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Officials Report Ass-Rape of Iraq Going WellMarch 31, 2003 |
Washington, DC Cody 'Deathwish' Weisbaum No worries, phallic attack is thrusting forward as planned mid reports of increasing U.S. casualties and slowed progress against Iraqi military targets, U.S. officials have made public assurances that the ass-rape of Iraq is proceeding according to schedule.
"U.S. Forces have penetrated Iraq's supple, moist labia of forces and are thrusting toward Baghdad as we speak," confided a disturbingly lusty Gen. Harold Jonas. "We're confident we'll have this bitch putting out by the end of the month."
However, critics of U.S. military planning, including several Gulf War veterans, have suggested that ground forces should have been fortified with at least one more big-dicked Army division before the attacks began.
"The U.S. is coming in like Frasier's wimpy brother Niles, when we should be coming in like Ron fuckin' ...
mid reports of increasing U.S. casualties and slowed progress against Iraqi military targets, U.S. officials have made public assurances that the ass-rape of Iraq is proceeding according to schedule.
"U.S. Forces have penetrated Iraq's supple, moist labia of forces and are thrusting toward Baghdad as we speak," confided a disturbingly lusty Gen. Harold Jonas. "We're confident we'll have this bitch putting out by the end of the month."
However, critics of U.S. military planning, including several Gulf War veterans, have suggested that ground forces should have been fortified with at least one more big-dicked Army division before the attacks began.
"The U.S. is coming in like Frasier's wimpy brother Niles, when we should be coming in like Ron fuckin' Jeremy," confided retired Army Gen. Barry R. Wade, wearing a Fuck 'em all and let God sort 'em out tee shirt purchased at a recent gun show. "Frankly, I just don't see how this limp, flaccid attack force is going to strike ass-raping terror into the hearts of the Iraqis. The Iraqis should be wet with fear at the awe-inspiring sight of our throbbing, gargantuan member. Forces. Member forces."
When asked what in the hell he was talking about, Gen. Wade accused this reporter of being unpatriotic, and possibly homosexual. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.
Army Maj. Gen. Stanley McChrystal, vice chief of operations for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, assured reporters that the U.S. forces were doing fine as presently configured. "You'd be surprised, our boys are doing alright. We've presently got Iraq's skirt up around its waist, with some early reports of penetration. There's been heavy breathing around Nasiriyah and Basra. Iraq's firm, luscious tits have been thoroughly felt-up and it's only a matter of time before she's screaming 'America! America!' at the top of her lungs."
Asked to explain the situation without all of the dense military jargon, McChrystal looked confused for a second then made a vague "humping" motion with his hands and pelvis for the benefit of reporters.
"Besides," McChrystal added nervously, "the current U.S. forces aren't that small."
"The simple fact of the matter is, bigger is always better when it comes to the American military package," countered Gen. Wade with a slightly crazed look in his eye. "The military's current 'Motion of the Ocean' attack plan, based on superior training and battlefield intelligence, can never substitute for an all-out full frontal double-penetration. The whole works: Longjohn helicopter gunships, B12 Cockshocker missiles, Bradley Cherrypoppers… with that overwhelming military girth, Iraq would have no choice but to surrender to our rhythmic military maneuvers. Then that teasing bitch nation would get what's coming to it. Sure, there might be collateral damage to the panties of the region, but that's to be expected. As presently configured, we run the serious risk of prematurely ejaculating, militarily, before reaching Baghdad."
Before being allowed to leave his basement rec room, this reporter was obligated to bear witness to Gen. Wade's private collection of "military training" videos, which included brightly colored covers and titles like Bunker Busters, Operation Desert Sodomy and The Sexual Liberation of Kuwait. the commune news, twelve times more likely to be part of the story than the average news source. Truman Prudy is the commune's prodigal reporter, back from a recent kidnapping and the general uninvestigated assumption that he was dead. the commune news would welcome Prudy back, but he'll probably have disappeared again by the time anyone reads this, so nevermind.
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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 |
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 June 27, 2005
Vernon Hooper's Sixth CentsLet us not tarry, gentle readers, 'cause I knew a guy who tarried once in Vietnam and it got him killed.
In my younger days, for a brief time, I followed the Dead—the rock band, not a group of actual living corpses. Though they did come close in their latter days. Eventually, I gave up that childishness. Now I follow Cheap Trick. Which is hard, because they don't tour as frequently anymore and that drummer is a crafty driver. But I haven't been dissuaded yet.
