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 February 21, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon Negroponte pauses impatiently as President Bush interrupts his acceptance speech yet again by wandering in front of the cameras
“Now this may be a case of the pig callin’ the posy pink,” folkified Bush, our national leader and self-described folk hero. “But y’all is dumb as shit.”
Surprised and appalled by his own re-election, sources report Bush quickly decided something needed to be done about national intelligence, and the lucid and well-coordinated Negroponte was the obvious answer. Speaking in complete sentences and rarely attending to bodily itches with his house keys are said to be the strong suits that brought Negroponte to the ...
n a move that surprised the slow and feeble-minded alike, President Bush appointed diplomat John Negroponte as America’s first Director of National Intelligence this week, in an attempt to shore up the nation’s failing mental defenses.
“Now this may be a case of the pig callin’ the posy pink,” folkified Bush, our national leader and self-described folk hero. “But y’all is dumb as shit.”
Surprised and appalled by his own re-election, sources report Bush quickly decided something needed to be done about national intelligence, and the lucid and well-coordinated Negroponte was the obvious answer. Speaking in complete sentences and rarely attending to bodily itches with his house keys are said to be the strong suits that brought Negroponte to the president’s attention.
Negroponte, dressed in matching colors and with all button-holes and buttons lined up correctly on his vest, accepted the new position of Intelligence Czar graciously.
“It’s about time you dumbasses got your shit together,” announced the charitable-yet-firm Negroponte. “Though the fact that you all did something this smart frankly worries me. Is there a bucket of crap dangling over my head or something?”
According to the strangely-named Negroponte, whose last name does not mean “Black Dude” in Spanish or Italian, national intelligence has been going downhill for almost fifty years, pretty much ever since The Andy Griffith Show debuted in 1960. As a corrective measure, the new Intelligence Czar has called for the immediate canceling of all reality TV, switching all broadcasts of the Spice Channel to PBS, and outlawing country music. Whether these early remedies will be successful, however, remains to be seen since slack-jawed apathy remains so firmly rooted in the national character. Word on the street indicates that Negroponte may have his work cut out for him.
“What Russian royalty have to say about intelligence is a mystery to me,” sniped freelance quote-whore Dennis Murphy. “He should put on his big fuzzy hat and go back to Eskimoland.”
A surprising number of men on the street (and two dumb-looking women) seemed to confuse the concept of an Intelligence Czar and the famous Russian leaders of antiquity. Several half-educated men were convinced all the Czars had been murdered by the Bullshitiks in the Industrial Revolution. As a result, the commune has decided to refrain from using colorful or figurative language in the future, to avoid further misunderstanding and possible bloodshed.
Oppressed Bullshitiks, however, can find Negroponte at the White House during his office hours. the commune news is not opposed to efforts at raising national intelligence, far from it: as long as they don’t touch our goddamned pro wrestling. Ivana Folger-Balzac remains on the White House beat this week because no one has yet mustered the balls to wrestle the golden “White House Beat” baton back from her icy, dirty-fighting clutches. Stay tuned for further developments.
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Study: Driving while on cell phone makes users look important
 Plans for Tallest Ferris Wheel Scrapped; Yao-Ming Too Busy to Turn It
SUVs hazardous to kids, but still a lot of bad points about SUVs
G8 outcome: Poor countries receive long-awaited pot to piss in
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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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 October 18, 2004
Queers Vote KerryMy opponent, Raoul Dunkin, makes a good case. That case is herpes. On the subject of politics, the old adage on children applies to him: Both should be seen beaten to a bloody pulp.
The liberal left is scared guiltless by the powerful agenda put forth by an assumably well-hung president. Still, the best they could offer is Senator John Kerry. John Kerry, who is from Massachusetts and doesn't even sound a bit like Cliff Clavin. Just where is Kerry really from? I'm not naming names, but let it be known that I, Ted Ted, was the first one to notice how French he looked. I'm pretty sure he wears lifts in his shoes to rise above his usual height of 5'1". I have it on good authority.
Kerry comes from the oldest tradition of tax-and-spend liberals. But taxes don't necessarily bother me—okay, they do. They bother me in the worst way. But his lesser qualities are what really scare me about Kerry. All these promises to provide increased medical insurance and bring more jobs to the country. Sure, they'll probably be service industry jobs, but I still say fuck that. The fact that we have four guys vying for one job right now, in some areas, is all that insures me I'm going to get a Whopper without hair in it. Take some fucking care with that sandwich, pizza face, 'cause there's three other greasy teen-agers and a Mexican with a fake green card who are ready to do it my way. Unless Kerry has his way.
