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Dean to America: "Sorry I Yelled at You"January 26, 2004 |
âRun,â presidential candidate Howard Dean tells the press, âYou run and tell Bush Iâm coming and Iâm bringing hell with me!â Or something equally cool. n another self-critical apology on national news, Vermont Governor Howard Dean tried to cheer up teary-eyed Democrats by letting them know, once again, he was sorry he yelled at them last Tuesday.
âClearly, I was in a bad mood, or at least it seemed like I was in a bad mood,â Dean spoke slowly, in his lecture tone on Fridayâs CBS Evening News With Dan Rather. âI want to make it known again, I was not yelling at you. I was just having a bad day.â
Blubbering Democratic and fence-riding undecided voters have chastised Dean, along with his supporters, for an almost human display of emotion following his third-place finish in the Iowa caucus last week. The candidate, previously holding a fair lead over other Democratic presidential nominees, has s...
n another self-critical apology on national news, Vermont Governor Howard Dean tried to cheer up teary-eyed Democrats by letting them know, once again, he was sorry he yelled at them last Tuesday.
âClearly, I was in a bad mood, or at least it seemed like I was in a bad mood,â Dean spoke slowly, in his lecture tone on Fridayâs CBS Evening News With Dan Rather. âI want to make it known again, I was not yelling at you. I was just having a bad day.â
Blubbering Democratic and fence-riding undecided voters have chastised Dean, along with his supporters, for an almost human display of emotion following his third-place finish in the Iowa caucus last week. The candidate, previously holding a fair lead over other Democratic presidential nominees, has since appeared on every national media outlet except for the Food Channel and Screw! Magazine to let everyone know his yelling should not mistake him for being an exciting candidate.
âUnderstand,â Dean continued later, on NBCâs Later with Carson Daly show, âsometimes, you and your campaign people put a lot of work into getting your message out there, and it only helps you come in third in a state full of corn-chucking sons ofâIâm sorry, sorry. Again, Iâm not mad at you, Iowa. I mean, you can probably go and hand the thing to Bush right now, if you want, butâI apologize. Iâm getting off message. Iâm just saying, John Edwards? Isnât he the guy that talks to dead people? How does John Edwards beat me? Tell me that and Iâll shut up.â
Deanâs efforts to apologize havenât wavered since Tuesdayâs outburst. He again tried to amend his statements and not go ballistic Saturday on M-TVâs Punkâd, with Ashton Kutcher.
âSometimes I get a little riled up. Iâm only human, or 80 percent human by-product, and I get mad sometimes. Like when Ashton made me think my car had been crushed into a cubeâthat was pretty funny, dude. But when I lost my temper, it wasnât because I couldnât take a joke. And thatâs what the Iowa caucuses are, after all, right? Big fat jokes. John Edwards beats me, yeah, like Iâm so sureâsorry. Iâm losing my focus. What I mean to say is, sometimes, we candidates get mad and we fight with each other. But weâre not yelling at you, Democratic voters. Itâs not your fault. Unless youâre from Iowaâlousy little outhouse right smack dab in the middle of Americaââ
Despite repeated outbursts on other news shows, Dean managed a reserved manner on Saturday morningâs Flatbush, New Jersey cable access show, 4 a.m. with Boner Cunningham.
âWeâre taking lumps on this one, true, but itâs not distracting us from our campaign. The problem with this country is George W. Bush and a wayward administration, and weâre taking that message to the New Hampshire caucus, and people are responding. The Iowa caucus was a disappointing setback, but the New Hampshire caucus will show my campaign hasnât suffered. I admit, Iâm not a perfect person. I am capable of getting mad. Like when you introduced me as âthat weird yelling guyâ on your show, or when you asked me if my statement of having âwartsâ meant they were on my genitals. You think itâs funny, but itâs just the kind of thing that might send me into a rage if I werenât so focused on the upcoming caucus andâlook, you little shit, the word is âcaucus,â thereâs nothing funny about it. Quit sniggering before I come over there and give you something to wail about.â
Needless to say, this reporter didnât, and the governor did. We can safely say I think the commune has found a candidate worth endorsing. the commune news has a history of backing the wrong horse, like when we picked Mamaâs Little Helper in the 2000 presidential electionâin hindsight, maybe an obvious mistake. Boner Cunningham is our special caucus correspondent, but apparently when he realized what a caucus was it didnât seem so funny.
