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 December 12, 2005 |
Carnival Cruise Lines, now featuring cruise aficionado Iggy Pop.
Hip companies everywhere stood up and took notice in 2004, when Carnival Cruise Lines kicked off this latest run on large-scale irony by snatching up Iggy Pop's heroin anthem "Lust for Life" for use in ads for their overweight middle-aged vacation cruises. While Carnival claims not to discriminate against guests based on whether or not they can make it through a buffet dinner without a fix of smack, most physicians recommend against combining heroin and shuffleboard.
"Disregard for artists is back," explained corporate trend-watcher Tre...
ompanies are lining up around the block this year to take part in the coolest trend to hit corporate America since "creative accounting": competing to see who can co-opt the most inappropriate pop anthem for their advertising campaign. Hip companies everywhere stood up and took notice in 2004, when Carnival Cruise Lines kicked off this latest run on large-scale irony by snatching up Iggy Pop's heroin anthem "Lust for Life" for use in ads for their overweight middle-aged vacation cruises. While Carnival claims not to discriminate against guests based on whether or not they can make it through a buffet dinner without a fix of smack, most physicians recommend against combining heroin and shuffleboard. "Disregard for artists is back," explained corporate trend-watcher Trevor Hamilton. "In fact, it's red hot." Hamilton followed his comment with an embarrassing "-pssssss- ow!" burnt-finger gesture that we only mention because we don't like him. Cadillac scored a major coup when they landed the Led Zeppelin classic "Rock 'n Roll" to advertise their old fogey cars. Industry observers consider this to be an especially cool victory for GM, since aside from the disorienting clash of associating rock music with land yachts, the song's lyrics are also quite clearly about sex, something most Cadillac drivers have foregone for years in favor of golf. Others point to the brilliance of the Gap landing AC/DC's classic "Back in Black" for their ads, a song by a metal band with incredibly awful fashion sense, even for Australians. However, few can top the catastrophically cool usage of Bob Dylan's seminal "The Times They Are A Changin'" by the Bank of Montreal in 1996, recasting a song about the dissolution of old power into an anthem for money management. "A bank? A freaking bank?" gushed Hamilton, wetly. "That's just brilliant! That's like getting a Rage Against the Machine song to advertise duck pate." Particularly popular this year is the use of sexually inappropriate tunes for advertising products aimed at small children. Advertising executives express their admiration for a recent spot using Salt N Pepa's raunchy sex come-on "Push It" to sell orange creamsicle push-pops, and another that featured Power Station's stiff-dick anthem "Some Like it Hot" in an effort to sell Hot Pockets. Other upcoming salvos in the war for the most jarringly inappropriate corporate anthem include the Clash's "Lost in the Supermarket" to be used in an upcoming ad for Albertsons, a soon-to-be-released recruiting ad for the U.S. Army featuring Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A.", The Police's "Every Breath You Take" being used to hock the Apple iCam webcam, and Disney's continued misuse of the Guns n' Roses drug and prostitution saga "Welcome to the Jungle" for the DVD re-releases of Bambi, the Lion King, The Jungle Book and Tarzan. As of press time, definitive word could not be reached as to whether or not President Bush plans to jump on the bandwagon, switching his presidential theme song from R.E.M.'s "World Leader Pretend," to something more inappropriate, like Bill Withers' 1972 hit, "Lean on Me." the commune news is feeling way too left out of this latest delicious trend, and as a result is announcing a switch from our current theme song of the Killers' "Somebody Told Me" to the more-inappropriate "The Truth" by Good Charlotte. Ivana Folger-Balzac doesn't have an official theme song, though we do all sing "The Bitch is Back" by Elton John whenever we see her. Actually, most people just say the title, without any singing, but same difference.
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Several Newscasters Fired for Reporting Death of Don Ho 5 Million White House E-Mails Missing, All About Low-Cost Cialis Sanjaya Unites Indian Fans, People Who Hate American Idol IRS: Excessively Needy Girlfriends Can’t Be Declared “Dependents” |
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 July 3, 2012
Brush With Death, Floss With DangerFinger fans, I'm delighted to be writing you again sooner than anticipated. As I last said, I did not believe there was enough of interest to me to warrant continued commune writing, but we both lucked out, for since those premature words, I have discovered my dentist is a secret agent.
It must seem like I've gone mad, and I have—mad with international intrigue. I'm not at liberty to say too much, and of course I can't use his last name, but I am permitted to use his first, so we'll call him "Doctor." No one was more surprised than me at my last visit for a regular teeth cleaning, although the hygienist did seem shocked and dismayed when I elected to change into a hospital gown. I am not going home with a drool-drenched shirt again, I'm adamant on that point, and she's a dental assistant, she should be accustomed to a little nudity by now.