Not to mention all the flip flops. I don't...
º Last Column: The Rotten Stink of Valentines
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My opponent, Raoul Dunkin, makes a good case. That case is herpes. On the subject of politics, the old adage on children applies to him: Both should be seen beaten to a bloody pulp.
The liberal left is scared guiltless by the powerful agenda put forth by an assumably well-hung president. Still, the best they could offer is Senator John Kerry. John Kerry, who is from Massachusetts and doesn't even sound a bit like Cliff Clavin. Just where is Kerry really from? I'm not naming names, but let it be known that I, Ted Ted, was the first one to notice how French he looked. I'm pretty sure he wears lifts in his shoes to rise above his usual height of 5'1". I have it on good authority.
Kerry comes from the oldest tradition of tax-and-spend liberals. But taxes don't necessarily bother me—okay, they do. They bother me in the worst way. But his lesser qualities are what really scare me about Kerry. All these promises to provide increased medical insurance and bring more jobs to the country. Sure, they'll probably be service industry jobs, but I still say fuck that. The fact that we have four guys vying for one job right now, in some areas, is all that insures me I'm going to get a Whopper without hair in it. Take some fucking care with that sandwich, pizza face, 'cause there's three other greasy teen-agers and a Mexican with a fake green card who are ready to do it my way. Unless Kerry has his way.
Not to mention all the flip flops. I don't want to see my president wearing flip flops. My corneas are still scarred from the sight of Clinton in his jogging shorts—pardon me while I projectile vomit. Presidents should only wear flannel shirts, jeans, and cowboy hats when on vacation, or at the occasional funeral for a world leader. The Democrats have proven they can't be trusted to pick their own off-hours wardrobe. I would like to make it to my death without having seen the president of the United States wearing a hoodie and parachute pants, thank you.
Oh, and he's indecisive on issues. Or not really, perhaps, maybe he's too decisive. He believes in everything everyone else does. He makes fond use of the polls, don't he? Like how he comforts the gay nation and the rest of us at the same time with his assuring mantra: "I support the right for people to do whatever they want, and endorse your heterosexual insecurities, while at the same time embracing the more minor agenda of the homosexual community. I will not allow what you do, nor will I reject America's interference into your private lives." He sidesteps the serious issues like that neighbor of mine whose feet I shoot at every weekend.
Plus, his wife's the ketchup lady. Electing him means being forced to sit through a thousand product placements for Heinz during national speeches, State of the Union addresses, and photo opportunities.
Worse than all of it, if we elect stringbean, he's going to start curbing back the military. Jesus H. Christ on a hobby horse, we're supposed to quit the one thing our country still does best? During three short years we've occupied two enemy countries, made threats and allegations against several others, and pissed off any possible allies we used to have. We rock! Give us one more term, I swear we'll annex Poland and get the French to apologize for getting us into Vietnam.
No more of this pacifistic, sanctions-filled bullshit of a Democratic regime. September 11 gave us a license to kill, and by god, it's only good for a limited time. Let's re-elect the president, reinstate the draft, and start inheriting the earth again. º Last Column: The Rotten Stink of Valentinesº more columns
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|  October 24, 2011
Eighth Theistthe commune is back, people, and better than ever. But then again, who am I to decide your tastes? I shouldn't just declare matters of opinion as if they're fact. Maybe the commune is back, slightly inferior compared to what it used to be, but still tolerable. Or maybe it was never tolerable. Don't let me make the call.
Why do grapes come in so many different colors? Pick one and go with it. You don't see bananas pulling that shit on you. Bananas—there's a food that's secure with itself. Never care much for the shape, though.
I hear Ted Danson is replacing Laurence Fishburne on the long-running crime drama C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigations. Both are very talented actors and seem like fine people. Yet I could not give less than a shit.
Have you ever found that Russian novelists, classic Russian novelists especially, are obsessed with depictions of death? Americans, on the other hand, maybe all western novelists, seem more concerned with depictions of life; however, it may be argued that it is the Russian novelist who has the courage to face reality, while what we write about indicates our need to escape that grim reality. This might be changed considerably if more Russian novelists wrote in English. Russian is a hard language to write in. Trying to figure it out makes you suicidal. That's my guess.
