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Republican Majority Mandates Lobster Bibs for DemocratsNovember 11, 2002 |
Washington, D.C. Ansel Evans There's just no way to wear one of those things without looking like an asshole.
"Well, those boys is some messy eaters, so we figured we'd help 'em out so they can keep their shirts clean," chuckled Senator Thad Cochran from Tennessee.
ess than a week after the Republican smack-down known as the 2002 election, giddy conservatives were chomping at the bit to address their priorities for the upcoming session of Congress. Saturday night, an after-hours weekend meeting and weenie roast for GOP Congressmen both incumbent and newly elect set the tone for the upcoming session. Among the top priorities addressed were mandatory lobster bibs for all Democrats, the implementation of segregated Democrat bathrooms down in the basement behind the boiler room, and the requirement that Democrats sing the teapot song before speaking during congressional debates.
"Well, those boys is some messy eaters, so we figured we'd help 'em out so they can keep their shirts clean," chuckled Senator Thad Cochran from Tennessee.
"The American people have spoken, or more importantly they scribbled in some little bubbles with a pencil, and they've sent a clear mandate about what they want to see in the next two years. Few can deny that Americans are clamoring to see Democrat Representatives with embarrassing words like 'Dickless' and 'Miss Thang' sunburned onto their chests while they are chased by bears on rollerskates. The American people suffered through a long ballot, they had to fill in a lot of pointless bubbles for judges and people they'd never heard of just to make the democracy machine work, and now we owe it to them to hold up our end of the bargain. Let me be the first to wield the spankin' paddle in the name of the American Way," announced Sen. Pat Roberts of Kansas with a gleam in his eye.
When asked by a visibly concerned President Bush when Congress would find time to approve military action in Iraq, Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott looked confused for a moment before replying.
"Ira-? Oh, right, right. Don't worry yourself, Dub. There'll be plenty of time for that after we pass this hilarious bill Orrin's been working on. Get this, we're going to have all of the… Jesus, excuse me, it still cracks me up, we're gonna have all the Democrats carrying around these dog bowls with their names printed on them, to drink out of, you know. And whenever Moynihan goes off on one of his tangents, you know, like he does, I'm going to stand up and do the little pinky-finger thing, you know what I'm talking about. And I say 'Could someone please throw the Senator a frickin' bone here?' Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that we're going to keep a few cases of dog biscuits on hand for everybody to throw at Moynihan when I say that. Shit, let me start over. This is going to be great."
Lott was cut off by Rep. Elect Saxby Chambliss of Georgia, who was doing an impression of a Democrat Congressman in the upcoming 2003 session.
"I'm a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle and here is my spout! I object!"
The gathered Congressmen erupted into laughter and applause, which rose another notch when Sen. Elect Jim Talent of Missouri shot milk out of his nose. the commune news is a profoundly bipartisan organization that prides itself on giving equal coverage to both sides of the "Tastes Great/Less Filling" debate. Ivana Folger-Balzac is harder to get rid of than an Enron sweatshirt and has apparently outlasted the Japanese Mafia, who are entirely overrated.
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Camping Thought "Rapture" Meant "Bitchin' Sunset," Which Did Happen
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Stern label warning to remind people piracy is illegal
Greece Auctions Off Airports, Highways, Olivia Newton-John
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Cheney Comrade Injured During Hunt for Bin Laden Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines Serial Killer’s Neighbor: “He just wouldn’t shut up about serial killing.” Heather Graham’s Career Found Dead in Apartment |
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 December 9, 2002
There Was No Way to TellThe tree hopped down from the hill
and he dashed through the field.
The sun had been peeled
and the clouds were as plump
as a Chinaman's rump.
A squirrel was asleep on a branch,
he awoke with a blanch
and he turned a stark white
when the fright
leapt up from his toes like a flash.
A duck somersaulted through the grass,
he was stoned off his ass
on crackers.
No, no, quackers!
The duck thought this funny as he saulted.
So he missed it when the tree ran by,
though a fly
saw it twelve dozen times
because that's the kind of eyes
God gave him, we surmise
he got bored after five.
When Luchas, who was chewing on a fig
he had pulled from his wig,
saw the tree he cashed it in.
In the seat of his pants,
where a platoon of ants
quickly voted to find a new place to live.
Sanchel thought the thing was a dream,
so she couldn't help but scream
when she saw the tree had ice cream.
"A looper! A looper on the loose!"
cried a tri-colored goose
when he saw the tree streak nakedly by.
