| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/1010/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 64';
$finger='2005/1107/';
$fingertitle='Little Man with a Gun in His Hand';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
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$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0912/';
$hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/1107/';
$losertitle='Paging Doctor Van';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/1107/';
$police='2005/1128/';
$polio='2005/1107/';
$poliotitle='Gods Hands';
$rent='2005/1107/';
$renttitle='Im Straight!';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/1128/';
$zendertitle='The Seventh commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Parentsâ Groups to Britney: âDie, Slut, Die!âDecember 10, 2001 |
Fresno, CA Courtesy Jive Records Teen idol Britney Spears, who has never seen the back seat of your best friend's Impala
Parentsâ groups around the world are up in arms over Spearsâ newest album, fearing the influence that t...
ith the November release of her third album, Britney, teen idol Britney Spears has set off a wave of controversy over the seemingly-erotic nature of the lyrics to her newest songs. Spears denies such allegations vehemently, pointing to her much-publicized and very occasionally believed virginity, and her total coyness in interviews, which she often conducts while being photographed riding a gigantic 18-foot dildo. âI think itâs important to stay a virgin until you get married,â Spears recently told The Straits Times of Singapore, wiping a long white streak of what appeared to be dried semen off her top lip. âItâs more special that way.â Parentsâ groups around the world are up in arms over Spearsâ newest album, fearing the influence that the virginal exhibitionist might have over their teenage daughters, who often imitate Spears in dress, slang and in sleeping with members of âNSync. âLook, it wouldnât be so bad if that little tramp would just admit that sheâs given more blowjobs than Conair. Thatâs really the part that pisses me off, this whole âWho, me?â act. I mean, Christ in a Corvette, who buys that crap? It might even be worth her influencing my daughter to get pregnant if they could just catch that little bitch in the act,â stated Connie Baustel, head of Mothers Against Bare Midriffs, a Baltimore-area Anti-Spears group. âIâm tired of people with dirty minds always trying to read gross things into my songs. Itâs sad that we live in a world where people think that even a song like âSplit Me Open and Pound Me Rawâ is about sex,â said Spears when asked about her new album. âI swear, you get a reputation in this industry and thatâs all anyone sees when they look at you. I write a song about buying Christmas presents for my boyfriendâs parents, call it âI Wanna Do Your Whole Family,â and all of a sudden my publicistâs phone is ringing off the hook. Talk about perverts,â Spears stated indignantly. âI donât know where these people get their ideas from. This album is about apple pie and fluffy kitties and meeting your pals down at the roller-rink. âTouch Me Where the Sun Donât Shineâ is a really sweet song about first love. âTongue My Anusâ is a song I wrote about my new puppy, Cuddler. You should see him, heâs just adorable,â claimed a totally straight-faced Spears. The biggest uproar has been over the video for the albumâs first single, âKnock Me Up, Knock Me Down,â which features a pregnant and black-eyed Spears performing a suggestive dance routine in front of a trailer home. âSome people have no sense of art,â commented Spears when asked about the controversial song. âI mean, hell-o, obviously the song isnât pro-domestic abuse.â Others arenât so sure, and some question the songâs lyrics: âBaby, dontcha wanna dance up on my face your love I canât replace (repeat) / like that / you like it, huh? / Iâll carry your baby if youâll give me your gravy / Get it, get it / Ohhh / Get it, get it / Ahhhh / Get it, get it / Ooooh / This feels good / Give me a smack and I donât mean your lips / Show me youâre a man. . ./ Knock me up (heavy breathing) Knoooock me down / I deserve it / I canât live without it.â Spearsâ album sales remain brisk despite the controversy, with a particularly strong showing in the creepy over-40 male demographic. And the Spears phenomena shows no signs of slowing, with a movie deal in the works and promotional tie-ins rumored for both The Disney Channel and Trojan condoms. For the time being, anyway, it looks like everythingâs coming up Britney. Spearsâ fourth album, Cum-Hungry Buttfuck Doll, is due out in the spring. Ivana Folger-Balzac has made life in the commune's news offices a living hell for two weeks running now. the commune news staff is currently taking a collection to pay the bitch her alimony ourselves, since that deadbeat Nacutchacokov seems eerily oblivious to her.