Has there ever been a cereal called Nutsack Crunch? I'm thinking maybe a cluster-type cereal, sold in a canvas...
º Last Column: Eighth is Enough
º more columns
the commune is back, people, and better than ever. But then again, who am I to decide your tastes? I shouldn't just declare matters of opinion as if they're fact. Maybe the commune is back, slightly inferior compared to what it used to be, but still tolerable. Or maybe it was never tolerable. Don't let me make the call.
Why do grapes come in so many different colors? Pick one and go with it. You don't see bananas pulling that shit on you. Bananas—there's a food that's secure with itself. Never care much for the shape, though.
I hear Ted Danson is replacing Laurence Fishburne on the long-running crime drama C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigations. Both are very talented actors and seem like fine people. Yet I could not give less than a shit.
Have you ever found that Russian novelists, classic Russian novelists especially, are obsessed with depictions of death? Americans, on the other hand, maybe all western novelists, seem more concerned with depictions of life; however, it may be argued that it is the Russian novelist who has the courage to face reality, while what we write about indicates our need to escape that grim reality. This might be changed considerably if more Russian novelists wrote in English. Russian is a hard language to write in. Trying to figure it out makes you suicidal. That's my guess.
Has there ever been a cereal called Nutsack Crunch? I'm thinking maybe a cluster-type cereal, sold in a canvas bag. If there hasn't, good. Cereal manufacturers be warned: What were you thinking? The mere sound of it puts most people off their appetites. Nutsack Crunch… Jesus.
Now a cereal named Jesus, on the other hand, that's bankable. No better way to start your day. In my opinion.
Oasis is now banned from performing in this country. They know why.
It should have been obvious General Custer would meet his end at Little Big Horn. Little Horn? Big Horn? The place was clearly named to confuse the white man. That's why I never stage any battles there.
What would you do for a Klondike Bar? Wait, don't agree to anything too fast. I found one today in the frozen foods section of my local grocery store. All the humiliation I've endured, they were just sitting there for sale the whole time. The whole time. Not even that expensive.
Remember when they used to say "Mike Connors is Mannix"? I kept waiting for that to come up in the show, but no matter how frequently they reminded us of the fact, I never saw it amount to anything. I expected a big "I am Spartacus" moment that never happened. What a waste.
I had a job selling car stereos once, and the manager used to tell us to go "balls out" during any big sales push. Let me save you some trouble and warn you right now, it doesn't sell any more car stereos. Boxer shorts, perhaps, but not car stereos. Then the manager had the nerve to get mad at me.
Do you know the Muffin Man? The Muffin Man? The Muffin Man. Don't trust that son of a bitch. The first one was free, then he jacked up the price. Now I've got a muffin problem.
I'm telling everyone now: If I'm ever hooked up to a machine to keep me alive, promise me you'll tell me in detail exactly how that machine works. It sounds unbelievable. A machine?!? That keeps people alive?!? Wow. Just… wow. So tell me all about it, assuming I'm not a catatonic pile of flesh and bones.
That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more. º Last Column: Eighth is Enoughº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Fascism is not the devices and mechanisms that force us to our knees, but those who operate in the shadows and convince us "on our knees" is the place we're born. And the first seed of fascism is rent.”
-Crosby in 3F, every first of the monthFortune 500 CookieToday is not your day, buddy—by a horrible bit of luck, your day was exactly six weeks before you were conceived. The good news is you look a lot like William Daniels; the bad news is that doesn't pay much these days. Watch out Thursday, when you're nearly buried in a deluge of Fangoria magazines that have been building up in your closet. Lucky numbers? You want luck? Eat me, sadsack.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Interview: Lindsay Lohan's Clitoris | | 2. | Seven Bitches for Seven Pimps | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Out-of-Season Spiced Egg-Nog | | 4. | Fear and Loathing in Los Lobos | | 5. | Critics' Corner: Music Reviews to Shame You | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 8/4/2003 Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's right… wait, what were we talking about? Movies! Blow 'em out your ass, America! I'm fuckin' sick of movies, this week we're going to review vegetables. Cucumbers! Radishes! En… Endives! Yeah!
Alright, smartass, I'm out of vegetables. Here's your goddamn movies:
In Theaters
American Wedding
A formerly hardass franchise has gone all Friends on us, ladies and gentlemen. Hollywood's obese felines are betting you'll slap down your hard-earned pesos to watch these dirtballs get hitched, and I say screw 'em! Screw 'em and their imported water. If I wanted to see somebody stick their...
Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's right… wait, what were we talking about? Movies! Blow 'em out your ass, America! I'm fuckin' sick of movies, this week we're going to review vegetables. Cucumbers! Radishes! En… Endives! Yeah!
Alright, smartass, I'm out of vegetables. Here's your goddamn movies:
In Theaters
American Wedding
A formerly hardass franchise has gone all Friends on us, ladies and gentlemen. Hollywood's obese felines are betting you'll slap down your hard-earned pesos to watch these dirtballs get hitched, and I say screw 'em! Screw 'em and their imported water. If I wanted to see somebody stick their dick in a wedding cake I would have gone to my cousin Dave's wedding last month. So let me be the first to add this movie to my list of things we're all boycotting: Pizza Hut, the boyscouts and this movie. Oh, and vegetables. Fuck vegetables. You heard it here first.
Fucking Friday
Jamie Lee Curtis and some anonymous tampon star in this triple-hashed remake of all those "Dad woke up with his teenage son's boner" movies from the 80's. Only now it's a mother and daughter sharing the misery, and it's not a onetime deal, but rather a once-a-week hassle that the family has come to know derisively as Fucking Friday. The expected faux-hilarity ensues, with daughter getting hot flashes and mom getting hot pants, blah blah blah. The bulk of the film consists of queasy sequences featuring mom being pawed by underage slobs with beer on their breath and daughter air-sickness bagging her way through routine, mechanical sex with dad, both of which I sincerely could have done without. Somebody actually found Mark Harmon buried in the wreck of the Lusitania and dug him up to co-star as the hot neighbor who may or may not have mind-switched with a two-year-old Latino boy. They must have figured Harmon had the necessary experience with catastrophes, but at least the first time around he probably got some decent seafood.
Gigli
With his latest picture, Ben Affleck proves he's whiter than any of us could have possibly imagined, despite his current marital status as a lemur clinging tenaciously to Jennifer Lopez's ass. Affleck plays Larry Gigli, a walking punchline whose constant references to "gettin' Gigli wit it" demonstrate that Affleck can't even appropriate faux-black culture from Will Smith, of all people. Thankfully, J-Lo sings a song on the soundtrack, so maximum camp value is achieved, allowing audiences to enjoy the film on an ironic level even if they like acting and music.
The Secret Lives of Dennis
Who out there among you didn't think it was too late for a Head of the Class spin-off movie? Okay, that's not many hands, but I'll assume that's because not many of you foresaw the possibility, or even recall the show from your cocaine-encrusted chest of 80's memories. For those of you that did think a spin-off was a good idea, wouldn't you have spun off a movie around rebel loner Eric or even geek chic Arvid? Okay, you guys with your hands still up are just fucking with me, go on home and quit busting my balls. As for the rest of you, were you really thinking of going to this movie? Good God man, don't you have some chores to do? Stay home and spellcheck your suicide note or something, for the love of all that is holy.
S.W.A.T.
The latest Playstation game to skip the Playstation and come straight to the theater is a loose (and I mean like the cousin that let you feel her up at the family reunion loose) sequel to the 1994 Stephen "Midget Golfer" Dorf flick S.F.W.. This is not to be confused with the Bridget "Anaconda" Fonda handjob S.W.F. (Super White Female) or the Three Stooges flick W.F.S. (Where the Fuck is Shep?). Since the original wasn't actually about anything, the producers had the leeway to build the sequel from the ground up, and to give the franchise a kick in the ass by making it a blaxploitation thrill ride. As with the original, the American public was deemed too square to be exposed to this film's title in its full glory (Some White-Ass Turkeys), but savvy filmgoers should know without being told that Samuel L. Jackson wouldn't get mixed up in another lame movie about the actual S.W.A.T. team, not after The Negotiator. Though he did still manage to walk into a door frame by not demanding that the screenwriter change his character's name from Hohmo, I can't help but think that's going to get more laughs than any of the actual jokes in the picture.
Alright, everybody out unless they want Bacardi on their pants! You got your movies, now leave Uncle Roland to drown his sorrows in a kiddie pool full of inexpensive rum. Check back in another two weeks, but if nobody answers when you knock then just dream up your own pithy comments for once. Lazy bastards.    |
