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Congress Approves Military Budget for "Whatever the President Thinks is Fair"May 13, 2002 |
Washington, DC Whit Pistol Bush (left) and Sen. Daschle, who reacts the same way when Bush is referred to as "the president". sure sign of the times, Congress gave a blanket approval to any military budget requests from president Bush Friday.
In an effort to quickly pass a military budget to cover next year—and the exciting promise of future military operations—both the House and the Senate conceded that what was necessary for the defense of the United States and its aggressive acts overseas was surely better decided by the president than by countless Washington insiders just there to fatten their pockets.
"Now I'm a politician, not a militaritician," said Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R-Illinois), "nor am I knowledgeable of what words mean. But the president is a well-informed man with infallible decision-making powers. That's all I need to know before I approve him for wh...
sure sign of the times, Congress gave a blanket approval to any military budget requests from president Bush Friday.
In an effort to quickly pass a military budget to cover next year—and the exciting promise of future military operations—both the House and the Senate conceded that what was necessary for the defense of the United States and its aggressive acts overseas was surely better decided by the president than by countless Washington insiders just there to fatten their pockets.
"Now I'm a politician, not a militaritician," said Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R-Illinois), "nor am I knowledgeable of what words mean. But the president is a well-informed man with infallible decision-making powers. That's all I need to know before I approve him for whatever he needs. Policeman and firefighters are the real heroes."
After months of arguing over details, according to one Washington insider, members of the House stopped the quibbling by loudly speaking out of turn and saying maybe they were just fighting with each other because of partisanship.
"Well, no one wanted to believe it was true," said Rep. Jose Serrano (D-NewYork), "but we thought it might be possible. That made all of us feel none too good, let me tell you."
It was at that point they agreed the president was better prepared to decide how billions of dollars would be spent on the military projects for the future. Only he had the close contact with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and other military officials, and only he knew what was planned for U.S. military actions next year.
The Democrat-controlled Senate quickly followed suit, approving the measure in record time.
"Our fellow representatives in the House are on the right track," said Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle (D-South Dakota). "We can't expect the president to stop doing all the things he has to do to come down here and ask us for money. He's busy making plans, and these plans affect the lives of millions of Americans. And if he's going to send them into battle, we better make sure he has the state-of-the-art equipment and funding they need."
The Senate roared with approval, although one minor voice in the background, a suspected Democrat, was heard to say, "Are you fucking crazy?"
On Saturday Daschle met with President Bush in the oval office with a giant blank check for a photo opportunity as Congress handed the president his open budget for 2003.
"Now just fill in the amount for whatever you think is fair, Mr. Bush," Daschle said, shaking hands with the president. "Keep our boys fighting as long as you think it's necessary. Just don't go buying anything all nutty like a Star Wars defense system or something," said Daschle with a laugh.
"It's not nutty, it really works," Bush snapped, turning red. "It can destroy 9 out of 10 nuclear missiles aimed at us by Russia agents or attacks from outer space."
Daschle then refused to give the check to Bush, saying he had to examine the date and make sure it was correct. He promised the check would be returned to Mr. Bush at a later time. the commune news just wants to crash on your couch until its girlfriend comes to her senses. Lil Duncan is the commune's Washington correspondent, and if that isn't enough, she's dynamite in the sack—the potato sack race at the company picnic, you sickos.
 | Stocks Plunge- Wait, No, Stocks- Shit- Stocks Soar, Hold On- Stocks- Fuck
 OH MY GOD SNOW Hotmail down for hours; vital dick-growing pills experience sales drop
Review: Batman Begins disturbingly void of homosexual overtones
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Turkey to Block Offensive Websites; commune Offers Pre-Emptive “Fuck You” Obama to Change Spelling of Name to oBAMa for Maximum Impact Oasis, Killers Combine Forces to Ruin Sgt. Pepper’s for Everyone Global Warming Poses Threat to National Parks, Says WWF’s “Machoman” Savage |
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 February 5, 2007
Whatever Happened to Baby Bagel?As you can tell, sir, the commune is back and better than nothing. Also, better than we previously were. I for one am quite chagrinned at our long absence from the Internet, and anyone who knows me can tell you it's very difficult for me to be chagrinned because of how much I hate using the word "grin" in a sentence. And now I've used it three times. I won't need to use it again until 2010, and I make that pledge to myself now.
