|
$abernathie='2005/1024/';
$abernathietitle='Joy in Mudville (Thanks, A-Rod)';
$bagel='2005/1128/';
$bageltitle='Brother Against Brother';
$book='2005/1128/';
$boris='2005/0926/';
$boristitle='Louis Apartment or Bust';
$childstar='2005/1024/';
$childstartitle='In Cognito';
$dreck='2005/1128/';
$drecktitle='The History of Lies';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/1010/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 64';
$finger='2005/1107/';
$fingertitle='Little Man with a Gun in His Hand';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0912/';
$hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/1107/';
$losertitle='Paging Doctor Van';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/1107/';
$police='2005/1128/';
$polio='2005/1107/';
$poliotitle='God’s Hands';
$rent='2005/1107/';
$renttitle='I’m Straight!';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/1128/';
$zendertitle='The Seventh commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Army Operating With Mannequin Troops, Says Soldier-ReporterDecember 13, 2004 |
Baghdad, Iraq Assad the Unseen Two pointmen in Falluja secure an area recently taken back from Iraqi extremists, while two very static soldiers cover their backs. cting quick on the heels of Thursday's stunning blow to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, the journalism's newest reporting hero, Spc. Jerry Wilson, shook the civilian world again when he revealed at least 30% of the Coalition troops operating in Iraq are, in fact, mannequins. White House and Pentagon sources would not verify or refute the claims, as they fled running from the hard-biting overnight sensation rocking the national media.
The allegation, if proven true, could be more bad news for an embarrassed U.S. government, who had to answer to Wilson's charges Thursday that American troops were being put in harm's way by being sent into battle without proper armor, due to military cutbacks. The question stunned Sec. Rumsfeld, who had only come to shmooze photos with the...
cting quick on the heels of Thursday's stunning blow to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, the journalism's newest reporting hero, Spc. Jerry Wilson, shook the civilian world again when he revealed at least 30% of the Coalition troops operating in Iraq are, in fact, mannequins. White House and Pentagon sources would not verify or refute the claims, as they fled running from the hard-biting overnight sensation rocking the national media.
The allegation, if proven true, could be more bad news for an embarrassed U.S. government, who had to answer to Wilson's charges Thursday that American troops were being put in harm's way by being sent into battle without proper armor, due to military cutbacks. The question stunned Sec. Rumsfeld, who had only come to shmooze photos with the troops and receive questions on how come the U.S. military was so awesome, dude. Spc. Wilson described instances when U.S. troops dug through dumpsters to find refuse they could use to layer the tanks for better safety.
Wilson followed that coup-de-grace on Saturday, at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a newly unveiled Kuwaiti McDonald's, charging that at least 45,000 of the U.S. soldiers serving in Iraq and overseas are mannequins, realistic-looking plaster models of real troops. A startled, non-English speaking Ronald McDonald had no comment.
"It's a tragedy, nothing short of a tragedy," Spc. Wilson eloquently spoke, addressing the many burger-loving Kuwaiti citizens and throngs of media, "that the United States would send its troops into danger so under-prepared to meet the threat of real, living terrorists. In a live combat situation, a solider has to be able to depend on the man guarding his back. If that man is, in fact, a doll, it makes for high casualties and even higher numbers of men killed in action."
Such news, if verified, gives fuel to opponents of the war in Iraq who accuse the Bush administration and its invisible allies of initiating the "regime change" with poor planning and a military force not ready for a combat operation of such a scale.
Defense Secretary Rumsfeld has been under fire for his answer to Thursday's question, "You go to war with the Army you have, not the Army you might want or wish to have." Rumsfeld, hiding under his desk at the Pentagon, was found by reporters and offered a Woody Allen-esque stuttering reply. "That's a good, uh, good question. We, er, that is to say, the government… who we all are, the government, you know… we are looking into, um, the, er, charges of this, uh… what was the name of the guy you wanted again? Oh, Rumsfeld! He left for the day. I'm, uh… Fumsreld."
