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February 7, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol A room full of spectators are amazed as the president guesses the contents of their wallets, despite the fact none of them have met him before. he fat-walleted president George W. Bush embarked on a two-day road trip with his staff and advisors to promote a major revamp of the Social Security system, with stops in many western states to gather Republican and Democrat support for his latest plan: Solving the future Social Security problems with magic. With magic, Bush tells us, the problem of supporting a large non-working retired community with a small workforce paying taxes can be fixed, as a small amount of tax money is inexplicably transformed into "bunches."
The plan, first outlined in the State of the Union address, involves heavy investing in magic research, most specifically, figuring out how stage magicians can make a quarter become a dollar coin. Ideally, according to the president, the basic "science" of ma...
he fat-walleted president George W. Bush embarked on a two-day road trip with his staff and advisors to promote a major revamp of the Social Security system, with stops in many western states to gather Republican and Democrat support for his latest plan: Solving the future Social Security problems with magic. With magic, Bush tells us, the problem of supporting a large non-working retired community with a small workforce paying taxes can be fixed, as a small amount of tax money is inexplicably transformed into "bunches."
The plan, first outlined in the State of the Union address, involves heavy investing in magic research, most specifically, figuring out how stage magicians can make a quarter become a dollar coin. Ideally, according to the president, the basic "science" of magic can be expanded until larger sums, such as billions of dollars, are doubled into money to preserve future Social Security benefits. The president's latest proposal replaces less feasible plans, such as just printing more money until we have all we need, or investing in "reliable" stocks and bonds.
"I'm not sure if magic really can be a viable solution to supporting Social Security benefits," said White House critic Rep. Hud Coker (D-Arkansas), "but at least he's not talking that 'privatization' bullshit anymore."
Bush took the lead in the Social Security argument by describing the system as being "in crisis" during his State of the Union speech, and then pushed the agenda further by loading into a van with his staff Friday for a support-building "road trip" to key states. On Friday, the president made stops at auditoriums and town halls, as well as "piss breaks" at gas stations and fast food restaurants, to speak on his hopes for magic as a resolution to the Social Security dilemma future generations will likely face.
"When the workforce is smaller than the community of retirees it supports, it's a big math problem," said the president, while eating from a small bag of Cheetos as he stood by the gas pump. "I'm not very good at math problems, but I know what it means when you need more money than you have. Then I remembered a birthday party I had a couple of years ago, where a magician made twenty-five cents into a dollar. That's what we need, I thought to myself. If this works—and let's face it, it's my best plan yet—it could solve more problems than just Social Security. Funding for perverted paintings and crap? Don't worry, we'll magicize it! And maybe you'll finally let us build missile defense systems and bombers without all the bellyachin'." Then an advisor reminded the president about his campaign promise to quit using the word "bellyachin'" to describe political opposition.
Many critics of the president, those knowledgeable in science and the laws of nature, bemoaned the difficulties of reproducing money through magic, but a few Democrats rallied behind the president's plan as a bipartisan solution to a hot-button old people issue. Ken "Amazing Kenny" Rublett, an unaccredited professor at Ithaca, New York's University of Magic & Illusion, spoke positively of the president's plan.
"I've been lobbying for the government to use magic and prestidigitation to solve national problems ever since Nixon's been president," said Professor Amazing Kenny. "Finally, someone is listening. I don't agree with the Iraq War and I've disagreed with the president's implementation of the Patriot Act, but magic can help us in ways not yet imagined. Have someone like Impresso the Clown put on a show at Guantanamo Bay, and ask for volunteers. When he does the Mystery Box, he can make any potential terrorists disappear—he doesn't have to bring them back. There. We've solved problem of due process without endangering the Constitution! Magic can solve anything!"
The cracker magician then made a ball of fire burst from his hands, at which point this reporter's aggressive instincts kicked in and unleashed a furious ass-whipping on the man. the commune news believes in magic, but it still sucks wank to see the Lovin' Spoonful whore out their songs for fast food joints. Shabozz Wertham believes magic is the devil's tool to keep people of color enslaved, but he does want a pair of those cool handcuffs that break and fall off.
