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Claudette Ravages Texas Coast Like Mean-Hearted Woman in Blues SongJuly 21, 2003 |
Broken-hearted and ball-busted Texans pick up the pieces
Like an insufferable tropical cocktease, that hurricane moved in and out of the Gulf of Mexico with threatening promise until attacking the Texas coastline with unrelenting moxy. Damages were estimated easily into five-digits, possibly six with the option for seven, and over 30,000 Texans were left without power. Electric power, not power in the Marx-Engels sense.
It was a double-decker sadness sandwich for residents of the Texas coast, who found their homes and livelihood torn up like the love of a good-lovin' bluesman. Ol' Claudette, she knocked over houses and blew down powerlines with a blow...
weet mercy! Texans are still rebuilding their shattered lives after last week's "just plain cold" brutalizing of the Galveston Bay area by heartless hurricane Claudette.
Like an insufferable tropical cocktease, that hurricane moved in and out of the Gulf of Mexico with threatening promise until attacking the Texas coastline with unrelenting moxy. Damages were estimated easily into five-digits, possibly six with the option for seven, and over 30,000 Texans were left without power. Electric power, not power in the Marx-Engels sense.
It was a double-decker sadness sandwich for residents of the Texas coast, who found their homes and livelihood torn up like the love of a good-lovin' bluesman. Ol' Claudette, she knocked over houses and blew down powerlines with a blow from those puckered-up metaphorical lips of hers and left all Texans lower than low. Some residents were desperate for electricity and shelter again, and even though Gov. Rick Perry promised disaster relief and the American Red Cross offered help to those hit hardest by the storm, it was little consolation after being so brutally used and abused by a hard-hearted bitch with a max wind speed of 85 mph.
"I lived in that wreck that used to be my house all my life," said 10-year-old Bob Phelps, a part-time investment banker and pretend Indian. "Claudette rolls in here like a storm and leaves everything all busted up. A lot like a storm, very much so, really. And all this debris, it's just like the inside of my little ol' heart."
Some grief-stricken residents, like cat fancier Elvin Harper, hoped Claudette would follow earlier predictions of losing intensity before reaching the coast.
"I had friends who said she was just a pretty coastal wind, but I knew better," said Harper, searching through cat debris to salvage what he could. "That hurricane was no good, and she messed Texas up good. It just ain't right, I'm telling you the truth."
Used to being turned inside out by tough-lovin' women, local blues players were among the first to recover from the storm. Though electricity was still out in the town, renowned blues legend Galveston Larry had words none-too-kind for the Category-1 storm in an all-acoustic set at Victoria tavern Benny's.
"That Claudette, she's a tough-lovin' woman," Larry advised, seeking a harmonica affirmation from fellow musician "Luckless" Gary Woodland. "She done rolled in over me, all up and down me—you hear what I'm sayin', Gary? And she flattened my trailer like thousand-pound anvil. Just like in Bugs Bunny cartoon or something."
Despite the poor simile, most residents suffering the aftermath of the tropical storm could identify with Larry's feelings.
"It's just sad, wrenches your insides all up," said steel worker and aspiring dancer Clara Gumption. "You can run into good weather systems every day of your life, it only takes one bad one to ruin it for everybody. But I don't hold no grudges. My main concern is getting on with everything, not cursing Claudette to Hades. She'll get what's coming to her some day, she's going to stroll into the wrong town and get herself messed up like she done to Texas." the commune news got itself turned all around by that upstairs neighbor magazine, True Love Quarterly, but she thinks she too good for a low-down web publication like us. Stigmata Spent, on the other hand, ain't too good for anybody. Often quite the opposite.
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 April 29, 2002
The Plan"As an idealistic young man, I came up with a plan for America. Most politically-active young Americans have ideas on how to improve their country. You did, didn't you? Well, hooray for you. I actually wrote it down.
The first part of my plan was to collect all the food into one big pot and make a gigantic soup. Some might call this mad, but it helped Chef Boyardee feed all of Italy and, by golly, it would feed all of America as well. The only problem would be lining everybody up in multiple lines with their bowls in hand and sending them through to fill up once and making sure everybody got at least one bowlful before we started giving out seconds. I guess we'd have to be on the honor system that nobody went back for seconds before everyone else was fed.
