| 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='I’m 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='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hooper’s Fifth Syphilis';
$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/';
$police='2005/0905/';
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$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='I’m Not that Big a Fan of Talking';
$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';
?> | 
Iraq Withdrawal Bill Threatened With White House VitoApril 2, 2007 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon President Bush visits Congress for last-minute negotiations before the Iraq withdrawal bill Thursday; burly pal "White House Vito" Pantusi brings out his "negotiators" for the visit.
Presidential advisor and former CEO of the Dallas Quik-Dry Cement Company Vito Pantusi has been working closely with Bush on a compromise that will make all involved parties happy, a White House inside source says, particularly the President Bush party.
"Mr. Pantusi plans on visiting House and Senate Democrats personally with some associates to convince them the...
otes along party lines heralded the passing of Congress' new military budget, which would allow $122 billion in funding with the stipulation that all troops be removed from Iraq by the deadline of March 31, 2008. It was a critical blow to the G.O.P. and the president, who did not concede defeat but instead promised the bill, if it passes the House, would have to face the merciless wall of "White House Vito." Presidential advisor and former CEO of the Dallas Quik-Dry Cement Company Vito Pantusi has been working closely with Bush on a compromise that will make all involved parties happy, a White House inside source says, particularly the President Bush party. "Mr. Pantusi plans on visiting House and Senate Democrats personally with some associates to convince them they've voted improperly," said our source. "His associates are sporting enthusiasts, as anyone can tell by their baseball bats, and Mr. Pantusi is sure he can teach certain Congressmen all about fair play." Acquitted on three different charges of influencing a congressional vote with a large tank of piranha fish, "White House Vito" has been an associate of the president since their days together in the Texas business community, and the president has brought in Pantusi as an advisor in hard negotiations in the past. In 2005, with an end-of-year deadline fast approaching, Pantusi assisted in advising the president in negotiating the Andean Free Trade agreement. "The White House would like to consider this matter resolved-like," Pantusi said in a follow-up news conference, cracking his knuckles audibly for the press in one of his rare public appearances. Other involved parties declined comment, and quickly shrunk from reporters who approached them too fast with microphones. Speculation has already begun as to what role Mr. Pantusi and his special "commission o' negotiatin' muscle" might play in opposition to the deadline bill. Representatives of the negotiating commission, including White House Vito standing ominously in the background, fielded a few quick questions from reporters on Friday. "In, uh, response to the question, ah, from the ravishing lady from The Washington Post with the killer rack," replied Pantusi associate Johnny Lips, "the president is, uh, looking for an amicable solution to the, er, Iraq budgetary disagreement. The president would, uh, prefer to leave the decisions on, um, monetary needs and appropriate troop presence to the, er, military personnel in charge of that there decision." Pantuis himself only responded to one question, when a reporter from CNN asked if the president had any doubts about pursuing a war the public increasingly opposes. To which White House Vito answered by throwing his cigar at the trembling reporter and shouting over the microphone, "You want me to come down there and show you some fucking opposition? You like that, tough guy? I should smack your fucking glasses off, numbnuts." If the White House chooses to pass the bill, the new budget requires Bush to start bringing troops home from Iraq and Afghanistan within 120 days. If negotiations go roughly with Vito Pantusi, 120 days is also the average length of hospital stay expected for congressmen who have enjoyed a difficult compromise with Bush's advisor. The Democratic majority in the Senate, however, warned that they would not be scared by White House intimidation. "It's the president's right to respond with Vito to any legislation he disagrees with," said Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, "but Congress is not without its own powers. If the president tries to force through his own Iraq budget through the Senate after rejecting ours, we're always willing to respond with Philly Buster." The Senator gestured to a husky Samoan page standing behind the speaking Democrats, scratching his goatee and nodding his head ominously. the commune news is glad we're not in politics, but we still have to face the scrutiny of "Line Item Vito," the guy at the supermarket who counts up our goods and tells us to get the fuck out of the express lane. Correspondent Ramrod Hurley is no stranger to cement shoes, although he finds concrete flip-flops more enjoyable for summer.
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Hillrods Celebrate Opening of Hurricane Season
Bush-chosen Afghan president accused of Bush-style election theft
Khadafy invites Bush to visit Libya—come alone
Women have advanced enough to drive around in circles
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Officials to Celebrities: Please Get Out of New Orleans isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: We’re serious; you really need to leave now. “We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.” The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans’ stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation. Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band he whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasn’t merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: He’s taken in a whole jazz band. “I just wanted to do what I could,” Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. “So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed.” However, Martinson didn’t stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles. Big Ratings Prompts ABC to Seek More Dancing Handicapped Shows Strychnine Dog Food: Where Can You Buy It? |
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 November 7, 2005
Paging Doctor VanA quart of bad milk later and I'm on the way to the hospital. "Stomach pump, stomach pump," that's all I heard on the way up there. Then I threw up in the doctor van and felt better instantly. They didn't even take me all the way to the hospital. I didn't even get a lift back home either, and I told them I didn't mind riding home in the same van. They were pissed or something, but it's not my fault. Or I suppose it is. But it's not my fault in the way that all of our destiny is predetermined.
