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MSNBC's Chris Matthews Undergoes More Surgery

February 18, 2002
Dickbrain, MD
Courtesy MSNBC
Chris Matthews, either post- or pre-surgery
S
yndicated newspaper columnist and host of MSNBC's Hardball Christopher Matthews was reported to be resting comfortably following three hours of surgery to remove excess fecal matter from his nose, lips and cheeks yesterday. Doctors at Walter Reed Memorial Hospital confirmed that this was the fifth such procedure in just the last two weeks.

"The problem starts with his kissing the president's ass," chief surgeon Jerome Splay told reporters. "He's just such an enthusiastic ass-kisser. He gets all up in there, you know, and he never knows when to quit."

Asked how long this had been going on, Dr. Splay responded, "It all started about the middle of September. Before that, the only thing we ever saw Chris in here for was over-inhalation of helium. He's got that ...Read more...


commune Apologizes for Calling Quvenzhané Wallis a Cunt, We Meant Keisha Knight Pulliam

IMF infiltrated by
Jim Phelps' IMF

Castro Announces 2008 Candidacy; Clinton, Obama Drop Out of Race

Conditions at Walter Reed Upgraded to "Nightmarishly Clive Barker-esque"



September 6, 2004

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Rok Finger: Not Hot

As many of you good people may know, I am a small man, but I am overfilled with confidence. I move with a sureness many others in the world lack—whether justified or not, I am secure in every single thing I do and have ever done. Of course, like most people, I may have a few regrets here and there, but what is important at heart is I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done. Perfect? No, I’m afraid not. But I come damn close. All except one gargantuan elephant-in-the-room exception: My appearance.

Yes, whether it’s my miniscule, stocky body or the train wreck sitting on my shoulders that is mockingly called my face, I am a hideous man. Or, as my ex-wife Arvelyn used to say, before the divorce, I am insecure about my looks. Since the divorce she calls me Leatherface. So I prefer to remember before the divorce. And you know, I thought—she’s right. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with my features, at least not individually, even if they make a nauseating mess in the specific way they’re compiled. I merely lack the confidence in my looks to enjoy them.

It’s not my fault I feel bad about the way I look. Years of screams and crying children have made me believe I am not easy on the eyes. Like whiny women complain, I have been held up to unrealistic images presented in the media, or in my case, everyone else in the world surrounding me. If it were not for the people standing by, silently declaring differently, I would be quite a...Read more...


º Last Column: Camembert in Love
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May 21, 2007

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Don't Drop the Elf

There was a midget named Fidget and a carcass named Marcus and when it rained the two would sluice through the juice that ran down from the hills and take all the pills they found on windowsills. They would tell each other stories of Reginald Voorhees and the liquor he'd sick up when the moon's in full bloom. And in a rented room they'd zoom zoom zoom around the bed on bicycles and tricycles and roller skates that were Michael's. But since they were two and their feet were few they had to switch off and swap off and top off and trip off to keep it all in motion like a Laotian promotion. Sometimes they would crash and from his bubble bath a doctor named Proctor would shout all about it. He'd bang on the wall and make the Velcro balls fall and threaten to wet them with disappearing solution that would make them go away like a bay on the day the ocean turned to lotion.

But he never did.

On the twelfth day of May, which was May eleventh because of a quirk in the work of the calendar constructor and the fickle heart of a tart the day after he'd… uhm, plucked her. But on the twelfth day an elf may or may not have got sick with elf rot and feeling all hot and brimming with snot stumbled and bumbled and flopped in their room, spelling the doom of their womb of zoom zoom. So, forgetting to groom in the gloom like a tomb, Fidget and Marcus packed up their belongings with no wish of prolonging this awkward encounter, Fidget's Geiger counter going off like...Read more...


º Last Column: The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve
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Milestones
2001: Bogus office psychic Mazie the chicken predicts radical arab terrorists will attack giant silver towers and a military stronghold on Sept. 10th. An angry Red Bagel eventually takes away her predictions column.
Now Hiring
Nanny. Traditional English dress and accent required, none of that rough Brooklyn flower bullshit. Strong musical training and good voice a must. Should be able to rhyme easily, even if only creating nonsensical words in most of songs. We provide spoonfuls of sugar and medicine, as well as company umbrella. Three references needed.
Top-Selling commune Paraphernalia
1.the commune's Book on Tape: Everyone's favorite verbose classic War & Peace printed in tiny type on the non-sticky side of a roll of Scotch tap
2.The "I Sued the commune for Libel and All I Got Was This Lousy Mug" Mug
3."Pin the Paternity Suit on Lil Duncan's Babydaddy" Home Game
4.Boris Utzov Guide of English Slang
5.Ivana Folger-Balzac. Please, somebody take Ivana Folger-Balzac.
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Dr. Whoot
12/22/2003
Some Fuck Stole Christmas
It was on all-hallowed Christmas Eve it happened. In the middle of the night, in the coldest of December airs, some fuck came down the chimney of every stinking house and stole Christmas right from under the sleeping noses of the whole goddamn town.

People awoke all a-clatter from their dreams of sugarplums and shit and found every single piece of valuable merchandise had been lifted during the night. Even the sentimental crap, homemade decorations and what, had disappeared without so much as a fingerprint. Detectives in the 9th precinct were shithouse. The best investigator in property crimes was put on the case, Detective Jethro Davies.

Davies scouted the crime scenes, which was every house in the entire damn town, and had owners and family members making a...Read more...

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