While no one would go on record to confirm or deny the allegations, some sources in the Pentagon agreed to speak on the condition of anonymity, and that we at the commune would buy lunch. Applebee's, of course.
"What do you think we meant by 'stop-gap' measures to deal with the military shortage?" said one four-star general, whom we'll call General Mills. "It means, 'Stop asking for more troops, 'cause we got none—here's some replacements from the Gap, though.' You got a problem with it? Enlist, wiseguy."
Soldiers in the field were less willing to talk with us, even off the record, and some could not even open their mouths, refusing to move entirely while in our presence. the commune news has been inspired by Spc. Wilson's crusading citizen's journalism, and are currently considering replacing our accounting staff with any mannequins unfit for military service. Ivan Nacutchacokov, unfit for virtually anything, was not injured in the coverage of this story, unless you include receiving a case of splinters from one charming female soldier who apparently couldn't stop staring at him.
 | Fox already canceling next year's new shows
Australian record industry cracks down on mate-to-mate file-swapping
 Duke Prosecutor Disbarred, Accepts New Position as National Scapegoat commune brokers suggest investing in the firm Snoopy promotes
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Santa Claus on Trial: Week Three ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity. Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecution’s presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous “Tooth Fairy.” Unknown American Philosopher Dead illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as “A picture’s worth a thousand words,” and “Why buy milk when you have a cow at home?” “A picture’s worth a thousand words,” repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. “That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know.” Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said “A picture’s worth a thousand words” and didn’t know what he was talking about. “Blond Highlights the Devil’s Work,” Says Iran, Straight Men Dow Reaches 13,000, Tao Reaches ∞ |
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 April 14, 2003
Omar Bricks: Modest as a MotherfuckerA recent poll of girls hanging out in the food court at the mall has yielded this unexpected result: the words most commonly associated with Omar Bricks in the minds of teenage girls are these: cocky good-looking son of a bitch. Actually, those were three separate entries, but I like the way they run together. The good-looking part actually came from a guy working at the novelty gift store; I'm not sure how he got a hold of one of the ballots. But I kept it in the mix, for scientific reasons and because I think it was probably a back-up choice in the minds of most of the food court girls. Makes sense.
Before you jump to any ludicrous conclusions, let me first off say that the "son of a bitch" part didn't bother me. As far as I'm concerned, that's between teenage girls and Mama Bricks exclusively. If any bare-midriffed mallrats have a problem with the way Mama Bricks butters her bread, they know where to find her. As she's fond of saying, I'd just recommend bringing several friends and a first aid kit, that's all.
Nope, what really set off my bullshit alarm (I recently had to have it recalibrated after watching half of the State of the Union address on TV before I realized it wasn't Sesame Street) was the "cocky" bit. I mean, what a bitch. Whichever one of them it was. Omar Bricks is a lot of things, including the masked daredevil who jumped a dirt bike over the turnstiles at the State Fair last year (I would have got away with it if it...
º Last Column: I Hate Old Movies º more columns
A recent poll of girls hanging out in the food court at the mall has yielded this unexpected result: the words most commonly associated with Omar Bricks in the minds of teenage girls are these: cocky good-looking son of a bitch. Actually, those were three separate entries, but I like the way they run together. The good-looking part actually came from a guy working at the novelty gift store; I'm not sure how he got a hold of one of the ballots. But I kept it in the mix, for scientific reasons and because I think it was probably a back-up choice in the minds of most of the food court girls. Makes sense.
Before you jump to any ludicrous conclusions, let me first off say that the "son of a bitch" part didn't bother me. As far as I'm concerned, that's between teenage girls and Mama Bricks exclusively. If any bare-midriffed mallrats have a problem with the way Mama Bricks butters her bread, they know where to find her. As she's fond of saying, I'd just recommend bringing several friends and a first aid kit, that's all.
Nope, what really set off my bullshit alarm (I recently had to have it recalibrated after watching half of the State of the Union address on TV before I realized it wasn't Sesame Street) was the "cocky" bit. I mean, what a bitch. Whichever one of them it was. Omar Bricks is a lot of things, including the masked daredevil who jumped a dirt bike over the turnstiles at the State Fair last year (I would have got away with it if it weren't for the blabbermouth working at the cotton candy booth that broke my fall), but cocky? That really takes some imagination.