Many of you are undoubtedly wondering what happened. Or, speaking completely honestly, most of you are wondering how you got here from your friend's blog, just because you clicked on the underlined words "cheap imitation" or the like. I know, though, that commune fan Emil Zender and his many followers are asking what the hell happened to us last year, and I haven't been sleeping on the job in finding out either. Honestly, I haven't slept since maybe November, and then it was only a quick nap. You'll all be happy to know, those who care, that my thousands of dollars invested in discovering the problem have discovered the problem. It's a fine feeling, like when you go looking for your car keys and you find them in the last place you look—usually for me the bathtub, where they were playing stand-in for the sailboat.
I had the good fortune to hire renowned private investigator Pierre Banjo. If you haven't heard of him, I'm not surprised, he's not that kind of renowned. He's only renowned with the people he tells about his...
º Last Column: Alito Supreme º more columns
As you can tell, sir, the commune is back and better than nothing. Also, better than we previously were. I for one am quite chagrinned at our long absence from the Internet, and anyone who knows me can tell you it's very difficult for me to be chagrinned because of how much I hate using the word "grin" in a sentence. And now I've used it three times. I won't need to use it again until 2010, and I make that pledge to myself now. Many of you are undoubtedly wondering what happened. Or, speaking completely honestly, most of you are wondering how you got here from your friend's blog, just because you clicked on the underlined words "cheap imitation" or the like. I know, though, that commune fan Emil Zender and his many followers are asking what the hell happened to us last year, and I haven't been sleeping on the job in finding out either. Honestly, I haven't slept since maybe November, and then it was only a quick nap. You'll all be happy to know, those who care, that my thousands of dollars invested in discovering the problem have discovered the problem. It's a fine feeling, like when you go looking for your car keys and you find them in the last place you look—usually for me the bathtub, where they were playing stand-in for the sailboat. I had the good fortune to hire renowned private investigator Pierre Banjo. If you haven't heard of him, I'm not surprised, he's not that kind of renowned. He's only renowned with the people he tells about his illustrious career, and I was fortunate enough to meet him in a bar and ply him with alcohol until he revealed his fame to me. This was circa June, which happens about a month after regular June, and I was well in the throes of panic about the many emails I received regarding the missing updates of the commune. All from Emil Zender. If we didn't get issues of the commune up and running again, we would have to return all our sponsor money to our sponsors. Assuming they ever found the website and realized we weren't updating. It was an expensive quest, let me tell you that, but no problem is too big for me to throw money at. Finally, just before Christmas, Dr. Banjo called to inform me he had discovered the problem in our missing new editions. He had actually uncovered the source of the problem during a visit to my home office several months earlier, circa July proper, but did several months worth of follow-up investigation at my expense just to be sure he found the right problem. You see, as part of my investment into the 2006 commune improvements, I bought myself a laptop. I forewent the expensive iMacs I had heard so much about and bought a iRoc. I thought it would help support the poor Iraq terrorist cells our government has had on the run for long months, but it turns out they're called iRocs because they're all using the licensed image of actor Charles S. Dutton. But all this is only column filler. While the iRoc laptop helped me work from home and connect to the internet, I still didn't have the expertise to put it all on the Internet the hard way—not much of a web-designer, doesn't run in the Bagel blood. And driving to the office once a week seemed like a complete waste. Fortunately, the man who sold me the iRoc also sold me a Magic Internet Scanner—you plug it in and scan the printed columns in and they automatically go onto the Internet! In retrospect I probably should have checked out the website to make sure they were updating when I used the machine, but thatseemed like a lot of extra time, and I've had trouble finding the commune on the Net. Like all our readers. So as you may have guessed, the Magic Internet Scanner didn't work right. It was instead shredding our columns into confetti each time I ran one through. The word "shredder" on the top turned out not to be an affectionate nickname for the machine. I'm also starting to doubt I had it hooked up correctly and thinking maybe Tony Z. sold me a terrible bit of goods. But even the best of us—me—can fall for a conman occasionally. Now that we've crossed that dark period for the commune, I look forward to spearheading the best year yet for the little news site that could. Expect the best in 2007. I even met a guy in a bar yesterday who swears he can get our White House press room credentials back for only $5,000. How can you not put your faith in a man named Smitty? º Last Column: Alito Supremeº more columns
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|  March 14, 2005
Bitch-Slapped? HardlyTony and I may have had a verbal disagreement, perhaps even one that came to fisticuffs. And some present may argue that I did not come out on top in this exchange. Some hysterical individuals have even suggested that I was bitch-slapped. Bitch-slapped? Come now; let us not get carried away here.
