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 October 27, 2003 |
A rare photograph of the swear jar overspill, which should also be allocated toward the rebuilding of Iraq's infrastructure. Or, perhaps, just a pile of coins our lazy photographer staged.
The swear jar, instituted in the 1960s during initial squabbles between Israel and surrounding Islamic nations, became a staple of public negotiations at the U.N. building in New York. Familiar statements such as, "Please, ambassador—there are ladies present," or, "Does the Prime Minister kiss his mother with that mouth?" became outlets for relief of tension with the high-strung representatives of many nations.
The legacy of the swear jar since its inception has spawned many rumors with U.N. fans, or "Unies," as they are called behind their backs. In 1967 the popular s...
fforts to rebuild Iraq achieved a success Friday when U.N. officials, voiced by Secretary-General Kofi Annan, pledged funding for the reconstruction from the official United Nations "swear jar."
The swear jar, instituted in the 1960s during initial squabbles between Israel and surrounding Islamic nations, became a staple of public negotiations at the U.N. building in New York. Familiar statements such as, "Please, ambassador—there are ladies present," or, "Does the Prime Minister kiss his mother with that mouth?" became outlets for relief of tension with the high-strung representatives of many nations.
The legacy of the swear jar since its inception has spawned many rumors with U.N. fans, or "Unies," as they are called behind their backs. In 1967 the popular story was the swear jar had accumulated $432,000, all of which would be used for a hootenanny-slash-barbecue that summer, until Cold War relations worsened and the jar was put aside for possible war reparations to the eventual winning side. In 1978, after years of U.N. members dipping in for candy bars and vending machine sodas, the swear jar funds were down to $1.3 million, despite accruing an estimated $3.9 million in the time since public discussion of its allocation, and popular sentiment at that time was to use the bounty to build a new recreation room with new pool tables, a 27-inch TV, and a sofa with its upholstry intact. In 1990, during the first Gulf War crisis, the U.N. elected to move the swear jar money to a ceramic Mickey Mouse bank so everyone would be less likely to replenish other funds from swear-earned income.
At Friday's donor dinner, which is fun to say, U.S. Secretary of State Colin Powell addressed attendees from the United Nations and requested approximately $35.8 billion through 2007 or "best offer" for the rebuilding of war torn Iraq, in which we did most of the tearing.
Angry nations and their angrier representatives expressed disinterest in springing for rebuilding out of their own pockets after explicitly making their aversion to the war public. Miniature squabbles resulted in the aftermath, adding an estimated $43 to the swear jar before lunchtime, but U.N. executives managed to chill out the crowd with a copy of Bob Marley's Legend album.
With the uproar squashed, Secretary General Kofi Annan sparked a quiet hush in the room when he turned to Treasury Secretary Candy and asked, "How much is in the swear jar?" After conferring privately with the secretary, Annan nodded and turned back toward the microphone, pronouncing, "I think we can swing it."
Most countries found the pledge agreeable, but the allocation of the swear jar funding did have its opponents. French ambassador HenrĂ Bois-Bois was quick to voice his dissent.
"If the U.S. expects the rest of the Western world to step in and pay to make its repairs when it gives us no voice in preventing a war, we are setting a dangerous precedent by agreeing to do so," stated the dignitary. "Also, there are many of us who had not given up hope on getting jackets with our names on the back done up. Those are not going to pay for themselves. Does the U.S. propose to pay for those in exchange? This is so unfair."
The swear jar allocation, if it happens, could be the largest expenditure of U.N. community bank since financing a pizza party to settle the Falkland Islands dispute with money found in the rec room couch cushions. the commune news originally kept its own swear jars, but when you make bupkiss in revenue and swear like we do, let's just say it's not a wise investment. Ramon Nootles is keeping a sex jar, if anyone is interested in contributing—he hasn't said exactly what it's for, but swears it's a good cause.
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 April 11, 2005
Pokered FaceAs much I regretted it, I had to take a break from the world's greatest conspiracy last week. Nothing more than I can handle, of course. Maybe I'll benefit from the break, it will give me a chance to put everything in perspective, possibly have one of those great conspiracy epiphanies I've always longed for. But I'm such an important player I couldn't just take a vacation, so I had Stigmata Spent put on my fake beard and fake trenchcoat and take my place at all the secret meetings. But the conspiracy will wait for me. I had to take off for more pressing matters. The world's highest-stakes poker match.
I'm not a member of the Illuminati, of course—I wish! But I'm quite wealthy, so me and some other wealthy friends started a sub-Iluminati. We call ours the Niluminati, and we control everything the regular Iluminati doesn't want to control. Mainly the stuff we own. But being a member of the Niluminati has its own benefits, like our covert annual picnic and our annual high-stakes poker match. The highest stakes, as I've mentioned before.
