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 October 10, 2005 |
Los Angeles, CA Courtesy Fox Either a promotional shot from Desperate Alien Prison Escape or more of that leftover Kate Moss party footage
“We don’t understand it,” lamented stunned network executive Roger Bacon. “This show capitalized on every hot trend currently on TV. We even had swearing. It should have been the biggest hit of all time. Fuck.”
Fox’s latest ratings hopeful follows the travails of Juk, a member of a secret alien invasion conspiracy who intentionally gets arrested for sleeping with a bored suburban housewife in order to help his cousin escape from jail, using a detailed map he had tattooed on his scrotum, which due to his alien anatomy is located where a human being’s eyelids would be...
he new television season barely underway, Fox executives are already lamenting the low ratings for their most calculated new show of the season, Desperate Alien Prison Escape.
“We don’t understand it,” lamented stunned network executive Roger Bacon. “This show capitalized on every hot trend currently on TV. We even had swearing. It should have been the biggest hit of all time. Fuck.”
Fox’s latest ratings hopeful follows the travails of Juk, a member of a secret alien invasion conspiracy who intentionally gets arrested for sleeping with a bored suburban housewife in order to help his cousin escape from jail, using a detailed map he had tattooed on his scrotum, which due to his alien anatomy is located where a human being’s eyelids would be.
The series premier drew a 3.0 rating, which translates to 3 million households either watching the show or having the TV set to that station so they can play their X-box. The second episode of the season, however, was quickly down to a 0.1 rating, which at the time tied the record for the lowest-rated program previously set by the 1972 broadcast of the British Cooking Championships. The show’s most recent episode drew a disappointing -1 rating, which means it wasn’t even watched by the camera operators while filming. Industry insiders believe this fact explains the show’s avant-garde cinematography, with the camera often focused on the corner of a room’s ceiling while the scene’s principals are heard talking off-screen. That’s what industry insiders hear, anyway, not that any of them watched the show.
Few of Fox’s new shows have fared any better, including The Crew Chief, where Gary, Indiana McDonald’s employee Tyler Buick thrills viewers with this cutthroat fast food management style. The show’s limited appeal was clearly illustrated in this exchange between Buick and underperforming drive-thru cashier Gladys Phillips in the series’ pilot.
“You’re toast. Asta la pasta, dirtbag.”
“You don’t have the authority to fire me; you’re just the crew chief.”
“Sayonara, won’t see ya tomorra!”
“Get out of my face.”
“Thanks for playing. Don’t let the automatic sliding doors close on your ass now!”
Analysts believe the poor showing of Fox’s latest derivative programs may be a sign that viewers aren’t watching television any more, likely instead spending their time viewing pornography, playing video games, surfing the internet and freebasing cocaine.
Other analysts consider this analysis to be far-fetched, preferring to go the music industry route of blaming new technology for the public’s lack of interest in a low-grade product.
“This is all TiVo’s fault,” groaned Fox executive Nigel Thomas. “When you can watch things whenever you want, on your own schedule, I don’t know. That’s bad for some reason.”
Other Fox employees remain optimistic, suggesting that viewers are likely just too busy joining terrorist organizations to tune in to Fox’s fantastic new fall shows. the commune news admits we haven’t watched Desperate Alien Prison Escape yet either, but we swear it’s only because it’s on opposite Cat Pants, which we once vowed never to miss. During her visit to Fox headquarters, commune reporter Ivana Folger-Balzac was propositioned with several offers for her own reality show, with titles ranging from “Hey Hotlegs” and “The Ballbuster” to “That Bitch Just Poked Out My Left Eye!”