Have you seen the latest Star Wars movie? I highly doubt it, since I made it myself in my garage only a few days ago. Finally we all get all those questions about Yoda's sex life answered.
What's the deal with napkins? Is anybody actually using these things?
I tried reading a book the other day and, frankly, I wasn't all that impressed. I'm not saying everyone is wrong with all this "books, books, books" praise, but I don't see it myself.
If you are going to shoot the Creature from the Black Lagoon, do you need a hunting license or a fishing license? This assumes, of course, you're doing it by yourself and not part of some angry mob. However, this is the kind of predicament that keeps me up at night. It probably worries the Creature, too.
I am finally finished selling my antique condom collection. I thought I'd never be rid of those things. A bad area to invest your money, let's just say that.
I would never, under any...
º Last Column: Vernon Hooper's Fifth Syphilis º more columns
Let us not tarry, gentle readers, 'cause I knew a guy who tarried once in Vietnam and it got him killed.
In my younger days, for a brief time, I followed the Dead—the rock band, not a group of actual living corpses. Though they did come close in their latter days. Eventually, I gave up that childishness. Now I follow Cheap Trick. Which is hard, because they don't tour as frequently anymore and that drummer is a crafty driver. But I haven't been dissuaded yet.
Have you seen the latest Star Wars movie? I highly doubt it, since I made it myself in my garage only a few days ago. Finally we all get all those questions about Yoda's sex life answered.
What's the deal with napkins? Is anybody actually using these things?
I tried reading a book the other day and, frankly, I wasn't all that impressed. I'm not saying everyone is wrong with all this "books, books, books" praise, but I don't see it myself.
If you are going to shoot the Creature from the Black Lagoon, do you need a hunting license or a fishing license? This assumes, of course, you're doing it by yourself and not part of some angry mob. However, this is the kind of predicament that keeps me up at night. It probably worries the Creature, too.
I am finally finished selling my antique condom collection. I thought I'd never be rid of those things. A bad area to invest your money, let's just say that.
I would never, under any circumstances, hit a woman. Go ahead—tempt me. Give me a free punch, promise me her back will be turned. Have her burn down my house and I still won't do it. I want to point out, of course, using a baseball bat is not counted as hitting by most judges. It's more of a bludgeoning.
I like croutons, but hate salad. What is the answer, my friends?
Johnny Cash was always known as the Man in Black, and probably always will be. It doesn't matter how black you dress, it's just a title that's impossible to wrestle away from him. I tried wearing purple for a year, but I suppose Prince had that all sewn up. I don't know who got fellated to preserve these titles, but I want my own and I'll wear anything, suck anything to get it. The Man in Chartreuse? The Man in Off-White? Let me know, people.
The guitar has reigned for years as the most popular instrument in the world. I say it's high time that tyranny came to an end.
For those who don't know my writing process, I carry a little brown book with me, all the time, in my coat pocket. When the muse strikes, the real muse, not just some bitch hitting me for no reason, I take out my book and scribble a thought down. Of course, getting a pen in here is a lot more difficult than hiding a little brown book. But I'm resourceful.
A reminder, folks: Never volunteer to suck a cock to get something. I make exceptions at times, of course, but it's always a good rule. And for God's sake, if you do, at least get what you were promised before you do it. Fool me once, as they say…
I am no longer welcome back at Cracker Barrel. I can do nothing more than continue to profess my innocence. º Last Column: Vernon Hooper's Fifth Syphilisº more columns
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|  November 24, 2003
You Got Ice in My Greenland! You Got Green in My Iceland!Anyone who's ever showed up naked on the shores of Greenland expecting a lush tropical paradise, only to have his dong bit off by a penguin, is liable to be curious as to how the island got its misleading name. Likewise for any cold-loving Eskimo freak living in Iceland and wondering why his balls are sweating all the time and why everybody makes fun of his bulbous whale-fur parka while they're all kicking it in Hawaiian shirts and jams. The mystery of why Iceland is green and Greenland is icier than Catherine Zeta-Jones' chest cavity is something that has vexed tourists, indiscriminate immigrants and the uninformed for centuries.