I would not have even found out this sizzling bit of news if it were not for a slip of the tongue. We were discussing film and I asked Doctor if he had seen that new James Bond film from three years ago. He said yes, and he enjoyed it very much, being a spy himself.
The secret was out! I asked him what kind of spy he was, he told me he would have to kill me if he told me, or if I laid a finger on his girlfriend. I of course promised I would tell no one, and would not touch the girlfriend, having not yet seen her or found out she was a model. Reluctantly, Doctor confided his history in his majesty's...
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Finger fans, I'm delighted to be writing you again sooner than anticipated. As I last said, I did not believe there was enough of interest to me to warrant continued commune writing, but we both lucked out, for since those premature words, I have discovered my dentist is a secret agent.
It must seem like I've gone mad, and I have—mad with international intrigue. I'm not at liberty to say too much, and of course I can't use his last name, but I am permitted to use his first, so we'll call him "Doctor." No one was more surprised than me at my last visit for a regular teeth cleaning, although the hygienist did seem shocked and dismayed when I elected to change into a hospital gown. I am not going home with a drool-drenched shirt again, I'm adamant on that point, and she's a dental assistant, she should be accustomed to a little nudity by now.
I would not have even found out this sizzling bit of news if it were not for a slip of the tongue. We were discussing film and I asked Doctor if he had seen that new James Bond film from three years ago. He said yes, and he enjoyed it very much, being a spy himself.
The secret was out! I asked him what kind of spy he was, he told me he would have to kill me if he told me, or if I laid a finger on his girlfriend. I of course promised I would tell no one, and would not touch the girlfriend, having not yet seen her or found out she was a model. Reluctantly, Doctor confided his history in his majesty's secret service. Bet you didn't know we were a monarchy-democracy, did you? Neither did I, until Doctor straightened me out. My grill as well.
Good people, I'm a simple ventriloquil stage performer, I'm not used to the fast-paced life of spydom, or even dentistry. I lived a quiet life, immune to all the intrigue just hanging in the air around me like humidity. Now my eyes are opened, the little crusty booger things cleared out by the truth. We are surrounded on all sides by spies.
I asked Doctor how he got into the spy game, he said it's all who you know, and he's good friends with the secret king. I'm not supposed to use his full name outside the Circle of Mystery, which I'm not allowed to be a part of unless they don't have enough people to make a circle present. But I guess I can give you something to call him, differentiate from everyone else in this story, so call him King Steve.
The secret monarchy ruling our country and the plethora of spies disguised as every day members of the service industry has provided me with some distraction from the humdrum routine of entertaining people by pretending to speak. If you're wondering who are the enemies of the Circle of Mystery, you're not alone, but Doctor won't tell me anything more unless King Steve grants me full access. That will cost $40, and I don't get that kind of money in my line of work, not until my crimson tuxedo is paid for. Yes, I am on the waiting list to be inducted into this hidden world, so wish me luck. Rok Finger may be protecting you from the most evil and insidious threat to this nation neither of us has ever heard of. So sleep well, once I get forty bucks.
I learned all this from a night of fascinating conversation with Doctor. After my cleaning and semi-annual uvula scraping, I invited Doctor out for a night on the town, but when we realized the cost of drinks would add up, we instead decided to share a mask of nitrous for a few hours. What amazing secrets were revealed, probably a lot more than I can remember since I think I forgot to switch off the tank just before I passed out. Did you know our spies go on vacation twice a year to stunning locations like Fort Lauderdale to monitor the international diamond trade? Of course you didn't. You don't have $40 and you're not in the Circle of Mystery. As soon as they get a few dozen more membership fees added to the Circle, a sweepstakes will decide who is the best spy, and that candidate will travel to romantic Monte Carlo to enter a high-stakes poker competition and thwart the evil Professor Glove. He's not the most terrible criminal mastermind of our age, but he's the equivalent of a comptroller for said most terrible criminal mind. I can't wait to get my $40 and find out who it is! My money is on Red Bagel, who ironically owes me $40 in unpaid commune checks.
Doctor was quick to remind me this is all fantasy, insisted that I remember that when I left and promised to dig up the money for the entry fee into the Circle. Of course it's fantasy. It's been my boyhood dream to defend the country and the western world from the unimaginable despotism of a villain whose name I don't know. And I didn't even have a boyhood.
I do hope they give me bullets with my membership kit. I already have a gun and an ankle holster. º Last Column: Ventriloquism For Dummiesº more columns
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|  January 20, 2003
Duck's Ass"I'm hungry enough to kick an old lady down a fire escape!"