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Amazing new cell phone shows respect for moviegoers
Hurricane Fred heard to remark: Wiiiiiillllllmmaaaaa!
commune offers Disney Dunkin, reporter to be named later for buyout
 Serial Killer's Neighbor: "He just wouldn't shut up about serial killing." |
Santa Claus on Trial: Week Three ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity. Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecutions presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous Tooth Fairy. Unknown American Philosopher Dead illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as A pictures worth a thousand words, and Why buy milk when you have a cow at home? A pictures worth a thousand words, repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know. Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said A pictures worth a thousand words and didnt know what he was talking about. Sanjaya Unites Indian Fans, People Who Hate American Idol IRS: Excessively Needy Girlfriends Cant Be Declared Dependents |
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 April 16, 2007
I Could Never Audit Your HeartWhat lurks inside the human heart? Even the most fickle of love muscles has moments where it is full of nothing but joy, and I would only seek these moments for us.
I do not believe the heart can be judged when it is not in love. For a heart in love is at its most pure, like a Hershey chocolate bar with absolutely no nuts, no nougat, nothing but the chocolate you want. A heart in love is a heart as it really is. These moments when we're not in love are moments where we are not even truly existing. It is like love is the band we came to see, the big name on the marquee, and every other moment is us sitting in our seats in the dark, or watching Big Country and calling them assholes while we really seek U2. U2 on stage is akin to the love in our hearts, and that is why we are all really here.
Oh, my Nancyâthe Nancy whose heart is mine and no one else's. I am so convinced of our perfect union that I need no proof of our entwined fates. I can see into your heart, and I stare intently at your chest while you try to sleep just in case I could ever do so. But it is in your eyes that I recognize we are the one love either of us will ever have. If your heart were a tax return, I would never audit your heart. Even if some of the math were a little shady and you clearly didn't have 9 dependents like you filled in, I could not bring myself to ask you to bring in your love receipts to my office where I could pore over them and see if everything added upâit...
º Last Column: My Band Alone Can Save Rock 'N' Roll
º more columns
What lurks inside the human heart? Even the most fickle of love muscles has moments where it is full of nothing but joy, and I would only seek these moments for us. I do not believe the heart can be judged when it is not in love. For a heart in love is at its most pure, like a Hershey chocolate bar with absolutely no nuts, no nougat, nothing but the chocolate you want. A heart in love is a heart as it really is. These moments when we're not in love are moments where we are not even truly existing. It is like love is the band we came to see, the big name on the marquee, and every other moment is us sitting in our seats in the dark, or watching Big Country and calling them assholes while we really seek U2. U2 on stage is akin to the love in our hearts, and that is why we are all really here. Oh, my Nancyâthe Nancy whose heart is mine and no one else's. I am so convinced of our perfect union that I need no proof of our entwined fates. I can see into your heart, and I stare intently at your chest while you try to sleep just in case I could ever do so. But it is in your eyes that I recognize we are the one love either of us will ever have. If your heart were a tax return, I would never audit your heart. Even if some of the math were a little shady and you clearly didn't have 9 dependents like you filled in, I could not bring myself to ask you to bring in your love receipts to my office where I could pore over them and see if everything added upâit doesn't matter. Love has ruined my math skills. The only math that makes sense to me now is 1 + 1 = Us. And even that would not get me through a second grade elementary school. I wish I could be tested on other subjects, for even the most elementary of things I am stupid about since accepting you into my heart. Basic English skills are unwelcome in my mind, phone numbers are quickly forgotten. I have become retarded for love. People should write notes about where I'm going and who I had to see and pin them to my shirt so that I might remain functional in a world where loving you is my only competent skill. I would drink Liquid Plumber right out from under the cabinet, if I momentarily forgot its lethality in the face of your beauty. You would have to rush me to the hospital and get my stomach pumped so I could continue to love