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April 11, 2005 |
Ames, IA Bolchek University Microscope Weirdo foreign virus responsible for Marburg haemorrhagic fever, too much of a scaredy puss to butt heads with corn-fed U.S.A. DNA. report released Friday disclosed that savage viruses that shred most human flesh and destroy normal mortal bodies will not even mess with people on American soil. The study, researched at Bolchek University in Ames, Iowa, and financed by the American Family First organization, had been going on for more than five weeks when it made its findings public in Friday's press release.
The news comes as a great relief to weary earth-dwellers in the United States, as word came of a deadly Ebola-like virus continuing its rampage through Angola, some country most Americans aren't familiar with in Africa. The World Health Organization (WHO, sometimes known as the Teenage Wasteland Group) announced shortly before the Bolchek press release that 173 people in Angola have died from the viru...
report released Friday disclosed that savage viruses that shred most human flesh and destroy normal mortal bodies will not even mess with people on American soil. The study, researched at Bolchek University in Ames, Iowa, and financed by the American Family First organization, had been going on for more than five weeks when it made its findings public in Friday's press release.
The news comes as a great relief to weary earth-dwellers in the United States, as word came of a deadly Ebola-like virus continuing its rampage through Angola, some country most Americans aren't familiar with in Africa. The World Health Organization (WHO, sometimes known as the Teenage Wasteland Group) announced shortly before the Bolchek press release that 173 people in Angola have died from the virus known as Marburg, and four more non-U.S. countries have been placed on the warning list.
News media assured American citizens the country will be alright, since they have something of a track record for surviving problems without U.S. intervention, and have even survived some caused by them.
The Bolchek study findings, however, provided a large relief from worry about viral invasions by other dangerous contagions such as Marberg and Ebola, including CCHF, Dengue, SARS, Lassa fever, and the Kinks. According to research, done in Bolchek's famous $3 million Sid Caesar Facility, virus cells, when given the choice between healthy cells of different nationalities, will always shy away from American DNA.
"It's totally awesome," said project head, 18-year-old super-genius Nills Van Raftan. "We stumbled on it a bit by accident. We were testing the effect of Ebola on the blood cells of African mice—since we wanted to save the American mice for better experiments—when one of the team members had a nosebleed and accidentally contaminated the sample. Imagine our surprise when we saw the Ebola contagions were scared shitless of messing with the American cells. And who can blame 'em?"
If the results are verified, and frankly nobody's doubting the outcome of a second test much, it answers a great number of questions for the world's nerdy virus-following community. Such as why have SARS and Mad Cow and other disease variants been too chickenshit to mess with the U.S. of A.?
"For any number of reasons," posited spindly weakling Van Raftan, "virus cells simply will not infect American cells, at least those of the United States. It could be because U.S. cells don't brook backtalk from foreign viruses. But, if my personification of American cells is way off, it might also be because viruses know that if they mess with American cells, they're risking a massive investment of money in destroying their asses. They can work their way through Africa, Asia, and even Eastern Europe for years, and we'll leave them alone—but first time they start infecting Americans on American soil, they're on our list. Companies even drop all the new dick pill technology they're working on and concentrate on the hot new market for pharmaceuticals to keep Americans healthier than foreigners."
When asked about AIDS, a virus long plaguing even American citizens, Van Raftan made a squeal, smiled sheepishly with his braces on display, and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe some viruses are retarded. But it does give us something to work on when we get frustrated with erection research." the commune news owes its exceptional health to a lifetime of jogging, swimming, and eating right, as well as refusing to drink unknown substances from petri dishes. Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown owes his long afterlife to the fact he died years ago.
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 December 24, 2001
I Don't Believe in Santa Claus AnymoreI hate to sound like a party pooper, or even worse, like I've grown cynical, but I have to admit that this year will be known for me as the year I stopped believing in Santa Claus.
It wasn't any one particular thing, just a series of things that built up until I said, "You know what? I'm fed up. Every year I keep asking for stuff I never get and there's too much proof. There is no Santa Claus."
Kids line up around the block to sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas. And this isn't any one place, it's every town and every city everywhere all over the world. How is Santa supposed to be in all those places at once, you tell me that? It's just physically impossible. Some of them don't even look like me, they'll be Asian guys or black guys or occasionally a woman or something. Nothing wrong with that, of course, I just think it's obvious most of them—oh, let's face it, all of them—are guys in suits pretending to be me. Well, there goes Christmas, kids. You just told some minimum wage former stockboy what you want for Christmas. That helps.
This thing about the flying reindeer, too, it's complete baloney. Reindeer? Flying? Now if the story was that Santa had magical kid-loving dragons whose back he rode on, that would be pretty cool and believable. But you can see reindeer anywhere. Go ahead, push one off a roof, tie one to the back of your Cadillac and pull it five hundred yards at 60 mph, of all the things it will do it...