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G8 outcome: Poor countries receive long-awaited pot to piss in
Condoleezza Rice refuses to answer Iraq question, takes the physical challenge
 Impotent Landslide in China Kills Only Micro-Fraction of Glorious Population
Reagan celebrates 93 with annual bowel movement
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Media Plugs CIA Leak ne the most potentially controversial stories in recent years was successfully nipped in the bud by the Bush White House and its ever-faithful assistant, the national news media, as the ongoing story of former Cheney Chief of Staff Lewis Libby’s indictment, the first of a sitting White House official in history, was relegated to page 3 by bored news directors and other major Republican-driven news stories. Libby, called “Scooter” by his many enemies, is the first and likely only casualty of the under-covered story of a White House leak, in which the identity of a working CIA operative, conveniently the wife of Bush opponent Joseph Wilson. Wilson’s wife Valerie Plame was outed as a spy by a conservative columnist, and his source was traced back to the White House. While liberals hoped the 22-month investigation by Special Counsel Patrick Fitzgerald would reveal the dirty tactic came from a source as high as presidential counselor Karl Rove, the most the Democrats could succeed with was a guy named Scooter. And the victory itself was short-lived. French Protestors Politely Riot urious French protestors continued to riot over the weekend, gently overturning traffic cones and unleashing salvos of pithy wit at assembled riot police across some of the roughest neighborhoods in all of Paris. The riots began the previous week in the Seine-Saint-Denis suburb northeast of Paris, sparked by what officials believe was a disagreement over food. “Those incorrigible police buffoons know nothing of fine chocolate!” said impassioned teenage rioter Jean Touloc, only in French. The urbane French police were overwhelmed almost before the rioting even began, requiring the French Army to be brought in last week. The army surrendered four hours later, and plans were being drawn up for a transitional government when some joker switched out the treaty-signing pen with a novelty model that laughs electronically when you try to write with it. The rioters, perhaps correctly believing that they were not being taken seriously, stepped up their boisterous chants of “We beg to differ!” and their disorderly milling-about. Merck: “Crazy-Ass Brazil Giving AIDS Drugs to People With No Money” Poison Probe Reveals 90% of Packaged Foods Actually Dog Food |
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 October 16, 2000
Nabisco Loves MeIt's the question I think many of us ask over and over again... "Has my life mattered any?" "Has my being here changed anything or anyone?" "How has my life made the world a better place?"
It's a series of questions that needlessly rephrase that one first question I mentioned. But you can ask it a million times over and maybe never really know the answer, unless you've ever had a sitcom on ABC's "TGIF" line-up, in which case you can be assured you've made the world a darker and more painful place.
As for us regular joes, jacks, roks, rudys, steves, percys, and joaquins, we have to make a list. Maybe you do this, too--make a list of all the ways you've made the world a better place, all the things you have going for you, all the positive benefits your existence has brought. Maybe you make three lists. Always asking how things are better because you're here.
Well, maybe like you, I've made a list as described and come up with nada. I'll be damned if I can figure out how I've made the world better. Sure, maybe by the mere fact I'm here the world is different, but is it better? There's a few things I'm proud of, for sure. My two gay sons and my daughter, who may in fact be a yeti. My love wife of thirty years, Arvelyn; my former wife of thirty years, Wyfe. Although I have to admit my being here probably wouldn't affect her one way or the other. But there's other things, too, like the class in Feudalism I teach at U Ignorant, my...
º Last Column: Generation-X-O-Cide
º more columns
It's the question I think many of us ask over and over again... "Has my life mattered any?" "Has my being here changed anything or anyone?" "How has my life made the world a better place?"
It's a series of questions that needlessly rephrase that one first question I mentioned. But you can ask it a million times over and maybe never really know the answer, unless you've ever had a sitcom on ABC's "TGIF" line-up, in which case you can be assured you've made the world a darker and more painful place.
As for us regular joes, jacks, roks, rudys, steves, percys, and joaquins, we have to make a list. Maybe you do this, too--make a list of all the ways you've made the world a better place, all the things you have going for you, all the positive benefits your existence has brought. Maybe you make three lists. Always asking how things are better because you're here.
