|  | 
Court to Bush: Quit Doing Whatever You WantDecember 22, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee Camp X-Ray "prisoners of war," left bored without due process or lawyers to talk to, have taken to playing "Duck, Duck, Goose".
It was a major change in recent legal policy. Riding the coattails of the Sept. 11 terror attacks, most courts and other administrative officials have endorsed a policy of "let the baby have his bottle," (Supreme Court v. ACLU, 7281). In the past year, especially around the second anniversary of the infamous terrorist incidents, the legal wind began blowing ...
n exasperated federal appeals court dealt a severe setback to the Bush administration this week, should they decide to obey it, by mandating the president could not arbitrarily label foreigners on U.S. soil enemies of the state and imprison them without due process. The court officials also implored the president, "Please, for the sake of everybody in the world, quit doing whatever you want just because you feel like it."
It was a major change in recent legal policy. Riding the coattails of the Sept. 11 terror attacks, most courts and other administrative officials have endorsed a policy of "let the baby have his bottle," (Supreme Court v. ACLU, 7281). In the past year, especially around the second anniversary of the infamous terrorist incidents, the legal wind began blowing in another direction. The president has been losing ground on his doing-whatever-he-wants agenda.
Court decisions have been turning against the president as early as May, when following the end of formal hostilities the president sought to throw a "victory kegger" in the former palatial estate of deposed Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein. The court sided with congress that the palace party would violate international war time code of conduct, infuriate U.S. allies, and be distinctly unpresidential.
The court also intervened when Bush declared several of the Guantanamo Bay prisoners guilty of heresy, and wanted them put to death on national television by celebrity executioner Lee Majors, the Six-Million Dollar Man. Bush attorneys, when defeated in the federal court, addressed reporters on the courthouse steps: "It seems to me like the courts aren't as against terrorism as they claim to be."
The latest defeat is the most serious, and it appears to legal analysts we didn't bother to consult that the tide is turning against the president in the long wake after Sept. 11. In a case brought by a brother of one of the alleged terrorist suspects, the constitutionality of keeping prisoners without due process for two years was challenged and the federal courts sided with the family. According to the justices, the president cannot go around all "willy-nilly" and hold people for years at a time without the benefit of counsel. The "willy-nilly" was added by the commune, for effect.
The court, in a written decision, also implored the president to take his authority seriously and stop misjudging the limits of his power.
"We understand the need for alacrity and effectiveness in dealing with terrorist bodies," said the decision, apparently misreading the president's mastery of the language, "but the president would do well to see his presidential powers more realistically. He should read the constitution, or have a friend read it to him. He may not have been elected by the populace, but he is still not a dictator for life, and should consider his powers accordingly."
The president reportedly did not take the defeat well, and insiders say he is consulting attorneys and historians about a plan to replace all current federal and Supreme Court justices with former frat buddies. White House press secretary Scott McClellan played it close to vest when addressing reporters.
" The West Wing made this job look like so much fun," said McClellan, shaking his head and lost in thought. "All I can say is, fuck that show." the commune news, too, has undefinable powers that no court can take away. Watch us test that theory this spring when the landlord wants to re-negotiate our office lease. Lil Duncan is the commune's sex correspondent. We mean White House correspondent. Sexy White House correspondent.
 |
Everyone kind of a little relieved Bob Hope finally dead
Online scrapbooking brings boredom to the Net
Bush cancels Earth day visit to attend "Destroy the Earth" benefit
Father of Chicano music dies refusing to acknowledge bastard child Gerardo
|
‘Black Friday’ Sales Slow; Black People Blamed he nation’s African-American community had to bear another injustice over the weekend as it was revealed the sales on their own personal super-saving shopping event, “Black Friday,” were moderate at best. Undoubtedly, the responsibility for the lower-than-projected sales will fall squarely on the shoulders of the black community. “Sales were not as high as initially expected,” announced economical tool and white person spokesperson Neil Van Hurst of Columbia University’s School of Business. “This is owed mostly to continuing downward spending trends in recent holiday seasons.” And its all the fault of black people, Van Hurst all but said. Child Left Behind recent round of standardized DMAS testing in America’s elementary schools has revealed that in spite of President Bush’s ambitious “No Child Left Behind” education policy, at least one American child has been left way the fuck behind. “I don’t like schoolin’,” explained eight-year-old Topeka, Kansas boy Rodney Camaro, exhibiting numerous symptoms of left-behindedness, including messy, uncombed hair, untied shoelaces, a poor vocabulary and a fondness for pro wrestling. Camaro was brought to the attention of education officials earlier this week when test results revealed that someone had actually scored a zero on last month’s DMAS, a feat previously thought mathematically impossible. Sanjaya Unites Indian Fans, People Who Hate American Idol IRS: Excessively Needy Girlfriends Can’t Be Declared “Dependents” |
| |
| 
 December 8, 2003
The Straw that Broke the Camel's BackWhen a guy sticks a gun in your ribs and says "Alright buddy, that's the straw that broke the camel's back!" you really have to wonder. What kind of crazy camel-killing fucker am I dealing with here?
