|  | 
NASA Photographs Infuriate Shut-Ins, Conspiracy GeeksAugust 5, 2002 |
Tempe, AZ Courtesy Of Nasa Clear photo of "The Face" underlines need for Martian pooper-scooper law ew infrared images from NASA's Mars Odyssey orbiter featuring the long-debated formation known as the "Face on Mars" have sent shockwaves through the shut-in and conspiracy geek communities. Anxious and unbathed web surfers who expected the infrared pictures to provide new revelations about the features voiced their disappointment, saying the new images are bullshit because they don't show any kind of recognizable face at all, just a couple of bumps in the dirt.
NASA claims this is because there never was a face, stupid, only a trick of light and shadow fueled by desperate weirdoes who haven't worked in years. Fans of the face contend that it was only the lack of "night-vision" imagery that failed to expose the Sphinxlike visage they have come to know and love. NASA responded ...
ew infrared images from NASA's Mars Odyssey orbiter featuring the long-debated formation known as the "Face on Mars" have sent shockwaves through the shut-in and conspiracy geek communities. Anxious and unbathed web surfers who expected the infrared pictures to provide new revelations about the features voiced their disappointment, saying the new images are bullshit because they don't show any kind of recognizable face at all, just a couple of bumps in the dirt.
NASA claims this is because there never was a face, stupid, only a trick of light and shadow fueled by desperate weirdoes who haven't worked in years. Fans of the face contend that it was only the lack of "night-vision" imagery that failed to expose the Sphinxlike visage they have come to know and love. NASA responded with a patronizing smile and a hand gesture indicating "okaaay."
The debate over the Face has simmered for the last twenty-five years, since NASA's Viking orbiters transmitted pictures of the Cydonia region that appeared to show a half-shadowed, helmeted face staring up from the planet's surface like some kind of cross between Kermit the Frog and Han Solo. Since then, additional formations have been identified as the "Alien Conspiracy Pyramid," "the Mounds of Xena" and so forth — and fans of the Face have argued that the formations showed evidence of a vast Martian civilization populated by breathtaking huge-breasted women incapable of resisting the charms of virginal 30 year-old earth men.
In the past five years, sharper imagery from NASA's Mars Global Surveyor orbiter popped a big-ol' hole in that over-inflated fantasy balloon, confirming the mainstream view that the Face and the other formations were nothing more than a whole lot of wind-eroded dirt, much like everything else on Mars. But die-hard fans of the Face refused to give up hope, disregarding the newer photos as hoaxes and propaganda, and confusing everyone in their apartment buildings by going as "The Face" for Halloween.
The new Mars Odyssey images are unique in that they were taken using infrared light, unlike the visible light used for the Viking and Global Surveyor images of Cydonias. This allowed for day or night photography unhindered by shadows. Many fans of the Face, however, took issue with NASA's methodology.
"We got gypped," griped Thomas Reinhold of Jackson, Miss. "They totally lead us to believe they were going to be doing some nighttime infrared imagery, not just daytime. What if the face only comes out at night? Didn't think of that, did you, NASA?"
"He said what?" questioned Tony Rice, a member of the Arizona State University imaging team that worked with NASA on the project. "Jesus. Thanks to AOL, every kind of mook can get on the net now."
The Arizona State imaging research team denied any unique features belonging to the mesas that make up the Face. "What do we have to do, draw you people a map?" Rice questioned. "Oh, wait, that's right. We already did that. Morons."
No stranger to being called morons, the Face fans press on with their hunt for the truth.
"Those white-coated government lackeys over at NASA can conspiratize all they want, but we know the truth," boasted Elmer Noonan of Vine Grove, KY. "We've seen the pictures. The first picture, anyway. All the other ones after that were bullshit. A total governmental cover-up, straight out of the handbook. If it hadn't been for that Libertarian dude working at NASA back in '76, we never would have got to see that original image of the face. I bet those NASA guys have been kicking themselves every day since they released that thing. Ha. Jerks."