No slouch in the poker department, I've won three of the last fifteen matches I've attended. Doesn't sound impressive? How many of the world's highest-stake poker matches have you won? I didn't think so. But it had been a while since I've had any real success, I've been on a losing streak for long time. Approximately since I started publishing the commune, oddly enough.
I decided, despite the...
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As much I regretted it, I had to take a break from the world's greatest conspiracy last week. Nothing more than I can handle, of course. Maybe I'll benefit from the break, it will give me a chance to put everything in perspective, possibly have one of those great conspiracy epiphanies I've always longed for. But I'm such an important player I couldn't just take a vacation, so I had Stigmata Spent put on my fake beard and fake trenchcoat and take my place at all the secret meetings. But the conspiracy will wait for me. I had to take off for more pressing matters. The world's highest-stakes poker match.
I'm not a member of the Illuminati, of course—I wish! But I'm quite wealthy, so me and some other wealthy friends started a sub-Iluminati. We call ours the Niluminati, and we control everything the regular Iluminati doesn't want to control. Mainly the stuff we own. But being a member of the Niluminati has its own benefits, like our covert annual picnic and our annual high-stakes poker match. The highest stakes, as I've mentioned before.
No slouch in the poker department, I've won three of the last fifteen matches I've attended. Doesn't sound impressive? How many of the world's highest-stake poker matches have you won? I didn't think so. But it had been a while since I've had any real success, I've been on a losing streak for long time. Approximately since I started publishing the commune, oddly enough.
I decided, despite the conspiracy barking at my back door, that I'd put everything on hold and go back and claim my crown. Mind you, the crown itself is rather chintzy, but what I want is the respect that comes with wearing it. Sure, I've made my own crowns out of cardboard before, but when people find out you didn't get it winning a card game, all the respect vanishes.
I was happy to board the ol' riverboat Pressure Cooker and see my old colleagues and rivals, the nameless members of the Niluminati—"Buggy" Bob Hedges, Krisco, Flatella Morgan, B'Twana Modge, Catarast Winton, and Dave Pogo ("The Instigator"). They all sized me up with their eyes the minute I came through the door, though Flatella hired somebody to do it with his hands, and they took me for a rube whose bad luck streak was going to continue for another year. I said nuts to that, and quite loudly. They asked me not to do it again.
I made my presence known right away, starting the first game with an unheard-of bet of $75,000. They called me overeager and told me I would not be invited back if I insisted on betting so high first time out. But we played for a while, I won my share of games and kept my bets wise, and eventually we raised stakes to $250,000. That's American dollars, mind you, and not Niluminati dollars, which weren't even accepted in the Niluminati swear jar.
And in the end, believe it or not, I won it all on a bluff. I won the game with a bet of $800,000, then we doubled the bet, and I had jack shit in the way of cards. Not even a pair, I tell you. Nothing wild, all my options run out, so I bluffed—I yelled "Fire!" and we all abandoned the boat. Since we didn't finish the last game, that made me the winner for this year.
Quite a bluff it was, if I must say so. And I had Rascal in the engine room ready to throw a stick of dynamite into the fire if they called me on it. Always keep an ace in the hole. º Last Column: The Best Conspiracy Everº more columns
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|  February 18, 2002
Windows XP: Fight the FutureRecently the nerd squad was here at the commune offices, updating all of our computers with Windows XP. Except of course for Rok Finger's computer, which still runs on typewriter ribbons, midnight oil and elbow grease. And believe me, you can smell that thing from down the hall.
I've had it about up to my marble-sack with all of these Windows variations. Windows 3.1, Windows 95, Windows 98, Windows Xtra Tasty Crispy, Windows for the Teenage Soul... enough is enough. Just when I get used to the quirks and massive failures of one version of Windows and start to find them endearing, they come out with another version. It's like finding a stranger in your bed. Or waking up naked in your neighbor's bed, something along those lines. Imagine something you don't like, and then transfer that feeling to what I think of a new version of Windows. You got it? Cool. Let's continue.
Most folks I know liked Windows 98 about as much as I like lawn clippings in a salad bar, or whatever, you know. But I came to like it over the years. I enjoyed countless half-days at work thanks to my computer seizing up from trying to run two instances of calculator at once, or that time I tried to open an image of Estella Warren in Notepad. Also, a word to the wise: Playing your computer keyboard like Schroeder from Peanuts can be fun, sometimes even A LOT OF FUN, but be prepared for problems like prematurely sent emails and system messages like "I FUCK YOU UP, WHITE BOY!". You've...
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Recently the nerd squad was here at the commune offices, updating all of our computers with Windows XP. Except of course for Rok Finger's computer, which still runs on typewriter ribbons, midnight oil and elbow grease. And believe me, you can smell that thing from down the hall.