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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 Americas favorite amusingly religious guy. Nations 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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 February 3, 2003
Volume 35Hey commune:
Grady Volsang here again, for the first time. Pissed off? Yeah, that's right. You must've got a warning call from my wife. Seems like you can't piss out a window in this town without cheesing off some bleeding-heart liberal, that's what I've noticed. But I'll be a pitbull's bitch if I give a greased Jesus what those weasels think. I've said it before, and I'll say it again this afternoon, after my hydrotherapy: I'm done with Donettes. You know, those little donuts that come in a package? Yep, through with them. Finished, kaput. Don't even try to sell me any, because you'll be sorely disappointed. I've eaten those things every day for forty years and I still haven't had a good one. So you know what? Nuts to you, Mr. Donette. You had your chance. From now on I'm taking my business to the Sno-Balls camp. I hear they know how to treat a fella.
Grady Volsang Verno Beach, FL
Dear Grady:
We here at the commune couldn't agree with you more, Grady, even if we knew what you were talking about. What is clear, however, is that you are some kind of missing link that science has spent eons in search of. Your unfortunate body could speak volumes to the right researchers, about the effects that ingesting several tons of stale donut meal over the decades could have on blood pressure, IQ, running speed, cancer of the ass, and one's resistance to being gutshot. You owe it to America, Grady, to be autopsied...
º Last Column: Volume 34 º more columns
Hey commune: Grady Volsang here again, for the first time. Pissed off? Yeah, that's right. You must've got a warning call from my wife. Seems like you can't piss out a window in this town without cheesing off some bleeding-heart liberal, that's what I've noticed. But I'll be a pitbull's bitch if I give a greased Jesus what those weasels think. I've said it before, and I'll say it again this afternoon, after my hydrotherapy: I'm done with Donettes. You know, those little donuts that come in a package? Yep, through with them. Finished, kaput. Don't even try to sell me any, because you'll be sorely disappointed. I've eaten those things every day for forty years and I still haven't had a good one. So you know what? Nuts to you, Mr. Donette. You had your chance. From now on I'm taking my business to the Sno-Balls camp. I hear they know how to treat a fella. Grady Volsang Verno Beach, FLDear Grady:
We here at the commune couldn't agree with you more, Grady, even if we knew what you were talking about. What is clear, however, is that you are some kind of missing link that science has spent eons in search of. Your unfortunate body could speak volumes to the right researchers, about the effects that ingesting several tons of stale donut meal over the decades could have on blood pressure, IQ, running speed, cancer of the ass, and one's resistance to being gutshot. You owe it to America, Grady, to be autopsied immediately.
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for anything we may have done while under the influence of pure cane sugar.º Last Column: Volume 34º more columns
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|  September 1, 2003
RaffleThere are a couple of different ways to go about getting yourself a new car. What most people do is they exploit the underclass until they've got enough greenbacks to roll up on Mr. Mercedes or Mr. Benz and slap one of them in the face with a stack of $100 bills. "Booya, bitch! Where's my wheels?" or however the classy blueblood expression of that sentiment comes out. This doesn't work so hot for the members of the exploited underclass, who lack the sufficient Benjamins to make for an impressive slap-stack, so most of them have to stick a gun in somebody's face to keep from having to take the bus to church on Sundays.
As for the rest of us, the poor suckers stuck in-between who are too cheap for caviar and too soft for prison, we have to get creative.
For a while I thought I might be able to screw The Man (or at least The Man's fine trophy wife) and increase the Omar Bricks Needs a Goddamned Car Fund by playing the stock market. Seemed easy enough, since it's basically just like a horse racing with companies, except you don't have to worry about any of the companies banging their funny bone on the starting gate and throwing the jockey into the stands when the buzzer goes off. I knew I never should have bet on a horse named "Buyer's Remorse."
