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Twenty-two Dead and Children Delighted by SnowstormDecember 9, 2002 |
Raleigh, NorthCarolina Whit Pistol We're not sure of the exact details, but we think it's some kind of winterstorm Stand By Me.
"This is a terrible tragedy, the worst thing that's ever happened to us," said Raleigh, North Carolina security guard Cindy Macon. "We've lost power and had to leave our home. The whole family's been staying in a shelter and I can't afford to miss work, but they've closed everything. We're broke and destitute."
"Hooray!" said Evansville, Indiana schoolboy Ricky Teegan. "Snow's everywhere and they closed school! I hear they're probabl...
nowstorms blanketed the east coast early last week, stopping work in hundreds of towns and cities and creating countless traffic accidents. In the worst cases, 22 in North and South Carolina were killed in storm-related incidents. Schools were also closed in a number of states, thrilling children from grades kindergarten through 12.
"This is a terrible tragedy, the worst thing that's ever happened to us," said Raleigh, North Carolina security guard Cindy Macon. "We've lost power and had to leave our home. The whole family's been staying in a shelter and I can't afford to miss work, but they've closed everything. We're broke and destitute."
"Hooray!" said Evansville, Indiana schoolboy Ricky Teegan. "Snow's everywhere and they closed school! I hear they're probably going to be closed tomorrow, too. This is the best thing that ever happened to us!"
1.2 million homes in the Carolinas were left without power, and power companies are projecting days will be needed to make repairs. Sledding and snowball fights were also rampant in the area, as well as other snowed-in areas throughout the United States.
"We were going to go ice skating at the lake, but the ice was too weak," said Lakewood, Tennessee teen-ager Jamie Farnsworth. "No luck at all!"
"Our son was killed when his car broke through the guard rail and landed on the frozen lake," said Naomi Marquette of Toquin, Ohio, through thick tears. "The police said he survived the crash, but… he broke through and drowned in the water. The ice was too weak."
Greenville, South Carolina police chief Jim Walters said of the snowstorm, "Several houses in the area have lost power, and there have been at least twenty-five car wrecks at last count. But even worse, I hate to think of the impoverished and elderly people in town who can't afford to heat their homes. Once the roads are cleared and everything starts back up like normal I imagine the calls to pick up frozen bodies will start pouring in."
"It's fantastic," said Washington, D.C. college student Mitch Kursky. "I woke up at eight and just turned the radio on. School's closed! I turned up the thermostat, wrapped myself up in the blanket, and went back to sleep."
Initial snowfalls Tuesday and Wednesday covered much of the east coast, and though the snowfall ceased and the snow began to melt by Wednesday evening, extreme temperatures turned the melting snow into ice, creating even more road hazards and danger for travelers, as well as ice balls for snowball fights.
Echoing city officials across the country, Albertville, Illinois mayor Jean Harper advised residents, "Please stay at home if you can, if you are unessential at work or are sanctioned by employers. The storms may have lessened, but the roads are still extremely hazardous in some areas."
"I'm so glad I have the day off," said Caton, West Virginia middle school teacher Ned Murphy. "I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet day all to myself. A quick drive out to rent some videos ought to give me some entertainment. I think I'll order some pizza, too. If they take longer than an hour to get it to me, I get it at half-price." the commune news is bursting at the seams today—looks like it wasn't really a good idea to perform our own hernia surgery. Ivan Nacutchacokov is our foreign correspondent, and when we can't endanger him with any overseas news we send him in to cover weather catastrophes and natural disasters.
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Iran divided by election into two America-hating factions
 Big Whup: Whale Swims Across the English Channel
Canadian "Cannabis spray" may be gateway drug to pepper spray
Sudan peace plan calls for Led Zeppelin song about Darfur
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Iraq blah blah blah Suicide blah blah blah Dead Big Whup: Whale Swims Across the English Channel Heather Graham’s Career Found Dead in Apartment Polish Roof Falls in Following “Drinks Are on the House” Debacle |
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 October 27, 2003
I Must be Wearing a Shirt that Says "Please Ruin Lord of the Rings For Me"I've checked through my entire wardrobe twice, but as far as I can tell I don't own any clothing that has anything to do with The Lord of the Rings. I do own an ornate little waistcoat I wouldn't be embarrassed to wear to a Hobbit wedding, but that's about as close as it gets. Which is confusing because my brother Dave acts like I'm wearing a "Please Ruin The Lord of the Rings For Me" tee shirt.
