|
$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='I’m Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$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 Hooper’s 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='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0905/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='I’m Not that Big a Fan of Talking';
$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';
?> | 
'Millions Watching Robots Battle to Death' Actually BoringFebruary 4, 2002 |
New York City, NY Junior Bacon Killing machines destroy each other for delight of Roman-esque Americans ulp magazines of the '50s as well as sci-fi literature and movies by the dozens accurately predicted the future of entertainment when they envisioned a day when millions of Americans would watch battles to the death between robot opponents. Few, though, imagined it would be so boring and lame.
Television shows like Comedy Central's Battle Bots and similar specials and series from around the world are proving to be the unlikely source for futuristic robot death battles. Though many differ on some points, all prove to be astoundingly dull in the destruction of technologically-advanced killing machines.
"As a boy, I anticipated with fear and wonder the day robots would be used to entertain the masses," said M.I.T. Professor of Robotics Larry Karmen, "but yea...
ulp magazines of the '50s as well as sci-fi literature and movies by the dozens accurately predicted the future of entertainment when they envisioned a day when millions of Americans would watch battles to the death between robot opponents. Few, though, imagined it would be so boring and lame.
Television shows like Comedy Central's Battle Bots and similar specials and series from around the world are proving to be the unlikely source for futuristic robot death battles. Though many differ on some points, all prove to be astoundingly dull in the destruction of technologically-advanced killing machines.
"As a boy, I anticipated with fear and wonder the day robots would be used to entertain the masses," said M.I.T. Professor of Robotics Larry Karmen, "but yeah, I didn't really see it like this. I don't even know where to start."
The robots on Battle Bots are typically remote-controlled, less than two feet tall, and are equipped with standard woodshop equipment like saws, drills, and occasionally a blowtorch of some sort. Robot operators range from dateless thirteen-year-old child prodigies to 50-year-old dateless unemployed construction workers.
"I guess the names are cool," said robot enthusiast and publisher of Future Age magazine Don Hogarth. "You have names like 'The Revolver' and 'Fireblast,' real awesome Transformer-like names. And then the robot comes out and it's like a little George Foreman grill on wheels. And you get real annoyed as it just spins around while another robot named 'Mass Destruction' hits it with a hammer on the end of a miniature crane."
"The problem is obviously related to budget," stated Professor Karmen. "Comedy Central and the British TV program its Battle Bots was based on had the right idea, but a lousy budget. Basic cable is not capable of building the 20-foot-tall fire-breathing self-running destruction machines we originally envisioned for this kind of mayhem. Most kids operating out of their garage are not going to have the kind of funding to build a competitive robot on that level, and neither are their mothers. Unless all these millionaires who are spending money to fly around the world in balloons get their stuff together and start building city-crushing robots, I don't see much improvement on the battling robot front for many years to come."
When told of the dissenting opinion of robot battle sports, Comedy Central Battle Bots star Slaughterhouse became infuriated and began to smash up its dressing room with a hammer on a tiny crane arm. the commune news stands on the brink of a new century, and keeps pretending its falling in. Ted Ted is no longer affiliated with the Keebler division, please stop sending compliments or complaints to him.
 | Wal-Mart reports low Black Friday sales, record high human misery
French hostages make really insulting plea for freedom
FDA: Celebrex has incredibly effective lobby
Karl Rove implicated in CIA link; Tom Cruise cleared
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Officials to Celebrities: Please Get Out of New Orleans isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: We’re serious; you really need to leave now. “We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.” The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans’ stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation. Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band he whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasn’t merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: He’s taken in a whole jazz band. “I just wanted to do what I could,” Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. “So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed.” However, Martinson didn’t stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles. Sanjaya Unites Indian Fans, People Who Hate American Idol IRS: Excessively Needy Girlfriends Can’t Be Declared “Dependents” |
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 December 23, 2002
The History of ChristmasThough it might surprise the ignorant, the holiday of Christmas was celebrated long before Christ came along and limp-wristed his way into the history books, or at least the history books that are available at most major motels. They didn't call it Christmas back then, since that would just be spooky, but regardless, the winter solstice was celebrated for eons before Christ laid the golden turd.