I merely suggested that a low-yield Mutual Fund would, in all likelihood, outperform Tony's hotshot "stock of the week," given the market's present course and well-established seasonal trends. And this was apparently enough to send Tony into a pre-verbal tantrum. I guess I should have taken mother's advice: if you don't have nice financial advice to give, don't give any at all. Touché, mother.
There was a row, I'll admit. And regrettable words were exchanged. I'm sure Tony also regrets some of his physical actions as well, like when he struck me about the head and neck with that radiator. Oh, the foolish things we do whilst in the grips of a spirited debate!
I've certainly been guilty of the same a time or two. Remember the time you were trying to convince me that ascots were still in style, mother? And in the heat of the moment I suggested that you were very occasionally mistaken in your conclusions? Oh, how many long nights did I wish I could have those words back! So I could certainly understand where Tony was coming from when he was attacking me with that rubber hose.
You know how those sorts are over at the Faberge Room,...
º Last Column: You Really Think That Girl Was a Hooker? º more columns
Tony and I may have had a verbal disagreement, perhaps even one that came to fisticuffs. And some present may argue that I did not come out on top in this exchange. Some hysterical individuals have even suggested that I was bitch-slapped. Bitch-slapped? Come now; let us not get carried away here.
I merely suggested that a low-yield Mutual Fund would, in all likelihood, outperform Tony's hotshot "stock of the week," given the market's present course and well-established seasonal trends. And this was apparently enough to send Tony into a pre-verbal tantrum. I guess I should have taken mother's advice: if you don't have nice financial advice to give, don't give any at all. Touché, mother.
There was a row, I'll admit. And regrettable words were exchanged. I'm sure Tony also regrets some of his physical actions as well, like when he struck me about the head and neck with that radiator. Oh, the foolish things we do whilst in the grips of a spirited debate!
I've certainly been guilty of the same a time or two. Remember the time you were trying to convince me that ascots were still in style, mother? And in the heat of the moment I suggested that you were very occasionally mistaken in your conclusions? Oh, how many long nights did I wish I could have those words back! So I could certainly understand where Tony was coming from when he was attacking me with that rubber hose.
You know how those sorts are over at the Faberge Room, mother. They'll invent stories in their entirety just to have something to gossip about. And yes, they do indeed often involve bitch-slapping. It's a favorite subject in certain unsavory circles, I assure you.
Please mother, you must know without asking that your son more than held his own. I got in my licks as well, you can be sure. While Tony was closing the piano lid on my skull I fired off some particularly tart remarks regarding his breeding and manner of dress. As they say mother, fireplace pokers and piano lids may break my bones, but smart words hurt the worst.
Yes, I'm sure I can imagine what your friend Deidre would have had to say about the affair. "Who's your daddy?" Really mother, that's far too rich. I don't care if she was seated at the next table over; your bridge partner's debauched imagination is no proof that I announced to a room of socialites that Tony was my real father. I don't care if he'd had my arm twisted behind my back, I still wouldn't have said such a thing. You know father was my real "daddy," rest his soul, and I've got the switch marks to prove it.
I know father didn't raise me to be a "sissy," mother, that's why I saved my most cutting retort for last. While Tony was rolling the dessert cart back and forth over my neck, I let loose with a withering appraisal of his character that few in the room will likely ever forget, if they heard it over the crashing sounds and the shocked gasps of the many patrons present who had a weak stomach for blood.
Yes, mother, I did use the word "uncouth." I'm sorry. If Tony didn't want to hear that kind of language, he never should have stomped those broken shards of tableware into my privates. And yes, mother, I know you raised me better than that. I guess I just inherited father's ugly temper. º Last Column: You Really Think That Girl Was a Hooker?º more columns
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Quote of the Day“Discretion is the better of valor, and the first thirty minutes of Saving Private Ryan much better than any of the rest of it.”
