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Judge to Miss North Carolina Pageant Contestants: "Girls, You're Both Pretty"September 16, 2002 |
Raleigh, North Carolina Junior Bacon/Ramon Nootles' Private Collection Judge Fox suggests girls put this behind them before they start getting frown lines. dispute over the rightful inheritor of the Miss North Carolina crown was settled Thursday when U.S. District Judge James Fox issued the ruling that both competitors were pretty.
Rebekah Revels had won the Miss North Carolina pageant, only to be forced to resign when a letter from her ex-boyfriend claimed he had topless pictures of her. Misty Clymer was chosen as Miss North Carolina afterwards, though Revels sued the pageant for the right to wear the crown. The winner of the lawsuit would go on to represent North Carolina in the Miss American pageant Sept. 21st.
The judge refused to pick one contestant over the other, leaving that to the Miss North Carolina pageant committee. Instead, the judge said in his ruling: "I see what this is really all about, Misty… R...
dispute over the rightful inheritor of the Miss North Carolina crown was settled Thursday when U.S. District Judge James Fox issued the ruling that both competitors were pretty.
Rebekah Revels had won the Miss North Carolina pageant, only to be forced to resign when a letter from her ex-boyfriend claimed he had topless pictures of her. Misty Clymer was chosen as Miss North Carolina afterwards, though Revels sued the pageant for the right to wear the crown. The winner of the lawsuit would go on to represent North Carolina in the Miss American pageant Sept. 21st.
The judge refused to pick one contestant over the other, leaving that to the Miss North Carolina pageant committee. Instead, the judge said in his ruling: "I see what this is really all about, Misty… Rebekah. Girls, you're both pretty. There's no need for all this fighting and competition."
The allegation of a forced resignation was the basis for Revels' case as she claimed the judges had rightfully chosen her to represent North Carolina. Pageant officials felt the nude photos taken by the ex-boyfriend tarnished the crown of the pageant and put dozens of future scholarships and sponsors for the Miss America and Miss North Carolina pageants in jeopardy. These photos, so crucial to the case, could not be obtained despite countless requests to both parties, but nude photos of Alyssa Milano were available on the Internet, as well as a compromising picture of Mandy Moore and two black men, but those pictures could possibly have been Photoshopped.
The case was settled amicably by the judge's declaration of equal prettiness. Miss North Carolina pageant representatives said Misty Clymer would go on to represent North Carolina in the national pageant. But the judge's ruling was a tremendous boost to Clymer's confidence.
"Like all girls, Misty needs a compliment every now and then to keep her going," said pageant representative Vill Gording. "And with all this stress of the case and the high pressure of being in a court setting, you can imagine she was a little down. The judge reminded her she was pretty—she knew it, but still, you like to hear it—and it made her day."
The declaration was also well-received by plaintiff Rebekah Revels and counsel. "Obviously, Ms. Revels is disappointed by the pageant's decision to uphold her resignation," said Revels attorney Wax Musstash. "But my client was more than satisfactorily compensated for her loss by the reassurance she is pretty. That's all she really wanted anyway—the judge was wise to acknowledge that."
"I'm glad that the court system is finally able to get past the frivolous lawsuits to the important stuff," said some smart-ass on the court steps as this reporter attempted to get better quotes from the lawyers involved.
The potential for future disappointments in both contestants' futures being high, the judge issued also his telephone number to both plaintiff and defendant, urging that they should call him sometime soon in the future for private rulings. That may or may not have been true, but this reporter certainly would have been disappointed to find the judge missed out on such an opportunity.
Again, if any informant has laid hands on the photos in question, please contact Ramon Nootles at the commune and we'll talk finder's fee. the commune news will frequently use Vaseline on its lips and duct tapes its ass, but for entirely different reasons.
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 November 25, 2002
The Net Lacks Fake Nude Clarissa Coleman PicsI've not had any luck finding much information about myself online. Ever since www.heresyourdaddy.com went defunct and website operator kittyfan became unreachable, the web has become a very barren place for Clarissa Coleman information. Sure, I can find some Who's Your Daddy episode guide information on some lame websites, but none of them have ever kept current information about yours truly and a lot of them continue to spread that vicious urban legend that I was killed by Son of Sam, even though his murder spree was about 3 or 4 years before our show even came on. Believe it or not, I haven't even found anything on the commune, so if you're reading this it's by fate or luck or the grace of God or you surely must be part of some marketing audience or something.