The other day we're hanging out and talking about the trailer for the third Rings movie, The Return of the King, coming out in December. And out of nowhere Dave blurts out "Man, there's going to be a lot for them to cover in that third movie! I don't know how they're going to do it; it's going to have to be like eight hours long! Frodo hasn't even been captured yet..."
Thanks a lot, dickcheese. Anything else you'd like to ruin for me before you punch out for the day? Any bands I like breaking up or anything? See any of my ex-boyfriends hooking up with supermodels? Moron.
Dave, being Dave, claimed that he'd assumed I was familiar with the story from reading the books or watching the 1970's animated film. As if I he wouldn't know either way. We've spent our entire lives living in the same house! I know how many times he's eaten tacos. Does he think I snuck off and read 1,800 pages of Tolkien while he was out taking a shit?
But that's just Dave. You've got to let Dave be Dave, or else he gets sulky and locks...
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I've checked through my entire wardrobe twice, but as far as I can tell I don't own any clothing that has anything to do with The Lord of the Rings. I do own an ornate little waistcoat I wouldn't be embarrassed to wear to a Hobbit wedding, but that's about as close as it gets. Which is confusing because my brother Dave acts like I'm wearing a "Please Ruin The Lord of the Rings For Me" tee shirt.
The other day we're hanging out and talking about the trailer for the third Rings movie, The Return of the King, coming out in December. And out of nowhere Dave blurts out "Man, there's going to be a lot for them to cover in that third movie! I don't know how they're going to do it; it's going to have to be like eight hours long! Frodo hasn't even been captured yet..."
Thanks a lot, dickcheese. Anything else you'd like to ruin for me before you punch out for the day? Any bands I like breaking up or anything? See any of my ex-boyfriends hooking up with supermodels? Moron.
Dave, being Dave, claimed that he'd assumed I was familiar with the story from reading the books or watching the 1970's animated film. As if I he wouldn't know either way. We've spent our entire lives living in the same house! I know how many times he's eaten tacos. Does he think I snuck off and read 1,800 pages of Tolkien while he was out taking a shit?
But that's just Dave. You've got to let Dave be Dave, or else he gets sulky and locks himself in the bathroom all day.
I can never take Dave too seriously since he thought the Ring Wraiths were way scarier when they were riding those black horses in Fellowship than when they had the flying dragons in The Two Towers. Not that the horses weren't scary, mind you, but Dave should realize he's fucking insane. He can go ahead and have the dudes on the dragons chase him, I'll take my chances with the ones on horseback and I'll make sure they put something on Dave's tombstone about how he thought the horses were scarier.
Sure, the horses were definitely scary, but Jesus Christ man, these are flying dragons we're talking about here! Forget the Ring Wraiths, I'm terrified of those dragons solo. They could kill you accidentally. Just think about it for a second. What do horses eat? Hay, grass? Salt? Junk like that, maybe dog biscuits if they're really hungry. Dragons eat knights and possibly other dragons, that's it. No contest there. They could bite your head off and then set you on fire, just because they liked the way it smells. What's a horse going to do, kick you?
Ooh. You've got me shitting bullets there, Dave. Look out, because if you go stand in front of that horse for like a half an hour and make no effort to get out of the way, he might kick you. I know when I can't sleep at night it's because I'm thinking of nature videos I've seen of horses in the wild, stealthily wandering up to their prey and sort of half-assed kicking them in the head. Chilling. I was a fool to think the dragons were scarier.
