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April 10, 2006 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon The president, shown here shaken, but not stirred, by his recent brush with awareness fter years of staunch, stiff-jawed and clenched-buttocksed opposition to human cloning research, President Bush issued a startling reversal to his January "Pig Men" State of the Union address this week, and now is apparently in favor of the controversial scientific pursuit.
A tearful Bush, admittedly "a little behind" on his TV viewing due to "the usual work b.s.," finally got around to viewing the fifth and final season of HBO's acclaimed drama Six Feet Under on DVD this week, an event that seems to have had a profound effect on the president.
"Just being reminded that everyone you know will die one day, that really makes you think," explained the president, not previously known as a fan of thought.
"Keith!" Bush suddenly shouted, mid-sob. "Why'd he...
fter years of staunch, stiff-jawed and clenched-buttocksed opposition to human cloning research, President Bush issued a startling reversal to his January "Pig Men" State of the Union address this week, and now is apparently in favor of the controversial scientific pursuit. A tearful Bush, admittedly "a little behind" on his TV viewing due to "the usual work b.s.," finally got around to viewing the fifth and final season of HBO's acclaimed drama Six Feet Under on DVD this week, an event that seems to have had a profound effect on the president. "Just being reminded that everyone you know will die one day, that really makes you think," explained the president, not previously known as a fan of thought. "Keith!" Bush suddenly shouted, mid-sob. "Why'd he have to go so young?" Those in the terrifying position of being close to the president's thought processes claim that a recent twelve-hour DVD marathon viewing of the show left Bush in a deep near-thoughtful funk, a condition aides hadn't seen the president in since the cancellation of Timecop in 1997. "Seeing that documentary really got me thinking about the people close to me, and how to keep them from ever dying, ever," explained Bush. This reporter chose not to take this opportunity to explain the difference between drama and documentary, or the inevitability of death, to the president. "At first I was thinking about time travel," continued Bush. "But that never worked out so hot in those Michael J. Fox movies. Plus, it gets all confusing and hard to follow the story. Then I thought about the fountain of youth, but I couldn't think of any movies where that really worked either. I just kept thinking of the end of Gremlins where that scary thing melts in the fountain—yuck. Anyway, then I turned on the SciFi Channel and that got me thinking about human cloning." Reports indicate this is not the first time the president's opinions and policies have been changed by popular entertainment, including Bush's proposed tax breaks for hot rod owners last year after viewing The Dukes of Hazzard, and the president's call for storm windows to be installed in the White House after finally getting around to seeing Twister in 2001. Critics have long suggested that most of Bush's policy moves and public statements over the course of his two terms have been inspired by old Clint Eastwood movies and various Chuck Norris action vehicles. Debate rages concerning the timing of Bush's 2002 statements about clamping down on whistleblowers, coming as they did days after the president reportedly attended a screening of the environmentally-themed Steven Soderbergh film Erin Brockovich. "I guess it's easy to feel one way about a subject, until it potentially affects someone you care about," Bush explained about his change of heart in the cloning debate. Asked if he would then be sending his daughters to Iraq to help with the nation-building efforts, Bush ignored the question and asked if this reporter had time to stick around for a spontaneous viewing of Top Gun on DVD. the commune news was also moved by the final season of Six Feet Under, except less so since Netflix sent us the discs all the fuck out of order and people kept springing back to life like in a George Romero movie. Truman Prudy returns to the commune after a delightful vacation spent locked in the basement of an elderly couple in Saskatchewan. Further information is available on a "We Don't Know" basis.
 | Oops, Atlanta forgot to mention about 50,000 violent crimes
Report: Guns inappropriately classified as food by oil-for-food program
Saddam lawyers may plead Satanity
Economy on the way to recovery, absolute for real no joking this time
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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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 December 12, 2005
The Red Badge of AdulthoodThere comes a time in every man's life when he must become a man. Except for Pee Wee Herman or Michael Jackson. (Owing to weirdness.) Or Gary Coleman, owing to shortness. Or unless he becomes a woman first, like RuPaul. But everybody else: eventually you've got to pony up. And Omar Bricks' pony is here.
How do I know? Read the tee-shirt, bitch.
Some misguided fucknuts actually consider home ownership to be the tell-tale sign of adulthood, but you and I know better than that. After-all, the King of China has a million palaces and he's only like five. Or if you need an example that hits closer to home, think of the Olsen Twins, or that kid from War of the Worlds. I'm sure they've all got houses, and probably in the same neighborhood. Which would suck if you live in that area, since your neighbors never mow their lawn or take out the trash, and just want to play with LEGOs all day. Which is a complaint several of my neighbors have levied against yours truly, sure, but I'd like to see some kid invent an air cannon to shoot his garbage over his house and into his neighbor Mitch's back yard, which is where that mountain came from that Mitch skis on in the winter.
