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 September 15, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Al-jolsenzeera The recently released bin Laden video only contained familiar footage, including bin Laden's trademark "Obi-Wan Pimp Walk".
The tape, slammed by critics as a "greatest hits collection of the usual dreck," featured an undated cameo by terrorist favorite Osama bin Laden and a lot of voicing over by Al-Qaeda's number two shit Ayman al-Zawahri. The video exhibited a friendlier sort of Al-Qaeda, with no direct threats to the U.S. "infidels" but promising that current battles were only the beginning and "the true epic has not begun," proving to all that the tape was at least recent enough to cop from the new Matrix sequel.
The only footage of Osama bin Laden showed th...
n Al-Qaeda video airing on Al-Jazeera Wednesday not only failed to impress virtually everyone, it also failed to thank President George W. Bush for all his subversive efforts to help rebuild the terrorist organization.
The tape, slammed by critics as a "greatest hits collection of the usual dreck," featured an undated cameo by terrorist favorite Osama bin Laden and a lot of voicing over by Al-Qaeda's number two shit Ayman al-Zawahri. The video exhibited a friendlier sort of Al-Qaeda, with no direct threats to the U.S. "infidels" but promising that current battles were only the beginning and "the true epic has not begun," proving to all that the tape was at least recent enough to cop from the new Matrix sequel.
The only footage of Osama bin Laden showed the Al-Qaeda figurehead appearing older, but could not be pegged for a date. The world's number one prick was shown frolicking around with henchman al-Zawahri along the mountainside like a homosexual Captain and Tennille.
Though reference was made to the Iraq war, it may have been to one of several Iraq wars in which "agents of America" invaded the country. Neither was thanks given to American president George Bush for raising Al-Qaeda popularity to unimagined heights in Iraq by bombing that country into a primitive agricultural state. The death of thousands of Iraqis and the devastation of the country's infrastructure have done more to raise recruitment for the terrorist group than any post- or pre-Sept. 11 attacks.
Some, like this reporter, would suggest that Al-Qaeda and the Bush presidency have been mutually beneficial to each other, especially given the intention by bin Laden to invoke a harsh U.S. response to help the Arab world rally behind him. But the increasing power of terrorism hasn't just been beneficial to bin Laden and associates, but also to the administration, which still rates high approval numbers when it comes to defense and being tough on terrorism.
When questioned on the veracity of the recent bin Laden video, the president asked for a definition of veracity. Then, gesturing toward the footage of bin Laden and al-Zawahri, Bush stated, "The beard looks real to me."
"Having released tons of audio recordings in the years since 2001, Osama bin Laden risks market saturation," said VH-1 video producer Deanne Holcomb, who was contacted in an effort to fill out the story. "That may have been a consideration in only appearing as a cameo in this recent release by al-Zawahri. Personally, I would have gone in another direction, maybe Missy Elliot, but bin Laden is really popular with the Al-Jazeera demographics. Beyoncé maybe. Beyoncé is huge right now. But as I was saying, having such a small part for bin Laden does raise questions about the Al-Qaeda leader, such as if he's out of practice, or gotten fat. He could be dead, I suppose, there were a lot of bombs dropped in attempts to kill him. Kid Rock! Now that might have really sold it."
President Bush fired back in a speech to the ten American people watching the Sept. 7 televised address. Though failing to mention the weapons of mass destruction supposedly hoarded by Saddam Hussein or a projected date for troops to return from Iraq, the president did assure everyone that terrorism was still alive and thriving and nobody can let their guard down for ten seconds. And by the way, they need $87 billion more dollars, if you can spare it. the commune news, now with more cushion for the pushin'. Raoul Dunkin is a reporter of some kind on our staff and a major influence on the invention of birth control.
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Mohammed Confesses to 9/11 Attacks, “Falling Down A Lot” During Interrogations Castro Announces 2008 Candidacy; Clinton, Obama Drop Out of Race Conditions at Walter Reed Upgraded to “Nightmarishly Clive Barker-esque” Unveiling of First Black Disney Character Raises Some Concerns |
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 August 5, 2002
Wearning to Pway GuitahSo Conan O'Brien's people have yet to call me back. As you might know, or will by the end of completing this sentence, I used to have a sweet gig on that show doing a "walk on." Conan's gang thought it was hilarious when I came on and ate corn flakes, in any kind of setting or with any weak premise to. During a sketch, a fake commercial, one of those long sessions where the band plays. They thought it was a laugh riot, though the audience never agreed with them.
