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Bush Slips the Court a BigotJanuary 19, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee The president plays a relaxing game of "Finger the Racist" with Judge Charles Pickering (right), victim/perpetrator of discrimination.
Choosing to bypass confirmation, a candidate named by recess appointment will not need to be confirmed for the position until January 2005, which is fine for Pickering if Bush blusters his way back into office, not so fine if he's ran out of town on an electoral rail. Pickering and five other nominees for court positions have been the focus of an ire-filled debate between Democrats and Republicans as one accuses the other of doing things most Americans wouldn't approve of if they cared.
Pi...
n an unapologetic display of mortal hubris, monkeyesque president George W. Bush took the road less respected by using a little-known process known as "recess appointment" to install accused racist and anti-abortion fanatic Judge Charles Pickering to the federal appeals court.
Choosing to bypass confirmation, a candidate named by recess appointment will not need to be confirmed for the position until January 2005, which is fine for Pickering if Bush blusters his way back into office, not so fine if he's ran out of town on an electoral rail. Pickering and five other nominees for court positions have been the focus of an ire-filled debate between Democrats and Republicans as one accuses the other of doing things most Americans wouldn't approve of if they cared.
Pickering's stellar record includes a history of supporting an amendment to ban abortion, several reversals on decisions made in his court, tendencies to reduce protection of an individual's right to vote, and verbally chiding those who seek protection for civil rights in cases of race discrimination. The judge also has a history as a young man of supporting segregationist politics, and was coincidentally appointed by Bush the weekend before the federal Martin Luther King Jr. holiday.
Fellow Mississippian, Sen. Trent Lott, forced to step down in 2002 after showing support for late Sen. Strom Thurmond's early segregationist presidential candidacy, supported Pickering's appointment.
"I don't see nothing wrong with it no-how," said Lott at his comfortable Washington D.C. retreat, throwing a few more crosses on the fire. "I believe the nation is a better place now that Charlie's on the court."
Finding liberal outrage at a disgustingly reserved level, Bush accused Democrats and those who opposed Pickering's nomination of discrimination against the widely-accused bigot.
"This is the worst kind of discrimination—against white people," said the president. "The Democrats are guilty of what they done accused Judge Pickering of. They are biased. Against religious people, against Southerners, and against white bigots everywhere. For shame, Democrats. Hate-mongers."
Democrats were dismayed at the accusation, and responded late Friday: "No, seriously, you got to be shitting us."
The president replied later in the day that he was indeed not shitting them.
"Sure, Democrats believe the nation should be equally represented, when it's equally represented by people all in favor of equality," slurred Bush, possibly drunk on rye whiskey. "Just you try to be a white man who wants all blacks segregated and stripped of their voting rights. Then you find out who the real minority in this country is. And if you're a good ol' boy from a state with a history of state-supported racism who also has serious issues with women and rolling back pro-choice politics, throw into that you want to abolish the separation of church and state, then all of a sudden you find out who really wants equality. Not you—and definitely not the Democrats."
Representatives of the Democratic party could not be reached for further comment, but insiders say they were anxious to find out if Bush was really shitting them or not. the commune news is all for segregation, but wish to clarify right now we mean we would like all white supremacists and bigots segregated from us and sent back to wherever they came from, or possibly Africa, just for laughs. Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown, once a prominent ballplayer, has been subject of a recess appointment to pitcher in his corporeal absence.
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British Nearly Affected by London Terror Attacks ith their famously stoic façade put to the ultimate test, Londoners came through with flying colors this week, failing to register the slightest emotion in the face of stunning terror attacks on the city’s mass transit system that left 50 dead and over 700 wounded. “Oh yes, it was quite a mess,” explained commuter Harold Alburn, who was aboard one of the bombed subway trains and only survived due to being caked in a human cocoon formed by the flaming remains of his fellow passengers. “That rail line’s going to be down for weeks, you have to assume.” Jackson Prosecution Produces Bloody Glove he Michael Jackson trial escalated to the seventh level of hooplah Friday as prosecutors introduced into evidence a bloody sequined gloved that had not been previously revealed publicly. The defense requested a recess, to which the witty judge replied that no one had been good enough to deserve recess, but they would take a brief break. It gave the Jackson defense, led by attorney and Warhol knock-off Thomas Mesereau, a chance to recover from the five-fingered blow. “Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough |
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 May 26, 2003
Home Sweet HomoGreetings, good homos. Rok Finger here, reporting from the street. Which street isn't important right now, and besides the sign is in a bold font that offends my sensible eyes. Go ask a little bird if you really need to know that detail of my story.