I got desperate enough for some word, any word of me online that I did a search for "clarissa coleman nude" and, with baited breath, awaited the search results. You believe nothing?!? I mean, come on! It's not like I ever posed for any nude photographs or anything, but aren't there legions of internet weirdoes out there cutting and pasting heads onto bodies just for larks or fetish purposes? I swear I went to one site and saw the head of Benji on Charlize Theron's topless body. Don't I rate like Benji?
I would say I have fairly realistic goals. I'm not trying to compete with Alyssa Milano, I know she's the queen of nude internet searches, and I let her have that. I'm not asking to challenge...
º Last Column: Giving Celebrity Shoplifters a Bad Name º more columns
I've not had any luck finding much information about myself online. Ever since www.heresyourdaddy.com went defunct and website operator kittyfan became unreachable, the web has become a very barren place for Clarissa Coleman information. Sure, I can find some Who's Your Daddy episode guide information on some lame websites, but none of them have ever kept current information about yours truly and a lot of them continue to spread that vicious urban legend that I was killed by Son of Sam, even though his murder spree was about 3 or 4 years before our show even came on. Believe it or not, I haven't even found anything on the commune, so if you're reading this it's by fate or luck or the grace of God or you surely must be part of some marketing audience or something.
I got desperate enough for some word, any word of me online that I did a search for "clarissa coleman nude" and, with baited breath, awaited the search results. You believe nothing?!? I mean, come on! It's not like I ever posed for any nude photographs or anything, but aren't there legions of internet weirdoes out there cutting and pasting heads onto bodies just for larks or fetish purposes? I swear I went to one site and saw the head of Benji on Charlize Theron's topless body. Don't I rate like Benji?
I would say I have fairly realistic goals. I'm not trying to compete with Alyssa Milano, I know she's the queen of nude internet searches, and I let her have that. I'm not asking to challenge anybody's spot, but isn't there one person out there putting my head on some Playboy playmate body or something?
I even went to some rare spots like www.seemyexgirlfriendnaked.net to see if a former flame was looking to score revenge against me for all the wrongs I did. Nada! It's like none of my fans want to see me naked bad enough to cut and paste my head into some badly-lit shot. I get e-mail all the time telling me I should cum and see Britney's secret blow-job video. I'm not asking for some blow-job video, I'm just talking a tasteful little topless number of some kind. It doesn't have to match. Hell, it doesn't even have to be pasted, take some girl who kind of looks like me and tell everybody it's me. She could be Asian even, as long as somebody made the effort.
Nothing says you're off Hollywood radar when there's nobody trying to fake your nudity on the web. That's how you know Martha Raye and Phyllis Diller are hopelessly past their prime. I think I even saw a site with faked Dionne Warwick nude pics. At least I hope they were fake. Brrr! That's gonna keep me up tonight.
It's true, it's not impossible to see me naked. There's a little bit of nudity in that B-movie Orgasma on the Moon I did, and there may still be copies of my butt circulating from that Christmas party at NBC a couple years ago. Hell, stumble into my apartment at the wrong time of the night and you can catch me wearing nothing but my sunglasses and Jiffy Pop-style disco hat—not that I'm inviting any of you freaky fans to do that. Oh, hell, yeah, I'm inviting you to do that. Just once, just so I know you're out there.
You can tell it's starting to bother me just a bit, meaning a whole hell of a lot. I'm a pretty former child star and I've got a body like a brick tithouse so somebody out there should be fabricating images of me, even if just for their personal enjoyment. If I don't start seeing some evidence of that soon I may take it upon myself to launch my own website. I'll get my friend Ernie, the web-genius (he manages the very popular Dancing Bob Saget site) to help me with the HTML and Photoshop a few pics for me. Right now I'm leaning toward Halle Berry's body, but the only photos I could find of her show her humping Sling Blade. I'm not sure that's the kind of image I want to project, but hey, I'm open-minded. º Last Column: Giving Celebrity Shoplifters a Bad Nameº more columns
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|  September 2, 2002
I Don't Even Know How to Bring Up the Subject of an OrgyAnyone who knows me can tell you I get around. I'm out with a different girl every other night of the week, and I show them all a good time, if you know what I mean without me mentioning sex in the car behind the Rally's. My sister, one of those nutty feminists, has even called me a male whore, but I'm quick to remind her a male whore is called a gigolo, and anyway I don't get paid, just reimbursed for gas money.
