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Hippies Busted! 600 Weirdoes, Peaceniks Arrested for Blowing Minds of the EstablishmentSeptember 30, 2002 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol Disrespectful hippie cops stance made famous by beloved former president Dick Nixon
According to the various protesters, who were likely extremely high, the United States, the World Bank, and the IMF have engaged in tactics of sharing wealth with nations with no dire need for it while allowing third-world countries beset by poverty to suffer. True or not, the ridiculous protests by nutcases and fruitcakes slowed down traffic and interrupted the normal flow of the capitalist machine for several hours. The police, the national heroes of September 11
he situation in Washington, D.C. was all wavy-gravy Friday when approximately 650 radical "protesters" were arrested for getting trippy on the government and local police in their attempts to denounce White House calls for intervention in the Middle East and the International Monetary Fund for its global policies.
According to the various protesters, who were likely extremely high, the United States, the World Bank, and the IMF have engaged in tactics of sharing wealth with nations with no dire need for it while allowing third-world countries beset by poverty to suffer. True or not, the ridiculous protests by nutcases and fruitcakes slowed down traffic and interrupted the normal flow of the capitalist machine for several hours. The police, the national heroes of September 11 th, were brought in to clear the way for hardworking apathetic citizens.
"Everything is returning to normal here," said D.C. police captain Gilbert Hayes. "Go back to sleep."
Protesters used glaring signs, offensive T-shirts, and shouted un-American slogans like "The president is wrong!" against police, buildings, and in the general direction of the United States. Police used justified force to make the protesters stop getting in the way of honest Americans, resulting in only one reported injury and countless bruises which couldn't be helped.
"Go back to college!" shouted one enraged cop as he kicked a hippie ten feet down Pennsylvania Avenue, a new personal record.
Some whacked-out nit-pickers also held demonstrations against the Gap, the international jeans store chain most famous for their annoying advertising and putting their jeans on shelves instead of racks. According to the fruitcakes, who were so high they took off their clothes and ran around in their underwear, the Gap exploits workforces in other countries with poor labor laws. How this was a surprise to anybody or affected the cost of American jeans was uncertain.
Most protesters were released on a small bond, like the cost of one of their dime bags, after being charged with upsetting mainstream America and refusing to do whatever the police said. Five were charged with destruction of sacred artifacts, commonly referred to as corporate and government property. A charge of treason was unlikely, but police are looking into it.
"It is important that as long as we have the freedom to speak in this country," said protester Lisa Morgan, referring to some anachronistic line in the Constitution, "we use that freedom to make our leaders aware of how we feel. Not only if our own liberty and comfort is threatened, but if those in our country are doing immoral things in the name of the United States in other countries."
Morgan's LSD tirade was ended when a dutiful officer smacked her in the head with a club, very possibly "bringing her down."
It was not expressed to the public at press time whether Washington, D.C. had the available jail space to hold all protesters who weren't released on bond, but if necessary there's possibly enough space in Camp X-Ray in Cuba to house all the militants. the commune news knows it's only rock 'n' roll, but that's all we have in our CD collection. Raoul Dunkin is a commune correspondent and wishes you could write all sarcastic news articles in bright red type.
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Conservative Woman Found he White House, always on the search for rare species of human beings or close approximations, unearthed an impressive find last week: A female conservative. Defying usual stereotypes, the so-called “right-wing woman” is apparently not a career politician or from the deep rural South. In fact, she’s completed higher education and appears to be not at all an idiot of any sort—though field-testing leaves the possibility open. And, perhaps most startling of all, the administration found the rare species in the most unlikeliest of places—within its own ranks. The alleged female Republican is Harriet Miers, White House attorney and personal lawyer to the Bush clan for years. Born and raised in Dallas, a small state in the country of Texas, Miers earned several accolades for her legal work and previous appointments by Texas governor George W. Bush, no relation to the current president. Though she lacks any bench experience, discounting bus stops, Miers is a respected lawyer, despite being personal attorney to the president and the White House counsel. Fox Disappointed by Desperate Alien Prison Escape Ratings he new television season barely underway, Fox executives are already lamenting the low ratings for their most calculated new show of the season, Desperate Alien Prison Escape. “We don’t understand it,” lamented stunned network executive Roger Bacon. “This show capitalized on every hot trend currently on TV. We even had swearing. It should have been the biggest hit of all time. Fuck.” Fox’s latest ratings hopeful follows the travails of Juk, a member of a secret alien invasion conspiracy who intentionally gets arrested for sleeping with a bored suburban housewife in order to help his cousin escape from jail, using a detailed map he had tattooed on his scrotum, which due to his alien anatomy is located where a human being’s eyelids would be. Stealers Wheel Win Super Bowl, Says Heavily Accented Man Colin Farrell Claims Responsibility for Groin Injury That Sidelined Kwan |
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 October 1, 2001
Rubber Ain't My BrotherTime to set the record straight, Pop'n Fresh. Who's in the kitchen with Dinah? Neddikins Nedmiller, them's the cat! Surprise! Long time this mystery puzzled them noodles of them noodle-headed school marmots. "Whoozit?" they askin. "Whoozat strummin that banjo?". Sure ain't Poor Henry, nor Lonesome Tom, them out trappin' coons! Sures ain't Fat Teddy Wedkins, him out eatin' pies offa windowsills. Ain't neither Ralf the cat-eater nor Surly Joe, them went to town for the bark-strippin contest. "Whoosat leave left?" them melon-headed childrens askin. "Who's in that kitchen we know?". Well the time's up, you paint-eatin' imbeciles, and Neddy's left holdin the banjo. You all owe me a nickel.
