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Shooting Turns Comic When Bumbling Teens Shoot Each Other in Hilarious Double-Homicide Hi-JinksAugust 20, 2000 |
Mattawusk, ME Junior Bacon The teens involved were once breastfed
The two teenagers, Rupert Harvey and D. Johnny Watkins, two seniors described as "Prime wedgie material" by athletes across the school, were popular victims of practical jokes and teasing for being so unpopular. As convoluted as that statement may sound, one thing was clear--with Harvey and Watkins, sooner or later, something was going to break. Who knew it would be our funny bones?
"They came in and Watkins told everybody, 'Get down!'" said senior and witness Glenda Berman. "At which point Harvey just started to dance, doing the Running Man and t...
high school lunch room in Mattawusk, Maine got downright goofy Monday when two teen-agers killed each other in an accidental double-homicide called by witnesses, "Just too damn funny." The two teenagers, Rupert Harvey and D. Johnny Watkins, two seniors described as "Prime wedgie material" by athletes across the school, were popular victims of practical jokes and teasing for being so unpopular. As convoluted as that statement may sound, one thing was clear--with Harvey and Watkins, sooner or later, something was going to break. Who knew it would be our funny bones? "They came in and Watkins told everybody, 'Get down!'" said senior and witness Glenda Berman. "At which point Harvey just started to dance, doing the Running Man and then Cabbage-patching. It was so fucking funny I nearly choked. Then Watkins smacked him with his sailor hat." Watkins, apparently the smarter of the duo, then told everybody they would die for their cruelty, at which point Watkins tried to fire the gun but the safety was on. He looked down the barrel, according to junior Darryl Hardin, who said he could barely contain his laughter since he could guess what would happen next. "Sure enough," Hardin said, "Watkins blew his own damn head off. That shit was hilarious, I was howling for minutes. It was like Looney Tunes or something. I halfway expected the gun to say 'Acme' on it." It was at that point, witnesses said, Harvey began to fire his machine gun in fear. The repeating weapon, aimed at the ground, was powerful enough to levitate him feet off the floor as he tried in vain to control it, much to the bemusement of the onlooking not-quite-terrified student body. "Eventually, Harvey just shot himself in the foot," Principal Don Stewart said. "He was howling and bouncing up and down when--" Stewart took several minutes to keep from crying as he laughed even harder. "He shot Watkins again, in the balls, and Watkins, with his dying breath, tightened his grip on the trigger finger and blew Harvey's head off." No longer able to restrain his tears, Stewart wept openly. "It was so fucking funny I shit my pants! I swear." School shootings have steadily been on the increase since 1990, but this was by far the most hilarious incident reported. Hollywood has taken notice as well, already planning a wacky sitcom tentatively titled "Shoot the Mooks" and famed teen scribe John Hughes has reportedly been asking how old Anthony Michael Hall is now, since he would "make a perfect Watkins." the commune News would like to know if you're going to finish that, dude? Ivan Nakutchacokov can be split open and several smaller versions are found within, leading to his office nickname, "Matruschka."
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Appeals Court Rules Hilton Legitimately Too Pretty to Survive Prison Climatologists Cross Legs Uncomfortably at Mention of Bangkok Conference 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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 January 15, 2007
Christmas: Don't Try This at HomeIt's recently been brought to my attention that the commune has not been appearing online for the last, say, nine months, give or take a full-term pregnancy. I guess the saying is true: you're always the last to know when your stuff stops getting published for the better part of a year. Anyway, spilled milk aside, it's clear wherein the blame for this blunder lies.
Gerbil tubes.
I'll be the first to admit I was the one who discovered the tubes, poking out of the walls in every room of the commune offices, including the shitter. I was scanning the walls with a studfinder, looking for espionage-style bugs, rather than the usual food-stealing bugs we've always had, when suddenly, tubes! Had covert, turtle-fighting plumbers snuck in overnight and installed them? Nope, turns out they'd been there all along. No gold star for the commune staff's powers of noticing.
But still, you can imagine our excitement at this discovery. Finally, a way to file our articles and columns without the constant drudgery of saving and emailing. Pneumatic tubes have always been the way of the future, and it was about time the commune got some, or barring that, realized we'd had them since the early 80's.
And let me just say that filing your semi-weekly columns by pneumatic tube is a joy and a pleasure. You crumple that shit up into a ball and stuff it in the tube, pushing aside last week's column, and say asta-la-deadline, asshole. Everything in life should...
