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 January 20, 2003 |
Sacramento, California Junior Bacon A suspect arrested for a sex crime is handcuffed to a chair... and probably likes it; one of the few captured with the use of the "free molesting" coupon, pictured below.
It was a disappointment for state government, who has faced ridicule since January 7, 2003 for its admission that it lost 33,000 sex offenders from its registry. The registry was created in response to Megan's Law, legislation requiring convicted sex offenders to register their addresses with the state, manipulatively named after a murdered sexual assault victim.
"The coupon was not real, let me stress that," said California Department of Public Relations VP Millie Scheiner. "Damn truth-in-advertising laws required we put that note in all ads promoting the 'am...
he first attempt to locate 33,000 missing sex offenders in California failed when there was no response to a highly-publicized offer of a phony coupon good for "one free molestation and/or sexual assault."
It was a disappointment for state government, who has faced ridicule since January 7, 2003 for its admission that it lost 33,000 sex offenders from its registry. The registry was created in response to Megan's Law, legislation requiring convicted sex offenders to register their addresses with the state, manipulatively named after a murdered sexual assault victim.
"The coupon was not real, let me stress that," said California Department of Public Relations VP Millie Scheiner. "Damn truth-in-advertising laws required we put that note in all ads promoting the 'amnesty coupon,' but we made it really small and put it in the fine print. Who reads that? Well, apparently sex offenders are wise shoppers."
Part of the annoyance at the failure is that the state will now be forced to pursue more expensive searches to find the missing sex offenders. Budget analysts have suggested that it could cost the state at least $20 million to find the sex offenders and register them once again. To stave that cost, other proposals are already flowing in.
"A major step in reducing the cost of the search is to eliminate places you won't find sex offenders," said Geoff Jermaine, founder and president of PervSearch, an independent company formed with hope of winning a state contract to find the missing sex offenders. "For instance, it's pretty safe to assume we won't search police stations. We know they're not in prisons either, so that cuts down on a lot of search areas. How much of California can there be?"
The second step, according to Jermaine, is to actively seek places that might provide a good hiding place for sex offenders, like Georgia and Catholic churches.
"Our first step will be to check stadiums, large open fields, mid-size towns and army bases, anywhere that could house 33,000 people—that's a large number of perverts to go walking down Hollywood Boulevard in the daytime," said Jermaine. "But more than likely we'll have to consider the possibility that they've all split up by now. It's a damn shame. That's going to make the search a lot harder."
The state government hasn't ruled out hiring an independent contractor to locate and register the missing sex offenders, but they are still considering all options at this point. Governor's office insiders have leaked a number of possible methods of finding the sex offenders, including putting their faces on the side of milk cartons with messages such as, "Have you seen me? I'm a rapist. Please call 1-800-SEX-PERV." Early success with the milk carton search method could lead to T-shirts with similar messages, and might even catch on as a fad with cynical high schoolers and twentysomethings.
Still other solutions are on the drawing board. America's Most Wanted star John Walsh said he has approached the state government with a proposal for a weekend marathon on Fox where they show pictures of the missing offenders, present computer representations of what they might look like with old-time mustaches and glasses, and take calls from anonymous informers.
"I think it could be really great, for California and for Fox," said Walsh. "We could have a huge total board behind me and periodically I tell them to show me the total, and the roll up the numbers. We could continue right through Sunday night and I bet you we get at least 25,000 of them back. With the help of viewers like you."
Recovering the sex offenders would be the first step for California in recovering from its humiliation. According to insiders, Gov. Gray Davis has received countless prank calls from national senators, representatives, and other governors asking if he left the sex offenders in his other pants pockets, or saying they have seen the 33,000 missing ex-convicts at the local Safeway. the commune news has to officialy register as a sex machine wherever we go—and tonight we'd like to be at your place to register, baby. Raoul Dunkin is quite a card, and a number of the staff would like to put him in the spokes of their bicycle wheels to see if he makes noise.
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 November 26, 2001
A Three Hour Tour of ConspiracyThe other day I found myself sitting on the roof of my house, throwing outdated eggs at some old women who were taking their daily afternoon walk up the sidewalk across the street. One particularly well-flung egg ricocheted off the oldest woman's temple, striking a nerve cluster and causing her to completely lose bowel control in an extremely messy fashion all over my vegetarian neighbor's lawn. And the thing is, when the detox van showed up to take her to the drunk tank, all I could think was: "You know what? I think Ginger and Mary Ann were lesbians."
