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Fox Cancels Yankees-Marlins World Series October 27, 2003 |
Los Angeles, CA Junior Bacon An empty Yankee Stadium greets the spoilsport New York and Florida teams fficials at the Fox network announced last week that despite record ratings for the first two rounds of baseballâs postseason, the Yankees-Marlins World Series will be cancelled due to lack of viewer interest. The announcement stunned and disappointed sports fans, who thought Fox was talking about canceling the World Cup. Executives have since issued a statement assuring the viewing public that the little-watched soccer tournament, which appeals to foreign-born Americans and small children who play soccer, will go on as scheduled.
âOur focus group research indicates that watching the Yankees play in the World Series has the same level of audience appeal as watching the Iraqi National Guard gang-rape Mother Theresa,â explained Fox Sports head Walter Lawrie. âAnd the Mar...
fficials at the Fox network announced last week that despite record ratings for the first two rounds of baseballâs postseason, the Yankees-Marlins World Series will be cancelled due to lack of viewer interest. The announcement stunned and disappointed sports fans, who thought Fox was talking about canceling the World Cup. Executives have since issued a statement assuring the viewing public that the little-watched soccer tournament, which appeals to foreign-born Americans and small children who play soccer, will go on as scheduled. âOur focus group research indicates that watching the Yankees play in the World Series has the same level of audience appeal as watching the Iraqi National Guard gang-rape Mother Theresa,â explained Fox Sports head Walter Lawrie. âAnd the Marlinsâ name recognition ranks comfortably between one-hit wonder Jim Basnight of âSex Teenâ fame and Secretary of Commerce Don Evans. Frankly, if we hadnât made this announcement, I doubt anyone would have noticed the change.â Fox executives originally announced that the Yankees-Marlins series would be replaced with footage of the cast of Malcolm in the Middle playing catch in their backyard, interspersed with thousands of commercials for the upcoming Fox shows Skin, Arrested Development and 24. But after focus group research conducted by opening office windows and listening indicated that baseball fans would still be interested in watching a Red Sox-Cubs World Series, rules be damned, a mid-season replacement series was organized. âYankees-Marlins was underperforming in several key markets, most notably the entire United States of America,â said Fox spokesperson Lana Rauch. âWe were originally taking consolation in the notion that weâd at least get strong numbers out of New York and Miami, but it turns out fans in New York consider anything short of a four-game World Series sweep by the Yankees an unwatchable travesty, and the three Marlins fans donât live in Nielsen households. So even in those markets, the numbers stank like David Wellsâ burp-up rag.â Network executives hope a Red Sox-Cubs match up will breathe new life into the flagging World Series franchise, which lost some if its luster after last seasonâs breakout star Barry Bonds was unable to return for the 2003 season due to the failure of his supporting cast. Fox executives attempted to engineer a trade of Bonds to the Cubs after San Franciscoâs first-round exit from the playoffs, but Cubs manager Dusty Baker vetoed the trade on the grounds that the 39-year-old Bonds wasnât old enough to warrant displacing any of Bakerâs trusted veteran players. Fox had gone to great lengths in the preceding weeks to ensure a Red Sox-Cubs World Series, expected by many to be a ratings bonanza. But after succeeding in bombarding the Oakland Aâs lineup with microwave radiation in the ALDS and scheduling ALCS Game 4 during a flash flood to prevent Boston Achilles-heel John Burkett from taking the mound, Fox was ultimately thwarted by the Red Sox and Cubsâ own considerable self-destructive quirks, ending up with an albatross series slung stinky-like around their necks. Some baseball purists have decried the move, which goes beyond Foxâs usual postseason gametime juggling and bizarre scheduling decisions. But when questioned, all admitted they werenât actually watching the Yankees-Marlins series, they were just tired of waiting for The Simpsonsâ Halloween special to air. the commune news was personally rooting for a Brewers-Indians World Series, but our hopes for a hilarious drunken Navajo melee were dashed quite early in the season. Mordecai âThree Fingerâ Brown was available to pitch for the Cubs in the eighth inning of Game 6, but was barred by an umpiring crew with a poor history of making accurate balk calls on long-dead pitching spectres.
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Iraq blah blah blah Suicide blah blah blah Dead Big Whup: Whale Swims Across the English Channel Heather Grahams Career Found Dead in Apartment Polish Roof Falls in Following Drinks Are on the House Debacle |
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 July 3, 2012
Brush With Death, Floss With DangerFinger fans, I'm delighted to be writing you again sooner than anticipated. As I last said, I did not believe there was enough of interest to me to warrant continued commune writing, but we both lucked out, for since those premature words, I have discovered my dentist is a secret agent.
It must seem like I've gone mad, and I haveâmad with international intrigue. I'm not at liberty to say too much, and of course I can't use his last name, but I am permitted to use his first, so we'll call him "Doctor." No one was more surprised than me at my last visit for a regular teeth cleaning, although the hygienist did seem shocked and dismayed when I elected to change into a hospital gown. I am not going home with a drool-drenched shirt again, I'm adamant on that point, and she's a dental assistant, she should be accustomed to a little nudity by now.