Well, maybe like you, I've made a list as described and come up with nada. I'll be damned if I can figure out how I've made the world better. Sure, maybe by the mere fact I'm here the world is different, but is it better? There's a few things I'm proud of, for sure. My two gay sons and my daughter, who may in fact be a yeti. My love wife of thirty years, Arvelyn; my former wife of thirty years, Wyfe. Although I have to admit my being here probably wouldn't affect her one way or the other. But there's other things, too, like the class in Feudalism I teach at U Ignorant, my astonishing collection of pogs and bottlecaps, and my 1983 biographic short film "Rok's Off." I have a few journalism awards but I understand they only count if they're actually presented to you, not picked up while unguarded at company buffets.
In the end, though, does all that really matter? The awards, the family, the class, the film critics call "an astonishing wake-up call to cat lovers everywhere"?
Maybe not, I thought. And I was a little sadder that day. So I dug into a box of my favorite snack cracker, the world-famous Cheez-Its.
And there on the box was my salvation.
A modest-size banner proclaiming Cheez-Its to be America's #1-selling brand cheese cracker. And, they plainly stated, it wouldn't be so if it wasn't for loyal customers like me.
Cheez-Its, old friend, you always remind me of the good in the world. So wise and cheese-tastious.
It was I who played a part in the efforts to make Cheez-Its the world's #1-selling brand cheese cracker. Without brand-loyal customers like yours truly, it's very likely Cheez-Its would never hold onto that coveted place in Americana. So I scoff to you, naysayers, sayers of nay, that Rok Finger has done nothing with his life.
"#1-selling brand cheese cracker"... what do you call that? Bite hard, boys! I got yer cheese cracker right here!
Thank you, Cheez-Its, for making me a part of your success. Many more happy years to come. º Last Column: Generation-X-O-Cideº more columns
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|  December 6, 2004
O Captain!Before my days as a newspaperman, and slightly after my days as the Spoonman, I served my time in the American school system as a teacher. Or a learning person, as we used to say before they invented proper grammar.
My earliest teaching experiences were at a prep school, the kind where it's all boys (or girls, but I couldn't land a gig for that one) and they have to wear uniforms and conduct themselves like rich and snobby gentlemen. At first, the fellows were all leery of me, because I was so close to them in age. After a while, they came to think of me as their favorite teacher. Some of that was because I was so close in age, they thought they could trust me, but it was more than that as well. I actually enjoyed teaching, and tried to make all the subjects we studied connect to their own lives.
This is not always an easy task. We were going through a rough period where ventilation and air conditioning was being forced into the classroom, and while I think I did a good job, I couldn't always make the kids see the value in knowing how the thermostat works. I did better in other subjects, like teaching poetry.
All of my students came to love Walt Whitman quite a lot. Before my class, they thought of him as some stuffy, recently-dead hooligan who wrote homo garbage. But then I actually read a few of the poems for them, some of them in an amusing Italian dialect, and they were thrilled. One student told me "I Sing the Body Electric" was...
º Last Column: The Pen
º more columns
Before my days as a newspaperman, and slightly after my days as the Spoonman, I served my time in the American school system as a teacher. Or a learning person, as we used to say before they invented proper grammar.
My earliest teaching experiences were at a prep school, the kind where it's all boys (or girls, but I couldn't land a gig for that one) and they have to wear uniforms and conduct themselves like rich and snobby gentlemen. At first, the fellows were all leery of me, because I was so close to them in age. After a while, they came to think of me as their favorite teacher. Some of that was because I was so close in age, they thought they could trust me, but it was more than that as well. I actually enjoyed teaching, and tried to make all the subjects we studied connect to their own lives.
This is not always an easy task. We were going through a rough period where ventilation and air conditioning was being forced into the classroom, and while I think I did a good job, I couldn't always make the kids see the value in knowing how the thermostat works. I did better in other subjects, like teaching poetry.
All of my students came to love Walt Whitman quite a lot. Before my class, they thought of him as some stuffy, recently-dead hooligan who wrote homo garbage. But then I actually read a few of the poems for them, some of them in an amusing Italian dialect, and they were thrilled. One student told me "I Sing the Body Electric" was the best verse he had ever heard, and I don't think he was trying to get extra-credit by saying it. I gave it to him all the same, though.