you, and in my stomach they might well extract pure love along with the Liquid Plumber, because love is the only thing that fills me. Nancy, why must we ever disagree? You should know when I called the ending to that Reese Witherspoon movie total horseshit that I could never second-guess your opinion. We've already talked about how completely helpless I am, roaming the world like a blithering idiot due to my obsession with you. It is an obsession that everyone would call unhealthy and dangerous if I were not so handsome and you did not return my love even a fraction, which you do. I am incapable of rational action as long as you are alive. Killing you would be the only way to return me to regular intelligence, and I would sooner die than let someone kill you. I love you too much to be intelligent. Allow me to take that I.Q. test as a I offered last night. You will see that you are in love with an unmistakable moron, and that any opinion I ever offer that offends you should count for nothing. Even my opinion on this love is collectively worthless, given I'm two brain cells away from drooling into a bedpan for the rest of my life. I love you that much. At least, that's my perception of it, given my extremely limited capacity. º Last Column: My Band Alone Can Save Rock 'N' Rollº more columns
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|  January 7, 2002
Airplane"I remember it just like it was yesterday, the summer that my brother Goose and I spent trying to build our own airplane. We had it on good authority that none other than the Great Gildersleeve himself would be making a public appearance in St Louis in a month's time, and we weren't about to consider the option of not being there. We begged mom and dad for weeks, but they failed to realize the importance of this event, or the relative insignificance of the 36-hour drive to St Louis. Perhaps if we'd had Stephanie on our side we could have turned the tides, but she was strictly a Fibber McGee girl and she distanced herself from the negotiations, most likely because she was angling for a new bike for her birthday. So it remained for Goose and I to find our own means of transportation to St Louis, and a homemade airplane sounded as good as any.
Our first prototype was a simple model consisting of an old mattress we found in the garage with a red racing stripe painted up the side. And it may have gotten the job done if it weren't for Goose, who was scared by a bee when we were hoisting it up onto the roof and let go of the mattress-plane early, which slid off the roof and into our neighbor's pool. Similar was the fate of prototype number two, an old garbage can tied to a pogo stick, which slid down the roof while Goose was climbing in and ended up putting a big dent in the hood of Dad's car. Goose caught pure hell for that mishap, and I had to join the 4H Club just...
º Last Column: Christmas
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"I remember it just like it was yesterday, the summer that my brother Goose and I spent trying to build our own airplane. We had it on good authority that none other than the Great Gildersleeve himself would be making a public appearance in St Louis in a month's time, and we weren't about to consider the option of not being there. We begged mom and dad for weeks, but they failed to realize the importance of this event, or the relative insignificance of the 36-hour drive to St Louis. Perhaps if we'd had Stephanie on our side we could have turned the tides, but she was strictly a Fibber McGee girl and she distanced herself from the negotiations, most likely because she was angling for a new bike for her birthday. So it remained for Goose and I to find our own means of transportation to St Louis, and a homemade airplane sounded as good as any.
Our first prototype was a simple model consisting of an old mattress we found in the garage with a red racing stripe painted up the side. And it may have gotten the job done if it weren't for Goose, who was scared by a bee when we were hoisting it up onto the roof and let go of the mattress-plane early, which slid off the roof and into our neighbor's pool. Similar was the fate of prototype number two, an old garbage can tied to a pogo stick, which slid down the roof while Goose was climbing in and ended up putting a big dent in the hood of Dad's car. Goose caught pure hell for that mishap, and I had to join the 4H Club just to provide an alibi as to where I was that afternoon.
Goose thought we should go with one of his designs for our third prototype, and I humored him although I was doubtful because of Goose's well-documented lack of imagination. Prototype three ended up being a big cardboard box with a picture of an airplane taped to the side, and all I have to say about that is I'm glad Goose broke my fall. He's probably lucky he sprained his ankle as well since Mom was pretty steamed at Goose for cutting up the "A" volume of the family encyclopedias the way he did.
