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Study Shows Test Subjects Real Pricks About StudiesAugust 4, 2003 |
Scientists feign lab work to avoid dealing with test subject pricks waiting in the other room
Conclusions were drawn based on the results of observations of 200 various test subjects at the University of Macon at Macon Georgia. The test pool was narrowed down into groups of 20, with further separation to divide the 20 into two groups of ten, control and actual test subjects. Then varieties of tests in the vein of usual scientific studies conducted at large, well-funded universities were conducted on the test groups while the control groups were allowed to go home and do whatever they wanted. At the end of a three-month long test period interviews and surveys were taken wit...
recent scientific study released Wednesday surprised the research world with the evidence that test subjects as a group are frequently unapologetic dicks about being involved in scientific studies.
Conclusions were drawn based on the results of observations of 200 various test subjects at the University of Macon at Macon Georgia. The test pool was narrowed down into groups of 20, with further separation to divide the 20 into two groups of ten, control and actual test subjects. Then varieties of tests in the vein of usual scientific studies conducted at large, well-funded universities were conducted on the test groups while the control groups were allowed to go home and do whatever they wanted. At the end of a three-month long test period interviews and surveys were taken with all participants and conclusions drawn from the results.
The dominant results among those who participated in test groups were frequent findings of "irritable" or "highly irritable," with occasional high occurrences of "extremely angry" and one or two cases of "violent". Researchers, all of whom had engaged in voluminous tests with subjects on other matters, say findings fit their expectations.
A variety of tests common in scientific research were used. In one test, for instance, participants were subjected to hours of violent television for hours at a time to see if it caused violent feelings in the subjects—it did. In another test, viewers were exposed to looping trailers of Jennifer Lopez theatrical films. This also caused violent feelings among test subjects.
In other tests conducted for the study, subjects were left in rooms with two-way mirrors for ten hours to be observed, to see if this caused irritability. In other tests, the mirror was turned the other way and test subjects allowed to observe the researchers talking about them in the safety of their observation room. This likewise caused irritability. In fact, as results show, there were virtually no conducted tests which did not cause irritability in subjects. The conclusion was vital in proving the case of the University of Macon research team that test subjects are real assholes.
"Before the findings were made public," said research team leader Cal Edwards, "we would talk amongst ourselves about how our day with the participants went. It was easy to postulate hypotheses about whether the test subject was a dick or just being a dick because of the particular test we were running on him. Now we know once and for all they're all just dicks, no matter what test you're running."
Edwards' proof lies heavily in the fact those in the control groups were perfectly friendly when the researchers showed up at their door and asked them their moods. In 80% of all control group cases, subjects described their day as "fine." Of the remaining 20%, subjects frequently described their day as "Enh" or "Could be better," or asked what the researcher was doing at their home.
"Of course," continued Edwards, "knowing they're pricks is only the beginning. It's important to find out why they're pricks when you experiment on them, too. What is it about being removed from normal society, trapped in sterile laboratory facilities, and observed by people who don't tell you anything that makes them pricks? That will require years of further research. Though after the results of this one, I can tell you I'm thinking about getting out of the game altogether. Who needs this kind of bullshit?" the commune news has never been the subject of experiments, though we have to confess a fifteen minute lost-time phenomenon last week possibly attributable to alien abduction. Ramrod Hurley could stand lose a little time himself, not to mention a few pounds.
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 April 29, 2002
Volume 17Dear commune:
Congratulations! You have been selected from the population of high school students for inclusion in this year's Who's Who of American High School Students.
Not just anyone walks away with this prize. The esteemed selection committee, made up of teachers, parents, corporate executives and our cousins, study the records of millions of high school students to find those well-rounded students with high academic marks, extra-curricular activities, and minimal acne. And you fit into that category.
Do not forget to celebrate this occasion with the purchase of a hardbound copy of Who's Who of American High School Students for $39.95 using the included purchase form. Don't let your relatives and loved ones be left out either—select the quantity option for as many copies as you want, and they can all enjoy your success.
The Who's Who of American High School Students
Selection Committee/Sales Team
Dear WWoAHSS:
This sounds like a complete scam to us. Some privately-run company deems us an extraordinary student and wants to sell us a $40 book (or several $40 books) to bask in the glory?