"Ah-ah?" said poor Renal from the South
as ham fell from his mouth.
When the tree stepped on right-foot blue
he forgot how to chew,
his Twister picnic interrupted.
The scientist was taken aback
while on her date with Lumber...
º Last Column: Through the Colon of a Whale
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The tree hopped down from the hill
and he dashed through the field.
The sun had been peeled
and the clouds were as plump
as a Chinaman's rump.
A squirrel was asleep on a branch,
he awoke with a blanch
and he turned a stark white
when the fright
leapt up from his toes like a flash.
A duck somersaulted through the grass,
he was stoned off his ass
on crackers.
No, no, quackers!
The duck thought this funny as he saulted.
So he missed it when the tree ran by,
though a fly
saw it twelve dozen times
because that's the kind of eyes
God gave him, we surmise
he got bored after five.
When Luchas, who was chewing on a fig
he had pulled from his wig,
saw the tree he cashed it in.
In the seat of his pants,
where a platoon of ants
quickly voted to find a new place to live.
Sanchel thought the thing was a dream,
so she couldn't help but scream
when she saw the tree had ice cream.
"A looper! A looper on the loose!"
cried a tri-colored goose
when he saw the tree streak nakedly by.
"Ah-ah?" said poor Renal from the South
as ham fell from his mouth.
When the tree stepped on right-foot blue
he forgot how to chew,
his Twister picnic interrupted.
The scientist was taken aback
while on her date with Lumber Jack.
"This cannot be! I must investigate!"
But she for one ran too slow and too late,
for Jack jumped up in a haste
and with axe in had, he took up chase.
This parade was quite the sight to see.
A dozen lit out for the tree,
sure that magical lands awaited.
But when the tree dove trunk-first in the river,
the group gave up with a toe-dip and a shiver,
their curiosity abated.
After all, let's not get carried away here. º Last Column: Through the Colon of a Whaleº more columns
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|  May 17, 2004
My Friend PoloI don't know why everybody expects me to know everything around here. "Omar, what's your car doing parked in my office?" "Omar, who the fuck hired Menudo to tile the break room?" "Omar, what ever happened to that Japanese woman you had living in your house?" What am I, Google? Get your lazy ass over to the library and look it up yourself, Curious George. AskOmar.com don't run for free and when I charge, I charge in pain.
I have to admit though; the "Japanese woman" question did get me thinking. I seem to remember something like that, some kind of foreign squatter in the Bricks Manor a little while back. At first I thought I must be remembering some lame sitcom, but according to resident prick Orson Welch, The Jap of Luxury went off the air years ago.
I definitely remember the house smelling like soy sauce a lot last year, and a quick peek into the compost heap outside shows strong evidence that there was a lot of chop-sticking going on around here during the same time period. So it certainly looks like this place was all Japped up for a good couple months last year. Weird.
I decided to hit the Internet for a little research, which mostly turned up strange cartoon pornography that's likely going to screw up my Saturday mornings for the next few years. But the most useful info came from the commune itself (no shit, we're on the Internet now) in the form of my own Polio columns from last fall. That was really a trip; I was wondering...
º Last Column: Happy Camper
º more columns
I don't know why everybody expects me to know everything around here. "Omar, what's your car doing parked in my office?" "Omar, who the fuck hired Menudo to tile the break room?" "Omar, what ever happened to that Japanese woman you had living in your house?" What am I, Google? Get your lazy ass over to the library and look it up yourself, Curious George. AskOmar.com don't run for free and when I charge, I charge in pain.
I have to admit though; the "Japanese woman" question did get me thinking. I seem to remember something like that, some kind of foreign squatter in the Bricks Manor a little while back. At first I thought I must be remembering some lame sitcom, but according to resident prick Orson Welch, The Jap of Luxury went off the air years ago.
I definitely remember the house smelling like soy sauce a lot last year, and a quick peek into the compost heap outside shows strong evidence that there was a lot of chop-sticking going on around here during the same time period. So it certainly looks like this place was all Japped up for a good couple months last year. Weird.
I decided to hit the Internet for a little research, which mostly turned up strange cartoon pornography that's likely going to screw up my Saturday mornings for the next few years. But the most useful info came from the commune itself (no shit, we're on the Internet now) in the form of my own Polio columns from last fall. That was really a trip; I was wondering how in the hell people got to our site. Turns out all you have to do is search for "Japanese cat-piss cornhole" and you're there.
So now with that confusion out of the way, I'm faced with a question: What in the hell happened to my Asian live-in cohort? Jesus, you turn around for nine months and these people disappear on you, it's insane.