Thankfully Dave has kept his mouth shut about what's to come in the third film ever since the lamp-throwing incident. If the Ring Wraiths are riding coked-up Tyrannosaurs Rexes or something in Return of the King, I don't want to know about it until they're up there on the big screen, biting the spare tire off the back of Frodo's Jeep. And no, Dave, I haven't read the script off the Internet and I'm not going to. Just shut up. º Last Column: Time to Renew Your Smut Licenseº more columns
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|  December 23, 2002
'Tis the Season for Gifts with No Pleasin'Rok Finger's shopping list is full to bursting this year, like my bladder. This time last year I was a different man, though both of us the same height and with the same hideous facial features, and I bought only a few gifts, for my wife, Arvelyn, my cat, Makeshift, and the handful of bastard children I have spread across America like Jenna Jameson.
This year is a different story, though the similarities to the plays of Neil Simon are strong enough to invoke copyright-infringement issues; this year I've had to fall back on my friends, both at my new apartment home and here at the commune offices, so it's safe to say I have a long Christmas list this year.
I've never been good at Christmas shopping. In fact, a dispute over whether or not I owed my first wife of 30 years, Wyfe, a Christmas gift was what ended that marriage. It's just hard to find the perfect gift sometimes, especially for under $5.50. At first I thought I'd buy all my friends one of those Segway Human Transport thingamajigs—well, you won't believe what the snakeoil salesmen are charging for those things. I'd have to put in a lot of overtime to get even one, and I could probably supply everyone with a lifetime supply of shoes that would work just as well.
As I said, I have a long Christmas list. It includes everyone here at the commune, like Red Bagel, Ramrod Hurley, Lil Duncan, Ivan What's-his-commie-name, Omar Bricks, Raoul Dunkin (though everyone's chipping in on a...
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Rok Finger's shopping list is full to bursting this year, like my bladder. This time last year I was a different man, though both of us the same height and with the same hideous facial features, and I bought only a few gifts, for my wife, Arvelyn, my cat, Makeshift, and the handful of bastard children I have spread across America like Jenna Jameson.
This year is a different story, though the similarities to the plays of Neil Simon are strong enough to invoke copyright-infringement issues; this year I've had to fall back on my friends, both at my new apartment home and here at the commune offices, so it's safe to say I have a long Christmas list this year.
I've never been good at Christmas shopping. In fact, a dispute over whether or not I owed my first wife of 30 years, Wyfe, a Christmas gift was what ended that marriage. It's just hard to find the perfect gift sometimes, especially for under $5.50. At first I thought I'd buy all my friends one of those Segway Human Transport thingamajigs—well, you won't believe what the snakeoil salesmen are charging for those things. I'd have to put in a lot of overtime to get even one, and I could probably supply everyone with a lifetime supply of shoes that would work just as well.
As I said, I have a long Christmas list. It includes everyone here at the commune, like Red Bagel, Ramrod Hurley, Lil Duncan, Ivan What's-his-commie-name, Omar Bricks, Raoul Dunkin (though everyone's chipping in on a bag of dead rats for him, so that saves some money), Sampson Hartwig, Boner Cunningham, the tall black drag queen, the short mealy-mouthed loser in the overalls, that castrating-bitch ex-wife of Ivan's, the girl from that old TV show, the pixie in the cupboard, the movie review guy, Ramon Nootles (or as some like to call him, "big bag of S.T.D.s"), those three photographers, including the one who charges Bagel five different paychecks by using different names like "Snapper McGee," Ned Nedmiller and the insane chicken (though I can probably get them one combined gift), the dead baseball player reporter, and the scary bitch who tells children's stories. Oh, not to mention all the Rent and Poet people, the Book people, the guys who do the tiny type, the copywriters, the cleaning staff… what I mean to say is, forget this malarkey, Rok Finger is getting cards for the entire office staff. Uno cards.
Which leaves the few important people in my life to get real gifts for, mainly Camembert and Lee. They'll be hard to buy for—Camembert will likely want all kinds of handicapped-oriented gifts, like books or sweaters. Lee will probably want things musicians like, such as bass strings, tuning forks, and primo grass. I can't afford these sorts of things. And I haven't even bought anything yet for the former pro-wrestler stalking me.