Then, they fired me from the job. My students took it hard. They threatened to protest when I told them I had been fired for reading all the poems in an Italian accent. They said they would storm the school, bust out all the windows, and rape the faculty, but not because they wanted to do it. They wanted to show support for me. I told them if they wanted to show support for me, really wanted to prove their loyalty, they would continue their educations and forget about my troubles.
They did that. But on the last day, as I was escorted off the campus, they all leaned out the windows and recited my favorite Walt Whitman poem, chanting "O Captain! My Captain!" just like Grand Funk Railroad later would. They turned all this into a movie, but since they threw out my original draft screenplay, I want no part of that Hollywood garbage.
I eventually wound up in public schools, where my under-informed and incompetent teaching made me fit in quite well. It had been the real reason I was fired, of course. No one's ever been fired for reading poetry in a bad accent. º Last Column: The Penº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever. This means you, Gerardo.”
-Napoleon BugglyparteFortune 500 CookieFinally, you'll win that annual shit-talkin' contest. If the shoe fits, it still means you only have one shoe, dumbass. It may hurt, but don't worry, they can re-attach it if you put the testicle on ice quickly. Don't buy the lottery ticket this week—your money is better invested in cookie dough. Lucky marbles: steely, cat's eyes, and… uh… shit, we're fresh out of marbles.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Sinning to Win | | 2. | The Dalai Lama: Gay Gay Gay? | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Lincoln Logs | | 4. | The History of Slob Literature | | 5. | Gain 15 Pounds for Winter | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 9/16/2002 Howdy Doody, America.
I'm sorry folks. That was just a pathetic attempt to sound upbeat. I should give you people more credit than that. We all know where we find ourselves, plum in the middle of the doggy-style days of autumn, a movie wasteland so barren that even the dead horses look bored. And that's no small challenge. Luckily for me, the less time people spend in theaters, the more time they spend writing letters to Ask Roland, except for the select few primates who actually try and write to me from inside the theater, so I end up with illegible butter-stained napkin letters crumpled in my mail box, covered in ants and other sundry vermin. I get less of those now, which is the one thing I like about the Fall. So let's delay no further and get to padding this...
Howdy Doody, America.
I'm sorry folks. That was just a pathetic attempt to sound upbeat. I should give you people more credit than that. We all know where we find ourselves, plum in the middle of the doggy-style days of autumn, a movie wasteland so barren that even the dead horses look bored. And that's no small challenge. Luckily for me, the less time people spend in theaters, the more time they spend writing letters to Ask Roland, except for the select few primates who actually try and write to me from inside the theater, so I end up with illegible butter-stained napkin letters crumpled in my mail box, covered in ants and other sundry vermin. I get less of those now, which is the one thing I like about the Fall. So let's delay no further and get to padding this column out like a Kate Moss swimsuit, shall we?
Q. Hey Roland, what's it hangin? Listen, I don't really have a movie question, but I was wondering if you could hook me up with that Violet Tiara chick who writes for the commune. She's hot! And smart! Does she dig dudes in the military? Cuz I could enlist, I'm pretty sure. Unless they've still got that rule about having to be able to touch your toes. Hey, that's my other question: Do they still have that rule? Thanks in advance Roland, we'll name our first kid after you.
Elmer DeBarge, Spankle, MO
A.Thanks for the letter Elmer, and it was smart to include a picture of yourself so I have something to show to the police. Though they are going to wonder why it has half of a People magazine What's Hot/Who's Not column printed on the back of it, and what you're doing with Heath Ledger's girlfriend. As for Ms. Tiara, I'm sorry to say she's too young for you, however old you are. Her parents are also super quick with a restraining order, which is silly since she's mostly a tease anyway. Or that's what I hear, from… people.
Q. Rooollaaaaand! Wasaaaaaaaap! Man, is that ever going to get old? I don't know, but I hope not. I love that joke. Love it! Anyway man, I got a question for you here. Uh… shit. Nope, I guess not. I had one when I started this but I totally spaced it when I was doing that "Wasaaaaaaap!" thing. Sorry dude, I'll get back to you.