"We're putting new stuff out there every day for the public to look at," Rice said while playing with a hole in the bottom of his shoe. "I don't know what their problem is. Oh, right. The conspiracy. I almost forgot. Well, you're going to have to excuse me while I conspire to drive my shitty little Tercel over to Arby's and eat a roast beef sandwich for lunch." the commune news needs a hero: he's got to be strong and he's got to be fast and he's got to know where and how to dispose of an incredibly obese dead body. Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown has been spending a lot more time haunting the commune offices lately, ever since he tired of his gig chasing a buffalo through Kevin Costner's nightmares.
 | Kyrgyz president found in Gilmore Girls chatroom
Iraq transfer of power to be as quick, painless as Iraqi occupation
 Sony's Poorly Timed "PS3 Price Massacre" Backfires  Big Ratings Prompts ABC to Seek More Dancing Handicapped Shows |
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. “Blond Highlights the Devil’s Work,” Says Iran, Straight Men Dow Reaches 13,000, Tao Reaches ∞ |
|  |
 | 
 November 7, 2005
Little Man With a Gun in His HandsGood people, you are now reading at a licensed gun owner. That's the truth—except for the license thing. I'm still studying for the exam.
And if you think having a gun doesn't change your life, you should shoot yourself right now. Oh, that's right—you don't own a gun! No, my friends, gun ownership changes everything. Colors are brighter, things taste better, people are truly scared of you wherever you go. Sometimes I don't even have to show them the gun, the bulge in the side of my jacket is enough to get me a front place in line.
Lest you think it's pure fear that gets us gun owners the good life, it's not. Respect. People respect gun owners, because they have taken the biggest step in self-defense that pansies and left-wingers don't have the stomach for. But if the local police department's riot force comes swooping on them down for the big martial law takeover, who do you think they're going to call? Not Ghostbusters, '80s nostalgia fans.
I went gun shopping originally just so I could protect my life, my car, my house, and my wife, in that exact order, from my insane fascist neighbors, the Dickenses. I soon discovered that danger lurks everywhere, and only gun owners can see it all around us. With a little help from the gun store guy. Did you realize you could be walking down the street, minding your own business or participating in a foot race around the world, and someone can simply walk up and stick a knife in your face and demand...
º Last Column: At War With the Joneses º more columns
Good people, you are now reading at a licensed gun owner. That's the truth—except for the license thing. I'm still studying for the exam. And if you think having a gun doesn't change your life, you should shoot yourself right now. Oh, that's right—you don't own a gun! No, my friends, gun ownership changes everything. Colors are brighter, things taste better, people are truly scared of you wherever you go. Sometimes I don't even have to show them the gun, the bulge in the side of my jacket is enough to get me a front place in line. Lest you think it's pure fear that gets us gun owners the good life, it's not. Respect. People respect gun owners, because they have taken the biggest step in self-defense that pansies and left-wingers don't have the stomach for. But if the local police department's riot force comes swooping on them down for the big martial law takeover, who do you think they're going to call? Not Ghostbusters, '80s nostalgia fans. I went gun shopping originally just so I could protect my life, my car, my house, and my wife, in that exact order, from my insane fascist neighbors, the Dickenses. I soon discovered that danger lurks everywhere, and only gun owners can see it all around us. With a little help from the gun store guy. Did you realize you could be walking down the street, minding your own business or participating in a foot race around the world, and someone can simply walk up and stick a knife in your face and demand all your money? And get this—if you give them all your money, they could still kill you anyway. There's no law says they can't. Well, that was all I needed to hear to be put in a proper paranoid frame of mind. I asked for—nay, demanded I get my gun right then. Most gun owners have to wait about a week for a background check and all to go through, but the shop owner said he was giving away guns for every purchase of his special $900 bullets. I worked out the math and it turns out it's about the same price as buying the guns and the bullets, and since it was a free gun, I didn't even have to wait for the background check! Score: Rok Finger. The gun owner tried to convince me a derringer would fit my own personal "style," but did you know those