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 February 13, 2006 |
Washingon, D.C. Whit Pistol
"We will not stand for this insult to the United States," said White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan on Friday. "This administration has put far too much work into the Middle East to settle for second most-hated country in the western world."
Added McClellan, "I mean… Afghanistan? Iraq? The threats and endless implications of war in Syria and Iran… if anyone is the biggest threat to Islam, it's us."
Protests began following the pu...
midst the controversy of insulting Danish cartoons and rioting Muslims throughout Europe and the Middle East, the U.S. has taken a firm stance against the editorial cartoon in question—not because it offends Islamic culture, but because it steals focus from the ever-popular anti-Americanism felt by Muslims worldwide. "We will not stand for this insult to the United States," said White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan on Friday. "This administration has put far too much work into the Middle East to settle for second most-hated country in the western world." Added McClellan, "I mean… Afghanistan? Iraq? The threats and endless implications of war in Syria and Iran… if anyone is the biggest threat to Islam, it's us." Protests began following the publication of 12 cartoons portraying the prophet Mohammed in Denmark's Jyllands-Posten, an act prohibited in Islamic religion, and the protests have turned into violent rioting in many instances, including setting fire to a Danish embassy. The riots have spread throughout Europe, following the re-publication of the offending cartoons in other countries. As Muslim aggression turns against Denmark and the other European Union countries, the U.S. began to show clear signs of fearing second best. "You think Denmark's offensive?" President Bush said at a press conference on Thursday. "We put a Koran on the toilet, if you remember. Not us specifically, and we don't condone that kind of thing—but that's American handiwork for you. Let's try to remember whose financial and military complexes you've suicide bombed. Ain't we the Great Satan, folks?" Some scholars and media pundits, who make the real money in the field of academia, have suggested the cartoon controversy may be behind the administration's recent attacks on suspected Al-Qaeda targets, as well as the president's verbal gaff on Saturday. "You know what's stupid? Long beards," Bush said to a small group of White House visitors on Saturday. He added, "Oops," in a less-than-convincing way. Psychologists and political scientists both have tried to explain the effects of the Danish cartoon and the Muslim response, but if any academic field has gained the most from this debacle, it's the newly burgeoning area of politopsycho science. Happy to answer questions was the field's premiere and only representative, Professor Norm Chauncey of Newark University. "Clearly the president, and to a certain extent the country and its administration itself, is dealing with a sudden loss of identity as the political landscape begins to change," said Professor Chauncey, who was kind enough to buy the lattes. "As these times become more turbulent, and anti-American sentiment grows all around the world, particularly in the Middle East and Islamic cultures, we in the west have found comfort in the most reliable feature of modern life—anti-Americanism. Can you imagine how disoriented we would all be if the French stopped being pretentious overnight? What a confusing, frightening world that would be. It's the same effect when the United States is no longer the first one to trample all over the nerves of Muslims. The Danes? If they're going to start being insensitive to cultural differences, we might as well go the rest of the full mile and stop interfering in everyone's world affairs. Let's exactly how whacked out we can all be." Chauncey lectured further on the subject, but since he wouldn't throw in a biscotti, the commune doesn't see much reason to print that as well. the commune news was deeply offended by a comic strip as well, when Ziggy burned that car thief's balls on the truck's exhaust pipe to get a confession—though, come to think of it, that could have been an episode of The Shield. commune Douchebag Raoul Dunkin tries to be sensitive to the feelings of everyone, earning him his nickname "commune Douchebag."
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 August 22, 2005
Charity CaseYou know what pisses me off? These ads you see on TV for some starving children's charity in Oswego or some place, where they say that $2.90 a day can buy you a coffee, donut and a newspaper, or you can feed an entire family in Oswego. To which I say, well yeah, but what about my donut? That shit is delicious. If I feed a family in Oswego, are they then going to turn around and mail me a donut? And how long does that shit take? I'm hungry now dammit, getting a donut from FedEx in the middle of a steak dinner I'm eating next week isn't going to do me a whole hell of a lot of good. These charity boneheads have really failed to think through the details.