º Last Column: The Deep Freeze
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It's recently been brought to my attention that the commune has not been appearing online for the last, say, nine months, give or take a full-term pregnancy. I guess the saying is true: you're always the last to know when your stuff stops getting published for the better part of a year. Anyway, spilled milk aside, it's clear wherein the blame for this blunder lies. Gerbil tubes. I'll be the first to admit I was the one who discovered the tubes, poking out of the walls in every room of the commune offices, including the shitter. I was scanning the walls with a studfinder, looking for espionage-style bugs, rather than the usual food-stealing bugs we've always had, when suddenly, tubes! Had covert, turtle-fighting plumbers snuck in overnight and installed them? Nope, turns out they'd been there all along. No gold star for the commune staff's powers of noticing. But still, you can imagine our excitement at this discovery. Finally, a way to file our articles and columns without the constant drudgery of saving and emailing. Pneumatic tubes have always been the way of the future, and it was about time the commune got some, or barring that, realized we'd had them since the early 80's. And let me just say that filing your semi-weekly columns by pneumatic tube is a joy and a pleasure. You crumple that shit up into a ball and stuff it in the tube, pushing aside last week's column, and say asta-la-deadline, asshole. Everything in life should be that easy, and involve crumpling. Everything cruised along smooth as shit until last week, when Emil Zender got out of the hospital following months of recovery following a complicated tonsil-removal surgery and burst into the commune offices, apparently after driving straight from Vermont in his hospital duds to let us know the commune wasn't online anymore. We all made fun of him for not using the telephone instead, until he pointed out that no one answers the commune telephones and in fact we have them all in a pile on the floor of Rok Finger's office so we can close the door and not be bothered with all that ringing. True enough. So then we made fun of him for reading the commune. It turns out the tubes actually run to a pet store down the block, and they were installed in the early 1980's after an earlier tenant's stroke of genius about revolutionizing gerbil delivery. So Big Stiff's Pet Pouch has been the sole benefactor of the last nine months of commune wit, wisdom, and panache. And he was using the shit for guinea pig bedding. C'est la vie, but suffice it to say you've missed some all-time classic My Friend Polio columns while you were gone. Okay, that's not precisely true. Actually I've been mailing it in since around June, writing about shit I found in the trash and why nobody makes a barbecue big enough to cook a dolphin. So in fact you've rejoined us just in the nick of time. Oh shit, I forgot to bitch about how lousy my Christmas was. Hurry up and join us next time, because I'm out of room and gotta piss like a fish. Bricks out. º Last Column: The Deep Freezeº more columns
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|  November 11, 2002
Greetings from GracielandGreetings, commune readers. Rok Finger here, typing greetings to you from beautiful Rumney, New Hampshire. Feel free to register your surprise, disgust, or firearms—whichever is appropriate. It's understandable that based on comments made previously in this column by both yours truly and myself, one might have reasonably expected these words to be coming at you from sunny Memphis, Tennessee. And I'm just skylarking about the sunny part. For as my more astute readers may have guessed—I never went to Tennessee at all.
I was saved from such an embarrassing misstep on my first-ever annual pilgrimage to Graceland by resident commune know-it-all Griswald Dreck, who informed me that the Graceland of Elvis Presley toilet overdose fame and the Graceland of Paul Simon dancing with Chevy Chase fame are not, in fact, the same place. Needless to say, this was news to Rokwell T. Finger, much like the fate of Old Yeller. Leave it to Griswald Dreck to puncture two balloons with one needle and a story about a glue factory.
According to Dreck, the Paul Simon album I was so eager to experience in real-life form was in fact originally titled Gracieland, a reference to the New Hampshire shrine built in memory of George Burns' late wife. But thanks to an irreputable typesetter with a financial interest in Elvis memorabilia, Simon's message was forever obfuscated.
Now Rok Finger is no fool, and he, meaning me, unwittingly lines the pockets of no...
º Last Column: Until I Return, Camembert is in Charge
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Greetings, commune readers. Rok Finger here, typing greetings to you from beautiful Rumney, New Hampshire. Feel free to register your surprise, disgust, or firearms—whichever is appropriate. It's understandable that based on comments made previously in this column by both yours truly and myself, one might have reasonably expected these words to be coming at you from sunny Memphis, Tennessee. And I'm just skylarking about the sunny part. For as my more astute readers may have guessed—I never went to Tennessee at all.