I would not have even found out this sizzling bit of news if it were not for a slip of the tongue. We were discussing film and I asked Doctor if he had seen that new James Bond film from three years ago. He said yes, and he enjoyed it very much, being a spy himself.
The secret was out! I asked him what kind of spy he was, he told me he would have to kill me if he told me, or if I laid a finger on his girlfriend. I of course promised I would tell no one, and would not touch the girlfriend, having not yet seen her or found out she was a model. Reluctantly, Doctor confided his history in his majesty's...
º Last Column: Ventriloquism For Dummies º more columns
Finger fans, I'm delighted to be writing you again sooner than anticipated. As I last said, I did not believe there was enough of interest to me to warrant continued commune writing, but we both lucked out, for since those premature words, I have discovered my dentist is a secret agent.
It must seem like I've gone mad, and I haveâmad with international intrigue. I'm not at liberty to say too much, and of course I can't use his last name, but I am permitted to use his first, so we'll call him "Doctor." No one was more surprised than me at my last visit for a regular teeth cleaning, although the hygienist did seem shocked and dismayed when I elected to change into a hospital gown. I am not going home with a drool-drenched shirt again, I'm adamant on that point, and she's a dental assistant, she should be accustomed to a little nudity by now.
I would not have even found out this sizzling bit of news if it were not for a slip of the tongue. We were discussing film and I asked Doctor if he had seen that new James Bond film from three years ago. He said yes, and he enjoyed it very much, being a spy himself.
The secret was out! I asked him what kind of spy he was, he told me he would have to kill me if he told me, or if I laid a finger on his girlfriend. I of course promised I would tell no one, and would not touch the girlfriend, having not yet seen her or found out she was a model. Reluctantly, Doctor confided his history in his majesty's secret service. Bet you didn't know we were a monarchy-democracy, did you? Neither did I, until Doctor straightened me out. My grill as well.
Good people, I'm a simple ventriloquil stage performer, I'm not used to the fast-paced life of spydom, or even dentistry. I lived a quiet life, immune to all the intrigue just hanging in the air around me like humidity. Now my eyes are opened, the little crusty booger things cleared out by the truth. We are surrounded on all sides by spies.
I asked Doctor how he got into the spy game, he said it's all who you know, and he's good friends with the secret king. I'm not supposed to use his full name outside the Circle of Mystery, which I'm not allowed to be a part of unless they don't have enough people to make a circle present. But I guess I can give you something to call him, differentiate from everyone else in this story, so call him King Steve.
The secret monarchy ruling our country and the plethora of spies disguised as every day members of the service industry has provided me with some distraction from the humdrum routine of entertaining people by pretending to speak. If you're wondering who are the enemies of the Circle of Mystery, you're not alone, but Doctor won't tell me anything more unless King Steve grants me full access. That will cost $40, and I don't get that kind of money in my line of work, not until my crimson tuxedo is paid for. Yes, I am on the waiting list to be inducted into this hidden world, so wish me luck. Rok Finger may be protecting you from the most evil and insidious threat to this nation neither of us has ever heard of. So sleep well, once I get forty bucks.
I learned all this from a night of fascinating conversation with Doctor. After my cleaning and semi-annual uvula scraping, I invited Doctor out for a night on the town, but when we realized the cost of drinks would add up, we instead decided to share a mask of nitrous for a few hours. What amazing secrets were revealed, probably a lot more than I can remember since I think I forgot to switch off the tank just before I passed out. Did you know our spies go on vacation twice a year to stunning locations like Fort Lauderdale to monitor the international diamond trade? Of course you didn't. You don't have $40 and you're not in the Circle of Mystery. As soon as they get a few dozen more membership fees added to the Circle, a sweepstakes will decide who is the best spy, and that candidate will travel to romantic Monte Carlo to enter a high-stakes poker competition and thwart the evil Professor Glove. He's not the most terrible criminal mastermind of our age, but he's the equivalent of a comptroller for said most terrible criminal mind. I can't wait to get my $40 and find out who it is! My money is on Red Bagel, who ironically owes me $40 in unpaid commune checks.
Doctor was quick to remind me this is all fantasy, insisted that I remember that when I left and promised to dig up the money for the entry fee into the Circle. Of course it's fantasy. It's been my boyhood dream to defend the country and the western world from the unimaginable despotism of a villain whose name I don't know. And I didn't even have a boyhood.
I do hope they give me bullets with my membership kit. I already have a gun and an ankle holster. º Last Column: Ventriloquism For Dummiesº more columns
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|  March 18, 2002
At Least Your Last Name's Not FagerbakkeOver the course of my life, any time I've had a gripe about the way things were going or if I had things that I thought were unfair, my mom was always there to remind me that there are people out there who have it worse off than me. No matter what your problem is, there's always some poor S.O.B. out there whose wretched existence made yours look like a complimentary trip to a Bangkok whorehouse.
