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July 22, 2011 |
Dammit, I just favorited her eHarmony profile enis knifing suspect Catherine Kieu Becker, a Southern California woman suspected of slicing off her husband’s penis with a knife and throwing it into the… oh God, I’m gonna be sick. Jesus Christ, she really threw it in the garbage disposal? That’s fucking horrible. Anyway, sorry, I’m better now. Catherine Kieu Becker was released from prison this week in hopes that the dismissal of her case will be the last time anyone in America has to hear the phrase "penis knifing" ever again, or the gory details of just how utterly knifed Becker’s husband’s penis truly was.
"We thought this would be best for everyone," Orange County Superior Court Judge Roy Hanson explained, wincing as he crossed his legs in an unconscious cringing reaction to the very concept of having his ...
enis knifing suspect Catherine Kieu Becker, a Southern California woman suspected of slicing off her husband’s penis with a knife and throwing it into the… oh God, I’m gonna be sick. Jesus Christ, she really threw it in the garbage disposal? That’s fucking horrible. Anyway, sorry, I’m better now. Catherine Kieu Becker was released from prison this week in hopes that the dismissal of her case will be the last time anyone in America has to hear the phrase "penis knifing" ever again, or the gory details of just how utterly knifed Becker’s husband’s penis truly was.
"We thought this would be best for everyone," Orange County Superior Court Judge Roy Hanson explained, wincing as he crossed his legs in an unconscious cringing reaction to the very concept of having his penis knifed.
The 48 year-old Becker had been charged with torture and aggravated mayhem after she allegedly drugged her 51-year-old husband’s tofu soup dinner, then tied his arms and legs to their bed frame, pulled down his pants and—I’m sorry, but this is what happened—slowly worked her way through his penis with a dull paring knife, pausing several times to saw through particularly tough cock sinews and to dig at uncooperative bits with a rusty spoon. After finally freeing the penis from its host, Becker allegedly carried it into the kitchen, where she tossed it into the garbage disposal and, wait for it, turned the disposal on. Guys, trust me, try not to imagine what that sounded like.
When officers reported to the scene, they found the victim "bleeding profusely" from the groin (sorry, non-ladies, I know it’s a painful image) and in-between spells of retching, managed to fish pieces of the victim’s penis out of the garbage disposal and transport them with the victim in a sandwich bag to the University of California at Irvine Medical Center, where an emergency cocktoplasty was performed. According to unaccredited medical texts, a coctoplasty involves fitting all of the remaining hunks of a penis into a penis-shaped mold, pouring in roofing caulk and honey, and baking for one hour at 375 degrees.
"At first we weren’t sure what was hunks of penis and what was hunks of pot pie that someone had thrown in the garbage disposal earlier that day," explained responding officer Lt. Randy Fletch. "There were some chunks and stringy bits I was sure were pork or tofu or something, but I showed ’em to Dan (fellow officer Daniel Strobridge) and he smelled ’em and was like Nah dude, that’s cock and I was like Yeah, I guess that does kind of look like cock. Anyway, I’m sorry these are horribly disgusting quotes."
Early reports indicated that the penis knifing was inspired by an argument over—God, does it even matter? Is there anything that can ever really justify a penis knifing? the commune news thinks not.
Judge Hanson is on record as having decided to dismiss the case after half of the jury pool passed out during meetings with the prosecution. According to reports, nine of the ten fainting jurors were men, and the other was a big, strapping lass with a deep voice like RuPaul.
"It’s time for America to move on from this penis knifing case," Judge Hanson explained. "And from all future penis knifing cases. I’m serious, we don’t want to hear about ’em. Work that shit out on your own, I don’t want it in my courtroom. If I ever hear the words ’penis knifing’ again, no matter when, it will be too soon for me to hear the words ’penis knifing’ again. Oh God, why can’t I stop saying ’penis knifing’?" the commune news is proud of our unbroken streak of proofreading all news articles 30 seconds before publica-OH MY GOD SHE CUT HIS DONG OFF? Raoul Dunkin would like it on the record that under the old commune regime, Ivan Nacutchacokov would have been assigned to handle any stories that could conceivably involve being killed or penis knifed, and no one would have bought for a second the story that he’s been hiding under the house ever since he heard about this story and suddenly realized the pun in his name.
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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. Who’s the Black Pit That Killed a Night Club Prick? Elevator Shaft — Damn Right Apple iPhone to Contain Real Fruit Filling |
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 January 19, 2004
A New HopeHere's something that'll get you thinking, talk about a "Mr Rogers was a sniper in 'Nam"-level surprise. Thanks to commune editor's-brother Gay Bagel's mandate that we boost commune readership and revenue up from absolute zero Kelvin in 2004, it's been officially mandated by the powers obese that I quit writing about my epic saga to get a goddamned car. Apparently Bagay (as I like to call him in print and roadside graffiti) thinks my column may be alienating readers who are too rich to ever have to worry about not having a car, and if they don't read the site we can't siphon their accounts dry of funds electronically while they surf.