Seriously, what kind of sadistic asshole cripples any large, hooved animal under an avalanche of straws? Even as a figure of speech? That's just insane.
That's a shitload of straws, when you think about it. Who has this many straws, nevermind the need to transport them? And couldn't he have sold a few of them to buy a cart instead of piling them all on the camel's back like some cruel moron? Who are the crazy bastards who were using camels to carry straws, anyway? Was this a common occurrence at some point in history? To the best of my knowledge camels hang out in the desert, and if there's nothing to drink there then what in the hell do they need the straws for? And where were those PETA freaks when all these camels' backs were being snapped? I can't even drive around with a dog on the hood of my car without getting grief from those people, and Foghat loves that shit.
commune research editor Griswald Dreck tells me they didn't even have straws back in camel days, but I'm pretty sure he's shitting me about that. We have this running joke between us where he gives me shit and I mail him naked pictures of his sister I bought on eBay. It goes way back, don't even ask.
I mean, how could they not have straws? I'm sure there are a...
º Last Column: Don't Believe the Hype
º more columns
When a guy sticks a gun in your ribs and says "Alright buddy, that's the straw that broke the camel's back!" you really have to wonder. What kind of crazy camel-killing fucker am I dealing with here?
Seriously, what kind of sadistic asshole cripples any large, hooved animal under an avalanche of straws? Even as a figure of speech? That's just insane.
That's a shitload of straws, when you think about it. Who has this many straws, nevermind the need to transport them? And couldn't he have sold a few of them to buy a cart instead of piling them all on the camel's back like some cruel moron? Who are the crazy bastards who were using camels to carry straws, anyway? Was this a common occurrence at some point in history? To the best of my knowledge camels hang out in the desert, and if there's nothing to drink there then what in the hell do they need the straws for? And where were those PETA freaks when all these camels' backs were being snapped? I can't even drive around with a dog on the hood of my car without getting grief from those people, and Foghat loves that shit.
commune research editor Griswald Dreck tells me they didn't even have straws back in camel days, but I'm pretty sure he's shitting me about that. We have this running joke between us where he gives me shit and I mail him naked pictures of his sister I bought on eBay. It goes way back, don't even ask.
I mean, how could they not have straws? I'm sure there are a few wiseasses in the crowd who are thinking "Cuz they hadn't invented them yet, dick!" in the voice of that giant cartoon dog Goofy. Real slick, goofballs. How do you invent a straw? That's bullshit, it's like inventing a brick. Didn't happen. That's like an award they give out in Special Ed class, "Congratulations Benny, you invented the straw!" Whoopie.
I've invented the straw dozens of times when I was stuck at home with no way to suck up a beverage, and nobody threw me a parade. Half a ballpoint pen usually does the trick pretty nicely, though a rolled-up magazine will sometimes work in a pinch. Best to read the magazine first though, because good luck on reading that thing after you've used it to suck up a wine cooler. Really, the best thing is to use your neighbor Mitch's Reader's Digest or some recipe book you accidentally grabbed at the grocery store checkout because you thought it contained the secrets of the Tarot or some shit. Those take less sucking power since they're short and you're not likely to shed any tears over the polar rescue story you didn't get to read or that you don't know how to make a crabcake.
Dreck insists that they really didn't have straws back then, and that he seriously isn't getting me back for the time I got sick in his bowling bag. He says back then when you wanted to take a drink on the go you soaked a sock in it and then took the sock with you to suck on. If that's true, all I can say is sucks to be from the past. Goddamn. I can just see the commercial on TV where some N*Sync loser is telling me to suck the Coke out of his socks. No thanks, bud.
I still say there had to have been straws. You can't tell me nobody ever stumbled across a stick with a hole in it and then dunked it in his goat's blood or whatever they were drinking back then. If nothing else there were a bunch of straw-inventing motherfuckers wherever the hell bamboo is from. I'd put money down on that.
Now I just know this shit's going to keep me up at night until I can get down to the zoo to see exactly how many straws we're talking about here, and how in the hell you balance them on the back of a camel. Great.