Did you know they call those hospital vans ambulances? Learn something new every day, and about once a month something sticks. But all this crap got me thinking about ambulances.
I didn't know this, but those guys who ride around in the "ambulances" aren't doctors at all. Sure, they got some medical training, they're licensed to perform CPR and they can sell drugs out of the back, but they're not full-fledged doctors. Which stinks. I don't want some guy who smells like exhaust and trucker speed to work on me if he's not a doctor. That's where I got my latest idea—they should make doctor training easier. Make it so half the people in the world can be doctors. It's basically the same thing they did with public school courses. More people pass, more people are certified, and everyone feels better since we have the false idea everyone's properly trained.
Really, how often are you going to need a real fully properly-trained doctor anyway? Once in a blue...
º Last Column: Lost Leavings
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A quart of bad milk later and I'm on the way to the hospital. "Stomach pump, stomach pump," that's all I heard on the way up there. Then I threw up in the doctor van and felt better instantly. They didn't even take me all the way to the hospital. I didn't even get a lift back home either, and I told them I didn't mind riding home in the same van. They were pissed or something, but it's not my fault. Or I suppose it is. But it's not my fault in the way that all of our destiny is predetermined. Did you know they call those hospital vans ambulances? Learn something new every day, and about once a month something sticks. But all this crap got me thinking about ambulances. I didn't know this, but those guys who ride around in the "ambulances" aren't doctors at all. Sure, they got some medical training, they're licensed to perform CPR and they can sell drugs out of the back, but they're not full-fledged doctors. Which stinks. I don't want some guy who smells like exhaust and trucker speed to work on me if he's not a doctor. That's where I got my latest idea—they should make doctor training easier. Make it so half the people in the world can be doctors. It's basically the same thing they did with public school courses. More people pass, more people are certified, and everyone feels better since we have the false idea everyone's properly trained. Really, how often are you going to need a real fully properly-trained doctor anyway? Once in a blue moon, at least, and let's face it, you were probably going to die when he left his watch in your chest anyway. So the next time someone is choking at your local restaurant, you can raise your hand and tell them, "Excuse me, I'm a doctor." Then cut their neck open and just take the McNugget right out with your bare hands. I'm not sure what's involved in sealing the neck back up so it works right, but that's the kind of training we don't need. Let the super doctors or whatever the regular guys are do that. We'll just freeze the neck so they can reattach it later. You can freeze things and reattach them now. It's just one of our modern medical miracles, and I saw it on the TV. Come to think of it, is there really any reason we have to drive sick people around in a van? None, so far as I can tell. It's just more to clean up when they throw up and don't get to go to the hospital anyway. Most of these guys probably aren't going to make it anyway. I say we should buy Camaros and Thunderbirds, all sorts of really cool convertible cars. For one thing, then everyone would suddenly want to be an ambulance doctor—they might even go through the full hard training! But the main thing is, if you're choking on a McNugget and about to die, and you're not going to make it anyway, wouldn't you rather be going full speed toward the hospital in a car like the Knight Rider rather than some big clunky van that can't even drive on its side wheels if it needs it? I know my answer. If you see me zipping by you on the freeway, driving a really hot car with some guy turning purple in the passenger seat, you'll know I made my dream a reality. But keep your windows rolled up, in case he pukes. º Last Column: Lost Leavingsº more columns
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|  August 5, 2002
The Story of the UnidsYou see, there were these teeny tiny people who lived in a doll Tamara bought at the mall and though they were quite peaceful and kind, when they came out to introduce themselves she thought they were fleas and sprayed the whole lot of them with an industrial de-lousing agent that really was chemically harsh and probably not something pregnant women should get within 50 yards of.
The people, who were called Unids, by the way, didn't die from the spray but rather developed a thick tolerance for the stuff, like French people with sarcasm. As the old saying goes, that which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, but the part they left out is that it also gets you high as shit. When the Unids finally came down after a fantastic three days of psychedelic reverie and a full-body buzz, they no longer cared about uptight square concerns like whether the inside of the doll was a mess or if they had a contingency plan in place in case the vacuum cleaner came around again. They cared about one thing and one thing only: gettin' some more of that happy juice.
For a while, this was easy, since all they had to do was pop out of the doll when Tamara was around and wave their arms around. Before you could say "Louse in my house!" they were swimming in the good stuff like bennies from heaven. It was wild, I'm talking high on the hog like the '86 Mets. They'd call it the "Salad Days" if salad came with crack as a dressing option.
