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Sniper Supsects Appear in Court Looking Like ShitNovember 11, 2002 |
Orange in November? Sorry boys, Halloween was last week.
"I have to admit I was a little disappointed," admitted Manassas housewife Thelma Russel. "I thought they might show up in some snazzy three-piece suits with silk handkerchiefs in the pocket, you know. Like Al Capone in that commercial for condoms. Something stylish that suggests they're above it all, you know? The kinds of guys ...
merica's least popular gunslingers since Young Guns 2, John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo, shocked an unshockable nation Friday, showing up in court looking like a couple of bagboys from an underperforming Food Lion in dumpy orange jumpsuits marked by a palpable lack of panache. Teased by weeks of anticipation and speculation, and frankly expecting more, America scrunched up its nose at the sight of these two decidedly un-dapper Dillingers.
"I have to admit I was a little disappointed," admitted Manassas housewife Thelma Russel. "I thought they might show up in some snazzy three-piece suits with silk handkerchiefs in the pocket, you know. Like Al Capone in that commercial for condoms. Something stylish that suggests they're above it all, you know? The kinds of guys you love to hate, but admire in spite of yourself. But these guys? Sheesh. I wouldn't even leave the house looking like that. Didn't they know they were going to be on TV? I guess it just says something about the state of our criminals these days. Pretty sad."
Muhammad, the supposed mastermind behind the duo's shooting spree, looked like he had failed to master the bathroom mirror that morning, sporting a nappy hairdo to make Kobe Bryant proud. A shaving kit had apparently also eluded him, as well as the fundamental principles of beauty rest. Too many nights spent on the lamb had left his eyes sporting more bags than a Tony Bennett concert, and this reporter suspects the county hoosegow must have been fresh out of cucumber wraps that week.
Muhammad's one "E" for effort came in the posture department, a welcome relief from his partner Malvo's parade of slouches. While Muhammad often looked like he had just sat on a fireplace poker, Malvo had more slouches on display than the 2002 Mets. This reporter had heard it said that Muhammad was able to dominate the young Malvo thanks to the latter's lack of a spine, yet I had no idea they meant it in the strictest clinical sense. This is one boy I wouldn't want to face in the Twister world championships, and not just because he'd probably shoot my ass if I won. I'm surprised they didn't have to cart him into the courtroom in a wheelbarrow.
Malvo's mauve jumpsuit was a welcome contrast to the teeth-clenching Hazmat orange of Muhammad's ensemble, but any chance the teen had of pulling off a courtroom fashion coup ala the lovely Ms. Winona Ryder was dashed by his grotesquely shambolic addition of gigantic white bunny slippers to complete the outfit. I don't know how he managed to sneak those past the prison guards, but they definitely should have put the fear of Mr. Blackwell into that young man, like they're paid to do.
Malvo seems more than happy to provide the much-needed comic relief in this trial, between his footwear choices, hilarious fake Jamaican accent and last month's slapstick falling-through-the-ceiling escape attempt, which was straight out of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Though if this trial is going to be remembered as anything more than yet another case of "Gun-Crazy Loon and His Funny Teenage Sex Slave," they're going to need to dig up another accomplice.
And preferably one who knows that Armani's not a branch of the Italian military. the commune news is a strictly pacifist organization, and we condone only the shooting of bullshit, intravenous drugs and war criminals. Lil Duncan wasn't assigned to this story, but she happened to be in Manassas on vacation when it happened. Rumor has it she was looking to see if the town lived up to its tantalizing name.
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 September 2, 2002
Lube the TuberI've got the word "cambria" stuck in my head for some reason. No idea what it means. Some sort of strange deja-vu like when you think you should recognize a name and then two weeks later it turns out that was the guy you shot accidentally while turkey hunting. No leads yet on this one, though, and I haven't been turkey hunting in years.
Few things are more unsettling than waking up in the middle of the night and finding yourself floating naked in the middle of outer space, like the baby at the end of 2001. The movie, not the year. Shit if that wouldn't have been scary, waking up one December morning to see a giant baby up there in the sky and suddenly regretting every time you'd ever covered a baby in turtle wax and set it loose on your hood to wax your car. Who'd have thought the payback time would come so soon? Crimeny.