Summertime's the time Ned likes to strap on a pair of latex jogging trunks and hit the slopes, them Korean bastards took Ned's tonsils in the great war. Rub-a-dub-dub there's a shark in my tub, that's what I always say! Memorial Day's the time to remembrin all them things you never remembered, like gettin' your porcupine sharpened or where you left your mother that cold wintry day. Veteran's day's the time when you take your horse in to get his elbows checked for white dwarfs, that's the day.
Newsflash! Sub sandwiches float! Jig's up, Kruschiev!
When Nedinski was six years old of the equinox, his momma take him out in the deep woods of them black forest to teach him 'bout them magic-talkin tree midgets. Ned learn that day 'bout the city of them trees, and them...
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Time to set the record straight, Pop'n Fresh. Who's in the kitchen with Dinah? Neddikins Nedmiller, them's the cat! Surprise! Long time this mystery puzzled them noodles of them noodle-headed school marmots. "Whoozit?" they askin. "Whoozat strummin that banjo?". Sure ain't Poor Henry, nor Lonesome Tom, them out trappin' coons! Sures ain't Fat Teddy Wedkins, him out eatin' pies offa windowsills. Ain't neither Ralf the cat-eater nor Surly Joe, them went to town for the bark-strippin contest. "Whoosat leave left?" them melon-headed childrens askin. "Who's in that kitchen we know?". Well the time's up, you paint-eatin' imbeciles, and Neddy's left holdin the banjo. You all owe me a nickel. Summertime's the time Ned likes to strap on a pair of latex jogging trunks and hit the slopes, them Korean bastards took Ned's tonsils in the great war. Rub-a-dub-dub there's a shark in my tub, that's what I always say! Memorial Day's the time to remembrin all them things you never remembered, like gettin' your porcupine sharpened or where you left your mother that cold wintry day. Veteran's day's the time when you take your horse in to get his elbows checked for white dwarfs, that's the day. Newsflash! Sub sandwiches float! Jig's up, Kruschiev! When Nedinski was six years old of the equinox, his momma take him out in the deep woods of them black forest to teach him 'bout them magic-talkin tree midgets. Ned learn that day 'bout the city of them trees, and them midgets who frolic and play there with them tree rats, and them scream like freight trains and fling their scat like Sandy Kofax when they're sad. Ned learn that day not to make the tree midgets sad, so today he passes that wisdom on to you. Don't make them tree midgets sad. Ned remember them summertimes when he was knee-high to a boa constrictor, runnin' round in the yard like a Chinaman celebratin' China Day. None of them neighborhood families had money for none of them Water Witch lawn toys or no Crazy Clown neither, so Neddy and his buddies Ron-Ron and The Gooch would tie the garden hose to that epo-leptic kid Stanley and chase him 'round with flashlights, turning 'em on and off an off an on until he'd start doin' the 'lectric wiggle like a honeybee mappin' out the way to the treasure. Then we frolic and play in the water, til them vultures start to circle overhead. That's when it's time for some chocolate milk 'n grape nuts, by gum. Summertime's also the time for them eye-bogglin' great scientific advances, like Nedmiller's beach catapault. Nothin' quite matched the joy wrapped up inna small boy's scream as he's rocketed out of his swim jimmies and kerplunked into the ocean 'bout a quarter mile out to sea. Also works for family dogs, too, but warning: NASA loses their sense of humor faster than a jellyfish in a weasel condom when they pick up flying schnauzer formations on their radarmascope. This year Nedrums is workin' on his sister-invention, the sea-catapault! Doublin' the pleasure 'n fun when you see sharks and manta rays and small whales flung up onto the beach and highway! Hot damn! Back to the lab with Neddington P. Bear! Lotsa hours to spend, wrappin' malamutes in apple cores and Polydent, and checkin' the summer sausage for a hernia. I hope the best to you and yours with your summer projects, and may all your hornet's nests be kosher! TTFN! º Last Column: Lost My Way on the Slow Gray Trainº more columns
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|  January 7, 2002
Chicken in a BisketYou know, Shorty, we've seen some amazing damned things in our day. What with everything being all techmalogicalized and whatnot, it can make your head spin. It seems like just yesterday we was listenin' to Cracker Barnes on the ol' phonograph. Now look at us, Shorty! Now we got Cracker Barnes on the eight-track, and we can listen to it in that pickup that's half-buried in Davey Krupp's front yard, no less. It buggles the mind, Shorty.