In northern lands, ancient peoples celebrated the passing of the midpoint of winter, looking ahead to longer days and the return of the light, which would remind them just how ugly their neighbors were. With the light came the melting of the snow, which rang in the springtime removal of the dead bodies of all the dumb assholes who had frozen to death over the winter. Hence the term "spring cleaning" was coined, though over time it's somehow come to mean some yuppie sponging out his microwave.
The Norse in Scandanavia celebrated Yule, a vague holiday that involved eating and went on for however damn long they wanted it to. Anyone who asked if the holiday was over yet was eaten, and as a result it often dragged on for months.
The ancient Germans didn't celebrate, since they were German, but they were scared shitless of the pagan God Oden, who they placated by never going outside. The exchange of goods in the winter months consisted of things being thrown from one house's window to the next. This usually worked fairly well but mishaps did occur,...
º Last Column: What the Hell Are Muppets? º more columns
Though it might surprise the ignorant, the holiday of Christmas was celebrated long before Christ came along and limp-wristed his way into the history books, or at least the history books that are available at most major motels. They didn't call it Christmas back then, since that would just be spooky, but regardless, the winter solstice was celebrated for eons before Christ laid the golden turd.
In northern lands, ancient peoples celebrated the passing of the midpoint of winter, looking ahead to longer days and the return of the light, which would remind them just how ugly their neighbors were. With the light came the melting of the snow, which rang in the springtime removal of the dead bodies of all the dumb assholes who had frozen to death over the winter. Hence the term "spring cleaning" was coined, though over time it's somehow come to mean some yuppie sponging out his microwave.
The Norse in Scandanavia celebrated Yule, a vague holiday that involved eating and went on for however damn long they wanted it to. Anyone who asked if the holiday was over yet was eaten, and as a result it often dragged on for months.
The ancient Germans didn't celebrate, since they were German, but they were scared shitless of the pagan God Oden, who they placated by never going outside. The exchange of goods in the winter months consisted of things being thrown from one house's window to the next. This usually worked fairly well but mishaps did occur, and most houses had at least a few frozen chickens stuck to their outside walls. The biggest problem was that if the town butcher threw his back out, the entire town would starve, since Germans don't believe in vegetables except for sauerkraut.
The Romans had their own insane version of Christmas, which basically involved everybody getting naked, fucking, and throwing up all morning. They had a few other traditions rolled in there, but mainly they were just thinly disguised excuses for fucking.
In the early days of Christianity, Easter was the only holiday, and it got so out of hand that they were afraid to add any more. The early Christians were known for having an extreme early version of Attention Deficit Disorder, and as a result the celebration of Christ's resurrection soon morphed into a mutant strain when somebody thought they said procreation and they started dressing up like rabbits, and then somebody brought a bunch of eggs because he didn't have a rabbit costume and didn't know what else to do, and then somebody else said "Fuck eggs, I like chocolate!" and the modern insane Easter was born.
In the fourth century, the church decided it was safe to make another go at it and they added a celebration for the birth of Christ. There was a slight problem in that nobody had any idea when Christ was born, and the Bible just said something about there was tallow in the Eastern bung and nobody knew what month that was supposed to mean. The problem was solved when Pope Julius I scratched his nose for a while and then declared that Christ was born on December 25th. When scholars argued that this ran counter to all available evidence, he pope-slapped them and told everyone that if they wanted to piss off Oden, that was their own prerogative. Everybody agreed it was December 25th after that.
Julius I's real motivation was a clever one. By throwing the celebration for the birth of Christ at the same time when all of the non-Christians were celebrating the winter solstice by balling their brains out, he could confuse people into thinking that they were celebrating Christianity by drinking a lot of beer and nailing everything in the house to a tree, a deception that still stands to this day.
