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 October 4, 2011 |
Los Gatos, CA Glamour Shots Netflix headcheese Reed Hastings awesomely tunes out customer and non-customer complaints alike
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t's been a good year to be NetFlix. The online DVD-renting and video-streaming service has continually posted increases in profits each previous fiscal quarter, sometimes gains as much as 88%. Despite claims that increasing postage prices and the difficulty of obtaining streaming content may hinder future profit reporting, NetFlix continues to make big money while offering less to subscribers than in previous plans. The announcement of higher-priced plans, the separation of DVD rental/streaming packages, and setting limitations on streaming devices have all been designed to offset any future losses and increase profits, but today NetFlix CEO Reed Hastings announced it wasn't enough, and has made a bold proposal to raise subscription prices on people who use neither service.
"NetFlix is facing a struggle in the future, to continue to bring high-quality entertainment to our loyal subscribers, those who rent traditional formats by mail or watch via our state-of-the-art streaming service, we need to increase our income," Hastings announced from his undisclosed location in the NetFlix bunker in California. "I see no reason to further burden our faithful customers with the costs. Which is why I am enacting a daring new plan to increase subscription costs to those who do not subscribe to us."
Under the new NetFlix plan, subscribers to the DVD-rental service will pay $7.99 for 1 DVD at a time and $11.99 for 2, while the unlimited streaming-only plan stands at $7.99, and those who choose not to watch movies in either format from NetFlix only pay $2.99.
"At long last, starting in November, NetFlix is bringing the thrilling experience of a recurring NetFlix charge that our subscribers have long enjoyed to all those who have not yet become NetFlix customers," said Hastings.
Response has been mixed from non-customers and consumer watchdogs alike. Nell Farthingford, a spokesperson for the consumer advocacy group Wait/What, said of the new NetFlix price increases, "Wait? What?"
Farthingford clarified why consumer advocates like her are concerned about the new plan.
"I'm not math expert, but it does sound a lot like people who don't receive any service from the company are being forced to pay them for nothing." Farthingford did concede, "However, if I'm already paying them $2.99, it's only another five dollars to get unlimited streaming content on my PS3, X-Box, Wii, iPhone, iPad, or NetFlix-ready device. That's not a bad deal."
Outrage swelled around the internet on message boards, where outrage is born and nurtured, with some people complaining that the media company is exploiting those who do not patronize them to increase their already-large profits. Following price increases in November 2010 and June 2010 on people who actually watched movies, tempers run high for those who are unhappy with NetFlix. As always, though, a few responders could see the business sense of the deal.
"It's only a three dollar increase from what you were paying before," said MovieLuv.net forum user rhAsTings. "Quit your cryin. If you don't like it, you don't have to not use it. Just subscribe today."
Stockholders have already exhibited excitement of over the potential gain of $2,574,000,000 in the third quarter, and insiders at NetFlix are reportedly shitting themselves wet at the prospect of increasing their presence overseas, raising their number of non-subscribers to an estimated 6 billion by the end of next year.
Hastings said, "I see no reason a simple hut-dweller in Botswana should not be afforded the same luxury that a meager trailer-dweller without internet will soon enjoy—the joy of becoming a NetFlix bill-payer. Today we have the United States… tomorrow, we take the world!"
Upon receiving news of the NetFlix proposed price plan, Amazon.com founder and CEO Jeff Bezos dramatically smashed a china cup against his Kindle and bellowed, "You will bow down before me, Reed! You… and your heirs!" the commune prefers to watch our movies and television through more traditional streaming methods, streaming it through the windows of the hot chicks we spy on, but it's too bad they're so into Dancing With the Stars. R.J. Handsomelots is a brand new reporter here at the commune, so he can be forgiven for reporting the story without arrogantly including himself at all. He'll learn. We all had to learn.
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Karl Rove implicated in CIA link; Tom Cruise cleared
Price of imported sports cars on the rise, says real prick
Emmy predictions: Polite laughter, shameless self-congratulations
 Who's the Black Pit That Killed a Night Club Prick? Elevator Shaft — Damn Right |
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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 April 1, 2002
Who Put the Bomp in the Bomp-Ba-Bomp-Ba-Bomp?It's a question that I get asked on a nearly daily basis, and understandably: just what in the hell was wrong with American music in the 1950's? History has it that the 1960's were the decade of recreational and experimental drug use, citing such examples of delusionary flakery as Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit, The Beatles' I Am the Walrus and Gregg Allman's hair. And while I wouldn't argue against these as prime examples of pharmaceutical excess, they pale mightily in comparison to the near-psychotic mutant trend of late-50's doo-wop music. John Lennon may have envisioned Mean Mr. Mustard dripping from a dead dog's eye, but even this game of Clue gone horribly wrong looks downright pedestrian next to a jabbering psychopath questioning who exactly put the ram in the rama-lama-ding-dong.
