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October 24, 2005 |
t’s almost the time of year to start pretending you’re Christmas shopping while you look for swanky new shit for yourself, and the commune is there for you with our first-ever annual Fall Gadget Guide. Join commune Tech Correspondent Mitch Kroeger as he guides you through the bewildering wilderness of the new and the shiny.
Casio Exslim EX-Z750
Now this is a nice little camera. The only problem is that the buttons are so small sometimes they get pressed when the camera’s in your pocket. This is a problem because I don’t wear any unde...  t’s almost the time of year to start pretending you’re Christmas shopping while you look for swanky new shit for yourself, and the commune is there for you with our first-ever annual Fall Gadget Guide. Join commune Tech Correspondent Mitch Kroeger as he guides you through the bewildering wilderness of the new and the shiny. Casio Exslim EX-Z750
Now this is a nice little camera. The only problem is that the buttons are so small sometimes they get pressed when the camera’s in your pocket. This is a problem because I don’t wear any underwear, so I end up with a lot of blurry shots of my dick. Still don’t see the problem? I didn’t either, but it made my mother in law throw up potato salad when she borrowed my camera. Advantage: Casio.
iPod Nano
This motherfucker is so skinny you can pick your teeth with it. Don’t, though: waterproof my ass! Also, don’t try tongue-kissing a girl when your tongue is all numb from electrical shock. There are only a few really kinky girls who don’t get all upset when you accidentally slip your tongue up their nose.
Roomba Discovery Vacuum Thing
This thing is absolutely the most expensive, funnest, and most high tech way possible to fuck with your dog. It’s awesome. You set this thing loose in your house and just crack open a beer and watch your dog go apeshit alternately trying to attack and flee from this bizarre little Star Wars vacuum droid. Of course, it’s all fun and games until your dog pisses on the thing in frustration, then it’s really fun games watching the finale as a tiny on-electrical-fire robot chases your dog around the house.
Sony VAIO VGN-TX670P
Now this is what I call a laptop. I don’t know if that’s technically correct or what, if it’s a notepad or tablet or UberPDA, Virtual Typewriter or whatever they’re calling this shit now. But I like this thing, whatever it is. It looks all space-age and shit and it flops open and shut so you can crack walnuts. Also, if you leave it on for a long time playing porn, it gets hot enough to make waffles. Fuck you, stewardess, you can keep your sad-ass little bag of nuts. I’m havin’ QWERTY waffles!
Motorola ROKR
This revolutionary new phone plays music, and not just when your phone’s ringing. About time, I say, I kept running up the bill on my old cell phone calling myself so I could hear “Tainted Love.” Motorola’s latest can play 100 songs, which is about 95 too many if you’ve got bad taste in music. But I guess technology can’t fix everything. I liked the ROKR plenty, except it sucks on the bus when you want to kick out the jams for everybody to enjoy, since it doesn’t play very loud at all. You’ve got to keep telling everybody to shut up and some people aren’t that big a fans of music or shutting up. Also, you’ve got to have a PHD to figure out how to get songs into the thing, it only comes with “Camptown Races” and I’m totally sick of that song now.
Motorola RAZR
I’ve always wanted to shave my balls while talking to my mom long distance, so Motorola’s RAZR cell phone seemed like a natural to me. I was actually pretty surprised that Motorola was on my wavelength there. Picture my disappointment though when the phone turned out to be pretty dull, causing some serious razor burn around the sack area even when used with shaving gel. Things improved markedly after I got it sharpened at the knife store at the mall, though. But you’ve got to remember not to leave the ringer on vibrate, or you’ll cut your fucking nose off if somebody calls while you’re shaving. Word to the wise.
Sharper Image Electric Dogshit Scraper
The best part of being an electronics reviewer has to be not having to scrape your own dogshit. Thanks a lot, Sharper Image. This thing will blast your shoe (or hat, really pretty much anything that’s got dogshit on it) with special ions that don’t do anything, and then de-poo the thing with a vibrating scrubber brush that’ll make your nads hard. The chicks dig it.
Querbo Dancing Robot from Sony
Gay, you have a new name, and it is Querbo. At first I thought this thing was kind of cool, like a midget robot henchman. I even named it Steve, surely an upgrade from Querbo. But when I brought it to the bar to show off, well let’s just say the night ended with yours truly being nearly kicked to death between the pinball machines. And Querbo. I’d rather not get into what became of that happy little dancing machine. Shudder.
Be sure to join us again next year when we’ll take a look at the iPod Video, the Petco Remote Control Dog Neuterer and the Nokia Earring Phone. Until then, stay tight. Mitch Kroeger is the commune’s resident resident, sleeping on the front stoop of the building as an urban legend hangover cure.
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 October 29, 2001
The Boy No Bigger Than a Claritin PillOnce upon a time there was a happy couple who could not, you know, have a kid. They went to doctor after doctor until they found one who told them he could help her get pregnant, but neither the husband nor wife were happy with his suggestion and she slapped him curtly. A magical fairy appeared to them one night when they had downed a quart of Vermouth each and made them a promise.