I've had it about up to my marble-sack with all of these Windows variations. Windows 3.1, Windows 95, Windows 98, Windows Xtra Tasty Crispy, Windows for the Teenage Soul... enough is enough. Just when I get used to the quirks and massive failures of one version of Windows and start to find them endearing, they come out with another version. It's like finding a stranger in your bed. Or waking up naked in your neighbor's bed, something along those lines. Imagine something you don't like, and then transfer that feeling to what I think of a new version of Windows. You got it? Cool. Let's continue.
Most folks I know liked Windows 98 about as much as I like lawn clippings in a salad bar, or whatever, you know. But I came to like it over the years. I enjoyed countless half-days at work thanks to my computer seizing up from trying to run two instances of calculator at once, or that time I tried to open an image of Estella Warren in Notepad. Also, a word to the wise: Playing your computer keyboard like Schroeder from Peanuts can be fun, sometimes even A LOT OF FUN, but be prepared for problems like prematurely sent emails and system messages like "I FUCK YOU UP, WHITE BOY!". You've been warned.
But as always, my acceptance of the old Windows system was a sure as shit sign that the next version wasn't more than two weeks away. And this time they decided to go straight for the Gen-X crowd with a dangerous-sounding name and a design scheme that's like Candyland on crack. I'm no marketing expert, but I think they may have aimed a little young this time. I had a program crash the other day and I swear to God some little Teletubby popped up to tell me it wasn't my fault and he still loves me. I mean, yeah, it's cool to know, but it made me worried that I might have a radon leak in my office.
Of course, this was all after I got the goddamned package open, they sealed that thing like it contains nuclear secrets. All I can say about that is thank God I keep an electric turkey knife in my desk drawer.
As if that wasn't bad enough, then we start hearing about this programming boner from our buddies over at Microsoft where any yobknob with a dial-up connection can remotely seize control of our computers and give them an annoying attitude like in that "Short Circuit" movie. And sure enough, not long after that announcement the nerd squad finds gigabytes of mixed-race pornography on my hard drive, the obvious product of some sick hackmeister getting off on packing my computer with disturbing contraband.
What's next? Some added deluxe functionality where the hard drive bursts into flames just in case it contained any incriminating information about your illegitimate daughter in Laos? I know they're trying to cold-boot us into the space age and whatnot, bringing about an age where our computers will interact with our appliances and watch SNL for us so we can just hear about the good parts, but what if my refrigerator's an idiot and accidentally deletes all of those dirty haikus I downloaded? I'm not even sure that temperature dial even works, I don't know if it's ready to get online and order pimento olives for me.
And hasn't anybody noticed that in all of those futuristic movies, everything sucks? Sure, you might have a robot that polishes your shoes, but then they're harvesting your daughter's eggs to breed the perfect killing machine. Screw that noise. I mean, have you seen Runaway? That whole movie sucked. I don't want anything to do with any of it. Give me an old-fashioned typewriter that doesn't have emotional problems. Actually, cut out the middleman and give me an old-fashioned secretary that doesn't have emotional problems. Then she can deal with the typewriter when all the keys jam together after a particularly inspired Schroeder impression. Bricks out. º Last Column: Open Up Your Wallets, Corporate Greed-Houndsº more columns
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Quote of the Day“My love is like a red, red rose… always surrounded by pricks.”
-Wycked BurnsFortune 500 CookieDuck! Jesus, did you see that? Now may be the time to consider ending your relationship with Columbia House. That weird lump you feel may not be an alien tracking device after all; go ahead and see a specialist. You won't remember the name of that Faith No More tribute band anytime soon.
Try again later.Top Cruel New Rumors| 1. | Gay people can't whistle | | 2. | Tennessee quarter shows state trooper harassing black motorist | | 3. | French Stewart not actually French | | 4. | Cats love vodka | | 5. | Donald Trump is secret owner of McDonald's chain | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/25/2002 Hello Yellow, America! Step right up for another dose of Entertainment Police love, and just see if you don't come away with a lump in your throat or breast. Like our forefathers and foremothers before us, pointing their forefingers in a vague gesture of thanks, we're here to give thanks that the holiday movie season is finally upon us. Just as the pilgrims gave thanks that they wouldn't have to sit through any more Indian "coming of age" tales or movies about animal spirits walking around and shitting everywhere, we give our thanks that the big budget movies are finally here. The food industry may try to convince you that you're happy this Thanksgiving because you're eating dried out turkey with your hideous in-laws, but we all know better than that. That smile on your face can be...