Omar Bricks is, and presumably always will be (unless I wake up with super powers one day or something, then screw it) one modest motherfucker. I haven't taken credit for half of the amazing shit I've done and haven't called out one-third of the fronting wannabes who don't deserve to lick the sweat off my balls. And not because I lacked the vocabulary to adequately explain my innate superiority, either. Omar Bricks has made up more words to describe his bitchin'ness than most suckers have ever even heard of.
Everyone seems to forget the time years ago when I saved all those little kids from the apartment building that burnt down after my porno collection caught on fire. They wanted to put my picture in the paper with this ass-kicking article about how I had braved certain exposure to uncomfortable temperatures to throw those kids off the balcony to safety. They would have been screwed if I hadn't been there, since the stacks and stacks of XXX magazines (and enough pizza boxes to build a fort) stoked the fire into some kind of special effects inferno, and nobody had hauled away the mattress I threw out that was blocking the hallway. But when the time came for my fifteen minutes of newspaper glory, I said no way, Jose (the guy's name, I think). Omar Bricks isn't in it for the glory. Saving those kids and making out with their mom behind a fire truck was reward enough for me.
What kind of cocky son of a bitch lets a cherry story like that go untold? (Before today, anyway.) Nobody I know. Most guys would have it printed up on a shirt that said "AWESOME HERO" on the back. But not Omar Bricks, Modest Motherfucker. Besides, that shit's expensive and they charge by the letter.
Clearly there's some player-hating going on down at the mall, and that's the kind of shit for which Omar Bricks cannot stand. Next time I see those girls they can buy their own goddamned frozen yogurt.
Bricks out. º Last Column: I Hate Old Moviesº more columns
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|  March 4, 2002
Who is Preventing the Men At Work Reunion?I can't get to sleep. A question's been plaguing me lo these many nights, inspiring endless head-scratching and the use of dated vernacular like "lo." All the members are alive, the audience is out there and hungry for it… who is preventing the Men At Work reunion?
Like a shooting star they burned brightly and then disappeared. For a very brief time in the 1980s, from 1982 to 1985, Men At Work were popular music. Who would you throw up against them? Pat Benatar? The Go-Go's? Pitiful imitations Men Without Hats? All were common slaves in the arena against Men At Work—the gladiators.
However, the attention of the American public changes quickly, and by 1985 the group disbanded after the poor commercial showing of their third album. At least that's what the Behind the Music guy said. My question, though, is what's stopping the reunification of the 80's greatest band?
To head off any potential arguments, the live shows played by Colin Hay and Greg Ham under the billing of Men At Work does not constitute a Men At Work reunion. Not until the original recording line-up for the albums Business As Usual and Cargo is reconstituted is Men At Work really reunited. There is no just cause to prevent this, as far as I can see.
The natural conclusions one would reach, as with any band, is that internal conflicts keep the majority of them apart. I refuse to believe this. You've seen the videos, those guys...
º Last Column: I Fear the Olsen Twins Are Space Pilgrims º more columns
I can't get to sleep. A question's been plaguing me lo these many nights, inspiring endless head-scratching and the use of dated vernacular like "lo." All the members are alive, the audience is out there and hungry for it… who is preventing the Men At Work reunion?
Like a shooting star they burned brightly and then disappeared. For a very brief time in the 1980s, from 1982 to 1985, Men At Work were popular music. Who would you throw up against them? Pat Benatar? The Go-Go's? Pitiful imitations Men Without Hats? All were common slaves in the arena against Men At Work—the gladiators.
However, the attention of the American public changes quickly, and by 1985 the group disbanded after the poor commercial showing of their third album. At least that's what the Behind the Music guy said. My question, though, is what's stopping the reunification of the 80's greatest band?