I was saved from such an embarrassing misstep on my first-ever annual pilgrimage to Graceland by resident commune know-it-all Griswald Dreck, who informed me that the Graceland of Elvis Presley toilet overdose fame and the Graceland of Paul Simon dancing with Chevy Chase fame are not, in fact, the same place. Needless to say, this was news to Rokwell T. Finger, much like the fate of Old Yeller. Leave it to Griswald Dreck to puncture two balloons with one needle and a story about a glue factory.
According to Dreck, the Paul Simon album I was so eager to experience in real-life form was in fact originally titled Gracieland, a reference to the New Hampshire shrine built in memory of George Burns' late wife. But thanks to an irreputable typesetter with a financial interest in Elvis memorabilia, Simon's message was forever obfuscated.
Now Rok Finger is no fool, and he, meaning me, unwittingly lines the pockets of no man. Unless that man is running a chain letter scam. Rok Finger may not be a fool, but he's even less a fan of bad luck chain letter voodoo. Scary stuff. But thanks to Griswald Dreck, noble American, some Deep South huckster claimed one fewer victim this week. Dreck was even nice enough to take the then-useless plane ticket to Memphis off my hands for twenty dollars American. And before you could say late purchase ticket surcharge, I was on my way to New Hampshire.
In a word, readers, Gracieland is everything I could have hoped for, and did. There are truly angels in the architecture. And that line about the roly-poly little bat-faced girl? No longer an impenetrable mystery. Suffice it to say that George Burns' late wife was not an Amazonian supermodel. Far be it from Rok Finger to hold that against her, however, especially seeing as I have played the troll under the bridge in over 30 elementary school productions of The Brothers Grimm without need of expensive makeup effects or costuming.
Though I had secretly hoped to view the stuffed cadaver of Chevy Chase on this trip, I leave feeling fully satisfied and, for once in my oft-disappointing life, fully on the "inside" of an juicy morsel of popular culture. I haven't felt this hip since discovering the hidden soft drink advertisement in Donovan's hit song Mellow Yellow back in the 1960's.
And more importantly, as with any good vacation, I was able to completely forget about the outside world for a time. Not literally, mind you, I didn't buy a house or ask to start getting my mail here or anything asinine along those lines. But except for the time spent at the public library typing this column and a few calls home to check on Lee and Camembert that were apparently misrouted to the head trauma ward of a veterinary hospital, the last week has been about nothing but Rok Finger getting in touch with Rok Finger. Some would say that altogether too much Rok Finger-touching went on, and that is a distinct possibility, but the late night programming made available on motel TV was utterly beyond my control.
I return home a wiser Rok Finger, and one who now owns more George & Gracie refrigerator magnets than he knows what to do with. I hope Camembert likes magnets, because I've easily got all his birthdays and Christmases covered for the rest of his natural life. º Last Column: Until I Return, Camembert is in Chargeº more columns
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Milestones1982: Fred Connor born, grows up to lead successful rebellion against war of the machines in 2011. Or at least he would have been, if a Terminator hadn't successfully eliminated him from history, according to Research Editor Griswald Dreck.Now HiringGood Terminator. Talking to Griswald Dreck has made us see the wisdom of employing a preventative Terminator security system, preferably a skilled Terminator robot who has been reprogrammed to protect commune staff members. No pay or retirement plans—yours is not to reason why, just to do and die.Top 5 Other Hasselhof Home Videos| 1. | Whoopsh!: Outtakes From the Drinking Videos | | 2. | 5 hours straight of sucking in gut until a rib pops out | | 3. | All-nude Batwatch starring some girls from the escort service | | 4. | Intense argument with his car over who is the real star of Knight Rider | | 5. | Imaginary non-German music awards show where Hasselhoff sweeps every category | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/3/2003 Well Hop on Pop, it's time for another installment of Entertainment Police. I guess we just couldn't hold it in any longer. Feast your eyes (and if you really are, literally, feasting your eyes, drop me an email because that sounds freaky as hell and I'm curious as to how it works) on the latest and, by default, greatest films that Hollywood is wedging in between Coke commercials this week:
In Theaters
Final Destination 2
Raise your hand if you knew there was a Final Destination 1. At first I thought this might be one of those joke titles like Leonard Part 6 or Jaws 2, but then I realized it wasn't funny, so there must really be a first film. I asked around and nobody...