Seems like we turn our back for a minute, and they put a man up there on the moon in his jammy-jams. And then they make up some new-fangled gasoline lawn-mower when my push-mower still works fine. Damn. Then the next thing you know, they're inventin' little tiny people to go inside all kinds of things. Remember when Sonny's cousin Jojo visited from the city last year? An I'll be dipped in shit if he didn't have him one of them new-fangled cars with the little small person in the door who tells you when your lights is on or you left the door wide open when you went and passed out drunk in that ditch. Kinda scary, ain't it Shorty? Kinda spooky is what I say.
But I have to admit, out of all of them techmanalogical whoodangs they gone and dreamt up out there, I am quite a stretch appreciative for one of them, and you know without askin' that that's them Chicken in a Biskets. Dang if them ain't some good biskets, even if they is a bit flat and more of a cracker than a bisket proper. But I can forgive them that since those...
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You know, Shorty, we've seen some amazing damned things in our day. What with everything being all techmalogicalized and whatnot, it can make your head spin. It seems like just yesterday we was listenin' to Cracker Barnes on the ol' phonograph. Now look at us, Shorty! Now we got Cracker Barnes on the eight-track, and we can listen to it in that pickup that's half-buried in Davey Krupp's front yard, no less. It buggles the mind, Shorty.
Seems like we turn our back for a minute, and they put a man up there on the moon in his jammy-jams. And then they make up some new-fangled gasoline lawn-mower when my push-mower still works fine. Damn. Then the next thing you know, they're inventin' little tiny people to go inside all kinds of things. Remember when Sonny's cousin Jojo visited from the city last year? An I'll be dipped in shit if he didn't have him one of them new-fangled cars with the little small person in the door who tells you when your lights is on or you left the door wide open when you went and passed out drunk in that ditch. Kinda scary, ain't it Shorty? Kinda spooky is what I say.
But I have to admit, out of all of them techmanalogical whoodangs they gone and dreamt up out there, I am quite a stretch appreciative for one of them, and you know without askin' that that's them Chicken in a Biskets. Dang if them ain't some good biskets, even if they is a bit flat and more of a cracker than a bisket proper. But I can forgive them that since those clever boys still did found some way to fit a chicken in there. They must be Missouri boys since you can't leave no Arkansas boys alone with a chicken more than ten minutes if you don't want trouble. And Missouri boys is known far an wide for fittin' chickens in places you didn't think chickens should fit.
And believe you me, Shorty, that there's not one small task. Remember a few years back when the altimenator went out in the Brown Maggot and I couldn't get it to start, and I couldn't get to town for no three weeks and I ran plum out of them Chicken Biskets? Remember how I was schemin' on how to make up my own Chicken in a Biskets here at home for so long? Well give up now, Shorty, 'cause you just ain't gonna do it. I tried everything and the closest I ever came was some real flat chickens and a box of crackers stuffed up a rooster's ass. It was a sorry scene, it was. You know after that I gave up and wasted little time diggin' an altimenator out off old Sonny's Dodge when he was laid up with that bout of gully shingles, and I was back in town buyin' Chicken Biskets before you could say medicated ointment.
How they do it, Shorty? You think they got some kind of machine that goes and minaturesizes them chickens so they can fit them in the little holes in them crackers? Seems like that'd take an awful lot of chickens, which would tend toward the spendy side of town. Maybe they minaturesizes 'em when they're just hatched so they don't got to feed them too much chicken feed before they stuff 'em into those biskets.
