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Kim Jong Il Claims U.S. Spy Plane Taking Nude PhotosMarch 3, 2003 |
Seoul, South Korea Snapper McGee South Korean protestors ridicule Kim Jong Il's claim by posting only his head on their signs, to stress how little they want to see his body, even clothed.
Kim Jong Il stated Wednesday that the United States was trying to "start a war" with the prolific spy plane invasions of airspace, and accused the U.S. of 180 such incidents last month. The ultimate insult, Jong Il reported in the official Rodong Sinmun newspaper, was that those spy planes were equipped with high-tech cameras able to peer into walls and photograph him naked. These naked pictures, Jong Il told the country, would be placed on websites to humiliate the North Korean leader and the country as a whole.
orth Korean leader and Roy Orbison impersonator Kim Jong Il broke the crazy-o-meter this week with claims that U.S. spy planes were provoking war by taking photos of covert military operations and attempting to acquire nude pictures of him in the shower.
Kim Jong Il stated Wednesday that the United States was trying to "start a war" with the prolific spy plane invasions of airspace, and accused the U.S. of 180 such incidents last month. The ultimate insult, Jong Il reported in the official Rodong Sinmun newspaper, was that those spy planes were equipped with high-tech cameras able to peer into walls and photograph him naked. These naked pictures, Jong Il told the country, would be placed on websites to humiliate the North Korean leader and the country as a whole.
When asked for comment, White House spokesperson Ari Fleischer responded: "You want a comment? Come on, people. This is one of those rare instances where you can't possibly expect me to put any spin on the situation. Kim Jong Il certainly has interesting ideas about what our technology is capable of. Just in case he's monitoring our media sources, I will state for the record: This administration has no interest in seeing Mr. Jong Il naked. Under any circumstances, in any setting."
Despite the White House's claims, Kim Jong Il may be able to present proof of his accusations. A search of Google for "chubby Korean man nude shower" revealed quite a number of pictures, any of whom could have been Kim Jong Il.
According to Rodong Sinmun, the voice of the North Korean government, "Americans seek to shame the Korean people and its leader. To see people naked is the only American goal. Elaborate high-tech spy plane will attempt nude picture collection of the great Kim Jong Il, then post him for all to see on billboard Internet, to much laughter, shame, and masturbation. Once Americans feel superior all Koreans will be pictured naked on world wide webs."
Consulted about the accusations, Pentagon officials unequivocally stated the charges were ludicrous.
"Trust me," said Gen. Anvill Poke, "the technology to see people naked, especially through walls, is extremely far off in the future and not a focus of any of our weapons development plans. Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm even answering this—what kind of newspaper are you from again? Look, if we had the capability to see through walls and take pictures of people naked why would we go to North Korea? Personally, I'd find the address of that girl from J.A.G. and do a few hundred passes over that house."
University of Tennessee Anthropology professor Kristin Blakebobber described the North Korean mentality: "These people are not all that different from us—they merely lack information about the world outside. To them, a very private and nationalistic people, this seems like a particularly egregious insult by the United States, if proven true. They already believe our country despises theirs for their way of life and would like to destroy them. Given their respect for concealing the body and modesty, Kim Jong Il is using a phobia and an existing mistrust to stir the anti-U.S. sentiment of his entire nation. If they believe his accusations, they will follow him in whatever stance he takes against the Western world."
While it was very interesting information, Blakebobber was asked to leave the office and not barge in while the reporters are working; she was told she would be contacted by us when we wanted a quote, and left without incident. the commune news has to shower in the locker room wearing underwear, and we have a doctor's note to prove it. Raoul Dunkin fucked a pumpkin, now he jacks off o' lanterns… all this according to the bathroom wall.
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 May 26, 2003
Little Deuce CoupTo those of you out there who think you can bust down my heavily barricaded office door with your flimsy limbs and pathetic, jerryrigged battering devices, I say bring it on. Unless you happen to be a huge and well-built muscleman, in which case I say don't come in here, I'm naked. And if you'd like to pick up some spare change for your supplements and muscle fuel, kindly pound the rest of my staff into quivering, mutinous jelly while you're out there.
Welcome to day two of the commune staff's soon-to-be-unsuccessful coup against yours truly, Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley. They may think they can outlast me out there, what with their access to the outside world and all, but I have a secret weapon those dolts don't even know about: a case of army rations from WWII that Red Bagel had stashed away under the suspicion that they contained alien fetuses. Whatever kind of fetuses they have in them, they're delicious.