"I can give you a son," the fairy said, "but he will be a small boy. Though smallish in stature, however, he will have the biggest heart you have ever seen."
The couple profusely thanked the fairy and gave her a generous gratuity. Sure enough, within a month the wife was pregnant.
When their son was born, months later, they were surprised as hell when the boy was no bigger than a Claritin pill. The father said something to the effect of, "Jesus, I know she said he'd be small, but I thought she meant Dudley Moore small, not Tom & Jerry small…"
The boy was very loving, but his parents neglected him. They were not cruel people, it was just so easy to forget about the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill. He slept in a matchbox, he drove a Matchbox, and trying to shop for him, well, forget it.
One day the fat evil landlord came to the old house and told the couple that they could not keep their son in the house, it defied some sort of anarchist zoning rule of the time and they would have to move or kick him out. It was...
º Last Column: The Cobbler's Son º more columns
Once upon a time there was a happy couple who could not, you know, have a kid. They went to doctor after doctor until they found one who told them he could help her get pregnant, but neither the husband nor wife were happy with his suggestion and she slapped him curtly. A magical fairy appeared to them one night when they had downed a quart of Vermouth each and made them a promise.
"I can give you a son," the fairy said, "but he will be a small boy. Though smallish in stature, however, he will have the biggest heart you have ever seen."
The couple profusely thanked the fairy and gave her a generous gratuity. Sure enough, within a month the wife was pregnant.
When their son was born, months later, they were surprised as hell when the boy was no bigger than a Claritin pill. The father said something to the effect of, "Jesus, I know she said he'd be small, but I thought she meant Dudley Moore small, not Tom & Jerry small…"
The boy was very loving, but his parents neglected him. They were not cruel people, it was just so easy to forget about the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill. He slept in a matchbox, he drove a Matchbox, and trying to shop for him, well, forget it.
One day the fat evil landlord came to the old house and told the couple that they could not keep their son in the house, it defied some sort of anarchist zoning rule of the time and they would have to move or kick him out. It was unbelievable to the couple, who did not want to lose their son or their house, the house even more so.
Before they had a chance to make a decision, though, the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill jumped down the throat of the fat landlord with a toothpick in hand and began to wreak havoc on his gastro-intestinal track. The boy carved his way through the fat man's stomach, up though his lungs, and severed all the cords to his heart, though by that time the sheer pain of it all had killed the fat bastard.
Eventually the parents of the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill carved open the landlord's chest and retrieved their son, and by damn, sure enough, between his teensy hands he had the biggest heart any of them had ever seen. They were much appreciative, and more than a little terrified. º Last Column: The Cobbler's Sonº more columns
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|  January 20, 2003
Tom Cruise: Gay? No Way!Ramrod Hurley at the helm. The big news this week… well, everyone knows. It's the big fat picture we so conspicuously placed atop the index page. But buried in the major national headlines was one of the most important stories we could have asked for: Tom Cruise's long battle with a male porn star is over! The victor: Tom Cruise.
It's a shame that sometimes the media gets caught up in ridiculous international headlines like whether North Korea is aggressively seeking to build up nuclear arms or the state of weapons inspectors in Iraq, and they lose touch with the simple stories that really matter. Here a man, a filthy male porn star even, accuses Tom Cruise of being gay and doing nasty things with him, and that story makes all the major tabloid headlines. Everyone read it, if in the supermarket headlines at least, and yet who will read about Tom Cruise's exoneration? It's a damn shame. Shame on you, media.
And what does Tom Cruise get for all his humiliation? Well, $10 million. But the guy will probably never pay on the bill, he's a gay porn actor, for Christ's sake. How much money is in gay porn? Don't answer that as I never, ever want to know. So basically what we're left here with is Tom Cruise, flooded with accusations and holding a big, stiff bill in his hands. A bill never to be paid. No compensation for all this.
It's nothing new for Tom Cruise. He's been hounded with claims he's gay his entire career. Research Editor...
º Last Column: Ushering in a New commune Era º more columns
Ramrod Hurley at the helm. The big news this week… well, everyone knows. It's the big fat picture we so conspicuously placed atop the index page. But buried in the major national headlines was one of the most important stories we could have asked for: Tom Cruise's long battle with a male porn star is over! The victor: Tom Cruise.
It's a shame that sometimes the media gets caught up in ridiculous international headlines like whether North Korea is aggressively seeking to build up nuclear arms or the state of weapons inspectors in Iraq, and they lose touch with the simple stories that really matter. Here a man, a filthy male porn star even, accuses Tom Cruise of being gay and doing nasty things with him, and that story makes all the major tabloid headlines. Everyone read it, if in the supermarket headlines at least, and yet who will read about Tom Cruise's exoneration? It's a damn shame. Shame on you, media.
And what does Tom Cruise get for all his humiliation? Well, $10 million. But the guy will probably never pay on the bill, he's a gay porn actor, for Christ's sake. How much money is in gay porn? Don't answer that as I never, ever want to know. So basically what we're left here with is Tom Cruise, flooded with accusations and holding a big, stiff bill in his hands. A bill never to be paid. No compensation for all this.
