|  | 
 April 14, 2003 |
Baghdad, Iraq Ivan Nacutchacokov Want me to check your brake fluid while I'm up here, Mr. Saddam? No, seriously, troops tore the son of a bitch down in short work.
"It is the happiest day in the history of Iraq," said an unidentified translator. "For years Iraq was a free country under British rule, and then Saddam took over and we lived under his repressive, anti-American regime. Now we are liberated under America!"
Many Iraqi citizens showed support of the U.S. by liberating oppressed televisions, stereos, and office supply furniture from local stores. One U.S. serviceman said the si...
ollowing the Wednesday claiming of Baghdad by U.S. forces, pro-America sentiment has surged all around the media and certain circles in the city. Iraqis everywhere are extremely delighted to come and support the armed troops in their city and the possible death of Saddam Hussein. But the larger issue for most is the fall of Hussein's regime.
"It is the happiest day in the history of Iraq," said an unidentified translator. "For years Iraq was a free country under British rule, and then Saddam took over and we lived under his repressive, anti-American regime. Now we are liberated under America!"
Many Iraqi citizens showed support of the U.S. by liberating oppressed televisions, stereos, and office supply furniture from local stores. One U.S. serviceman said the sight brought a tear to his eye and reminded him of his hometown, Los Angeles.
Also liberated by days of American bombings are the country's electricity and water lines, countless physical structures, and many Iraqi people. Most notable among the missing and possibly-dead is Saddam Hussein and one or more of his two sons, Uday and Odai. Others that may have been in the bombed bunker with Hussein were cousins, uncles, nephews, and half-brothers Tumay, Uskay, Ajay, Ebay, Uxay, Umay, Igay, Ogay, Ugay, Imai, and Garfield.
When asked to clarify, field leader Gen. Tony "Iron Shoes" Credenza replied, "We believe it was a very large bunker, with lots of seating space."
The outpouring of public support for the U.S. strikes many as vindication of the war on Iraq. Despite the antagonism between Western countries raised by the invasion, the rift in the American population, the outrageous price tag to the war, the 100-plus American dead and many wounded and imprisoned, the countless dead and wounded on Iraq's side, the likelihood of producing stronger anti-Americanism in Arab countries, and the lack of attention given to domestic issues, many agree the footage of Saddam Hussein statues being torn down is quite impressive.
"It is an exhilarating feeling to destroy images of Saddam that have lorded over us for so long," said a 60-something Iraqi citizen with a good grasp of English. "Also I am glad the American troops are tearing down that George Bush welcome mat. I offered to destroy it myself with my sledgehammer, but they didn't bite."
Several in military intelligence are worried about reports that Hussein might not have been killed as believed, but escaped with key Iraqi officials into neighboring Syria. President Bush issued a warning to Syrian leaders in the wake of such reports that if they offered protection to Hussein or any top Iraqi leaders they would be considered no better than American protestors.
Elsewhere in the war, U.S. forces continued to search for chemical or potential nuclear weapons as the troops push northward and have yet to discover any proof of weapons of mass destruction. Early reports of chemical weapons found last week turned out to most likely be chemicals for agricultural purposes; however, the discovery of 50 "suicide bomber" vests gave the White House hope.
"We may have been misquoted in our statement of purpose," said White House spin doctor Murph Harris. "We were actually searching for weapons of meager destruction. And these definitely count." the commune news is currently embedded in our office, and we'll be on the scene to let you know if anything happens. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the commune's foreign correspondent and we're glad those U.S. troops liberated him from that pile of debris so he could send us his report.
 |
Iraq perfectly quiet all week
 You've Got Mail, Iran's Got Nukes
Amazing new Atlas shoulders even more of this burden called Earth
New cell phone/boning knife combo a painful tech hit
|
Pope Swears God Will Punish Drug Dealers With Poor-Quality Shit Vintage Dell to Grace Smithsonian's New What the Fuck Were We Thinking? Wing Isaac Hayes Recognized on Bad Mother’s Day 'Paris Hilton Autopsy' Sculpture Signed to Three-Picture Deal |
| |
| 
 March 26, 2012
Return to Zender (Week 50)Greetings, communistas. First and foremost, I must apologize for my absence and the hellish disrepair this site has fallen into in said absence. I had an unfortunate run-in with a Taco Bell Volcano Box and have spent the past few months in the loving care of the Shanesly/Rupert Valley Regional Memorial Hospital. Some might argue that four months is a longer than necessary stay for a common case of food poisoning, but just like the anti-drowning safety labels on all the bottled water sold in town say, we like to be careful here in Shanesly. And really there was no harm done, as I’m sure my birthday party magician’s guild insurance will more than cover the expenses.
