| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0328/';
$dunkintitle='Highway to Hell';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0822/';
$fingertitle='To Hell With This Desk';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hoopers Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0704/';
$police='2005/0822/';
$polio='2005/0822/';
$poliotitle='WEASELS-B-GON';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='For the Last Time Deidrebane, Those Arent the Feds';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
 March 7, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon The ever-dignified Gooding Jr., seen here backflipping for racial equality
“You know you want to hear it! Show me the money! Show ME the MO-NEY!” Gooding screamed to the assembled crown, before turning three consecutive backflips and tearing off his shirt. Gooding thrilled whites everywhere with his comfortably overblown black antics.
Before he could be shouted off the stage by self-respecting blacks who for some reason ...
oming hot on the heels of February’s “Black History Month” bacchanalia, the U.S. government threw a surprising ceremony last week commemorating March as “Black Histrionics Month,” celebrating the overly dramatic and frenetic behavior famous to the black stereotype. American actor Cuba Gooding Jr. was tapped to inaugurate the memorial month, in a nod to his lifelong efforts to keep the stereotype alive.
“You know you want to hear it! Show me the money! Show ME the MO-NEY!” Gooding screamed to the assembled crown, before turning three consecutive backflips and tearing off his shirt. Gooding thrilled whites everywhere with his comfortably overblown black antics.
Before he could be shouted off the stage by self-respecting blacks who for some reason decided to attend the ceremony/travesty, Gooding Jr. ran through a terrifying recap of the last 50 years of black movie stereo types, leaving the audience either horrified or hilarified, depending on the color of their skin.
“Lordse, we got to have a doctor! I don’t know nothin ‘bout birthin’ babies!” clowned Gooding, simultaneously over the top and under the bottom. “Bitch! I will kick the bulimia outta yo’ ass!”
The well-publicized ceremony has also drawn unwanted attention from Latinos, the country’s largest minority group, who are upset that they don’t have their own month. When asked about this discrepancy during a recent interview, President Bush was clever.
“No Latino History Month?” asked Bush thoughtfully. “Why, that’s because every month is Latino History Month!” The president smiled slyly, impressed by his own deft maneuvering.
Prominent Latino leaders, however, find such statements to be caca.
“We want our own history month,” explained Latino community leader Hector Villanova. “And not some bullshit that’s all about the Alamo, either. We’re not falling for that again.”
The attention drawn to the new black month two-for-one has caused America’s racial shit to hit the fan at a high rate of speed as a dizzying array of other races have demanded their own months. Early reports indicate that some pushy races have even demanded two months, in order to even the playing field in the impending race race. Asians, Norwegians, East Indians and even the Irish have all chimed in with their hunger to make sure the black man doesn’t have anything special for himself.
Native American groups, on the other hand, have taken the high road, explaining that they’d rather take a pass on reliving their history and would be satisfied with having the whole of Las Vegas declared a multi-tribal reservation. the commune news has a strict policy about refusing to indulge in racial stereotypes unless they are really, really funny. Shabozz Wertham, angry black man, was thought to be completely devoid of a sense of humor until someone spotted the 2BLAK4U license plate on his Lincoln Navigator last week. 2FUNY, Shabozz.
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FDA: Celebrex has incredibly effective lobby
Thought-sensor robotics to create mind-controlled erections of future
Saudi Arabian royal impersonator pardons self
Derby winner stripped of prize when revealed as man in horse costume
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Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80 he world sighed a mournful Oh upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.
The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nations capitol. Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title. Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact. Willie gave it a hell of an effort, praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadnt come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game. Serial Killers Neighbor: He just wouldnt shut up about serial killing. Heather Grahams Career Found Dead in Apartment |
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 July 4, 2005
Second DraftedI have started the next phase of my writing career: The Second Draft.
That means I finished the script, wrote it all the way through, and now someone has to rewrite it. Don't worry for me, it's not going to be me who rewrites it. I just had to find someone who wants to write it again for me, take out all the spelling errors and give the people who aren't me believable dialogue and stuff. That's what all the rewrites I've ever seen have involved, taking a script that's not so good and making it work as a movie.
I already found someone, even though I have to pay him. But I'm paying him 60% of whatever the script sells for, so it's not like it's real money. You may have heard of him—but probably not. It's office scourge Ramrod Hurley. He has a lot of free time, since no one likes him, and I assume he writes pretty well because he works here and the commune has standards and shit. It's not like they give everyone a job writing here, only the ones who write good. Plus, as I said, he works in percentages, which is basically like imaginary money.