The reasons behind this cartographical bait-and-switch date back to ancient times. In 330 B.C., the ancient explorer Pytheas sailed north from France to try and find some place to dump a dead horse that nobody wanted to take off his hands. Back in those days you couldn't just dump a dead horse by the side of the freeway like you can now, there were laws and steep horse-carcass-disposal fees. Pytheas's horse died of shock after walking on the explorer having sex with his wife's hat rack, and so even beyond the expense of paying somebody to dump the corpse off a high cliff, Pytheas was not looking forward to explaining to someone why the horse died with such a surprised look on his face.
So the explorer set out in his ship, with the horse's body in tow, beginning to smell even more ripe than a horse does when alive. Six days...
º Last Column: Why is English So Retarded? º more columns
Anyone who's ever showed up naked on the shores of Greenland expecting a lush tropical paradise, only to have his dong bit off by a penguin, is liable to be curious as to how the island got its misleading name. Likewise for any cold-loving Eskimo freak living in Iceland and wondering why his balls are sweating all the time and why everybody makes fun of his bulbous whale-fur parka while they're all kicking it in Hawaiian shirts and jams. The mystery of why Iceland is green and Greenland is icier than Catherine Zeta-Jones' chest cavity is something that has vexed tourists, indiscriminate immigrants and the uninformed for centuries.
The reasons behind this cartographical bait-and-switch date back to ancient times. In 330 B.C., the ancient explorer Pytheas sailed north from France to try and find some place to dump a dead horse that nobody wanted to take off his hands. Back in those days you couldn't just dump a dead horse by the side of the freeway like you can now, there were laws and steep horse-carcass-disposal fees. Pytheas's horse died of shock after walking on the explorer having sex with his wife's hat rack, and so even beyond the expense of paying somebody to dump the corpse off a high cliff, Pytheas was not looking forward to explaining to someone why the horse died with such a surprised look on his face.
So the explorer set out in his ship, with the horse's body in tow, beginning to smell even more ripe than a horse does when alive. Six days north of Britain, and a day south of the edge of the world where you could peek around to the other side and see the word search puzzle and maze game on the back, Pytheas found a beautiful uncharted island. After taking a quick look around to make sure he didn't see anybody he knew, Pytheas dumped the horse and planted his own personal "Found it!" flag, as a warning to any other explorers inclined to claim the island for their own, and their horses.
Iceland was populated mainly by embarrassing corpses and explorers' flags until the 9th century, when it was settled by Norwegians who brought with them a number of Celts in their luggage. Around this time the island came to be known as Tholböp, an Icelandic word meaning "Land of Easy Women." But the natives there eventually changed the name to "Iceland," so Vikings in the area would look at their maps and say "Fuck that, sounds cold!" and instead carry on their raping and pillaging in Greenland, where they would freeze to death because Greenland is nothing but a big hunk of ice floating out in the ocean. Nobody said the Icelanders didn't have a good sense of humor. This has been evidenced in the high percentage of Icelandic men named Snorri and in the nation's major exports: pet rocks and really hot women who look like Björk.
The half-dozen natives of Greenland didn't appreciate having their island's name changed without being consulted first, but the resulting bumper crop of dead Vikings washing up on their shores soon assuaged all of their concerns. This development served to found Greenland's economy, which was soon booming with the import of dead frozen Vikings and the export of Greenlanders who thought it might be nicer to live somewhere else. Those who remained lived the good life, as much as any life lived in constant oppressive cold on top of a giant hunk of ice can be called good, and they were content to sing songs about snow while huddled inside their igloos made of piles of dead frozen Vikings.
Greenland was originally known as Igapaquk, an Inuit word meaning "Eeh, it's okay." The first colony on the island was founded in 500 B.C. by a lost band of Inuit sailors from Canada who were very pessimistic about their chances of finding something better if they sailed on further. Legend has it that these early inexperienced pilgrims only stayed on Greenland because of a linguistic snafu which caused them to confuse the two meanings of the word "settle," one being to build a colony in a new land and the other to accept something shitty even though you could probably do better.
So now that the globe's great lie has been exposed we can move on to more pressing questions, such as what do they call really nice dishes in China? Stay tuned. º Last Column: Why is English So Retarded?º more columns
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Quote of the Day“1.327493 is the loneliest number. Technically.”