Perhaps we should stress our incredulity by saying we're a collective organization, an alternative news source, and not a high school student in the first place. It's a little ridiculous to see how we could have all gone to high school under one identity, right?
º Last Column: Volume 16
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Dear commune: Congratulations! You have been selected from the population of high school students for inclusion in this year's Who's Who of American High School Students. Not just anyone walks away with this prize. The esteemed selection committee, made up of teachers, parents, corporate executives and our cousins, study the records of millions of high school students to find those well-rounded students with high academic marks, extra-curricular activities, and minimal acne. And you fit into that category. Do not forget to celebrate this occasion with the purchase of a hardbound copy of Who's Who of American High School Students for $39.95 using the included purchase form. Don't let your relatives and loved ones be left out either—select the quantity option for as many copies as you want, and they can all enjoy your success. The Who's Who of American High School Students
Selection Committee/Sales TeamDear WWoAHSS:
This sounds like a complete scam to us. Some privately-run company deems us an extraordinary student and wants to sell us a $40 book (or several $40 books) to bask in the glory?
Perhaps we should stress our incredulity by saying we're a collective organization, an alternative news source, and not a high school student in the first place. It's a little ridiculous to see how we could have all gone to high school under one identity, right?
Still, it will look real good on our high school transcripts. Sign us up for one—no! Two. Two. Maybe we'll get more at a later date.
the commune
Dear commune: Hi there. I'm Chevy Chase and you're not. Just kidding. I only wanted to write in and say how much I love the commune, I think it's great. It's the last place I turn for informative news, heh. I'm not sure if I'm your first celebrity letter or not, but it would be great to fill that place on the commune wall of fame. I've seen some of those news articles you've got about celebrities like Paul McCartney and Jewel, so all I can ask ahead of time… go easy on me! Heh. Okay, the jig's up. I'm not Chevy Chase, and you're not either, but I'm actually Chevy Chase lookalike Fred Coogan. I should say professional Chevy Chase lookalike, I get paid to show up at business meetings and such and pretend to be Chevy Chase for a good laugh. Still, I bet I had you going there! Fred Coogan
Milwaukee, WIDear Fred:
Thank you for your delightful attempt at deception. In the future, might we suggest something like… oh, I don't know… a picture included or something? It's hard to say your beer-stained hand-scribbled letter actually had us fooled for longer than two seconds. Although Red Bagel himself thinks you are Chevy Chase just trying to disguise your tracks halfway through an ill-conceived letter. Already we feel it was ill-conceived to print it, but we're short on material.
the commune
Dear commune: Ed Phillips here again. I am being brutally beaten by a gathering a villagers armed with torches. I would appreciate any help I can get from you, thank you kindly. Also, I figure I can put an educational spin on all this asking the kids out there to never leave the house in a small European village with bolts on your neck. Especially a house that looks like a castle. Thanks again. Ed Phillips
Hackensack, NJ
Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for starting the fire. We've heard it's been burning since the world's been turning, though judging by the quick denial you might want to take another look at Billy Joel.º Last Column: Volume 16º more columns
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|  September 30, 2002
No Credit Card for ClarissaIn all ladylike honesty, this is bullshit! I had a hit TV show, I've done some pretty notable movies like Return to Skank Mountain, and my pictures as a kid look so much like Little Debbie they officially have to pay me royalties. Why the hell can't I get a credit card?
I would say it's racism, but I'm pretty sure all the credit card companies are mostly run by white people. And I basically pass for a white person, nobody really cares about if my granddad is Puerto Rican and my step-mom is Navajo. I can't really say it's genderism, or whatever that word is either, since my official birth name is Charles Coleman since my mother couldn't spell "Clarissa." Unless they have in my credit report that I somewhere attempted to buy large quantities of tampons or a girl's bike or something they wouldn't know I'm a woman.
Which leads me to the obvious conclusion I'm dealing with star-ism. Someone at the credit card deciding branch, the place where they pick who gets and doesn't get a credit card, they figured out I'm Clarissa Coleman the B-grade or higher actress and refused me the dignity of a credit card. My reputation is torn to pieces like so much duck-feeding bread and they humiliate me on paper because they hate celebrities.
