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Nude Olympics Draw Big RatingsAugust 23, 2004 |
Athens, Greece Whit Pistol Olympic soccer players bang the balls around. Yeeowch! m-mmm! Sweet thing, the ratings turned upside down on the Olympic Games from Athens this week, when the IOC voted on new rules allowing contenders to compete nude. It bolstered a flabby start to the Olympics for NBC, and turned the games into a ratings giant as the week went on.
Upon seeing the dry audience response to the Athens games, NBC petitioned the committee for nude competition, anything to pull the crashing Olympics out of the fire. IOC President Jimmy Goldstein approved the decision right away.
"Now it's just like olden times," said Goldstein, straightening his thin tie. "Way back when, the Greeks used to do it nude. Hell, they did everything nude. Which is why I like the Greeks. But now the Olympics is finally the way it was always meant to be. Bare-a...
m-mmm! Sweet thing, the ratings turned upside down on the Olympic Games from Athens this week, when the IOC voted on new rules allowing contenders to compete nude. It bolstered a flabby start to the Olympics for NBC, and turned the games into a ratings giant as the week went on.
Upon seeing the dry audience response to the Athens games, NBC petitioned the committee for nude competition, anything to pull the crashing Olympics out of the fire. IOC President Jimmy Goldstein approved the decision right away.
"Now it's just like olden times," said Goldstein, straightening his thin tie. "Way back when, the Greeks used to do it nude. Hell, they did everything nude. Which is why I like the Greeks. But now the Olympics is finally the way it was always meant to be. Bare-ass naked."
Some Olympians were quick to reproach the decision, especially the chubby Eastern European weightlifters, but most came around for a shot at winning the much-sought Olympic gold. NBC has continued showing the Games, much to the chargin of the FCC, with the charge that the human body is a beautiful thing. Still, the Games have been shown on a five-minute delay, so that censors can blur or edit out anything that really, really isn't a beautiful thing. The network has already taken the liberty with such events as Olympic wrestling, when hairy German Gustav Werner pinned oily Italian Antonio DiScuza around his sweaty lower body.
"Sure, you get a little bored watching something like archery or sailing," said Pinewood, Minnesota Olympic viewer Sally Nedhurst, "and the shot put made me laugh until I was sick. But if you think I'm going to miss one minute of the swimming or gymnastics, you're out of your mind!"
Indeed the gymnastics, always a highlight of the games, were a ratings powerhouse for NBC. The network received record ratings as American Paul Gilbert executed a beautiful dismount to take the gold, and uneven parallel bars favorite on the Chinese team Hong-Chu Xy eliminated himself with a misfire that resulted in severe testicular damage when he banged the bar unexpectedly. Slow-motion clips of the tragedy were available, but no men at the network could bring themselves to air it.
It hasn't been all gold for the Americans, though, as 100-meter runner Isaac "Chubby" Walker was disqualified for living up to his namesake during the track and field event. It's also been a disappointing year for the American basketball "Dream Team," who seem particularly impressive every time they take the court, but find themselves limited in their dunking ability without the use of protective cups.
Conversely, it was a good year for the Brazilian women's softball team, who came from behind to bounce, bob, and claw their way up to the top ranks in the sport. In addition to winning the gold in the event, they've all also been romantically linked to Colin Farrell following their rise to stardom.
The IOC will benefit from America's favorable response to the nude Olympics as well, since the network has promised in advance to split revenue from a DVD release of the Olympic games, as well as a separate release, tentatively titled: "The Olympics: Too Hot for Primetime." the commune news believes the Olympics brings out the best in people, and now we've finally been proven right about something. Boner Cunningham, teen correspondent, likes to do everything he can in the nude, and several things nobody will let him.
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Guilty: Libby Takes Blame in Plame Name Game Court Battle Continues as Worms Claim Ownership of Anna Nicole’s Body Finely Aged Winemaker Ernest Gallo Corked Failure of Sirius Radio Blamed on "You Can't be Sirius!" Ad Campaign |
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 February 9, 2004
Swish Side StoryI'm doing the audition circuit out in Hollywood big time these days, so it wouldn't surprise me to come home and find the apartment a little dusty. Mom always found cleaning to be in defiance of her religion, and dad thinks dusting demeans his manliness. I would say it's the high-pitched girl voice and purple vinyl jacket, but I don't want to get his ire up. Anyway, the dust is no surprise. And in fact, I'm not really surprised to find a gang war between my dad and lesbians either.
