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 June 15, 2011 |
Charleston, WV Good Times Army PR Dept Pro-drug leader Willie Nelson, seen here with either Georgia or Mary Jane on his mind. 
he Global Commission on Drug Policy declared this week that the international War on Drugs has been a complete failure, filling jails and costing taxpayers millions while actually increasing drug use and bolstering organized crime. The commission, made up of the former presidents of Brazil, Columbia, Mexico and Switzerland, and a guy who tried meth once at a party, reached this conclusion after months of study and forty-five seconds spent in Rio de Janeiro. The commission’s official recommendation was to end the war by decriminalizing drugs and focusing on treatment options, but many feel the damage has already been done, as indicated by the simultaneously-breaking story that drugs spokesperson Willie Nelson and his band of pro-drug commandos have taken control of the entire U.S. state of West Virginia.
"We should have never started this war," admitted national Drug Czar Gil Kerlikowske. "We clearly underestimated the resourcefulness of the drug users and their tactical expertise."
When asked how to spell his last name, Kerlikowske grew sullen and withdrawn, not unlike a drug commando after surviving a harrowing battle and pulling a full tube of reefer.
"Fuuuuuuck, maaaaaan," agreed drug user Tyler Bannister, from a guerilla base camp nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, high as shit.
Nelson’s forces reportedly met little resistance in commandeering the U.S. state, which had fallen into disuse and neglect over the years due to being completely awful.
"Wait, there’s a West Virginia?" responded former Drug Czar John P. Walters when asked for his take on the matter. "Are you sure on that? They must not have a Six Flags. If a state doesn’t have a Six Flags, I don’t want to hear about it."
Nelson has been a polarizing figure on the national stage ever since the war was declared, drawing grassroots support from drug fans around the world and confusing non-country music fans who thought he sang "All My Exes Live in Texas." His drug commando boot camps have been compared to Al Qaeda training camps, only more laid-back and with a lot more weed.
The invasion of West Virginia reportedly occurred overnight Tuesday, the only reported casualties being a Rite Aid security guard who shot himself in the scrotum trying to be a hero and a Nelson lieutenant who burnt his thumb on a bong stem.
"Hey man, you gonna eat all them chips?" pro-drug rebel Max Tulley asked when presented with a question about the skirmish by a reporter holding a bag of chips.
Nelson refused to comment on the coup directly, offering this reporter only a glazed grin and a mumbled "Later, man," while wandering away, which turned out not to mean he’d give a quote later.
Some Americans have argued that the commission’s findings are obvious and long-overdue, especially those still smarting from the Bush Administration’s "Take No Prisoners" approach to the war on drugs, which resulted in many family members shooting each other during small-scale living room skirmishes. The Obama Administration’s "We’re Not the Bush Administration" approach has proved only marginally more successful.
There was no news as of press time regarding whether or not the U.S. would attempt to retake West Virginia, or if the government would instead try to trade it for forgiveness of Nelson’s legendarily unpaid back taxes.
In a side-note, The Global Commission on Drug Policy also declared that word on the street is that Ricky Martin is probably gay, not that it matters. the commune news once declared a War on Ignorance, but the ignorant beat our dicks into the ground pretty fast and we quickly decided that appeasing the stupid is the wiser choice of action. Ivan Nacutchacokov is happy to have rejoined the commune and to be traveling the world again, as staying in any one place for more than 72 hours is a surefire way of inviting his hellspawn ex-wife to track him down and devour his soul.