Bricks out. º Last Column: Don't Believe the Hypeº more columns
| 
|  April 28, 2003
Sierra MistI for one miss the good old days when you could go to the store and know what the hell you were buying. Back then, there were two brands of everything: the kind you bought and the kind your no-class neighbors from Philly would buy because they didn't know any better. They'd save two cents and end up with garbage bags that were water soluble and dog food that was made from lawn clippings.
In those days, it was always easy to tell which brand was which. The good stuff had some smiling white guy with a butchwax haircut on the box. Nice. The other one always had a genie or some shit on it, a laughing monkey. And the crap products always had dead give-away names like Chintz or Uncle Otto's Screwjob.
Nowadays, you don't know what to buy. There are over 800 different kinds of crackers alone. I just want something to put in my mouth, I don't know if I want it stone-ground or not. And half the boxes have Catdog on them, whatever the hell that is. I don't know if that's the modern-day equivalent of the laughing monkey or not. They should've at least kept the butchwax guy on the good crackers, so we'd at least be able to tell what a Catdog means.
You can forget about buying cereal, too, unless you fancy pulling out your eyeballs through your own ass right there in the grocery aisle. Half the boxes aren't even cereal, they're boobytraps filled with leprechauns and all kinds of silly horseshit. At least the bad ones are easy to avoid, as I've never...
º Last Column: Dolphin Heaven
º more columns
I for one miss the good old days when you could go to the store and know what the hell you were buying. Back then, there were two brands of everything: the kind you bought and the kind your no-class neighbors from Philly would buy because they didn't know any better. They'd save two cents and end up with garbage bags that were water soluble and dog food that was made from lawn clippings.
In those days, it was always easy to tell which brand was which. The good stuff had some smiling white guy with a butchwax haircut on the box. Nice. The other one always had a genie or some shit on it, a laughing monkey. And the crap products always had dead give-away names like Chintz or Uncle Otto's Screwjob.
Nowadays, you don't know what to buy. There are over 800 different kinds of crackers alone. I just want something to put in my mouth, I don't know if I want it stone-ground or not. And half the boxes have Catdog on them, whatever the hell that is. I don't know if that's the modern-day equivalent of the laughing monkey or not. They should've at least kept the butchwax guy on the good crackers, so we'd at least be able to tell what a Catdog means.
You can forget about buying cereal, too, unless you fancy pulling out your eyeballs through your own ass right there in the grocery aisle. Half the boxes aren't even cereal, they're boobytraps filled with leprechauns and all kinds of silly horseshit. At least the bad ones are easy to avoid, as I've never felt comfortable buying cereal from the Irish.
When I was a boy, there were two different kinds of pop: brown pop and water. And if you knew what the hell you were doing, you ordered the brown pop. Water was for the stupid kids who didn't know the difference, they gave that out so as not to waste the brown pop on idiots.
Nowadays you can go into a restaurant and just make up the name of a pop, and chances are they'll have something called that. I haven't been stumped yet, though I do enjoy the challenge. Words to the wise: steer clear of Anal Route Soda and Crampman's Best, those two colas are particularly vile.
And what in the hell is "Sierra Mist" anyway? It sounds like a bad camping euphemism for when a raccoon pisses on your car.
"Shit, it looks like a couple of jellyfish fucked all over the hood of my Omni!"
"No way dude, that's just the Sierra Mist."
"Fuck you, Kenny, next time we're taking your car."
If things keep up at this pace, in a few years we'll each have our own line of products that we're obligated to buy. That may sound like fun to you, but with my luck they'd assign me a cereal with raisins in it. And I hate raisins. Even more so than grapes.
If that's the future, you can have it. º Last Column: Dolphin Heavenº more columns
|
| |
Quote of the Day“Any man who serves as his own lawyer has a fool for a client. Because think about it, stupid, why you gonna pay some guy who didn't even go to law school? That's just dumb. And how do you pay yourself, anyway? Take your money out of one pocket and put it in the other? Silly. Or maybe you've got to hire a neutral third party to take the money and then hand it back to you, like a lawyer or somebody. Shit, this is gettin' expensive.”
-Dred Scott DrummondFortune 500 CookieYou're simply the best, and that depresses us all. The next time you're on trial for murder, don't forget to mention that a Klondike bar was involved. And if you must ask for a lawyer who can get you off, at least try not to do it with that smarmy leer in your eye. Try chewing your food an odd number of times this week, like 6,372. This week's lucky injuries: hangnail, hangankle, ruptured spleen, stabitosis.
