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 March 7, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon The ever-dignified Gooding Jr., seen here backflipping for racial equality
“You know you want to hear it! Show me the money! Show ME the MO-NEY!†Gooding screamed to the assembled crown, before turning three consecutive backflips and tearing off his shirt. Gooding thrilled whites everywhere with his comfortably overblown black antics.
Before he could be shouted off the stage by self-respecting blacks who for some reason ...
oming hot on the heels of February’s “Black History Month†bacchanalia, the U.S. government threw a surprising ceremony last week commemorating March as “Black Histrionics Month,†celebrating the overly dramatic and frenetic behavior famous to the black stereotype. American actor Cuba Gooding Jr. was tapped to inaugurate the memorial month, in a nod to his lifelong efforts to keep the stereotype alive.
“You know you want to hear it! Show me the money! Show ME the MO-NEY!†Gooding screamed to the assembled crown, before turning three consecutive backflips and tearing off his shirt. Gooding thrilled whites everywhere with his comfortably overblown black antics.
Before he could be shouted off the stage by self-respecting blacks who for some reason decided to attend the ceremony/travesty, Gooding Jr. ran through a terrifying recap of the last 50 years of black movie stereo types, leaving the audience either horrified or hilarified, depending on the color of their skin.
“Lordse, we got to have a doctor! I don’t know nothin ‘bout birthin’ babies!†clowned Gooding, simultaneously over the top and under the bottom. “Bitch! I will kick the bulimia outta yo’ ass!â€
The well-publicized ceremony has also drawn unwanted attention from Latinos, the country’s largest minority group, who are upset that they don’t have their own month. When asked about this discrepancy during a recent interview, President Bush was clever.
“No Latino History Month?†asked Bush thoughtfully. “Why, that’s because every month is Latino History Month!†The president smiled slyly, impressed by his own deft maneuvering.
Prominent Latino leaders, however, find such statements to be caca.
“We want our own history month,†explained Latino community leader Hector Villanova. “And not some bullshit that’s all about the Alamo, either. We’re not falling for that again.â€
The attention drawn to the new black month two-for-one has caused America’s racial shit to hit the fan at a high rate of speed as a dizzying array of other races have demanded their own months. Early reports indicate that some pushy races have even demanded two months, in order to even the playing field in the impending race race. Asians, Norwegians, East Indians and even the Irish have all chimed in with their hunger to make sure the black man doesn’t have anything special for himself.
Native American groups, on the other hand, have taken the high road, explaining that they’d rather take a pass on reliving their history and would be satisfied with having the whole of Las Vegas declared a multi-tribal reservation. the commune news has a strict policy about refusing to indulge in racial stereotypes unless they are really, really funny. Shabozz Wertham, angry black man, was thought to be completely devoid of a sense of humor until someone spotted the 2BLAK4U license plate on his Lincoln Navigator last week. 2FUNY, Shabozz.
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Appeals Court Rules Hilton Legitimately Too Pretty to Survive Prison Climatologists Cross Legs Uncomfortably at Mention of Bangkok Conference 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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 June 23, 2003
You Belittle Us AllQuiet now, George. The whiney nasal voice, the croaking complaining, all of it. You embarrass us both, and I won't stand for it anymore.
So what if you have to go to the bathroom and can't? Nobody cares. There—harsh, but high time someone said it. You're at best a spineless jellyfish, George, carrying on about your inconveniences while real suffering abounds in the world. At worst, you're a squirming parasite on the rest of the earth. Don't blame me—you brought it on yourself.
Like the entire town wants to hear about how you can't make water. We all have our crosses to bear, George, and you're no different. Instead of carrying on about how it hurts in your privates and how you fall asleep on the john, why don't you try putting everything in perspective? The War on Terror, the violence in the Middle East, that pregnant lady who was killed by her husband. Did you bother to think about that George? Not being able to drain the vein doesn't sound so bad, does it? You've got it pretty damn easy.