The second part of my plan was that everyone in America get a nice little shop. It would have to be carefully discussed and worked out so that everyone had a shop that everyone else would want to shop at, and that we have enough shops of things we actually need, balancing out the supply and demand. There's no point having 10,000 balloon shops in the greater St. Louis area and no food shops. I seriously doubt there is that big a need for balloons in St. Louis while there is obviously a need for food.
The third part of my plan was to establish a system of leadership with no incentives at all. With the political power structure in this country, as well as all the money involved, people...
º Last Column: Slice of Life
º more columns
"As an idealistic young man, I came up with a plan for America. Most politically-active young Americans have ideas on how to improve their country. You did, didn't you? Well, hooray for you. I actually wrote it down.
The first part of my plan was to collect all the food into one big pot and make a gigantic soup. Some might call this mad, but it helped Chef Boyardee feed all of Italy and, by golly, it would feed all of America as well. The only problem would be lining everybody up in multiple lines with their bowls in hand and sending them through to fill up once and making sure everybody got at least one bowlful before we started giving out seconds. I guess we'd have to be on the honor system that nobody went back for seconds before everyone else was fed.
The second part of my plan was that everyone in America get a nice little shop. It would have to be carefully discussed and worked out so that everyone had a shop that everyone else would want to shop at, and that we have enough shops of things we actually need, balancing out the supply and demand. There's no point having 10,000 balloon shops in the greater St. Louis area and no food shops. I seriously doubt there is that big a need for balloons in St. Louis while there is obviously a need for food.
The third part of my plan was to establish a system of leadership with no incentives at all. With the political power structure in this country, as well as all the money involved, people will say and do anything to get elected. To take that away, my idea was to have every politician be kicked in the groin—or failing that, smacked with an aluminum bat across the face—to take away the incentive to the job. This way only the people who really wanted to help the country, or enjoyed being brutalized, would become a politician.
It became quite obvious at some point that I was beginning to feel the effects of my homemade gin and that the brilliant ideas I was writing down would look like stupid drug-fueled thoughts scribbled on paper by the morning time. I wadded them and burned them all in hopes of forgetting. But I'll always have my memories." º Last Column: Slice of Lifeº more columns
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|  July 11, 2005
A Word from CamembertEditor's Note: In lieu of Rok Finger's absence, he asked us to print a friendly filler message from his roommate Camembert.
Hello. I'm Camembert Morgen and I suppose I should introduce myself as Rok Finger's roommate. Since Rok couldn't fit a column into his schedule this week, he asked me to fill in for him. Well, he ordered me, but it's not like I listen to him. I'm not scared of him. My girlfriend can beat him up. He's small. Honestly, I'm not scared.
As I said, Rok couldn't do this column this week. Don't worry, it's not a bad thing—not for Rok, anyway. He married an unlucky woman named Ginger Baker over the weekend. Good for him, I say. Terrible for her. I guess she thinks he's rich or something. Maybe she's fooled by the velour suit he wears whenever they go on dates. I don't know. Maybe he has some inner qualities that make him attractive. Though I've never seen any.
I guess I should tell you a little about myself. I can't imagine Rok would waste time in a professional website column talking about his roommate. I'm Camembert, as I said, and I have a hot girlfriend, Loretta. Rok and I are distantly related. Very distantly. I'm his ex-wife's sister's son. But our relationship is a lot closer than that, really, since he paralyzed me, moved into my apartment uninvited, made me a mob target, got me kidnapped by pirates, and generally made my life hell on a daily basis. But he did introduce me to my girlfriend, so I...
º Last Column: The Enemy Cube
º more columns
Editor's Note: In lieu of Rok Finger's absence, he asked us to print a friendly filler message from his roommate Camembert.
Hello. I'm Camembert Morgen and I suppose I should introduce myself as Rok Finger's roommate. Since Rok couldn't fit a column into his schedule this week, he asked me to fill in for him. Well, he ordered me, but it's not like I listen to him. I'm not scared of him. My girlfriend can beat him up. He's small. Honestly, I'm not scared.