I knew some fallout was coming from my sister's revelation she's a homosexual, and dad's gang was getting dangerously full of itself, so it makes sense the two would eventually crash into each other. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
Cassandra and her girlfriend Steve tried to make a new family connection, part of some therapy or something, Cassandra's attempt to heal all the emotional scars in her life that led her into Harvard law and becoming a lawyer, instead of the path I took of pre-teen superstardom and my brother Poot's path of cult worship. She was doing well, too, she at least got to the point where mom was cool with it. Of course, mom said she always liked lesbians, she just didn't know why they all followed each other off a cliff to their deaths. Once again, mom not exactly Harvard material, as Cassandra always says.
If only dad could be so understanding. I suppose I could cut him a little slack by saying he was still struggling to keep...
º Last Column: Fired! º more columns
I'm doing the audition circuit out in Hollywood big time these days, so it wouldn't surprise me to come home and find the apartment a little dusty. Mom always found cleaning to be in defiance of her religion, and dad thinks dusting demeans his manliness. I would say it's the high-pitched girl voice and purple vinyl jacket, but I don't want to get his ire up. Anyway, the dust is no surprise. And in fact, I'm not really surprised to find a gang war between my dad and lesbians either.
I knew some fallout was coming from my sister's revelation she's a homosexual, and dad's gang was getting dangerously full of itself, so it makes sense the two would eventually crash into each other. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
Cassandra and her girlfriend Steve tried to make a new family connection, part of some therapy or something, Cassandra's attempt to heal all the emotional scars in her life that led her into Harvard law and becoming a lawyer, instead of the path I took of pre-teen superstardom and my brother Poot's path of cult worship. She was doing well, too, she at least got to the point where mom was cool with it. Of course, mom said she always liked lesbians, she just didn't know why they all followed each other off a cliff to their deaths. Once again, mom not exactly Harvard material, as Cassandra always says.
If only dad could be so understanding. I suppose I could cut him a little slack by saying he was still struggling to keep control of his gang, the Baiters. Uncle Luke suggested the name because they attract so much jailbait, supposedly. I totally agree with them, as I was telling dad. I think they're the masters of attracting younger girls. Hopefully they'll take my suggestion and start calling themselves the Master Baiters.
But my own enjoyment aside, nothing challenges dad's masculinity more than fully-clothed lesbians. He and Cassandra never got along while we were growing up, he never did stop calling her "the other one." And Cassandra's partner Steve keeps telling her to stand up for herself, which makes for more tension than you could shake a tense stick at. Dad was just trying to taunt them after a while, his way of looking cool in front of the gang. I know he had to have some clue "the rugmunchers" wasn't a politically-correct way to refer to them. Cassandra told me so over Christmas and he must have heard. Anyway, it wasn't long before things blew up and Steve's friends in the National Wymans Collective began to protest.
Should be no surprise dad saw the group of leathernecks out front and took them as a threat to his turf. It was good for dad, in a way, since he rallied the gang together behind him. Uncle Luke put aside his differences and the fight for control of the gang was over, at least temporarily. They challenged the Wymans Collective to a rumble, and who knew, Steve can't turn down a challenge.
Actually, the rumble hasn't happened just yet, it's set for later Friday night this week, after Steve's lecture at NYU about the phallogenic oppression of the menstrual cycle, and dad sews the names on the back of the jackets. But this is a by-the-numbers thing for dad, so I predict the fight was short, the Wymans Collective fought the good fight and overcame, and probably three of the four members of dad's Master Baiters survived. Dad's crafty enough and knows when to abandon a good fight, so I assume he climbed on Freddy Mercury's back and got the hell out of there when the odds turned against him. If Uncle Luke bought the farm, maybe that will put the gang disputes to an end, and maybe even dad learned a little bit of respect for Cassandra and her new pals. In the meantime, I got to find a place in California and erase all excuse for coming back to this apartment. º Last Column: Fired!º more columns
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|  April 19, 2004
Here Comes the HumdrumThe tale of how I escaped the angry mobs of Haitian dissidents is the most chilling, exciting, and inspiring story that has ever happened to me. Consequently, I sold the rights to it so it could be made into a Hallmark movie (look for it on CBS this Fall, with James Woods as the handsome Rok Finger-type character). This means I can't tell you about it, but don't worry, I have a number of stories almost as amazing. Have I told you how I started the Atkins diet this week?