things were the smallest in the store? What's the point? Why even have a gun at all? Why not just go full-blown pussy and buy a taser or something? Not yours truly, nor me. No, good people, Rok Finger needs the kind of false security only provided by a long barrel .357 Magnum. Now who's dangerous, invisible stalkers in the night? Me, that's who. Not that owning the IROC-Z of guns has been easy. I bought a holster for it, only to realize it doesn't fit in the holster. So I stay up all night and, with Camembert's help, refit the damned holster, only to find out I can't walk properly with the gun in the holster—damn my otherwise perfect height! All that trouble of getting a long barrel gun and I had to saw it off in the end anyway. But I understand that makes it more illegal, which makes it more exciting. I was also dismayed to find out you can't reuse the bullets. I must've wasted about 79 shots before I realized that. I had been picking up all my bullets so I could recycle them—well, I never could get back those 8 shots I fired into that bus. Only then did I find out you have to buy new bullets every time you want to shoot something. Yeah, it's kind of a rip-off. And the best thing ever, now that I'm on the porch most of the night shooting at random animals, I don't see my neighbors so much anymore. None of them, on any side. I suppose the Dickenses are inside their house, shades drawn, reevaluating their takeover of our block. So sleep tight, neighborhood. Rok Finger's on watch now. º Last Column: At War With the Jonesesº more columns
| 
|  June 24, 2002
I Know You Love MeI've always believed that a sense of play is paramount to the health of any long-term relationship. And though some times I may have doubted it, Dan, now I finally understand that you feel exactly the same way.
I have to admit you had me going for a while there, when you "broke up" with me, quit your job and moved to Tacoma. Things got a little weird when you didn't leave a forwarding address and I started to wonder if we were doing okay. But then I remembered how you loved to play-act when we were together, going home from the bar with other girls and conveniently "forgetting" to tell me that you'd changed the all the locks to the apartment. I have to admit; you sure knew how to keep a girl coming back for more! But your little "hard to get" routine didn't fool me then and I wasn't about to let it fool me when I was put to the big test. Before you could say "disappeared in the middle of the night" I was in a Seattle-area private investigator's office, proving just what I was willing to do for your love.
Of course, I wasn't naive enough to think that would be enough: after all, most any girl with a road atlas, a lock picking kit and a flexible career path could track you down in Tacoma and surprise you in your new apartment at three in the morning.
But only the true of heart would endure the endless trips to the police station and rounds of legal maneuvering necessary to prove their conviction over the next several months.

º Last Column: Keep Your Hands Off the President's Money º more columns
I've always believed that a sense of play is paramount to the health of any long-term relationship. And though some times I may have doubted it, Dan, now I finally understand that you feel exactly the same way.
I have to admit you had me going for a while there, when you "broke up" with me, quit your job and moved to Tacoma. Things got a little weird when you didn't leave a forwarding address and I started to wonder if we were doing okay. But then I remembered how you loved to play-act when we were together, going home from the bar with other girls and conveniently "forgetting" to tell me that you'd changed the all the locks to the apartment. I have to admit; you sure knew how to keep a girl coming back for more! But your little "hard to get" routine didn't fool me then and I wasn't about to let it fool me when I was put to the big test. Before you could say "disappeared in the middle of the night" I was in a Seattle-area private investigator's office, proving just what I was willing to do for your love.
Of course, I wasn't naive enough to think that would be enough: after all, most any girl with a road atlas, a lock picking kit and a flexible career path could track you down in Tacoma and surprise you in your new apartment at three in the morning.
But only the true of heart would endure the endless trips to the police station and rounds of legal maneuvering necessary to prove their conviction over the next several months.
You knew I'd come through for you, Dan, and I did. No amount of door slamming, table-lamp swinging or screaming "Back to hell with you, bitch!" could shake from my mind the love I still saw in your eyes. Lesser girls probably would have given up after being shoved off the fire escape, but then of course they wouldn't have been worthy of your love.
