Osama bin Laden Captured After Rubber Band Connecting Torso to Legs Snaps

December 10, 2001

Washington, DC

Ralf Mook/AP

Osama bin Laden, when he was whole

inally bringing to an end weeks of guano-infested cave searching by American marines, along with weeks of slightly anxious channel surfing by the American public, Osama bin Laden was captured by U.S. forces on Saturday. After months of successfully dodging U.S. military efforts and covert-ops "snatch and grab" missions, bin Laden was ultimately done in by a faulty rubber band in his midsection, which snapped, causing his torso and legs to separate. Escape was then near impossible for the Saudi militant.

Reports differ as to the reason behind the failure of bin Laden's rubber band. American military personnel claim to have witnessed and awesome battle to the death between bin Laden and anti-terrorist ranger Beachhead, a former Advisor at the Covert Ops School in Central America. According to eyewitness accounts, Beachhead found bin Laden's secret sandbox base, and caught him off guard with the butt of Sci-Fi's laser rifle, which he'd been carrying ever since Sci-Fi's legs got chewed off by a dog. (Ed. note: Sci-Fi is currently carrying Spirit's arrowhead gun, since Spirit never came back from a sleep-over and Joey Dombrowsi's house and nobody really understands how that gun is supposed to work anyway.) After stunning the terrorist mastermind, Beachhead reportedly scissorlocked bin Laden's head and flipped him over onto a rock, the resultant stress snapping bin Laden's rubber band and reducing him to a separate torso, pair of legs attached by a little hook, and a free-floating crotch segment. Some eyewitnesses claim that a Beachhead pile driver was actually the culprit, but these reports are in the minority.

Taliban supporters have taken great issue with the U.S. reports, however, and are unified in their claims that bin Laden's rubber band snappage was the direct result of "the weight of the monstrously awe-inspiring Arab donger that Allah saw fit to bestow on him as a reward for his courage in facing the infidels." Preliminary coroner's reports have made no mention of such a donger, though part of bin Laden's free-floating crotch segment is said to have resembled a moderately-sized donger, according to some witnesses.

Yet another opinion is held by the American Red Cross, who's workers have gone on record saying that this tragedy could have been averted with proper rest, a little oil and far less sandbox duty for bin Laden himself.

Regardless of the cause, U.N. medical personnel are working around the clock to reattach bin Laden's legs, and may have to resort to an elasticy hair thingy or twist-tie if an appropriate replacement band cannot be found in time. A panel of impartial Arab doctors are overseeing the operation as well, to make sure that bin Laden's crotch segment is not mistakenly left out of the reconstruction process.

In a speech carried live by all major networks Sunday afternoon, President Bush called development a major victory in the war against terrorism, and added a personal message for Cobra Commander himself:

"We know you're out there, you lisping freak of nature. The American people will stand for your aggression no longer. You may have brainwashed Stormshadow, but now we have one of yours as well. You can only hide behind that weird bald guy for so long. We're going to kick you in the ass so hard you poop kidneys. You heard me. Give up now and we'll see about digging up some magic spores to turn you back into a dude, or if that fails, we'll get you into the reptile house of a nice zoo. If I have to fly out there and pull that tea cozy off your head myself the deal won't be nearly as sweet, I guarantee you. Sleep tight on your heating rock, jerkballs."

the commune's Ivan Nacutchacokov wants everyone to know that in the spirit of American unity, he is donating a sizeable portion of his income this month to the Red Crotch. No one here is quite sure if he meant to say the Red Cross, or if he's just been spending a lot of money at a Russian porno wholesaler lately.

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April 29, 2002

ome, Come to Jamaica!

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I've got to say, I've always laughed at those commercials urging me to "Come, Come to Jamaica." For one, it's stupid to say "come" twiceâ€”I'm not a dog, I get it, you want me to come there. Forget it. You said it twice like I'm some sort of dog or something. Jamaican jackasses.

For another thing, Jamaica's not even a state! It's a whole other country or something. If it's not American, forget it, you won't catch me tanning my backside on some communist beach in Castroland.

Third: Well, I don't really have a third thing. It looks pretty nice on TV and all, no problem with that. Probably the "ai" thing, that bothers me. Look, you hotsy pseudo-French dorks, you don't need an "i" if you have an "a" already, it's still pronounced "Juh-may-ka." I know from experience in America we pronounce "ai" like "i-ee," as in my friend Aisha. That bitch.

At least that's how I felt before I got on the wrong plane. I've flown out to Hollywood on planes so many times it's second nature to me, so forgive me for getting flight 34 to Jamaica confused with flight 43 to California. But I can honestly say it was worth the mistake, even if I missed the L.A. premiere of Desert Dogs and that audition for Promise margarine I was flying out for.

Jamaica is pseudo-American, it turns out. Some of the people talk funny and say things you can't understand, but just don't talk to them. They're locals anyway. Turns out Jamaica has a lot of people that speak perfect English and they're ready and willing to take your bags and point you toward the pool, all the stuff you need to know.