I haven't even told you how the script turned out, have I? It's pretty sweet, if I can say so myself. It's all about a world-famous actress who witnesses a murder, then she has to go into hiding, disguising herself as an even more famous actress, this one has different color hair. So she hooks up with this wicked lead singer of a punk band/talk show host who helps her escape the guy trying to...
º Last Column: Top 29
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I have started the next phase of my writing career: The Second Draft.
That means I finished the script, wrote it all the way through, and now someone has to rewrite it. Don't worry for me, it's not going to be me who rewrites it. I just had to find someone who wants to write it again for me, take out all the spelling errors and give the people who aren't me believable dialogue and stuff. That's what all the rewrites I've ever seen have involved, taking a script that's not so good and making it work as a movie.
I already found someone, even though I have to pay him. But I'm paying him 60% of whatever the script sells for, so it's not like it's real money. You may have heard of him—but probably not. It's office scourge Ramrod Hurley. He has a lot of free time, since no one likes him, and I assume he writes pretty well because he works here and the commune has standards and shit. It's not like they give everyone a job writing here, only the ones who write good. Plus, as I said, he works in percentages, which is basically like imaginary money.
I haven't even told you how the script turned out, have I? It's pretty sweet, if I can say so myself. It's all about a world-famous actress who witnesses a murder, then she has to go into hiding, disguising herself as an even more famous actress, this one has different color hair. So she hooks up with this wicked lead singer of a punk band/talk show host who helps her escape the guy trying to kill her, because she witnessed the murder, remember? Well, first she and rock star/talk show guy escape all these times she's almost killed, then they catch the guy. Set a trap, Scooby-Doo style, and get the guy all wrapped up in mummy bandages.
So I finished this "draft," as they call it in screenwriting class. But Nancy says I should always rewrite a script after the first draft, since a first draft is never perfect. Mine is, I told her, and she told me to stop interrupting her while she's teaching. Every script needs a second draft, she said, and then she wrote it on the board in color chalk, so we had to take it seriously. I figure I go to Hollywood and try to sell this script, if they ask me I did a second draft, I could always lie and say yes. But what if they can tell I'm lying? Better not risk it, so I figure I'd just get the second draft done. Damned if I'm going to do it myself, though, which is why I brought Ramrod in as a co-writer.
I guess it's going okay. I gave it to him a week ago, haven't seen him much since. I called him yesterday and he says it's going well. He changed a few things, like made the main character an aging dentist and took out the plot about witnessing the murder, instead made it this story of this dentist trying to find his wife who's been kidnapped by international diamond thieves. But it's basically the same thing I wrote, he said, but he did punctuate it and capitalize all the names, and wrote it on the computer instead of in a sketch book.
I can tell already we're going to have to sort shit out, Ramrod and I. I only did this bullshit because I need a really big comeback movie. How can I have a comeback movie if I'm not the big star of the movie I wrote? I certainly didn't do this because I wanted all the glory and recognition of writing for Hollywood. That's like saying I wanted the sweet reward of being kicked down a flight of stairs. He probably thinks I'm going to play the wife of the dentist, but I got other ideas—I can play a dentist. I know all about teeth, and I have a good smile. Well, I have a good smile.
I hope they don't give me a Best Screenwriter award. That thing nearly killed Damon's career. And I haven't seen Joe Esterhaz act in forever. º Last Column: Top 29º more columns
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| November 29, 2004
Roasting Pockets O'ShannonI've got "hot property" written all over me at the moment, and I know what you're thinking, but I'm not talking about a drunken trip to the tattoo parlor this time. I mean, I've still got "hot property" from that, but this time I'm talking Hollywood talk, meaning that people suddenly remember my phone numbers. And it's all because of Ho's!
My new WB sitcom is getting hot buzz around it, thanks in part to all those phone calls where I pretended to be the TV Guide Couch Critic, and when your show's hot, you're hot, it's Hollywood science. Some people are calling this my big comeback, and not just me. I distinctly heard my agent Dusty say it, too, before he passed out and the 9-1-1 guys had to resuscitate him.
The real clue I was hot was when they called me to do a roast for my fellow actor and good friend Pockets O'Shannon. What a kick-ass child star. And Pockets was fortunate enough to have one of those weird health problems that kept him looking like a kid well after most of us grew facial hair or tits. The V.F.W. Hall was holding a roast for good ol' Pockets, turns out he's a Vietnam Vet, and guess who they picked for their keynote speaker? Guess again, asshole. Beloved child star Clarissa Coleman.