If nothing else, think of me. Me, you're loving wife of however many years. Is it 30 or 50? They blend together with you as a husband, George. You're not so much loving spouse as an unattractive ornament I keep forgetting to get rid of. Years of devoted service to you, for whatever insane reason, and you can't even give me the basic consideration of how ridiculous we look, we, the two of us as a pair, when you carry on about your inability to...
º Last Column: Who's Up for a Little Old School Rap?
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Quiet now, George. The whiney nasal voice, the croaking complaining, all of it. You embarrass us both, and I won't stand for it anymore.
So what if you have to go to the bathroom and can't? Nobody cares. There—harsh, but high time someone said it. You're at best a spineless jellyfish, George, carrying on about your inconveniences while real suffering abounds in the world. At worst, you're a squirming parasite on the rest of the earth. Don't blame me—you brought it on yourself.
Like the entire town wants to hear about how you can't make water. We all have our crosses to bear, George, and you're no different. Instead of carrying on about how it hurts in your privates and how you fall asleep on the john, why don't you try putting everything in perspective? The War on Terror, the violence in the Middle East, that pregnant lady who was killed by her husband. Did you bother to think about that George? Not being able to drain the vein doesn't sound so bad, does it? You've got it pretty damn easy.
If nothing else, think of me. Me, you're loving wife of however many years. Is it 30 or 50? They blend together with you as a husband, George. You're not so much loving spouse as an unattractive ornament I keep forgetting to get rid of. Years of devoted service to you, for whatever insane reason, and you can't even give me the basic consideration of how ridiculous we look, we, the two of us as a pair, when you carry on about your inability to tinkle.
And if I have to hear one more time about how public restrooms make you queasy, George, well, send for the undertaker, that's all I can say. I put up with so much bullhockey over the years already, that's where I draw the line. It's all I can stands, I can't stands no more, as the amusing cartoon character says. Was it Popeye? He's a little like you, George—bald, squinty, poor diction, bizarre huge forearms from God only knows what kind of hand exercises. The comparison ends there, George, for Popeye is at least amusing while you irritate me to the hairs on my head, and Popeye at least served his country valiantly in the Navy, while no one will claim your work at Denny's has done anyone any good.
Do I hate you, George? Indeed hate is a strong word, but let's not hastily dismiss it. Let's say your appeal diminishes more each year and leave it at that. And yes, I would even say every little utterance about your lazy prostate devalues you even more. I would not push a button and wipe you out in entirety, but the day when I could push such a button is not completely inconceivable. Getting closer each day.
The worst thing about you, George, and I hate to be limited to one thing, but I would say it's the disservice you do to the rest of the world. Even those who do not hate you have to admit they wouldn't be sad if you vanished into thin air, like David Copperfield, only to not return. It's not that you mar the world in an ugly way, like a scar, but you certainly don't add anything to the melting pot. You are much like a tambourine sound in a recording most people barely acknowledge, and certainly wouldn't regret losing if the soundman turned the sound out on it. I can mathematically prove the world would be a better place without you, using fractals and long division.
Still, with all that said, happy anniversary. You did remember, didn't you? Remember, you're on thin ground as it is. º Last Column: Who's Up for a Little Old School Rap?º more columns
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|  June 10, 2002
I Have a Wicked Bassist in LeeI have never before been interested in music. Music is like water, as far as I'm concerned, and me being mostly oil, we do not mix. But this has changed recently now that Lee is part of my scene.
In addition to all his other talents, Lee is, as he put it, a wicked bassist. Some thump the bass, Lee says, some prick it; Lee makes love to it. He has been thrown out of numerous bands for this, especially Christian rock bands, but he sees it as an asset. And whatever Lee sees, Rok sees, good people. That's why I have decided to form a rock musical band.
It's a good idea—anybody can see it's a good idea. Building a sharp power trio around our infallible bassist Lee. The only problem is that the other members of our power trio have, how Lee phrased it, "absolutely no musical ability." Not that this will stop us, it merely slows us, like the molasses swamp in Candyland.