Try again later.Top Wastes of Time| 1. | Writing Congressman | | 2. | Big Brother | | 3. | Writing Supermodels | | 4. | Celery | | 5. | Prayer | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 4/4/2005 El Vita Loca, commune readers! Whatever that means, it's time for some more Entertainment Police fun. And nobody needs a translator to know what that means! Unless they've never heard of Entertainment Police before. But even then a translator wouldn't help, they'd need somebody more along the lines of those guys that do the recap at the beginning of TV shows, like "Last week, on Entertainment Police…" Hmm. I wonder if there's a market for that? I've got a pretty good speaking voice, according to the telemarketers who keep trying to sign me up for some scam broadcasting college. And I think I've got a better-than-average grasp on what happened last week on Entertainment Police. Unless it was one of Welch's columns, I still need to get around to reading those. Right after I finish...
El Vita Loca, commune readers! Whatever that means, it's time for some more Entertainment Police fun. And nobody needs a translator to know what that means! Unless they've never heard of Entertainment Police before. But even then a translator wouldn't help, they'd need somebody more along the lines of those guys that do the recap at the beginning of TV shows, like "Last week, on Entertainment Police…" Hmm. I wonder if there's a market for that? I've got a pretty good speaking voice, according to the telemarketers who keep trying to sign me up for some scam broadcasting college. And I think I've got a better-than-average grasp on what happened last week on Entertainment Police. Unless it was one of Welch's columns, I still need to get around to reading those. Right after I finish cleaning out my trunk and alphabetizing my frozen burrito collection, I swear.
In Theaters Now:
Beaver Pitch
The Farley Brothers have taken a lack of taste to a new, stratospheric level with their latest addition to their "Honk in Your Popcorn" genre of films, this time starring that charismatic "Gellin' like a Felon" guy from the Dr. Scholl's commercials as a life-long Red Sox fan who blows his brains out a week before they end up winning the World Series. Trust me; it plays funnier on the screen than it does on paper. The Farleys even recover nicely from the structural gaffe of having their main character apply the lead Q-tip within the first ten minutes of the film by making the rest of the movie about funny baseball stuff. The first feature film to drop the bombshell that most baseball players just want to get laid, Beaver Pitch strikes a nice balance between serious social commentary about sports' place in society and jokes about a guy accidentally gargling with a glass of David Ortiz's cum. Speaking of which, all the real-life baseball players are believable as real-life baseball players, the actors are believable as actors, and Drew Barrymore is likable as the beaver.
Booty Shop
Finally, Brit rock legends Queen have been allowed to make the movie that's been festering in their imaginations for years, about a whorehouse in Compton staffed by sassy black chicks with plenty of ass to go around. Ass, and hips, elbows, hamhocks, really all proportions are amply represented in these women. Don't ask me, I guess Queen just like 'em large. The film's story is really just a mosquito-net-thin excuse to string together a series of rousing musical numbers that justify having Queen hang around the whorehouse all the time as the house band, cracking wise in their impenetrable British accents. I don't have any idea what any of them said during any part of the film, but the way they said it was hilarious. Although the film doesn't feature nearly enough sex to please most fans of whorehouse pictures, it more than makes up for this shortcoming by featuring at least seven times more Brian May than the average entry in this genre.
Sim City
I don't know about you, but when I was sitting in front of my Atari 2600 console as a child, gamely destroying my carpel tunnels in the pursuit of a 999 score, never once did my mind stir up thoughts like "Man, I bet Breakout would make a great movie!" or "Gee whiz, wouldn't Tom Selleck be great as the lead in a filmed adaptation of Combat?" Mostly I was just thinking about how cool it would be to be able to shoot giant rubber bullets at other cars on the freeway. But the Hollywood producers of today were apparently dreaming far different dreams during their formative years, scheming to adapt even the most unlikely source material into stiff, unwatchable cinema. Such is the case with the newly released Sim City, a movie adaptation of the popular PC title where you run other people's lives and end up just sitting and staring at your computer, watching your virtual people sit and stare at their computers while they control the lives of a town of virtual electric Smurfs in the game's game-within-a-game, Smurftual Reality. As you can imagine, this all makes for thrilling cinema when you add Bruce Willis, Mauricio Del Toro in Smurface, and $100 million in special effects.
And that's all the movie madness we've got the time or interest for this week, America, but be sure to tune in next time when I'll have the full scoop on the rumor that's been going around about the Supreme Court ordering Pauley Shore's food tube to be removed. Until then!   |