But like I said, I'm talking about the movie, with me floating in space instead of the baby. Neither dreaming nor awake in the traditional sense. Just staring down at the earth like it was a giant jawbreaker, glancing down at the thin, whispy umbilical cord that attaches you to the planet and thinking "Hmmm."
With your next thought you ponder your situation and realize that, in a symbolic sense, the earth represents the realm of your waking consciousness. No, really. The cloud layer girdling the globe keeps you warm and safe within the atmosphere, but at all times there remains the possibility of slipping undetected...
º Last Column: Herman's Hermits: Your Dad's Got Crabs, Eddie
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I've got the word "cambria" stuck in my head for some reason. No idea what it means. Some sort of strange deja-vu like when you think you should recognize a name and then two weeks later it turns out that was the guy you shot accidentally while turkey hunting. No leads yet on this one, though, and I haven't been turkey hunting in years.
Few things are more unsettling than waking up in the middle of the night and finding yourself floating naked in the middle of outer space, like the baby at the end of 2001. The movie, not the year. Shit if that wouldn't have been scary, waking up one December morning to see a giant baby up there in the sky and suddenly regretting every time you'd ever covered a baby in turtle wax and set it loose on your hood to wax your car. Who'd have thought the payback time would come so soon? Crimeny.
But like I said, I'm talking about the movie, with me floating in space instead of the baby. Neither dreaming nor awake in the traditional sense. Just staring down at the earth like it was a giant jawbreaker, glancing down at the thin, whispy umbilical cord that attaches you to the planet and thinking "Hmmm."
With your next thought you ponder your situation and realize that, in a symbolic sense, the earth represents the realm of your waking consciousness. No, really. The cloud layer girdling the globe keeps you warm and safe within the atmosphere, but at all times there remains the possibility of slipping undetected through the clouds and into the limitless space beyond. In this space dreams occur and are interchangeable with memories… every possibility in every situation is remembered as if it did occur and your mind is boggled by the parallel realities.
Suddenly you can remember every dream you ever had, but find it impossible to remember what you really did today among the myriad of possibilities. Which, incidentally, comes in handy when you're eating out since you can have the chicken, the fish and the steak all for one low price.
You remember a conversation you had, or may have had, that day and are suddenly aware of multiple complex layers of meaning and subtexts within the conversation that you were unaware of while it was happening. It strikes you that all interactions between people work this way, with the literal conversation existing only as a crude practicality to initiate the exchange of this wealth of additional information. Unless you're talking to Rok Finger, in which case the subtexts are all mumbled nonsense intended to sound like speech to the casual observer.
From your perch out in space, you realize with an otherworldly calm that you are observing from the perspective of the soul, rather than the worldly personality. You're sure of this because you aren't tempted to make the "Hey, I can see my house from here!" crack that you'd definitely make if your personality were involved. You notice that within this realm there is no possibility of stress or strife, you have no sense of worry, only a sustained sense of fascination. Sort of like being really high, except nobody's giving you any static about being naked.
Some may scoff, skiffle, or die straight away, but this experience has impacted me deeply. I've resolved to live my life without worry, reveling in, rather than attempting to control, life. More than anything I want to get back to that beautiful, serene vantage point in the emptiness of space. Additionally, I think I may have left my address book there, and I need that thing in the worst way. Other related resolutions: no more pickles or David Lynch movies right before bed. º Last Column: Herman's Hermits: Your Dad's Got Crabs, Eddieº more columns
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| June 14, 2004
Something Wicker This Way ComesHey folks, and welcome back for another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, taped live before a recently-alive studio audience. We're here talking to celebrity housewife Susan Lutwidge, this year's recipient of the Lutwidge Family Prize for Drama.
SU: Good to have you here, Susan.
SL: Good to have been had here, Stu.
SU: So, is it true what I've been hearing about your recent plastic surgery?
SL: Well, if you've been hearing the truth it is.
SU: Good point.
SL: But yeah, I recently went in for Botox treatment, since my face was starting to look like Ed Asner's couch.
SU: I was going to say something.
SL: Good of you. But the thing is, when I got there I found out that Botox is extremely expensive. Go figure. Really makes you wonder about all those Vietnam vets who were paralyzed for free. So anyway, instead the doctor turned me on to Reebox treatment, which is where they inject your face with space-age sneaker rubber.
SU: It looks great.