I thought it was genius to put Camembert on drums, since you always see drummers sitting down in musical videos, and Camembert is always sitting down because he is paralyzed. Well, guess what? Drummers use their feet for something. I believe it's some kind of big drum they kick or something, traditional in rock music. Camembert informed me we could avoid this by playing bluegrass, but if you think I got into music to end up on some Coen Brothers film soundtrack, you're dead wrong. Rok plays rock, or nothing at all. So right now we're playing nothing at all. But Lee said...
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I have never before been interested in music. Music is like water, as far as I'm concerned, and me being mostly oil, we do not mix. But this has changed recently now that Lee is part of my scene.
In addition to all his other talents, Lee is, as he put it, a wicked bassist. Some thump the bass, Lee says, some prick it; Lee makes love to it. He has been thrown out of numerous bands for this, especially Christian rock bands, but he sees it as an asset. And whatever Lee sees, Rok sees, good people. That's why I have decided to form a rock musical band.
It's a good idea—anybody can see it's a good idea. Building a sharp power trio around our infallible bassist Lee. The only problem is that the other members of our power trio have, how Lee phrased it, "absolutely no musical ability." Not that this will stop us, it merely slows us, like the molasses swamp in Candyland.
I thought it was genius to put Camembert on drums, since you always see drummers sitting down in musical videos, and Camembert is always sitting down because he is paralyzed. Well, guess what? Drummers use their feet for something. I believe it's some kind of big drum they kick or something, traditional in rock music. Camembert informed me we could avoid this by playing bluegrass, but if you think I got into music to end up on some Coen Brothers film soundtrack, you're dead wrong. Rok plays rock, or nothing at all. So right now we're playing nothing at all. But Lee said Camembert can rig up some electronic cheat like the drummer from Def Leopard who only has one arm, or John Bonham, who was drunk into oblivion most of the time he played.
Which leaves me as the problem spot on this hard-to-clean sofa. I play nothing. I do not even play video games, which is just as well since that would be the strangest band since Devo. So while Camembert has a chance of playing drums in our band very well, I have no chance of playing anything. True, I own a grand piano, but that's always more for lying seductively on and enticing the ladies rather than playing piano-style. I tried playing it once and the neighbors sealed all exits and set the apartment on fire, which doesn't bode well for trying to learn again. And the last time I tried playing a guitar I tightened the strings too much and lost a finger.
My best luck so far has been in reading my spoken-word poetry while standing in a box full of cats. I find that if I do a little two-step in the box I produce noises, in no certain order or tone, but it is a sort of tenor that sounds good with the bass and drums, at least how I imagine the drums will sound. Our sound is sometimes defined as punk, post-punk, proto-punk or alternative. At least that's how Lee defined it, our neighbors say it is pure shit, post-vomit, proto-garbage or gangrenous cock.
Not that we're letting it stop us. You don't let a little thing like a horrible sound stop you from forming a band with a tremendous bass talent. I'm not ashamed to say with our big drumless drumming and cat-stomping poetry-reading sound that Lee is carrying our band. Without Lee, there would be no band.
In fact, this is so true that, upon reflection, the band has no need for me. I think I'll hang up my box of cats strap and call it a career. That still makes my time in the music spotlight longer than Taylor Dayne. Camembert can do what he wants, but since I forced him into this venture with thinly-veiled threats anyway, he'll probably drop out as well. Which leaves Lee to carry on with the band, a band only in namesake, basically a front to showcase his talents.
That bastard. The least he could have done was meet with Master C and me before kicking us out of the band. Screw him. Camembert and I will form our own band. He thinks he's the big talent, eh? That we're not the spirit of the band itself? We'll show him. º Last Column: I Have Unfinished Business with Carl Tomlinº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Even the smallest man among us can accomplish truly great things. And when it's over, it takes less beer for him to get drunk. That is truly great.”