So don't expect me to crawl out of this office on my hands and knees waving a white flag any time soon, communers. Sure, I could use some medical attention for a gangrenous paper cut on my ankle, and using the windowsill for a toilet got old about 30 hours ago, but they can have this office when they pry my stiff, emaciated corpse out from behind the file cabinet, where I've built a makeshift fort in case the outer wall is breached.
It all started last week, when I found the office staff gathered around a television set playing...
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To those of you out there who think you can bust down my heavily barricaded office door with your flimsy limbs and pathetic, jerryrigged battering devices, I say bring it on. Unless you happen to be a huge and well-built muscleman, in which case I say don't come in here, I'm naked. And if you'd like to pick up some spare change for your supplements and muscle fuel, kindly pound the rest of my staff into quivering, mutinous jelly while you're out there.
Welcome to day two of the commune staff's soon-to-be-unsuccessful coup against yours truly, Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley. They may think they can outlast me out there, what with their access to the outside world and all, but I have a secret weapon those dolts don't even know about: a case of army rations from WWII that Red Bagel had stashed away under the suspicion that they contained alien fetuses. Whatever kind of fetuses they have in them, they're delicious.
So don't expect me to crawl out of this office on my hands and knees waving a white flag any time soon, communers. Sure, I could use some medical attention for a gangrenous paper cut on my ankle, and using the windowsill for a toilet got old about 30 hours ago, but they can have this office when they pry my stiff, emaciated corpse out from behind the file cabinet, where I've built a makeshift fort in case the outer wall is breached.
It all started last week, when I found the office staff gathered around a television set playing grainy home-video footage of a mysterious figure striding across a street in some unnamed US city. Nobody wanted to say anything while I was in the room, but it was obvious everyone knew what this was.
Red Bagel. Alive.
It was then that I began to feel my igloo of lies collapsing in around me. Sure, I'll admit it, I'd been telling the staff Bagel died within a month of his disappearance, in a gas station bathroom during a botched abortion attempt. It was the only way I could demand the respect and obedience of the staff, get them to stop calling me "dickface" and end the childish outbursts of "You're not my real editor! I'll stay up as late as I want!" all the time. And now my roosters had come home to roost. Proof of Bagel's survival, writ large on the small screen.
Leave it to the commune staff to get all up in my head with mind games, like pretending there hasn't been a coup at all. That the coffee has always been this bad and that the staff was just watching Signs last week, the creature seen waltzing across the street on TV just some bugged-out space alien from the film. Nice try, commune staff. But anyone who's sat a mile in Red Bagel's office chair knows that he would never risk techno-viral infection by setting foot on a Hollywood movie set. Hurley: 1, Coupers: 0.
Besides, I've seen the effigy of my likeness they had strung up in the office last week, and I don't buy the claims that it was just a piñata. I know a piñata when I see one, and that thing was clearly a jackass, an obvious reference to the staff's term of endearment for me, Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley.
So let's drop the charade and bring the noise, commune staff. I'm stocked to weather this storm. And I'll be here waiting to accept your unconditional surrender once you realize the hopelessness of your situation, on one condition: That you bring pizza, beer and toilet paper with you. And don't forget the TP. º Last Column: The President Needs a Wingmanº more columns
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| February 5, 2007
Whatever Happened to Baby Bagel?As you can tell, sir, the commune is back and better than nothing. Also, better than we previously were. I for one am quite chagrinned at our long absence from the Internet, and anyone who knows me can tell you it's very difficult for me to be chagrinned because of how much I hate using the word "grin" in a sentence. And now I've used it three times. I won't need to use it again until 2010, and I make that pledge to myself now.
Many of you are undoubtedly wondering what happened. Or, speaking completely honestly, most of you are wondering how you got here from your friend's blog, just because you clicked on the underlined words "cheap imitation" or the like. I know, though, that commune fan Emil Zender and his many followers are asking what the hell happened to us last year, and I haven't been sleeping on the job in finding out either. Honestly, I haven't slept since maybe November, and then it was only a quick nap. You'll all be happy to know, those who care, that my thousands of dollars invested in discovering the problem have discovered the problem. It's a fine feeling, like when you go looking for your car keys and you find them in the last place you look—usually for me the bathtub, where they were playing stand-in for the sailboat.