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Less attractive woman kicked out of bed for eating crackers
Cantor Fitzgerald to take al-Qaeda before Judge Judy
 Failure of Sirius Radio Blamed on "You Can't be Sirius!" Ad Campaign  Obama to Change Spelling of Name to oBAMa for Maximum Impact |
Senator Wins Lottery, Quits "Shitty Job" epublican Senator Judd Gregg finally ran into a big steaming pile of luck Wednesday when he matched 5 of 6 Powerball numbers and won a lottery jackpot of $853,492. Gregg immediately called Vice-President Dick Cheney to let his boss know he would not be coming into work. “It’s about friggin’ time I got some good luck,” Gregg told reporters in front of his home in his home state of New Hampshire. Gregg waved his winning ticket in the air frantically and laughed. “Eat it, taxpayers! I’m gonna be my own boss from now on!” Gregg, who chairs the Senate Budget Committee and spent more than $2 million in his last re-election campaign, did admit to some sour grapes in not winning the $340 million jackpot won by an Oregon player in the same lottery. the commune's Fall Gadget Guide t’s almost the time of year to start pretending you’re Christmas shopping while you look for swanky new shit for yourself, and the commune is there for you with our first-ever annual Fall Gadget Guide. Join commune Tech Correspondent Mitch Kroeger as he guides you through the bewildering wilderness of the new and the shiny. Merck: “Crazy-Ass Brazil Giving AIDS Drugs to People With No Money” Poison Probe Reveals 90% of Packaged Foods Actually Dog Food |
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 January 20, 2003
The Myth of TornadoesThe first tornado, or "dizzy wind," was reported in ancient Sumer in 4914 B.C.. The Sumerian king returned home from an afternoon pillage one day to find his castle in total disarray, with royal garments strewn everywhere and the court musicians stuck up in a tree. He called upon the court scientists, who declared it the work of an ungodly natural phenomena caused by God's drunken uncle Blitzen. Later it was discovered that the king's ex-wife had been over that day and had caused the whole thing as usual, so the king had the court scientists tarred, feathered and cooked in a terrible big pot pie. And while he was at it he had the royal ex-wife beheaded again, since it apparently didn't take the first time.
When the Renaissance came along and slept on the world's couch longer than anyone would have liked, all sorts of half-assed thinkers came out of the woodwork to declare that they had the answers to all of nature's mysteries, like why sticks are pointy and why a dropped donut always falls in poop. For a while it was funny, but before too long people were longing for the Dark Ages again, when you could be ostracized, killed and buggered (in that order) for talking about anything other than how nice the weather was.
But unfortunately for fans of involuntary necrophilia, the Renaissance eventually led to the modern age, with its own host of superstitions and scientific old wives' tales. Modern scientists explained that twisters were actually...
º Last Column: The History of Fast Food
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The first tornado, or "dizzy wind," was reported in ancient Sumer in 4914 B.C.. The Sumerian king returned home from an afternoon pillage one day to find his castle in total disarray, with royal garments strewn everywhere and the court musicians stuck up in a tree. He called upon the court scientists, who declared it the work of an ungodly natural phenomena caused by God's drunken uncle Blitzen. Later it was discovered that the king's ex-wife had been over that day and had caused the whole thing as usual, so the king had the court scientists tarred, feathered and cooked in a terrible big pot pie. And while he was at it he had the royal ex-wife beheaded again, since it apparently didn't take the first time.
When the Renaissance came along and slept on the world's couch longer than anyone would have liked, all sorts of half-assed thinkers came out of the woodwork to declare that they had the answers to all of nature's mysteries, like why sticks are pointy and why a dropped donut always falls in poop. For a while it was funny, but before too long people were longing for the Dark Ages again, when you could be ostracized, killed and buggered (in that order) for talking about anything other than how nice the weather was.
But unfortunately for fans of involuntary necrophilia, the Renaissance eventually led to the modern age, with its own host of superstitions and scientific old wives' tales. Modern scientists explained that twisters were actually caused when high-powered attorneys ran into the front of low-pressure salesmen, resulting in a fun party game with a spinner. People never really believed that, but the spinner was so much fun that few saw fit to question the philosophy behind it.
To this day, a goodly proportion of the superstitious masses still believe in the tornado, this mythical "wind beast" that can pick up an entire trailer park at once and deposit it in a better part of town with no warning, even if they're just about to say who gets to marry the millionaire. Wild-eyed true believers tell fantastic tales of tornadoes that can blow a piece of straw through an oak tree or even drag a needle through Tipper Gore's ass.
Hollywood has done much to play into the public's ignorant fears, creating computer-generated tornadoes so real you'd swear they really were the bane of hayseeds from Kansas to Oklahoma. The Helen Hunt drama Twister won many a convert to the cult of the tornado, even though the film's credits spell out exactly who was responsible for the digital sleight-of-hand in large font. Many remember seeing the foam-rubber tornado in 1939's The Wizard of Oz as a child and have simply always assumed they were real. Others should know better, but there is little hope in arguing with someone who has a deep-seated need to believe in tornadoes.