I really miss my Conan gig. It was a way to stay in the public eye and get a free bowl of corn flakes, plus sometimes I would sneak into the green room and meet A-list celebrities like the girl from Law & Order: Misread Miranda and the little girl starring in Daddy All That. Take it from one child star to another, you've got the goods, kid, you're here to stay. But that was before the phone stopped ringing. So I've got to get back on top as the novelty former celebrity of the week.
Which has led me to take guitar lessons. Nothing leaves an audience in awe more than seeing an actor or actress who can do one other thing moderately well. With that in mind, plus my secret fantasy of some day becoming a rock star, or sleeping with one, guitar lessons seem like the best option.
I didn't need a guitar, fortunately, since they let me keep the props from the Who's Your Daddy? show years ago. Or if not let me keep them, at least didn't check my bags very well when I left the set. It's a...
º Last Column: I Return Wiser from the Sci-Fi Convention
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So Conan O'Brien's people have yet to call me back. As you might know, or will by the end of completing this sentence, I used to have a sweet gig on that show doing a "walk on." Conan's gang thought it was hilarious when I came on and ate corn flakes, in any kind of setting or with any weak premise to. During a sketch, a fake commercial, one of those long sessions where the band plays. They thought it was a laugh riot, though the audience never agreed with them.
I really miss my Conan gig. It was a way to stay in the public eye and get a free bowl of corn flakes, plus sometimes I would sneak into the green room and meet A-list celebrities like the girl from Law & Order: Misread Miranda and the little girl starring in Daddy All That. Take it from one child star to another, you've got the goods, kid, you're here to stay. But that was before the phone stopped ringing. So I've got to get back on top as the novelty former celebrity of the week.
Which has led me to take guitar lessons. Nothing leaves an audience in awe more than seeing an actor or actress who can do one other thing moderately well. With that in mind, plus my secret fantasy of some day becoming a rock star, or sleeping with one, guitar lessons seem like the best option.
I didn't need a guitar, fortunately, since they let me keep the props from the Who's Your Daddy? show years ago. Or if not let me keep them, at least didn't check my bags very well when I left the set. It's a little small, sure, and the Fisher Price logo is sort of garish, but it works perfectly fine. At least as much as I know about guitars. So I saved a bundle there. Some guitars in pawn shops cost up to $50 or more. Not for me, sucker!
But if they haven't stuck it to you on the guitar, they plan on raking you over the coals with the lesson cost. The guitar teacher Lemmy at Music Barn wanted $40 a month to teach me lessons, or failing that, a good meal before each one or maybe trade for livestock or something. Not out of me, buddy. Clarissa Coleman has been self-educated all her life, why stop now? I'm teaching myself to play guitar.
Far as I can tell, you can save a lot of money by not buying any of those expensive "teach yourself guitar" books. You can learn a little just by reading the books in store until the clerk comes over and physically forces you out. I've skimmed every book by a well-known guitar teachers like Hal Leonard, Kevin Bacon, and Mel Bay, but they're all a little pricey for me. Which is when I realized those chumps at the library give out free books!
I went to the library and, let me tell you, it was better than I thought. They even give out free books on tape! Hot damn, no reading for me! So I checked out a couple of tapes on learning to play the guitar. They were out of the Mel Bay ones, but I got the Mel Blanc guitar method, so that was cool, I guess.
Well, it's not the best guitar lesson tape I could have gotten, I guess, if I wanted to spend money. It's been three hours and so far I've only learned the A chord, what with all his stuttering. And it doesn't inspire you to keep listening when he keeps calling you a varmint and saying your strumming is despicable. But I'm not giving up. I have a genuine passion for learning to play, or at least getting back on the Conan O'Brien show.
Now if you'll excuse me, the tape wants me to practice on "Michaew, Wow Youh Boat Ashoah." º Last Column: I Return Wiser from the Sci-Fi Conventionº more columns
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|  November 11, 2002
The Girl Everyone Just Sort of Assumed Was Native AmericanHere is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.
Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.
Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.
So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty...
º Last Column: GET UP!
º more columns
Here is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.
Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.
Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.
So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty about. º Last Column: GET UP!º more columns
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Quote of the Day“May those who love us, love us, and those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts, and if he doesn't turn their hearts, may he fuck them up so I'll know not to trust cripples.”
-Old Irish Proverb, Jr.Fortune 500 CookieThat weird smell in the office: It's you, dude. Stay out of the sun this week at your doctor's request; he's tired of seeing you shirtless. This week's lucky prom dates: Mom's hot friend "Aunt" Chyniqua, Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig, a randomly selected pro wrestler, entire cast of Revenge of the Nerds, or six of the seven dwarves: Sneezy's got cancer.