The story of how all of this happened is far too graphic for young and impressionable readers, but suffice it to say that Volcano box lived up to its name and turned my box into a veritable volcano, overflowing with flaming human effluvia, if by box you understand I mean my asshole. I realize the term is usually reserved for a woman’s vaginal area, but I imagine gay guys or somebody somewhere calls a man’s ass a box as well, so there you go. Here at the commune headquarters, the inmates were left to run the asylum while I was gone, and I suppose it comes as no great shock that the inmates did a real half-assed job of asylum running. It doesn’t look like we’ve published much, but the staff somewhat made up for that by adding a wet, rotting Nerf refrigerator to my back yard, which apparently...
º Last Column: Return to Zender (Week 24)
º more columns
Greetings, communistas. First and foremost, I must apologize for my absence and the hellish disrepair this site has fallen into in said absence. I had an unfortunate run-in with a Taco Bell Volcano Box and have spent the past few months in the loving care of the Shanesly/Rupert Valley Regional Memorial Hospital. Some might argue that four months is a longer than necessary stay for a common case of food poisoning, but just like the anti-drowning safety labels on all the bottled water sold in town say, we like to be careful here in Shanesly. And really there was no harm done, as I’m sure my birthday party magician’s guild insurance will more than cover the expenses.
The story of how all of this happened is far too graphic for young and impressionable readers, but suffice it to say that Volcano box lived up to its name and turned my box into a veritable volcano, overflowing with flaming human effluvia, if by box you understand I mean my asshole. I realize the term is usually reserved for a woman’s vaginal area, but I imagine gay guys or somebody somewhere calls a man’s ass a box as well, so there you go. Here at the commune headquarters, the inmates were left to run the asylum while I was gone, and I suppose it comes as no great shock that the inmates did a real half-assed job of asylum running. It doesn’t look like we’ve published much, but the staff somewhat made up for that by adding a wet, rotting Nerf refrigerator to my back yard, which apparently has a pack of ferrets living inside of it. I’m afraid to ask where that thing came from, or why Nerf ever made flexible, spongy refrigerators. Whatever the reason, now it’s a collapsed floppy mess in the back yard that squeaks menacingly whenever you walk near it.
On the bright side, several more commune regulars wandered blindly back into the fray during my absence. Vernon Hooper accosted Raoul Dunkin at a local Denny’s, mistaking him inexplicably for Rick Santorum. Freelance freeballers Ella Dipthong and Chals Woodland both sent in columns via the teletype system for deaf people that Mitch Kroeger stole from the old folks’ home he had been pretending to be old to live in, rent-free, for the last few years. In other words, we’ve got all your old non-favorites. When it comes to re-configuring the commune, corralling the old staff has proved to be much easier than expected, since they all seem to be drawn to no pay and ill repute like fat, juicy moths to a house-sized bug zapper. Getting them to do their goddamned moth jobs once they’re incapacitated and twitching on the ground is another story entirely. But at least they’re fumbling their way through the door, even when I’m not here to explain that the doggie door is for dogs only and that Mountain Dew Code Red in the fridge is most certainly not for the dog, as evidenced by the jittery red sprays of dog urine everywhere.
I even received a telegram from Red Bagel the other day, which simply read "HE’S COMING." That’s literally what it said, apparently Red still believes in the power of referring to himself in the third person. The telegram was most impressive for the fact that no telegraph services exist any more in modern times, apparently Bagel had to email the message to some local chunkhead, who then typed it out on some telegraph paper he bought at a garage sale.
The excitement around here would be even more palpable if I wasn’t the only one who remembers who Red Bagel is.