Sadder still are the so-called tornado victims, who grab for headlines with vivid tales of the twister that took their truck, their house and their hometown. A sparse few have any kind of hard evidence, beyond some twisted wreckage and a town-shaped hole in the ground. Tornado hoaxes such as these have proliferated in recent years, as a deep need for contact with the supernatural has pushed many desperate people to the edge. A hilarious few claim to have been "taken" by the twister, up into its spinning winds, presumably to a magical land of merry-go-rounds, spinning tops and ice skaters twirling around perpetually like Lazy Susans.
Eventually there will come an enlightened age when we are free from such inane superstitions, but unfortunately it's not likely to happen until our alien creators come back and anal probe us into being smart. º Last Column: The History of Fast Foodº more columns
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|  November 25, 2002
Let There Be LightThe solution to The Great Omar Bricks Transportation Dilemma of 2002 came to me in a dream last Friday night. In the dream I was running away from this big car-wash monster thing, some kind of snuffleupagus made from those shaggy spinner things that wash the cars.
It wasn't really chasing me; more like sliding slowly down a hill. But I was running in place on those damned metal rollers like always, so the carwash was gaining, minute by minute. I don't know why I didn't just hop off the stupid rollers, but it was a dream thing so that solution didn't occur to me then any more than having sex with the Easter Bunny does to you right now. Before you read that.
In front of me there was a window, and on the other side of the window there was another me, some kind of good-looking son of a bitch Omar Bricks clone who was just sitting there, building a car out of pizza boxes. Now, at the time I was pissed that I was handed the shit end of the stick on which Omar I got to be in the dream, but then I killed the monster by having sex with that girl from the BMW commercial, so it all ended pretty good.
After I woke up, it dawned on me. With money a little tight in the Bricks household since the out-of-court settlement, why flush away even more precious green paying some overpriced beerbellies up in Detroit to build a car for me when I could build it myself? I've seen some of those guys and believe me, it can't be that hard.
One...
º Last Column: Silly Attorneys, Tricks is for Bricks
º more columns
The solution to The Great Omar Bricks Transportation Dilemma of 2002 came to me in a dream last Friday night. In the dream I was running away from this big car-wash monster thing, some kind of snuffleupagus made from those shaggy spinner things that wash the cars.
It wasn't really chasing me; more like sliding slowly down a hill. But I was running in place on those damned metal rollers like always, so the carwash was gaining, minute by minute. I don't know why I didn't just hop off the stupid rollers, but it was a dream thing so that solution didn't occur to me then any more than having sex with the Easter Bunny does to you right now. Before you read that.
In front of me there was a window, and on the other side of the window there was another me, some kind of good-looking son of a bitch Omar Bricks clone who was just sitting there, building a car out of pizza boxes. Now, at the time I was pissed that I was handed the shit end of the stick on which Omar I got to be in the dream, but then I killed the monster by having sex with that girl from the BMW commercial, so it all ended pretty good.
After I woke up, it dawned on me. With money a little tight in the Bricks household since the out-of-court settlement, why flush away even more precious green paying some overpriced beerbellies up in Detroit to build a car for me when I could build it myself? I've seen some of those guys and believe me, it can't be that hard.
One thing led to another and I decided to set up a production area for Bricks Motors in my garage. Now you might have thought that since the Bricks garage didn't have the Bricksmobile in it any more, it was just sitting there empty. But it was not. I don't know how, but shit piles up in there like assfat on an Eskimo. So I spent most of the day dragging junk out to the curb, including a dozen kiddie pools that had some kind of weird residue built up in them and half a parade float that I somehow ended up with. It wasn't the most fun I've ever had on a Saturday, but it was nice to finally pull the flush-handle on that hellish garage mess.
But the problem was that by the time I got all of that shit cleaned out of the garage, it was dark and I couldn't see a damned thing to draw in chalk on the floor where the car should go. Those Detroit auto-building slobs might be fat and stupid, but they had one thing Omar Bricks didn't: lights and shit.
Now, at first I was reluctant to just run out and buy some lights, figuring I might be able to build some torches or something to light the garage, like in the old days. But after some problems with the rafters not being fireproof, I decided that you can't build a car without spending a little money. Even Henry Ford probably had to buy some tools and lunch and whatever.