If you don't know, a roast is where you get up and just crack on people until they're pissed off enough to fight you in the parking lot. I've tried hosting a lot of them, but nobody really shows up unless the person's done something...
º Last Column: Ho's Job
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I've got "hot property" written all over me at the moment, and I know what you're thinking, but I'm not talking about a drunken trip to the tattoo parlor this time. I mean, I've still got "hot property" from that, but this time I'm talking Hollywood talk, meaning that people suddenly remember my phone numbers. And it's all because of Ho's!
My new WB sitcom is getting hot buzz around it, thanks in part to all those phone calls where I pretended to be the TV Guide Couch Critic, and when your show's hot, you're hot, it's Hollywood science. Some people are calling this my big comeback, and not just me. I distinctly heard my agent Dusty say it, too, before he passed out and the 9-1-1 guys had to resuscitate him.
The real clue I was hot was when they called me to do a roast for my fellow actor and good friend Pockets O'Shannon. What a kick-ass child star. And Pockets was fortunate enough to have one of those weird health problems that kept him looking like a kid well after most of us grew facial hair or tits. The V.F.W. Hall was holding a roast for good ol' Pockets, turns out he's a Vietnam Vet, and guess who they picked for their keynote speaker? Guess again, asshole. Beloved child star Clarissa Coleman.
If you don't know, a roast is where you get up and just crack on people until they're pissed off enough to fight you in the parking lot. I've tried hosting a lot of them, but nobody really shows up unless the person's done something to make 'em famous. And Pockets barely qualifies, having starred as the precocious, wise-cracking kid in about two dozen movies between 1969 and 1996. I did two of them with him, Li'l Poachers and The U.F.O. Boy.
I spent weeks thinking up real digs that would totally devastate Pockets, make him turn bright red, even piss himself with fury. All in good fun, of course, except for a few things about his grandmother's diabetes that really cross the line. But Pockets is a good sport, just don't ever say we lost the 'Nam, that grinds his nads.
Now you've got the backstory, so I show up for the gig (I never do rehearsals, I told 'em) and find out, no joking, they only wanted me to introduce all his 'Nam buddies, they were supposed to be the only ones actually roasting him. Sure, I told them I would just stick to the scripted introduction, like I've told a ton of know-it-all directors, then I got up there and threw out my script—no way I was going to waste gold material because these dopes lacked vision.
So you can bet I stung him. I started off simple, just how he smells really bad and hasn't worked in years, since losing all his hair in that chemotherapy, but then I got to the really hard stuff. Making fun of his Members' Only jacket ("Does your calendar say 1986 at home?" I really said that) and how his two sons are clearly fathered by some black guy. Then, I got a little more cerebral and all—and this was hard, because by this time these two old guys were trying to walk me off the stage, but I overpowered them—and I did this whole skit about him buying this really awful pot off some Mexican guy (I brought a mustache from home) for us to smoke, and then talked about that time he tried to grab my just-starting-to-form breasts while we were doing that Poachers movie. The best part was I closed on stuff I just made up on the spot, when his wife was calling out his name as he left, covering his face—his name was Lindsey O'Shannon the whole time, not Pockets. For real. Lindsey's a total girl's name.
I know they taped it, but they may have stopped the tape after they told me to get off the stage for the fifth time. The show was just too hot for the V.F.W., I'm pretty sure. But if I can get a copy of that tape and get it to the right people in Vegas, I know I could get side gigs lined up for years to come. Just to cover me when Ho's! gets canceled. Always good to have a Plan B. º Last Column: Ho's Jobº more columns
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Milestones1975: Bludney Pludd is born. He didn't make a big deal about it at the time and we're certainly not going to change that tradition now.Now HiringKnife-Thrower. Should be capable of agile manipulation of melee weapons for entertaining stage spectacle, including throwing blades at volunteer Bludney Pludd. No references required, but we will insist on counting fingers.Best Selling Albums| 1. | Come On
Britney Spears | | 2. | I Keep Returning Like Freddy Krueger
Madonna | | 3. | Passable Generic Metal
Creed | | 4. | Farting to Critical Raves
Radiohead | | 5. | Fossils
Aerosmith | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 5/30/2005 G'day, America, we're phoning in this week's edition of Entertainment Police from an Aussie state of mind, and by that I mean I'm stuck in an airport in Austria. Word to the wise: don't accept an invitation to the Greater Chinese Film Festival, because there ain't one. It's all a clever white slavery ring that was apparently looking to get its hooks into one of Omar Bricks' neighbors, but lucky for her Omar's been collecting the neighborhood's mail as part of an experimental attempt to teach dogs to deliver mail, as a way to make his a two-income household without the downsides of getting married or going gay.