Very possibly I'll just go back to the old plan, buying something for Arvelyn and Makeshift—at least they never complained. Sure, Makeshift would release an antagonistic "meow" and soil my couch, but I don't count that as a complaint unless I hear, "Fuck you, Finger." Which he's only said once, so I'm in good standing. And Arvelyn, well, maybe I'll just drop the counter-suit and give her the alimony she's asking for. It is only $5.50. Ah, Arvelyn—say what you will about her, she knows a man's limitations.
Hmph. Now I feel very sad and depressed… doggone suicidal rage, all attached to the season. Christmas is here at last!
So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good gift—Rok Finger autographed press photos. They cost practically nothing since I clip them out of printed columns from work, and they say exactly how much everyone means to me. º Last Column: Re-Decorating My Lifeº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, even more shame on you! Big fooler. Fool me three times… man, that brings back memories. Reminds me of when you made me drink that urine one time.”
-Vick-O MartiniFortune 500 CookieThat heart attack medicine may be making your penis smaller, so just for safety's sake, stop taking it altogether. Learn to play the guitar this week; it's just another good reason to carry out that plan to kidnap Dweezil Zappa. Remember, passing gas in an elevator is not only rude, it also slows down your arrival time by up to 2 seconds.
Try again later.Top Samuel Berger Excuses for Hiding Documents in Pants| 1. | Was hoping only hot babes had clearance to read pages. | | 2. | In early stages of making a nest for baby starlings. | | 3. | Not everybody can afford a snazzy briefcase, Rockefeller. | | 4. | Trying to conceive children; needed to keep the boys warm. | | 5. | Classify this, motherfucker. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 5/27/2002 Hey there America, thanks for showing up for yet another dose of Entertainment Police magic. It looks like summer snuck up on us while we were passed out in the hammock, and that can only mean one thing: vaguely justified bikini features on Entertainment Tonight! Actually, that's a lie, summer probably means more than that to certain types of people, like the blind and sheepfuckers. And for the intents and purposes of this column it means summer blockbuster season! In case you've been out on the range a little bit too long, this is the time of year when Hollywood rolls out its big guns in an all-out war to gouge those greenbacks out of our tight little wallets. Who's got the biggest guns, besides that chick from The Skulls II? Roll your eyes over part one of our Summer Preview to...
Hey there America, thanks for showing up for yet another dose of Entertainment Police magic. It looks like summer snuck up on us while we were passed out in the hammock, and that can only mean one thing: vaguely justified bikini features on Entertainment Tonight! Actually, that's a lie, summer probably means more than that to certain types of people, like the blind and sheepfuckers. And for the intents and purposes of this column it means summer blockbuster season! In case you've been out on the range a little bit too long, this is the time of year when Hollywood rolls out its big guns in an all-out war to gouge those greenbacks out of our tight little wallets. Who's got the biggest guns, besides that chick from The Skulls II? Roll your eyes over part one of our Summer Preview to find out:
In Theaters
Bad Company
I suppose it was only a matter of time before we saw Steven Seagal ass-kicking his way through the hallways at Enron, but I was still surprised at how fast they turned this one out. They must have these scripts sitting around in Mad-lib form somewhere.
The Bourne Dentist
Matt Damon is Richard Bourne, a man who was born (get it?) to scrape plaque off of molars, but highly secretive government agents are out to stop him for reasons that only the screenwriter understands. Pretty good as far as dentist-thrillers go, and I liked Damon's Bond-like use of dental apparatus to get him out of tight jams. Kind of like Bond himself in It's Never Too Late to Die and Fancypants. The best thing about the movie, however, was the fact that they vetoed the original title at the last minute: Rinse, Spit or Die. Hallelujah. That would have been the worst title since James Bond in… Overkill.
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood
Talk about some divine Ya-Yas. This would qualify as must-see TV if it were on television and television showed knockers. Yeah.
Enough
Those Hollywood big-shots were apparently as fed up with all of this Jennifer Lopez bullshit as you and me, so they finally decided to lay the franchise to rest with one gonzo exploding-building, axe-in-the-skull, flaming-motor-home "the bitch ain't comin' back" finale. Very satisfying for those of us who thought they should have killed her off after The Wedding Planter.