It's part of my effort to rebuild my life now that I'm back on steady shore and have forsaken my pirate ways. No doubt anyone would miss the charming shanty of the sea, but I believe I'm better off—some are meant to sail the sea and poach whales or whatever else there is to do out there, while others of us are landlubbers. And I lub land. I was meant to wear stifling three-piece suits, grease my hair with my own homemade pomade, and live in tract housing. No sense in defying your true calling.
It's been a difficult transition, no doubt, but made easier by the boost from the friendly Hallmark people. I've bought my own home in the West Hills neighborhood of New Jersey, not more than a stone's throw from the commune offices—in fact, this morning I hit Raoul Dunkin from my bathroom window. It's a lovely neighborhood, full of friendly and successful people, the kind of neighborhood that usually gathers together to sign a petition keeping me out. But in this case they were slow and...
º Last Column: Rok the Boat º more columns
The tale of how I escaped the angry mobs of Haitian dissidents is the most chilling, exciting, and inspiring story that has ever happened to me. Consequently, I sold the rights to it so it could be made into a Hallmark movie (look for it on CBS this Fall, with James Woods as the handsome Rok Finger-type character). This means I can't tell you about it, but don't worry, I have a number of stories almost as amazing. Have I told you how I started the Atkins diet this week?
It's part of my effort to rebuild my life now that I'm back on steady shore and have forsaken my pirate ways. No doubt anyone would miss the charming shanty of the sea, but I believe I'm better off—some are meant to sail the sea and poach whales or whatever else there is to do out there, while others of us are landlubbers. And I lub land. I was meant to wear stifling three-piece suits, grease my hair with my own homemade pomade, and live in tract housing. No sense in defying your true calling.
It's been a difficult transition, no doubt, but made easier by the boost from the friendly Hallmark people. I've bought my own home in the West Hills neighborhood of New Jersey, not more than a stone's throw from the commune offices—in fact, this morning I hit Raoul Dunkin from my bathroom window. It's a lovely neighborhood, full of friendly and successful people, the kind of neighborhood that usually gathers together to sign a petition keeping me out. But in this case they were slow and I benefit from it.
Back to the old routine, the kind of life Rok Finger was meant to live. I get up, eat breakfast, read the morning paper, make tomorrow's breakfast, and drive to work to get a full day's job done making up column ideas. It's such a natural fit I don't even know why I ever left. Which is not an exaggeration, I have completely blanked on the original reason I left the country. I'm not even sure where I went—Angola? They had accents but spoke English. I seem to remember having a wife, but the specifics escape me.
Don't worry about my companionship, though—as always, in tow with me is good friend Camembert. But he's only towing me until my sprained ankle heals. Those violent political revolutions can be hell on the joints. It's just as well I need his assistance, because now I'm in a position to finally pay back all the friendship Camembert has shown me over the years, allowing him a room in my new house. He repeatedly told me he was content to return to his old apartment, but since the mob torched it in our absence, it's not quite as nice as it once was. It's all for the better—two better roommates you could never find! Camembert and I have never even had an argument. I tell him what to do and he does it, no argument.
Not that we don't have some minor problems. He complains the house is not handicapped accessible, but I say as long as you have a window the house is accessible. Camembert's requested I put in a ramp somewhere, either that or move his bedroom down to the first floor, and I suppose I might throw him a bone on one of those requests. A ramp would be a lot of fun to ride that chair down, if you put it at the right angle. I might even be able to put a loop in it, as the rollercoasters do, as a nice surprise.
Some might call this new old life of mine boring—well, I say shut-up. In a pleasant, smiling sort of way. I welcome the safe, the secure, the familiar. At least until something better than the dead-end suburban existence comes along. º Last Column: Rok the Boatº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Discretion is the better of valor, and the first thirty minutes of Saving Private Ryan much better than any of the rest of it.”
-Crazy Eddie ShakespeareFortune 500 CookieIt's time you leave your job, 'cause they're going to fire you tomorrow. If you're ever cornered by a bear, hang your lunch in the tree and pretend you have Tourette's. She sells seashells by the sea shore, which is an incredibly bad market to unload those things. Duck, duck—goose. Lucky numbers all negative.