And what in the hell are they feeding those Oswegans for $2.90? McDonald's? Thanks, but the U.S. doesn't need any more foreigners pissed off at us like that. Even if we're feeding them Ramen noodles, that's still pretty rough. You can only make it for about three days on that stuff before you start dropping ass like a Play-Doh Crazy Spaghetti Factory.
Now if you tell me they're eating something good for that $2.90, then you've got my attention. I want a slice of that action. I haven't done the math recently, but I'm pretty sure I spend way more than $2.90 a day on food. And I don't even have any kids, or a wife siphoning off $2 of my per diem so she can buy some of that organic beeswax lip balm. You ever try eating on 90 cents a day? Well big spender, I hope you like Juicy Fruit.
I even...
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You know what pisses me off? These ads you see on TV for some starving children's charity in Oswego or some place, where they say that $2.90 a day can buy you a coffee, donut and a newspaper, or you can feed an entire family in Oswego. To which I say, well yeah, but what about my donut? That shit is delicious. If I feed a family in Oswego, are they then going to turn around and mail me a donut? And how long does that shit take? I'm hungry now dammit, getting a donut from FedEx in the middle of a steak dinner I'm eating next week isn't going to do me a whole hell of a lot of good. These charity boneheads have really failed to think through the details.
And what in the hell are they feeding those Oswegans for $2.90? McDonald's? Thanks, but the U.S. doesn't need any more foreigners pissed off at us like that. Even if we're feeding them Ramen noodles, that's still pretty rough. You can only make it for about three days on that stuff before you start dropping ass like a Play-Doh Crazy Spaghetti Factory.
Now if you tell me they're eating something good for that $2.90, then you've got my attention. I want a slice of that action. I haven't done the math recently, but I'm pretty sure I spend way more than $2.90 a day on food. And I don't even have any kids, or a wife siphoning off $2 of my per diem so she can buy some of that organic beeswax lip balm. You ever try eating on 90 cents a day? Well big spender, I hope you like Juicy Fruit.
I even called one of these places and told them I'd sponsor some poor motherfuckers out there in the Congo if they'd give me the hook-up on some of this cheap grub. I figured, if I'm getting 30 cent steak dinners and lobster bisque for 99 cents, I can afford to carry some freeloading Ethiopians as part of my overhead. What the hell, I've never been a selfish guy. Get on the Mitch Kroeger gravy train, you skinny fuckers.
You know what they said to me? Nothing. I mean they hung up like I had just propositioned them for phone sex. Wake up, charity assholes, that was like two weeks ago! Now I'm calling with a business proposition. No wonder you guys are on TV begging for handouts, you don't have any idea how to run a business.
My solution? Well, for one thing, I'm not one of these conservative assholes who's going to look a starving Ethiopian in the eye and tell him to go get a job and buy his own food. That's bullshit: jobs suck a nut. I would, however, suggest that maybe he should grow a pair and go kill himself a lion. Lions are good eatin', for one thing, and last time I checked they're pretty huge. Kill one of those things and you're going to be ass-deep in lion steaks for the foreseeable future. You might even be able to sell some of the less desirable cuts to your fellow villagers or trade the gonads or the gizzard for some A1 sauce and baked potatoes, to make a real meal of it.
Now don't get started on me about how some skinny Ethiopian dude, tired from weeks of not eating, is supposed to kill a big scary-ass lion. For one thing, if he's really that skinny, the lion doesn't pose any real threat since he can just slip between its teeth like dental floss. But even if he's not down to Kate Moss starvation levels quite yet, it's not like we're living in 400 B.C. here. Lions may be big and mean, but they still get run over by a Jeep just like anything else. And I know that not every starving Ethiopian villager owns his own Jeep, I'm not stupid. But that doesn't mean he can't borrow one. He wouldn't even need it that long, maybe thirty seconds or so. And what kind of asshole wouldn't lend a starving Ethiopian his car for thirty seconds? You should be ashamed of yourself, bud. º Last Column: I Plead "Not Guilty" to the Charge of Breeding Velocimonkeysº more columns
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|  November 10, 2003
Save the Super-AcceleratorIt's about time they built the super-accelerator, that's all I can say. For years they claim they want to protect the security of our borders and make everything more efficient for everyone, well, you know what I say? "Put your money where your mouth is." Only less cliché, and somewhat wittier. And finally someone did.