If I've learned one thing from my time on the street, and I have, it's that homos are people too. And by that I mean that everybody's a homo these days. So I hope that's going well for all of you.
Rok Finger, however, is a man cut from a more old-fashioned cloth. Burlap. Most self-respecting men have no time for such a rough, abrasive material, preferring a fabric more pleasing to the touch like Dacron or sponge. Which is why Rok Finger has always sought the company of the female sex. And by that I mean females willing to have sex while I participate or take notes. And thanks to the twin pillars of emotional neediness and parental neglect, these women do exist. Against all odds, especially the steep ones determined by the good people of Las Vegas.
Those unfamiliar with the Finger legend might not know that I built my considerable early fortune on the windfall from a bet I won when my former wife, Arvelyn, slept with me on our wedding night. I had taken action from her parents, a local biologist, and Arvelyn herself, and I am not boasting when I say the odds were low and the payoff large. To this day Arvelyn curses herself for the lack of restraint she showed that night, falling asleep with...
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Greetings, good homos. Rok Finger here, reporting from the street. Which street isn't important right now, and besides the sign is in a bold font that offends my sensible eyes. Go ask a little bird if you really need to know that detail of my story.
If I've learned one thing from my time on the street, and I have, it's that homos are people too. And by that I mean that everybody's a homo these days. So I hope that's going well for all of you.
Rok Finger, however, is a man cut from a more old-fashioned cloth. Burlap. Most self-respecting men have no time for such a rough, abrasive material, preferring a fabric more pleasing to the touch like Dacron or sponge. Which is why Rok Finger has always sought the company of the female sex. And by that I mean females willing to have sex while I participate or take notes. And thanks to the twin pillars of emotional neediness and parental neglect, these women do exist. Against all odds, especially the steep ones determined by the good people of Las Vegas.
Those unfamiliar with the Finger legend might not know that I built my considerable early fortune on the windfall from a bet I won when my former wife, Arvelyn, slept with me on our wedding night. I had taken action from her parents, a local biologist, and Arvelyn herself, and I am not boasting when I say the odds were low and the payoff large. To this day Arvelyn curses herself for the lack of restraint she showed that night, falling asleep with the key to her chastity belt in plain view on her key ring atop the hotel nightstand. We were married fifteen years before she paid off that debt, after which time I had to learn to use my legs again and adjust to a life of not being carried around all the time.
If I've learned two things from my time on the street, and some would argue that I have, one would be the homo thing, no doubt. But the other thing is that we've really come a long way in bed-making technology since the days when everyone slept in cardboard boxes on the street. You don't realize just how comfortable a real bed is until you've spent a night sleeping in a dumpster full of basketballs behind a sporting goods store. Regardless of slanderous comments I may have made in this very column in the past, those mattress-makers really know what they're doing. My apologies go out to them for any uninformed remarks or calls for bloodshed I may have made previous to now.
If you're waiting for a third thing, you'll have to continue doing so as I haven't learned it yet. To be pathetically, shiveringly honest, I'm tired of learning the lessons the street has to offer. Call me old-fashioned, but Rok Finger prefers his lessons in easily-digestible half hour sitcom form, watching shows like COPS from the comfort of my own home. Or even someone else's home. A friend, neighbor or visually-challenged sexual predator would suffice. I don't claim to be picky, as long as you don't harbor political views or any opinions that differ from my own. Any interested parties need only leave their front door open tonight, with a trail of donuts or pulled-pork sandwiches leading to a warm bed near a cable-ready television.
I'll do the rest. º Last Column: Like a Rolling Rokº more columns
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|  February 3, 2003
The Internet Has Fleas, Fleas, FleasIf your e-mail last week was slower in arriving than Delta Burke squeezing through the eye of a needle, you may have read the reason why. Unless you get your news from the Internet, in which case you're probably still waiting for the page to load. But then, how in the hell are you reading the commune? Looks like I've caught you in your little ruse.
But that still doesn't explain the Internet slow down. The papers (or news monitors) like to confuse the big fat lazy audience (yourselves) with talk of "viruses" and "Internet worms" and all of that nonsense, but those of you who have any experience with the Internet know two things: Always spell the Internet with a capital "I," and always seek alternative sources of news in this corporate-dominated world.
It pays to get a second opinion. In this case, the talk of computer worms and vicious Internet programs is merely to confound you while they find a way to exterminate the real nuisance: Phone line fleas.
