to Rok Dreck I might well start receiving copies of The Anarchist's Encyclopedia. For that matter, I could change Lee's name to Lee Nacutchacokov and never have to worry about seeing him ever again. That's an interesting thought.
But focusing on the positive, Finger has always been a name that's served me well, but there's better out there. More macho. How's Rok Stonewall sound to you? No? Well, get used to it. You come back in 30 days, wimpy 48-pound weakling Rok Finger might be gone forever, replaced by the muscle-bound, fearless Rok Stonewall. In fact, I think I'm convinced. Come back next month for Giving You the Stonewall.
Now that I think about it, Rok Stonewall doesn't bow to penny-ante bigamy laws. I just might marry two women. º Last Column: Satellite Killed the Radio Starsº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I am the very model of a modern major general. Perhaps this explains my inability to move my limbs and the pungent smell of airplane glue.”
-Gilgamesh SullivanFortune 500 CookieYou will get kicked in the balls for a good cause this week. Expect a telephone call from a long forgotten friend today—your split personality from Belgium. Lose the mustache, that "Hitler" look is so 1997. This week's stomach-pump jackpot: $20 in loose change, long-lost stash, grandma's favorite knitting needles, Nerds.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Test the Durability of Your Training Bra | | 2. | Desperate Housewives: This Decade's Max Headroom? | | 3. | Drug Free Vs. Free Drugs | | 4. | 10 Questions for Marcel Marceau | | 5. | Uncle Macho's Fried-Right-the-First-Time Beans | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/17/2003 Oscar fever is upon us, ladies and gentlemen, and fear not: that puss-like discharge is a completely normal symptom. Hollywood is throwing all of its bulimia-managed weight around in an effort to whip us all into an Oscar frenzy, until we're running around like assholes, buying movie hats and snatching up tickets for movies we've never heard of. Since after all, they must be good if Hollywood wanted to artificially boost their box-office by leveraging back-room deals for Oscar nominations, right? They wouldn't go to all of that trouble for a turkey, would they? Don't be silly. So let's ratchet up the anticipation to an uncomfortable level before the big night with one final look at the nominees!
Best Picture 
Oscar fever is upon us, ladies and gentlemen, and fear not: that puss-like discharge is a completely normal symptom. Hollywood is throwing all of its bulimia-managed weight around in an effort to whip us all into an Oscar frenzy, until we're running around like assholes, buying movie hats and snatching up tickets for movies we've never heard of. Since after all, they must be good if Hollywood wanted to artificially boost their box-office by leveraging back-room deals for Oscar nominations, right? They wouldn't go to all of that trouble for a turkey, would they? Don't be silly. So let's ratchet up the anticipation to an uncomfortable level before the big night with one final look at the nominees! Best Picture Chicago -read EP review- I've already given the city of Chicago enough free publicity by refusing to review their movie a few months back. I'm not about to add insulin to injury by talking it up more, here. More than I already have, anyway. So I'm stopping. Right… Now!
Gays of New York -read EP review-
Hands down the best gay film of the year. Notice I didn't say the "gayest best film," because that would be improper English, or "gayest good film," because that honor belongs to the overpoweringly gay epic Sweet Homo Alabama. GoNY, however, is good and gay in its own right. Though some thought the disco club rumbles in the film were too graphic, I think that the film would have lost its realism if they had left out all of the hair-pulling and name-calling. Some might argue that the film is too gay to win the big prize, but that didn't stop Cool Hand Luke, now did it? Even money says this one makes off with the naked-guy statue.
The Hours -read EP review-
There's some kind of standing rule with the Academy where if all of the reviewers fall asleep during a certain movie, they have to nominate it for Best Picture. Partly just tradition, I think, but also none of those guys want to admit they weren't deep enough to power through some ass-numbing exploration of a woman's spirit filmed in real-time with no cuts or bathroom breaks. The Hours is the secret shame of this year's nominee class, and I understand why. Getting through this movie is like serving a tour in Vietnam, only hard. Look out for this one as a dark-horse candidate for the win if none of the voters can get through the video.
