| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='Im Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0912/';
$hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0912/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0912/';
$renttitle='Way Inside Jokes';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
 April 4, 2005 |
Messier, Idaho Sloe Lorenzo Alleged disaster perpetrator Bert Woodland, who includes among his array of cruel pranks an all-kazoo version of âStairway to Heaven.â
Identified by a spiteful member of the police department as Messier Elementary sixth-grader Bert Woodland, the boy has perpetrated another spree of April Foolâs jokes this past Friday, unleashing more terror on a town that had hoped it had seen the last of unfunny, âjust plain meanâ practical jokes. Two of Fridayâs five harshest April Foolâs incidents have already been traced back to Woodland, and police believe they will eventually tie all ...
or a third year in a row, a young Messier, Idaho, boy has continued to miss the point entirely concerning his April Foolâs Day pranks. The boyâs jests are described as âcruel and maliciousâ by Messier police and have resulted in the wrongful arrest of six individuals and the hospitalization of two with severe injuries.
Identified by a spiteful member of the police department as Messier Elementary sixth-grader Bert Woodland, the boy has perpetrated another spree of April Foolâs jokes this past Friday, unleashing more terror on a town that had hoped it had seen the last of unfunny, âjust plain meanâ practical jokes. Two of Fridayâs five harshest April Foolâs incidents have already been traced back to Woodland, and police believe they will eventually tie all of the crimes back to the little prick.
Among the more destructive of Fridayâs pranks was the non-lethal firing of a handgun within a hospital emergency room, greasing the ladder of a local fire engine (resulting in the injury of a fireman at the scene of a blaze), and the mailing of a cowheart to the parents or a girl who had been missing for five months. Even the townspeople of Messier, Idaho, who claim to have really warped senses of humor agree thereâs funny and then thereâs just abusing people.
Police had similar run-ins with Woodlandâs unfunny assaults on the innocent on two previous April Foolâs Days, the most severe incident being last yearâs burying alive of Woodlandâs brother, Cory. While the parents refused to press charges against their own son, it did raise police awareness that the pranksterâs sense of humor was not getting better and earned him the universal designation of âsick fuckâ from everyone in Messier.
âThat little shit put a rattlesnake in my mailbox,â said elderly neighbor Huntz Vohlman. âNot a plastic one, a live rattlesnake. If I hadnât heard the sound it would have caught me when it lunged out to bite. Iâm telling you, thatâs not normal. I havenât been out of my house on the first of April for the last two years.â
Vohlmanâs fear was generally shared by everyone in Messier. Principal of Messier Elementary Arlene Fredericks cancelled school when all the teachers threatened not to come on the dreaded âA-Day,â petrified by Woodlandâs potential destruction.
Substitute teacher Martin Kohl: âLast year I showed up and didnât even know it was April Foolâs. But I found out soon enough. The kid tossed a quarter stick of dynamite at meânot a firecracker, you hear, but a real partial stick of dynamite. The doctors couldnât even reattach my right index finger. Whenâs someone going to explain humor to this kid?â
University of Idaho Child Psychologist Will Raymond studied Woodland last year following his second April Foolâs arrest.
âYoung Bert has obviously misinterpreted the spirit of the holiday,â said Raymond. âIn modern times, April the first is a day when we all try to lighten up a bit, stop taking ourselves so seriously, and make a game out of embarrassing our friends and neighborsâthose weâre fond of. Instead, Bert uses it as an excuse to lash out with his insidious wit and damage others, either emotionally or physically, or sometimes both. He is, I believe, a purely anti-social personality with just enough a sense of morality to need an excuseâlike April Foolâs Dayâto ignite his malicious behavior. At first I believed he had a rich history of emotional abuse which he concealed with his terror. Later on I found out he was just an asshole.â
Raymond declined an invitation to study the boy again, since after last yearâs visit Woodland posted his image on a website for registered sex offenders; Raymond also suspects the boyâs the reason heâs been getting amorous letters from the Idaho State Menâs Penitentiary. the commune news celebrated April Foolâs Day the way we always have: Raising our eyebrows and offering a sort of bored smile when someone makes an idiotic joke and tells us the date. Bludney Pludd is our favorite April Fool, all year âround.