And, boy, do they have beaches! Hot sand, warm water. That makes a beach. What beaches.

There were so many fantastic people I met. I've never met so many interesting people in a weekend, and I'm from Hollywood, you know. Jamaica is full of them. At least Jamaica was full of them, they all had to go back to the states since they were just visiting like me. But I'm sure more were arriving from fascinating places like Ohio, South Carolina, Nebraska, and other exotic places I've never been to.

All this unexpected travel made me think, and I've made an important decisionâ€”I've got to start asking the people at the terminal to check my ticket for me or something. In addition to that, however, I think I'm going to travel more often. Visit all these amazing places that exist out there. Call me crazy, but I'm even thinking of taking a trip to New Mexico. It's a little intimidating, I'll have to get inoculations and get a passport or whatever, but I just might do it.

Aw, who am I kidding? I'm not ready for something like that. Maybe I'll just rent a video about New Mexico first, at least then it will hopefully be dubbed and I can get a feel for what I'm avoiding.

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July 8, 2002

I'm Through Trying to Invent New Drugs

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Drug lords of the world can rest easier now, Clarissa Coleman is out of the narcotics business once and for all.

Before the feds jump on my gullet they should know I didn't really mess with anything illegal. Coca plants or whatever they call them, cannabis, all of that already illegal stuff is off limits as far as I'm concerned. The whole point of getting involved in narcotics in the first place was to create a drug that's both legal and gets you fucked up. And I think I can say I failed, so have no fear, D.A.R.E., you won't have to keep kids away from my product. It doesn't exist.

Everybody enjoys a little buzz now and again, let's not kid anybody. I'm sure Bob Dole got lit on something now and then, I have a friend who has a messed up arm like that and he sure didn't serve in the Gulf or wherever. Just an acid trip that confined itself to his right arm and has yet to stop. My challenge, as I thought of it while getting baked a few weekends ago, was to create a legal upper/downer/all-arounder and peddle it to my friends, family, and yes, some street junkies or whoever wanted a hit of my wonder drug.

Some of you are probably thinking I don't have what it takes to make a highly-addictive non-lethal narcotic, since I never got my college degree or anything. But you naysayers can hold your tongues. I'm sure the guy with crack had a lot of guys telling him he couldn't do it, like the D.E.A. or the cocaine companies. I'm not going to let that stop me.

I will, however, let failure stop me. And I've had way too much of it. Don't let anyone fool you, the guy who created crack must have been a scientist or something, though I don't know of any college that has a major drug research and development department. Maybe he's self-taught, but either way I wouldn't want to challenge him at chess. Because he's got to be smart, and I don't know how to play chess anyway.

Really I'm not saying I can't create an exciting psychotropic chemical trip in bite-sized pill form, I'm just saying that I can't do it with the equipment currently available to me. Which is to say a bath tub and a blender. I've bought tons of cleaning chemicals and food spices, hoping some kind of combination will produce the exact kind of buzz I'm looking for: A sustained feeling of exhilaration or light-headedness. Instead of such a feeling I've often just created some mild or severe form of chemical poison which has resulted in three trips to the emergency room and too many blackouts to count. Doctors have advised me to give up my experiments entirely, or at least stop using window cleaner, it's a dead end.

I may be finished with drug creation for good. At least until there's no more blood in my stool. It's probably for the best. Leave the drugs to the drug scientists and the Child Star columns to the Child Star columnists, I say, at least just now I said it.

It's too bad, I had real visions for safe, legal alternative to the current crop of dangerous drugs out there. I was only really stopped by the fact I have no business working with chemicals or drugs in any fashion. Until the day I hook up with someone to do that mule work for me I guess I'll be stuck as a fan of drugs rather than part of the creative process.

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Quote of the Day

“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas! Except near Houston, Dallas or Fort Worth. Talk about your smog. Jesus, this song's gonna need another verse.”

-Clement B. Doogle

Fortune 500 Cookie

Mama said there'd be days like this, but the bitch lied. The success or failure of this coming week hinges on your proper understanding of the word "gonad," so take our advice and go buy a dictionary now, Skippy. Order lots of Chinese food this week, but don't pick it up. This week's lucky accidents: back-flip off ladder onto hardwood floor, lip caught on drain while bathtub's full, wearing flammable jumpsuit to Great White concert, 15 car pile-up.

Try again later.

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North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

1/24/2005

Can you smell that, America? I'm not talking about the Oscars buzz; I think there might be a gas leak in my office. But do gas leaks usually smell like strawberries? Exactly. I think this may be some kind of fruit-hallucinating gas. The most deadly kind of them all. Because few people investigate a hallucinated fruit smell before it's too late. I'll leave you to the movie reviews, loyal readers, I'm off to buy a canary.

In Theaters Now:

The Alligator
Finally Martin Scorsese has stopped playing it safe with this bold tale of the visionary genius who made all those polo shirts with the little alligator on the breast, but then went too far and tried to make a gigantic wooden alligator to scare the queen. We all knew there was a movie in there...