I went down to the store and found a floodlight that was perfect for the garage, plus it had a little devil on the package. Can't go wrong there. But the cheap cocksuckers didn't include a power cord, and they wanted me to shell out an extra fifteen bucks for an adapter. Well, in Omar Bricks' book, that's like tipping a stewardess: Strictly for assholes who are trying to show off. I had an adapter somewhere at home that I'd bought at a garage sale a few years back, and I was pretty sure it still worked. So those rip-off artists at Sears went home fifteen dollars poorer that day.
I'm sure you're all crawling up your own asses in anticipation of what happened next. Well, sorry to crap on your commode compadres, but it's gonna to have to wait until next column. I'm not gonna snow you on this one, I have to piss like Montezuma's Revenge. And since the commune shitter's backed up like a fat man's colon, this entails a waterlogged Bricks jog over to the Popeye's up the street in a hurry. While I'm there I plan on getting into some popcorn chicken, and you can kiss my ass if you think I'm going to hike all the way back here after a full meal.
So consider it suspense, or whatever floats your boat.
Bricks out. º Last Column: Silly Attorneys, Tricks is for Bricksº more columns
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Milestones1988: Red Bagel's screenplay based on the cover up of the Challenger disaster is rejected for production and accused of being plagiarized from Tootsie.Now HiringRib Sandwich. Tasty barbecue rib sandwich, no experience required, must be available noon today. If position works out, could invite you back every week and some weekends. Please contact Ned Nedmiller at the commune.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Ronald Reagan:
One-Sided Interview | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Carbless Rock Soup | | 3. | The Diarrhea Weight Loss Miracle | | 4. | 10 Questions for Marcel Marceau | | 5. | the commune's 100 Best Norwegian Rap Songs Ever | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/17/2003 Oscar fever is upon us, ladies and gentlemen, and fear not: that puss-like discharge is a completely normal symptom. Hollywood is throwing all of its bulimia-managed weight around in an effort to whip us all into an Oscar frenzy, until we're running around like assholes, buying movie hats and snatching up tickets for movies we've never heard of. Since after all, they must be good if Hollywood wanted to artificially boost their box-office by leveraging back-room deals for Oscar nominations, right? They wouldn't go to all of that trouble for a turkey, would they? Don't be silly. So let's ratchet up the anticipation to an uncomfortable level before the big night with one final look at the nominees!
Best Picture 
Oscar fever is upon us, ladies and gentlemen, and fear not: that puss-like discharge is a completely normal symptom. Hollywood is throwing all of its bulimia-managed weight around in an effort to whip us all into an Oscar frenzy, until we're running around like assholes, buying movie hats and snatching up tickets for movies we've never heard of. Since after all, they must be good if Hollywood wanted to artificially boost their box-office by leveraging back-room deals for Oscar nominations, right? They wouldn't go to all of that trouble for a turkey, would they? Don't be silly. So let's ratchet up the anticipation to an uncomfortable level before the big night with one final look at the nominees! Best Picture Chicago -read EP review- I've already given the city of Chicago enough free publicity by refusing to review their movie a few months back. I'm not about to add insulin to injury by talking it up more, here. More than I already have, anyway. So I'm stopping. Right… Now!
Gays of New York -read EP review-
Hands down the best gay film of the year. Notice I didn't say the "gayest best film," because that would be improper English, or "gayest good film," because that honor belongs to the overpoweringly gay epic Sweet Homo Alabama. GoNY, however, is good and gay in its own right. Though some thought the disco club rumbles in the film were too graphic, I think that the film would have lost its realism if they had left out all of the hair-pulling and name-calling. Some might argue that the film is too gay to win the big prize, but that didn't stop Cool Hand Luke, now did it? Even money says this one makes off with the naked-guy statue.
The Hours -read EP review-
There's some kind of standing rule with the Academy where if all of the reviewers fall asleep during a certain movie, they have to nominate it for Best Picture. Partly just tradition, I think, but also none of those guys want to admit they weren't deep enough to power through some ass-numbing exploration of a woman's spirit filmed in real-time with no cuts or bathroom breaks. The Hours is the secret shame of this year's nominee class, and I understand why. Getting through this movie is like serving a tour in Vietnam, only hard. Look out for this one as a dark-horse candidate for the win if none of the voters can get through the video.