Like a drugged-up visitor from deep space, doo-wop appeared seemingly out of nowhere, holing up in the chests of America's great pop stars in the late 50's and early 60's. From this parasitic enclave it communicated with the world through a bewitching combination of di-dits, bompa-bomps, ding-dangs, shooby-doos and doh-dohs. Why did it come, and what was it hoping to communicate to us? Nobody knows, though our best guess is that it had to do with seeking therapy for a stuttering problem.
The earliest known recording of the mutant doo-wop style was the Orioles' 1948 tune It's Too Soon To Know. During the recording of what was, by all reports,...
º Last Column: Make Mine Nougat
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It's a question that I get asked on a nearly daily basis, and understandably: just what in the hell was wrong with American music in the 1950's? History has it that the 1960's were the decade of recreational and experimental drug use, citing such examples of delusionary flakery as Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit, The Beatles' I Am the Walrus and Gregg Allman's hair. And while I wouldn't argue against these as prime examples of pharmaceutical excess, they pale mightily in comparison to the near-psychotic mutant trend of late-50's doo-wop music. John Lennon may have envisioned Mean Mr. Mustard dripping from a dead dog's eye, but even this game of Clue gone horribly wrong looks downright pedestrian next to a jabbering psychopath questioning who exactly put the ram in the rama-lama-ding-dong.
Like a drugged-up visitor from deep space, doo-wop appeared seemingly out of nowhere, holing up in the chests of America's great pop stars in the late 50's and early 60's. From this parasitic enclave it communicated with the world through a bewitching combination of di-dits, bompa-bomps, ding-dangs, shooby-doos and doh-dohs. Why did it come, and what was it hoping to communicate to us? Nobody knows, though our best guess is that it had to do with seeking therapy for a stuttering problem.
The earliest known recording of the mutant doo-wop style was the Orioles' 1948 tune It's Too Soon To Know. During the recording of what was, by all reports, a fairly normal song, lead singer Sonny Til suffered the massive variety of nervous breakdown and began singing rhyming gibberish vaguely related to his ex-wife winning custody of their home and the recent transmission failure of his Oldsmobile. Fearing for their own lives, the band continued to play and discovered to their dismay that when they had finished the take they were at the end of their studio time. As was a common practice at the time, the record company had only secured them ten minutes of recording time to record and mix the song, and they'd had to sell bass player Johnny Reed's virginity in the process as they were obligated to pay for the studio time themselves.
Low on options and wary of bat-wielding record company thugs, the band played it cool, acting as if the recording session had gone fine. The record was released as-is by record company execs who were so outside of the loop that they once released a recorded armpit fart as a single, snookered by an engineer with a sense of humor. Back in that day all of the record companies were so desperate for a hit they would release anything, sometimes even recordings of other records held up to a microphone, as the execs in charge all listened to marching bands and had no clue what the record-buying teens of the day were into. They seldom listened to the records they put out, which led to the infamous "My Ding-a-Ling" scandal of 1972.
It's Too Soon To Know wasn't a huge hit, but it sold surprisingly well considering the totally bugshit nature of the vocals. It also proved to be heavily influential for a young aspiring songwriter named Richard Lewis, who crashed his car into a grocery store the first time he heard it on the radio. Many say Lewis never recovered psychologically from the incident, but he did go on to form The Silhouettes, and pen the 1957 mega-hit Get a Job. That song introduced the stuttering, nonsensical vocal stylings that came to be known as doo-wop to the world.
Some purists and historians have argued that Get a Job was only a hit because Lewis' uncle owned the Junior Records label and made sure the song was played on Dick Clark's American Bandstand, which guaranteed it would be a hit among the easily-led youth of the day. Others might disagree, but the success of the 1959 hit Dog Barking in the Back Alley seems to lead credence to the theory, since the rare sound-effects single likely would not have reached #1 if it had not been featured on American Bandstand earlier that year.