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Guilty: Libby Takes Blame in Plame Name Game Court Battle Continues as Worms Claim Ownership of Anna Nicole’s Body Finely Aged Winemaker Ernest Gallo Corked Failure of Sirius Radio Blamed on "You Can't be Sirius!" Ad Campaign |
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 July 21, 2003
Dyslexic Monks"God and I have an understanding. I don't argue He doesn't exist and he won't argue it about me."
You know how some people are really smart but they're no good at tests? I'm like that—no good at tests. I'm not good at remembering stuff or thinking of things real fast either, and I'm not really good at coming up with ideas of my own or knowing things that people just sort of know. But I'm really bad at tests.
Some people call it test anxiety, like where you get really worried about how you're going to do and forget all the stuff you know. But that's not it. I mean, if I knew the stuff and forgot it, that would be bad enough, but I have no clue what they're talking about. One teacher tried to tell me I was dyslexic, but I told him I don't really go to church at all. I can't believe God would be such a dick, if He exists, and take away all my knowledge of everything just to be spiteful. If that's the way he's going to be about it, I'm never going to church. Just to be spiteful.
I have gone to church before, technically. You always hear about how a church is supposed to be a place where anybody is welcome at any time of day or night, no restrictions, but they're just hypocrites. Next time you're driving home Sunday morning with a little whiskey still sloshing around in your gut drive up the steps and into their doors while the dude, the what you call him, is giving his big God speech. See if you'll be welcome then. I can tell you...
º Last Column: Doctor Kiwani º more columns
"God and I have an understanding. I don't argue He doesn't exist and he won't argue it about me."
You know how some people are really smart but they're no good at tests? I'm like that—no good at tests. I'm not good at remembering stuff or thinking of things real fast either, and I'm not really good at coming up with ideas of my own or knowing things that people just sort of know. But I'm really bad at tests.
Some people call it test anxiety, like where you get really worried about how you're going to do and forget all the stuff you know. But that's not it. I mean, if I knew the stuff and forgot it, that would be bad enough, but I have no clue what they're talking about. One teacher tried to tell me I was dyslexic, but I told him I don't really go to church at all. I can't believe God would be such a dick, if He exists, and take away all my knowledge of everything just to be spiteful. If that's the way he's going to be about it, I'm never going to church. Just to be spiteful.
I have gone to church before, technically. You always hear about how a church is supposed to be a place where anybody is welcome at any time of day or night, no restrictions, but they're just hypocrites. Next time you're driving home Sunday morning with a little whiskey still sloshing around in your gut drive up the steps and into their doors while the dude, the what you call him, is giving his big God speech. See if you'll be welcome then. I can tell you first hand you won't.
Every once in a while I feel bad about what I've done, or what I am, or the box of Cracker Jacks I got that didn't have no surprise in it, but it's not like I need someone to tell me it's God's plan or something dumb to make me feel better. It doesn't make any more sense to me that God thinks it's funny there's no prize in my snacks exactly when I'm in the mood for a lick-on tattoo.
Just for laughs I went to a church once and the church guy there told me they were full. It didn't sound full, that's what I told him. He said it wasn't full, but they were closed for the holidays, and he didn't want to hurt my feelings. Then he pushed me off the steps and ran back inside. I could hear him locking the doors and him and his friends were laughing. What do you call them? Monks?
I guess I could take better tests if I read books and such. I tried reading the Bible but all that "begat" stuff really pissed me off. They introduce like a hundred and something characters in the first few pages. I'm not much of a reader, but I can tell you that's the kind of bad writing that can keep your screenplay from being produced. I still read about five pages of it, two columns on each, and then nobody ever tested me on it. So you can see why I don't ever want to read a book again just because they say there's going to be a test on it. You never know, they're probably lying.
Nine out of ten times they aren't, yeah. Maybe even ninety-nine out of 100. But reading, you know… it's boring. º Last Column: Doctor Kiwaniº more columns
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|  December 22, 2003
Hello from RoadHello, computer persons. Boris is here from road.