The last thing I remember, we were teamed up in this rickshaw polo tournament I had organized for charity. Osaka had been building up some serious skills carting me around town during those carless days, and I was getting pretty sharp at not eating shit out the back on sharp turns, so I figured we should put those skills to use for a good cause. There was some static about a school for training immigrants to pull Omar Bricks around town like a dogsled team not being a real charity, but those whiners were weeded out pretty fast and most of them had some pretty sad sack rickshaw-pullers anyway, to say the least. Mostly scrawny neighborhood kids or hookers trying to get off the street, Osaka and I would have poloed circles around them without either of us breaking a sweat.
In retrospect I wouldn't have minded if those guys stayed on, because the poloers who did stick around were a pretty rough bunch who favored a brand of full-contact rickshaw polo that wasn't for the faint of heart. I really felt sorry for anyone who parked their car on Brown Street that day, that's all you need to know.
In the end nobody there could match the skills Osaka and I brought to the arena, but they didn't need to since we flipped the 'shaw while popping a wheelie on the victory lap after I'd scored our first goal. Needless to say the rickshaw was destroyed, which Osaka probably wasn't too thrilled about since she'd paid for it and I'd talked her into getting one of the nice ones, really the Mercedes-Benz of rickshaws, it had a mini-fridge and a doorbell and everything. After the crash there was rickshaw shit all over the street, a stray dog even made off with the portable DVD player. It was a sad scene, especially for me, because I was right in the middle of Rollerball when it happened. I still don't know how that movie ends.
Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing Osaka after the crash, she may have given up on America or been kidnapped by the Triads for all I know. Hell, she could still be at the bottom of that pile of rickshaw rubble, but I bet they've cleaned that up by now. I probably could have stuck around and found out for sure, but the cops were on their way and we only had about ten minutes to make the half-off beers at Runyon's, so nobody was exactly volunteering to hang around for casualty detail.
It's probably all worked out for the best, unless she died. In that case, Osaka, or whatever your real name was, I'll never forget you. Again. After this time, never again. So I'll only forget you once. Probably, can't promise anything. But if you are still around and have learned to read English by now, Foghat's been sleeping on a pile of your stuff, so if you want it back you'll have to talk to him. Bricks out. º Last Column: Happy Camperº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Seek not greatness, but seek truth and you will find both. If, however, you find a bag that looks like oregano, it's mine. I mean, if the cops ask you, it's not mine, but I am totally holding it for a friend of mine.”
-Ron HorsemannFortune 500 CookieAnother day, another dollar—you should really quit the migrant worker biz for a job where you can make more than a buck a day. Fans of sweaty three-ways with lesbians rejoice, they'll have your video in stock this Thursday. I've been smelling beans all day. That can't be just me. Lucky Lucianos will be Angelo, Salvatore, Emilio, and Gary.
Try again later.Least Popular Benefit Concerts| 1. | USA for Canada | | 2. | MegaDeth Relief Fund | | 3. | Concert Against Bangladesh | | 4. | Frat Aid | | 5. | The More Tolerance for Fags Benefit | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 9/15/2003 Hello commune readers, and welcome to mile three of the Orson Welch movie-review marathon. Can we make it to the finish line? Nobody knows, and even fewer care, but still we trek bravely onward. Not even the howls of derisive mockery, nor the constant flood of hateful emails can get us down. Nor being refused entry to the commune's main offices for not "feeling like a nut" and then returning to our mother's car to find it literally wallpapered with parking tickets, as if parking on top of the median is on par with a serious act of terrorism. Nay, commune readers, we shant be dissuaded, so stop trying to dissuade us… meaning yourselves… okay, meaning me. Quit fucking with me. I'm just trying to do my job here, and your precious idiot-savant Roland McShyster isn't back yet, so just step...
Hello commune readers, and welcome to mile three of the Orson Welch movie-review marathon. Can we make it to the finish line? Nobody knows, and even fewer care, but still we trek bravely onward. Not even the howls of derisive mockery, nor the constant flood of hateful emails can get us down. Nor being refused entry to the commune's main offices for not "feeling like a nut" and then returning to our mother's car to find it literally wallpapered with parking tickets, as if parking on top of the median is on par with a serious act of terrorism. Nay, commune readers, we shant be dissuaded, so stop trying to dissuade us… meaning yourselves… okay, meaning me. Quit fucking with me. I'm just trying to do my job here, and your precious idiot-savant Roland McShyster isn't back yet, so just step off my jock and let's be civil about this, okay? Great. Now for the movies.