No, an adult isn't made by the things he owns: not a house, not a dog, and most definitely not a car he borrowed from some bank robbers in Panama. An adult is made by whether or not other people think he's an adult, and Omar Bricks now owns a shirt that says ADULT on it in big, red...
º Last Column: God's Hands º more columns
There comes a time in every man's life when he must become a man. Except for Pee Wee Herman or Michael Jackson. (Owing to weirdness.) Or Gary Coleman, owing to shortness. Or unless he becomes a woman first, like RuPaul. But everybody else: eventually you've got to pony up. And Omar Bricks' pony is here. How do I know? Read the tee-shirt, bitch. Some misguided fucknuts actually consider home ownership to be the tell-tale sign of adulthood, but you and I know better than that. After-all, the King of China has a million palaces and he's only like five. Or if you need an example that hits closer to home, think of the Olsen Twins, or that kid from War of the Worlds. I'm sure they've all got houses, and probably in the same neighborhood. Which would suck if you live in that area, since your neighbors never mow their lawn or take out the trash, and just want to play with LEGOs all day. Which is a complaint several of my neighbors have levied against yours truly, sure, but I'd like to see some kid invent an air cannon to shoot his garbage over his house and into his neighbor Mitch's back yard, which is where that mountain came from that Mitch skis on in the winter. No, an adult isn't made by the things he owns: not a house, not a dog, and most definitely not a car he borrowed from some bank robbers in Panama. An adult is made by whether or not other people think he's an adult, and Omar Bricks now owns a shirt that says ADULT on it in big, red letters, ending all previous debate on the subject. Don't ask me where it came from, or what I was doing before I woke up wearing this shirt. If you know the answer, send me an email, because I'm curious myself. If it involved daycare in any way, then fuck that, don't tell me any boring stories. Make something up about alien abduction and we'll both be happier. I'd much rather think I woke up in a Starbucks bathroom with pissed pants wearing an alien sorter tee-shirt than to think I've been moonlighting at some daycare clinic that has a hard time distinguishing the staff from the patients. I've been wearing the shirt for six days straight now, but don't worry, it's been in the shower with me a few times in that span, so it's not as if the thing smells like crotch snot. To be honest, I just haven't been able to bring myself to wear a different shirt since everyone's reaction to this one has been too entertaining to pass up for a single day, even if my "GIRLS DO IT" shirt has been feeling a little lonely this week. Oh, and just for the record, the powers-that-be here at the commune wanted me to tie-in some product placement to this week's column, so I'm supposed to mention that the commune's official tee-shirt, that black one that just says "THE INTERNET" on the front in white letters, is back in stock. They got some more after the Crochet! staff bought out all the old ones to use as diapers for that children's hospital they were supporting. Oh, and while I'm at it with the tie-ins, that new four-meat breakfast sandwich from Burger King is pretty choice as well, just don't wipe your hands on your commune shirt while you're eating it or else you're going to look like a serial killer the next time you go into one of those black-light midnight bowling joints. Anyway, the reactions to my "ADULT" shirt have been uniformly hilarious, and a lot more fun than the flack I caught over my infamous "Tits Ahoy!" tee a few years back. My favorite so far has been Rok Finger's, since The Rok actually believed me when I told him this shirt was from that Pakistani video store, Movie Muff, around the corner from the commune offices. I told him they had a whole special room in the back where they kept the movies for adults, instead of the English Patient/ Grinch/Patrick Swayze bullshit for kids they stock the rest of the store with. Finger left immediately to check it out, since for some reason he's been rooting around for a copy of My Giant to rent for years, and didn't realize he'd been shopping in the non-adult section this whole time. Though my hunch is he ended up with some weird Middle-Eastern fetish porn instead, since he hasn't been back to work for three days. As for Omar Bricks, I'll be spending the rest of my week crocking up more hilarious shirt explanations to sell to momos on the street, as well as putting in some more work on my plan for a matching car decal, possibly wreathed in blue flames. Bricks out. º Last Column: God's Handsº more columns
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|  May 26, 2003
Bricks on the Fourth of JulyI definitely need to hire out as a Fourth of July consultant. If you think you don't need a Fourth of July consultant, you've never experienced a Bricks Fourth of July, end of story.
It's about a month away, I know, but when you want to make it a memorable good time, you've got to plan well in advance. It's just not smart to put a houseful of fireworks and a truckload of Miller Genuine Draft together without more than a little planning. Now usually I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, even if the ass of the pants rips out and you get kicked out of the kid's birthday party, but hey, it's not like I knew the kid anyway—nothing ventured, nothing gained; but when it comes to Fourth of July, Omar Bricks turns into a rocket scientist of event planning.