SL: Thanks, Stu, I feel great. And it's comforting to know that the next time I fall while jogging, my face is going to bounce off the pavement like a superball.
SU: Talk about "saving face"!
SL: No shit.
SU: Okay Sue, we're low on time here so I'm afraid we're going to have...
º Last Column: New Mexico Sucks
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Hey folks, and welcome back for another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, taped live before a recently-alive studio audience. We're here talking to celebrity housewife Susan Lutwidge, this year's recipient of the Lutwidge Family Prize for Drama.
SU: Good to have you here, Susan.
SL: Good to have been had here, Stu.
SU: So, is it true what I've been hearing about your recent plastic surgery?
SL: Well, if you've been hearing the truth it is.
SU: Good point.
SL: But yeah, I recently went in for Botox treatment, since my face was starting to look like Ed Asner's couch.
SU: I was going to say something.
SL: Good of you. But the thing is, when I got there I found out that Botox is extremely expensive. Go figure. Really makes you wonder about all those Vietnam vets who were paralyzed for free. So anyway, instead the doctor turned me on to Reebox treatment, which is where they inject your face with space-age sneaker rubber.
SU: It looks great.
SL: Thanks, Stu, I feel great. And it's comforting to know that the next time I fall while jogging, my face is going to bounce off the pavement like a superball.
SU: Talk about "saving face"!
SL: No shit.
SU: Okay Sue, we're low on time here so I'm afraid we're going to have to skip straight to the bonus round. Your question, for a chance to win all the tea in Denmark: Who is the tallest man ever to win the Noble Prize?
SL: Uh, Nelson Mandela? Dude's black, right?
SU: No, I'm sorry, the correct answer is Steve "The Stork" Goodgee, who won the Noble for Frisbee Golf in 1997. You may have been thinking of the lesser-known Nobel Peace Prize, which is awarded every year for outstanding achievement in the field of keeping the peace. The Noble awards those who keep it real in the face of being spanked in the nuts by a flying projectile. Thanks for playing.
We'll be right back after this commercial break.
Hey there Ricky, sorry to hear your dad got arrested again.
Yeah, my life sucks. This is the worst family vacation ever.
Come on, look at the bright side. Maybe your dad didn't do it.
Yeah, but they caught him with her jammies and everything.
You're probably right. Hey, wanna play doctor?
Holy Jehovah, we're back! And now it's time to check in with Hank Spankman and Johan Sebastian Crackersnatch, RoaG's own professional conversationalists:
HS: So, Johan, I hear you bought a bike recently.
JSC: That's a balled-in-the-face lie.
HS: Well you know what they say, there's a crayon of truth in every lie.
JSC: I always heard it was a train of vermouth in every life.
HS: That makes me very thirsty.
JSC: Me too, but I can't eat that much cheese.
HS: Chee—You know the thing about you? You're exactly like a cross between Bob Dylan and Bob Denver.
JSC: Well, you're like a cross between Bob Hope and a vacuum cleaner.
HS: I think I vacuum cleaner than you.
JSC: I vacuum naked.
HS: Do you always remember to wash behind your gears?
JSC: So we're back to the bike thing again? Okay, I'll admit it. The bike bought me.
I'm afraid that's all the time we've got this week folks, and I'm also afraid of spiders. We'll go into that some other time.
—closing theme, AKA "Can't Hug the Love Bug" by Styx—º Last Column: New Mexico Sucksº more columns
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Milestones1931: Former commune columnist Sampson L. Hartwig forfeits another "Race Around the World" when it is discovered that he merely hid in a barn for three days, then took a taxi in from the opposite side of town, claiming victory.Now HiringCompulsive Ass-Kisser. Shameless suck-up needed to boost general staff morale and cut down on work days lost to crippling depression. Total lack of discernment required. Insane "Never met a man I didn't like" attitude a plus.Least Effective SARS Protective Efforts| 1. | Stop breathing | | 2. | Fire handgun blindly at coughs | | 3. | Smoking deceased SARS victims | | 4. | Wave hand, say "Don't go in Toronto! Whew!" | | 5. | Drinking imported Hong Kong bathwater | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/29/2004 Well fancy that, America. If I've ever seen anything fancier, I failed to be adequately impressed and eventually forgot that I saw it. Maybe I have a problem. But there's no time for that right now, Hollywood's been cranking out the skank while we were chatting it up, and if we're not careful they're going to squeeze some of that beef on by, unreviewed. Not on my watch, America.
