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April 14, 2003 |
Baghdad, Iraq Ivan Nacutchacokov Want me to check your brake fluid while I'm up here, Mr. Saddam? No, seriously, troops tore the son of a bitch down in short work. ollowing the Wednesday claiming of Baghdad by U.S. forces, pro-America sentiment has surged all around the media and certain circles in the city. Iraqis everywhere are extremely delighted to come and support the armed troops in their city and the possible death of Saddam Hussein. But the larger issue for most is the fall of Hussein's regime.
"It is the happiest day in the history of Iraq," said an unidentified translator. "For years Iraq was a free country under British rule, and then Saddam took over and we lived under his repressive, anti-American regime. Now we are liberated under America!"
Many Iraqi citizens showed support of the U.S. by liberating oppressed televisions, stereos, and office supply furniture from local stores. One U.S. serviceman said the si...
ollowing the Wednesday claiming of Baghdad by U.S. forces, pro-America sentiment has surged all around the media and certain circles in the city. Iraqis everywhere are extremely delighted to come and support the armed troops in their city and the possible death of Saddam Hussein. But the larger issue for most is the fall of Hussein's regime.
"It is the happiest day in the history of Iraq," said an unidentified translator. "For years Iraq was a free country under British rule, and then Saddam took over and we lived under his repressive, anti-American regime. Now we are liberated under America!"
Many Iraqi citizens showed support of the U.S. by liberating oppressed televisions, stereos, and office supply furniture from local stores. One U.S. serviceman said the sight brought a tear to his eye and reminded him of his hometown, Los Angeles.
Also liberated by days of American bombings are the country's electricity and water lines, countless physical structures, and many Iraqi people. Most notable among the missing and possibly-dead is Saddam Hussein and one or more of his two sons, Uday and Odai. Others that may have been in the bombed bunker with Hussein were cousins, uncles, nephews, and half-brothers Tumay, Uskay, Ajay, Ebay, Uxay, Umay, Igay, Ogay, Ugay, Imai, and Garfield.
When asked to clarify, field leader Gen. Tony "Iron Shoes" Credenza replied, "We believe it was a very large bunker, with lots of seating space."
The outpouring of public support for the U.S. strikes many as vindication of the war on Iraq. Despite the antagonism between Western countries raised by the invasion, the rift in the American population, the outrageous price tag to the war, the 100-plus American dead and many wounded and imprisoned, the countless dead and wounded on Iraq's side, the likelihood of producing stronger anti-Americanism in Arab countries, and the lack of attention given to domestic issues, many agree the footage of Saddam Hussein statues being torn down is quite impressive.
"It is an exhilarating feeling to destroy images of Saddam that have lorded over us for so long," said a 60-something Iraqi citizen with a good grasp of English. "Also I am glad the American troops are tearing down that George Bush welcome mat. I offered to destroy it myself with my sledgehammer, but they didn't bite."
Several in military intelligence are worried about reports that Hussein might not have been killed as believed, but escaped with key Iraqi officials into neighboring Syria. President Bush issued a warning to Syrian leaders in the wake of such reports that if they offered protection to Hussein or any top Iraqi leaders they would be considered no better than American protestors.
Elsewhere in the war, U.S. forces continued to search for chemical or potential nuclear weapons as the troops push northward and have yet to discover any proof of weapons of mass destruction. Early reports of chemical weapons found last week turned out to most likely be chemicals for agricultural purposes; however, the discovery of 50 "suicide bomber" vests gave the White House hope.
"We may have been misquoted in our statement of purpose," said White House spin doctor Murph Harris. "We were actually searching for weapons of meager destruction. And these definitely count." the commune news is currently embedded in our office, and we'll be on the scene to let you know if anything happens. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the commune's foreign correspondent and we're glad those U.S. troops liberated him from that pile of debris so he could send us his report.
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 March 7, 2005
The Writing One, BabyI'm learning all kinds of shit you can't even imagine. This is the kind of stuff you don't learn in school, folks. It's screenwriting school.
The last time I talked to you I told you about trying to write a screenplay, right? And how it was going so great, right? Well, turns out I hit some major block after I finished the title page. Just couldn't think of what the script needed to really get rolling, like the characters or what it was going to be about. Fortunately, I saw that Nancy Melville, one of Hollywood's greatest costume designers, was teaching a screenwriting course out here in Los Angeles. That's where I live! It's practically down the street! Out of Nancy's apartment, even. You can bet I jumped at the chance.
I've picked up inside dirt on the movie business that I never would have believed. Did you know it's considered unprofessional to handwrite your scripts? I thought it made mine look classier, but whatever. Gotta play ball, as they say. So I got me a laptop, hopefully my sister won't miss it until I'm done, and now I'm heavy at work on my screenplay.
Nancy gave us all sorts of shortcuts on what to do when you can't think of what you want your movie to be about. One thing a lot of screenwriters do is take an old movie, change the names of the characters, and give it some modern gimmick to make it different from the old film. And if you want, you don't even need the gimmick. Nancy says Hollywood doesn't even really care....
º Last Column: Hiatus Ate Us º more columns
I'm learning all kinds of shit you can't even imagine. This is the kind of stuff you don't learn in school, folks. It's screenwriting school.