We've been raffling off the leftover mail here at the commune's offices to raise money for sick kids who are faking cancer, so I ended up with the film festival invite,...
G'day, America, we're phoning in this week's edition of Entertainment Police from an Aussie state of mind, and by that I mean I'm stuck in an airport in Austria. Word to the wise: don't accept an invitation to the Greater Chinese Film Festival, because there ain't one. It's all a clever white slavery ring that was apparently looking to get its hooks into one of Omar Bricks' neighbors, but lucky for her Omar's been collecting the neighborhood's mail as part of an experimental attempt to teach dogs to deliver mail, as a way to make his a two-income household without the downsides of getting married or going gay. We've been raffling off the leftover mail here at the commune's offices to raise money for sick kids who are faking cancer, so I ended up with the film festival invite, to the great disappointment of my would-be Chinese captors, believe me. There's a three-to-one male-female ratio over there, so they were happy to see me show up to that sausage-fest like I was a turkey baster full of the bird flu. But enough about my airline-gone-out-business limbo. Thanks to the magic of Wifi, I'm here as usual to offer another weekly glance at the magic of Hollywood, your portal to disinterest. In Theaters Now:Cinderella ManFinally, that Aussie meathead whose name I can't remember is a big enough star to make the film he's been dreaming about since he was a child: a serious dramatic retelling of the Cinderella legend with a man cross-dressing as a woman in the title role. Sure, we've all had that idea before, but who thought they could really pull it off? Only this guy, whatever his name is. Don't tell me, I swear it's on the tip of my tongue. Anyway, the resulting film is surreal as a Tupperware party at David Lynch's house, with the hairy and deep-voiced Cinderella going to great lengths to hide his manliness from his wicked stepsisters, his fairy godmother, several unperceptive mice, and the charming prince from the ball who's going around town trying to see whose foot fits into Cinderella's size-13 glass slipper. The results will jerk tears and several other body parts. The Gaylords of DogtownFinally somebody is giving the Weird Al treatment to that awful Nichole Kidman movie Dogtown, which itself was a cheap knockoff of Cats, except with more-loveable dogs played by unlovable big Hollywood stars. As anyone who actually saw Dogtown could tell you, what that movie needed was a whole lot more skateboarding, and this parody doesn't disappoint. But the real masterstroke was casting the entire movie only with real dogs, who, to a dog, easily trounce the performances of their human imitators in Dogtown. Watching real dogs skateboard is also pretty hilarious, especially if they're being pulled behind Jeeps and Ferraris and things and they put them in funny crash helmets and sunglasses. The Longest TurdHollywood's been going through a serious toilet-humor streak lately, which I can only think is a result of the "Go Young!" philosophy that has left us with a median age of thirteen for Hollywood studio execs. This mentality suits Adam Sandler just fine, however, and he's back from a recent detour into unfunny roles with this decidedly no-brow tale of a prison shitting contest and a little guy who could lay cable like nobody's business. Sandler really sinks his teeth into the role, if you can read that figure of speech without conjuring some disgusting mental image of Happy Gilmore biting a turd, and shines as the virtuoso ass-dropper. Burt Reynolds isn't nearly as funny in his cameo, but hey, fuck you, he's Burt Reynolds. MadagastroNever before has $90 million bought so little at the Hollywood rummage sale as in the case of this computer-animated film about a crazy scientist with the shits. Ben Stiller is back in his usual role as a lion with itchy balls, and other famous people use cartoon animal totems to spout the kind of hateful anti-diarrhea rhetoric that would get them blacklisted if it came out of their non-animated mouths. I think I heard Will Smith in there somewhere, and of course Bela Lugosi. As for the animation itself, it looks like a Special Ed class's homage to South Park, but I mean that in the nicest way possible for not hurting the feelings of retards. And that's all that we've got the time or life force to review this week, friends and neighbors, but be sure to check back in another two when we'll have an in-depth look at the amoeba and finally answer the hot-button question "Microscopes: real magic or phony bullshit?"   |