-Inglebert Thomas, Professor of MathematicsFortune 500 CookieYou will quit smoking, but only in hospital nurseries. One step at a time, baby. You will finally lose that unwanted 50 pounds, thanks to a fortuitous kidnapping. The bank won't be your only withdrawal this week, drugnuts. You will believe everything you read.
Try again later.Top Reasons for Honking| 1. | Air-horn busted | | 2. | Thought I saw nipples | | 3. | Rat-in-road! Rat-in-road! | | 4. | Song needed a horn part | | 5. | Lonely | | 6. | That bumper sticker is right! | | 7. | Fluent in Morse code and proud of it | | 8. | Needed to clear path on sidewalk | | 9. | I know that guy! | | 10. | Because I can | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/20/2003 Alright, who ordered the crap? Oh, it's you! America! Well, here you go then:
In Theaters
Darkness Falls
I have to admit I was pretty scared going into this one until I realized that the bad guy wasn't the tooth fairy from that Hannibal Lector book. Once I realized that it was the fuckin' tooth fairy, I broke out the airhorn. The little sprite that leaves you quarters and sells your teeth for serial killers to make into necklaces or whatever she does with them is right up there with Al Gore on my personal list of terrifying movie villains, but I'm happy to say the movie was redeemed by random blurts of high-intensity noise. For a while the audience thought the tooth fairy was...
Alright, who ordered the crap? Oh, it's you! America! Well, here you go then:
In Theaters
Darkness Falls
I have to admit I was pretty scared going into this one until I realized that the bad guy wasn't the tooth fairy from that Hannibal Lector book. Once I realized that it was the fuckin' tooth fairy, I broke out the airhorn. The little sprite that leaves you quarters and sells your teeth for serial killers to make into necklaces or whatever she does with them is right up there with Al Gore on my personal list of terrifying movie villains, but I'm happy to say the movie was redeemed by random blurts of high-intensity noise. For a while the audience thought the tooth fairy was driving a semi truck or something, which was pretty funny, but then I got a little airhorn-happy and had to spend the last half of the movie listening from outside.
A Guy Thing
Pretty hard to keep the storylines straight in this film, which was slightly less confusing than watching Twin Peaks on acid at Disneyland. Jason Lee porks a monkey who used to belong to an organ grinder who's the brother of his fiancée's uncle's dentist, and it's a race against time to keep her from finding out. And at the same time there's a vet who's racing against time to let Jason Lee know that the monkey he porked has the splits, or some kind of banana-eating monkey disease they made up for the movie, whatever they called it. So he's got to stop Lee before he porks again and begins the downfall of mankind. But Jason Lee once teabagged the vet while he was sleeping, and the photos are in the mail so it's a further race against time for Lee to avoid the vet and track down the highly-paranoid mailman before he delivers the package that contains the pictures of Jason Lee teabagging the vet who knows about the monkey who belonged to the brother of his fiancée's uncle's dentist. Bottom line: you have to see it twice to understand how much it sucks.
The Hours
I always wondered how you spelled the Canadian pronunciation of whores, and now I know. Nicole Kidman and a couple of other high-profile women who aren't hot enough to remember star in this disappointing feature that has very little to do with whoring and a lot to do with being boring. Calling it The Bores would have been more fitting, but I guess people would have stayed away because nobody wants to watch another goddamned movie about pigs.
Kangaroo Jack
Jack Nicholson must have a powerful yen for scaring the shit out of little kids, because he's at it again for the second time already this year. First he was terrifyingly middle-aged in About Shit, now he's a goddamned kangaroo. I wasn't sure what to make of a movie that's mainly Jack hopping around and waving his ballsack at people in a threatening manner, but after a while I realized it was all a meditation on America's role in the Middle East and from there on out I enjoyed the film.
National Security
Hilarious September 11th spoof starring Steve Zahn as George W. Bush and Martin Lawrence as Colin Powell. These guys are just in the wrong place at the wrong time all the time and their bumbling attempts to stop an international terror network will leave your pants moist with laughter. The truth hurts, but every once in a while it hurts because you're laughing too hard and your catheter pulled out or whatever. This is all the stuff CNN wouldn't let you see, and I bet that right about now they're kicking themselves that they didn't go with a comedy news format the instant W. got elected. They should show this in grade school and during voter registration.
That's that for this week, check back in two more when we'll measure the diameter of the sun in lousy romantic comedies from 2002. Until then!   |