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Spam King beheaded in royal coup by Duke of Dick Pills
Alipay tracks down deadbeat Internet dads
eBay halts sale of three Vietnamese sex slaves over postage dispute
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Venezuela Adds Itself to Axis of Evil he so-called Axis of Evil, which now has more points than a pinwheel, took on another member when the forgettable South American country of Venezuela added itself to the roster of anti-U.S. countries this week. The announcement was made in the most awkward fashion, when President Victor Chavez made allegations that the United States has made plans to invade Venezuela soon. How soon? Chavez didnt pinpoint a date, but said the invasion would happen imminently. According to Chavez, the U.S. has been planning to invade his country for some time, and he has proof, although he didnt exactly present it to anybody. The most precise allegation made by Chavez cited invasion training maneuvers being made in his country by CIA operatives, who apparently werent in Venezuela for one of their thousands of monthly beauty pageants. Orleans Refugees at Home in Disneylands French Quarter efugees from the New Orleans disaster were thrilled this week by the news that Mayor Ray Nagin plans to re-open large parts of the city as early as today, allowing the many refugees spread across the American South like spilled milk to finally return home. The decision to return, however, is not so easy for the small number of lucky refugees who were relocated to the French Quarter section of the Disneyland theme park in Anaheim, California during the first days of flooding. This is great, its like being back home, except Disneyer! gushed socialite Anita Bomes, thrilled with her new New Orleans, a quaint miniature version of the city located near a fake lake that, to date, has never flooded. Australian Al-Qaedas Accent Makes Osama Bin Laden Sound Hilarious Use of Term Gaydar Most Effective Means of Telling Someones Gay |
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| 
 May 14, 2007
Wears the BeefHot damn said the devil, it's time for another ass-puckeringly sweet edition of Reflections of a Goocher! I'm your host, Stu Umbrage, and that guy walking by the window has nothing whatsoever to do with this column, ignore him completely. Our first guest tonight is noted poet and man of letters, Sir Sheldon Bivouac.
SU: Greetings, Sir Bivouac, how are you?
SB: Few of us can answer the question of our existence, Stu, the how or the why of it anyhow. The where and when are easy, perhaps even the which. But the-
SU: Riiiiiight. But have you ever considered this: What do you call a vegan that refuses to grow milk thistle?
SB: Huh?
SU: A vetard.
SB: Riiiiight. Anyway Stu, I came on today to read from my latest collection of poems, Rape Ape. This first one is called "A Confederacy of Dulcets":
"I ran Sidney Brace bandage itated Koppel grant farms race in the hole Milwaukee ping-"
SU: Sorry to interrupt you, SB, but we've got to break for a commercial.
Do you ever get that "Not so French" feeling?
-Oui oui, monsieur!
Well now there's a French dressing that doubles as an invigorating douche, only from Hellman's.
-Mon Dieu!
SU: And we're back! Let's see what's on the radio, shall we?
-CLICK-
I've got a peeeeeaceful, greasy...
º Last Column: Gwar of the Worlds
º more columns
Hot damn said the devil, it's time for another ass-puckeringly sweet edition of Reflections of a Goocher! I'm your host, Stu Umbrage, and that guy walking by the window has nothing whatsoever to do with this column, ignore him completely. Our first guest tonight is noted poet and man of letters, Sir Sheldon Bivouac. SU: Greetings, Sir Bivouac, how are you? SB: Few of us can answer the question of our existence, Stu, the how or the why of it anyhow. The where and when are easy, perhaps even the which. But the- SU: Riiiiiight. But have you ever considered this: What do you call a vegan that refuses to grow milk thistle? SB: Huh? SU: A vetard. SB: Riiiiight. Anyway Stu, I came on today to read from my latest collection of poems, Rape Ape. This first one is called "A Confederacy of Dulcets": "I ran Sidney Brace bandage itated Koppel grant farms race in the hole Milwaukee ping-" SU: Sorry to interrupt you, SB, but we've got to break for a commercial. Do you ever get that "Not so French" feeling?
-Oui oui, monsieur!
Well now there's a French dressing that doubles as an invigorating douche, only from Hellman's.
-Mon Dieu!