It's nothing new for Tom Cruise. He's been hounded with claims he's gay his entire career. Research Editor Griswald Dreck says much of it stems from Tom Cruise's first claim to fame, a sitcom where he played a gay rock star married to a "beard," with two adopted kids, a show called, Queer as Fuck; that, and the fact he's gay. Which leads me to a very important note, which is to never trust anything Griswald Dreck says. But you didn't hear it here.
So why is Tom Cruise followed by gay rumors? Nothing more than wishful gay-thinking, I would guess. A beautiful, charming Hollywood star with a light touch to his nature, like a modern-day big-teethed Cary Grant. Tom Cruise has more passion than growl, maybe, more sophistication than ruggedness, but does that mean he's gay? Rock Hudson had those same qualities, as did The Brady Bunch's Robert Reed. Now what do you say?
There are plenty of people who would want Tom Cruise to be gay, I'm sure. It's hard to blame them—who hasn't considered nuzzling naked in a large bearskin blanket next to a fire with Tom Cruise? Well, I haven't. I was just trying to trap you. But no matter what gay people want, it doesn't necessarily make it so.
But that alone can't be the answer, otherwise all those rumors about George Clooney I've been starting would have caught on. No, there's something else to Tom Cruise's mystique. And I think I have it.
You see, the gay porn star wasn't lying—he did sleep with Tom Cruise; or believes he did. The answer has been so obvious I'm surprised I'm the first to reveal it. There is a Tom Cruise doppelganger out there, living la vida loca on Tom Cruise's good name. And don't get me started on Ricky Martin.
Who is the Tom Cruise impersonator? Without further evidence, it would be potential libel to say. But if I were the finger-pointing type, I'd point squarely at Peter Facinelli from the show Fastlane. Just take a good long look at him: He looks just like Tom Cruise, he's too pretty to be straight, and I could definitely drop him into a naked bearskin blanket fireplace fantasy and not notice the difference. Someone's been nailing porn stars with Tom Cruise's face, and if I were in a Fox series with Bill Bellamy and Tiffani Amber-Thiessen I'd be so full of anger and resentment there'd be no limits to what I'd do. º Last Column: Ushering in a New commune Eraº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal. They have to, because let's face it—you're never going to support yourself as a fucking poet, cheech.”
-B.S. EliodeFortune 500 CookieExpect a big upturn in your finances when a bag of silver dollars dropped from a skyscraper nearly kills you. People flock to your show when The New York Times calls you "Stomp for people who wish Stomp would just fucking die already." The court case is decided this week and you now legally have bragging rights. Lucky meat substitutes: Soy, tofu, tofurkey, a McDonald's hamburger.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Test the Durability of Your Training Bra | | 2. | Music Piracy: Are You a Fucking Thief? | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Pure Gristle Hamburgers | | 4. | A Preview of Elton John's Autobiography: A Dick in the Wind | | 5. | Critics' Corner: You Suck, My Battleship, a Review of U-571 | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Mortimer Wendell 9/2/2002 God Only NoseA nose is a nose is a nose.
Wouldn't one by any other name smell
just as well?
What the hell.
Call it a hogglebottom
and it still smells the sweets.
Call it a snot locker,
still a nose-shaped hunk o' meat
stapled to your face right where God intended.
Just think if your cheeks were where your face ended!
How strange! How ugly! How inconvenient! How loathe!
Why, if you had to sneeze then you'd damn near explode!
And with no nose there to handle the chore
of absorbing the impact of a sliding glass door,
with no nose you'd smack your eyeballs right on the glass,
and with a squeegeeing sound you'd fall right on your ass.
I won't have it! I don't want it! I'll keep my nose please!

A nose is a nose is a nose.
Wouldn't one by any other name smell
just as well?
What the hell.
Call it a hogglebottom
and it still smells the sweets.
Call it a snot locker,
still a nose-shaped hunk o' meat
stapled to your face right where God intended.
Just think if your cheeks were where your face ended!
How strange! How ugly! How inconvenient! How loathe!
Why, if you had to sneeze then you'd damn near explode!
And with no nose there to handle the chore
of absorbing the impact of a sliding glass door,
with no nose you'd smack your eyeballs right on the glass,
and with a squeegeeing sound you'd fall right on your ass.
I won't have it! I don't want it! I'll keep my nose please!
For blowing! And scratching! And sticking in trees!
I won't blow my eyes, that'd be unsatisfying
and if I said I knew how, you would know I was lying.
Look at Cher! Look at Jacko! No nose makes you evil!
At least, with it half gone, you look like a huge weevil.
You can follow your nose on to wondrous places
and without it to cut off, how would we spite our faces?
So say no to nose jobs, say yes to those jobs
that honor your nose like a rose, and ignore those mobs
of humorless, noseless, sick shallow slobs
who's faces are featureless, doughy white blobs
who shout "Cut it off, hack it off, give it to charity!"
Say "Brother, please quit now and cease your hilarity.
A nose is a wonderful, beautiful gem
that some say relates to the size of your… ahem.
So treasure it, unless you are sickly with sniffles and cough,
then break out the band saw and please cut mine off!"   |