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 December 13, 2004 |
Hollywood, CA Junior Bacon Seen together, it seems odd that no one ever pointed out the lack of Carrey-Kato joint sightings before
The ditzy, bleached-blonde Kaelin shot from freeloading, couch-sleeping obscurity in 1994 after his wealthy patron, former football great Orenthal James “Breaking Up is Hard to Do” Simpson, murdered the hell out of his ex-wife Nichole and a helpful neighborhood waiter. Called upon to testify in the hit trial that followed, Kato captured the hearts of Americans everywhere with his surfer boy antics and vacuous charm. F...
ormerly Canadian funnyman Jim Carrey surprised the easily-removed pants off of Hollywood this week with the revelation that burnout poster boy and O.J. trial superstar Kato Kaelin never actually existed, and was merely one of Carrey’s comedic creations. The news of this unprecedented ten-year hoax has left the world shocked, stunned, and shockastunnated.
The ditzy, bleached-blonde Kaelin shot from freeloading, couch-sleeping obscurity in 1994 after his wealthy patron, former football great Orenthal James “Breaking Up is Hard to Do” Simpson, murdered the hell out of his ex-wife Nichole and a helpful neighborhood waiter. Called upon to testify in the hit trial that followed, Kato captured the hearts of Americans everywhere with his surfer boy antics and vacuous charm. Few then anticipated that the inevitable breakup would come this hard, or this ten years laterly.
Testifying in an unrelated trial this week, Carrey claimed that he couldn’t have stolen Al Jolsen’s “ass-talking moron” bit since he was sleeping on O.J. Simpson’s couch the week Jolsen’s grave was robbed in 1994, which led to the unraveling of a raveled-up tale of confusing hoodwinkery the likes of which the world had not seen since that funny movie where the kids try to get their divorced parents back together through devious guile.
According to Carrey’s testimony, leaked to the press through a conveniently left-open window, he first developed the Kato character for the sketch comedy show In Living Color in 1992, but was rejected on the grounds that he was too creepy and that Keanu Reeves had already been doing him for thirty years. Undeterred, Carrey continued to develop the character independently, naming him Kato after a mistaken memory of the 70’s television program Kung Fu (whose main character was named Caine) and following the lead of his hero Andy Kaufman by traveling around Hollywood in-character as Kato during 1993.
Hoping to eventually spin the character into a series of Kaelin-centered gross out comedies, starting with the Yuletide fun of Kato Saves Kristmas, Carrey eventually found lodging with ex-footballer Simpson by a stroke of luck, since the Simpsons needed an unreliable layabout to watch their kids while they were off being rich. Not long after, Carrey was caught in a dilly of a pickle when Simpson decapitated his ex-wife and “Kato Kaelin” was called upon to testify.
Rather than paint his own career with the sickly stink of O.J. trial faddery, Carrey opted to ride that lightning for all it was worth, and the rest of the story went down in Access Hollywood history.
“This whole thing just got terribly out of hand,” mock-sobbed a repentant Carrey on the witness stand, barely stifling a serious case of the giggles.
While the possibility for a punishment for Carrey has been discussed, including a sentence requiring the comedic actor to write “I WILL NOT MAKE A MOCKERY OF THE AMERICAN JUDICIAL SYSTEM” 10,000 times on the courthouse chalk board, the consensus seems to be that many in the legal profession remain enamored of Carrey and his zany antics, and their fondness for his work in 1997’s Liar Liar may likely override any calls for indictments on perjury or impersonating a bonehead.
Ordinary Americans have yet to prove so forgiving. In the wake of the news’ breakery, angry consumers returned thousands of dollars of Kato Kaelin merchandise to stores, demanding refunds or at least a nickel off on that poster of the Madonna-Britney Spears lesbo kiss.
Strangest of all has been the reaction of Brian “Kato” Kaelin’s parents, who just this week finally calmed down from the O.J. hysteria enough to realize they’d never had a son.
But most visibly-upset has been Simpson himself, who in a televised interview from his Florida tax shelter Saturday expressed his deep feeling of hurt at his freeloader’s betrayal, and called for the courts to award $33 million in compensatory damages for his hurtedness, made payable to Fred Goldman. the commune news is not above the occasional well-timed hoax, like the time we welded the doors to Crochet! magazine’s offices shut from the outside and pulled the fire alarm. Thanks again to Joe Walsh for the use of his smoke machine. Elmore Sacks is the newest old addition to the commune staff, coming out of retirement this week and confusing everyone by claiming that he retired from the commune thirty years ago. We think he may have just worked in the building the commune now occupies, but what the hell. His pension money spends good. Everybody welcome Elmore and his unique brand of questionable 30’s journalism for as long as he can find his way to work.