The worst thing is when you're hungry for something, but you don't know what it is. People will start naming off all the things you can eat and none of it sounds good, and believe me, it's a long list if you just name off thing after thing. If someone was a real asshole they could list things they know you're not in the mood for like duck ass and iceberg. Just keep saying variations on the same thing, too: "Duck wing? Duck feet? Duck face? Duck brain?" I'm going to do that next time I get a shot.
I went to Burger King where they say I can have it my way, but the manager said the commercial wasn't talking to me when they said that. I had it their way, and it was alright. No fries with cheese cooked inside or hamburger buns made of pork, but it was good enough. I was hungry enough to eat donkey balls, though. I kept saying that and some of those kids in the great big Grimace on the giant spring started crying. You know, I don't think I was at Burger King at all. Which makes it easy to see why they made me have it some other way.
One time I told my mom I was hungry enough to eat Grandma and she made me do it. She said it was Grandma, anyway, she was probably just lying. Whoever it was, their toenails were nasty and smelled like Grandma's. Even deep-frying couldn't take out the stink.
Mom deep-fried everything. She was always playing gags on us, too. I pissed...
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"I'm hungry enough to kick an old lady down a fire escape!"
The worst thing is when you're hungry for something, but you don't know what it is. People will start naming off all the things you can eat and none of it sounds good, and believe me, it's a long list if you just name off thing after thing. If someone was a real asshole they could list things they know you're not in the mood for like duck ass and iceberg. Just keep saying variations on the same thing, too: "Duck wing? Duck feet? Duck face? Duck brain?" I'm going to do that next time I get a shot.
I went to Burger King where they say I can have it my way, but the manager said the commercial wasn't talking to me when they said that. I had it their way, and it was alright. No fries with cheese cooked inside or hamburger buns made of pork, but it was good enough. I was hungry enough to eat donkey balls, though. I kept saying that and some of those kids in the great big Grimace on the giant spring started crying. You know, I don't think I was at Burger King at all. Which makes it easy to see why they made me have it some other way.
One time I told my mom I was hungry enough to eat Grandma and she made me do it. She said it was Grandma, anyway, she was probably just lying. Whoever it was, their toenails were nasty and smelled like Grandma's. Even deep-frying couldn't take out the stink.
Mom deep-fried everything. She was always playing gags on us, too. I pissed her off one Christmas by giving her a homemade gift instead of the hibachi she wanted but instead of saying anything she pretended she liked it and began plotting her revenge. Then, one day in July I came home from school, hungry as usual, and ate so fast I almost got a headache. Mom was laughing like crazy real loud in the corner and when I asked her why she told me I had just eaten my pajamas. Hell, she deep-fried them so long they tasted like pork rinds, how was I supposed to know? It was hard to get to sleep that night, my stomach hurt and I was cold 'cause I didn't have any pajamas, but I started to really appreciate the cleverness of the joke by morning time. º Last Column: Nice Herpesº more columns
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Milestones2003: The infamous "Battle of the Bulge" breaks out at when office wench Ivana Folger-Balzac mistakes Ramrod Hurley's beerbelly for a birthing alien larvae and sets into the Acting-Editor with a can opener. The skirmish and resultant standoff lasts 18 hours and claims the lives of several Crochet! magazine staffers, for whom the commune observes a moment of near-silence.Now HiringSexecutioner. Why does everybody keep laughing when we say that? We need a dude who can kill some fucking people in an official capacity, okay? What's so funny about that? You guys are sick. Anyway, pay commensurate to experience. Must provide own mask, axe, electric chair, whatever floats your boat.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Other Bad Deals Faust Made | | 2. | 7 New Ways to Leave Your Lover | | 3. | This Season's Sexy New Parkas | | 4. | Uncle Macho's Superior Hamburgers | | 5. | Critic's Corner: You | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/5/2007 Buenos Greetings, America! Roland McShyster here, back on the attack and off the crack! What better way to celebrate the months we’ve been apart than to round up the top flicks of the past year? 2006 was a busy year for movies, and though I know my esteemed colleague Orson Welch took a crack at the same last issue, it says here that this town’s big enough for the two of us, and I do think it is as long as Orson keeps his shoes on. So without further adieu, let’s make some magic!
1. The Deep Hearted
The first film in recent memory to function as both a remake (of Jackie Chan’s incendiary classic Nutbusted) and a sequel (to 1974’s dark-side of Elmer Fudd classic The Deer Hunter), The Deep Hearted finally gives screen icon Jack...