A restraining order can send a lot of messages, but if you really wanted me to stay away, I know you would have made sure it was for more than a mere 100 meters. That's practically a Valentine's card, an invitation to buy some high-powered binoculars and peer into your bedroom window from the parking lot of the Taco Bell down the street. You know these little lovers' games drive me wild, you tease!
After all, if you really meant what you said about the end of Fatal Attraction, why would you go to the trouble of installing those electronic sensors in my bed to monitor my masturbations? Or what about the wafer-thin cameras hidden inside the patterns in my wallpaper? That just doesn't make sense.
Everybody thought I'd for sure throw in the towel when you married Darlene, or at least when Alicia and Barnaby were born. But they just don't understand us, Dan. I'm in this for the long haul. My love only goes stronger with every additional test, and with every night spent sleeping on your rooftop, peering down through the skylight until my breath fogs the glass.
Say what you like to the papers, Dan. I know you love me. º Last Column: Keep Your Hands Off the President's Moneyº more columns
|

|  |
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 Movies with Top in the Title| 1. | America's Next Top Hovel: The Movie | | 2. | Top Dog 2: More Chuck Norris and a Talking… What Do You Mean the Dog Can't Talk? | | 3. | Top Nun | | 4. | Pop on Top: A Dirty Cartoon with Rhyming | | 5. | Spinning Yarns: Robin Williams Tells Stories About Tops For Two Fucking Hours | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Jordetta Colgate 12/20/2004 Party GirlParis Hilton can kiss my ass,
since when is that bitch
the Head of the Class?
That greasy skank's a Dennis
who can't bring no menace.
That's if she even knows
what an ass is!
Man, I've got an ass that surpasses,
she barely even has one herself.
You couldn't rest a dime on that shelf.
Girl hasn't got enough crack
to get two midgets high, Jack!
Please guys, if you want a grope
and you enjoy
somebody built like a little boy,
I hear Michael Jackson's
got it going on,
and he's handing out sodas back by the john.
So what if she's got her own show?
I put on twice the show of that ho!
I'll go to church in a bikini...
Hey, who the fuck ganked my...
Paris Hilton can kiss my ass,
since when is that bitch
the Head of the Class?
That greasy skank's a Dennis
who can't bring no menace.
That's if she even knows
what an ass is!
Man, I've got an ass that surpasses,
she barely even has one herself.
You couldn't rest a dime on that shelf.
Girl hasn't got enough crack
to get two midgets high, Jack!
Please guys, if you want a grope
and you enjoy
somebody built like a little boy,
I hear Michael Jackson's
got it going on,
and he's handing out sodas back by the john.
So what if she's got her own show?
I put on twice the show of that ho!
I'll go to church in a bikini...
Hey, who the fuck ganked my martini?
I'm the spoiled party girl sensation,
not that boney old shriveled-up Haitian!
That dinosaur's old enough to drink,
while I can't even legally top off my shrink!
Nuts to her bootleg sex video,
I'm working on my own with Arsenio!
How's that for public humiliation?
As if hers even showed any penetration.
I'm twice as rich and three times as oblivious!
I asked my pharmacist for some "Lascivious."
I thought Dick Clark was our president,
and I return any mail addressed to "resident."
Goddammit, somebody look at me!
I'm making out with that guy from I Heart Huckabees!
I took my top off and am dancing like I Dream of Jeannie!
Fuck it all, who ganked my new martini??
Yo tabloids, get off your asses and detail my exploits!
And you'd better use big fonts like "SEXPLOITS!"
I'm dancing half-naked to this hot new Falco song,
and for a girl of my standing, that's just wrong!
What to I gotta do to get some attention tonight?
You guys have heard of toothpaste, right?
Hey, I got my hair cut like Benito Mussolini's!
All right assholes, who keeps ganking my martinis?   |