I had the good fortune to hire renowned private investigator Pierre Banjo. If you haven't heard of him, I'm not surprised, he's not that kind of renowned. He's only renowned with the people he tells about his...
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As you can tell, sir, the commune is back and better than nothing. Also, better than we previously were. I for one am quite chagrinned at our long absence from the Internet, and anyone who knows me can tell you it's very difficult for me to be chagrinned because of how much I hate using the word "grin" in a sentence. And now I've used it three times. I won't need to use it again until 2010, and I make that pledge to myself now. Many of you are undoubtedly wondering what happened. Or, speaking completely honestly, most of you are wondering how you got here from your friend's blog, just because you clicked on the underlined words "cheap imitation" or the like. I know, though, that commune fan Emil Zender and his many followers are asking what the hell happened to us last year, and I haven't been sleeping on the job in finding out either. Honestly, I haven't slept since maybe November, and then it was only a quick nap. You'll all be happy to know, those who care, that my thousands of dollars invested in discovering the problem have discovered the problem. It's a fine feeling, like when you go looking for your car keys and you find them in the last place you look—usually for me the bathtub, where they were playing stand-in for the sailboat. I had the good fortune to hire renowned private investigator Pierre Banjo. If you haven't heard of him, I'm not surprised, he's not that kind of renowned. He's only renowned with the people he tells about his illustrious career, and I was fortunate enough to meet him in a bar and ply him with alcohol until he revealed his fame to me. This was circa June, which happens about a month after regular June, and I was well in the throes of panic about the many emails I received regarding the missing updates of the commune. All from Emil Zender. If we didn't get issues of the commune up and running again, we would have to return all our sponsor money to our sponsors. Assuming they ever found the website and realized we weren't updating. It was an expensive quest, let me tell you that, but no problem is too big for me to throw money at. Finally, just before Christmas, Dr. Banjo called to inform me he had discovered the problem in our missing new editions. He had actually uncovered the source of the problem during a visit to my home office several months earlier, circa July proper, but did several months worth of follow-up investigation at my expense just to be sure he found the right problem. You see, as part of my investment into the 2006 commune improvements, I bought myself a laptop. I forewent the expensive iMacs I had heard so much about and bought a iRoc. I thought it would help support the poor Iraq terrorist cells our government has had on the run for long months, but it turns out they're called iRocs because they're all using the licensed image of actor Charles S. Dutton. But all this is only column filler. While the iRoc laptop helped me work from home and connect to the internet, I still didn't have the expertise to put it all on the Internet the hard way—not much of a web-designer, doesn't run in the Bagel blood. And driving to the office once a week seemed like a complete waste. Fortunately, the man who sold me the iRoc also sold me a Magic Internet Scanner—you plug it in and scan the printed columns in and they automatically go onto the Internet! In retrospect I probably should have checked out the website to make sure they were updating when I used the machine, but thatseemed like a lot of extra time, and I've had trouble finding the commune on the Net. Like all our readers. So as you may have guessed, the Magic Internet Scanner didn't work right. It was instead shredding our columns into confetti each time I ran one through. The word "shredder" on the top turned out not to be an affectionate nickname for the machine. I'm also starting to doubt I had it hooked up correctly and thinking maybe Tony Z. sold me a terrible bit of goods. But even the best of us—me—can fall for a conman occasionally. Now that we've crossed that dark period for the commune, I look forward to spearheading the best year yet for the little news site that could. Expect the best in 2007. I even met a guy in a bar yesterday who swears he can get our White House press room credentials back for only $5,000. How can you not put your faith in a man named Smitty? º Last Column: Alito Supremeº more columns
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Quote of the Day“We have nothing to fear but Fear itself. Fear is, of course, my rabid pit bull infected with the plague.”
-Franklin de RooseveltFortune 500 CookieA watched pot never boils, and rust never sleeps. Doubt every instinct this week. A friend says sugar cookies turn you queer, for real. Lucky numbers 10, 10, 32, and 1.
Try again later.Top-Selling Software| 1. | Windows XPlodes | | 2. | Norton's Anti-Social | | 3. | The Sims Hot Threesome | | 4. | Doom: Columbine Commemorative Edition | | 5. | Mavis Beacon XTreme Typing | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/29/2004 Well fancy that, America. If I've ever seen anything fancier, I failed to be adequately impressed and eventually forgot that I saw it. Maybe I have a problem. But there's no time for that right now, Hollywood's been cranking out the skank while we were chatting it up, and if we're not careful they're going to squeeze some of that beef on by, unreviewed. Not on my watch, America.