Practically all my life I've been nagged by the question of why anybody would want to get off of Gilligan's Island in the first place. They had great weather, a lagoon, plenty of food, and last but not least: two fine pieces of ass in Ginger and Mary Ann. Damn! You can bet your mini-skirted dollar that Omar Bricks would have been starting his own civilization in that sandy paradise. The tiny gene pool would surely have necessitated some serious wife-swapping, and you've always known Omar is down with that. Unless it involved either of the Howells, but my grade-school understanding of biology tells me that contingency wouldn't be very useful for procreation. The Professor on the other hand… well, that would be just for fun.
Now, I'm not saying everybody would like it there at first. I'm sure there were sand crabs and no TV and other hassles, and I'm sure everyone would get tired of the Professor...
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The other day I found myself sitting on the roof of my house, throwing outdated eggs at some old women who were taking their daily afternoon walk up the sidewalk across the street. One particularly well-flung egg ricocheted off the oldest woman's temple, striking a nerve cluster and causing her to completely lose bowel control in an extremely messy fashion all over my vegetarian neighbor's lawn. And the thing is, when the detox van showed up to take her to the drunk tank, all I could think was: "You know what? I think Ginger and Mary Ann were lesbians."
Practically all my life I've been nagged by the question of why anybody would want to get off of Gilligan's Island in the first place. They had great weather, a lagoon, plenty of food, and last but not least: two fine pieces of ass in Ginger and Mary Ann. Damn! You can bet your mini-skirted dollar that Omar Bricks would have been starting his own civilization in that sandy paradise. The tiny gene pool would surely have necessitated some serious wife-swapping, and you've always known Omar is down with that. Unless it involved either of the Howells, but my grade-school understanding of biology tells me that contingency wouldn't be very useful for procreation. The Professor on the other hand… well, that would be just for fun.
Now, I'm not saying everybody would like it there at first. I'm sure there were sand crabs and no TV and other hassles, and I'm sure everyone would get tired of the Professor constantly bitching about not having any outlets for his hair drier.
And of course the pickings were pretty slim romance-wise. I'm sure Ginger was saving herself for some high class sugar-daddy to snatch her up before her looks went, and I don't blame her. Once she hit the island, her only prospect in that area was Mr. Howell, and that meant finding some non-suspicious way to bump off Mrs. Howell. But she was a resourceful girl, I imagine with time she would have worked out some kind of coconut car bomb or at least a shiv, or she could have cut a deal with the cosmonauts, or the Russians, or even those apes in that one episode. Hell, with a couple of well-placed innuendos, she probably could have gotten Gilligan to skin Mrs. Howell alive.
Ginger definitely would have out-cat-fought Mary Ann for Thurston's withered affections, so that leaves the Skipper, Gilligan and the Professor for Mary Ann to choose from.
Now, everybody knew the Professor was gay, so he's out of the running straight away. No pun intended there. He was also sweet on the Skipper, and it probably would have been in Mary Ann's best interests to avoid going toe-to-toe with the one mug on the island who knew how to make plastic explosives out of coconut mash. And it's not like the Skipper was anywhere near worth it either, he's so goddamned fat the last Willie he saw was Gilligan. And with a name like his, she probably wasn't exactly chomping at the metaphorical bit to become Mary Ann Grumby, or even Mary Ann Skipper, depending on whether or not it was a formal occasion. That leaves Gilligan, who's a total nimrod but at least she could crush his spirit and mold him into a decent lapdog-style husband who would kiss her ass for thirty years and take her to the opera.
So that leaves us with everyone paired off pretty nicely: Gilligan and Mary Ann, the Professor and the Skipper, Mr. Howell and Ginger, and Mrs. Howell face-down in the lagoon. Who wants to go back to city living when they're living the sweet life island-style? Not this cast-away. So the only thing that makes sense in the context of the show, with everyone wanting to leave so badly and all, is that Ginger and Mary Ann must have been big-time fuzzbumpers. I'm talking about skinny-dipping in the lagoon, secret rendezvous by the cave, and lots and lots of coconut milk being poured over naked bodies. I can just picture it now…
Nope, still picturing it. Come back in five minutes.
Now I'm sure some sensitive types will take offense at my theory, calling it all sorts of bad voodoo. But I'm just telling it like it is, or rather like it must have been. I challenge any of those politically-correct drones out there to present a competing theory that makes as much sense. I mean, what the hell do I know about how a woman's mind works? Maybe they were waiting for the Harlem Globetrotters. Bricks out. º Last Column: You're Welcome, Homeless Orphansº more columns
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|  September 2, 2002
Sweet Punch"In my early military days, we had a green recruit in our battalion we called 'Sweet Punch.' The name may sound silly, but I guarantee you Sweet Punch was no laughing matter.
