Australian Hijacker Thwarted, Drained of Blood

June 9, 2003

Melbourne, Australia

Junior Bacon

The plane in question, which this photographer ain't coming anywhere near

man attacked two flight attendants with wooden stakes on a Qantas airlines flight between Melbourne and Tasmania Thursday, in an apparent attempt to storm the cockpit and crash the plane. The man was subdued by the flight crew and passengers, and subdued so violently that the entire cabin was drenched in vivid red gore after the incident.

According to reports, shortly after the flight took off from Melbourne the man stood, brandished both the wooden stakes and a large antique crucifix, and began to chant in an unknown tongue. When two flight attendants, a man in his 30s and a woman in her 20s, tried to explain to the man that the lavatory would be unoccupied shortly, he attacked both with the wooden stakes. Before he could drive the stakes through their breastplates and into their cold flight-attending hearts, the assailant was quickly overwhelmed by passengers and crew, and according to some reports, drained of all his blood.

"This appears to be a premeditated attack, though not an act of terrorism," stated Transportation Minister John Anderson, a man so uptight his pants were almost sucked into his body by the vacuum created inside his ass.

"The assailant was one and the same, quite an unstable man of not-sane proclivities, given to unprovoked violence," continued Anderson at the half-assed press conference in Melbourne. "Though little is known now and it is far too early to determine his motivations, I think it is safe to say this incident had absolutely nothing to do with vampires."

The minister's comments were met with a confused silence, at which point he walked away from the podium with a seat cushion humorously stuck to his posterior.

Eyewitnesses reported seeing the assailant being led away by the authorities in Melbourne, appearing dazed and a ghostly pale white, yet strangely unweakened by the severe blood loss. His only comments to the press involved a mumbled desire to join the Qantas flight team in the future.

Qantas head Geoff Dixon explained how it was determined that the man planned on crashing the plane despite the fact that he never even made it into the cockpit. "It's simple, really. I mean, what the hell else was he going to do? Ask them to fly over his house and wave to the wife? I think not. The next thing I know you're going to be suggesting the entire Qantas crew are undead Nosferatu-types who sucked this chap dry like a juice box. Ha. Then you'd start insinuating all of Australia has been overrun by vampires, wouldn't you? That's a laugh. What a silly thing you could have said."

"It's clear this bloke was a, a what have you, an Alzheimers, you know, the terrorists, that bunch," said pilot Brett Myers, wiping a dribble of blood off his chin.

Once the flight turned around and landed back in Melbourne, outsiders to Australia were shocked by the violence with which the assailant had been subdued. However, such incidents are not uncommon in the nation, as last year on a Qantas flight an unruly passenger was kicked and stomped by fellow passengers and crew members for over 45 minutes after suggesting a cabin-wide sing along of tunes from Mary Poppins.

"We here in Australia look out for our own," said Dixon, allegedly referring to the passenger uprising but also eyeing this reporter's neck in a thoroughly creepy fashion.

the commune news may not be undead, but we're untrained, unpaid and untrustworthy, and that's got to count for something. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the commune's foreign correspondent and had better get his ass into a tanning bed if he expects us to let him back in the building again.

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May 31, 2004

A Sharp-Dressed Manservant

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I recently acquired a manservant, and let me say, it's about time. I don't too often dredge up the personal details of my lifeâ€”few people have the stomach to face the horrible truth about the emptiness of my world outside the commune. It's all work, work, work, although not quite as much work as all that. I tend to spend my time chasing conspiracies, like a lone Fox Mulder, only in the attire of a riverboat gambler and with more incoherent yelling.

I hired Rascal in an attempt to do more with my free time than work. Frankly, I don't think the Ultimate Conspiracy is unraveling any time soon, but I'll keep my eyes on itâ€”never let it be said Red Bagel isn't vigilant. I can just be vigilant in fewer hours, because it's wearing my ass out.

If you looked up "manservant" in the dictionary, you would see a picture of Rascal right there on the page. Actually, the picture is next to the entry for Mansi, a people of the Ob River in Siberia, and I was looking in an encyclopedia. But that third fellow back looks dead on like Rascal. I hired him for his wonderful English accent, so classy and uptight. Then he told me he was from Australia, but it's close enough, as far as I'm concerned.

So finally, I have managed to tear myself away from the office. In a metaphorical sense, this is not another complaint about the vinyl seats on those summer days I wear short shorts. Rascal suggested we go out and update my wardrobe, get something with more earth tones. I don't mind telling you I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman that day, if that's not too weird. It was fun trying on all those clothes and seeing how dapper I could look, like a real gentleman, when I went crazy in the most expensive stores in town. Of course, we didn't buy anything, their prices were shithouse, but when they found out I had tried on the underwear they let me keep every pair.

A man of many talents, Rascal also cooks. His Eggos are the finest to be found anywhere, and he makes all his syrup himself. Actually, he makes it by combining stolen bottles of syrup from IHOPs and Denny's, but as far as I'm concerned that's his creative license. True, it would be nice if he made more than Eggos and syrups, or the occasional burnt pop tart, but never let me be called greedy, sir.