As I said, Rok couldn't do this column this week. Don't worry, it's not a bad thing—not for Rok, anyway. He married an unlucky woman named Ginger Baker over the weekend. Good for him, I say. Terrible for her. I guess she thinks he's rich or something. Maybe she's fooled by the velour suit he wears whenever they go on dates. I don't know. Maybe he has some inner qualities that make him attractive. Though I've never seen any.
I guess I should tell you a little about myself. I can't imagine Rok would waste time in a professional website column talking about his roommate. I'm Camembert, as I said, and I have a hot girlfriend, Loretta. Rok and I are distantly related. Very distantly. I'm his ex-wife's sister's son. But our relationship is a lot closer than that, really, since he paralyzed me, moved into my apartment uninvited, made me a mob target, got me kidnapped by pirates, and generally made my life hell on a daily basis. But he did introduce me to my girlfriend, so I suppose things are about even. Now that he's married, I'm hoping to get out on my own with my girlfriend and make a new life for myself. God willing.
I can't believe anyone really wants to hear about the wedding, but I'm sure if you're fans of Rok Finger, I can't believe you exist anyway. I'll describe the wedding so as not to embarrass myself further with revealing details about me.
The bride wore a lovely black dress, and the groom wore a tuxedo that he may have gotten from a ventriloquist dummy. But you can't tell—one of the better fitting suits in his little collection. They wrote their own vows, but I don't think I heard too many of his because the crowd was laughing very loudly. Rok never makes me laugh, personally, but if you had to live with him you probably wouldn't laugh either. I think the vows were very adamant about who washes the dishes, and he might have swore a little, but that's hardly shocking for Rok.
There was one slightly amusing part for me, I admit. The flower girl, Ginger's daughter Becky, was actually taller than Rok. You don't see that very often. Flower girls taller than the groom, I mean. Everybody's taller than Rok. Heck, even in my chair I'm a little taller than he is. But don't tell him—he gets outraged about it.
After the ceremony, which was mercifully short outside of the vows, we threw rice at the newlyweds. Rok threw beans back. I'm not sure why he had beans with him. He might have just anticipated the rice and wanted something to fight back with. Again, I'm not surprised. But they piled into his car with the special high-pedals and drove off on their honeymoon. He told me where they were going but I didn't bother to commit it to memory. I'm better off not knowing where he is. If the Feds ask me.
So what do they do here at the commune? I'm writing this from home, and although I've got internet access, I've never bothered to read the site myself. I get enough Rok Finger at home, thank you. For another thing, I can't swallow any of that news they put out each week. Does anybody actually believe that stuff? Ah, but I'm no critic. I'm just a regular guy trying to help out a maniacal roommate while he enjoys the silence in the house with his girlfriend, Loretta.
Did I mention I have a girlfriend? She is H-O-T hot, too. And she's real. º Last Column: The Enemy Cubeº more columns
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Quote of the Day“The unexamined life is not worth living… so show me your tits already.”
-Sol CratesFortune 500 CookieNobody loves you anywhere near as much as your mother, but the bad news is you were adopted and never met her. Your "Most Favored Nathan" status will be revoked this week when a more-favorable Nathan arrives in town. Sorry. Try to start flossing your teeth, crotch and armpits, ASAP. This week's lucky bullets: zingers, greenies, pissmakers, Big Bens, deconstipators, "lead flapjacks," armor-piercing, elephant piercing, Ella Fitzgerald-piercing.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | The World’s Rustiest Chastity Belt | | 2. | Pictures of My Grandchildren in Their Underwear | | 3. | Uncle Macho’s Stiff Summer Sausage | | 4. | How Pornography Works in Your Community | | 5. | Video Game Reviews: The Sims: Paternity Suit | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 9/6/2004 Booya, America. I'm not sure what that means, but it seemed appropriate. Whatever sentiment that expressed, you can file it in triplicate because Roland McShyster's in a good mood today. Good? Nay, agreeable! I've seen the proverbial bluebird of happiness and I ate him on my salad this morning. What better time to review some of Hollywood's finest handiwork, September-style? I don't know.