There was nothing Sweet Punch wasn't scared of. Or is that a double-negative? He wasn't ever scared, that's my intended remark.
Sweet Punch would call the drill sergeant a fish-masturbator to his face, something we only said behind his back, or dreamed about late at night. The drill sergeant would give him 2,000,000,000 push-ups as punishment and sat to watch him do them all. The drill sergeant would then get tired around 20 push-ups and wander off, leaving Sweet Punch to hang out with us for a while drinking until we all went to bed. To sleep, I mean, in separate beds.
In war was no different. I worked for the armed forces newspaper Stars N Stripes, gardening section, and would often cover Sweet Punch's amazing exploits in World War II, and later World War III, later known as the Korean Mistake.
Sweet Punch would walk into a mindfield, hit a mine, and come out laughing on the other side, usually through the hysterical euphoria of losing most of his limbs in an explosion. He would storm German machine guns and chew the bullets, spitting them out like tobacco. Tobacco filled with blood and face meat. He ran right up to Mussolini one time and socked him right between his fascist eyes. At least he thought it was Mussolini, it turned out to be that exact...
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"In my early military days, we had a green recruit in our battalion we called 'Sweet Punch.' The name may sound silly, but I guarantee you Sweet Punch was no laughing matter.
There was nothing Sweet Punch wasn't scared of. Or is that a double-negative? He wasn't ever scared, that's my intended remark.
Sweet Punch would call the drill sergeant a fish-masturbator to his face, something we only said behind his back, or dreamed about late at night. The drill sergeant would give him 2,000,000,000 push-ups as punishment and sat to watch him do them all. The drill sergeant would then get tired around 20 push-ups and wander off, leaving Sweet Punch to hang out with us for a while drinking until we all went to bed. To sleep, I mean, in separate beds.
In war was no different. I worked for the armed forces newspaper Stars N Stripes, gardening section, and would often cover Sweet Punch's amazing exploits in World War II, and later World War III, later known as the Korean Mistake.
Sweet Punch would walk into a mindfield, hit a mine, and come out laughing on the other side, usually through the hysterical euphoria of losing most of his limbs in an explosion. He would storm German machine guns and chew the bullets, spitting them out like tobacco. Tobacco filled with blood and face meat. He ran right up to Mussolini one time and socked him right between his fascist eyes. At least he thought it was Mussolini, it turned out to be that exact same drill sergeant, strangely enough, and he made him do 30 push-ups before getting bored and wandering off.
Actually, to be completely truthful, Sweet Punch, the first one, was killed the minute we stepped off the boat, the victim of a well-placed Nazi street pothole. After that we just called every green recruit we didn't know the name of Sweet Punch. It sure made us feel better." º Last Column: Tornadoº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Give a man a fish, he eats today. Hide a fish in his jacket pocket and watch him go batshit trying to find where the smell's coming from.”
-John J. Jesusheimer SchmidtFortune 500 CookieTurns out your suspicions are correct and that Maurice Sendak book has been about you all this time. Peer-to-peer file-sharing claims its first victim when Metallica shows up at your house to beat the shit out of you. Remember to practice what you preach, because your preaching has been really amateur lately. Lucky numbers are all in Spanish this week.
Try again later.Top 10 Deciding Issues for the Election| 1. | Germany's been getting cocky lately | | 2. | Always vote for the guy who wins | | 3. | President should be able to take a punch | | 4. | Do I look fat in these jeans? | | 5. | Search Iraq for WMD, OMD, and REM | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/27/2003 Hello America, how've you been? Those shingles clearing up all right? Solid. As you might have guessed, we're back for another installment of the column that cares, Entertainment Police. Prepare to have your heart and other tender anatomical portions touched, buffed and spit-shone! If you're like me, you're ready for Hollywood to cough up another weekend's worth of movies, and as usual they haven't disappointed. Meaning they put out some movies, I'm not crazy enough to suggest the movies aren't disappointing. So let's take a gander at the who's, what's, and why's of this weekend's letdown.
In Theaters
In the Cute
Meg Ryan and Mark "Buffalo 66" Ruffalo shed their cute puppy-dog images for...
Hello America, how've you been? Those shingles clearing up all right? Solid. As you might have guessed, we're back for another installment of the column that cares, Entertainment Police. Prepare to have your heart and other tender anatomical portions touched, buffed and spit-shone! If you're like me, you're ready for Hollywood to cough up another weekend's worth of movies, and as usual they haven't disappointed. Meaning they put out some movies, I'm not crazy enough to suggest the movies aren't disappointing. So let's take a gander at the who's, what's, and why's of this weekend's letdown.