Whatever the reason, Get a Job was a smash single, and Americans were quick to concede that if it's what everyone else was listening to, then they were into lyrics like "Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma" and colossally embarrassing bass singers, too.
Other bands smelled the money train and were quick to follow, solidifying doo-wop as a legitimate musical movement and a bad name for a hair salon. Not long after, The Marcels released the doo-wop manifesto Blue Moon in 1961, daring America to make sense of their statement of purpose: "Bom bom ba-bom ba-bom ba-bom bom ba-dang a lang lang a ding a dang ding Blue Moon…"
But by late 1961 doo-wop was beginning to lose it's luster, beginning with Barry Mann's hit Who Put the Bomp?, at which point fans began to suspect that the magic was gone and that doo-wop artists were just bullshitting them now. What began as a street movement had been exploited to the limits of credibility, and all of the bomps and sha-na-na's had begun to ring hollow.
By 1964 doo-wop was a mere ghost on the American musical landscape, as record-buyers turned away from the bubblegum of their youth and embraced the British Invasion of more vital artists, replacing their embarrassing Shep and The Limelites platters with the more mature pleasures of Manfred Mann's Do Wah Diddy Diddy. The rest, as they say, is history. º Last Column: Make Mine Nougatº more columns
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|  August 4, 2003
Sic the Killer Chicken on SaddamI'm going to let you all in on a secret that will save our federal government billions of Saddam-hunting dollars and will end this whole Iraq misadventure once and for all. It may take slightly longer than our current approach, but it's cheap and we won't have any more GIs shot in the ass while they're playing beach volleyball. It's simple: All we have to do is open a couple of Pizza Huts over there. They may not have that kind of hut-building technology over in Iraq yet, but we can import it. And within 30 years, all those bomb-happy assholes will have more fat pulsing through their veins than blood and they'll be dropping like lethargic, weak-hearted flies. Advantage: America.
It's a scientific fact that terrorism never originates in countries that get more than 40% of their calories from fat. Constructing a pair of tennis shoes out of plastic explosives or hucking hand grenades at an army patrol sounds like an awful lot of work when rolling over in bed is enough to raise your pulse. But you start feeding these guys rice, beans, and couscous and before you know it you've got some asshole hiding a time bomb in your birthday cake. Bad scene.
Now I'm a realist, so I realize this plan won't work quickly enough for those individuals who want Saddam Hussein's gonads in a Ball jar like, yesterday. But for those impatient folk I believe a slight modification to my Mideast peace plan may suffice.
Let's say you turn those fast food franchising...
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I'm going to let you all in on a secret that will save our federal government billions of Saddam-hunting dollars and will end this whole Iraq misadventure once and for all. It may take slightly longer than our current approach, but it's cheap and we won't have any more GIs shot in the ass while they're playing beach volleyball. It's simple: All we have to do is open a couple of Pizza Huts over there. They may not have that kind of hut-building technology over in Iraq yet, but we can import it. And within 30 years, all those bomb-happy assholes will have more fat pulsing through their veins than blood and they'll be dropping like lethargic, weak-hearted flies. Advantage: America.
It's a scientific fact that terrorism never originates in countries that get more than 40% of their calories from fat. Constructing a pair of tennis shoes out of plastic explosives or hucking hand grenades at an army patrol sounds like an awful lot of work when rolling over in bed is enough to raise your pulse. But you start feeding these guys rice, beans, and couscous and before you know it you've got some asshole hiding a time bomb in your birthday cake. Bad scene.
Now I'm a realist, so I realize this plan won't work quickly enough for those individuals who want Saddam Hussein's gonads in a Ball jar like, yesterday. But for those impatient folk I believe a slight modification to my Mideast peace plan may suffice.
Let's say you turn those fast food franchising dogs loose on Iraq, to quell the general populace. But while you're at it you save one location for a very special KFC. You might even put this special KFC in Saddam's hometown, couldn't hurt. But the most important thing is to make sure this restaurant is really the cream of the KFC crop, no chicken fingers petrifying under heat lamps for two weeks while the crew chief does lines of coke back in the walk-in freezer. That won't do. What we need here is a real tightly run ship that's cranking out some damned delicious chicken. And once the joint's become established and you've saturated the region with fried chicken fat, one random day you close up shop very unexpectedly. Blame it on to "technical difficulties" or a chicken rampage or what have you.