In Theaters Now:
Alexander
Finally, the controversial story of Alexander Hamilton is coming to the big screen. Did you know he wasn't even a president, yet he still got on our money? Crazy shit. Turns out he was banging the printer's daughter and managed to get his face printed on some test money as a joke, only the money got out and people started spending it, so the...
Well fancy that, America. If I've ever seen anything fancier, I failed to be adequately impressed and eventually forgot that I saw it. Maybe I have a problem. But there's no time for that right now, Hollywood's been cranking out the skank while we were chatting it up, and if we're not careful they're going to squeeze some of that beef on by, unreviewed. Not on my watch, America.
In Theaters Now:
Alexander
Finally, the controversial story of Alexander Hamilton is coming to the big screen. Did you know he wasn't even a president, yet he still got on our money? Crazy shit. Turns out he was banging the printer's daughter and managed to get his face printed on some test money as a joke, only the money got out and people started spending it, so the government had to leave it that way.
The movie does a great job telling Hamilton's tale, and portraying the disbelief among his friends when they go to spend a $10 and see the face of their shiftless, no-account buddy grinning back up at them. And try to tell me that CGI hasn't made movies better after you see Hamilton's half-brother Jake drive an entire horse carriage into a lake from surprise when he gets the news. In the past, we had to just imagine what a scene like that would have looked like, since in reality horses dissolve upon contact with water. But not anymore. I'd comment on the acting in the film, but since I wasn't around 200 years ago to say what these people were really like, I have no idea if the actors did a good job or not. They could be way off for all I know. But I will say that Colin Farrell looks like about ten bucks, so I'm pretty sure he did a good job as Hamilton.
Christmas with the Crack
Tim Allen shocks us again with another bold choice, this time a weird turn as a crack-addicted dad who sells his family Christmas, and his family, in exchange for some sweet, sweet rock. Though the trailer made the movie seem more like Home Improvement by way of Requiem for a Dream, the only really funny scene is when Allen burns his face on a hot crack pipe and has to fake like he hasn't been horribly disfigured. So be warned that while the slapstick plays funny in the trailer, it's actually kind of sad in the context of Allen's self-destructive downward spiral in the film. Except when he's trying to smoke a loaf of crack out of the chimney and he falls off the roof, that shit is funny in any context.
National Treasure
Is anybody else getting sick of these goddamned Olsen twins? I don't even think they look that much alike. If I were buying the pair, I'd ask for a discount on the one on the left. She looks like she's been around the block a few times. But whether you think they're the worst thing to come out of Hollywood since the Asian restaurant bird flu, or just a Nazi plot, all would have to agree it's going a little far to call these two robo-skanks a National Treasure. That's the kind of bullshit treasure you throw back before checking to make sure you weren't holding the map upside down. This movie's got no stars, and I'm not about to give it any.
The SpongeBob Squarepants Movie
Forgive me for being out of the political loop lately, I have to admit I stopped paying attention after Ronald Reagan won Idaho in 1980, and ever since then I've kept abreast of politics solely through the text on the back of boxes of children's breakfast cereal. So I may be the last person on earth to realize there's been a hit cartoon parody of Bob Dole (a Fruit Loops man, by the way) running for years, which has finally Doled its way onto the big screen.
SpongeBob Squarepants hits the former Senator hard where he lives, slamming Dole's love of taking a bath, his proudly uncool nature, and his trademark nasally voice to equally devastating effect. Some might consider the political commentary too harsh, portraying current Vice President Dick Cheney as a bumbling, overweight starfish, and former President George H.W. Bush as a weird hooked-nosed underwater Gonzo-type thing. But I've always preferred my political potshots hard and straight, like a Republican in a titty bar or a shot of whiskey on ice cubes made from whiskey. Can they do that? I mean, does whiskey freeze? I can't believe nobody's ever thought of that before. I'll be right back.
That's the end, America. Get out if you don't like it. And if you do like it, but still want to stick around for some reason, tough tits. I'm not running a youth hostel here. But one of you should stick around to hold the fire extinguisher; I'm not going to be able to sleep until I find out if frozen whiskey can still catch on fire.   |