Once the Puritans took over England, they outlawed Christmas, and anything else that people liked to do. This lasted for about ten seconds before the people rose up and kicked their gay asses out of the country. They washed up in North America, complaining constantly about being religiously persecuted, and then outlawed Christmas there, too. The problem was that the Native Americans didn't know what Christmas was, so the Puritans had to teach them how to decorate their teepees with popcorn and nuts and little ballerinas on the outside, and then tell them never to do it.
Living with the Puritans eventually drove the Native Americans to drinking, which the Puritans had taught them to do so they could tell them not to do that, either. Eventually the Puritans died out after they decided that opening their eyes was sinful and then were all eaten by bears at night. But because of them, generations of Americans grew up without traditional Christmas orgies.
Eventually Charles Dickens wrote The Christmas Carol, which he completely pulled out of his ass during a wild weeklong acid binge. NaĂŻve American readers believed that he was talking about real holiday traditions, and were pissed that none of the immigrants had told them about the fun of Christmas. Several immigrant-bashing why-didn't-you-tell-us-about-Christmas riots followed, and America's new arrivals quickly learned to make up traditions on the spot to appease the custom-starved masses.
Soon the entire country was celebrating a bastard amalgam of made-up holiday customs, believing that the Dutch or Ubangi or some goddamned people had actually strung lights up in trees and drank fermented egg snot for hundreds of years. The church was quick to remind everyone that Christ was born on Christmas, too, and they skylarked a story about three traveling salesmen giving presents to baby Jesus to make it all sort of tie together.
You might wonder how Santa Claus came into all of this, but that was all just a Coke commercial that everyone assumed was referencing an ancient tradition. To this very day, the guys at Coca-Cola are still kicking themselves that they didn't name the guy Santa Coke. Scandinavians may argue that Santa was based on their ancient myth about an elf named Jultomten who delivers presents in a goat-drawn sled, but that's just stupid. º Last Column: What the Hell Are Muppets?º more columns
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|  November 25, 2002
Volume 30Dear Commune:
You have my phone number. You, the commune. You need to call the phone company and straighten this out. I've had the same phone number for 42 years and I'm NOT about to give it up. Thank you.
Agnes Knutson Bromade, NJ
Dear Agnes:
We here at the commune are very sorry to hear that your life has become interesting in a way that makes you mildly uncomfortable. Obviously, we'll call the phone company right away and make sure they restore to you the number you've earned by staying in the same miserable place for your entire life. Pssssh! Right! You can stuff it up your ass with the nice old lady act, lady. We here at the commune pay our bills, biiiiatch, and if you see fit to bring your mess all up in our shit again you will be introduced to some mad hurtin'. Damn. Also, tell your withered old biddy friends to stop calling here, they keep kicking us off the Internet.
the...
º Last Column: Volume 29 º more columns
Dear Commune: You have my phone number. You, the commune. You need to call the phone company and straighten this out. I've had the same phone number for 42 years and I'm NOT about to give it up. Thank you. Agnes Knutson Bromade, NJDear Agnes:
We here at the commune are very sorry to hear that your life has become interesting in a way that makes you mildly uncomfortable. Obviously, we'll call the phone company right away and make sure they restore to you the number you've earned by staying in the same miserable place for your entire life. Pssssh! Right! You can stuff it up your ass with the nice old lady act, lady. We here at the commune pay our bills, biiiiatch, and if you see fit to bring your mess all up in our shit again you will be introduced to some mad hurtin'. Damn. Also, tell your withered old biddy friends to stop calling here, they keep kicking us off the Internet.