It's more than just explosions and drunken fight after drunken fight—shit, if I didn't have that on a daily basis I'd hang up my hat and go home already. The way I see it, Fourth of July is the world's celebration of pure, uncut freedom, and for me there's nothing better worth celebrating. Hanging out with buddies, sipping beers, and trading swimming pool-building tips is like a fart in freedom's face. Omar Bricks don't fart in anyone's face unless they personally asked for it or take out those little opera glasses in public, which is the same as the former in my book.
It takes more than a month just to save up enough money to rent the arena. Why go through the trouble and...
º Last Column: Polio at 50 º more columns
I definitely need to hire out as a Fourth of July consultant. If you think you don't need a Fourth of July consultant, you've never experienced a Bricks Fourth of July, end of story.
It's about a month away, I know, but when you want to make it a memorable good time, you've got to plan well in advance. It's just not smart to put a houseful of fireworks and a truckload of Miller Genuine Draft together without more than a little planning. Now usually I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, even if the ass of the pants rips out and you get kicked out of the kid's birthday party, but hey, it's not like I knew the kid anyway—nothing ventured, nothing gained; but when it comes to Fourth of July, Omar Bricks turns into a rocket scientist of event planning.
It's more than just explosions and drunken fight after drunken fight—shit, if I didn't have that on a daily basis I'd hang up my hat and go home already. The way I see it, Fourth of July is the world's celebration of pure, uncut freedom, and for me there's nothing better worth celebrating. Hanging out with buddies, sipping beers, and trading swimming pool-building tips is like a fart in freedom's face. Omar Bricks don't fart in anyone's face unless they personally asked for it or take out those little opera glasses in public, which is the same as the former in my book.
It takes more than a month just to save up enough money to rent the arena. Why go through the trouble and expense of renting an arena? Well, you might as well ask what's the point in having a demolition derby—you can't hold it in your backyard, don't argue with that because I've tried. And the demolition derby is the big part of the Bricks Fourth of July gathering, and in the tight-money times I haven't been able to rent an arena I find an unguarded farmer field is a fantastic substitute. If you check with your friends who fake crop circles on the weekends they can probably tell you which places are frequently unsupervised and have the best tire traction.
Then you have to select the special car, I like to nickname it the "doom buggy". The best way, I've discovered, is to hold a little private lottery the night before—if you have one hundred ping pong balls, a giant hamster ball, and a tuxedo, have a little fun with it, it's like a party in itself. Then whatever number wins that's your car, since they'll all have numbers painted on them at the derby. I would recommend keeping it something only you know. Sure, you can let everybody in on the secret, but when most people find out the car's trunk is full of fireworks the volunteers to drive it dry up real fast.
No demolition derby is complete without a lot of beer, whether you're a spectator or a driver. Still, with luck you'll get flipped over by the car with the bulldozer prod welded on the front early and can get a seat right up front in time for the first explosion to hit the doom buggy. Man, that's Fourth of July. Our founding fathers would have been proud enough to piss themselves.
That's just my favorite part, of course. Some Bricks partygoers love shaving the heads of the derby losers. Others love the swimming pool full of Thunderbird, throwing flammable things on the bonfire, or the wrestle Lil Duncan contest. I'm not complaining, I love every part of it, even the swarming of S.W.A.T. team members to close the whole thing down gets me kind of misty-eyed. Like America, there's a little something for everyone. Bricks out. º Last Column: Polio at 50º more columns
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Quote of the Day“I have not yet begun to fight! When I have begun, it will look quite different. Fists will be flying about, and you will hear a high-pitched whistling sort of sound that will actually be a scream. In fact—I'll make a little hand gesture to let you know. When you see that, that will let you know I'm fighting.”
-John Paul Jones RingoFortune 500 CookieThat tumor-sized growth isn't what you thought, but it could mean big money, so don't despair. One homosexual dream doesn't make you gay, but try one more. What are you in the mood for tonight? Roasted chicken, with sautéed potatoes. Eat less fiber, what the hell. Lucky numbers 10, 10, 34, 10, and 194.
Try again later.Worst-Selling Wireless Devices| 1. | Sir Flush-a-Lot | | 2. | The SpayMaster | | 3. | "Look Ma, No Hands" Harpoon Gift Set | | 4. | Salad Euthanizer | | 5. | The Mysterious Ouijigenie | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/10/2003 Greetings, potential moviegoers, and welcome back to another week of Roland McShyster's Entertainment Police. We're back with our usual look at what Hollywood's hit with the car this week, and will do our best to jot down the license plate numbers of those responsible before the perpetrators can peel out off into the night. So without further undo ado, let's peek between our fingers at this week's movies.
In Theaters
Bastard Commander: The Far Side of the World
Honk if you're tired of seeing movies that try to make the Cobra Commander into a sympathetic character. We all know he had some kind of motivation, like all the other kids made fun of him back in grade school because he had a lisp,...