Well Hop on Pop, it's time for another installment of Entertainment Police. I guess we just couldn't hold it in any longer. Feast your eyes (and if you really are, literally, feasting your eyes, drop me an email because that sounds freaky as hell and I'm curious as to how it works) on the latest and, by default, greatest films that Hollywood is wedging in between Coke commercials this week:
In Theaters
Final Destination 2
Raise your hand if you knew there was a Final Destination 1. At first I thought this might be one of those joke titles like Leonard Part 6 or Jaws 2, but then I realized it wasn't funny, so there must really be a first film. I asked around and nobody had heard of it, but somebody told me to check the Internet Movie Database, some sort of government Big Brother thing where they list every movie that anyone has even thought of making. I thanked the guy, of course, but couldn't get behind his back to make the cuckoo faces fast enough. What a freak. Like anybody cares that much about movies. Most directors can't even remember most of their films, and let me remind you, they're the ones getting paid. So anyway, the only conclusion I could come to was that there never was a Final Destination 1, but for some reason the studio wants us to believe there was. Like maybe if we can't remember the first one sucking, we'll figure it was good and be eager to see the sequel. A clever ploy, probably the smartest thing Hollywood has done since making the smallest soda size bigger than any human bladder, so you have to pay to see 9 ½ Weeks twice to catch the part you missed while you were pissing out in the hallway. But anyway, now that I've deflated the silicone out of their fake-boob premise, the real question is, should you want to see Final Destination 2? There's another question in there, too, which is if this film is a hit, will they call the next film Final Destination 3 or just admit the ruse and call it Final Destination 2 again? My guess is that they'll dodge that bullet altogether and go with some safe bullshit title like Finaler Destination or My Big Fat Final Destination. But getting back to the original question, the answer is: six.
The Recut
Al Pacino and Colin Farrell star in this boldly experimental film about Al Pacino being Al Pacino. And the funny thing is that I don't think Al Pacino's really even in the movie at all, the whole thing is just a bunch of famous scenes from Al Pacino's other movies cut together. Average white man Colin Farrell is computer-dumped into every scene to add continuity, using the same technology they used to treat us to John Wayne crapping in a beer commercial and Gandhi telling us why he'd drive a Volvo. The result is startlingly similar to Al Pacino's last eighteen films, at a fraction of the cost. Will this bold experiment in giving viewers exactly what they want pay off? That's hard to say, but I did love the parts where Farrell ad-libs and makes it sound like Pacino's talking about something other than what he was in the original films, like when Pacino's famous "Just when I think I'm out…" speech from The Godfather of Soul becomes about him mud-wrestling with Barbara Bush and Margaret Thatcher on peyote.
Shanghai Knights
This isn't the first time a poorly conceived theme restaurant has been made into a movie, and unless somebody was killed by a helicopter while they were filming, this probably won't be the last. But this film certainly deserves its claim to fame as the most recent. An offshoot of those annoying restaurants where yuppies pay to eat with no silverware while a bunch of gay failed actors bash about with swords and armor and people pretend like they're having fun, the Shanghai Knights chain at least made the improvement of offering Chinese food. The upshot here was that even in those backwards historical times the Chinese knew what the hell silverware was, even if they thought it was chopsticks. But how to translate this improvement into movie success? Well, you could do worse than casting the likeably gay duo of awkward nose model Owen Wilson ( Dennis the Menace, The Math Man) and Attention Deficit Asian Jackie Chan ( Ladder Fight Disco, The Underpants) in the lead roles, and surrounding them by an able supporting cast that falls down in charming ways. The script is a little on the thin side, but that's to be expected as it was based on a menu. However, even with all its shortcomings, this film is a marked improvement over previous efforts in the genre, such as the unfortunate Steak Knight and the truly wretched Eat Your Chicken or Die.
In order to keep up with the prevailing trends in Hollywood as of late, I've decided to open up some new revenue streams for the column by inserting product placements and some ads here and there, you know, because nobody gives a shit anymore. So as I sit here and drink my Gnert‡ cola and sniff some Elmer's‡² glue while I ponder the mid-winter movie season, let me be the first to suggest that it'd be awfully nice to have my cock sucked by a hooker‡³ right about now, maybe while I was smoking some crack†. Yeah, that would definitely help these movies go down smoother.   |