To head off any potential arguments, the live shows played by Colin Hay and Greg Ham under the billing of Men At Work does not constitute a Men At Work reunion. Not until the original recording line-up for the albums Business As Usual and Cargo is reconstituted is Men At Work really reunited. There is no just cause to prevent this, as far as I can see.
The natural conclusions one would reach, as with any band, is that internal conflicts keep the majority of them apart. I refuse to believe this. You've seen the videos, those guys get along like aces. Digging a hole, jogging in place, juggling, they do everything like real sports. And yet now, all these years later, they're missing out on a chance to bring real happiness back to the charts, not to mention make a tidy killing back in the record business. However, something is in the way.
I think it goes much deeper than the band. Far-reaching forces outside have prevented a Men At Work reunion. This goes high, people, all the way to the top. The American government has a vested interest in keeping Men At Work from returning to their former glory as the hottest band from Down Under.
Why? Without getting into the complicated details of trade, tariffs, super-power standings and plenty of things I don't fully understand, let's suffice to say that what's good for Men At Work is good for Australia. And what's good for Australia is bad for American business. Our country has struck an unholy alliance to keep the roster of big super-power countries as it is. If Australia breaks through to become a super-power, it could piss off a number of countries, just for example, oh, say, France? England? Canada? That's all I need to say.
Australia has formed such a threat for quite some time, and this unholy alliance, which has existed since 1972, has been worn and weakened over time. Several times Australia verged on super-power stardom—the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, the Veggimite sandwich, the Crocodile Dundee series. The unholy alliance is under more strain than ever before to restrain Australia. And through threats and extortion they've kept Men At Work unemployed. It's a travesty.
At another time I'll tell you why Blind Melon has not reunited. To sum up, their lead singer and songwriter is dead. º Last Column: I Fear the Olsen Twins Are Space Pilgrimsº more columns
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Quote of the Day“They say you are what you eat, which is precisely why I ate fine young Bernard. Though I regret to report that I feel largely unchanged, except for the part about being in prison and having a permanent case of indigestion.”
-Percy "The Cannibal" DandridgeFortune 500 CookieNobody knows the trouble you've seen, and you'll keep it that way if you know what's good for ya, bub. Try mixing your unique brand of illiterate rage with random fits of giggling this week. People hate it when you bring your own records to be played on the jukebox—it's just a soda joint, asshole. This week's lucky piercings: throat, spleen, tear duct, tooth.
Try again later.Top Embarrassing Baby Names| 1. | Skyler Ridge | | 2. | Dakotah Ember-Trace | | 3. | Cheyenne Smokewindow Teardrop | | 4. | Dick Cheney | | 5. | Rat Face | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/29/2001 Sweet Jesus America, are you back again already? It looks like Uncle Roland will have to dig deep into his bag of goodies for some tender morsels to keep you entertainment hounds happy! How about we start with everyone's favorite Quid Pro Bono, Ask Roland?
Q. I've been an avid fan of yours since back in your days of writing movie reviews for the Radio Shack employee newsletter, and even your brief stint as a film reviewer for Trucker Girls Magazine. Looking through my collection of your reviews recently, I was startled to discover that you gave "Cock-Gobbling Space Sluts" a four-star review when you were writing for TGM. Excuse me? Were we watching the same movie? Only a truly desperate fan of low-budget erotic science fiction comedies would find...
Sweet Jesus America, are you back again already? It looks like Uncle Roland will have to dig deep into his bag of goodies for some tender morsels to keep you entertainment hounds happy! How about we start with everyone's favorite Quid Pro Bono, Ask Roland?
Q. I've been an avid fan of yours since back in your days of writing movie reviews for the Radio Shack employee newsletter, and even your brief stint as a film reviewer for Trucker Girls Magazine. Looking through my collection of your reviews recently, I was startled to discover that you gave "Cock-Gobbling Space Sluts" a four-star review when you were writing for TGM. Excuse me? Were we watching the same movie? Only a truly desperate fan of low-budget erotic science fiction comedies would find this cavalcade of clearly faked Venusian orgasms and unconvincing prosthetic Martian hard-ons anything less than tiresome. And where's the internal logic? So the mischievous vibra-doodles need to hide in Linda Sproket's cleavage to survive the journey through deep space so they can sneak into Luke Dorkmer's pants, but Stud Astroglide and Gina Galaxy apparently don't need to breathe while copulating on the moon's barren surface? There's no air on the moon, Roland. Oh, and also, are there any plans in the works for a book of your movie reviews to be published?