In Theaters Now:
Anacondors: The Hunt for the Blood Orchard
Leave it to Hollywood to make a big-budget fright flick of out of one of my doodles from seventh-grade art class. That's right, it was me, when I was twelve I drew the first half-snake, half-endangered bird hybrid to ever terrify a hot tub full of blonde cosmetics models. I don't have...
Booya, America. I'm not sure what that means, but it seemed appropriate. Whatever sentiment that expressed, you can file it in triplicate because Roland McShyster's in a good mood today. Good? Nay, agreeable! I've seen the proverbial bluebird of happiness and I ate him on my salad this morning. What better time to review some of Hollywood's finest handiwork, September-style? I don't know.
In Theaters Now:
Anacondors: The Hunt for the Blood Orchard
Leave it to Hollywood to make a big-budget fright flick of out of one of my doodles from seventh-grade art class. That's right, it was me, when I was twelve I drew the first half-snake, half-endangered bird hybrid to ever terrify a hot tub full of blonde cosmetics models. I don't have the slightest idea how Hollywood got its talons on my sketch, since I thought for sure my mom had thrown it out. The sad thing is I didn't even get a chance to complete the colored-pencil work, so those Tinseltown hacks had no choice but to fuck it up and make the wings purple, totally defeating the purpose of crossing an anaconda and a condor in the first place.
But how was the movie, you ask? Who asked that? I see you back there. Anyway, it was as good, and as bad, as could probably have been expected. The CGI on the Anacondor was a little weak in parts, and if you've spent a lot of time wondering what a half-snake, half-bird would sound like when it belched, you're going to be disappointed. But I did actually appreciate the movie's plot, about a ragtag gang of reality TV rejects searching for the mythical blood orchard, where once you go in, you don't come out. They never really covered why in the hell anyone would want to find that place, if it had delicious apples or what, but it still made for a pretty wicked tagline on the poster.
The Brown Bunny
Ugly-chic "smoking heroin off a toilet bowl" fashion model Vincent Gallo takes a bizarre tangent in his latest film, The Brown Bunny, Gallo's self-directed and harrowing portrait of the PETA-nightmare and ultraviolent cartoon staple Elmer Fudd. Though not the most obvious candidate to play Fudd on the big screen (I would have gone with either Ned Beatty or Chris Elliot), Gallo brings a edgy neediness to the picture that suits the character well.
Though the very idea seems absurd at first, and the out-of-focus and Blair Witch-like chaotic trailer doesn't help, a film delving into this dark territory seems obviously overdue in retrospect. After all, loveable and dim-witted as he may have seemed in the children's cartoons, who was this guy, really? What kind of sick bastard treks off into the woods to shoot rabbits in the face at point-blank range with a double-barreled shotgun? Did he run out of squirrels to napalm? Chainsaw broke down after he cut that last gopher in half? What kind of woodland beat-downs did this freak suffer as a kid? Leave it to Gallo to ask the question the rest of us were laughing too hard to ponder, to see the tears behind the amusing, murderous rage of this mysteriously befuddled hick.
Suspect Zero
Few things in life would be scarier than spending years on the trail of a serial killer, only to discover at the last moment that it's Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins. Holy shit. Talk about scary, that guy looks like what would happen if the dude from Midnight Oil got locked in a bakery overnight. And what if the lead investigator, an FBI hounddog with the nose of a man, turns out to be a huge Pumpkins fan? What does he do then? If Corgan's singing that godawful "Tonight, Tonight" song you shoot him, of course. But what if he isn't? Do you try to get an autograph, and then shoot him? What if he won't wait around long enough for you to run home and get your Pisces Iscariot mayonnaise poster? What if your garage band was scheduled to play in the big battle of the bands that night, and your guitar player just called in sick? What then? Definitely a cool set-up for a thriller, though I thought James Iha was badly miscast as James Iha.
Whew, America. That was a workout. I'm definitely feeling it in my pecs. Hope you are too, and be sure to get plenty of Vitamin B or something. Check back in a few weeks, I'll be the big hunk of hunk dishing out the movie reviews for your favorite Internet backwater, the commune. Until then!   |