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Los Angeles Gangs Infuriated by YU55 Drive-by
California hacker convention hacked by jocks loaded with Coors
A blow for free speech: Leno okayed to make Jackson pedophilia jokes
Mark Buckles Some Sort of Cockwad
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Bush’s MySpace Page Traffic Way Down Plans for Tallest Ferris Wheel Scrapped; Yao-Ming Too Busy to Turn It Entwistle Pleads Not Guilty of Murder, Last Several Who Albums Condi Rice Hates the Way She Smiles in Pictures |
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 October 14, 2002
Mouse in My HouseThe mouse in my house
has the run of the land.
He pees in my porridge
and he shits in my hand
while I lie sleeping,
naively unaware
that the mouse in my house
is nibbling on my hair.
And eating my breadcrumbs!
And drinking my pop!
I have asked him nicely,
politely to stop.
But did this dissuade him,
persuade him to cease?
He just ate my cold pizza,
every last doughy piece.
And as if to taunt me
he loves to play
and roll in my bed sheets
while I am away.
He loves to go dipping
in my marinara sauce
and to leave marinara footprints
up, down and across,
and on up the stairs
to the top of my bedspread
where I sleep unawares.
He ate all my baloney!
Now this is no joke.
And he twice left the tops off
my toothpaste and Coke.
One went quite flat,
and the other went hard.
And this mouse in my house
left his bike in my yard!
It's not like it would kill him
to put the toilet seat down,
or wipe the mud off his feet
when he's been mousing around town.
There's just no reason he can't
put his playing cards away
or clean up his jigsaw puzzles
at the end of the day.
Or close the front door
when he's gone out to play.
Or whisper more quietly
when he kneels down to pray.
But...
º Last Column: The Boy From Demon's Bay
º more columns
The mouse in my house
has the run of the land.
He pees in my porridge
and he shits in my hand
while I lie sleeping,
naively unaware
that the mouse in my house
is nibbling on my hair.
And eating my breadcrumbs!
And drinking my pop!
I have asked him nicely,
politely to stop.
But did this dissuade him,
persuade him to cease?
He just ate my cold pizza,
every last doughy piece.
And as if to taunt me
he loves to play
and roll in my bed sheets
while I am away.
He loves to go dipping
in my marinara sauce
and to leave marinara footprints
up, down and across,
and on up the stairs
to the top of my bedspread
where I sleep unawares.
He ate all my baloney!
Now this is no joke.
And he twice left the tops off
my toothpaste and Coke.
One went quite flat,
and the other went hard.
And this mouse in my house
left his bike in my yard!
It's not like it would kill him
to put the toilet seat down,
or wipe the mud off his feet
when he's been mousing around town.
There's just no reason he can't
put his playing cards away
or clean up his jigsaw puzzles
at the end of the day.
Or close the front door
when he's gone out to play.
Or whisper more quietly
when he kneels down to pray.
But the one mousey caper
I just cannot forgive
is when he got my sister pregnant.
I hope you like d-Con, mouse. º Last Column: The Boy From Demon's Bayº more columns
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|  April 11, 2005
Pokered FaceAs much I regretted it, I had to take a break from the world's greatest conspiracy last week. Nothing more than I can handle, of course. Maybe I'll benefit from the break, it will give me a chance to put everything in perspective, possibly have one of those great conspiracy epiphanies I've always longed for. But I'm such an important player I couldn't just take a vacation, so I had Stigmata Spent put on my fake beard and fake trenchcoat and take my place at all the secret meetings. But the conspiracy will wait for me. I had to take off for more pressing matters. The world's highest-stakes poker match.
I'm not a member of the Illuminati, of course—I wish! But I'm quite wealthy, so me and some other wealthy friends started a sub-Iluminati. We call ours the Niluminati, and we control everything the regular Iluminati doesn't want to control. Mainly the stuff we own. But being a member of the Niluminati has its own benefits, like our covert annual picnic and our annual high-stakes poker match. The highest stakes, as I've mentioned before.
