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December 12, 2005 |
Baltimore, MD Junior Bacon An undated file photo of amateur philosopher Phillip Flaggart, who at the time of the taking had never been out on a date. illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as "A picture's worth a thousand words," and "Why buy milk when you have a cow at home?"
"A picture's worth a thousand words," repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. "That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know."
Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was dr...
illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as "A picture's worth a thousand words," and "Why buy milk when you have a cow at home?" "A picture's worth a thousand words," repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. "That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know." Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said "A picture's worth a thousand words" and didn't know what he was talking about. "Phil had a real talent for being misunderstood as more profound than he really was," explained Flaggart's late wife, Lucious. "I remember that night, and what Phil said was 'That picture's worth a thousand bucks,' referring to a blurry Polaroid he carried around that was supposedly a picture of Farrah Fawcet's left tit." Flaggart fans remain undeterred, however. "Don't even talk to his wife," sneered Tudd. "She's never been a pro-Flaggart." Lucious Flaggart retells a similar story about another famous saying attributed to her late husband, "In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes." "He was standing in line for a movie in New York, and Andy Warhol overheard him say what he thought was 'In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes,' a line which Warhol then stole for himself. Luckily for Andy, he didn't hear what Phil actually said: that in about fifteen years, miniature furniture was going to be really popular. Phil never knew what he was talking about. He was drinking a lot back then, too." Whether Flaggart was a genius or a boob, he's definitely dead now, a fact upon which even the pro-Flaggarts and the Flaggart-doubters can agree. "Dead, misunderstood genius," summarized Tudd. "Dead moron," disagreed a solemn Eugene Frits, a leading Flaggart-doubter and roommate to Dennis Tudd. "Maybe he was autistic, you ever think of that?" retorted Tudd, just before the interview grew ugly. "Maybe you should kiss my ass and do your own dishes for once, buttfuzz," explained an agitated Frits, moments before this reporter ducked out the fire escape to the sound of breaking dishes, heeding the Flaggartism about getting the fuck out while the getting the fuck out is good. the commune news doesn't know what the fuck that last story was about either, so don't you dare come around asking us. Ramon Nootles is not unaccustomed to turning in stories revolving around things that happened to him while in strange apartments, but this is the first time there weren't any half-drunk cocktail waitresses or foxy surprise transvestites involved.
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 November 25, 2002
Volume 30Dear Commune:
You have my phone number. You, the commune. You need to call the phone company and straighten this out. I've had the same phone number for 42 years and I'm NOT about to give it up. Thank you.
Agnes Knutson Bromade, NJ
Dear Agnes:
We here at the commune are very sorry to hear that your life has become interesting in a way that makes you mildly uncomfortable. Obviously, we'll call the phone company right away and make sure they restore to you the number you've earned by staying in the same miserable place for your entire life. Pssssh! Right! You can stuff it up your ass with the nice old lady act, lady. We here at the commune pay our bills, biiiiatch, and if you see fit to bring your mess all up in our shit again you will be introduced to some mad hurtin'. Damn. Also, tell your withered old biddy friends to stop calling here, they keep kicking us off the Internet.
the...
º Last Column: Volume 29 º more columns
Dear Commune: You have my phone number. You, the commune. You need to call the phone company and straighten this out. I've had the same phone number for 42 years and I'm NOT about to give it up. Thank you. Agnes Knutson Bromade, NJDear Agnes:
We here at the commune are very sorry to hear that your life has become interesting in a way that makes you mildly uncomfortable. Obviously, we'll call the phone company right away and make sure they restore to you the number you've earned by staying in the same miserable place for your entire life. Pssssh! Right! You can stuff it up your ass with the nice old lady act, lady. We here at the commune pay our bills, biiiiatch, and if you see fit to bring your mess all up in our shit again you will be introduced to some mad hurtin'. Damn. Also, tell your withered old biddy friends to stop calling here, they keep kicking us off the Internet.
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for anything we got your kids to eat. Lengthy precedent has established that U.S. courts consider a triple dog dare to be legally binding.º Last Column: Volume 29º more columns
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|  September 15, 2003
The Return of Boguslaw SadowskiWell, well, well, if it isn't Boguslaw Sadowski—actually, it is. Or someone who looks incredibly like him.