I don't know the details, if that's just advertising lingo or if we're actually hoovering out bank notes over the telephone line while those poor rich saps try to figure out what in the hell Boris Utzov is talking about or what. But either way Bagay thinks we've catered to the Salisbury steak set too much in the past, when we should be writing for dudes who order off the menu at Taco Bell and use silver spoons to eat their civet cat pudding.
Normally I'd have my ass chapped by the man giving my creative freedom a titty-twister like that, but from what I hear most of the staff received similar warnings. From the mandate that Lil Duncan start banging celebrity scumbags instead of her usual unknown variety, to the new "no accepting collect calls from international jails" rule (AKA the Ivan Nacutchacokov Accord), everyone...
º Last Column: Wipeout º more columns
Here's something that'll get you thinking, talk about a "Mr Rogers was a sniper in 'Nam"-level surprise. Thanks to commune editor's-brother Gay Bagel's mandate that we boost commune readership and revenue up from absolute zero Kelvin in 2004, it's been officially mandated by the powers obese that I quit writing about my epic saga to get a goddamned car. Apparently Bagay (as I like to call him in print and roadside graffiti) thinks my column may be alienating readers who are too rich to ever have to worry about not having a car, and if they don't read the site we can't siphon their accounts dry of funds electronically while they surf.
I don't know the details, if that's just advertising lingo or if we're actually hoovering out bank notes over the telephone line while those poor rich saps try to figure out what in the hell Boris Utzov is talking about or what. But either way Bagay thinks we've catered to the Salisbury steak set too much in the past, when we should be writing for dudes who order off the menu at Taco Bell and use silver spoons to eat their civet cat pudding.
Normally I'd have my ass chapped by the man giving my creative freedom a titty-twister like that, but from what I hear most of the staff received similar warnings. From the mandate that Lil Duncan start banging celebrity scumbags instead of her usual unknown variety, to the new "no accepting collect calls from international jails" rule (AKA the Ivan Nacutchacokov Accord), everyone around here is feeling the pinch. Except of course for Rok Finger, who got a slightly different haircut and left town, Truman Prudy, who makes appearances here like he was Haley's comet, and the aforementioned Boris Utzov, who from last word was riding bitch on a Harley somewhere in the Dakotas. Or, for that matter, Stu Umbrage, who's writing a gripe calendar in New Mexico, or Sampson L. Hartwig, who's either dead or a big fan of Harry Houdini. Come to think of it, where in the hell is everybody? This place is starting to look like Stuart Anderson's on Mad Cow night. What am I still doing here?
Anyway, the upshot of the whole censorship deal is that I'm getting a "company car," by which they mean Red Bagel's old Camry that he won't drive anymore because he thinks it's bugged. Which I guess is a problem if you're Red Bagel and you say embarrassing shit all the time, but what do I care? The old Bricksmobile had a megaphone for karaoke purposes; this'l be like having my own radio station. Plus since it is Red Bagel we're talking about here, odds are they're not even listening-device-type bugs, the car's probably infested with robotic insects or some shit as a little "fuck you" from the CIA or the Shriners.
All in all it's an uncharacteristically sweet deal for a commune employee, I would have been less surprised to get a post-it note on my desk saying that I AM the new company car. Now I guess Bagel and I are even from the time he ate my carrier pigeon.
Not that I'm getting carried away or anything, after all, it is a Camry. Not exactly a street-illegal funnycar or anything bitchin' like that. And Bagel didn't exactly take care of it after he uncovered the SUV conspiracy and bought himself that armored duck tours truck he drives around town. As a matter of fact, Gay pulled the thing out of a line-up of "bugged" cars Red planned on monster trucking over, replacing it with Raoul Dunkin's Tercel so his brother wouldn't notice. But I don't give a shit about any of that. It's got four wheels and it rolls both downhill and up, so Omar Bricks is calling it a car. Plus I've already replaced the Camry nameplate with one I pried off a Jaguar at the airport, so the stupid 90% of the world already thinks I drive a Jag. The right seat covers and a press-on spoiler should fool the rest.
Bricks out. º Last Column: Wipeoutº more columns
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|  December 24, 2001
How the Kaiser Stole ChristmasNow every person loves Christmas,
Near every last one.
'cept the Kaiser of course
who don't like it none.
The Kaiser don't like it,
no more than a sliver.
He hates it like taxes,
or a boiled smelly liver.
He thinks it's the worst thing
he's seen in some time.
He hates it like beechnuts,
or poetry that rhymes.
Nobody's quite sure when he started his hating,
Not least his mother, nor the waitress he's dating.
Some think that his conscience was ate by a frog,
Or that a starved reindeer bit off his Yule log.