But the problem was,...
º Last Column: Shinto the Pinto
º more columns
You see, there were these teeny tiny people who lived in a doll Tamara bought at the mall and though they were quite peaceful and kind, when they came out to introduce themselves she thought they were fleas and sprayed the whole lot of them with an industrial de-lousing agent that really was chemically harsh and probably not something pregnant women should get within 50 yards of.
The people, who were called Unids, by the way, didn't die from the spray but rather developed a thick tolerance for the stuff, like French people with sarcasm. As the old saying goes, that which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, but the part they left out is that it also gets you high as shit. When the Unids finally came down after a fantastic three days of psychedelic reverie and a full-body buzz, they no longer cared about uptight square concerns like whether the inside of the doll was a mess or if they had a contingency plan in place in case the vacuum cleaner came around again. They cared about one thing and one thing only: gettin' some more of that happy juice.
For a while, this was easy, since all they had to do was pop out of the doll when Tamara was around and wave their arms around. Before you could say "Louse in my house!" they were swimming in the good stuff like bennies from heaven. It was wild, I'm talking high on the hog like the '86 Mets. They'd call it the "Salad Days" if salad came with crack as a dressing option.
But the problem was, before too long, Tamara figured out that the Unids weren't fleas at all. Nor mites, nor any kind of vermin she'd ever seen before. After a few weeks the shock wore off and she started looking at the Unids a little closer, and that's when she realized that they were kind of cute. Sort of like tiny little wooden dolls with stylized, painted-on faces. Pretty happy-looking really. And once she'd figured that out, well, then there surely wasn't any reason to de-louse the poor little buggers, was there?
Big, big problem for the Unids. Their connection had dried up like an Arizona housewife hitting menopause. Their future wasn't so bright as to require the wearing of shades, but they wore them anyway, to hide their bloodshot, bugged-out eyes. The Unids were going cold turkey like a third grade class on a picnic field trip to the North Pole, and they liked it about as much as they liked Sarah McLaughlan. Which is to say, not at all.
Finally one day one of the Unids, who shall remain nameless since none of them ever had any names, so why should we start now? They didn't have telephones or fax machines or anything, so they hardly had use for names, "Hey you!" always did them fine and they hated the stuck-up little prick types of little tiny people like the Omits who insisted on everyone calling them by their absurdly long snooty full names, like Alexandarium Mananavicholious Tooterflute.
Anyway, one day one of the Unids figured out that the only way they were going to score again in this lifetime would be if they all put their heads together and came up with some really freakin' scary costumes. If they could manage to scare Tamara bad enough, she just might send some of that sweet, sweet de-lousing spray their way in a panic, and then my friends, the train would be made of gravy. That's what he said anyway, I'm not sure what the train thing supposed to mean, some kind of cultural slang thing that doesn't translate well probably.
So anyway, this is how the Unids honed their now-legendary costuming skills. First, they were dressed as fleas. Then, when Tamara got wise to that, it was skin mites. Then ticks, then moose fleas. I don't think there really is any such thing as "moose fleas," but Tamara didn't know that so I have to give them some points for creativity there. Before long, word got out that the Unids made some pretty wicked costumes, and they soon went into business for themselves and did well enough that they could buy their own delousing spray and they nodded off happily ever after.
A pretty heartwarming story, true. But if you ever get any of those little junkie pricks living in your beanbag chair, you might as well just throw the thing away, because it's just going to stink after that. º Last Column: Shinto the Pintoº more columns
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Quote of the Day“If you can't stand the heat, turn down the goddamned heater.”
-Cheri S. TrumanFortune 500 CookieYou will find great happiness in wok. Be on the lookout for signs, they may guide you to riches or prevent you from driving on the railroad tracks. A large dog will determine your fate. Remember: Just a dab heals dry skin, but larger quantities can lube an entire baby. Lucky numbers: 0, 0, 0, 6.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | How Do You Keep a Moron in Suspense? | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Naked Lunch | | 3. | Grenades Are from Granada and other Historical Nuggets | | 4. | Raoul Dunkin: Pussyfoot | | 5. | The Best of Wrinkly Raisin Breasts | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 7/21/2003 Glad you finally came around, America, welcome back to Entertainment Police. What have we got for you this week? Well, before we get to that, you ever notice how I always refer to the column by "this week" when we all damn well know it only runs once every two weeks? I'm sure you were wondering about that, unless you just take everything you read at face value and figured your brain was probably freaking out every other week and giving you a dĂ©jĂ vu of the previous week's column on a rhythmic schedule, which is pretty bizarre but people believe in Scientology, too. But anyway, yeah I know it only runs every two weeks, I'm not trying to fool anybody there. That's as often at the commune publishes, which is fine since they still pay us every week. Though come to think of it, paying us...