-Crazy Eddie ShakespeareFortune 500 CookieIt's time you leave your job, 'cause they're going to fire you tomorrow. If you're ever cornered by a bear, hang your lunch in the tree and pretend you have Tourette's. She sells seashells by the sea shore, which is an incredibly bad market to unload those things. Duck, duck—goose. Lucky numbers all negative.
Try again later.Best Sellers| 1. | The Bridges of Macon County, Georgia Bobby Ray Poker | | 2. | The Lord of the Tacky Pimp Rings J.Z.Z.Z. Toolking | | 3. | Mary Contrary, Are You on the Rag Today? Dr. Soobst | | 4. | Oprah's Book Club Can Eat Me Jonathan Franzen | | 5. | I Sure Miss the Cold War Tom Clancy | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Red Bagel 10/24/2005 A Fistful of Tannenbaum, Chapter 17: King's ConspiracyEditor's Note: Having time-traveled back to the years of King Arthur, adventure-loving Jed Foster was living the sweet life as a V.I.P. guest of the king himself when he became smitten with smittenesque Princess Penny, the most beautiful girl in the King's court and his personal favorite. The King noticed, you can bet your poor person's crown, and immediately began plotting Jed's death.
Chapter 17: King's Conspiracy
Jed Foster found Princess Penny throwing horseshoes in the back of the castle, by the toolshed. It was one of the only times he could be sure to catch her alone, just her and her 53 handmaidens.
"There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere," said Jed. It wasn't true, but it sounded stupid to say, "There you...
Editor's Note: Having time-traveled back to the years of King Arthur, adventure-loving Jed Foster was living the sweet life as a V.I.P. guest of the king himself when he became smitten with smittenesque Princess Penny, the most beautiful girl in the King's court and his personal favorite. The King noticed, you can bet your poor person's crown, and immediately began plotting Jed's death. Chapter 17: King's Conspiracy Jed Foster found Princess Penny throwing horseshoes in the back of the castle, by the toolshed. It was one of the only times he could be sure to catch her alone, just her and her 53 handmaidens. "There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere," said Jed. It wasn't true, but it sounded stupid to say, "There you are, in the exact place I'd knew you'd be." "I'm always out here tossing horseshoes," Penny reminded him. "I'm hoping to turn pro next year." "I've already begun making you a pair of shoes for when you do," reminded Jed with a smirk. It made him chuckle a little, to remember all the wealth and fortune he left behind in the future, his past, where he was loved by no one, but respected by all. And then to come to a world like this, where he had not a penny to his name, and no one knew who he was. But he had a feeling they all respected him deep in their subconscious, even if they couldn't say why. And he only wanted one penny—the princess, the prettiest maiden of them all. Jed threw all the woo he could find at Princess Penny, knowing woo-tossing was the best way to win a girl when you didn't have any money. He told her she had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and beautiful golden hair like strands of woven gold that he wanted to chop off and bury so only he could find it. And her ass was nice, too. He hoped she wouldn't ask about her teeth, because then he would have to lie and say they were nice, despite the fact they were made of poorly carved wood. What do you expect? It was the Middle Ages. But while Jed tried to bag an attractive historical babe, the King was not oblivious—which meant he knew what was happening. The King was in a parapet high above the horseshoe courtyard, watching Jed's smooth moves on the medieval honey. He stroked his reddish beard as he stood by the window, leg perched up on a bench or something. I sort of picture Richard Harris in Camelot in the role, and if you would picture him that way too it would save me a lot of describing time. "He's quite the lovemaker, isn't he, Catpants?" The King's faithful counselor, Catpants, stood by obediently, so it wasn't like the King was talking to himself. "I wouldn't know, King, we've only shaken hands," said Catpants. "If the King is sick of the time-traveler, why doesn't the King simply have him beheaded for treason or some other made up crime?" "No," said the King, "that's just what he would expect. Besides, the people would probably be extremely outraged if I killed him. They obviously had tremendous natural respect for him, even if they don't quite realize it yet. No… no, Catpants… I have a better plot in store for Mr. Bigshot Time-Traveler Jed Foster. Mr. Foster is about to be promoted to Supreme Knight of the King's Army. And he'll leave tomorrow to do battle with the Pope's Legion of the Damned… where he'll surely be slain in battle!" "I'm sorry, sir, I left the room for a minute. Could you repeat that?" But the King had already put his plan in motion, and it was too late for repeating.   |