Still, despite all the machismo spilling out all my holes, I got to admit I'm not as confident as I look all the time. I can ask girls out, I can ball their brains out if the car has enough room, and I can never call them again and not think twice about it. But I just don't know how to bring up the subject of group sex. I'm not that confident.
Me and my friends hang out a lot, we'll all bring whatever hotties we're seeing that week (or night) and just get together and drink and have fun. All my friends are good-looking dudes, by the way, and they never bring home less than an 8, although Gary brought three 4's one time and tried to pass them off as one 12. So with all these attractive people just sitting around, drunk as can be, you'd think the opportunity for an orgy would be quick to present itself. Wrong!
I don't know why. Everybody in the group is virile and all too ready for experimentation. Maybe all the other guys think I would be gay if I suggested group sex instead of girl swapping, but they should know better than...
º Last Column: I'm Not a Pessimist, I'm an Asshole º more columns
Anyone who knows me can tell you I get around. I'm out with a different girl every other night of the week, and I show them all a good time, if you know what I mean without me mentioning sex in the car behind the Rally's. My sister, one of those nutty feminists, has even called me a male whore, but I'm quick to remind her a male whore is called a gigolo, and anyway I don't get paid, just reimbursed for gas money.
Still, despite all the machismo spilling out all my holes, I got to admit I'm not as confident as I look all the time. I can ask girls out, I can ball their brains out if the car has enough room, and I can never call them again and not think twice about it. But I just don't know how to bring up the subject of group sex. I'm not that confident.
Me and my friends hang out a lot, we'll all bring whatever hotties we're seeing that week (or night) and just get together and drink and have fun. All my friends are good-looking dudes, by the way, and they never bring home less than an 8, although Gary brought three 4's one time and tried to pass them off as one 12. So with all these attractive people just sitting around, drunk as can be, you'd think the opportunity for an orgy would be quick to present itself. Wrong!
I don't know why. Everybody in the group is virile and all too ready for experimentation. Maybe all the other guys think I would be gay if I suggested group sex instead of girl swapping, but they should know better than that. I'm secure enough in my masculinity to make love to strange women in the company of three or four of my best friends while they screw someone else. And hey, if somebody is mistaken for a girl or whatever, I don't have a problem with it. It's not like I would set out to sample from the other side of the buffet, but I'm not going to get all freaked out. I'm still straight as long as the girl-to-guy ratio is 2-to-1 or better.
No, I don't have any problems with the idea, just with the proposal. The time never seems right. You don't just sit there and pretend to listen while Jojo talks about how his boss is a douchebag and non-chalantly say, "Hey, that reminds me—let's all have sex with each other." Maybe in some kind of office meeting or something, where you don't really want to work at the place and don't care what they think of you, but these are my friends.
Sometimes we get so close to a good subject I almost think I can work it in, but it doesn't happen. Pete got to saying how the cub scouts were all gay, taking young boys out in the woods and boffing 'em, and I thought for sure I could suggest a big orgy then, but I lost my nerve and he just started talking about how 4-H club was for homos.
At this point I figure my best bet is to bring home some kind of weird guy who will say anything. And then I could make a joke about an orgy in some way and the weird guy might be ballsy enough to suggest we all have an orgy. Then I could laugh it off just a little bit, then say, "Well, you know…" We'd have the whole thing practically started. The real downside, as I see it, this weird guy is going to want in on the action. That would put a real pisser on the idea, I know, unless this guy looked like Tom Cruise or something.
It's not like I've given up on the orgy idea, I'm just biding my time. Patience is the key to any great plan, and I know with my friends sooner or later the subject of hot group sex will come up. When it does, I'll jump on it. I only hope Jojo is still seeing that tattooed blonde at the time. º Last Column: I'm Not a Pessimist, I'm an Assholeº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes! Or, if they're wearing sunglasses, just aim for the balls. Cocky shits.”