This is not news, of course. It was in all the non-commune papers and everybody made quite a big to-do out of it. Jay Leno, on his shallow pale imitation of the Carson show, made a particularly funny joke about it I can't remember. So it was well in the public zeitgeist for a long time now. You can't walk into a seedy bar or eavesdrop on someone's telephone calls without hearing casual references to the super-accelerator. Which is good, as far as I'm concerned. What's good for the super-accelerator is good for America.
But before you get comfortable and believe this is how everyone thinks, you should know: There are certain special interests groups in Washington who don't like the super-accelerator. Shocking, perhaps, but we can't shy away from the truth. Congress would probably prefer you didn't know this, and went back to watching your Queer Jobs for Straight Slobs or whatever trendy show is on this week. While rich lobbyists secretly take the super-accelerator away from you and sweep it under the rug.
Not on my watch, lobbyists. Red Bagel has a mouth like a Shanghai whore, only this mouth is for...
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It's about time they built the super-accelerator, that's all I can say. For years they claim they want to protect the security of our borders and make everything more efficient for everyone, well, you know what I say? "Put your money where your mouth is." Only less cliché, and somewhat wittier. And finally someone did.
This is not news, of course. It was in all the non-commune papers and everybody made quite a big to-do out of it. Jay Leno, on his shallow pale imitation of the Carson show, made a particularly funny joke about it I can't remember. So it was well in the public zeitgeist for a long time now. You can't walk into a seedy bar or eavesdrop on someone's telephone calls without hearing casual references to the super-accelerator. Which is good, as far as I'm concerned. What's good for the super-accelerator is good for America.
But before you get comfortable and believe this is how everyone thinks, you should know: There are certain special interests groups in Washington who don't like the super-accelerator. Shocking, perhaps, but we can't shy away from the truth. Congress would probably prefer you didn't know this, and went back to watching your Queer Jobs for Straight Slobs or whatever trendy show is on this week. While rich lobbyists secretly take the super-accelerator away from you and sweep it under the rug.
Not on my watch, lobbyists. Red Bagel has a mouth like a Shanghai whore, only this mouth is for getting the truth out there.
It's a fair question to ask what these guys have against the super-accelerator. It takes all kind to ruin the world, Americans. A lot of them think the super-accelerator is ahead of its time, and hate the idea of where it's taking them, and us. Others are merely interested in self-preservation: They work for industries making a profit off regular accelerators, and hate to see that money go the way of the dodo. Some hate and fear, not the super-accelerator, but what it represents: Super-acceleration. And, of course, there's always terrorists.
I say to them: Tough shit. The super-accelerator is here to stay. It's an idea whose time has come. We've had a taste of the super-accelerator, and like a drug-addled crackwhore, we want more, more, more. In fact, those words rhyme so well feel free to use them in any song you're writing if they fit in well—but only if it's pro-super-accelerator. Because the super-accelerator has opened a new path to us, and scary as it may be, we can't go back to our old ways of life now.
After all, what is there to really be scared of? Change? A new an exciting way of life unknown to men before the super-accelerator? The 30% fatality rate of test subjects exposed for very short amounts of time to the super-accelerator? This all sounds like a mother hen's worrying. The super-accelerator has the potential to bring us a golden age of prosperity and if there's a minor risk to liver and respiratory system, I say it's well worth it.