In Theaters
Cabin Fever
According to the note Roland McShyster left on my windshield, Cabin Fever is "The taxi-cab industry's winningly botched attempt at creating a new cultural fad, making kids think it's cool to take a cab absolutely everywhere, even to cross the street to get a newspaper." Right. I can see why you people love this guy so much. Morons.
In actuality, Cabin Fever is a bastardized cross between The Blair Witch Project and 28 Days Later, two bastards who certainly didn't need to cross-breed. Look, any time a movie's selling point is "at least it didn't cost much to make," you know you're in trouble. See Robert Rodriguez, below.
Matchstick Men
So Ted Griffin wakes up one morning, and realizes "Oh shit, I wrote Ravenous!" Thank God nobody noticed. But just to be on the safe side, he hurries up and writes Best Laid Plans and Ocean's Eleven to cover his tracks. Good move. Keep 'em laughing about that Ted Nugent's shirt joke and nobody will bother to ask where exactly you came from. And now you can stop padding your resume by pointing out that your grandma was in Jazz Mad back in 1928. Bonus.
But then Ted finally breaks down and listens to his brother Nick's stupid idea for a movie called Matchbox Men about some little tiny guys who drive those die-cast toy cars, which he's been going on about for years. And in a moment of fraternal weakness, Ted actually agrees to co-write the movie with his brother, on the condition that they drop the stupid slot-car angle. Bad move. I mean, good that they dropped the slot cars, bad that they wrote the movie at all. How either of these guys is related to Ridley Scott is anybody's guess, but he must've got too comfortable thinking people had finally forgotten about Legend and he could safely squeak out another turd here. Look for all these guys to do some great work in the near future to try and cover up this burnt spot on the rug.
Once Upon a Time in Mexico
Here's an interesting question: How do you follow up a movie that's famous for being made on a shoestring budget of $7,000 you earned by selling your body to science? If you're Robert Rodriguez and the movie is 1992's El Mariachi, you spend another $7,000 on a mediocre sequel and save the rest of your Hollywood budget to secretly make a bizarre spy movie starring your neighbor's kids. Hollywood caught on, of course, and as punishment made Rodriguez direct The Faculty in 1998, even sneaking Bebe Neuwirth into the cast as a not-so-subtle "fuck you" to Rodriguez. The director got the last laugh however, when his spy movie hit a Teletubbied nerve and Spy Kids was a hit, spawning two sequels. And as the final cumshot in Hollywood's marmalade, Rodriguez has made another El Mariachi sequel, yet again for $7,000, and has spent the rest of the budget fixing up his house. Now I'm not saying you should go see the movie, but you've got to admire those balls.
Secondhand Lions
Okay, first off: Contrary to the message Roland McShyster has been leaving on various office voice mails, this picture is not a pathetic biopic of pathetic film critic Jeffrey Lyons. Though, admittedly, it would probably have been better if it were. Instead, it's a piece of hilarious shit that tries to pass off the anthropologically old Robert Duvall and Michael Caine as endearing elderly gay curmudgeons charged with raising a precocious young tyke played with Haley Joel Osment. Thanks to the combined age and lifeless performance of his co-stars, I think it's safe to say that Osment is, yet again, seeing dead people. About as likeable as someone else's anal cavity, Secondhand Lions will leave you wanting more, more reasons to live and for the love of God keep 'em coming fast.
Underworld
Here's a "chicken-or-the-egg?" riddle for you: Did the fact that Len Wiseman is engaged to Kate Beckinsale get the former prop-lackey his first real gig, writing and directing the bad rubber-werewolf opus Underworld? Or was it Wiseman's involvement that dragged actress Beckinsale into the project and Ike Turnered her into accepting the lead role? If the later is true, we can only imagine what Wiseman talks Beckinsale into in bed, good gravy! The formerly sort of respectable cockney chick-flick queen takes a running broad jump into poop with this ill-advised comic book romp, based on somebody's stoned idea of what a comic book about Halloween would be like. Cross The Matrix with Dark City and Bram Stoker's Dracula, then have somebody with a serious head injury try to tell you about all three of them at once, and you'll have something close to Underworld. Only that would be better since it probably wouldn't take two hours or cost eight bucks. The choice is yours.
That's all we've got to sink our fangs into this week, commune readers. Here's hoping you find something tangy to suck on until next issue's column. Until then, I'll be keeping my fingertips peeled bringing you the sad, sad best Hollywood has to offer. Take care!    |