Try again later.Favorite Porn Names| 1. | Titty Titty Gangbang | | 2. | Bridgette Fonda Fucking | | 3. | Truck Schtooper | | 4. | Misty Sizzler | | 5. | Chase Winsock | | 6. | Mr. Creamjeans | | 7. | Murph "Family-Size" Sausage | | 8. | Jeff the Sack | | 9. | Jizzabelle | | 10. | Tasty Bummer | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 1/15/2007 It’s been far too long since my sarcastic commentaries have ridden the internet nodes. So let’s have no tarrying and move right into a look at the best movies of 2006.
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Ha! Ultimate sting, villains. Now let’s take a look at some movies widely regarded as having debuted in 2006.
Borat
Here’s a movie everyone was talking about, frequently into the tiresome broken language accent of its one-hit-wonder self-titled character. If you hate people, and I know I do, you’ll love Borat. Never has a statement been so wrong, since I hate people and I still hate Borat. No other movie in 2006 captured the cruelty of humanity and the inane weariness of constant homoerotic jokes. But the best part was the...
It’s been far too long since my sarcastic commentaries have ridden the internet nodes. So let’s have no tarrying and move right into a look at the best movies of 2006.
…
Ha! Ultimate sting, villains. Now let’s take a look at some movies widely regarded as having debuted in 2006.
Borat
Here’s a movie everyone was talking about, frequently into the tiresome broken language accent of its one-hit-wonder self-titled character. If you hate people, and I know I do, you’ll love Borat. Never has a statement been so wrong, since I hate people and I still hate Borat. No other movie in 2006 captured the cruelty of humanity and the inane weariness of constant homoerotic jokes. But the best part was the over-promotion—even if you didn’t want to go all the way to the theater to see the movie, you could still see more than half of the charmless humor distilled through a barrage of short commercials, TV talk show appearances, and YouTube blitzes. Ahh, Borat. Me thinks thou art not quite so ignorant of America.
Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man’s Chest
Also highly touted as "the movie that beat Superman." But Superman is hardly that tough, considering how easily they killed him for a quick buck in the 1990s. I have to admit, I didn’t see this movie, but I saw the first one, and I threw up on the ride, and I hear it’s amazingly accurate to the source material. Johnny Depp continues his wondrous acting process of doing whatever the hell he wants on camera in total disregard to the screenplay.
Letters From Iwo Jima
A highly lauded movie, beloved by critics everywhere in 2006 for telling us what has been secret knowledge until now: The people we kill in a war are people, too. Perhaps if Clint Eastwood were a little more daring we could have seen a movie about the movie we’re fighting now, but we were lucky to get a film about everybody’s favorite war, WWII, and the opposition’s brave attempts to not get killed. Groundbreaking. At least it wasn’t another rah-rah "kill the Japs" film like we’re used to. Oh, wait, we got that, too—Eastwood also served up the less acclaimed Flags of Our Fathers, so we could sit through a guilt-inspiring movie about the yellow threat easier having just ridden high on the testosterone of a familiar war movie. One of these days they’ll make a stunning movie about the war in Iraq. Oh, wait, I forgot—we only want to make movies about wars where we can claim the moral highground. Maybe they’ll make a sitcom about it then.
World Trade Center/Flight 93
I’m not actually reviewing these movies, just dredging up the awful spectre of the 9/11 movies that have finally come home to roost in 2006. You’ve got to admire the class of Hollywood, waiting a full five years before capitalizing on the misery of America’s most heartbreaking tragedy. At this rate we’re bound to get a Katrina movie by the end of 2008—and the special effects will harden your testicles like quarry rock, trust me. But all criticism aside, these movies make great, bold statements about the events of September 11, 2001: What a damn shame. I’m not sure if there’s really any more to get out of them, but hey, what do you want from the best movies of the year? Complex problems studied in a fractal format to increase our understanding and create a sympathy for their victims? Not very likely to fit cliché dialogue and massive CGI building explosions in that kind of movie, I’ll tell you now.
So let us put the past behind us. In fact, if it’s not too much to ask, let’s put 2007 behind us as well now. I don’t think we’ll be missing much in the entertainment field.   |