Some think it's that Christmas he got locked in a Hooters,
Or as a small boy that his pooter got neutered.
But whatever it was, his life or his genes,
Around Christmas he grew to be frightfully mean.
He'd sneak into toy stores and stomp on the toy trains
All dressed as Santa, just to mess with the brains
Of the children who stood there and hoped all the while
That he'd stay away from the Nintendo isle.
But the Kaiser grew bored of his old Christmas tricks
And he even got tired of heaving those bricks
At the Christmas parade, or his rumor that festered
That old Santa Claus was a child molester.
One year he decided it was time for his coup,
For he'd pulled all his pranks and had nothing to do.
He'd fed chili to all of the reindeer at the zoo,
And he'd tracked...
º Last Column: Things You Think When You're on Fire º more columns
Now every person loves Christmas,
Near every last one.
'cept the Kaiser of course
who don't like it none.
The Kaiser don't like it,
no more than a sliver.
He hates it like taxes,
or a boiled smelly liver.
He thinks it's the worst thing
he's seen in some time.
He hates it like beechnuts,
or poetry that rhymes.
Nobody's quite sure when he started his hating,
Not least his mother, nor the waitress he's dating.
Some think that his conscience was ate by a frog,
Or that a starved reindeer bit off his Yule log.
Some think it's that Christmas he got locked in a Hooters,
Or as a small boy that his pooter got neutered.
But whatever it was, his life or his genes,
Around Christmas he grew to be frightfully mean.
He'd sneak into toy stores and stomp on the toy trains
All dressed as Santa, just to mess with the brains
Of the children who stood there and hoped all the while
That he'd stay away from the Nintendo isle.
But the Kaiser grew bored of his old Christmas tricks
And he even got tired of heaving those bricks
At the Christmas parade, or his rumor that festered
That old Santa Claus was a child molester.
One year he decided it was time for his coup,
For he'd pulled all his pranks and had nothing to do.
He'd fed chili to all of the reindeer at the zoo,
And he'd tracked down Burl Ives and had painted him blue.
So he dreamt up a plan on the 12th of December,
The final grand prank for which he'd be remembered.
This was a dastardly, devious idea so smelly
It seeped out his ears like a shiny black jelly.
The Kaiser sent Santa a gift in the mail.
The address? He'd questioned a snail in the hail,
And checked with a quail that had eaten a whale,
Who said it was current and would work without fail.
The gift got to Santa, who was quite surprised,
When he opened it and could not believe his own eyes.
It was a gift like no other, of which Santa had dreamed:
A watch with a Global Positioning Beam.
But the Kaiser knew something, that no-account jerk,
The Kaiser knew that those things never quite work.
So when Santa took off on that Christmas Eve night,
With that watch on his wrist, all was not right.
And before very long it became quite apparent
That Santa's directions had become quite aberrant.
The land looked like Russia, but the watch told him Greece,
Though the farmers were wrapped up in parkas, not fleece.
Then the watch changed its mind and it said Gall,
Then it said the mountains just north of Nepal.
Then it was England, and then worst of all,
It said he's on Rice St. somewhere in St Paul.
Meanwhile, the Kaiser's eyes glowed with elation
Santa Claus getting directions from a gas station!
He'd never make it, Christmas was over!
The Kaiser smiled and he kissed his lucky clover.
The Kaiser then drifted into a dark sleep,
And dreamt of cod liver oil and black sheep.
He slept like a stone, with hardly a wiggle,
Except for the occasional evil dream giggle.
And when he awoke, he sprung from the bed
With visions of No Christmas ripe in his head
But from his window, quite to his dismay,
He saw tiny foot prints, and tracks from a sleigh.
The Kaiser spun round and gasping, quite shocked,
He found his small bedroom to be quite well stocked
With presents and candy. He yelled "What a crock!"
When he peeked in his stocking and found a large rock.
And above his stocking there hung a small note
That Santa had left there, and on it he wrote:
"For the new watch I'm thankful, my merry old chap.
Thanks just the same but I'll stick with my map."
The Kaiser, defeated, threw a tantrum right there
He spit in his spittoon and pulled out his hair,
He tossed his tree out the window and his rocking chair
Came rocking and tumbling right on down the stairs.
And then something happened that seemed strange to me,
His heart swelled and grew to it's own size times three.
And the Kaiser was rushed to the hospital of course,
As that heart's too big, unless you're a horse. º Last Column: Things You Think When You're on Fireº more columns
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Quote of the Day“May those who love us, love us, and those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts, and if he doesn't turn their hearts, may he fuck them up so I'll know not to trust cripples.”
-Old Irish Proverb, Jr.Fortune 500 CookieThat weird smell in the office: It's you, dude. Stay out of the sun this week at your doctor's request; he's tired of seeing you shirtless. This week's lucky prom dates: Mom's hot friend "Aunt" Chyniqua, Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig, a randomly selected pro wrestler, entire cast of Revenge of the Nerds, or six of the seven dwarves: Sneezy's got cancer.