Boris think life is big adventure thing with mystery chocolates, like Andy Gump person does says. So true like fortunate cookie. But Boris is allergic to chocolates, so Boris life is like big box of cereal with prizes and things inside. Same different thing. Both ways is so fun, not matter. What can happen when Boris does climb on bus to use bus toilet and is ending up in Illinois? No person does not know. Except now that is in past, so all persons does know who reads Boris column. But no persons does not know futures before is happening, except for magic floating Disney head.
Prize of Boris life cereal box today is Angels from Hell friends and chopping motorcycle adventure thing. So fun, Boris pretend is Prince on motorcycle thing and does hum songs, but this thing is different because Boris looking more like little koalabear hanging on back of big Angel from Hell and does not have fun Prince purple clothes. But is same idea.
Is hard to write commune column thing from road, because ride is bumpy and Boris writing so impossible to read. Also does take so many postcards to fit on column, even if using special Boris tiny writing. But is fun to be special traveling job person, like man who does sell bowling ball vacuums.
Most Angels from Hell persons does not write columns so them does want to know what Boris is doing all times writing on helmet with grease pencil. Boris does explain...
º Last Column: Boris is Tripping º more columns
Hello, computer persons. Boris is here from road. Boris think life is big adventure thing with mystery chocolates, like Andy Gump person does says. So true like fortunate cookie. But Boris is allergic to chocolates, so Boris life is like big box of cereal with prizes and things inside. Same different thing. Both ways is so fun, not matter. What can happen when Boris does climb on bus to use bus toilet and is ending up in Illinois? No person does not know. Except now that is in past, so all persons does know who reads Boris column. But no persons does not know futures before is happening, except for magic floating Disney head. Prize of Boris life cereal box today is Angels from Hell friends and chopping motorcycle adventure thing. So fun, Boris pretend is Prince on motorcycle thing and does hum songs, but this thing is different because Boris looking more like little koalabear hanging on back of big Angel from Hell and does not have fun Prince purple clothes. But is same idea. Is hard to write commune column thing from road, because ride is bumpy and Boris writing so impossible to read. Also does take so many postcards to fit on column, even if using special Boris tiny writing. But is fun to be special traveling job person, like man who does sell bowling ball vacuums. Most Angels from Hell persons does not write columns so them does want to know what Boris is doing all times writing on helmet with grease pencil. Boris does explain of commune job thing, which is telling stories from Boris life to get magic cans of beans. Angels from Hell not think this is so interesting unless is naked girls reading commune, which Boris does not know. But surprise is Angel persons does know of commune thing already because so many are boyfriends of commune person Lil Duncan, so funny. Lil Duncan is most popular commune person for sleepover. Boris is having fun with Angels from Hell, though Angels does think Boris is getting too many souvenirs to fit on chopping motorcycle thing. Is true, but too hard to say goodbye to giant piñata or big pink stuffed bear animal, and Boris always finding big fun things to get for remember places on road. That is bad part of riding on back of big chopping thing, no place for to fit trunk and also pants does creeping down thing to show Boris asscrack to world. So bad for drivers, and cold for asscrack. But Boris is wearing helmet and going too fast for persons to see this is Boris asscrack, no way to know this. They are thinking is someone they do know with similar asscrack. Not sure how Angels from Hell persons does celebrate the Christmas, but Boris is thinking would be fun to put light strings on chopping motorcycles. Though this idea might need very long cord thing to work. Not sure. Also not sure how Santa person or friends will find Boris to give Christmas presents, but Boris will leave out carton of milk and little bag of cookies from vending machine just in case. And hopefully Louis will find present of cottage cheese snowman Boris did hide behind heater. Is important to have friends for Christmas, or as Louis say, Xmen. Boris does send Louis postcard to say wish you were here at sausage factory love Boris, so is good hello. Now is time for goodnight sleeping. Merry Xmen to all commune persons, goodnight! º Last Column: Boris is Trippingº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I can't quit you babe… you got me locked into a 24-month exclusive contraaaaact… oh yes you do oh yes you do… your early termination fees are givin' me the blues… I been on hold so long baby now so long now ba-by yeah… I know you're on the line with a-nother man and it's breakin my heeeeart in two…”
-Naked Mole Rat JeffersonFortune 500 CookieYou will find true love this week, but you'll return it because it smells funny. Try using words like "adage" and "usage" less frequently; you think it makes you sound smart, everybody else thinks you're turning into Pauly Shore. Don't hesitate to fire blindly into a crowd of strangers this week: hesitation can be deadly. This week's lucky trucks: ice cream, any variety being washed by bikini babes, Gaelic Motors' 4WD Clover, any whose manufacturers don't run commercials claiming they're "like Iraq."