Duke Rainfever, Lost Meadow, Maine
A. Thanks for the letter, Duke. It's always heartening, and a bit suffocating, to know you have fans who have been following your career so closely. I take it from your collection that you're both a Radio Shack employee and a frequent reader of Biker Girls Magazine, and from your return address stamp that you live in Maine. The question I have for you, Duke, is which set of fingerprints on the envelope are yours: the big, smudged greasy ones or the smaller, more delicate prints with the tighter swirls? I have a bet going with some friends at the FBI on this one—Christmas might come early for Roland this year! And lastly: Stay the hell out of my car.
Q. On a recent trip to the theater to see David Lynch's new romantic comedy "Mulholland Dive", I was plagued by one nagging question throughout the film's generous 400 minute running time. And that question is this: "What the fuck?". Thought maybe you could help, thanks.
Carny Viceroy, Tumult, Florida
A. Your question is an understandable one, Carny. There are two important things to remember when watching any David Lynch film. The first is that Lynch did a gargantuan quantity of drugs early in his career and is now considered to be mildly retarded. Did you ever see that "this is your brain on drugs" commercial several years back? They actually used David Lynch's brain for that commercial, no lie. As a result, Lynch's films are best enjoyed after drinking a bottle of shoe polish and setting your feet on fire, as the director intended. The second thing is that it's best to remember that all of Lynch's films are originally shot in Portuguese, underwater and backwards, then they are translated back by migrant workers, dubbed into English by the cast of "Saved by the Bell", run forward and spliced together with Mexican soap operas at random intervals. So to best follow a Lynch film, it's recommended that you have an illegal immigrant friend watch the film for you, then describe it to you through two tin cans attached by a waxed bit of string. If you missed any of those directions, don't worry. They're reprinted on the DVD packaging for "Lost Highway", which was actually about the Spanish Civil War.
Now for the movies!
In Theaters Now:
From Hell
Good God! This isn't the touching Christmas fable I remembered as a child! I think they've pulled a fast one on you and I, America.
Iron Monkey
A completely yawn-worth action epic that pits the Beastie Boys and their fake karate antics against a gang of futuristic numbskulls, set against the backdrop of a post-apocalyptic New Jersey suburb. What do you mean it's not post-apocalyptic?
Mulholland Drive
Confirmed nutbag director David Lynch finally teams up with an actor who's talents match and compliment his own: Sylvester Stallone. Sure, the movie is the same backwards mindfuck that Lynch's last 13 films have been (some say he never recovered from the intense drug-fueled filming schedule of his first hit, "Dumbo"), but finally we're given someone interesting to look at up on the screen while all of the Shriners are running around and playing croquet with Ann Margret's balls. Sly pulls off every albino midget enema scene with dignity and style, and he's got a skull that could stop a runaway trolley car to boot. I'm looking for these two to team up again, maybe on the next James Bond film if we're lucky.
Riding in Cars with Boys
Britney Spears' acting debut reminds me of the innocent days of cherry cokes and sock hops, when every children's film didn't end with the heroine in a three-way Asian gang bang. Not much happens in the film, but that's precisely as it should be in films made for teenagers, lest they get any bright ideas. As ever, Spears is a sterling role model of decorum and taste, teaching young girls that it's better to be respected for your mind
than ogled for your body, and that it's okay to wait for marriage before you go down on an entire soccer team on live national television.
Now on Video:
About Adam
Here's some free advice to first-time director Adam Curry: If you're going to shoot a biographical documentary, it's probably best to choke down a pinch of humility and make it about someone slightly more fascinating than yourself. Also: I hear that every hairdresser in the nation is on a mission to search out and destroy that hair, dude.