Plus on the stock market they don't give the companies misleading names like "Jailbait" that make them sound really fast but then it turns out they're just not fully-grown. I've always thought the...
º Last Column: I Shit the Sheriff, But I Didn't Kid the Deputy º more columns
There are a couple of different ways to go about getting yourself a new car. What most people do is they exploit the underclass until they've got enough greenbacks to roll up on Mr. Mercedes or Mr. Benz and slap one of them in the face with a stack of $100 bills. "Booya, bitch! Where's my wheels?" or however the classy blueblood expression of that sentiment comes out. This doesn't work so hot for the members of the exploited underclass, who lack the sufficient Benjamins to make for an impressive slap-stack, so most of them have to stick a gun in somebody's face to keep from having to take the bus to church on Sundays.
As for the rest of us, the poor suckers stuck in-between who are too cheap for caviar and too soft for prison, we have to get creative.
For a while I thought I might be able to screw The Man (or at least The Man's fine trophy wife) and increase the Omar Bricks Needs a Goddamned Car Fund by playing the stock market. Seemed easy enough, since it's basically just like a horse racing with companies, except you don't have to worry about any of the companies banging their funny bone on the starting gate and throwing the jockey into the stands when the buzzer goes off. I knew I never should have bet on a horse named "Buyer's Remorse."
Plus on the stock market they don't give the companies misleading names like "Jailbait" that make them sound really fast but then it turns out they're just not fully-grown. I've always thought the FCC should step in and require that they give the horses accurate names, like "Shithead," "Slow as Fuck" and "Money Pit." Some kind of truth-in-advertising type thing. I guess when they vow to protect consumers they don't include degenerate gambling consumers under that umbrella, the self-righteous pricks. Sure, the racing form's not going to look as cool when half the horses are named "Shitbird" and "Gonad," but that's a small price to pay not to have the horse you bet on get lapped in a one-lap race. It's especially rough on the kids when they shoot a horse before the race is even over. But what in the hell are little kids doing betting on horse races, anyway? They should be off betting on cartoons or some shit.
So playing the market sounded easy enough, at least compared to betting on horse races. That was like having a license to print IOUs. But any old idiot can predict what products are going to hit or flop, or at least that's what I thought before all my stock in the Swiss Piss powdered lemonade brand tanked. I'm just glad I didn't invest in those chocolate logs you float in the punch bowl for when you throw a party, those things didn't do very well at all. At least I got out from under Swiss Piss before the lawsuit hit.
I guess my broker truly lived up to his name, since I did end up broker than when I'd met him. But he said it was probably all for the best, since I didn't stand to earn much from only owning one share of stock. And that's what pissed me off, why even call it a "share" when you're going to reward some rich prick for gobbling up thousands of the things then and give me the shaft for only having one? That doesn't sound much like sharing to me, the greedy bastards.
But that was all water under the dyke when I realized that all I needed to get my car funds together was to hold a really bitchin' raffle. People go apeshit for a raffle, and it's better than the lottery because I don't get any money from the lottery. So a raffle was definitely in order.
I went down to the bus station to talk to my good friend and local raffle organizer Poontang Douglas, and we got the particulars in order. The tickets sold out fast when people heard the prize was something in a "mystery box." Raffle freaks love that shit.
What they didn't know, and this was the brilliant part of the plan, was that it turns out the prize in the box is a shitload of tickets to the raffle. That ought to keep 'em guessing, right?
Well, I don't know about you, but when I'm guessing I usually sit there and scratch my head a little, maybe look up at the ceiling or something, you know? I sure as hell don't set the bingo hall on fire. Goddamn degenerate gamblers.
Bricks out. º Last Column: I Shit the Sheriff, But I Didn't Kid the Deputyº more columns
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Quote of the Day“No man is an island. But I have met several women I would like to live on for the rest of my life.”
-John Donne JuanFortune 500 CookieBy the pricking of my thumb I have really fucked up my keyboard playing. Trust in a higher power this weekâthe Waffle King knows what he's doing. Why be merely happy when you could be shit-yer-drawers happy? The world is you oyster, which explains that nauseating fish smell you can't escape. Lucky hammers roofing, jack, ball peen, MC.