The Lords of the Ring: The Out of Towners -read EP review-
What was supposed to be either the best gay movie of the year, or at least the gayest best movie of the year, turned out to be the least-gay mediocre movie that was supposed to be better and more gay. Peter, Paul and Mary Jackson pulled a fast one with this wild departure from the modern classic original, and I don't mean the good kind of "fast one" like in an airplane lavatory. Steve Martin is obviously acting upon orders from individuals who have kidnapped his family, but the directors, at least, should have known better. The series still has a chance to redeem itself, but early word is that the third film will star Lou Diamond Phillips. Really. If this one wins the Oscar it'll be because someone's a big fan of "The Hammer Song".
The Pianist -read EP review-
Funny, sure, but I doubt they're going to want to have to show a clip montage of past Oscar winners that includes a midget in a sleeping bag being mistakenly used as a giant tampon for a whale. In this case, the nomination is the award, and a secret thank-you to the Farley brothers for cutting the title down from their original The Princess and the Pianist.
Best Director
Rob Marshall, Chicago -read EP review-
I'm not kidding, piss off with the Chicago stuff.
Martin Scorsese, Gays of New York -read EP review-
It's fitting that Scorsese should invent the gay-boxing epic (with 1945's lesbian opus Raging Bull), see it aped masterfully in last year's Lords of the Ring, and then turn around and trump them all with this gay disco masterpiece. I don't know how they'll end up copying his latest coup, maybe they'll make Saturday Night Fever again, but I hope they just leave well enough alone.
Roger Daltry, The Hours -read EP review-
Roger Daltry must've been too wasted away in Margaritaville to jump on the "Rock Stars Directing Blockbuster Movies" bandwagon last year, and when he did finally show up to direct something, a year late and with his pants only half on and his eyes all bloodshot, it isn't a pretty picture. Pun most definitely intended. Some directing classes or rehab time couldn't have hurt, and it's pretty clear there are a few scenes where he dozed off while the camera was running. After the world-ending badness of Tommy, it's not like we were expecting anything better than a kick in the nuts here, but I still left feeling vaguely disappointed, and sore.
The Farley Brothers, The Pianist -read EP review-
At first glance this may seem like one of the Academy's usual gag nominations, but for once I think they're actually acknowledging the skill it takes to get a camera crew up an elephant's ass.
Pedro AlmovĂłvar, Talk to Her
Now here's the gag nomination. Fairly uncreative by Academy standards, but maybe they've got some inside joke about a guy waking up in bed with some Mexican dude and saying "Pedro, I'll move over and talk to her" that makes it hilarious. You never know.
Best Actor
Adrien Brody, The Pianist -read EP review-
Finally, that funny guy from Mallrats gets his due, though of course he had to unwittingly have sex with a buffalo to get it. That's the price we all have to pay. But who knew he had a poofy first name like "Adrien"? No wonder we haven't seen him in more action vehicles.
Nicolas Cage, Adaptato
Only Nicolas Cage, or possibly Robin Williams, (maybe Gerald Ford) could pull off the lead role in this heavily bizarre Mr. Potato Head movie. But Cage does it with more panache, funny noses and sour cream than anyone had a right to expect. Maybe now he'll finally get to take a crack at the big-budget action roles he's always been denied because of that crazy look on his face.
Daniel Day-Lewis, Gays of New York -read EP review-
Daniel Day is just amazing in this film. His shoes match every outfit… even the ones you wouldn't think would go with anything. In addition, he does the gay thing better than most supposedly gay people. Give the man a restaurant already.
Toby Keith, The Quiet American
Another gag nomination that provides a polite smile and little else. Maybe the Academy needs to hire some new writers.
Jack Nicholson, About Shit -read EP review-
Jack is the man, even when he's not a man (see Kangaroo Jack, 2003. Actually, don't see it, since it was kind of rank, but think of it when you read that comment) and the Academy has never been afraid to French-kiss his two Jakes. Woah, excuse me. Just barfed. Got too vivid there even for my own self. Anyway, there are few men on earth who can carry a film in which absolutely nothing happens, and thankfully for us Jack is one of them. I'm not sure who the others would me, maybe Jesus or that Jonestown guy. I hear he was pretty charismatic.