Rodney Poster, Belmonte, CA
A. Believe it or not, these were the two best letters I received all week. You should have seen some of the stupid ones. Anyway, thanks for your letter, Rodney. Thanks a lot. Thanks for single-handedly making this the worst installment of Ask Roland ever. Good God, without your help I might have overestimated the future of humanity. Thankfully I am no longer in that danger, and I now realize that we're all screwed. Thanks again.
Alright, that's the movie bell a-ringin':
In Theaters
The Bang Your Sisters
Oh man, what a funny idea for a movie! No, wait, that's Animal House. What's this boiled old hobo boot doing up on my screen? The only way you're going to laugh during this tale of the most unfortunately named band in the history of rock is if you've just come straight from an actually funny movie and are still laughing when this one starts. Actually, to be honest, the movie had one big laugh in it. It came when this guy came back from the concession stand with his hands full of a giant soda and a big bag of popcorn, and when he went to sit down in the dark he kind of half sat on the arm of his seat, which caused him to panic and flail his arms up, dumping the whole bag of popcorn right on his head. Classic. Though I suspect that probably could have happened during any movie and therefore I wouldn't place too much credit for that laugh on the film itself.
Barbieshop
It's a great idea, I'll give them that. Line up a smooch on the ass for whoever dreamed this one up: a quartet of hard-nosed bone thugs inherit a doll store when their grandfather dies, and now they have to trade in their trash-talking street ways and spend their days explaining the difference between Malibu Barbie and Ventura County Barbie to spoiled little six year-old white girls from Riverside. Stick Chris Rock and Chris Tucker in the actor holes and you'd have 'em rolling in the isles, probably from laughing. Hell, stick Chris Katan and Chris Farley in a tanning booth for a few days and it could still work. So who do they get to star in this turkey? Ice Cube, Ice-T and Urkel. Good job, guys. Way to shoot the comedy goose in the head.
Igby Goes Down
Everybody's favorite Australian cartoon iguana is here to teach kids about sex and sexuality, the Aussie way! Though the animation is crude, it still gets the point across, and these guys know how to draw some sexy kangaroos. Or, as the Aussies call them, Wildebeests. While the film may be too disturbing for older viewers, kids will find it a delightful romp, in both meanings of that double-Nintendo. Delightfully fake Australian accents are provided by voice-over legends Susan Saranadan, Bill Pullman, and that guy who barfs when he eats.
Stealing Harvard
Heist movies don't have any sense of ambition these days. Everybody's got some master plan to steal a million kruktillion dollars so they can live out their golden years in some HEPA-filtered paradise where nobody speaks English. Bo-ring. When's the last time anybody ever tried to steal something really valuable, like Disneyland? Now that's a caper worth plotting for 45 minutes. How in the world would they pull that off? I'm hooked. I want to know, you know? Sign me up for a front-row seat and a box of Nards. Sadly, this heist flick doesn't quite get it right, but it's a novel effort. I'm not sure why somebody would get all hot and bothered about stealing a crusty old East Coast University, so there were some believability issues there. Maybe you could make a mint printing off phony diplomas and selling them on the Internet. I'm pretty sure that must have been what they were thinking. But I shouldn't have to work so hard to figure it out, that's the movie's job.
Trapped
Picture the scene. You find yourself stuck in some drafty country cottage with no telephone and no way out. You think you're alone, but then you turn and see… Courtney Love! Yikes! You spin around in the other direction, and it's… Charlize "Don't Call Me Ashley Judd" Theron! Shit! Could it get any worse? Yes, it could! Kevin Bacon's in the crapper! And he's wearing those awful jogging shorts that reveal far too much and turn you off of Bacon Bits for the rest of your life. Who's trapped with them? Here comes the twist: it's the audience. Yep, two hours with these undesirables may scar you for life, but they say it's really cathartic when you actually get to leave the theater.
And that's a wrap, folks. All right, go on, get out. Uncle Roland wants to be alone in the dark room for a while. Don't ring for dinner, I'm just going to be in the music room, playing one note on the piano over and over again. Now all I need is to find a music room somewhere.    |