But before you board up the windows, you sell one last bucket of chicken. The last ever, and it goes to the highest bidder. Doesn't matter who it is. Wherever he's hiding, some of that chicken will find it's way back to Saddam Hussein, guaranteed. Maybe a thigh, maybe a wing. Doesn't matter. But the kicker is that you've saturated that one bucket of chicken with enough fat to kill the three tenors. Silver bullet heart attack variety, extra tasty deadly. Let's see the Iraqi public claim we faked a picture of Saddam Hussein, dead on a toilet with a drumstick hanging out of his mouth. Even those cynical bastards will be shocked into acknowledging the disgusting truth.
It's a sad state of affairs when all this administration wants for Christmas is Saddam Hussein dead on a toilet, but there you go. Merry Christmas.
Escalating the plan further couldn't help but solve the bigger Mideast asshole problem, as all those hard-ons will go soft for stuffed-crust cholesterol bombs and gorgeable Gorditas. And it wouldn't cost the Western superpowers a thing, just cut the fast food chains loose and they'd lick each other's brainpans clean for the chance to do America's dirty work for us. But for God's sake, please leave Subway out of this. The last thing I need to see on television is some big fat Arab guy talking about how he used to be even more big and fat before he started mainlining veggie subs.
If that happens I'm just going to keep my ideas to myself in the future, the common good be damned. º Last Column: Sierra Mistº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I have a dream… uh… nope, drawing a blank. It was clear as a fuckin' bell this morning, I swear to God. There was something about dolphins, that's all I can remember right now.”
-"King" Luther MartensFortune 500 CookieDon't be so hard on yourself, we all know mama told you not to come, but it ain't so easy when the bitch got titties til' Tuesday. Also, don't give up your dream of eating a tree like it was an ice cream sandwich, we've been charging admission. This week's lucky cancers: fingernail cancer, breath cancer, split ends cancer, silicone implant cancer.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Tanks: Why Can't We Drive 'Em? | | 2. | Apples: The Silent Killer | | 3. | Suck It: the commune's Vacuum Cleaner Reviews | | 4. | Uncle Macho's Boat Fire Gumbo | | 5. | Critic's Corner: How You Personally Ruined Western Culture | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/27/2006 Â 2
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    6 Oscarama!
What's that smell, America? Why, that's Oscar Fever in the air, and yes, it smells a lot like Kenny Roger's Roasters. It's Oscar Season, pure and simple, and as the big night approaches, we should take a moment to root through the nominees, digging for picks to stick and chick flicks to kick. So without further adieu, let's strap on the hip waders and get down to business!
Best Picture Brokeback Mountin'
Gay, you have a new name, and it's… not...
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    6 Oscarama! What's that smell, America? Why, that's Oscar Fever in the air, and yes, it smells a lot like Kenny Roger's Roasters. It's Oscar Season, pure and simple, and as the big night approaches, we should take a moment to root through the nominees, digging for picks to stick and chick flicks to kick. So without further adieu, let's strap on the hip waders and get down to business! Best Picture Brokeback Mountin'Gay, you have a new name, and it's… not coming to me right now. White guy, kind of good looking. Plays a gay guy in— nevermind. While this one will surely win the gay vote in Hollywood, look for staunch resistance from Hollywood's teaming hoards of fundamentalist Christians. Should be a close one, as "Battles of Civilizations" go. CarpartThis moving biopic about the squeaky-voiced guy who did the voice for my personal-favorite muppet, Carpart, moved viewers and massive quantities of popcorn, so look for it to get strong support from the popcorn lobby, a powerful ally come Oscar time. CrashWhile undoubtably the best Dave Matthews video ever, Hollywood insiders have a hard time taking a four- minute film seriously as a Best Picture contender. And the complete snub of Dave Matthews in the Best Actor category doesn't bode well for this one's chances. Look for it to lock in the frat vote regardless. Good Night,