My mom's the undisputed master of this line of reasoning. No matter what happened when I was growing up, she always had some reason why I should be happy about it. Any time I took the guys to meet Mr. Bike Frame after riding my Huffy into a gopher hole or a curb or something, while I was on the ground in the fetal position, writhing in pain, she always reminded me that at least I didn't have spinal meningitis. I'm not kidding! Needless to say, that's not the kind of thing a guy wants to hear when he's just had his family jewels knocked back into his earlobes, so I spent a large portion of my childhood years sucking on a bar of Ivory soap.
But she never faltered. Your dog got hit by a car? That's a piece of cake compared to having cystic fibrosis. Pulled a 300 on the SATs? That'd make your day if you had hooks for hands. I don't know where she got half that shit. Every once in a while I'd catch her blatantly making something up, like the time in Jr. High when I got kicked in the nuts by a mule and she told me it was better than having Herkemer's Syndrome. I...
º Last Column: Way to Cock Up My Birthday Party, Grandpa º more columns
Over the course of my life, any time I've had a gripe about the way things were going or if I had things that I thought were unfair, my mom was always there to remind me that there are people out there who have it worse off than me. No matter what your problem is, there's always some poor S.O.B. out there whose wretched existence made yours look like a complimentary trip to a Bangkok whorehouse.
My mom's the undisputed master of this line of reasoning. No matter what happened when I was growing up, she always had some reason why I should be happy about it. Any time I took the guys to meet Mr. Bike Frame after riding my Huffy into a gopher hole or a curb or something, while I was on the ground in the fetal position, writhing in pain, she always reminded me that at least I didn't have spinal meningitis. I'm not kidding! Needless to say, that's not the kind of thing a guy wants to hear when he's just had his family jewels knocked back into his earlobes, so I spent a large portion of my childhood years sucking on a bar of Ivory soap.
But she never faltered. Your dog got hit by a car? That's a piece of cake compared to having cystic fibrosis. Pulled a 300 on the SATs? That'd make your day if you had hooks for hands. I don't know where she got half that shit. Every once in a while I'd catch her blatantly making something up, like the time in Jr. High when I got kicked in the nuts by a mule and she told me it was better than having Herkemer's Syndrome. I asked her what the hell that was and she just muttered something vague about having your bones itch and said I didn't want to know the details.
To be perfectly honest, I never really appreciated my mother's philosophy when I was growing up; actually I thought she was sick in the head. But now that I'm older I'm really starting to understand where she was coming from. It's taken me a long time to find my purpose in life, but now I think I've really found it. I'm here to remind people that no matter what kind of foul shit is going down in their own lives, hey, at least their last name isn't Fagerbakke.
You don't even have to know a thing about be, beyond my name, to know that I didn't have an easy time of it growing up. All my life, I've been like some kind of nickname magnet. You can try to surprise me with something new, but I'd advise you to save your breath, I promise I've heard them all: Froggerhockey, Fan-of-Balki, Faggotbacon, Fag-bot, Fuckerbacker, Fingerbecky, Shag-her-buddy, Fizzledick, Dr. Lousy Lay, Sir Fucksafreshman, Tommy Hatesajew, Dildo on Wheels, The Cunnilinguist, Tom the Racist Wonder, Tommy Comesponge, Mr. Nazi-cock, Tommy Two-Minutes, Tommy Knockmeup, The Back-door Bandit, Tom Thumbs-a-stranger, Tommy Inchworm⌠the list goes on and on. I'm sure I'm forgetting some good ones, too, you can email my mom if you want the complete list.
The point is, I got stuck with the Spruce Goose of bad last names. And for a long time I thought that was a curse, you know? But now I realize it's a blessing. Just like how Superman got super-powers and used them to help out humanity when it got in a pinch, Tom Fagerbakke got a super-shitty last name and he's going to use it to raise humanity's spirits. No matter who's pissing on your parade or what kind of crap life is trying to pull, all you have to do is stop and reflect on the fact that your last name isn't Fagerbakke, and that kind of puts it all in perspective. Sure, maybe your wife left you for your boss and your mom joined a cult and your son just got into Weird Al Yankovic, but you know, at least you're still doing pretty good in the last name department. So maybe everything isn't as bad as it seems, right? Feel better?
No need to thank me, it's the work I was born to do. º Last Column: Way to Cock Up My Birthday Party, Grandpaº more columns
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Milestones1954: November 11 is changed from Armistice Day to Veteran's Day to honor veterans of all wars, and mostly to prevent huge national embarrassment as Americans repeatedly fail to pronounce "armistice" correctly.Now HiringPlay Director. Experienced Broadway/Off-Broadway veteran sought to bring life to boring old commune Thanksgiving production without mentioning syphilis and genocide. A good show will guarantee you a spot directing our multi-denominational Hanukkah-Ramadan-Christmas Kwanzaganza.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Heavy Petting: When Fat People Make Out | | 2. | Review: Give 'Em Hell, Harry Houdini | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Pure Stallion Dog Food | | 4. | Six College Courses for Retards and Sorority Girls | | 5. | Critics' Corner: Whatever Brad Pitt's in Sucks | |
|   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.   |