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February 27, 2006 |
Torino, Italy Junior Bacon Yet another white athlete is lavishly rewarded for bizarre alpine behavior ulshitzkizu, the Eastern European principality best known for its unjust laws and shoddy exports, shocked no one this week by taking home a record twelve gold medals, despite never having even been visited by a black person in the nation's entire 314-year history.
The 2006 Whiter Olympics continued as expected all week, par for the course for an event designed expressly to reward behaviors no self- respecting black person would be caught dead engaging in, like running your fool ass around out in the cold as if you haven't got any sense at all.
"The Winter Olympics were invented in 1964 as a way for whites to make up for losing all their medals to black athletes in the summer games," explained Olympic racism expert Tyrone Blackula. "They had to make up a bunch of sport...
ulshitzkizu, the Eastern European principality best known for its unjust laws and shoddy exports, shocked no one this week by taking home a record twelve gold medals, despite never having even been visited by a black person in the nation's entire 314-year history. The 2006 Whiter Olympics continued as expected all week, par for the course for an event designed expressly to reward behaviors no self- respecting black person would be caught dead engaging in, like running your fool ass around out in the cold as if you haven't got any sense at all. "The Winter Olympics were invented in 1964 as a way for whites to make up for losing all their medals to black athletes in the summer games," explained Olympic racism expert Tyrone Blackula. "They had to make up a bunch of sports black people had never heard of, like hockey, and other events where, by the very color of their skin, black athletes would be at a disadvantage, like Naked Snow Hiding." The thinly-disguised ruse came to a head in 1988, when pressure from the 2/3rds of the world that isn't even invited to the Whiter Olympics forced the token inclusion of the Jamaican bobsled team during the Calgary games. Predictably, the Jamaican team was unfairly penalized for attempting to push their bobsled up the run in record time, a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding of the event's rules for anyone not born in Norway. Bulshitzkizu neighbor Upper Scamistan also took gold medals this week in curling and other white man cold-weather hobbies too silly to name. Experts on white people agree that U.S. is likewise heavily favored in the upcoming ice farming competitions and the always popular 400-meter skin bleach. Network executives for NBC have been bitching and moaning all week about the poor ratings for their cherished little white sports love-in, which has rated even lower than reruns of old black-and-white television shows like Leave it to Beaver. Or, as they would be more accurately known, old white-and-white television shows. The Olympic ratings have suffered due in no small part to the network's staunch refusal to dye any of their preciously white Olympic snow brown to make audiences of color more comfortable with the proceedings. Though it hardly qualifies as news, no black athletes have yet been spotted in Torino, the closest being American downhill skier Bode Miller, who once accidentally kissed a black chick in the dark at a party. Though event organizers are said to have been divided over the decision to invite the racially-mixed United States to the Olympic Games, arrangements were made to ensure that the only American entrants would be from the black-free states of Minnesota and Vermont. In a desperate last-ditch effort to boost ratings, NBC has begun to refer to Australians as the "honorary black people" of the 2006 Olympics, due to their poor showing and the arid climate of their home land. But word on the street is that the network originally wanted to save that designation for Chechnya, had the embattled Russian province been able to take a break from getting screwed over long enough to field their own Olympic team. the commune news is going to get around to pretending to watch the Winter Olympics some time this year, we swear. Shabozz Wertham is the commune's resident expert on blackness, which is a huge upgrade from our previous expert, Nordic hip-hop fan Ivan Nauctchacokov.
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Cheney Vows to Stay Course: Will Shoot Hunting Partner Again Mardi Gras, Gonorrhea to Return to New Orleans Aides Urge Bush to Stop Referring to Iraqi Majority as “Shits” Sheryl Crow Takes Cancer in Lance Armstrong Split |
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 September 19, 2005
Life Among the ProlesMy first month of retirement has been a rough one. Since I'm all out of acting jobs, I've had to go looking for a new source of steady income. I mean, I still get my commune pay, but that's about as steady as the San Franciscan fault lines. And about as big as the straight population of that city.
Have you ever had to get a job before? Man, they suck. People tell you what to do and expect you to get it done or they'll fire you. If you ask them about your motivation they'll tell you to do it or you'll get fired. No subtext work at all, these guys. And very few of them cater worth a shit either. I tell you, this is the 21st century. How am I supposed to watch the register without a break when I haven't had any rye bread and pimento-less olive snacks in more than twenty minutes? Not a good way to keep your employees happy.
So in the three weeks since I announced my retirement, I've gotten jobs at Pizza Hut, K-Mart, Home Depot, Uncle Macho's Family-Style Restaurant, Target, and Bed, Bath & Beyond. I've also gotten fired from Pizza Hut, K-Mart, Home Depot, Uncle Macho's Family-Style Restaurant, Target, and Bed, Bath & Beyond. If nothing else, I'm a completist, right?
All my jobs go through the same life cycle—I get hired, things are okay for a while, and then I'm fired for no reason at all. Right now I'm working for Ms. Diffy's Jewelry, and I'm in that middle "everything's cool" phase. I'll probably get fired by tomorrow or the day...
º Last Column: The End of an Error º more columns
My first month of retirement has been a rough one. Since I'm all out of acting jobs, I've had to go looking for a new source of steady income. I mean, I still get my commune pay, but that's about as steady as the San Franciscan fault lines. And about as big as the straight population of that city.