Anyway, it’s great to be back. I’d love to say this will never happen again, but Taco Bell has recently added a Dorito-shell taco to their menu, and we both know it’s only a matter of time before that thing is making babies in my stomach. Until then, we here at the commune will endeavor to provide the high degree of timely journalism you are in no way accustomed to from the commune. Set your eyeballs to "stunned"!
Zincerely,
Emil Zender º Last Column: Return to Zender (Week 24)º more columns
| 
|  October 28, 2002
GET UP!"GET UP!"
screamed the miter
(a miniature mote)
who'd grown up in the bottom
of the back of a boat.
"RISE!"
cried the tiny little segmented man
whose hat was bright purple,
but his body was tan.
"HUZZAH!"
he repeated, at the top of his lungs
the very tip top,
so loud it rattled his bung.
"GOOD MORNING!"
he shouted.
"MOOD GORNING!"
he out-snouted
through the reverberant caverns of his nose
as he screamed and he scramped
and he ripped off his clothes.
"BRRRRRANT!"
on his bugle he bugled the note.
Then he honked out a ditty
that he'd recently wrote.
Into his mega he phoned
and he bellowed and moaned
as he screeched and he warbled
like a boy band on fire
and he pierced the sky with high notes
like a castrated choir.
He jumped and he leaped
as he stomped and he beeped,
making such a racket as to wake up the dead
who would wake with a ring and a buzz in their heads.
But even when threw a drum kit down the stairs
and gave untuned tubas to the back-country bears
and told the hyenas a side-splitting joke
and he banged on his gong till his gong-banger broke,
on his chalk board he screeched a quarry's worth of chalk
and he gave the loud-talkers a license to talk
and he shoved a canoe...
º Last Column: Mouse in My House
º more columns
"GET UP!"
screamed the miter
(a miniature mote)
who'd grown up in the bottom
of the back of a boat.
"RISE!"
cried the tiny little segmented man
whose hat was bright purple,
but his body was tan.
"HUZZAH!"
he repeated, at the top of his lungs
the very tip top,
so loud it rattled his bung.
"GOOD MORNING!"
he shouted.
"MOOD GORNING!"
he out-snouted
through the reverberant caverns of his nose
as he screamed and he scramped
and he ripped off his clothes.
"BRRRRRANT!"
on his bugle he bugled the note.
Then he honked out a ditty
that he'd recently wrote.
Into his mega he phoned
and he bellowed and moaned
as he screeched and he warbled
like a boy band on fire
and he pierced the sky with high notes
like a castrated choir.
He jumped and he leaped
as he stomped and he beeped,
making such a racket as to wake up the dead
who would wake with a ring and a buzz in their heads.
But even when threw a drum kit down the stairs
and gave untuned tubas to the back-country bears
and told the hyenas a side-splitting joke
and he banged on his gong till his gong-banger broke,
on his chalk board he screeched a quarry's worth of chalk
and he gave the loud-talkers a license to talk
and he shoved a canoe through a tight leather shoe
and he told teenage girls they were bathing in poo
and he amplified a donkey to the power of six
and he beat the complainer at a game of pick-up sticks,
he alarmed an alarm
and he pantsed a school marm
and he dropped twelve ball bearings on an aluminum barn
and he crept into the pope's bedroom and he screamed "DARN!"
still
Roofer McGoofer McGoo
slept
and he slept.
Goddamn dog. º Last Column: Mouse in My Houseº more columns
|
| |
Quote of the Day“Let my nizzles go!”
-Moses Harper, on 19th StreetFortune 500 CookieIron lung, shmiron lung—that guy had it coming. Don't bother with that waiting list for Oxford—Kentucky Fried Chicken College wants you now. It's fish or die again this week—same ol', same ol'. Lucky religions: Buddhism, Paganism, Mormonism, worshipping Isaac Hayes
Try again later.Top Five Worst Things to Hear in an Iraqi Prison| 1. | "Oh, wow! Hold still, let me get my camera!" | | 2. | "From now on, the conduct of corrections officers will be supervised by Private Pyle." | | 3. | "Looks like we're going to be here a while. Good thing I brought my harmonica." | | 4. | "These tattoos? Aryan Brotherhood." | | 5. | "And another thing—you jokers have cried 'Rape!' once too often. I'm not falling for it anymore." | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 4/4/2005 El Vita Loca, commune readers! Whatever that means, it's time for some more Entertainment Police fun. And nobody needs a translator to know what that means! Unless they've never heard of Entertainment Police before. But even then a translator wouldn't help, they'd need somebody more along the lines of those guys that do the recap at the beginning of TV shows, like "Last week, on Entertainment Police…" Hmm. I wonder if there's a market for that? I've got a pretty good speaking voice, according to the telemarketers who keep trying to sign me up for some scam broadcasting college. And I think I've got a better-than-average grasp on what happened last week on Entertainment Police. Unless it was one of Welch's columns, I still need to get around to reading those. Right after I finish...