After that mom and dad both forbade us from attempting any more flights to St Louis, and we ended up having to listen to the Great Gildersleeve on the radio instead while Goose was propped up on icepacks. It probably would have been more fun to be there in person, but I imagine then we would have missed the fun that night when we heard that great crash outside and all ran out to find dad in the driveway amidst a mangled pile of homemade airplane parts." º Last Column: Christmasº more columns
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Milestones1954: November 11 is changed from Armistice Day to Veteran's Day to honor veterans of all wars, and mostly to prevent huge national embarrassment as Americans repeatedly fail to pronounce "armistice" correctly.Now HiringPlay Director. Experienced Broadway/Off-Broadway veteran sought to bring life to boring old commune Thanksgiving production without mentioning syphilis and genocide. A good show will guarantee you a spot directing our multi-denominational Hanukkah-Ramadan-Christmas Kwanzaganza.Top New Year's Resolutions| 1. | Quit being such an asshole | | 2. | Exercise every day. Every Arbor Day. | | 3. | Kill them all | | 4. | Lose 20 pounds to limey con artist | | 5. | Quit smoking halibut | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 6/18/2007 Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since Iâm focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldnât have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I havenât had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orsonâs favorite movies of all time. Whatâs that? Movies I like? Thatâs correct. They are few, but they exist. Letâs see the âtheyâ to which Iâm referring.
The Great Muppet Caper
There has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood...
Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since Iâm focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldnât have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I havenât had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orsonâs favorite movies of all time. Whatâs that? Movies I like? Thatâs correct. They are few, but they exist. Letâs see the âtheyâ to which Iâm referring. The Great Muppet CaperThere has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood than to team up Charles Grodin with felt-headed puppets. Never. I challenge you to find one. Grodin is a daring jewel thief who attempts to manipulate Miss Piggy with a romantic relationship. Yes, you read that right. Simply for the tantalizing daydreams Iâve had about how Charles Grodin would get busy with a pig puppet, if that involves Frank Ozâs hand at all or not, this movie ranks very highly in my list. And like all Muppet movies, the human are not at all curious why these somewhat inarticulate animal puppets are welcomed rather than scorned by society, a great commentary on the generation gap of the 1960s and 1970s, though a bit dark for the taste of most. YojimboAkira Kurosawaâs samurai epic has been remade many times, but too many remakes miss the exceptional subtlety and style of Kurosawa. This movie is not as excellent as it is because it is a tightly-plotted story of a samurai in feudal Japan playing two greedy sides against each other; itâs brilliant because without telling us, Kurosawa has staged the timeless story of a collection of insane Japanese men who have taken up residence in the old west. When Sergio Leone remade this tale as A Fistful of Dollars, he unwittingly sapped all the brilliance out of it by staging it in the old west where it was originally set in Kurosawaâs version. The fact the main character has no name is a subtle testament to the fact everyone is completely out of their minds in this movie and thatâs why they think theyâre samurai. A searing and subversive indictment of everyone who goes to see a movie and expects the characters to be in full possession of their faculties. Toshiro Mifune was a god among actors with hyperactive attention deficit disorder. THX-1138Before George Lucas decided it was more fun to make money than cutting social commentary films, he made THX-1138, and weâre all the better for it. Contrary to Lucasâ opinion he was making a sharp attack on the drug-abusing rule-following fascism of pre-1960s culture, he was actually making a critical symphony that mocked white Americaâs subtle hatred of itself. Not only are very few of the actors in the movie black at all, but the lead actor, Robert Duvall, can only escape the dirty world of which heâs part and the dull silver automatons who enforce the law by crossing the longest expanse of pure white ever seen on screen. Fascinating. So only by running toward something even whiter can we at least be safe from our basic whiteness? No wonder people complained so loudly about the low-key racism in the Star Wars prequels. Lucas definitely has issues. Paris on FireThere is no better film alive than Paris on Fire. No, this has nothing to do with Hilton heiresses. Quite simply, Paris on Fire is the most damning fire safety film ever made in the French New Wave vein. The acting is excellent as Marie Chevalier plays âWoman Woken By Fire Alarm,â trying for the entire length of the film to find a way out of her burning house only to find fire behind every door. She tries each door several times, and while some audiences might find these repeated scenes fairly boring, theyâre actually morons because it makes a pointed statement about the repetitive nature of trying to avoid burning to death in general. Paris on Fire makes the bold statement that, no matter how any of us might die, we are truly burning to death, slowly but surely, and we should probably enjoy it. Fucking genius. Is that all there is? Possibly. I know itâs not for me, as I have that research thing starting next week. I will miss these little chats weâve had, but I suppose itâs all for naught, as weâre but burning to death slowly over along period of time. So enjoy.   |