Try again later.Most Painful Music Lawsuits| 1. | Christopher Cross vs. Kris Kross (1992) | | 2. | John Fogerty vs. John Fogerty (1985) | | 3. | Warner Bros. vs. Pri.. The Ar.. That Guy Over There in the Pastel Pants (1994) | | 4. | Michael Jackson vs. Insane Kahlil's Rhinoplasty (1987) | | 5. | The Ghost of Nat "King" Cole vs. Natalie Cole (1991) | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Ferdinand Gaybeard 8/22/2005 The Adventures of Ferdinand GaybeardNever make eye contact with a bird of prey.
This, my friend, shall keep you alive far longer, and net you more friends indeed, than any other nugget of advice I can charitably pass on to you today.
For on the open plain, in the jungle or prairie, or even inside a genteel pet store on a sunny Sunday afternoon, the bird of prey remains a deadly foe, and an adversary not to be taken lightly.
Take for example, the seemingly-innocuous cockatiel. Child’s pet indeed! Alas, only if you fancy coming home to find your child dead upon the floor in a haphazard rigor-mortised pose, skull cavity already hollowed out to make a dwelling cave for this deceptively adorable assassin! Around the globe have I been, three times in fact, and seldom have I crossed the path of a...
Never make eye contact with a bird of prey. This, my friend, shall keep you alive far longer, and net you more friends indeed, than any other nugget of advice I can charitably pass on to you today. For on the open plain, in the jungle or prairie, or even inside a genteel pet store on a sunny Sunday afternoon, the bird of prey remains a deadly foe, and an adversary not to be taken lightly. Take for example, the seemingly-innocuous cockatiel. Child’s pet indeed! Alas, only if you fancy coming home to find your child dead upon the floor in a haphazard rigor-mortised pose, skull cavity already hollowed out to make a dwelling cave for this deceptively adorable assassin! Around the globe have I been, three times in fact, and seldom have I crossed the path of a more cunning dealer of death than the cockatiel. However, sleep not well thinking the cockatiel your heart’s darkest bane my friend, for if my remembrances serve me rightly, there was in fact still one bird of prey even more lethal, which once lurked in the dark corners of the world, honing its pestilent skills of macabre ruination before the right-thinking empires of the world joined in unison to rid the globe of this ruthless black magician. The dodo. So feared was the dodo in its heyday that entire continents were left off maps due to its presence there, these blanks on the parchment marked only with a menacing doodle of said bird, warding off all but the most foolish of explorers, and, yours truly. For I did once come eye-to-eye with this chilling wizard of doom, this stalking, slinking puppetmaster of fate and ruination. Forging my way through the dark back forests of Botswana, machete in one hand and crucifix in the other, searching out the mythical fountain of youth dreamt of by Ponce De Leon and the free public bathroom yearned for by my overstretched bladder, I was ambushed by a lone, alacritous death-bird as it crept up from behind and brushed by my naked calf in the deadness of the night. "Montezuma!" I shouted, and the word echoed off the high tree tops and the canyon below, which I might not have known was there had I not screamed right then, so in a way it was a good thing. All but three of the hairs on my body stood at rapt attention as the dodo stepped into the light and spread its doomful, apocalyptic plumage. My bladder let go wetly and all the blood in my veins changed direction as I realized I had just locked eyes with the world’s most deadly predator. Glowing in the dark like twin cigarettes of doom, the dodo’s eyes met mine with a stare that would sterilize a bull, and its fangs descended. I josh you not, faithful reader, this bird had fangs! Long, menacing, poison-tipped fangs full of peril and pain, curved like the reaper’s blade and pointy like a phonograph needle. My heart dropped into my scrotum like an overstuffed purse as the dodo cocked its head and took an ominous step back. The bird’s horrible, atheist-making eyes glowed more intensely as it stepped back again, preparing to make a run at my huge, vulnerable jugular, hidden behind only a paper-thin sheath of skin and panic sweat. The dodo stepped back again. And then it was gone. I’m not even kidding; the stupid thing backed right off the cliff! It screamed a sperm-shearing scream as it tumbled into the blackness, and I thanked my fortunate stars that I would live to adventure for another day: older, wiser, and completely numb below the waist! For more of this grippingly antiquated story, buy Ferdinand Gaybeard’s
The Adventures of Ferdinand Gaybeard   |