It's ridiculous discrimination. I wonder if Tom Cruise goes through this sort of thing. Goes in to get a gas card so he can stop at the BP when he doesn't have any cash and they give him a big fat "No!" stamp. He's like,...
º Last Column: I've Been Scammed, Pulp Fiction-Style
º more columns
In all ladylike honesty, this is bullshit! I had a hit TV show, I've done some pretty notable movies like Return to Skank Mountain, and my pictures as a kid look so much like Little Debbie they officially have to pay me royalties. Why the hell can't I get a credit card?
I would say it's racism, but I'm pretty sure all the credit card companies are mostly run by white people. And I basically pass for a white person, nobody really cares about if my granddad is Puerto Rican and my step-mom is Navajo. I can't really say it's genderism, or whatever that word is either, since my official birth name is Charles Coleman since my mother couldn't spell "Clarissa." Unless they have in my credit report that I somewhere attempted to buy large quantities of tampons or a girl's bike or something they wouldn't know I'm a woman.
Which leads me to the obvious conclusion I'm dealing with star-ism. Someone at the credit card deciding branch, the place where they pick who gets and doesn't get a credit card, they figured out I'm Clarissa Coleman the B-grade or higher actress and refused me the dignity of a credit card. My reputation is torn to pieces like so much duck-feeding bread and they humiliate me on paper because they hate celebrities.
It's ridiculous discrimination. I wonder if Tom Cruise goes through this sort of thing. Goes in to get a gas card so he can stop at the BP when he doesn't have any cash and they give him a big fat "No!" stamp. He's like, "I'm Tom Cruise! I have bundles of cash! Thousands of dollars!" They're all shaking their heads, smirking their middle-class heads off, and they get to go home thinking they really stuck it to Rain Man's brother today. Screw that!
I thought this was the land of the freebie and all that. Where's my credit card? I slogged through countless hours of trying to remember my lines and fixing my own make-up when the idiot lady couldn't cover up the bags under my eyes after an all-nighter, and this is the thanks I get? I don't think America appreciates its celebrities. I fought hard for this country, you know—in the pages of Entertainment Weekly and on the cut celluloid of Police Academy VIII: Back in Blue Again. Where's my parade? Hell, forget the parade, where's my Master Card?
All I want to do is buy some lousy vest worn by Robert Plant on the latest Plant-Page tour on eBay, is that beyond my scope? I make a decent penny from my acting and the commune pays for the gas to auditions and stuff. I can afford a $300 Robert Plant vest, you know. I shouldn't have to beg and scrape and go to the Shell station for a money order when I've worked this hard. I deserve a credit card. We all deserve credit cards.
That's right, I'm speaking for everybody out there. The Sean Connerys, the Jennifer Anistons, the Baldwin Brotherses—even the Screeches. Can't Screech catch a break? And what about me? Let's not forget me. In fact, let's focus on me. Let Screech and Jennifer Aniston write their own commune columns.
You know, it occurs to me that it may not be celebrity-related at all. I listed my positions and salaries as an actress and commune columnist—is that it? Is it because I write for the commune I can't catch a credit card break? A clear-cut case of commune-ism.
The more I think about it, the more I'm sure that's what it is. Nobody at the commune has a credit card. Not that I could blame the Visa people. I wouldn't trust them to pay me back enough for a local phone call.
Hey, Visa, if you ever want more detailed financial information on these dildos, let me know. You slide a little $600-limit action my way and I can be an endless source of info about these deadbeats. One lousy little credit card, that's all I ask. º Last Column: I've Been Scammed, Pulp Fiction-Styleº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I never met a man I didn't like, want to kill.”
-Dill "California Angst" WongersFortune 500 CookieYou will fall in love with a new douche this week, a fact that unfortunately has nothing at all to do with feminine hygiene. Try to pay more attention to your figure: word on the street is you're upgrading from "pear-shaped" to "sack of shit-y." You will finally come to understand the phrase "fifteen men on a dead man's chest" this week, thanks to an unfortunate dogpile mishap. Your lucky perfumes: Colonic for Men, Goat's Dong, Eau Du Crapper.