In Theaters Now:
Alexander
Finally, the controversial story of Alexander Hamilton is coming to the big screen. Did you know he wasn't even a president, yet he still got on our money? Crazy shit. Turns out he was banging the printer's daughter and managed to get his face printed on some test money as a joke, only the money got out and people started spending it, so the...
Well fancy that, America. If I've ever seen anything fancier, I failed to be adequately impressed and eventually forgot that I saw it. Maybe I have a problem. But there's no time for that right now, Hollywood's been cranking out the skank while we were chatting it up, and if we're not careful they're going to squeeze some of that beef on by, unreviewed. Not on my watch, America.
In Theaters Now:
Alexander
Finally, the controversial story of Alexander Hamilton is coming to the big screen. Did you know he wasn't even a president, yet he still got on our money? Crazy shit. Turns out he was banging the printer's daughter and managed to get his face printed on some test money as a joke, only the money got out and people started spending it, so the government had to leave it that way.
The movie does a great job telling Hamilton's tale, and portraying the disbelief among his friends when they go to spend a $10 and see the face of their shiftless, no-account buddy grinning back up at them. And try to tell me that CGI hasn't made movies better after you see Hamilton's half-brother Jake drive an entire horse carriage into a lake from surprise when he gets the news. In the past, we had to just imagine what a scene like that would have looked like, since in reality horses dissolve upon contact with water. But not anymore. I'd comment on the acting in the film, but since I wasn't around 200 years ago to say what these people were really like, I have no idea if the actors did a good job or not. They could be way off for all I know. But I will say that Colin Farrell looks like about ten bucks, so I'm pretty sure he did a good job as Hamilton.
Christmas with the Crack
Tim Allen shocks us again with another bold choice, this time a weird turn as a crack-addicted dad who sells his family Christmas, and his family, in exchange for some sweet, sweet rock. Though the trailer made the movie seem more like Home Improvement by way of Requiem for a Dream, the only really funny scene is when Allen burns his face on a hot crack pipe and has to fake like he hasn't been horribly disfigured. So be warned that while the slapstick plays funny in the trailer, it's actually kind of sad in the context of Allen's self-destructive downward spiral in the film. Except when he's trying to smoke a loaf of crack out of the chimney and he falls off the roof, that shit is funny in any context.
National Treasure
Is anybody else getting sick of these goddamned Olsen twins? I don't even think they look that much alike. If I were buying the pair, I'd ask for a discount on the one on the left. She looks like she's been around the block a few times. But whether you think they're the worst thing to come out of Hollywood since the Asian restaurant bird flu, or just a Nazi plot, all would have to agree it's going a little far to call these two robo-skanks a National Treasure. That's the kind of bullshit treasure you throw back before checking to make sure you weren't holding the map upside down. This movie's got no stars, and I'm not about to give it any.
The SpongeBob Squarepants Movie
Forgive me for being out of the political loop lately, I have to admit I stopped paying attention after Ronald Reagan won Idaho in 1980, and ever since then I've kept abreast of politics solely through the text on the back of boxes of children's breakfast cereal. So I may be the last person on earth to realize there's been a hit cartoon parody of Bob Dole (a Fruit Loops man, by the way) running for years, which has finally Doled its way onto the big screen.
SpongeBob Squarepants hits the former Senator hard where he lives, slamming Dole's love of taking a bath, his proudly uncool nature, and his trademark nasally voice to equally devastating effect. Some might consider the political commentary too harsh, portraying current Vice President Dick Cheney as a bumbling, overweight starfish, and former President George H.W. Bush as a weird hooked-nosed underwater Gonzo-type thing. But I've always preferred my political potshots hard and straight, like a Republican in a titty bar or a shot of whiskey on ice cubes made from whiskey. Can they do that? I mean, does whiskey freeze? I can't believe nobody's ever thought of that before. I'll be right back.
That's the end, America. Get out if you don't like it. And if you do like it, but still want to stick around for some reason, tough tits. I'm not running a youth hostel here. But one of you should stick around to hold the fire extinguisher; I'm not going to be able to sleep until I find out if frozen whiskey can still catch on fire.   |