Have you ever had to get a job before? Man, they suck. People tell you what to do and expect you to get it done or they'll fire you. If you ask them about your motivation they'll tell you to do it or you'll get fired. No subtext work at all, these guys. And very few of them cater worth a shit either. I tell you, this is the 21st century. How am I supposed to watch the register without a break when I haven't had any rye bread and pimento-less olive snacks in more than twenty minutes? Not a good way to keep your employees happy.
So in the three weeks since I announced my retirement, I've gotten jobs at Pizza Hut, K-Mart, Home Depot, Uncle Macho's Family-Style Restaurant, Target, and Bed, Bath & Beyond. I've also gotten fired from Pizza Hut, K-Mart, Home Depot, Uncle Macho's Family-Style Restaurant, Target, and Bed, Bath & Beyond. If nothing else, I'm a completist, right?
All my jobs go through the same life cycle—I get hired, things are okay for a while, and then I'm fired for no reason at all. Right now I'm working for Ms. Diffy's Jewelry, and I'm in that middle "everything's cool" phase. I'll probably get fired by tomorrow or the day after. Wednesday, if I play my cards right.
It's not as great as you'd think, working in a jewelry store. They make you sell things to people. Customers act like complete dicks and you can't tell them they can't shop there anymore. Which I don't understand, because when I'm on the other side of the counter, that's what I usually get. At least I'll know how things really work the next time some smart-ass employee tells me that bullshit.
I've never met Ms. Diffy. I guess she lives on some ranch somewhere in Arkansas, or wherever diamond magnates live. South Africa maybe. Ms. Diffy's second in command is Julie, the shift supervisor. I've been trying to get Ms. Diffy on the phone all week to let her know Julie is a real bitch who hires all her friends and treats everybody like shit, but the secretary I get on the phone at the head office keeps trying to tell me Ms. Diffy is only a corporate icon and doesn't really exist. I've heard some lame excuses to get out of showing up to work, but that takes the cake. I should probably call in sick sometime to Bagel and tell him I never existed, I'm only a corporate entity designed to sell the commune. He'd probably buy it, if you catch him early enough.
Oh, here's some more bullshit from the world of retail jewelry: Did you know you can't wear the stuff out, like, even if you have important shit going on later? You could've knocked me over with a fart when they told me that. I tried all the angles, too, like telling them it was good for the business, free advertising or whatever. I told them my doctor said I had a condition where I had to wear two pounds of diamonds or I get sick. Nothing. They knew it was all bullshit. At least the people at Uncle Macho's were more gullible, and let me wear all the chicken wings I could carry.
I'm not desperate enough to go back to acting or anything. Shit, I hope I'll never be that desperate. But I am almost ready for some major alternatives to working. Like going for a college business degree. º Last Column: The End of an Errorº 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,...
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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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Milestones1965: commune columnist Rok Finger coins the slang term "Dingleberry" at a father-son picnic attended solely by his numerous illegitimate offspring.Now HiringDoormat. Co-dependant with poor sense of boundaries needed to do the work of three men and two women, allowing the commune to do our part in this jobless recovery. Cot in back available for qualified applicant.Top 5 Smart New Weight Loss Tips| 1. | Carbs are like the devil’s penis: Delicious but fattening. | | 2. | After a workout, treat yourself to a tasty ice cube sandwich. | | 3. | Weigh yourself after masturbating. For guys, you’ll be a little bit lighter. For the ladies, you won’t be so upset when you find out you’re still fat. | | 4. | You’re never going to lose any weight if you insist on eating every single day. | | 5. | At-home liposuction is the third-easiest surgery to perform on yourself at home, after heart valve roto-rootering and a cock transplant. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Chase Spergen 11/10/2003 Chase the WeaselAll around the Crunchberry bowl
the monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey thought it was
fuckin' funny
until "POP!" goes the weasel!
The fucking weasel exploded,
I'm not kidding.
It was fuckin' raunchy.
Up and down the hallway stairs
the monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey liked to give 'im a scare
then "POP!" went the weasel.
Goddammit monkey!
Quit chasing those weasels!
There's no way we're getting the security deposit back now.
Christ on a bike!
Back and forth in front of the T.V.
the monkey chased the weasel.
And just before the start of the O.C.
"POP!" goes the weasel!
I AM NOT FUCKING KIDDING AROUND, MONKEY!
It's like Vietnam...
All around the Crunchberry bowl
the monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey thought it was
fuckin' funny
until "POP!" goes the weasel!
The fucking weasel exploded,
I'm not kidding.
It was fuckin' raunchy.
Up and down the hallway stairs
the monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey liked to give 'im a scare
then "POP!" went the weasel.
Goddammit monkey!
Quit chasing those weasels!
There's no way we're getting the security deposit back now.
Christ on a bike!
Back and forth in front of the T.V.
the monkey chased the weasel.
And just before the start of the O.C.
"POP!" goes the weasel!
I AM NOT FUCKING KIDDING AROUND, MONKEY!
It's like Vietnam in here!
You think I'm going to be able to convince girls
that "Weasel Gore" was a wallpapering option?
You're on thin, thin fucking ice, monkey.
Through the day and all through the night
the monkey chased the weasel.
The weasel he did put up a good fight
but still, "POP!" went the weasel.
All around the goddamned house
Chase, he chased the monkey.
He'd teach that ape to mess up his pad…
then "POP!" goes the weasel!
FUCK!
That's it, I give up! Do what you want monkey.
Hey, don't give me that sad face.
Okay, okay, you're still my buddy.
Come to think of it, we do seem to have
a pretty bad weasel infestation in this place.
Probably a good thing I've got a monkey, actually.   |