Greetings, potential moviegoers, and welcome back to another week of Roland McShyster's Entertainment Police. We're back with our usual look at what Hollywood's hit with the car this week, and will do our best to jot down the license plate numbers of those responsible before the perpetrators can peel out off into the night. So without further undo ado, let's peek between our fingers at this week's movies.
In Theaters
Bastard Commander: The Far Side of the World
Honk if you're tired of seeing movies that try to make the Cobra Commander into a sympathetic character. We all know he had some kind of motivation, like all the other kids made fun of him back in grade school because he had a lisp, etc. But what Hollywood producers don't understand is that the whole point of the character is that he's just a bad guy and a jerk, and he doesn't have any kind of special gun to shoot so he's lame anyway. Those same producers called in Russell Crowe to try and recreate the white-wash job he did on insane folk-rocker Graham Nash in A Beautiful Mime, and he does his best here but it's hard to act much through a big chrome motorcycle helmet. The film is also hampered by the bizarre decision to tie characters from Gary Larson's The Far Side comic strip universe into the action. This might have been a stroke of genius in another film, but in this one the infant goes cartwheeling out the window the second a guy shows up with a gun that shoots Doberman pincer dogs. It all goes surreally downhill from there, as the film is overrun by giant talking cockroaches and ostriches wearing neckties. There were a couple of funny bits toward the end, but it turned out those were all from Far Sides I'd missed on the days my bastard next-door neighbor stole the paper.
Brother Bear
Kudos to Disney for showing some class in naming their latest animated manifesto Brother Bear, which is far more P.C. than calling him a "Black Bear," an offensive term racist scientists have been using for years. And it's a welcome turn of events after the debacle of Disney's last animated shocker, Black Hotties Acting Naughty, which was a box-office disappointment and was way too stingy with the cheesecake. Brother Bear tells the story of an African-American bear's struggle to earn respect on the street, or whatever the woodland equivalent of the street is. The clearing, whatever. Word on the street is that Brother Bear will be Disney's final traditionally-animated feature, I'm not sure if that means all their movies in the future will be done like Dr. Katz or what, but I'm game for the change. The current popularity of CGI animated films has proven amply that computers are where it's at, even if it is a lot harder to draw with a mouse. But apparently there are some guys over in Korea or somewhere who can do it, so cool.
Good Boy!
Sitting through political docudrama about George W. Bush's first 600 days in office, bankrolled by his right-wing supporters and corporate backers? Yeah, that sounds a lot better than having my nuts cut off with a weed whacker.
Looney Tunes: Back Door Action
If ever a film disturbed me to my very core as a human being, while brutally assaulting my faith in humanity, it was Baby Geniuses. But Looney Tunes: Back Door Action is number two with a bullet, and it has its eyes on the prize. While I understand that Warner Bros. has been under pressure to keep up with Disney's deteriorating morals these last several years, there is such a thing as going too far, and this time they went too far and a half. If I wanted to watch cartoons having sex, I'd move to Japan, thank you very much.
The Matrix Restitutions
It really warms my heart to see those Matrix-happy bastards finally getting what they had coming. After tricking fans of the original Matrix into sitting through the painfully unwatchable The Matrix Reloaded, which was about as much fun as watching somebody else play a video game for two hours, the Wacowski's chickens have finally come home to roost. With some guidance from the U.N. Film Crimes tribunal, the courts ordered the Wacowskis to make The Matrix Restitutions as a third "we're sorry" film to fulfill the community service portion of their sentence. The resulting movie tells the story of two comic book geeks who get into directing and score a surprise sci-fi hit, only to lose all sense of perspective and turn out a disgustingly convoluted and pompous sequel, which prompts a violent fan backlash against the brothers themselves. The courts ordered the Wacowskis to put hundreds of Matrix fans through kung-fu and wire-stunt training to make the spectacular vigilante mayhem of Restitutions believable, and it was money well-spent. The result is both satisfying and unintentionally hilarious, in a "pasty white gimp kung-fu" kind of way. And the best part of Restitutions? None of the guys get naked, and Keanu keeps his hard drive docked the whole time. Hallelujah.
The Texas Chain Store Massacre
One of my prime arguments against letting women direct movies has always been that it would eventually lead to tons of horrible movies about menstrual bleeding and shopping. Well, the first part of my prophecy came true a lot sooner than the second, but the second apocalyptic horseman has just pulled into town. While I'm sure it was very exciting if you were there in person, watching a movie about a really bitchin' sale at an outlet mall in Texas and some ladies who made an absolute killing on discounted home furnishings is one of my personal red flags that I've somehow ended up in a Turkish prison against my will.
Well, that's about all the nuts you can stuff into this squirrel's cheeks this week, gents and gentinas. Here's hoping the day's treating you well and that little claymation dude from the old Dominos Pizza commercials isn't chasing you all around, because man would that suck. Adios!   |