-General Dicky PrescottFortune 500 CookieThat noise outside your bushes? It's just me. Something important tomorrow, but I can't remember if it's "lottery" or "leprosy"… Don't forget to check under refrigerator; it's shrimp, that's what you're smelling. Lucky numbers 15 and Qwiddley-Two.
Try again later.More Top Rejected Muppets1. | Groper | 2. | Andy Cass | 3. | Rat Bastard | 4. | Fart Carney | 5. | The Turkish Prison Guard | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Anderson Jeans 1/24/2005 VietNAMBLANobody loves a weird-ass.
That's the lesson of Vietnam, when you boil it all down. All the napalm, choppers, unintelligible macho screaming and ping-pong recede into a garish blur one day and only that truth remains. I learned it the hard way. In Vietnam.
It was a cold January morning in Phu Bai and I was out on patrol with little Marky Jujitz, a four-foot-tall paratrooper from Pine Hive, Arkansas. Jujitz was a spastic, both in personality and in medical reality. He could talk faster than a broke man in a cathouse, and he could juggle cats. Or maybe more correctly he had to juggle cats. If there were cats in the room, or sometimes even in the neighborhood, Marky couldn't sit still until those cats were flying through the air all at once, screaming and...
Nobody loves a weird-ass.
That's the lesson of Vietnam, when you boil it all down. All the napalm, choppers, unintelligible macho screaming and ping-pong recede into a garish blur one day and only that truth remains. I learned it the hard way. In Vietnam.
It was a cold January morning in Phu Bai and I was out on patrol with little Marky Jujitz, a four-foot-tall paratrooper from Pine Hive, Arkansas. Jujitz was a spastic, both in personality and in medical reality. He could talk faster than a broke man in a cathouse, and he could juggle cats. Or maybe more correctly he had to juggle cats. If there were cats in the room, or sometimes even in the neighborhood, Marky couldn't sit still until those cats were flying through the air all at once, screaming and pissing on the ceiling. According to the story, Jujitz was barred from every pet store and veterinary hospital back in Pine Hive, they even had his picture up. Marky's great regret about being sent to Vietnam was that he had been two weeks into veterinary school at the time, having finally found a loophole that would allow him to handle cats without raising suspicion. They only gave the students dead cats, but Jujitz didn't care. They were easier to juggle.
I told Jujitz to hang back while I took a Vietnamese leak. Marky watched the road for paparazzi as the tendrils of steam curled and peeled away from my piss stream in the bracing Vietnamese cold. It had to be at least 74 degrees out there.
I guess Jujitz only anticipated paparazzi coming from the North, because he never even looked up the road the other way and was run over by a supply truck while I was out pissing. So there you go, requiem for a weird-ass Arkansas spazz midget.
My one salvation inside the gaping maw of wet, jungle hell was Sing-Li, a beautiful Vietnamese woman I met in Saigon and married right before I got my walking papers. She was the only thing pure and good I took out of that godforsaken hellhole, and only thanks to her did I return with my humanity intact.
Some time after we got back to America, I was embarrassed to discover that my wife was actually a 14-year-old Vietnamese boy. What the fuck kind of country is it where they name a boy Sing? Seemed pretty girly to me, even by Asian standards. That's when I finally understood what they meant by the saying, "Vietnam is Hell."
Now I was married to a 14-year-old foreign boy, and worse, I was starting to get NAMBLA flyers in the mail. Those guys are like magic, it's amazing. I could have used that kind of perceptiveness back in 'Nam.
Things got a little uncomfortable for a while there, until Sing got run over by a supply truck on his way to school one day. Turns out I should have taught him about sidewalks, one of the many differences between Vietnam and America.
It was a cold September morning in Planey, no comfort to be found in the relentless powder blue sky. The cruel realities of Vietnam and life bloomed across my mind as I rolled slowly past Sing's poorly-attended funeral, then peeled out and drove to Arby's.
Nobody loves a weird-ass.
For more of this great story, buy Anderson Jeans'
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