In Theaters
In the Cute
Meg Ryan and Mark "Buffalo 66" Ruffalo shed their cute puppy-dog images for this light serial killer comedy. Taking the romantic comedy "Will they do it?" conceit a step farther to "Will they do it before the dude cuts her head off?" In the Cute ratchets up the fluffy tension notch by notch with every dismembered corpse and bit of funny first-date hijinks. While the obvious question is "Does it work?" and the obvious answer is "Who kicked your pregnant mother down the stairs, doofus?" the more compelling point to ponder is really "When is the right time to tell the girl you're dating that you're a serial-killing detective madman? Before you meet her parents? Or after the wedding?" Director and athletic sock magnate Kate Champion does an admirable job of keeping the two plates spinning at once, even if it does mean that nothing in the film is ever the slightest bit in focus, figuratively nor in the fuzzy-eyed literal sense.
The Human Stain
I got excited when I first heard this movie was coming out because I thought it was going to be about my brother, since that was his unfortunate nickname in High School. No such luck however, as it's just another potboiler about the extreme inconvenience of a hit-and-run accident. Anthony "Psycho" Hopkins stars as the inattentive driver who spends two hours going from body shop to body shop in a vain attempt to get the weird purple butt-cheek marks out of the hood of his Audi. Extreme tedium can be a powerful motivator, and I doubt anyone will be talking on his or her cell phone while jerking off a transvestite on the way home from the theater after seeing this cautionary tale.
Radio
According to commune fact-machine Griswald Dreck, the radio was actually invented by Italian racecar genius Macaroni Vivaldi, not some retarded black guy from Alabama. As the story goes, Vivaldi got tired of not having any music to listen to while he was driving endlessly in circles, and he thought it also might be fun for when he was racing. So Vivaldi developed the world's first radio, which he installed in the dash of his racecar. A few months later he followed this up with the crucial invention of the world's first radio station, which not-surprisingly played only Vivaldi's favorite Chechnyan oompa music. You'd think this story would be compelling enough to make into a hit movie, but apparently Hollywood thought Cuba Gooding Jr. would have a hard time passing for Italian, so they rewrote Vivaldi's story as Forrest Gump meets Rudy and slopped it onto our plates with a ladle. Sorry Hollywood, but even we're not that stupid.
Scary Movie 3
Looks like the poofs at Merchant Ivory are at it again, trying to deceive the American moviegoing public with yet another misleading movie title. Anyone who went to Howard's End expecting a classy gay porno or walked out of Remains of the Day after a pulse-pounding slasher flick never materialized can feel my pain here. After The Golden Bowl failed to live up to its billing as the second coming of Cheech & Chong, I gave up on these guys for good. Scary Movie 3 is indeed scary, if the thought of paying nine bucks to sit through a long, boring chick flick terrifies you as much as it should. Though if seeing nerds dress up in period costumes and act boring does it for you, and the Renaissance Fair isn't in town, then this should be right up your twisted alley.
The Swinging Detective
Hollywood's latest ploy to squeeze every last drop of spunk out of the lousy turnips they've been producing (spunk's turnip juice, right?) is the highly-dubious practice of releasing the same film twice under two different names. Sometimes they score the doublecross of getting people to pay to see the same film twice (i.e. Jurassic Park and Godzilla or Under Pressure and Vanilla Sky), but the strategy is mainly employed so they can market one film to two wildly different audiences. That's the case here with The Swinging Detective, released simultaneously with In the Cute and raising some suspicions by being exactly the same movie. But while trailers for In the Cute play up the film's grisly serial-killer elements, The Swinging Detective looks like a straight-ahead romantic comedy that just happens to be going on around the same time the cops are trying to find a serial killer who cuts women's heads off and balances them on his shoulders so he can re-enact his favorite scenes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Some might find these marketing tactics deceptive, mainly because they are, but the studio may have hit just the right balance this time around since romantic comedy and serial killer audiences rarely overlap. Plus it's funny to envision the scenario where some guy drags his wife to see In the Cute and she tolerates it so she can drag him to see The Swinging Detective the following weekend, neither of them ever the wiser.
That's all America. Even if there were more movies out this week, we wouldn't have reviewed them, because enough is enough. Knowing when to quit has never been a Hollywood strong point, so the discerning consumer has to know when to yank the gin tap out of their puckered maws and kick the rascals curbward. Join us again next issue when we answer the eternal question: "Yuck! What?"    |