The Lords of the Ring: The Out of Towners -read EP review-
What was supposed to be either the best gay movie of the year, or at least the gayest best movie of the year, turned out to be the least-gay mediocre movie that was supposed to be better and more gay. Peter, Paul and Mary Jackson pulled a fast one with this wild departure from the modern classic original, and I don't mean the good kind of "fast one" like in an airplane lavatory. Steve Martin is obviously acting upon orders from individuals who have kidnapped his family, but the directors, at least, should have known better. The series still has a chance to redeem itself, but early word is that the third film will star Lou Diamond Phillips. Really. If this one wins the Oscar it'll be because someone's a big fan of "The Hammer Song".
The Pianist -read EP review-
Funny, sure, but I doubt they're going to want to have to show a clip montage of past Oscar winners that includes a midget in a sleeping bag being mistakenly used as a giant tampon for a whale. In this case, the nomination is the award, and a secret thank-you to the Farley brothers for cutting the title down from their original The Princess and the Pianist.
Best Director
Rob Marshall, Chicago -read EP review-
I'm not kidding, piss off with the Chicago stuff.
Martin Scorsese, Gays of New York -read EP review-
It's fitting that Scorsese should invent the gay-boxing epic (with 1945's lesbian opus Raging Bull), see it aped masterfully in last year's Lords of the Ring, and then turn around and trump them all with this gay disco masterpiece. I don't know how they'll end up copying his latest coup, maybe they'll make Saturday Night Fever again, but I hope they just leave well enough alone.
Roger Daltry, The Hours -read EP review-
Roger Daltry must've been too wasted away in Margaritaville to jump on the "Rock Stars Directing Blockbuster Movies" bandwagon last year, and when he did finally show up to direct something, a year late and with his pants only half on and his eyes all bloodshot, it isn't a pretty picture. Pun most definitely intended. Some directing classes or rehab time couldn't have hurt, and it's pretty clear there are a few scenes where he dozed off while the camera was running. After the world-ending badness of Tommy, it's not like we were expecting anything better than a kick in the nuts here, but I still left feeling vaguely disappointed, and sore.
The Farley Brothers, The Pianist -read EP review-
At first glance this may seem like one of the Academy's usual gag nominations, but for once I think they're actually acknowledging the skill it takes to get a camera crew up an elephant's ass.
Pedro AlmovĂłvar, Talk to Her
Now here's the gag nomination. Fairly uncreative by Academy standards, but maybe they've got some inside joke about a guy waking up in bed with some Mexican dude and saying "Pedro, I'll move over and talk to her" that makes it hilarious. You never know.
Best Actor
Adrien Brody, The Pianist -read EP review-
Finally, that funny guy from Mallrats gets his due, though of course he had to unwittingly have sex with a buffalo to get it. That's the price we all have to pay. But who knew he had a poofy first name like "Adrien"? No wonder we haven't seen him in more action vehicles.
Nicolas Cage, Adaptato
Only Nicolas Cage, or possibly Robin Williams, (maybe Gerald Ford) could pull off the lead role in this heavily bizarre Mr. Potato Head movie. But Cage does it with more panache, funny noses and sour cream than anyone had a right to expect. Maybe now he'll finally get to take a crack at the big-budget action roles he's always been denied because of that crazy look on his face.
Daniel Day-Lewis, Gays of New York -read EP review-
Daniel Day is just amazing in this film. His shoes match every outfit… even the ones you wouldn't think would go with anything. In addition, he does the gay thing better than most supposedly gay people. Give the man a restaurant already.
Toby Keith, The Quiet American
Another gag nomination that provides a polite smile and little else. Maybe the Academy needs to hire some new writers.
Jack Nicholson, About Shit -read EP review-
Jack is the man, even when he's not a man (see Kangaroo Jack, 2003. Actually, don't see it, since it was kind of rank, but think of it when you read that comment) and the Academy has never been afraid to French-kiss his two Jakes. Woah, excuse me. Just barfed. Got too vivid there even for my own self. Anyway, there are few men on earth who can carry a film in which absolutely nothing happens, and thankfully for us Jack is one of them. I'm not sure who the others would me, maybe Jesus or that Jonestown guy. I hear he was pretty charismatic.