Or maybe they just got great big biskets and they stuff them chickens in BEFORE they minaturesize the whole works! Damn, Shorty, I think that might work! Listen here, I'll rustle up some chickens from Sonny's yard and bake up a big ol' bisket, you find us a minaturesize machine. Hot damn, Chicken Biskets here we come! Those clever Nabisco bastards will never know what him 'em. º Last Column: Radicals and Silverfishº more columns
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Quote of the Day“The true measure of a man is four inches, four and a quarter. That's flaccid. No joke.”
-Samuel "Big" JohnsonFortune 500 CookieTry to remember every dog has his day, and Tuesday, it's yours, Rags. Looks like you being selected as Oprah's Book of the Month wasn't the last bad thing that'll happen to you. You still haven't taken down the Christmas decorations? Son of a bitch.
Try again later.Top Recent Mother Mary Appearances| 1. | Wad of wet toilet paper, Gas station restroom floor, Houston TX | | 2. | Numerous, Mother Mary's Gift Shop, Albuquerque NM | | 3. | Fur pattern on Dalmatian's ass, Kingley OK | | 4. | Burrito Del Maria, Taco Bell Extra Value Menu | | 5. | Mary, Mary, ABC Thursdays | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 4/29/2002 Hey there, America the beautiful! Ready for another go at the bucking bronco that is this month's batch of new releases? I didn't think so. Thankfully for you I'm getting paid to write the column and deal with this crap so you can just sit back, relax, and feel the entertainment love. But before we get into all of that, how about a healthy dose of Ask Roland?
Q. Roland, what do you think of the resistance by American audiences to the obviously superior world of French cinema? Will American "film-goers" ever tire of the endless parade exploding buildings and anti-gravity bosoms and recognize the work of the true masters: Godard, Truffaut and Chabrol? Also, if you were doin' Elle Macpherson and Reese Witherspoon at the same time, who would you pour the hot fudge...
Hey there, America the beautiful! Ready for another go at the bucking bronco that is this month's batch of new releases? I didn't think so. Thankfully for you I'm getting paid to write the column and deal with this crap so you can just sit back, relax, and feel the entertainment love. But before we get into all of that, how about a healthy dose of Ask Roland?
Q. Roland, what do you think of the resistance by American audiences to the obviously superior world of French cinema? Will American "film-goers" ever tire of the endless parade exploding buildings and anti-gravity bosoms and recognize the work of the true masters: Godard, Truffaut and Chabrol? Also, if you were doin' Elle Macpherson and Reese Witherspoon at the same time, who would you pour the hot fudge all over first?
Steve Thomas, Winding Oaks, VA
A. That's a good question, Steve. And the answer is simple: Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Q. Are you as sick as I am of the reprehensible practice of studios doctoring film critics' reviews in order to market their movies? It seems that one can judge the quality of a film to a high degree of accuracy by averaging the number of words in the review quotes they flash during the television commercials. The better films tend to quote entire sentences from a review, while most of the obvious stinkbombs distill a review down to a single word that is taken out of context and could mean anything. A film critic can write that the latest teen toilet-fest is "An astounding display of poor acting, poor directing, and a script that may very well have been squeezed out of a tube," only to be quoted in the commercial as saying the film was "…ASTOUNDING!!"As a film critic yourself, how does it feel to have your work regularly manipulated into misleading sound-bites?
Ted Fanly, Beer Grove, KY
A. …EXPLOSIVE!! –Roland McShyster, the commune
And now for the reason you put up with all of the snide comments about your wardrobe, the movie reviews!
In Theaters
Murder by Numbnuts
Sandra Bullock is on the trail of Jude Law, an idiot who may have killed someone accidentally while cleaning a crossbow he found in the trash. Or is he really a diabolically crafty killer hiding behind the mask of a buffoon? Nope. He's the real McCoy, but Bullock still has her hands full trying to outguess a killer who's next move is always ten times stupider than what she'd thought he would do. The film is successful as a comedy-thriller that keeps you guessing and raises the interesting point: could a total dipwad be the perfect killer?
National Lampoon's Gene Wilder
Following in the footsteps of other National Lampoon classics like Animal House, Vacation and Airwolf, this rather formless comedy attempts to mine comedic gold from the everyday bumblings and fumblings of frizzy-haired funnyman Gene Wilder. A script would have been nice, as would have been some pants for Mr. Wilder himself, but I guess that was supposed to be the big joke, everyone reacting to him not wearing any pants. Whatever. I thought Airwolf was funnier.