Try again later.Top 5 News-Filler Stories| 1. | Idaho Kitten Says Swear Word | | 2. | Exercise May Be Good for You | | 3. | People Pay Top Dollar for Name-Brand Shoes | | 4. | Movies Really Suck Lately | | 5. | Little-Known Website the commune Offends Lone Nut | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 5/26/2003 Hot fun in the cinematime, ooh-la! Yep, America, summer's all up in us and Hollywood again backs its dump truck full of big-budget money-magnets right into our collective lap! If you're wondering where all the good movies went to before May, they were hoarded away like nuts for the winter, only in this case for the summer, since it's statistically proven a fool and his money part a lot easier when it's hot and sweaty outside. But I'd like to see any fools unhappy with this bunch of blockbust-o-tainment!
In Theaters
The Matrix Rebooted
I really loved the first Matrix (officially episode 7 in the Matrix timeline) and, like everyone else in the country, waited with high hopes for the sequel,...
Hot fun in the cinematime, ooh-la! Yep, America, summer's all up in us and Hollywood again backs its dump truck full of big-budget money-magnets right into our collective lap! If you're wondering where all the good movies went to before May, they were hoarded away like nuts for the winter, only in this case for the summer, since it's statistically proven a fool and his money part a lot easier when it's hot and sweaty outside. But I'd like to see any fools unhappy with this bunch of blockbust-o-tainment!
In Theaters
The Matrix Rebooted
I really loved the first Matrix (officially episode 7 in the Matrix timeline) and, like everyone else in the country, waited with high hopes for the sequel, and it does not disappoint! Keanu "What kind of name is Keanu?" Reeves reprises his role as the Matrix, and gives us twice the leaping, twice the kung fu, twice the sort-of-deep philosophy! Oh, yeah, this is why we go to the movies, this and the air conditioning. X2 may be off to a big start and the first hit of the summer, but The Matrix Rebooted (number 4 in the Matrix timeline) is the best bet for king of the year. However, those easily confused or from Texas may want to wait until all 13 Matrixes are released and try watching them in order.
Finding Remo
Pop quiz: You're a director hired to make a sequel to the multimillion dollar Remo Williams franchise, and you can't afford $20 million megastar Fred Ward to come back as the main character—what do you do? If you said get cheap replacement stars and have them look for the missing lead in a fun-filled action romp, you're right. If you said animate the whole thing with bang-up CGI, you're right. If you suggested doing both at once, you're a self-destructive moron and should be pink-slipped immediately. I wouldn't count on any more sequels to the Remo Williams movies after this; after this disaster, they'll be lucky if Joel Gray returned even to lend his voice. Christian Slater does a passable voice job as Zeppo Williams, Remo's nephew, but don't expect it to save this bear trap of a movie.
Bruised Almighty
No summer blockbuster fest would be complete without Jim Carrey kicking God's ass. Trying the explain the plot would only insult us both, suffice to say that the special effects are whammy and Carrey gives us more of that trademark martial arts power that won him a Golden Globe in Crouching Liar, Hidden Dragon. Jetson Lee is the most formidable opponent Carrey has had in a long time, and his portrayal of God rates only after that one famous actor, you know, the one who really likes guns.
The Hoke
For the most interesting story behind the screen this year, check this out. Apparently director/Hollywood joke name enthusiast Ang Lee is "anglee" at Marvel comics for their breakout success with Spiderman last year, and decided to get back at them by taking another big character, the Hoke, and giving him awful cartoon animation that looks like some footage cut by drunken Monsters, Inc. animators. Casting flaming Rex Banion as bookworm Dr. Bruce was adding insult to injury. You'll eventually look forward to when he's replaced by a 2-D cartoon booger with Crayola color. Between the success of their Malcolm X comic movie X2 and this, Marvel might break even, but not much more.
Downey with Love
This? This is what I get served up to me for summer? I suppose people who dislike humanity need to see movies, too, but I wish they would stick to DVDs instead of cluttering up the theaters with crap like this. Robert Downey, Jr. and Courtney Love star in a romantic comedy so bad they didn't even bother to title it. I hear their agents didn't even know about the contracts to do the movie, it was arranged through a mutual dealer. It's hard to develop real chemistry when only one of your stars is awake in any given scene. I wouldn't put any Oscar stock in this one, but if they give out awards for getting the most people into detox programs, here's your winner.
Fear not, America. It's not even full-on into the summer yet, and I haven't heard nor smelt the familiar fart of the Farrelly brothers, so we could be in store for even more prime summer stock. Until then, I'll be tanning on the back porch and cooking franks on the grill by working it with my feet. Hungry, anyone?    |