-Leonard Rutland, Professional Drinking FishermanFortune 500 CookieWhat are you keeping that scab for? Throw that thing away already, for Christ's sake. Too many cooks spoil the broth, and so does putting sun-dried mayonnaise in it. Remember when dad told you you'd one day do something great? You will this week—remember he said that, that is.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Sinning to Win | | 2. | The Dalai Lama: Gay Gay Gay? | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Lincoln Logs | | 4. | The History of Slob Literature | | 5. | Gain 15 Pounds for Winter | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/4/2002 Holy washed-up franchise, Batman! It's Oscar season and no lisping game bird is going to convince Roland McShyster otherwise. Pay no heed to the lies about Christmastime, the most magical time of the year is truly upon us. So let's get coked up to the gills and revel in the joy that is the month before the Oscars!
Here's your dossier on the bewildering list of nominees:
Best Picture
A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
This film touched me in much the same way as last year's Requiem for a Dreamcast. Both were films made me stand up and shout back at the void: "Now THOSE are some...
Holy washed-up franchise, Batman! It's Oscar season and no lisping game bird is going to convince Roland McShyster otherwise. Pay no heed to the lies about Christmastime, the most magical time of the year is truly upon us. So let's get coked up to the gills and revel in the joy that is the month before the Oscars! Here's your dossier on the bewildering list of nominees: Best PictureA Beautiful Mime -read EP review-This film touched me in much the same way as last year's Requiem for a Dreamcast. Both were films made me stand up and shout back at the void: "Now THOSE are some tits!" Powerful filmmaking that has given me a new taste for women of few words… who let the cleavage do the talking. I advise you to let it change your world some time soon.
Goosefart Park
Those loveable Animal House morons are back, and this time they're stuck at a quaint Country Inn in the small English town of Goosefart Park. A surprise pick for a Best Picture nomination, but you'll be hard-pressed to find a film this year with more beaver jokes. There's a lot of raunchy humour for the whole family, but this isn't a one-sided farce. The film also brings home the important life lesson that England is stupid.
In the Bedroom
It's a bold statement, but this is probably the best film ever based on a Cream song. To be honest, I didn't understand the movie any better than I understood the tune, (psychedelic interior decorating tips? And who buys black curtains these days?) but regardless, this flick is head and heels above Kevin Costner's dismal Aqualung.
The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring -read EP review-
This is the year gay boxing movies stepped into the mainstream, and there is no finer example than The Lords of the Ring. If a picture is worth a thousand words, and this isn't the best picture of the year, then that means there are a thousand finer words out there somewhere, and personally I find that disbelievable. This is one of those rare movies that grabs you by your manhood and sucks you off. Or in. And as the wizened old boxing trainer Gaydar says in the film: "Sometimes you choose gay boxing. And sometimes gay boxing chooses you." I couldn't have put it better, even with 989 more words and a Polaroid.
Mule in Rouge -read EP review-
Another surprise nomination for Best Picture, as the Academy seems to have a soft spot for screwball comedies this year. This time it's a loveable Talking Mule picture that gets the surprise nod and a wink. And I know what you're thinking, that they always nominate the Talking Mule pictures but they never win the big awards. It's like an unwritten rule. But this year things could be different since there's a lot of buzz under this donkey's tail and I hear the Church of Scientology is throwing it's Hollywood weight around to secure the golden flasher for this picture.
Best Director
Don Henley, A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
Leave it to a former Eagle to take this tale of form-fitting mime costumes all the way to the limit. Sure, he could have taken it easy, but that's not Henley's style. Being the new kid in town, director-wise, he had a lot to prove, and I for one am hoping there's no heartache for him on Oscar night. Hopefully his film will leave Academy voters with a peaceful, easy feeling, and provide them with a place to hide their lion eyes.
Ripley Scott, Black Hawk Down -read EP review-
Every film this guy does without having a space lizard or whatever spring out of his chest is a triumph in my book. I'd really be pulling for him to take home the gold this year on that basis alone if it weren't for the fact that his movie had way too much pan flute music in it for my tastes. I mean, I guess it's a depressed-bird kind of instrument, but in my opinion you can take that too far.