Along Came a Spider
I've said it before and I'll keep saying it again until these slow-witted Hollywood types get the message: ENOUGH WITH THE INTERNET MOVIES ALREADY! They apparently didn't get the hint from the millions of people who didn't turn out to see other 'net thrillers like "The Net", "Cookie's Fortune", "Bandwidth on the Run", "James Baud in Golden-ISP" and "Summer of Spam", not to mention NWA's controversial "FTP" video. Whoever thought a 90 minute thriller could hinge on the suspense of whether or not a website would get indexed by search engines or not needs to dial-up the real world sometime soon.
Freddie Got Fingered
Less ballsy moves have ruined the careers of bigger stars, so you have to applaud loveable meathead Freddie Prinz Jr's foray into the brightly-colored world of gay porn. Even if everybody knew it was going to happen sooner or later.
With a Friend Like Harry
Funny bio picture about Harry Houdini's best friend Mick Rabbie, who remained affable and good-natured throughout a lifetime of being ditched at parties and dinners by Houdini, who could never refuse the challenge of escaping from anywhere and everywhere. There's a great whorehouse scene here that I won't ruin for you by telling too much about the hermaphrodite in the closet.
Television:
Continuing my run down of this year's new shows:
Scrubs (NBC)
Only Spike Lee could make racism and ghetto danger so darn funny! A couple of white MIT graduates
move into the middle of gang territory in L.A. One's sloppy, one's a stuffed shirt, but if either leaves the
apartment wearing blue or red they'll be dead! I usually don't laugh at white guys being threatened by
gang members and insulted constantly, but when it's funny it's funny! Way to go for this daring new
sitcom!
Philly (ABC)
Yikes! Somebody call ABC and tell them the day of the cute kid and his horse is over. I don't know
what possessed them to replace tough-talking crime drama "N.Y.P.D. Nude" with this sugary third-rate
Black Stallion, but the guys in Programming ought to be hung up by their novelty corporate
neckties. Get with it, people! The plots are lame, the kid is ugly, and the horse can't act. Say good-bye
to this Awful World of Disney hour.
Accordion Jim (ABC)
This year ABC must stand for "All Bound for Cancellation." What's the most annoying instrument on the
face of the planet? The accordion! And who's the master of the accordion? Who cares! Turns out it's
some guy named Jim and ABC has given him a half-hour variety and sketch comedy show that's so
popular these days. But mark my words and small dollar bills, this son of a gun is going nowhere. One
more second of that trilling blowhard sound and I'd smash my T.V.! Not to mention the accordion
drives me nuts, too.
Video Games:
Woo-hoo! What a time to be a game enthusiast! Because they're making a whale's ass load of games!
Let's just skim some of my favorites quickly, eh?
Tony Hawk Prosecutor 2 (Playstation 2)
Playstation brings their successful courtroom simulator to the all-powerful PS2, and it doesn't
disappoint! The defense attorneys are real bastards this time out, but only you, as world-class
criminal prosecutor Tony Hawk, can womp them on the head with a writ of habeas corpus
so def as to make them think twice about taking the Bar exam!
Devil May Cry (Playstation 2)
No telling how the geniuses at PS2 got a game about the bombing of Afghanistan out so quick, but
more power to those ace patriots! It's your job to find and destroy Mr. O-some-asshole bin Laden
himself using the military's top bombadiers. Just hit every cave you can find, and when that fails, bomb
everything within the border! Unlike other games of the same type, there's no penalty at all for bombing
civilian targets, so have at!
Final Fantasy Tac Tics (Playstation)
I usually love to give a game a chance, but I just didn't get this one, folks. Maybe I lack vision, but I
don't see breath-freshening candy making a successful transition to the video game consoles, though
maybe the limited power of the Playstation wasn't a good platform to start out on. Just between you
and me, the disc itself tastes like shit, too.
That'll have to do for now, gents and wo-gents. Check back in two weeks for more entertaining
bits shaken out of the nation's toaster!   |