Harvard Man
Sarah Michelle Gellar, the curvy bass player for heavy-metal sloths Slayer, dons the press-on mustache for some cross-dressing Just One of the Guys mayhem at America's favorite party school. Probably the best metal band date movie since Ministry's Sorority Girls.
The Importance of Being Ernest
Hell yeah. It's about time Hollywood laugh machine Ernest P. Worrel returned to the big screen, I was beginning to think he'd died or something. Some might argue that all of Ernest's movies are the same, and on the surface that may appear to be true. Boy meets girl, boy drops girl into a vat of raw sewage, boy falls off ladder and boy saves a bunch of little kids from some kind of snot-covered goblin.
But it's in the subtle undertones that the differences are found, and this soul-searching epic about a septic-tank scrubber who is mistaken for the president is clearly Ernest's strongest work to date.
Insomnia
Can't sleep? Then maybe you should move to Alaska or Norweg or some place like that. I hear it never gets dark there, so you can stay up all night cleaning your gun or whatever they do up there all night. Maybe watching polar bears tear into the soda machines, something. I'm not sure, I fell asleep during the movie.
Scooby, Don't!
Everyone's favorite cartoon leg-humping machine is back in his big-screen debut. Unless you've ever watched the cartoon on one of those huge projection televisions, that's admittedly a pretty big screen right there. But for the rest of us with shitty 10" Sanyo TV/VCR combos, this is our first chance to see Scooby humping the president's leg all larger than lifelike.
Spirit: Stallion of the Cinnamon
I almost choked on a licorice whip when I saw the trailer for this one. Could this be for real? I thought horse pictures died with The Black Stallion and Return of the Bride of the Black Stallion 2. And not only was this a horse picture, but an ANIMATED horse picture to boot. And not only an animated horse picture, but an animated horse picture with a name that sounded like the title of a Jewel song. Holy shit! This could be worse than Glitter! Thankfully for everyone implicated in the credits, this turned out to be another great Mel Brooks spoof, with a clever red salmon of a trailer that should trick more than a few ten year-old girls into paying to see a movie about debutants having sex with horses.
The Sumbitch on All Fours
Ben Affleck takes a turn for the wolf in this poorly-timed "Werewolf in the South" picture. Believe me, I'm as excited as the next guy about the prospect of seeing some nutfuck werewolf with poofed-up hair taking a bite out of some saggy good-old-boy behind, but in the current national climate, are we really ready to laugh about bloodthirsty man-wolves again? As Teen Wolf, Too, Wolf, and Airwolf all proved, a novel spin isn't always enough to keep the public coming back for more man-dog mayhem. Having Ben Affleck being torn from ass to appetite by berzerk werewolves, now that's an idea that could have drawn a crowd. Or perhaps a movie about the same.
Undercover Brother
If you've ever told a younger sibling so many monster stories that they were afraid to come out from under the covers at night, then snuck under their covers while they were sleeping, farted, and then left, this is the movie for you. You know who you are.
Windtalkers
Though some may lament the trend, with more and more movies being packed with fart jokes these days it was all but inevitable that someone would eventually make a movie that was all fart jokes. And who better to do it than John Woo, director of such foreign fart classics as Con Air and Hard Boiled Eggs? The film starts out by showing the members of the Windtalker family coming to grips with their exceptional flatulent skills in a hilarious montage. Carl Windtalker's accidental ass-blasted recital of Sweet Child O' Mine at a baseball game will separate the snobs from the slobs in the audience, but if you make the cut you should have a good time. It's hard not to smile at the family's internal communication through a rudimentary language of intestinal blurts, and uncle Frank's scented Moose call will delight audiences, though it may scare children under the age of four. Coincidentally, some guy sitting in front of me added to the realism by cutting one loose during the film, making for a full sensory movie experience. I'll never eat Jujubees again, but I can't say that it didn't add to the film. I'm a little worried about Taco Bell's plans for a Windtaco tie-in, since I don't want to be caught in one of those places the first time somebody needs to make a run for the border after downing a sack full of those things.
That's it for now, folks. Tune your browsers this way in a month's time to take a gander at the other half of the skinny on what'll be crawling up your local theater's ass and dying this summer. Until then, this has been Entertainment Police, and you've been reading.   |