Robert Palmer, Goosefart Park
Three years ago it was all about foreign dictators directing films, and last year it was about rock-band movies. This year the natural progression continues and it's pop stars turning into directors, and nobody was more surprised than me to discover that this pedophile-looking limey can direct a frat comedy like nobody's business. Both this film and A Beautiful Mime make me realize how far ahead of his time Terrence Trent D'Arby really was when he directed The Thin Red Line a few years ago, really the grandfather of pop star directors. Sure, the inclusion of Power Station's Some Like it Hot in Palmer's film was a little self-serving, but I have to admit it synched up pretty well with the scene where the morons set the Inn on fire.
Peter, Paul and Mary Jackson, The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring -read EP review-
What's more amazing than pop stars making the successful transition to directing feature films? How about entire bands making the leap? Scoff no more my friends, because it happened while you weren't paying attention. If these 60's folkamuffins can direct the best gay boxing film ever, I can't wait to see Metallica's directorial debut this summer.
David Lynch, Mulholland Drive -read EP review-
Sure, he's crazier than a shithouse weasel, but there's no denying that some people out there enjoy the scrambled brainbatter he yanks out of his rectum every few years. Personally, I liked his films more before he decreed that all film scores should be played by throwing live fish at a piano, but you've got to admire his creative vision.
Best Actor
Russell Crowe, A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
Really rubbing the charm thin after his role in Almost Famous, Crowe serves as a cleavage-blocking impediment to an otherwise arresting film. Back to the Louvre with you, Frenchie.
Sean Penn, I Am Sam -read EP review-
Leave it to a balls-out amazing actor like Penn to garner an Oscar nomination for the smallest of roles. Some may argue that his cameo as the fox in the box was too scant a role to deserve the Oscar nod, but I ask you this: did you ever doubt for a second that that there was really a fox in that box where Knox would not eat the green eggs and ham, would not eat them Sam I Am? I rest my case.
Geoffrey Rush, Lantana
Who?
Mr. Smith, ALI -read EP review-
Talk about taking a boring film and driving it right into the dull, lifeless ground! This is it. The American Law Institute could have salvaged some shred of an audience's attention by casting a big-name star in this plodding logjam of a film, but instead they chose to feature this faceless corporate lawyer in an unbelievably gray suit. I thought for a second this movie might turn into a Pink Floyd video but in the end it turned out that irony was not on the witness list.
Denzel Washington, Training Day -read EP review-
After a long, painful journey, Denzel finally finds his niche in this talking toddler pic. He's never had a finer moment than when he's chasing little Mikey around the apartment while he's got a shitty pair of pull-ups around his ankles (but don't ask me why Denzel was wearing pull-ups in the first place! Zing!). It just goes to show that talent can blossom late, and here Denzel is at his best since To Wong Fu…
Best Animated Film
In a surprising move by the Academy, the Best Actress category has been replaced this year by a new award for Best Animated Film. I'm sure you can imagine the endless griping that has ensued, but for what? I mean, who doesn't like cartoons?
Jimmy Nimrod: Boy Genius -read EP review-
Hands-down the funniest film of the year, and one of the main reasons you'll be hearing Roland McShyster's tortured screams echoing up from hell once we all hit the afterlife. I stand behind my actions, however, and if seeing an exploitive comedy about a retarded super-spy twelve times in the theater is a damnable offense, then damn the torpedoes and steer this cruise ship towards the Hades water park, my friends.
Mobsters, INC. -read EP review-
A computer-animated classic set in the mobster's paradise of New Jersey. A funny, fascinating, and fuggetaboutit musical for those of us who like our fellas good and our fathers godly. Or something, I don't know. Look for Joe Piscapo in his trademark insane mobster role.
Beatty and the Beast
I had the weird deja-vu feeling that I'd seen this movie before, but with all of the great new stuff they're cranking out, it's not like Disney would just rehash one of their old movies to make a few extra bucks. Anyway, it's great to see Ned Beatty working again, though to be honest sometimes I got confused about who was the Beast.
And that's a wrap! Now's it's time to bask in the afterglow while we await the ceremony itself. When will it be? Nobody knows! But that's half the fun of it. And from me to you, America, I hope it's some kind of wonderful. See you in a month!
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