I'm not the only one who thinks so either. Americans everywhere are getting behind the super-accelerator, where test results show it's much safer. Republicans and Democrats are putting their differences aside to speak out on behalf of the super-accelerator. Personality types as far apart as Christina Aguilera and Madonna have expressed their fondness for the super-accelerator. And as for myself, I have to agree with my good friend Lil Bowwow the super-accelerator truly is "all that."
So don't give up on the super-accelerator yet, naysayers. It was only a matter of time until the day of the super-accelerator arrived, and now that it has, don't fight it. In the meantime, I will do my best to ensure the long life of the super-accelerator, as well as finding out exactly what it is the super-accelerator is for. º Last Column: commune Storyº more columns
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Milestones1921: Underground rumor begins that Lil Duncan, to be born in 50 years, will like the kinky stuff.Now HiringDeaf Mute. Duties include standing around, accepting blame for assorted office mishaps, and listening to Ramrod Hurley's stories about the one time he went fishing. Antidepressant prescription a plus.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | the commune's Guide to Avoiding Summer | | 2. | Lose the Mustache—Win the War | | 3. | Are Your Arms Too Long? Take Our Test | | 4. | Uncle Macho's Frog Poppers | | 5. | Leave No Man Behind: One Trolley Driver's Heroic Tale | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Wyatt Chomski 10/14/2002 The Lover of BonerbrookeThe sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up...
The sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up against the horizon, burning a deeper red, darker and darker, seeming to pulse as it sought refuge from the barren sky in one blissful, sinful, erotically inevitable plunge below. Finally, with a sigh whispered on the breeze, the earth surrendered and allowed the sun to penetrate its horizon, thrusting its fiery, molten love into the earth's ample back hills.
Wiping an errant fleck of ham skin from her bottom lip, Chaska lathered her porcelain hands and splashed the bracingly cold water on her taut, naked body. Running her hands over her impossibly sensuous figure, both elegant and voluptuous, yet surprisingly athletic all at once, she gazed longingly into the mirror, awaiting her lover's touch like a Saint Bernard waiting for a rawhide bone to come out of the pet store bag.
Alas, it was a touch that could never come, since Lance had perished all those long months ago, defending her honor against a street vendor who had insisted on exact change. Still in mourning, Chaska pulled on the lacey, semi-transparent panties she had worn throughout her bereavement and marveled one last time at her awe-inspiring body, which she'd always enjoyed without ever working out but had never let go to her head. She slipped into a slinky, backless evening gown that she liked to wear when she was lamenting a lost love, for the comforting way it hugged her curves and cradled her breasts like a sterling serving platter, as she prepared for another night of remembering Lance.
Just then, there was a noise at the door, and Chaska twirled around to discover Bane Ratham, the white-hot multimillionaire hunk that everyone knew really ran things behind the scenes in Bonerbrooke, standing in the open doorway. His shirt torn in an erotic fashion and his taut, beefy man-tits heaving, it was obvious he had run straight from town on foot, possibly not stopping to open Chaska's front gate.
"Chaska," Bane panted, out of breath in a manly, erotic fashion, not like a wheezing asthmatic. "It struck me while I was out working up a manly sweat, mentoring orphaned Chinese boys, that I couldn't bear to live another second of my life without you. I came here as fast as I could. Sorry about your gate."
Chaska melted inside and instantly swooned from the overwhelming eroticness of it all, but instead of falling, she found herself cradled in Bane's bulging arms, like a pair of boobs in an evening gown. "Quench my burning fire, Chaska," Bane pleaded, his smoky gray eyes fixed on Chaska's soul like snipers of love. Chaska nodded a dazed nod and reached for her diaphragm before Bane gently stopped her hand.
"But first, I want you to marry me," Bane whispered, gesturing to a shirtless, rock-hard, desperately hot priest standing in the doorway, his white collar cutting repressively into his bulging, well-tanned neck. "This is my brother Dave, he's a priest."
Chaska drank in the priest with a long, taboo gaze. She glanced back up into Bane's smoldering eyes and smiled.
"Hello Dave," Chaska cooed, with a twinkle in her eye.   |