Best Actress
Salma Hayek, Fritos
Best snack-food movie since Kurosawa's Ramen-dan, and Salma Hayek makes eating Fritos look like something we should all do, naked.
Nicole Kidman, The Hours -read EP review-
To be honest I forgot she was in this; she must have come in after I tried to kill myself by choking on a Whopper. The candy, you think I want to die with Burger King in my mouth? Ick.
Nathan Lane, Unfaithful
Proving he's just as good at playing a chick as he is at playing a really effeminate man, Nathan Lane won a lot of fans this year, many of whom would beat the shit out of themselves if they knew they were lusting after a dude.
Julianne Moore, Farhvergnugen
Though Moore should probably be recognized for the best performance anyone has ever given in a two-hour car commercial, I got sick of that "Da da da" song after about ten seconds and I think it may have soured me on her as a human being.
Renée Zellweger, Chicago -read EP review-
Nope, don't have anything to say. Not a God. Damned. Thing.
Best Supporting Actor
Chris Cooper, Adaptato
The secretive X-Files creator must've had some childhood play-time issues lingering to make him want to call in a favor to be cast in this one, but he does a fine job as the Potato Heads' weird neighbor who's missing some of his accessory teeth.
Ted Harris, The Hours -read EP review-
There must be a lot of big fans of The Who out in Hollywood, because Daltry had no problem attracting top-drawer talent to this project. Thanks to this film I now know all the nervous tics Ted Harris displays while waiting for the director to wake up and call "Cut!" but I'm not sure that gives him the edge for the Oscar.
Paul Newman, Road to Perdition -read EP review-
The movie itself was a slow train to Boregon State, but Newman did his thing with style as a mafia hitman who had his bladder removed in the war and has to drink while standing over a toilet. It doesn't read funny in black and white, but it works in the film. It's a shame to think what Newman could have done with a decent script, I for one would have loved to see him as a member of the Potato Heads' extended family in Adaptato.
John C. Reilly, Chicago -read EP review-
I hear ya knockin' but you can't come in… Keep it up, Chicago.
Christopher Walken, Catch Me If You Can -read EP review-
It's a bit strange that Walken got the nod instead of Leo "I Was Born to Play Lucky the Leprechaun" DiCaprio, but I can't fault the Academy with throwing a little love Walken's way. Playing Lucky's father had to be a challenge, since he rarely appeared in the Lucky Charms commercials, leaving Walken to create an entire mythology from scratch. And he did a fine job, mixing one part parental cereal wisdom with two parts of his trademark "I'm hiding under your bed" icky charisma.
Best Supporting Actress
Kathy Bates, About Shit -read EP review-
Bates scared the shit out of me when she came up on the screen, I thought she was going to go after Jack's ankles with a sledgehammer. Come to think of it, they could have had a pretty sweet sledgehammer/fire-axe battle to the crazy death between the two of them. Kind of strange the screenwriters didn't think of it first.
Julianne Moore, The Hours -read EP review-
Shit, she was in this, too? What, is she saving up to buy a house or something?
Queen Latifah, Chicago -read EP review-
Nice try, you almost tricked me into talking about Chicago again. Riiiight, Queen Latifah.
Meryl Streep, Adaptato
She was born to play the role of Mrs. Potato Head, and did not disappoint. But being a woman of sleight build, I did wonder at times exactly how many facial features and accessories she could really store in her ass.
Catherine Zeta-Jones, Chicago -read EP review-
Christ, did the entire Academy have family members in this movie or what?
And that is what it is. Of course, there are also some nominations for cartoons and music and best catering and all that, but we're trying to bring the column in at under three hours this year. I did notice that the nominations were fairly light on joke names and fake categories this year, maybe it's a sign that the Academy is finally growing up. Well, on second thought they did still nominate a movie with a dick joke in the title for Best Picture, so I guess we shouldn't get too worried. I hope you've enjoyed yourself as much as I've enjoyed yourself, and that you'll all be back for more EP flavor the next time we squirt it out of the nozzle. Until then!
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