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Hot Girls Overdressed | | 2. | Star Wars Ep. 3 Secrets Ruined | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Fuel-Injected Spinach Balls | | 4. | Elton John: Way Too Many Teeth? | | 5. | Love and Other Outright Lies | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Macy Gimballs 10/28/2002 Girl, Writer's BlockedIt was in the summer of 1984 that I was suddenly afflicted with Writer's Block. The disease—and it is a disease—is misunderstood by virtually all insensitive non-writer people, as evidenced by their tendency to spell it without capital letters.
That's when I checked myself into Blowmee State Hospital. Blowmee is a quaint, upstate-New York residence that caters to writers with the affliction. Several famous writers I could mention were residents there before and after and during my stay, and I only fail to mention them by name because I don't know how to spell them. It's another confidence-shaking trait of Writer's Block: Lack of spelling confidence.
When I was in Blowmee, I met several young female writers in the PMS ward: There was Sooni Moon, the Korean...
It was in the summer of 1984 that I was suddenly afflicted with Writer's Block. The disease—and it is a disease—is misunderstood by virtually all insensitive non-writer people, as evidenced by their tendency to spell it without capital letters.
That's when I checked myself into Blowmee State Hospital. Blowmee is a quaint, upstate-New York residence that caters to writers with the affliction. Several famous writers I could mention were residents there before and after and during my stay, and I only fail to mention them by name because I don't know how to spell them. It's another confidence-shaking trait of Writer's Block: Lack of spelling confidence.
When I was in Blowmee, I met several young female writers in the PMS ward: There was Sooni Moon, the Korean author who speaks vague English and yet writes wonderful haikus, at least I'd probably think highly of them if I read Korean; there was Mitzi Kappellaberg, the Jewish princess who wrote in her highly neurotic style about her life growing up in Jewania; and of course Carrie, the firestarter, who only talked about her dog Cujo and never mentioned anything else about her hometown of Castle Rock.
But I would be remiss if I didn't bring up Nancy DeBitch. Nancy was the highly volatile, highly talented queen of manic depression. Most of the time she wasn't depressed, more manic, but they don't really have a classification for manics so they call them all manic-depressed. Nancy knew she had no depression and her classification only served to make her more manic.
Under Nancy's leadership we would yell and curse out the helpful nursing staff and throw riots that ended up just being wet T-shirt contests. We were all fighting back against something, whether it was the male-dominated world of authorshipping or the male-dominated world of male-on-top sex; if it was male-dominated, we were against it, and would throw riots to prove it. Sometimes they brought in tear gas to stun us, sometimes they had the tear gas already and used it. Most of the time, though, they just tricked us into eating take-out Chinese food full of sedatives.
Nancy grew more and more dangerous during my early days at Blowmee. She would break into the nurses office and medicate herself, then medicate the rest of us, then pursue a degree as a professional medicator at a university only to be turned away—because she was a woman—with the flimsy excuse of there being no such field as medicator. It seemed even when we wanted to better ourselves and overcome our Writer's Block the male-dominated system would only let us be dominated—by males.
We would be strapped into our beds often at night, and when we weren't we accidentally strapped ourselves in as part of the bed-strapping game. In the darkness, I would hear Nancy's frightened voice talking to me.
"Do you think we'll ever really change the world, Macy?"
"Nancy? Is that you?" I would ask her.
"God, you're a dipshit sometimes."
"Rrrrowr, someone's catty."
"It's me, dumbass, of course it's me—who else would slip into the room and quietly strap themselves into my bed? Are you some kind of retard?"
"I don't know," I would say quietly, almost to myself. "Maybe we will change the world."   |