Buenos Greetings, America! Roland McShyster here, back on the attack and off the crack! What better way to celebrate the months we’ve been apart than to round up the top flicks of the past year? 2006 was a busy year for movies, and though I know my esteemed colleague Orson Welch took a crack at the same last issue, it says here that this town’s big enough for the two of us, and I do think it is as long as Orson keeps his shoes on. So without further adieu, let’s make some magic!
1. The Deep Hearted
The first film in recent memory to function as both a remake (of Jackie Chan’s incendiary classic Nutbusted) and a sequel (to 1974’s dark-side of Elmer Fudd classic The Deer Hunter), The Deep Hearted finally gives screen icon Jack Nickelson a role he can sink his teeth into. Too bad it didn’t come along before his real teeth had rotted away due to lechery and extreme old age, but golf-enthusiast Nickelson sinks his day-glo white dentures into this role just the same. Vanilla Ice is almost as good playing Marky Mark in the supporting role, and both Math Damon and Leonardio Dicaprica shine at playing the same character at random intervals throughout the film.
2/3. Fags of Our Fathers/Letters from Hero Jim
The only thing hotter in Hollywood right now than butch-looking tough guys being gay is dudes going to war a long time ago to kill foreigners, but it still took the jaundiced eye of silver-screen megalegend Clint Eastwood to put two and two together and make two movies that each combine both ideas. Fags of Our Fathers came first (that’s what she said!), and turned American hearts upside-out with its stunning portrayal of American GIs and the guys they bungholed while they were overseas during WWII. But great as that film was, it was just Clint’s way of softening the ground for Letters from Hero Jim, the right-hook to Fathers’ jap. Or is it jab? I don’t know boxing terminology. Letters tells the story of two gay guys in the army writing to each other, but the twist you haven’t seen before is that one of them is actually in the distant past and is Japanese. Now be sure to pick up the pieces of your blown mind before we move on to the next film.
4. Babe!
Darker than the first two, sure, and lighter on the pig, but that’s just fine with me when you’re talking about a movie many thought shouldn’t be made. After the star of the first two films died in a horrible breakfast- making accident two short years ago, the weak- stomached of the movie watching community rose up in one voice and suggested that the blockbuster film series be laid to rest in this little piggy’s honor. Thankfully, Hollywood told those fruits to take a hike, and completed the epic trilogy in style. Brad Pitt brings a fresh-faced enthusiasm to his role as Babe’s handler on the little pig’s trans-continental journey to find something tasty buried just beneath the ground. Without a doubt, some of the best pig acting since 1998’s Copland.
5. The Queen
Hot on the heels of his smash success with The Doors, counterculture icon Olivier Stone rips the rock biopic genre a new one with this scathing look at the life and times of the most macho band ever to exist, Queen. Brit bombshell Hellen Mirren burns the screen down with her thick-mustached portrayal of musky sex God and Queen frontman Freddie Mercury, and the rest of the band is played by guys who could snap your neck with their breath. If you had a better time in a theater in 2006, you were high on something wicked and I’m calling the cops.
6. Lidle Missed Sunshine
This amazingly-fast response to the tragic death of Yankees pitcher Corey Lidle, who died months ago after trying to land his single-engine Cessna through the window of his Manhattan apartment, doesn’t deserve to be as good as it turned out, but there it is just the same. It’s films like this that make me wonder what the hell they’re doing over there, outside of America, and why can’t they make films this good.
7/8. Volver/Lucky Number Slevin
Dyslexia was the hot word for 2006, not that anyone could spell it. But Hollywood doesn’t have to be able to spell something to be able to cash in on it, as these two films specially-titled for the letter-ordering impaired were to prove. Surprisingly, they were both powerhouses. Actually, technically one was a powerhouse and the other was a brick house, but I’ll leave you to decide for yourselves which was which.
9. Untied 93
Finally, the truth comes out about why Gerald Ford fell down those airplane steps that fateful morning back a long time ago. Turns out his shoelaces were untied. Yeah, it sounds kind of anti- climactic when I say it just like that, but trust me, this movie will keep you riveted for the full 93 minutes as you see Ford’s shit-eating unfold in painstaking detail. Yeah, you know what’s gonna happen, but that just makes the film’s inevitable conclusion feel all the more tragic.
10. Preachy Home Companion
Although it’s not the kind of movie I’d usually like, since it’s not very good, Preachy Home Companion won me over by having a bunch of good-looking people singing a lot while at the same time showing why ugly people belong on radio. Private Parts tried to teach me the same lesson years ago, but for some reason it didn’t really sink in until this film. But it did, and consider me a changed man, America.
Until next time, I’m Roland McShyster, and you’re America. Try to wear it well.   |