Try again later.Worst Arguments Used Against Right-to-Die Advocates| 1. | Can't learn to play fiddle when you're dead | | 2. | My personal religion goes against it, ergo, you should do what I say | | 3. | Star Wars III looks like it's going to redeem the series | | 4. | Probably no afterlife, just a harrowing void of darkness and stillness for eternity | | 5. | Got a really good feeling things are gonna turn around for you, man | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 3/28/2005 I'm shocked into a rare non-sweating state by the wealth of first-run movies hitting DVD shelves in the next two weeks. So as much as I'd rather banter to fill dreadful column inches, I'm afraid I have actual reviews to get to this week. Lucky me⌠at least until you see the films.
Now on DVD:
Closer
An amazing achievement in film, for everyone who wanted to see Natalie Portman's breasts. Trust me, we're a larger group than you may ever know. I was heartbroken to find out all her really raunchy scenes were cut upon her request—alas, it was never meant to be. But I have other videos where, if you squint just right, you'll swear the girl with the lesbian and the black guy looks just like her. Anyway, the movie—it wallows in...
I'm shocked into a rare non-sweating state by the wealth of first-run movies hitting DVD shelves in the next two weeks. So as much as I'd rather banter to fill dreadful column inches, I'm afraid I have actual reviews to get to this week. Lucky me⌠at least until you see the films.
Now on DVD:
Closer
An amazing achievement in film, for everyone who wanted to see Natalie Portman's breasts. Trust me, we're a larger group than you may ever know. I was heartbroken to find out all her really raunchy scenes were cut upon her request—alas, it was never meant to be. But I have other videos where, if you squint just right, you'll swear the girl with the lesbian and the black guy looks just like her. Anyway, the movie—it wallows in depravity the way only an aging Hollywood director can. Julia Roberts is not quite convincing as someone who's not Julia Roberts, and Jude Law marks off another one in his contract with Lucifer. Capsulated review: "Pretty people doing bad things."
Elektra
Talk about pretty people doing bad things. Elektra is maybe a third as good as Daredevil, and if you've seen Daredevil, it's twice as bad as you were hoping. That makes for some really nauseating mathematics here. Further proof you should always write your movies before filming them, people. Jennifer Garner, adorable little fledgling superstar that she is, takes her "Alias" TV show to the big screen, although that wasn't really the intention. She was more original in 13 Going on 30, where she ripped off Big, and she was better utilized in Dude, Where's My Car? where her breasts inflated and she had few lines. I like her enough to hang a poster on my dorm wall if I were 19, but making me sit through nearly two hours of this crap is asking too much.
Spanglish
Despite Hollywood's insistence, I must respectfully disagree with them that this movie was actually released. True, I've seen it—on a pirated download DVD—but I have never seen a theater really advertising it. Oh, well, they're in denial. At first you might think this is another crappy Adam Sandler movie— not so! It's a crappy Jim Brooks movie. After making Jack Nicholson almost sympathetic in As Good as it Gets, TV God Brooks decided he'd try something really impossible—make a movie with Adam Sandler where we didn't want him dead. Nice try, Jim, but everybody's got their limitations.
Sideways
One of the big Oscar nominees of the year is, in truth, a pretty dull little trip through wine country. I applaud them for trying make a movie without explosions, but they could have put in explosive something—dialogue, characters, anything. Paul Giamatti is a desperate, meek fellow trying to do anything to make his life not so desperately meek—see virtually every other role Paul Giamatti has ever played. He's just shy enough of being Hollywood handsome that he's the actor Tinsel Town casts when they want to show how little they think of normal people. Thomas Haden Church is quite excellent as every guy's best friend in a film ever. Is it possible, in Hollywood dreamland, for two men to know each other and not have one be a Marlon Brando On the Waterfront screw-up?
That's a trip to bountiful for you. Thanks for indulging my cinematic irritation again this week. Oh, and if someone knocks on your door and asks, " Guess Who?" don't open it. Trust me, it's Ashton Kutcher.   |