That's correct, good people, my old nemesis, 40 years my junior, has returned: Boguslaw Sadowski. Also known as "the mad Russian," when he gets extremely pissed off. He may not actually be Russian, but I'm not here to argue semites. All I know is he's my arch-enemy and the stakes in this game of me vs. the mob are raised considerably.
You may remember Boguslaw Sadowski posed as a woman on the internet and tricked me into paying for his flight over here from Eurasia—at least you might remember it if it happened to you. He broke my heart that day. I was all set to meet the most unconventionally beautiful woman of my life and make her my bride, only to find out I had been conned by one of the best. Sure, things work out for the better in the long run, and I met my darling Felchyana, which brings me to my current mixed-up with the mob existence. So maybe things work out for the best only to backslide into the territory of terminally fucked up once again.
But I'm rambling, which is unlike me. What's important is that although ostensibly nothing has changed, things have changed considerably. In addition to trying to find a way out of new mob family and still keep my new wife, I now have my latest worst enemy breathing down my neck.
Boguslaw is unattractive—large and burly, a pock-marked face, iron jaw, slick...
º Last Column: Not My Bag, Man º more columns
Well, well, well, if it isn't Boguslaw Sadowski—actually, it is. Or someone who looks incredibly like him.
That's correct, good people, my old nemesis, 40 years my junior, has returned: Boguslaw Sadowski. Also known as "the mad Russian," when he gets extremely pissed off. He may not actually be Russian, but I'm not here to argue semites. All I know is he's my arch-enemy and the stakes in this game of me vs. the mob are raised considerably.
You may remember Boguslaw Sadowski posed as a woman on the internet and tricked me into paying for his flight over here from Eurasia—at least you might remember it if it happened to you. He broke my heart that day. I was all set to meet the most unconventionally beautiful woman of my life and make her my bride, only to find out I had been conned by one of the best. Sure, things work out for the better in the long run, and I met my darling Felchyana, which brings me to my current mixed-up with the mob existence. So maybe things work out for the best only to backslide into the territory of terminally fucked up once again.
But I'm rambling, which is unlike me. What's important is that although ostensibly nothing has changed, things have changed considerably. In addition to trying to find a way out of new mob family and still keep my new wife, I now have my latest worst enemy breathing down my neck.
Boguslaw is unattractive—large and burly, a pock-marked face, iron jaw, slick jet-black hair parted down the middle and a nose worn away by years of fisticuffs. The same features I found so attractive when I thought him a woman are now reprehensible and threatening. He is what the ancient Greeks meant when they coined the phrase, "a man not to be fucked with."
I wish I had that luxury. And a speedboat. But time is slippin' into the future and I'm running short on ideas. As if things weren't bad enough, now in addition to finding a way to take out Yogi and the rest of the ambiguously Russian mafia, I must contend with the world's most intimidating 5-foot noseless mobster.
I sought out Omar Bricks' advice, being something of a young ruffian himself, and I believe what he said was quite true: "A man can only be pushed so far until he explodes like a mailbox full of gunpowder." That wasn't so much his advice to me on the situation as it was a warning of what would happen if I kept bothering him for advice. But it's as true in our time as it was in his, yesterday afternoon just before happy hour.
It's clear I will have to act, and with extreme prejudice and racial epithets. But like a thick scab, I must pick my moment. Camembert is already on board, and has guaranteed he will "fight like a crazed rabbit if you drag me into this." Whether he was directing the fighting at me or our common enemy, I'm not sure, but when push comes to shove, Camembert will roll in on my side, if I push him in that direction.
My current thought is to make allies with the, let's say, "Russian" mafia while awaiting Lee's return. When Lee comes back, with his kung-fu grip and sizzling bass lines, I will finally have the backup I need to challenge Yogi for leadership of the mob. Not that I necessarily want to be a mob leader, but I've heard stories like this before—hearty and sincere white people forcing their way into gangs, taking them over, and using them as a tool for good. And if I had a Coolio song to back me up, I could even make it into a box office hit. But first thing's first.