º Last Column: Nick at Nite Marathons are Responsible for My Life º more columns
I hate to sound like a party pooper, or even worse, like I've grown cynical, but I have to admit that this year will be known for me as the year I stopped believing in Santa Claus.
It wasn't any one particular thing, just a series of things that built up until I said, "You know what? I'm fed up. Every year I keep asking for stuff I never get and there's too much proof. There is no Santa Claus."
Kids line up around the block to sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas. And this isn't any one place, it's every town and every city everywhere all over the world. How is Santa supposed to be in all those places at once, you tell me that? It's just physically impossible. Some of them don't even look like me, they'll be Asian guys or black guys or occasionally a woman or something. Nothing wrong with that, of course, I just think it's obvious most of them—oh, let's face it, all of them—are guys in suits pretending to be me. Well, there goes Christmas, kids. You just told some minimum wage former stockboy what you want for Christmas. That helps.
This thing about the flying reindeer, too, it's complete baloney. Reindeer? Flying? Now if the story was that Santa had magical kid-loving dragons whose back he rode on, that would be pretty cool and believable. But you can see reindeer anywhere. Go ahead, push one off a roof, tie one to the back of your Cadillac and pull it five hundred yards at 60 mph, of all the things it will do it won't fly. If there's ever a time to go ahead and fly, that would be it, and they don't.
Who makes all these friggin' toys, too? Sure, in the days of the wooden rocking horse and the worthless rag doll with buttons for eyes, I could see that being the product of some elfin workforce laboring away in freezing conditions, but what about these cell phones, Playstation 2 consoles, Casio keyboards, and computers these kids are getting these days? Forget the difficulty in building toys that require high-tech skill, let's just ask about Star Wars figures or Pokemon cards or something. Not that elves couldn't make that stuff, but they'd be in violation of serious international copyright laws. You're talking about one bad-ass criminal St. Nick there.
He must be trained in some shady business to infiltrate houses all over the world. How many houses have chimneys these days? Santa's out there squeezing down air ventilation pipes, under locked doors, through keyholes, through sealed windows, all sorts of unimaginable stuff. Forget laughing with a "Ho, ho, ho," the Santa they're talking about must be a scary Eugene Tooms X-Files motherfucker.
And how many kids throughout the world? How many houses, how many presents? One guy doing all this stuff in one night? Even including time zones and expanding it out to a full 24 hours to get all this done, one guy, I don't care how mystical his ass is, will be finishing that job. Forget it. Not in one year, certainly not in one day.
I'm not even leaving the house this Christmas. It's too confounding to think about. I'll probably just stay in with Mrs. Claus, sit around the fireplace and lick candycanes, maybe watch that Charlie Brown Christmas special on DVD or something, catch It's A Wonderful Life if it's even playing and just take it easy this year. Get a good night's sleep for once and check out the Day After Christmas sales if I get up early enough on the 26th. The only person I'm going to be asking for anything from is Mrs. Claus. If Santa can do all this other amazing crap he can read minds as well, so maybe he'll bring me that Palm V I've been eyeing in the Office Depot newspaper supplements. But he probably won't be happy because all I'm thinking this year is there is no Santa Claus, sorry if that pisses off the time-bending B&E reindeer pilot himself. º Last Column: Nick at Nite Marathons are Responsible for My Lifeº more columns
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|  June 1, 2003
Volume 44Dear commune:
Aren’t you just tired of all this bullshit?
Reggie Shaw Dove Plains, GA
Dear Reggie:
We know exactly what you’re talking about. Those fussy pricks downstairs at Crochet! magazine need to be put in their goddamned place. First they have the gall to involve the police in our staff’s hallowed Annual Pogo Stick Race semifinals. We here at the commune may be a passionate bunch, given to boisterous arguments and cataclysmic displays of machismo, but we’ve never been unable to resolve our own pogo race photo finish disputes among ourselves. Sure, small-arms fire is sometimes involved, but cooler heads and Russian Roulette always prevail.
And speaking of meddling, who are they to say who can and who can’t keep livestock in the building’s common areas? They automatically assume it’s the commune’s goats that have been shitting in the elevator. As if their staff is above suspicion. The pricks.
Anyway, thanks for understanding. Sometimes the commune just needs to vent.
the...
º Last Column: Volume 43 º more columns
Dear commune: Aren’t you just tired of all this bullshit? Reggie Shaw Dove Plains, GA Dear Reggie:
We know exactly what you’re talking about. Those fussy pricks downstairs at Crochet! magazine need to be put in their goddamned place. First they have the gall to involve the police in our staff’s hallowed Annual Pogo Stick Race semifinals. We here at the commune may be a passionate bunch, given to boisterous arguments and cataclysmic displays of machismo, but we’ve never been unable to resolve our own pogo race photo finish disputes among ourselves. Sure, small-arms fire is sometimes involved, but cooler heads and Russian Roulette always prevail.
And speaking of meddling, who are they to say who can and who can’t keep livestock in the building’s common areas? They automatically assume it’s the commune’s goats that have been shitting in the elevator. As if their staff is above suspicion. The pricks.
