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6/6/26   
Death never smelled so good
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homecommune Staff Biographiescommune news20,000 Seats Beneath the League with Stan AbernathieOr So You Thought with Red BagelBook RevoltBoris is Gay with Boris UtzovMy Friend Polio with Omar BricksMy Dearest Deidrebane with Carlisle P. ChesterfeldChild Star with Clarissa ColemanThe Best of Joel DickmanNo Shit? with Griswald DreckOne Sane Man with Raoul DunkinEditorial CartoonsFanmail from Some Flounders: Letters to the EditorGiving You the Finger with Rok FingerThe Hanes Identity with Mickey HanesSampson L. Hartwig RemembersShort ‘N’ Sweet with Stan HooperPoop of the Century with Ramrod HurleyAmerican Jesus with Mitch KroegerYou Can’t Win with Alamo CruiseFortune 500 Cookies with Mazie the ChickenManifestos of FunMe Chinese with Ned NedmillerSittin’ Around the Pickle Barrel with Shorty and JeterPoetry CoronerEntertainment Police: Movie and Television ReviewsThis Space for Rent: Guest ColumnistsGlass Ceiling Fan with Thelma ReynoldsClarise Sickhead’s Bedtime StoriesGoddammit! with Ted TedReflections of a Goocher with Stu UmbrageThe World Vs. Homer Vanslykecommune Club with Emil Zender

Jackson Alleges Reverse Racism

November 24, 2003
Santa Barbara, CA
SANTA BARBARA COUNTY CORRECTIONS
Though Michael Jackson’s image wouldn’t take on the mug shot film, Diana Ross kindly agreed to step in.
B
estselling musician and deposed King of Pop Michael Jackson returned accusations against the Santa Barbara county D.A. Saturday, making charges of “reverse racism” to reporters through a released memo on extra-white stationary.

Jackson, who was once a perfectly normal black superstar, was arrested Thursday on charges of multiple counts of something-something with a minor, or in short-hand, child molesting. The pop star faced similar accusations in 1993, shortly after turning white, but criminal charges were never filed when the father of the child in question was bought off by Jackson with a big fat check, praise whitey.

Attorney for Jackson Mark Geragos, also representing white wife-killer Scott Peterson, released a statement to the press for the umpteenth time this week, Satu...Read more...



Lost Leaves Plotlines Half-Solved in Honor of Shooting Victims

Anything can be microwaved instead of cooked, says lazy bastard

Internet blogs bring self-obsessed whiners right into your living room

Aides Urge Bush to Stop Referring to Iraqi Majority as "Shits"



August 19, 2002

Click for Biography

Snuffles, Wonder Dog

The call to alert had come! Or perhaps it was a call to alarm, there's a tricky subtle difference between the two that's always been tough to nail down. But whichever it was, the phone was ringing! Snuffles sprang into an action pose with his patented super-sound: "SPRAAANG!" This could only mean one thing: Snuffles' super-hero compatriots, Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend, had been taken hostage by Dr. Crossbaum and were being held captive in his secret industrial park lair! Oh no! With several other patented super-sounds, including "BRONK!" "FDDDDT" and "Pbbbbbb…" Snuffles shot across the floor like a runaway meatball. With unprecedented smork, Snuffles leapt into the air, pausing briefly to explain that "smork" is a measure of canine superpower on a scale of one to twelve, and shot like a pot-bellied rocket toward an open window.

With paws feverishly skittling at the wallpaper, Snuffles impacted the wall two feet below the window and slumped down to the baseboards, landing in an upside-down canine super-heap. "Interesting," thought the Wonder Dog. "Looks like Dr. Crossbaum has raised the windows once again!" With that sly remark, Sunuffles scratched behind his ear for a few minutes before falling asleep in a sunbeam.

Snuffles awoke with a start, his super-ears already working double-time even though they were only being paid for time and a half. There! In the distance! The neighbor… mowing his lawn! This could only mean that Snuffles'...Read more...


º Last Column: The Story of the Unids
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October 14, 2002

Click for Biography

A Prank Call From the Fates

Some guys have all the luck. Others just get a mouth full of boot heel and bloody tooth shards on a cold October morning. I heard a song about that once.

I'll give you three guesses which category Omar Bricks falls in this week, ladies and gentlemen. And the first two don't count since if you guess wrong I get to rap on your knuckles with a ruler. Something like that, it's an old saying from the bible.

But I'm not kidding, this has been a week for the record books. Assuming somebody somewhere keeps records on bad shit that happens to good people. And I think that's a fair assumption, since if there's some geek out there keeping a log of every time Spock scratches his ass on Star Trek, and I know there is because I lost a Frisbee in his yard one time, then anything's got to be fair game.

Make no mistake about it, this has been a four-alarm, hide the virgins, call out the National Guard variety of bad week. If two more things go wrong I'm going to hit up the president for some of that disaster relief cash you're always hearing about. It doesn't seem like there have been any massive floods or boat show fires lately, so I think he can spare the dough. Hell, if he could walk a few blocks in my Reeboks I think he'd fetch the big novelty check for me personally. If you've ever had your tits kicked in by the fates, you know what I'm talking about here.

Everybody knows about my well-publicized car troubles and my citywide...Read more...


º Last Column: Sub-Transportational Carsick Blues
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Quote of the Day
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, even more shame on you! Big fooler. Fool me three times… man, that brings back memories. Reminds me of when you made me drink that urine one time.”

-Vick-O Martini
Fortune 500 Cookie
That heart attack medicine may be making your penis smaller, so just for safety's sake, stop taking it altogether. Learn to play the guitar this week; it's just another good reason to carry out that plan to kidnap Dweezil Zappa. Remember, passing gas in an elevator is not only rude, it also slows down your arrival time by up to 2 seconds.


Try again later.
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Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Violet Tiara
12/24/2001
Sunflake
Oh, to be a phantom sunflake
resting on the bile.
A single, golden, shining sunflake,
gurgling in the Nile.
An elf's aorta, a unicorn's anus—
none could be as sweet.
As to be a lonely sunflake
munching on a leek.

Rainbows tease me,
ogres please me,
dragons wax my car.
But to be a perfect sunflake
would take the cake by far.

When the grass is green
like acid-washed jeans
and the faeries are screwing the birds,
there shines on the lovely sunflake…
too heavenly for words.

I once caught a sparkling sunflake
in the palm of my hand.
It burned straight through like I was butter…
And now I can't play...Read more...

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