Step one: Bide my time. Step two: Gather a bad-ass army. Step three: Challenge for leadership of the tribe. Step four: Make a hit motion picture with a best-selling soundtrack. Step five: Stop telling all my secret plans in my nationally web-published column. But that's a consideration for a more peaceful time. º Last Column: Not My Bag, Manº more columns
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Milestones2001: Bogus office psychic Mazie the chicken predicts radical arab terrorists will attack giant silver towers and a military stronghold on Sept. 10th. An angry Red Bagel eventually takes away her predictions column.Now HiringNanny. Traditional English dress and accent required, none of that rough Brooklyn flower bullshit. Strong musical training and good voice a must. Should be able to rhyme easily, even if only creating nonsensical words in most of songs. We provide spoonfuls of sugar and medicine, as well as company umbrella. Three references needed. Top Other Inventions by the Crash Test Dummy Creator| 1. | Self-ejecting canned corn | | 2. | 5-string bass | | 3. | Hot Hands®, the cheapest, safest, easiest way to light your hands on fire | | 4. | Crash Test Dummy Secret Base Playset (Figures sold separately) | | 5. | Freshomatic, battery-powered freshness-testing meter | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 12/12/2005 Another year comes to a close for the non- moronic side of the Entertainment Police (no disrespect to my non-movie-watching associate) and I, for one, look forward to putting the misery behind me. So let’s get to the films and save on gab time.
Fantastic Four
It did bear some resemblance to the original comic book, in as much as the film was also static and didn’t appear to move much. But while the comic book was fun and imaginative, if you’re into those sort of things, the film was standard and sleep-inducing. Five astronauts, all related and therefore probably from some sort of "Southern NASA" space program, go into space, screw things up, and end up more powerful for it. Only in comic books can an idiot be rewarded for his mistakes. You don’t...
Another year comes to a close for the non- moronic side of the Entertainment Police (no disrespect to my non-movie-watching associate) and I, for one, look forward to putting the misery behind me. So let’s get to the films and save on gab time.
Fantastic Four
It did bear some resemblance to the original comic book, in as much as the film was also static and didn’t appear to move much. But while the comic book was fun and imaginative, if you’re into those sort of things, the film was standard and sleep-inducing. Five astronauts, all related and therefore probably from some sort of "Southern NASA" space program, go into space, screw things up, and end up more powerful for it. Only in comic books can an idiot be rewarded for his mistakes. You don’t see the captain of the Exxon Valdez out there shooting oil at criminals, do you? But the film could be forgiven those annoying clichés if it had the least little bit of originality to it. Nope. Bad guy goes boom on them, they go boom back, good guys win and wear ridiculous outfits to show school spirit. My only problem with the sequel is, will it be called Fantastic 42? We could be into some serious number issues to tax the American moviegoer next time.
The 40-Year-Old Virgin
And what, exactly, is so funny about a 40-year-old virgin? Maybe he’s just too absorbed in his work to go out and have wild sex parties. Maybe he’s yet to meet his intellectual equal. You know what? Forget it. Movies this insulting to a perfectly respectable demographic of our country aren’t even worth reviewing. Complete garbage. Starring that guy from TV’s crappy American The Office.
The Wedding Crashers
Vince Vaughan and Owen Wilson, two guys who couldn’t carry movies by themselves, are tossed together as business associates who attend weddings to pick up women. A real raucous comedy with a heart of tin, Wedding Crashers is the kind of enduring romantic comedy like 40 Days and 40 Nights that Hollywood aims right for the sweet spot of 18-34 year-old males— yep, you got it: Their wallets. The chemistry is alright, though. Maybe if they had gone the whole Brokeback Mountain route with these two they might have made an interesting movie. Perhaps we’ll see it in the sequel, Wedding Crashers 2: Ass Crashers.
The Island
Here’s a real Christmas gift to all of you who hate movies: A Michael Bay sci-fi flick that seeks to destroy the careers of two of Hollywood’s biggest up-and-coming stars. Ewan MacGregor, sans lightsaber, and Scarlett Johansson, sans Lost in Translation underpants, are clones of complete doorknobs who attempt to escape cloneworld and come to live among the rest of us. They are clearly third-rate clones if they think there’s anything here worth joining us for. And I wish they really were clones, it would explain why they agreed to work with Michael Bay. Maybe it explains Johnny Depp’s current Pirates of the Carribean phase, too.
Happy New Year, America. If you find me wrapped under your tree this year, please leave me there. I’ve had a rough one and would like all the sleep I can get. And just for your information, whoever’s been pasting my picture on that poster for The 40-Year-Old Virgin around the offices… I happen to have a lot of girlfriends. They all work at different websites, okay?   |