No slouch in the poker department, I've won three of the last fifteen matches I've attended. Doesn't sound impressive? How many of the world's highest-stake poker matches have you won? I didn't think so. But it had been a while since I've had any real success, I've been on a losing streak for long time. Approximately since I started publishing the commune, oddly enough.
I decided, despite the...
º Last Column: The Best Conspiracy Ever
º more columns
As much I regretted it, I had to take a break from the world's greatest conspiracy last week. Nothing more than I can handle, of course. Maybe I'll benefit from the break, it will give me a chance to put everything in perspective, possibly have one of those great conspiracy epiphanies I've always longed for. But I'm such an important player I couldn't just take a vacation, so I had Stigmata Spent put on my fake beard and fake trenchcoat and take my place at all the secret meetings. But the conspiracy will wait for me. I had to take off for more pressing matters. The world's highest-stakes poker match.
I'm not a member of the Illuminati, of course—I wish! But I'm quite wealthy, so me and some other wealthy friends started a sub-Iluminati. We call ours the Niluminati, and we control everything the regular Iluminati doesn't want to control. Mainly the stuff we own. But being a member of the Niluminati has its own benefits, like our covert annual picnic and our annual high-stakes poker match. The highest stakes, as I've mentioned before.
No slouch in the poker department, I've won three of the last fifteen matches I've attended. Doesn't sound impressive? How many of the world's highest-stake poker matches have you won? I didn't think so. But it had been a while since I've had any real success, I've been on a losing streak for long time. Approximately since I started publishing the commune, oddly enough.
I decided, despite the conspiracy barking at my back door, that I'd put everything on hold and go back and claim my crown. Mind you, the crown itself is rather chintzy, but what I want is the respect that comes with wearing it. Sure, I've made my own crowns out of cardboard before, but when people find out you didn't get it winning a card game, all the respect vanishes.
I was happy to board the ol' riverboat Pressure Cooker and see my old colleagues and rivals, the nameless members of the Niluminati—"Buggy" Bob Hedges, Krisco, Flatella Morgan, B'Twana Modge, Catarast Winton, and Dave Pogo ("The Instigator"). They all sized me up with their eyes the minute I came through the door, though Flatella hired somebody to do it with his hands, and they took me for a rube whose bad luck streak was going to continue for another year. I said nuts to that, and quite loudly. They asked me not to do it again.
I made my presence known right away, starting the first game with an unheard-of bet of $75,000. They called me overeager and told me I would not be invited back if I insisted on betting so high first time out. But we played for a while, I won my share of games and kept my bets wise, and eventually we raised stakes to $250,000. That's American dollars, mind you, and not Niluminati dollars, which weren't even accepted in the Niluminati swear jar.
And in the end, believe it or not, I won it all on a bluff. I won the game with a bet of $800,000, then we doubled the bet, and I had jack shit in the way of cards. Not even a pair, I tell you. Nothing wild, all my options run out, so I bluffed—I yelled "Fire!" and we all abandoned the boat. Since we didn't finish the last game, that made me the winner for this year.
Quite a bluff it was, if I must say so. And I had Rascal in the engine room ready to throw a stick of dynamite into the fire if they called me on it. Always keep an ace in the hole. º Last Column: The Best Conspiracy Everº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Don't run if you can walk. Don't walk if you can stand. Don't stand if you can sit. Don't sit if you can lie down. Don't like down if you can sleep. Don't sleep if you can be put into a medically induced coma. Don't be put into a medically induced coma if you can kick back in an iron lung and have machines shit for you. Don't do any of that if golf is on TV.”
-Lazy Larry LisbaineFortune 500 CookieYou're gonna die this week. Sorry we couldn't put a more clever spin on that. In the meantime, try pouring sugar on your cereal instead of milk. Fuck it, what's anybody gonna do about it now? If it's any consolation, almost everyone in the world doesn't know you're alive anyway. This week's lucky coffin models: Dirt Rocket III, Econo-Sarcophagus Jr, The Spruce Moose, Office Max Moving Box Model 223117, The Bobsled to Hell, Spring-Loaded Jokester's Delight, Seventh Generation Biodegradable Grandma Sack, foot locker in your ex-boyfriend's closet.
Try again later.QVC Top Sellers| 1. | Edible Bacon Sleeping Mask | | 2. | Avocado Clock | | 3. | Big Bag 'o Cubic Zirconiums | | 4. | Electronic Feces Sniffer | | 5. | "Great Jews of the 60's" Trading Card Set | |
|   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.   |