Hello Yellow, America! Step right up for another dose of Entertainment Police love, and just see if you don't come away with a lump in your throat or breast. Like our forefathers and foremothers before us, pointing their forefingers in a vague gesture of thanks, we're here to give thanks that the holiday movie season is finally upon us. Just as the pilgrims gave thanks that they wouldn't have to sit through any more Indian "coming of age" tales or movies about animal spirits walking around and shitting everywhere, we give our thanks that the big budget movies are finally here. The food industry may try to convince you that you're happy this Thanksgiving because you're eating dried out turkey with your hideous in-laws, but we all know better than that. That smile on your face can be directly traced back to seeing Stephen Segal kick that guy's ass with a Christmas tree. So without further delay, let's get to the late November movie releases.
In Theaters
Adam Sandler's Eight Crazy Nuts
Eventually, gross-out humor in the movies had to go too far, alienating even the retarded adolescents and middle-aged pro wrestling fans who have made it a goldmine for studios and Tom Green over the last decade. It looks like Adam Sandler may be the one left holding the hot potato when that song stops, because his new film is so over-the-top it makes There's Something About Marty look like Dating the Mormon Way. This time around, Sandler plays an annoying, mealy-mouthed loser named Sadam Andler who has his mother's penny-pinching passion for Mexican pharmaceuticals to thank for the fertility pills that caused him to be born with eight testicles. Sandler milks those extra nuts for all the comedy they're worth, including a nauseating mix-up involving a blind man buying grapes at a produce stand, not to mention Andler's gut-wrenching hazing at the hands of the Chinese ping pong team. If you had to say something good about the film, I guess you'd point out that it's animated, which saves us from any disturbingly realistic nutsack textures. And that's more than enough reason for me to give thanks this year.
Diet Another Day
Bond's apparently getting a little chunky in the ass section these days, as was bound to happen eventually. It's tough to keep the pounds off after 40, even if you are a super-secret limey sex machine. Pierce Bronson squeezes his lumpy can into the penguin suit for one more go-around as he saves the world from rich idiots once again and tries to get into Chuck Berry's daughter's pants. I suppose it's about as good as the last 87 Bond films, but I have to admit it leaves stretch marks on the torso of believability at times. So you're telling me that the Ministry of Spy Shit can outfit 007 with a cell phone built into a tic-tac no problem, but they can't get their hands on some Fen-Phen for this guy? Please.
Extreme P.O.S.
Truth in advertising is a concept that rarely applies to movie titles, as evidenced by such famously misleading crocks as Babe and Naked Lunch. But every once in a while Hollywood spits out an appropriately named flick just to draw in the curious, like Knock Off or Senseless. Well, as Britney Spears would say: "Shit, They've Done It Again." Aiming at the same audience that tapes Mountain Dew commercials, the producers put together a cast of albino piercing models to snivel their way through an hour and a half of weakly justified snowboarding stunts and truly horrible music. Originally titled Duuude!, the producers eventually decided to hedge their bets by giving the film a heavily ironic title, figuring it might give them a shot at Sundance and betting that Generation Ysters wouldn't notice, anyway.
The Friday After Next Friday
Apparently the original title, Two Weeks From Now didn't make it clear enough that this was a sequel to Ice Cube's stinky horror flick I Still Know What You'll Do Next Friday, though you'd think that would be a good thing. If I were them, I'd call it Ain't No Way This is a Sequel to That Shitball, which might cause some translation problems when they release the film in Singapore, since I hear they eat shitballs there. Hey, when in Rome. In the long run, it probably doesn't matter what they call it, since it'll be on Beta in about two weeks. Every once in a while a movie does so poorly they skip the DVD and VHS releases all together and put it out straight to Betamax, figuring that the poor suckers with those types of VCRs will buy anything to try and recoup their entertainment investment. Usually they reserve that honor for Tim Allen movies, but I see them branching out in this case, trying to make inroads into the "found this thing in the dumpster" demographic.
Wes Craven Presents: They…
It's always sad when an artist dies in the middle of a project, leaving us to wonder what might have been had they not opted to crap out early and cheat us out of something that might have been great. Who knows what funny things John Belushi might have yelled, or how fat Jim Morrison might have got, had they not been taken from us so soon. Less compellingly, but more relevant to this review, who knows what horrormeister Wes Craven would have called his last film? He managed to finish the film but kicked off before he could finish naming it, leaving us to wonder what the proper title would have been. They're Invisible But Sound Scary As Hell? They Look Like Throw Rugs But They Eat Your Feet? They're Right Behind You, Dipwad!? The possibilities are endless, and the movie's no help because it's awful, but who knows how good it could have been with the right title?
And that's all she wrote, ladies and gender-neutrals. Check back next issue when we hit the sweet spot between Thanksgiving and Christmas and marvel at all the wonders scheduled for release within. By the way, for those of you have been asking, word is that word on the street is that Margaret Cho's Thanksafuckinglotgiving has been delayed once again, look for that to hit theaters in April.   |