El Vita Loca, commune readers! Whatever that means, it's time for some more Entertainment Police fun. And nobody needs a translator to know what that means! Unless they've never heard of Entertainment Police before. But even then a translator wouldn't help, they'd need somebody more along the lines of those guys that do the recap at the beginning of TV shows, like "Last week, on Entertainment Police…" Hmm. I wonder if there's a market for that? I've got a pretty good speaking voice, according to the telemarketers who keep trying to sign me up for some scam broadcasting college. And I think I've got a better-than-average grasp on what happened last week on Entertainment Police. Unless it was one of Welch's columns, I still need to get around to reading those. Right after I finish cleaning out my trunk and alphabetizing my frozen burrito collection, I swear.
In Theaters Now:
Beaver Pitch
The Farley Brothers have taken a lack of taste to a new, stratospheric level with their latest addition to their "Honk in Your Popcorn" genre of films, this time starring that charismatic "Gellin' like a Felon" guy from the Dr. Scholl's commercials as a life-long Red Sox fan who blows his brains out a week before they end up winning the World Series. Trust me; it plays funnier on the screen than it does on paper. The Farleys even recover nicely from the structural gaffe of having their main character apply the lead Q-tip within the first ten minutes of the film by making the rest of the movie about funny baseball stuff. The first feature film to drop the bombshell that most baseball players just want to get laid, Beaver Pitch strikes a nice balance between serious social commentary about sports' place in society and jokes about a guy accidentally gargling with a glass of David Ortiz's cum. Speaking of which, all the real-life baseball players are believable as real-life baseball players, the actors are believable as actors, and Drew Barrymore is likable as the beaver.
Booty Shop
Finally, Brit rock legends Queen have been allowed to make the movie that's been festering in their imaginations for years, about a whorehouse in Compton staffed by sassy black chicks with plenty of ass to go around. Ass, and hips, elbows, hamhocks, really all proportions are amply represented in these women. Don't ask me, I guess Queen just like 'em large. The film's story is really just a mosquito-net-thin excuse to string together a series of rousing musical numbers that justify having Queen hang around the whorehouse all the time as the house band, cracking wise in their impenetrable British accents. I don't have any idea what any of them said during any part of the film, but the way they said it was hilarious. Although the film doesn't feature nearly enough sex to please most fans of whorehouse pictures, it more than makes up for this shortcoming by featuring at least seven times more Brian May than the average entry in this genre.
Sim City
I don't know about you, but when I was sitting in front of my Atari 2600 console as a child, gamely destroying my carpel tunnels in the pursuit of a 999 score, never once did my mind stir up thoughts like "Man, I bet Breakout would make a great movie!" or "Gee whiz, wouldn't Tom Selleck be great as the lead in a filmed adaptation of Combat?" Mostly I was just thinking about how cool it would be to be able to shoot giant rubber bullets at other cars on the freeway. But the Hollywood producers of today were apparently dreaming far different dreams during their formative years, scheming to adapt even the most unlikely source material into stiff, unwatchable cinema. Such is the case with the newly released Sim City, a movie adaptation of the popular PC title where you run other people's lives and end up just sitting and staring at your computer, watching your virtual people sit and stare at their computers while they control the lives of a town of virtual electric Smurfs in the game's game-within-a-game, Smurftual Reality. As you can imagine, this all makes for thrilling cinema when you add Bruce Willis, Mauricio Del Toro in Smurface, and $100 million in special effects.
And that's all the movie madness we've got the time or interest for this week, America, but be sure to tune in next time when I'll have the full scoop on the rumor that's been going around about the Supreme Court ordering Pauley Shore's food tube to be removed. Until then!   |