The last time I talked to you I told you about trying to write a screenplay, right? And how it was going so great, right? Well, turns out I hit some major block after I finished the title page. Just couldn't think of what the script needed to really get rolling, like the characters or what it was going to be about. Fortunately, I saw that Nancy Melville, one of Hollywood's greatest costume designers, was teaching a screenwriting course out here in Los Angeles. That's where I live! It's practically down the street! Out of Nancy's apartment, even. You can bet I jumped at the chance.
I've picked up inside dirt on the movie business that I never would have believed. Did you know it's considered unprofessional to handwrite your scripts? I thought it made mine look classier, but whatever. Gotta play ball, as they say. So I got me a laptop, hopefully my sister won't miss it until I'm done, and now I'm heavy at work on my screenplay.
Nancy gave us all sorts of shortcuts on what to do when you can't think of what you want your movie to be about. One thing a lot of screenwriters do is take an old movie, change the names of the characters, and give it some modern gimmick to make it different from the old film. And if you want, you don't even need the gimmick. Nancy says Hollywood doesn't even really care. Seems like they make all their movies this way, judging by a look at the latest releases. That makes it so much easier to write. I'm good at lying, but fiction is something else entirely.
The movie I decided to remake is Jaws. Nancy said I'm a natural at this business, because I took a movie that was really popular and I'm remaking it. I said I thought it was about time for a new shark movie, because people have been getting cocky lately and I think the sharks are starting to notice. It's just a matter of time before they start really fucking people up, just for laughs. But Nancy suggested I make it something else, since if I make it a shark everybody will know I'm ripping off Jaws. With a good remake, says Nancy, only critics and people of average intelligence will know I'm ripping off Jaws, because I used some subtlety. And that's what I'm going for.
That got me thinking: What's scarier than a shark? If you said two sharks, that's pretty funny. But you're not helping. No, I decided on a bear. Because if you think about it, bears are even worse. They look so cute, like you can go up and play with them. That's nature's way of suckering in people to eat, and Darwin called it natural selection, because he thought that was funny. So that's what I wanted, this cute bear that everyone thinks is so cuddly, but then he swipes with his claws and shit and it's good-night, Irene.
Well, it went through a real fucked-up part where I was totally blocked, trying to come up with what a bear would be doing underwater all the time. Then I just said it was part of a government science experiment and a billionaire corporation is involved. That explains it all. And, of course, I had to give the bear a scuba tank, a mask, and some flippers, because having this bear swim underwater for too long without all that stuff just wouldn't be realistic. But other than that, I can totally "borrow from the outline" in Jaws, as Nancy says, real sly for a complete stealing of that movie. I have a town sheriff in my movie, which I'm thinking will be played by Conan O'Brien, so I'm just calling him "Conan" in the script. Anyway, it's really rolling. I've got maybe five scenes done, including this really cool prologue where the bear fights a dolphin in the secret government lab. Just to set up how much of a bad-ass the bear is. If I keep this up I might even give up acting for screenwriting. It's a lot easier at least. º Last Column: Hiatus Ate Usº more columns
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|  March 14, 2005
Steal Guitars and Cowedboy BootsSomeone once told me I had such bad luck in my life I ought to be a country singer. A blues singer told me that, after he heard me sing the blues. Mom said he was just trying to get me to leave the club so the people would stop booing, but I went and bought the hat anyway.
Mom warned me my country singing career would be short-lived, like my hamster. I sang one song about my wife running off with my best friend and having a flat tire on my truck, but I had made it up—I wish I had a truck. My wife did run off with my best friend, though. Although she wasn't my wife yet, just a mail-order bride that had stepped off the plane from Korea, and the guy she ran away with was the pilot, but he looked like my best friend, dead up, I swear. Tommy? Timmy? It's something like that. I haven't seen him since the fourth grade, you can't blame me for getting the name messed up.
The audience didn't like my song. "Open mic," sure, until you actually try to sing, then it closes pretty damn fast. People told me nobody sings feel-bad old country anymore. Now they sing feel-good new country, and only fans of real music feel bad when they hear it. You know me, you can't stop me with a brick wall or pure logic or the fact nobody likes me. I went and bought some leather pants to match my new hat and became a feel-good new country singer. Okay, I didn't buy the pants, but I made them out of the seats of my car. They're more chaps than pants right now, but after I hit it...
º Last Column: Losing in Love º more columns
Someone once told me I had such bad luck in my life I ought to be a country singer. A blues singer told me that, after he heard me sing the blues. Mom said he was just trying to get me to leave the club so the people would stop booing, but I went and bought the hat anyway.
Mom warned me my country singing career would be short-lived, like my hamster. I sang one song about my wife running off with my best friend and having a flat tire on my truck, but I had made it up—I wish I had a truck. My wife did run off with my best friend, though. Although she wasn't my wife yet, just a mail-order bride that had stepped off the plane from Korea, and the guy she ran away with was the pilot, but he looked like my best friend, dead up, I swear. Tommy? Timmy? It's something like that. I haven't seen him since the fourth grade, you can't blame me for getting the name messed up.