Glad you finally came around, America, welcome back to Entertainment Police. What have we got for you this week? Well, before we get to that, you ever notice how I always refer to the column by "this week" when we all damn well know it only runs once every two weeks? I'm sure you were wondering about that, unless you just take everything you read at face value and figured your brain was probably freaking out every other week and giving you a déjà vu of the previous week's column on a rhythmic schedule, which is pretty bizarre but people believe in Scientology, too. But anyway, yeah I know it only runs every two weeks, I'm not trying to fool anybody there. That's as often at the commune publishes, which is fine since they still pay us every week. Though come to think of it, paying us only on new-issue weeks sounds like exactly the kind of crap Red Bagel would try to pull, so don't anybody read this column to him lest he gets any ideas from it. But the real reason I say "this week" is that there's just no good way to refer to this two-week period without sounding like a complete nerd. You start messing around with terms like bi-weekly and that just sounds too much like a lesbian magazine title to me. So unless you want me to start saying "this half-month" like some kind of bed-wetting science fiction geek, I recommend you just take a chill pill over the whole thing.
So anyway, back to the original question: What have we got for you this week? What are you, slow to catch on? Movie reviews, dumbass!
In Theaters
Bed Boys II
It's nice to live in an age when big action stars aren't afraid to acknowledge the homoerotic undertones of the typical buddy action picture by ceasing to beat around the bush (the pun wasn't intended but I'll take it) and just doing a gay action flick every once in a while. For the longest time people acted like this was some huge deal, like you couldn't have a couple of gay guys running around, shooting people and spouting catchphrases. Kudos to Will Smith and funnyman Laurence Fishburne for taking that bold step in style. True, this way neither of them can win the girl in the end, but it's a nice change of pace when the filmmakers don't have to staple a pair of boobs to a flimsy sketch of a character to give the heroes motivation. After all, what could be more crowd-pleasing than having the two leads go home together at the end, without having to watch some girl pretend like she can shoot a gun? Kudos and other snack products to you, Hollyweird.
Lara Croft Tomb Raider: Rock the Cradle of Love
Virtual sex bomb Angelina Jolie reprises her role from the popular Billy Joel video "Rock the Cradle of Love" in this feature-length shake of the moneymaker. Few thought she'd have much of a career after that video, unless Winger got really popular again, but she's done all right for herself. I guess it pays to be able to do a serviceable fake English accent; smart pinup girls should take note and work on that. Though that's kind of like saying fat Olympic divers shouldn't do the cannonball, probably doesn't come up much. This film another shameless example of the trend toward giving movies titles that are longer than Ron Jeremy's wang, but even at that it's still better than the original title: Lara Croft Who is the Tomb Raider Stars (and By Stars We Mean She Both Kicks and Shows Some Ass) in The Cradle of Love: A Rocking Titfest. The longer title might have brought more pasty teenagers into the theaters, but the trailer for this film (available now on DVD as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider) has the same effect without using all those words.
Seabiscuit
As anyone who's seen Caddyshack knows, a "seabiscuit" is when you take a shit in a swimming pool, which obviously makes this a very bizarre name for a movie. It's even more bizarre that Tobey Macguire is starring in this one, though the make-up people did a pretty great job of giving him a dorky red wig that does make him look like a seabiscuit. It takes a brave actor to wear something like that. Kind of reminds me of when George Clooney dressed up as a Latino pimp for that goofy Yo Brother, Where's the Party? movie. This movie isn't nearly as fun as that one, though, despite the hilariously inappropriate title. Personally I found it hard to follow, in part because I kept wandering out of the theater to see if there was anything better going on outside.
Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over
After all these years, Hollywood finally gave me an excuse to drag my old 3-D glasses out of the bedroom closet, dust them off and cart them gingerly out to the metroplex for the first time since Jaws 3-D sucked all over the big screen. These actually aren't even the glasses they gave me for that one, I have a free promotional pair from 7-11 from when they inexplicably showed Terms of Endearment in 3-D on Fox a few years back. It sucked, too, but it was fun to wear the glasses. Actually, all 3-D movies ever have sucked, including this one, but really they've always been thinly disguised excuses for people to get to wear the fun glasses. You can try to just wear them out and about town, but after about 20 minutes if you haven't walked into a bus yet you'll have a headache the size of Chinatown and your rods and cones will be all mixed up like they were a crazy breakfast cereal.
That's all they paid me to write this week, America, so you'll have to turn elsewhere to quench your passion for numerous letters strung together into pretty words, if this wasn't enough to keep your boat floating. Until next time, America: Get out!    |