SU: And we're back! Let's see what's on the radio, shall we? -CLICK- I've got a peeeeeaceful, greasy feeeeelingâŠ-CLICK- -eh, on second thought, fuck that. You'll have to bear with us for a moment, ladies and gentlemen, apparently there's a Spaniard loose in the rafters and they're attempting to gas him out as we speak. Though I believe the gas they chose was helium, apparently that's all we had handy, so if you come across a chipmunk-talking Spaniard please just hand over your car keys so we can get on with the show. We apologize for any inconvenience folks. I had recommended smoking the Spaniard out, but apparently he doesn't smoke. Oh, nope, the taser got him. And hindsight being what it is, we probably should have put down some rubber gym mats or a trampoline or something, because the old wives tales you've heard about a Spaniard always landing on his feet apparently don't apply to ones that have been electroshocked into drooling unconsciousness. I'm not sure the trampoline would have saved him, but at least we would have got some circus-style entertainment out of the deal, rather than this answer to the unasked question of what would happen if you took a ball bat to a meat-filled piñata. I'm sorry folks, that's all the time we have this week, and we have to arrange for a Zamboni to come in and clean up this mess, but be sure to tune in next time when our special guest will be the guy who invented dogs. º Last Column: Gwar of the Worldsº more columns
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|  April 14, 2003
Dolphin HeavenWell, looks like we're still bombing the Iraqis out of the Stone Age and back to whatever the hell came before that, when all the stones were blown up and everything was on fire. Serves 'em right for living in the desert though. I lived in the desert outside of Albuquerque once and there were always rednecks out there blowing shit up. Usually it was road signs and small animals and the like, but Iraq's a bigger desert so it stands to reason the rednecks would think bigger.
I was driving up the road the other day when I came up on a man who was standing half in the street, yelling at no one in particular. At first I thought he was yelling at me, but a quick check of my person confirmed that I was wearing nothing more offensive than an L.L. Bean dress shirt. Even if I had been wearing a novelty shirt stating "SHUT UP, BITCH" or other such amusing obscenity, it would have been hard for him to spy that in an oncoming car quickly enough to take offense and express it verbally. I thought the guy was just crazy until I realized he had one of those ear-bud cell phone things in his ear and he was yelling at his stockbroker or his concubine or whoever.
This got me thinking. I predict that cell phones will eventually get so small that we'll have problems with scores of people being committed to mental hospitals for yelling out grocery lists in public and hearing "voices." And personally, I can't wait. I hate those damned phones. And their damned operators.
º Last Column: Attack of the Crazy Violence Women
º more columns
Well, looks like we're still bombing the Iraqis out of the Stone Age and back to whatever the hell came before that, when all the stones were blown up and everything was on fire. Serves 'em right for living in the desert though. I lived in the desert outside of Albuquerque once and there were always rednecks out there blowing shit up. Usually it was road signs and small animals and the like, but Iraq's a bigger desert so it stands to reason the rednecks would think bigger.
I was driving up the road the other day when I came up on a man who was standing half in the street, yelling at no one in particular. At first I thought he was yelling at me, but a quick check of my person confirmed that I was wearing nothing more offensive than an L.L. Bean dress shirt. Even if I had been wearing a novelty shirt stating "SHUT UP, BITCH" or other such amusing obscenity, it would have been hard for him to spy that in an oncoming car quickly enough to take offense and express it verbally. I thought the guy was just crazy until I realized he had one of those ear-bud cell phone things in his ear and he was yelling at his stockbroker or his concubine or whoever.
This got me thinking. I predict that cell phones will eventually get so small that we'll have problems with scores of people being committed to mental hospitals for yelling out grocery lists in public and hearing "voices." And personally, I can't wait. I hate those damned phones. And their damned operators.
Looks like those silly sons of bitches that blew up the U.S.S. Cole Porter escaped from jail again. Just goes to show what I've been saying all along: the honor system is great and may work in certain isolated kindergarten classrooms, but jails need real locks, real fast. Some people just don't take to shaming like they should, and lines painted on the floor don't work like they used to. Sad but true.
Contrary to what the previous paragraph might indicate, the biggest news this week is that absolutely nothing is happening in the world outside of Iraq. Nada. Zip. Nothing. Open up the paper and it's all about who blew up what where in Iraq and who might be dead but we'll never be sure and what kinds of cookies Iraqis like to bake. Who knew that dusty-assed place was so interesting? It just goes to show that nothing works wonders for your public visibility like being invaded. It's like when Poland's PR guys paid Germany to invade them back in the 1930's. Sure, some churches got blown up, but like magic Poland was back on the map again. Previous to that people were forgetting the country even existed, it was just some smudge on the map where trains got lost.