Try again later.Top T.V. Shows| 1. | Friends, NBC | | 2. | New Friends, NBC | | 3. | Wilma & Non-Threatening Abstinent Gay Man, NBC | | 4. | Black Friends, UPN | | 5. | Star Truck: Interstate, UPN | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/11/2002 What's the haps, America? Like all other entertainophiles out there I was glued to the TV for the Winona Ryder trial. Who could believe they would find her guilty, just because they had her on tape and caught her in a few lies? Let the message go out to all celebrities: If you are no longer on the A-list and try to get away with a misdemeanor crime, YOU WILL PAY.
There, sorry to get so serious on everybody. But now for the fun stuff—movie city, here we come!
In Theaters
8 Miles of M&Ms
If I've said it before, that's one time I said it: I don't watch documentaries. They're always the same boring thing, some political message against CEOs of car and shoe companies or...
What's the haps, America? Like all other entertainophiles out there I was glued to the TV for the Winona Ryder trial. Who could believe they would find her guilty, just because they had her on tape and caught her in a few lies? Let the message go out to all celebrities: If you are no longer on the A-list and try to get away with a misdemeanor crime, YOU WILL PAY.
There, sorry to get so serious on everybody. But now for the fun stuff—movie city, here we come!
In Theaters
8 Miles of M&Ms
If I've said it before, that's one time I said it: I don't watch documentaries. They're always the same boring thing, some political message against CEOs of car and shoe companies or some film crew getting lost in the woods looking for a witch. But when a movie's good, it's good regardless, and 8 Miles of M&Ms is amazing! Allow me to get the obligatory quote for the commercial ball rolling by saying, " 8 Miles of M&Ms is a sure-fire Oscar contender—no, winner! Winner! It does for rap music and M&Ms what E.T. & T. did for phone companies and Reese's Pieces." Wow, that kicked ass. I'll expect my name to be included on the guest list for some of those Hollywood premieres from now on.
The Santa Clause 2
I was not a big fan of the first installment of this franchise, even though I love that Buzz Lightyear in almost anything. But this one is a big improvement. The whole premise of the movie—that Santa Claus spends his other 364 days as a trial lawyer in civil litigation suits—is pretty sketchy, but this one is livened up by a dramatic drinking problem as ol' Santa Claus proves even though he's a lawyer he can't pass a bar. Donner and Blitzen's intervention is a real tear-jerker, and not to ruin the ending or anything, but it's all worth watching just to see what that curmudgeony old judge gets in his stocking.
Punch-Drunk Love
Why can't everyone just leave Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston alone? Sure, she's a crack addict with a darling voice and he's a brutal, talentless lump who whips her ass like he's paid to do it, but I wouldn't want everybody sticking their nose into my private life if I married a more talented celebrity then started abusing her, driving her into drug abuse. As a film, the melodrama is in full effect, but you have to admit casting Adam Sandler was a brave choice, though I will always prefer Whitney's version of "The Bodyguard Song" to his.
I Spy
I hope somebody got his ass handed to him for this clunker of a movie. Remember when I said I wish Hollywood would try something daring and different? Well, I take it back, they should stick to formulaic and proven. When they try to do something new it's always crap like this, a 90-minute version of the famous car trip game. An hour and a half straight of a filmed trip to Wisconsin, and we're all supposed to have fun pointing out things on the screen and hoping our seat neighbors can guess it from our clues. Bump that! The good news is that the dismal failure of this one has resulted in Hollywood scrapping its planned film version of "The License Plate Game."
Femme Fatale
You know the Roland McShyster motto, "If it's French, don't see it"? I broke that rule of mine when I saw a poster for this one with that sexy Rebecca Romaine-Lettuce on it, and I'm glad I did. What a kick-ass movie! The French didn't screw this one up, amazingly enough. Sexy Steve Buscemi is a cyber geek whose girlish throw gets him routinely pounded on by a bunch of frat guys, until a magic genie (Rebecca whosits) turns things around. Now Steve can kill whoever gives him any backtalk, and he becomes an inspiring role model for all the geeks around him. I love it when jocks get the tables turned on them and creepy weirdoes end up with superhot model chicks.
That's a bag of movies, collected and finely crushed into powder by yours truly for your entertainment pleasure. But don't leave me to have all the fun, America! Get out there and see some movies of your own, or make them, if you have a friend. Just don't show them to me.   |