and Fuck OffThe man who was born to be Batman, George "Rosemary's Baby" Clooney, thrilled us once again with this moving tale of the rudest AT&T operator to ever wear the smock. Did you know those guys wore smocks? Neither did I, before this movie. Sometimes they did sound kind of smocked-up when I'd call, but I always chalked it up to a bad connection on my end, since I used to keep my phone in the freezer when not in use, to help preserve freshness. Anyway… MunchSure to lock in the art-freak vote, Marilyn Manson's turn as that freaky screaming guy on the bridge brought a lot of attention to this little film about the Norwegian painter who was terrified of cloaked dudes with butcher knives taunting him over the phone. The film's real triumph was lending gravitas to a character crazy enough to be terrified of a scenario involving a device that wouldn't be invented for several more decades. If the academy doesn't go gay this year, this film could take home the little chiseled naked guy. Best Actor Philip Dustin Hoffman
CarpartI don't know how many hours of old Sesame Streets he had to watch to get the voice right, but PDH has done it again, greasing up the screen with his inimitably slouchy appearance. Seriously, if the next Tenacious D album incorporates Muppet-like backing vocals, I'll know their long-lost third member has finally bellied up to the band. Terrence Howard
Bustle & FloatProving once again that it ain't over until the fat lady sings an Annie Lennox song, Terrence Howard, better known as Moe from the old Three Stooges shorts, came out of retirement this year and bitch-slapped his way back into our hearts. I'd call him the front-runner for the award even if he wasn't, because I don't want to get my nose twisted in a wrench. Heath Ledgbar
Brokeback Mountin'That's right, I knew his name sounded like a candy bar I don't like. But to my embarrassment I've been calling him Baby Ruth all week. Ledgbar and his fellow screen pirate Skor Gylllenhaall, steamed up gay drive-ins across the country with their startlingly believable portrayal of two straight guys pretending to be gay and cowboys. Considering Ledgbar's redneck background, this was especially impressive, because he likely had to kick his own ass every day at the end of filming. Youaqueen Phoenix
Wok the LimeBringing country superstar Johnny Cash's bizarre mid-career period spent as a troubled Asian cooking show host couldn't have been easy, but it had to have been a cakewalk compared to growing up as a man with a first name like You-a-queen, and Phoenix knocks this one out of the park. David Straighthair
Good Night, and Fuck OffDon't know who he is, don't know where he came from, but he can be rude to me on the phone any time. 'Nuff said. Best Actress Judi Dench
Mrs. Harry and the HendersonsDidn't see it, smelt it, and that was enough. Good night and fuck off. Charlie's Theron
North CountryThat Ugandan supermodel with the weirdly-possessive first name stuns the easily- stunned glitterati of Hollywood yet again with her amazing transfor- mation into Oliver North, in this well-starched biopic yawner. Kudos to her, and I can't wait to see her upcoming turn as Grimace in the currently-filming McDonaldland movie. Let's hope she takes a break from filming that one to show up at the Oscars, in character! Akira Nightly
Pride & PrejuiceThanks for the traditional gag name nominee, Academy! I'll get back to you as soon as I get the gag. Felicity Huffman
TransamericairlinesThat black chick from the WB show nobody every watched finally gets her shot at the big screen, in a movie nobody watched, either, but they had to nominate her in case she was great. Simple enough. Reese Witherspieces
Wok the LimeIllegally Blonde star Reese Witherspieces rocks the cazbah with her thrilling turn as Johnny Cash's loyal wife Whatserpieces, nailing the role right down to her pitch-perfect Asian accent and hilarious "Me so haaawwwny!" catch phrase. Oscar, your new name is Whatserpieces! Second-Best Actor George Clooney
Silly AnnaThe 'cloon was busy this year, writing, directing, acting, and throwing telephones at the help, but some have argued he was nowhere better than in his make-up heavy role as Anna Nichole Smith's 700-year-old millionaire husband, an oil tycoon obsessed with the age-defying nutritive properties of breast milk. I've seen the movie twice (and some parts more than that) and can say with a blasé confidence that he's got the SBA Oscar wrapped up like a deli sandwich to go. William Hurt
A History of ViolenceNow there's a gag nominee I can get behind! Second-Best Actress Michelle Williams
Brokeback Mountin'There was a chick in this movie? Freaky. Whoever she was gets an Oscar automatically in my book, though they might want to piggyback some kind of make-up award onto this one as well, to be fair. And that's about all we've got time to cover this week, America. There will surely be some other minor awards, for writing, directing, and catering, but I think we've hit all the biggies. And I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see who takes home the nudie! See you there, in the sense that I'll be watching it on TV and you'll be watching it on TV, too, so in some strange way I'll be seeing you through some kind of Matrix cross- networked brain-mesh wave thing. I don't pretend to understand the science of this. Un   |