One of the best things about Rascal is his thirst for work. Yes, no one works harder if you stand right there the entire time while the task is to be doneâ€”and don't take your eyes off that one, or he'll slip off to nap under a sequoia. But assuming you keep him under constant surveillance, no one works harder. We worked together all day last weekend building a chicken farm, including the chickens, from the ground up. At least we did until Rascal mysteriously disappeared. I found him at the end of the day, but in spite of all that work, he looked well-rested. Put two and two together with me, folks.

But I don't want you to think the Red Bagel house is a dictatorship. It's at least as democratic as the Bush administration. Rascal and I spent all Saturday partaking of his favorite pastime, underground death racing. It's not quite as fun as building a chicken farm, but there's a certain amount of exhilaration watching a car explode right in front of you, showering you with shrapnel and body parts. Suffice to say, we'll be a dictatorship from now on. All the same, I highly recommend getting an English-Australian manservant to all of you who are not poor.

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August 22, 2005

Charity Case

º Last Column: I Plead "Not Guilty" to the Charge of Breeding Velocimonkeys
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You know what pisses me off? These ads you see on TV for some starving children's charity in Oswego or some place, where they say that $2.90 a day can buy you a coffee, donut and a newspaper, or you can feed an entire family in Oswego. To which I say, well yeah, but what about my donut? That shit is delicious. If I feed a family in Oswego, are they then going to turn around and mail me a donut? And how long does that shit take? I'm hungry now dammit, getting a donut from FedEx in the middle of a steak dinner I'm eating next week isn't going to do me a whole hell of a lot of good. These charity boneheads have really failed to think through the details.

And what in the hell are they feeding those Oswegans for $2.90? McDonald's? Thanks, but the U.S. doesn't need any more foreigners pissed off at us like that. Even if we're feeding them Ramen noodles, that's still pretty rough. You can only make it for about three days on that stuff before you start dropping ass like a Play-Doh Crazy Spaghetti Factory.

Now if you tell me they're eating something good for that $2.90, then you've got my attention. I want a slice of that action. I haven't done the math recently, but I'm pretty sure I spend way more than $2.90 a day on food. And I don't even have any kids, or a wife siphoning off $2 of my per diem so she can buy some of that organic beeswax lip balm. You ever try eating on 90 cents a day? Well big spender, I hope you like Juicy Fruit.

I even called one of these places and told them I'd sponsor some poor motherfuckers out there in the Congo if they'd give me the hook-up on some of this cheap grub. I figured, if I'm getting 30 cent steak dinners and lobster bisque for 99 cents, I can afford to carry some freeloading Ethiopians as part of my overhead. What the hell, I've never been a selfish guy. Get on the Mitch Kroeger gravy train, you skinny fuckers.

You know what they said to me? Nothing. I mean they hung up like I had just propositioned them for phone sex. Wake up, charity assholes, that was like two weeks ago! Now I'm calling with a business proposition. No wonder you guys are on TV begging for handouts, you don't have any idea how to run a business.

My solution? Well, for one thing, I'm not one of these conservative assholes who's going to look a starving Ethiopian in the eye and tell him to go get a job and buy his own food. That's bullshit: jobs suck a nut. I would, however, suggest that maybe he should grow a pair and go kill himself a lion. Lions are good eatin', for one thing, and last time I checked they're pretty huge. Kill one of those things and you're going to be ass-deep in lion steaks for the foreseeable future. You might even be able to sell some of the less desirable cuts to your fellow villagers or trade the gonads or the gizzard for some A1 sauce and baked potatoes, to make a real meal of it.

Now don't get started on me about how some skinny Ethiopian dude, tired from weeks of not eating, is supposed to kill a big scary-ass lion. For one thing, if he's really that skinny, the lion doesn't pose any real threat since he can just slip between its teeth like dental floss. But even if he's not down to Kate Moss starvation levels quite yet, it's not like we're living in 400 B.C. here. Lions may be big and mean, but they still get run over by a Jeep just like anything else. And I know that not every starving Ethiopian villager owns his own Jeep, I'm not stupid. But that doesn't mean he can't borrow one. He wouldn't even need it that long, maybe thirty seconds or so. And what kind of asshole wouldn't lend a starving Ethiopian his car for thirty seconds? You should be ashamed of yourself, bud.

º Last Column: I Plead "Not Guilty" to the Charge of Breeding Velocimonkeys
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Milestones

1996: Red Bagel fires entire commune staff during "Crazy Bagel's Everything Must Go Liquidation Madness" phase of the commune's August Sale-abration. Analysts praise Bagel for ridding his staff of junkies and losers, who he promptly replaces with the current batch of junkies and losers.

Now Hiring

Bloodhound. Needed to track down former commune staffer Smilin' Jack Costello, who disappeared in May, still owing $8 to the office petty cash fund. Smart dog needed who is not fooled by turbans or overly distracted by running foxes. Generous wages to be paid in beef kidneys.

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BY Roland McShyster

1/1/2000

Hey troops, welcome back to Entertainment Police! Sorry for the gap in my columns, but apparently DUI stands for Don't Underestimate Interpol! Goodness me, well needless to say it's great to get back onto Yankee soil and back to the hunt for worthwhile Entertainment. A lot's happened since our last EP: the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the Peabody... and somebody told me Carmen Electra got married! Bless her heart. I asked around, but nobody seems to think Harry Connick Jr was the lucky guy... poor Harry. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It's useless to dwell on the disappointments and massive cocaine busts of our past though, so let's get on with the show!

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Being John Malkovich