Apparently there is a bit of news in the dolphin world, however. Seems that El Presidente wanted to roll back the rules on what kind of tuna can be labeled "dolphin safe" or not. I know, like the president doesn't have better things to do than fuck with dolphins. I don't know what his problem is, but he's always struck me as a strange man. Anyhow, current rules state that you can't label tuna "dolphin safe" if you go so berserk while trying to catch fish that you machete or blow up any dolphins with grenades or you run any down with a speedboat just for fun. I believe there were also provisions for machine-gunning or hanging dolphins, somewhere in the fine print.
Seems fair enough to me. The president wanted to change it so you could call the tuna "dolphin safe" as long as any of the dolphins you decapitated or blended into a milkshake went to dolphin heaven, where they'd theoretically be safe. The environmentalists thought this was so much dolphin shit so they sued. And won while they were at it. I guess there's less legal precedent for the concept of "dolphin heaven" than many assumed. But I don't know, it sounds kind of nice to me. º Last Column: Attack of the Crazy Violence Womenº more columns
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Quote of the Day“1.327493 is the loneliest number. Technically.”
-Inglebert Thomas, Professor of MathematicsFortune 500 CookieYou will quit smoking, but only in hospital nurseries. One step at a time, baby. You will finally lose that unwanted 50 pounds, thanks to a fortuitous kidnapping. The bank won't be your only withdrawal this week, drugnuts. You will believe everything you read.
Try again later.Top Selling commune Paraphernalia| 1. | the commune's Book on Tape: Everyone's favorite verbose classic War & Peace printed in tiny type on the non-sticky side of a roll of Scotch tap | | 2. | The "I Sued the commune for Libel and All I Got Was This Lousy Mug" Mug | | 3. | "Pin the Paternity Suit on Lil Duncan's Babydaddy" Home Game | | 4. | Boris Utzov Guide of English Slang | | 5. | Ivana Folger-Balzac. Please, somebody take Ivana Folger-Balzac. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 5/27/2002 Hey there America, thanks for showing up for yet another dose of Entertainment Police magic. It looks like summer snuck up on us while we were passed out in the hammock, and that can only mean one thing: vaguely justified bikini features on Entertainment Tonight! Actually, that's a lie, summer probably means more than that to certain types of people, like the blind and sheepfuckers. And for the intents and purposes of this column it means summer blockbuster season! In case you've been out on the range a little bit too long, this is the time of year when Hollywood rolls out its big guns in an all-out war to gouge those greenbacks out of our tight little wallets. Who's got the biggest guns, besides that chick from The Skulls II? Roll your eyes over part one of our Summer Preview to...
Hey there America, thanks for showing up for yet another dose of Entertainment Police magic. It looks like summer snuck up on us while we were passed out in the hammock, and that can only mean one thing: vaguely justified bikini features on Entertainment Tonight! Actually, that's a lie, summer probably means more than that to certain types of people, like the blind and sheepfuckers. And for the intents and purposes of this column it means summer blockbuster season! In case you've been out on the range a little bit too long, this is the time of year when Hollywood rolls out its big guns in an all-out war to gouge those greenbacks out of our tight little wallets. Who's got the biggest guns, besides that chick from The Skulls II? Roll your eyes over part one of our Summer Preview to find out:
In Theaters
Bad Company
I suppose it was only a matter of time before we saw Steven Seagal ass-kicking his way through the hallways at Enron, but I was still surprised at how fast they turned this one out. They must have these scripts sitting around in Mad-lib form somewhere.
The Bourne Dentist
Matt Damon is Richard Bourne, a man who was born (get it?) to scrape plaque off of molars, but highly secretive government agents are out to stop him for reasons that only the screenwriter understands. Pretty good as far as dentist-thrillers go, and I liked Damon's Bond-like use of dental apparatus to get him out of tight jams. Kind of like Bond himself in It's Never Too Late to Die and Fancypants. The best thing about the movie, however, was the fact that they vetoed the original title at the last minute: Rinse, Spit or Die. Hallelujah. That would have been the worst title since James Bond in⊠Overkill.
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood
Talk about some divine Ya-Yas. This would qualify as must-see TV if it were on television and television showed knockers. Yeah.
Enough
Those Hollywood big-shots were apparently as fed up with all of this Jennifer Lopez bullshit as you and me, so they finally decided to lay the franchise to rest with one gonzo exploding-building, axe-in-the-skull, flaming-motor-home "the bitch ain't comin' back" finale. Very satisfying for those of us who thought they should have killed her off after The Wedding Planter.