Anyway, thanks for understanding. Sometimes the commune just needs to vent.
the commune Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for those embarrassing Capri pants all the girls are wearing these days. We’re guessing a sauna mishap was responsible for those ridiculous things. But we do look forward to making snide remarks when we’re looking at photo albums ten years from now, just for the record.º Last Column: Volume 43º more columns
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Quote of the Day“If you're not a liberal when you're 25, you have no heart. If you're not a conservative by the time you're 35, you have no inheritance. Die already, Uncle Franco… just… die.”
-Winthrop ShurikenFortune 500 CookieWho's the man? More specifically, who's the man who shattered your kneecap with a club and took you out of the competition? Now would be a good time to switch to NetFlix from your previous practice of watching the movie on the video store display TVs. Keep your eye on the sparrow. Lucky jeans: Levi, Bugle Boy, Lee, and Auel.
Try again later.Hottest Christmas Toy Fads| 1. | Dolly Pees N' Downloads | | 2. | PEZac Anti-Depressant Candies | | 3. | Bloodbung IV for Gamecube | | 4. | Golidie2k2 Robotic Goldfish | | 5. | Virtual Bike Training Wheels Disc | | 6. | West Nile Elmo | | 7. | FunFree Learn-o-station | | 8. | Britney Spears' Diaphragm Madness | | 9. | Bob the Builder with Catcall Voice Chip | | 10. | Collect or Die Trading Card "Game" | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 6/13/2005 Yola, America. That's a new hybrid black/Spanish greeting I just made up, I think it's going to be a big crossover hit. Start sending in your royalty payments now, kids. Anyway, we're here for one thing and one thing only this week: getting paid. I am, anyhow. Why are you here? Movie reviews? I'll see what I can do.
In Theaters Now:
Batman Vegans I want to meet the guy who dreamt up the idea for this movie, and kick him right in the dick. You've got a perfect opportunity to make a fun movie about the caped crusader (that's Batman, right? I know Superman had a cape, too, but did he crusade? Not sure about that one. He didn't seem like the crusading type to me. Though to be frank, it does surprise me a little bit that Batman went over to the Middle...
Yola, America. That's a new hybrid black/Spanish greeting I just made up, I think it's going to be a big crossover hit. Start sending in your royalty payments now, kids. Anyway, we're here for one thing and one thing only this week: getting paid. I am, anyhow. Why are you here? Movie reviews? I'll see what I can do. In Theaters Now:Batman VegansI want to meet the guy who dreamt up the idea for this movie, and kick him right in the dick. You've got a perfect opportunity to make a fun movie about the caped crusader (that's Batman, right? I know Superman had a cape, too, but did he crusade? Not sure about that one. He didn't seem like the crusading type to me. Though to be frank, it does surprise me a little bit that Batman went over to the Middle East and kicked ass for Christ. I always thought he was a Buddhist or a Mormon or something), kicking rubberized ass and using swank gadgets to do it, but instead you put him on a mission to educate people about the injustice inherent in consuming animal products. God, which one of our favorite superheros aren't they going to ruin? First, the Hulk spends his whole movie speaking out against steroid use, and then Daredevil wants handicapped access ramps put in everywhere. And now this. Somebody just kick me in the dick and get it over with. The HoneymooniesEvery once in a while, a movie comes out that's so crazy it works, in spite of violating every law of what is natural and good. By rights, any screwball comedy about Unification church heads Sun Myung Moon and his wife Hak Ja Han Moon should be cause for rioting and political revolt, but this time it really works. Sun Myung dead-ringer Cedric the Entertainer fills the cult leader's shoes admirably and perfectly captures the essence of what it is to be a deified by millions yet still be chased around by your wife with a frying pan whenever you do something stupid. Gabrielle Union, who you might remember from not a goddamned thing, is also brilliant as Hak Ja Han, Moon's street-smart wife from the Korean ghetto who doesn't take any bullshit and is equally sweet and quick with her fists. Some Moonies have complained that the film doesn't do a good enough job of showing how Sun Myung is God, but fuck 'em. Mr. and Mrs. SmithI'm sure the fanatical fanboys out there will disagree, but I don't care how much whiteface you put on Will Smith, he still doesn't look like Brad Pitt to me. Jada Pinkett Smith does a better job channeling Angelina Jolie, though Rick Baker's work on her animatronic puffy lips didn't always suspend my disbelief. The heretic in me wonders if they couldn't have just cast the real Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie in these roles, but then I guess they would have had to change the title, and Mr. and Mrs. Probably Are Dating just doesn't have the same ring to it. For what it's worth, this hyperviolent remake of War of the Roses does have an enjoyable disregard for the concepts of love and human decency, and it is refreshing to finally see Will Smith in a movie that doesn't stink like robots. And that's that, America. You came, you saw, I reviewed. But not in that order. If it was in that order, then I'm doing something wrong and will probably be getting a visit from the TimeCops. And I hate those guys.   |