The Scorpion King
Easily the most poorly-informed Jim Morrison biography picture to date, trumping even past disgraces like Jim Morrison and the Hell's Angels Save Christmas and Drrrruuuuuuggss Ayeeeaaaaaghh!!! for sheer grave-spinning velocity, a feat which many thought impossible. But, if you're twelve and are willing to believe that Morrison spent his free time freeing the slaves in Egypt and twirling a battle-axe around when he wasn't busy dropping a mork onstage, then I guess you can find some kicks here. Especially if you've got a thing for highly-detailed codpieces and mansweat.
Star Wars 2: Attack of the Blondes
Most people scoffed when they announced the title of the latest Star Wars film, but I for one was glad to hear that the series had finally got back to it's big-haired bimbo roots. The recent films had really been way too full of space muppets and little kids to be of any use to anyone other than kindergarteners and the heavily stoned. Any filmmaker worth his weight in salt knows that the future's greatest gift to us will be form-fitting spandex outfits, and here Lugosi finally gets it right.
On Video:
Band-its
Camouflaged as an ensemble comedy about life's little cuts and bruises, this clever indie scam is actually a product-placement smorgasbord for the adhesive bandage also-ran brand Band-its. This kind of thing is getting so common lately I wonder if Hollywood directors are ever going to turn the tables and start sneaking movies into commercials.
Life is in tha House
The producers would have you believe this is the feel-good urban movie of the year, which really isn't a crowded race since the only competition in that grouping has been Thug Parade and Stone Cole Baby Killaz, but it still manages to fail, unless for you "feeling good" involves retching while you chew up broken glass. Don't get me wrong here, it's not that I think every urban movie should be about drugs and mayhem, but no movie should be such a smarmy wad of platitudes that you spend the film's entire running time hoping for a drive-by. And I don't mean in the movie, I'm talking about in the theater.
The Man Who Wasn't There
It's long been inevitable that Guns 'N' Roses videos would eventually get so long and bloated that they'd have to be released theatrically as feature-length films, so the appearance of this picture didn't exactly surprise me. What I didn't realize was that to this day, Axl is still obsessing over rhythm guitarist Izzy Stradlin leaving the band, as he spends this entire film pondering if he somehow drove Izzy away, either through a lack of communication, halitosis or that one time he set Stradlin on fire. While the films psychoanalytical undertones allow for clever movie review titles like Welcome to the Jung-le, they film really isn't worth much beyond that.
Original Sink
Look folks, just because Bob Vila can act and Bob Vila can produce, and maybe he can swing a hammer pretty good too, that doesn't mean he can write or direct. It's the same mistake they made with Bob Ross, and I don't think anyone who saw Snow Falling on Cedars would ever take that chance again.
Television:
The Has-Beens (M-TV)
Who'd have thought the best mid-season show would be on a channel that once showed music videos? M-TV brings us the bold reality series where a "family" of has-beens are grouped together under one roof to see who can make the big comeback to television, while the losers are headed straight toward infomercial hell. Erik Estrada, Florence Henderson, Todd Bridges, and Soleil Moon Frye are a rich mix of fun and wisdom, proving again the old adage, "United we stand, divided we collect unemployment."
Ali McBeal
Instead of highlighting the new shows on the air, all of which should be gone by the time I finish this paragraph, I'm taking this spot to say adios to the unexpected underground hit with women 18-35 with severe emotional problems or developmental disabilities. Something about this trash-talking rail-thin female lawyer touched a nerve with the nation, and just won't quit touching it. But now, thankfully, it's about to rest in peace as the flavor of the month changes to talking babies and M-TV reality shows. Goodbye, show—I'm sure everybody who watched you will miss you.
Video Games:
FIFA World Cup Soccer (Sexbox)
Before you rush in thinking this is a great soccer game, you should be warned that "Fifa" is Scottish slang for "fairy". Accordingly, the game designers follow that spirit in making some of the goofiest, gayest-dressed soccer players this side of real soccer players. Whether you enjoy soccer or think it should be pantsed and
humiliated by real sports ought to determine what you think of this game. I'm indifferent since my Sexbox is broke and I can't play anything.
Chessmaster 5500 (PC)
From the people who brought you "Wine Taster 2002" and "Extreme Book Club" comes another venture trying to sucker the stuffed shirts and fancypantses of the world into the video game arena. Unfortunately, the game revolves not around real chess, but around trying to disguise the fact you're a champion chess player of your high school until you can get out at 3 o'clock, or else the bullies will run your underwear up a flag pole, with you in them.
And that's an Entertainment Police! No more, no less. It's a Zen kind of a thing, really,
like the sound of a stagehand getting the clap or a tree falling on James Woods. I'll let
you ponder that on into the afterlife, or at least until next month when we'll be back
like an ex-girlfriend boomerang. Until then!   |