Harvard Man
Sarah Michelle Gellar, the curvy bass player for heavy-metal sloths Slayer, dons the press-on mustache for some cross-dressing Just One of the Guys mayhem at America's favorite party school. Probably the best metal band date movie since Ministry's Sorority Girls.
The Importance of Being Ernest
Hell yeah. It's about time Hollywood laugh machine Ernest P. Worrel returned to the big screen, I was beginning to think he'd died or something. Some might argue that all of Ernest's movies are the same, and on the surface that may appear to be true. Boy meets girl, boy drops girl into a vat of raw sewage, boy falls off ladder and boy saves a bunch of little kids from some kind of snot-covered goblin.
But it's in the subtle undertones that the differences are found, and this soul-searching epic about a septic-tank scrubber who is mistaken for the president is clearly Ernest's strongest work to date.
Insomnia
Can't sleep? Then maybe you should move to Alaska or Norweg or some place like that. I hear it never gets dark there, so you can stay up all night cleaning your gun or whatever they do up there all night. Maybe watching polar bears tear into the soda machines, something. I'm not sure, I fell asleep during the movie.
Scooby, Don't!
Everyone's favorite cartoon leg-humping machine is back in his big-screen debut. Unless you've ever watched the cartoon on one of those huge projection televisions, that's admittedly a pretty big screen right there. But for the rest of us with shitty 10" Sanyo TV/VCR combos, this is our first chance to see Scooby humping the president's leg all larger than lifelike.
Spirit: Stallion of the Cinnamon
I almost choked on a licorice whip when I saw the trailer for this one. Could this be for real? I thought horse pictures died with The Black Stallion and Return of the Bride of the Black Stallion 2. And not only was this a horse picture, but an ANIMATED horse picture to boot. And not only an animated horse picture, but an animated horse picture with a name that sounded like the title of a Jewel song. Holy shit! This could be worse than Glitter! Thankfully for everyone implicated in the credits, this turned out to be another great Mel Brooks spoof, with a clever red salmon of a trailer that should trick more than a few ten year-old girls into paying to see a movie about debutants having sex with horses.
The Sumbitch on All Fours
Ben Affleck takes a turn for the wolf in this poorly-timed "Werewolf in the South" picture. Believe me, I'm as excited as the next guy about the prospect of seeing some nutfuck werewolf with poofed-up hair taking a bite out of some saggy good-old-boy behind, but in the current national climate, are we really ready to laugh about bloodthirsty man-wolves again? As Teen Wolf, Too, Wolf, and Airwolf all proved, a novel spin isn't always enough to keep the public coming back for more man-dog mayhem. Having Ben Affleck being torn from ass to appetite by berzerk werewolves, now that's an idea that could have drawn a crowd. Or perhaps a movie about the same.
Undercover Brother
If you've ever told a younger sibling so many monster stories that they were afraid to come out from under the covers at night, then snuck under their covers while they were sleeping, farted, and then left, this is the movie for you. You know who you are.
Windtalkers
Though some may lament the trend, with more and more movies being packed with fart jokes these days it was all but inevitable that someone would eventually make a movie that was all fart jokes. And who better to do it than John Woo, director of such foreign fart classics as Con Air and Hard Boiled Eggs? The film starts out by showing the members of the Windtalker family coming to grips with their exceptional flatulent skills in a hilarious montage. Carl Windtalker's accidental ass-blasted recital of Sweet Child O' Mine at a baseball game will separate the snobs from the slobs in the audience, but if you make the cut you should have a good time. It's hard not to smile at the family's internal communication through a rudimentary language of intestinal blurts, and uncle Frank's scented Moose call will delight audiences, though it may scare children under the age of four. Coincidentally, some guy sitting in front of me added to the realism by cutting one loose during the film, making for a full sensory movie experience. I'll never eat Jujubees again, but I can't say that it didn't add to the film. I'm a little worried about Taco Bell's plans for a Windtaco tie-in, since I don't want to be caught in one of those places the first time somebody needs to make a run for the border after downing a sack full of those things.
That's it for now, folks. Tune your browsers this way in a month's time to take a gander at the other half of the skinny on what'll be crawling up your local theater's ass and dying this summer. Until then, this has been Entertainment Police, and you've been reading.   |
