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Spacey and Oscar: Together Forever

December 10, 2001
Hollywood, CA
Liam Snoot/AP
Kevin Spacey, actor and collector of new and used Oscars.
T
he Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences announced today that they are creating a special category of Oscar, beginning with this year's ceremony, that will be reserved exclusively for actor Kevin Spacey.

"We just really, really like the guy, you know?" said an Academy spokesperson. "That's why we've created the Kevin Spacey Perpetual Award, to be given to Kevin Spacey every single year from now on. We just think he's a great practitioner of his craft, and a delight to have around."

Speaking under condition of anonymity, at a location that may or may not have been the Viper Room, the spokesperson, wearing a Groucho mask and holding a handkerchief in front of his mouth to disguise his voice, went on to add that "This doesn't mean he won't still be eligible for...Read more...


Global warming ruse official resigns; tired of "how's the weather" jokes

Carson story beaten to death in front of millions of witnesses

Father of Chicano music dies refusing to acknowledge bastard child Gerardo

Chinese plan 2017 landing on "nightmarishly under-populated" moon



March 4, 2002

Click for Biography

I Wish I Was Dead or Otherwise Incapacitated

I'm fucking miserable. What an asshole I've been.

Sorry for the Turkish, good people, but Rok Finger's hit rock bottom. No fuckin' pun intended. In fact, if I did intend a pun in any slight or possibly intentional way, beat me to death with a dirty broom handle.

As you'll no doubt know, I've separated from my wife of 30 years, Arvelyn. Things came to a head and blew up after the whole possibly poisoned food incident, I won't go into the lousy stinking details, but just to cut through the bullshit, we're broken up. I've been living in my office at the commune since then, drinking from the water fountain and Ramrod Hurley's hidden Jim Beam bottle and eating the plants growing in the window sill of Omar Bricks' cubicle. Sure, I feel a lot better once I've eaten, but I always come back to here. Rock bottom. No pun, yadda yadda.

I'm sure I've expressed how large and impressive a bitch my wife is. Not that I'd totally recant that statement, but as of late I think it only fair to mention I'm no prince to live with either. Let's face facts, loyal readers: I'm a huge prick, and not the good kind of huge prick ladies talk about. I'm the awful kind of insane, self-destructive huge prick who drives away good-hearted women who love him.

There is no God. That's obvious. What kind of God would make a huge prick like me and then give him a perfect woman just knowing I'd drive her off just like I did all the other good women in my life,...Read more...


º Last Column: I Am Nobody's Personal Food Taster
º more columns


October 27, 2003

Click for Biography

commune Story

I've never been forthcoming about the commune's history, I freely admit. As far as I was concerned, how we got here isn't an issue. I prefer not to dwell on the past, unless we're talking about the time-traveling carpetbaggers who foiled the Bay of Pigs invasion. When it comes to the commune, where it came from is better off unknown, like the creation of hot dogs. Until recently, that is. With the death of my father Duke Bagel, and the impending legal action by my brother for control of the commune, it's quite clear I need to establish why the commune is mine, no matter what paper and lawyers say.

Unfortunately, this involves the unpleasant history between me and my father, which is the major reason I've not discussed the commune openly with many people before now. It is true my father owned the commune, legally, the original commune and therefore the name and likenesses. To an extent. Father was a wealthynaire, the exact figure of his wealth unknown to virtually everybody. Who knew there was so much money to be made in smoked buffalo meat? Well, my father did. It was no mere accident he began selling the delicious product just before the animal was declared endangered. It was a risky illegal venture, sure, but there's no money to be made in playing it safe, he always used to say.

I was not a blood relation to Duke Bagel, which is to say Duke himself did not give birth to me. I was adopted, a nasty a-word right up there with abortion and Agnes...Read more...


º Last Column: Boys, You're All Pretty
º more columns






Milestones
1999: Eurocommune opens, burns down four minutes later after an electrical outlet misunderstanding.
Now Hiring
Good Humor Man. Must be willing to drive around the commune offices in a circle 24 hours a day. Familiarity with The Farmer in the Dell strongly recommended. Dilly Bars a plus.
Top Rejected Cars
1.Honda Pfffttpp
2.Chevy Crack Ho
3.Chrysler on the Cross
4.Ford Theater
5.He Ain't Chevy He's My Brother
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Danson Macrane
12/22/2003
Glass I
I once had a glass I
and in case you're reading this
out loud to someone
I feel the need to clarify.

Not a glass eye
as in an eyeball made of glass,
a creepy hazel doodad
staring frozen in impasse.

Nor some tricky
eye-sized marble
clenched within your skull cavity,
designed expressly by the glass man to mask your deformity.

But rather an entire me made of glass.
Hands, wrists and ass.
All stunningly in proportion and accurate in mass.

This is no lie,
I'm loathe of jest.
Merely something I felt an inkling to get finally off my chest.

It was a sight to behold
and a feeling to be holding,
this pellucid Botticelli was like paradise...Read more...

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