Best Actress
Salma Hayek, Fritos
Best snack-food movie since Kurosawa's Ramen-dan, and Salma Hayek makes eating Fritos look like something we should all do, naked.
Nicole Kidman, The Hours -read EP review-
To be honest I forgot she was in this; she must have come in after I tried to kill myself by choking on a Whopper. The candy, you think I want to die with Burger King in my mouth? Ick.
Nathan Lane, Unfaithful
Proving he's just as good at playing a chick as he is at playing a really effeminate man, Nathan Lane won a lot of fans this year, many of whom would beat the shit out of themselves if they knew they were lusting after a dude.
Julianne Moore, Farhvergnugen
Though Moore should probably be recognized for the best performance anyone has ever given in a two-hour car commercial, I got sick of that "Da da da" song after about ten seconds and I think it may have soured me on her as a human being.
Renée Zellweger, Chicago -read EP review-
Nope, don't have anything to say. Not a God. Damned. Thing.
Best Supporting Actor
Chris Cooper, Adaptato
The secretive X-Files creator must've had some childhood play-time issues lingering to make him want to call in a favor to be cast in this one, but he does a fine job as the Potato Heads' weird neighbor who's missing some of his accessory teeth.
Ted Harris, The Hours -read EP review-
There must be a lot of big fans of The Who out in Hollywood, because Daltry had no problem attracting top-drawer talent to this project. Thanks to this film I now know all the nervous tics Ted Harris displays while waiting for the director to wake up and call "Cut!" but I'm not sure that gives him the edge for the Oscar.
Paul Newman, Road to Perdition -read EP review-
The movie itself was a slow train to Boregon State, but Newman did his thing with style as a mafia hitman who had his bladder removed in the war and has to drink while standing over a toilet. It doesn't read funny in black and white, but it works in the film. It's a shame to think what Newman could have done with a decent script, I for one would have loved to see him as a member of the Potato Heads' extended family in Adaptato.
John C. Reilly, Chicago -read EP review-
I hear ya knockin' but you can't come in… Keep it up, Chicago.
Christopher Walken, Catch Me If You Can -read EP review-
It's a bit strange that Walken got the nod instead of Leo "I Was Born to Play Lucky the Leprechaun" DiCaprio, but I can't fault the Academy with throwing a little love Walken's way. Playing Lucky's father had to be a challenge, since he rarely appeared in the Lucky Charms commercials, leaving Walken to create an entire mythology from scratch. And he did a fine job, mixing one part parental cereal wisdom with two parts of his trademark "I'm hiding under your bed" icky charisma.
Best Supporting Actress
Kathy Bates, About Shit -read EP review-
Bates scared the shit out of me when she came up on the screen, I thought she was going to go after Jack's ankles with a sledgehammer. Come to think of it, they could have had a pretty sweet sledgehammer/fire-axe battle to the crazy death between the two of them. Kind of strange the screenwriters didn't think of it first.
Julianne Moore, The Hours -read EP review-
Shit, she was in this, too? What, is she saving up to buy a house or something?
Queen Latifah, Chicago -read EP review-
Nice try, you almost tricked me into talking about Chicago again. Riiiight, Queen Latifah.
Meryl Streep, Adaptato
She was born to play the role of Mrs. Potato Head, and did not disappoint. But being a woman of sleight build, I did wonder at times exactly how many facial features and accessories she could really store in her ass.
Catherine Zeta-Jones, Chicago -read EP review-
Christ, did the entire Academy have family members in this movie or what?
And that is what it is. Of course, there are also some nominations for cartoons and music and best catering and all that, but we're trying to bring the column in at under three hours this year. I did notice that the nominations were fairly light on joke names and fake categories this year, maybe it's a sign that the Academy is finally growing up. Well, on second thought they did still nominate a movie with a dick joke in the title for Best Picture, so I guess we shouldn't get too worried. I hope you've enjoyed yourself as much as I've enjoyed yourself, and that you'll all be back for more EP flavor the next time we squirt it out of the nozzle. Until then!
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