The audience didn't like my song. "Open mic," sure, until you actually try to sing, then it closes pretty damn fast. People told me nobody sings feel-bad old country anymore. Now they sing feel-good new country, and only fans of real music feel bad when they hear it. You know me, you can't stop me with a brick wall or pure logic or the fact nobody likes me. I went and bought some leather pants to match my new hat and became a feel-good new country singer. Okay, I didn't buy the pants, but I made them out of the seats of my car. They're more chaps than pants right now, but after I hit it big I'm going to buy the material to sew backs onto them.
I had to get a day job to support my nights of singing at open mics. A few wise guys have told me not to quit my day job, but I'm not going to—I'll probably get fired, as soon as they find out I've been throwing all the mail in the garbage instead of delivering it. I don't need hang-ups with office politics and bullshit. I've got my music to think about, and that homemade guitar has really been fueling my songwriting. It's not a typical guitar, either. It's more of a small TV set with a plunger on the side, but I've already written five songs. Two of them are just the theme to "The Rockford Files," but I made up the lyrics. I tried making up lyrics to the song from "The Facts of Life," but my talent doesn't work when someone's already singing lyrics to it.
My favorite song I wrote so far is "You Don't Love Me 'Cause You're Stuck Up." It's about my mother. Gets me all misty-eyed every time I sing it. I want to write a song about my dad, just to even things out, but my mom can't remember his name. I'm hoping it's "Adlai," 'cause I really need something that rhymes with "left me to die" so I can end the song.
So far none of the audiences have responded too well, but it's not like they're paying me anything, and it's better than standing in line, waiting for a movie and doing nothing, right? That's not what the theater manager says, but he's just mad because I gave away the ending to Million Dollar Baby in one of my songs. Don't blame me, dude, you're the one who let me in the theater to use the bathroom. Who knows, maybe a movie-going audience is more of a jazz crowd. I could do jazz really well, if I wanted to. I never rehearse and my songs always sound different the second time I play them 'cause I can't remember how I played them the first time.
That's it. I'm switching to jazz. º Last Column: Losing in Loveº more columns
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Quote of the Day“A little bad taste is like a dash of paprika. A lot of bad taste, like a grinder full of cayenne pepper. And doing that annoying Cajun guy impression while doing anything—well, that's just beyond bad taste.”
-Dirty ParkbenchFortune 500 CookieIn the annals of history, there has always been one man who laughs uncontrollably whenever someone says "annals"—that's your legacy. Turn up the heat this week, 'cause that fucking turkey has been in the oven since Saturday. If you can't beat them, join them, and show them what real losers they are for accepting you into the group. Lucky bastards this week are Tom Monroe, Pete Gelbart, Judy Simon, and that son you're pretty sure is living in Winnipeg now.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Are You Reincarnated Disco Royalty? | | 2. | Get Un-Ugly for Summer | | 3. | Is Your Dog an Alcoholic? | | 4. | Michael Jackson's Make-Up Secrets | | 5. | Honesty: The Best Policy. Honestly. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Winston C. Mars 1/12/2004 I Bought This MemoryI bought this memory at Walgreens,
it was discounted heavily.
With it implanted I settled back
to enjoy my reverie.
But to my dismay I soon realized
why this memory had been spurned.
It was of eating a stale club sandwich
whose mayonnaise had turned!
I took it right back for a refund,
but the Chinese clerk he protested.
He asked for proof, by way of receipt
for the memory I'd injested.
I searched my pockets to no avail.
I checked again, but again failed!
Nowhere was it to be found.
I scanned the scene,
and checked in-between
my sneaker and the ground.
But it was gone.
Goodbye, so long!
Sayonara, it turned to vapors.
Somehow...
I bought this memory at Walgreens,
it was discounted heavily.
With it implanted I settled back
to enjoy my reverie.
But to my dismay I soon realized
why this memory had been spurned.
It was of eating a stale club sandwich
whose mayonnaise had turned!
I took it right back for a refund,
but the Chinese clerk he protested.
He asked for proof, by way of receipt
for the memory I'd injested.
I searched my pockets to no avail.
I checked again, but again failed!
Nowhere was it to be found.
I scanned the scene,
and checked in-between
my sneaker and the ground.
But it was gone.
Goodbye, so long!
Sayonara, it turned to vapors.
Somehow somewhere,
vanished into the air.
"I'll see you in the funny papers."
I tried my best
to prove in jest
that I was the one who had bought it.
"Aha!" I voiced,
"The rye bread was slightly moist,
like someone had coughed on it."
"And the pickles, they stank
like something quite rank
and the ham—the ham was like rubber.
The turkey was raw
and the cheese was so blah,
like crusty, stretched-thin whale blubber."
But the clerk didn't buy it,
wouldn't even try it.
He just smiled and shook his head "No."
Without the receipt
I could have shit to eat
and he wouldn't mind it at all if I'd go.
As I stormed out into the rain
the image haunted my brain:
That clerk's grin hung in breathless fixation.
It was clear I'd been played—
the memory cleverly overlaid
over my memory of the receipt's location!
Damn you, Walgreens. You can keep your lousy four dollars.   |