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for anything we got your kids to eat. Lengthy precedent has established that U.S. courts consider a triple dog dare to be legally binding.º Last Column: Volume 29º more columns
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Milestones1999: Rok Finger's highly offensive rendition of "White Christmas" marks the end of the commune's yearly Christmas parties, and the birth of the Parents Against Rok Finger Coalition (PARF).Now HiringRubik. Crazy puzzle-making hermit needed to devise a way to keep staff out of Red Bagel's mini-fridge. Knowledge of trap doors and spinning blades a plus.Top Reasons for Increased U.S. Ladder-Associated Deaths| 1. | "Up/Down" directions never specified | | 2. | Reckless Generation Y refuses to wear protective equipment | | 3. | Ladder-deaths portrayed so glamorously in the movies | | 4. | Frequent union strikes by staircases leaving human helpless to descend to higher landings except by already overcrowded ladders | | 5. | Direct correlation to 50% increase in all-blind-cast productions of Our Town | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Albert Daddyton 11/10/2003 Murder in the ToolshedThe cold and rainy, miserable, in a non-judgmental way, London weather was in full effect. At 612 Putter Street, Lord Marbles Pissweather sat quietly in his drawing room, away from the nastiness outside, sawing eloquently on his instrument. Not at all a euphemism, he really had an instrument.
It was at this time I, his loyal assistant Cap'n Trails, called upon his abode. The sound of nipple-exciting music filled the abode. Doffing my hat, I leaned into the drawing room and nodded a greeting to Lord Pissweather.
"I say, Pissweather, good show with that violin."
He put it aside in disappointment, picking up his clever affectation, a Chinese fingertrap. "Yes, quite excellent violin playing, if I may say so myself," agreed Pissweather. "Unfortunately,...
The cold and rainy, miserable, in a non-judgmental way, London weather was in full effect. At 612 Putter Street, Lord Marbles Pissweather sat quietly in his drawing room, away from the nastiness outside, sawing eloquently on his instrument. Not at all a euphemism, he really had an instrument.
It was at this time I, his loyal assistant Cap'n Trails, called upon his abode. The sound of nipple-exciting music filled the abode. Doffing my hat, I leaned into the drawing room and nodded a greeting to Lord Pissweather.
"I say, Pissweather, good show with that violin."
He put it aside in disappointment, picking up his clever affectation, a Chinese fingertrap. "Yes, quite excellent violin playing, if I may say so myself," agreed Pissweather. "Unfortunately, I was attempting to play the fiddle. 'Shortenin' Bread.' Damn this infernal instrument! How I can play the violin at master concerto level and sound like a mental defect playing the fiddle confounds my exceptional logic."
"I wish we had more time to continue this conversation, Pissweather…"
"Really? I had grown quite tired of it already."
"But I'm afraid we have a case to investigate. The Lady Mohoward sexily requests your presence at her estate. I'm afraid there's been—ooo, dreadful to say this outloudly—a murder in the toolshed!"
"How titular," grumbled Pissweather. "Still, I presume we should be moving along right away. The lady awaits."
The Mohoward estate was full of lush greenage and primoweed, adorned foremost with a 3,010-room mansion with ornate pre-Caligula Roman architecture. Pissweather and I made our way to the front door via horse-drawn cart. The horse was homosexual.
"Odd, do you not think—how many rooms do you estimate are in this mansion, Trails?"
"3,010, according to Lady Mohoward, and my narration," I responded.
"3,011—nobody ever counts the guest room," informed Pissweather. "My point, however, is, of all these rooms, why murder someone in the toolshed?"
"Indeed, Pissweather," I kissed up. "It seems to implicate the gardener, Mr. Gardner."
"Yes, if you're easily taken in by deception," said Pissweather, removing his stuck fingers from the Chinese fingertrap. "Damn! Consider this, however: Several of these larger gardens contain the unique African vegetation Plottus Convenienus. It's a rare plant that actually eats blood and evidence. If you were the gardener—"
"Mr. Gardner."
"Correct—would you not be well aware of the evidence-eating properties of the very plants you brought to the estate?"
"Egad, I'm a dimwit! What exactly are you all but explicitly stating, Pissweather?"
"Simplicity, Trails," smirked Pissweather. "The murder was most likely not committed by the gardener—"
"Mr. Gardner."
"Correct—Not committed by him, but by someone who wanted to frame Mr. Gardner, and cover up their crime. One of the estate's more prominent residents."
"Shitcrackers, Pissweather!" I exclaimed.
For more of this great story, buy Albert Daddyton's Murder in the Toolshed   |