That's right, fleas. Why do fleas live on dogs' asses? It's not for the premiere location, let me tell you. Everyone knows fleas seek thick, luscious hair to live in; like my own. But washing your hair even once a week (when it's possible, we don't all have a lot of free time) can keep your hair free of fleas. And there must be more people out there doing this than me, since dogs have become flea havens rather than human heads. But even dogs get baths, which leaves the life of a flea a...
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If your e-mail last week was slower in arriving than Delta Burke squeezing through the eye of a needle, you may have read the reason why. Unless you get your news from the Internet, in which case you're probably still waiting for the page to load. But then, how in the hell are you reading the commune? Looks like I've caught you in your little ruse.
But that still doesn't explain the Internet slow down. The papers (or news monitors) like to confuse the big fat lazy audience (yourselves) with talk of "viruses" and "Internet worms" and all of that nonsense, but those of you who have any experience with the Internet know two things: Always spell the Internet with a capital "I," and always seek alternative sources of news in this corporate-dominated world.
It pays to get a second opinion. In this case, the talk of computer worms and vicious Internet programs is merely to confound you while they find a way to exterminate the real nuisance: Phone line fleas.
That's right, fleas. Why do fleas live on dogs' asses? It's not for the premiere location, let me tell you. Everyone knows fleas seek thick, luscious hair to live in; like my own. But washing your hair even once a week (when it's possible, we don't all have a lot of free time) can keep your hair free of fleas. And there must be more people out there doing this than me, since dogs have become flea havens rather than human heads. But even dogs get baths, which leaves the life of a flea a lot like the life of a hobo—as one cartoon from my youth excellently depicted.
The solution? If you're a flea and seeking relatively safe, unwashed hairy places your options are extremely limited, with France being so far across the ocean. But fortunately, the United States is refurbishing its phone lines with a brand new product called fiber optics. That's right—fiber optics. As in hairy phone lines. A flea's dream.
Scientists who study the behavior of fleas, and surely there must be some kind of creature like that out there, would quickly realize fleas have been taking to the phone lines in the past four years as they've become flea-friendly places to reside. The dogs are happy about it, I'm sure—I see tails wagging; but what about us Internet-using humans? It's left us with crowded fiber optic lines to contend with, and even the expanded bandwith capabilities can only handle so many fleas and baud-per-minute or whatever the nerds say.
My first encounter with fleas occupying the phone lines occurred back when I maintained my site, www.poopoftheday.com. I experienced countless hours of downtime and even my AOL ISP support couldn't explain the problem. My website host tech support stayed on the phone with me for hours, even after several attempts to convince me he had other things to do. He tried to sell me on the idea of viruses, worms, being severely incompetent and not knowing what was going on, which was all just a lame attempt to get me off the phone. Then he admitted the line was occupied by fleas, explained the fiber optic thing, and said he was looking into finding a way to destroy them—then the phone cut off. Apparently the fleas had gotten into even the voice lines. I tried calling back, to no avail.
Is there any answer to this unanswered problem? No, I just said there wasn't. I'm sure leading service providers are seeking Internet-safe flea-repellent cable lines, and they're probably working with the Hartz people on it, but until then, we're just going to have to deal with the slow-downs. Unless you want to start giving your phone lines baths, and I'm not about to do that. º Last Column: Tom Cruise: Gay? No Way!º more columns
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Milestones1961: Cuban immigrant Lazlo Homales buries a small change purse in a remote section of upstate New York. Over 40 years later, commune reporter Ivan Nacutchacokov finds the purse with a metal detector, and—what the crap, two dollars?? Lousy poor immigrants!Now HiringHall Monitor. Duties include asking to see hall passes, looking like an authority figure and keeping the unpopular commune staff members out of the staff lounge. Good grades a plus.Worst-Selling Breakfast Cereals| 1. | Scroats! | | 2. | Branimal Crackers | | 3. | Frosted Mini-Thins | | 4. | Too Much Fibre | | 5. | Vitamin Pill Crunch | | 6. | Unlucky Leprechaun Pocket Fuzz | | 7. | Byproducts | | 8. | Easter Peeps in Milk (milk included) | | 9. | You’ve Got Crabs | | 10. | Beano: The Cereal | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 9/2/2002 What a shitty prom date we've got this week, America. I'm not kidding folks, there isn't dick coming out in the next fortnight. And it looks like I'm the one left holding the dead broad's head when the music has stopped, because I've still got to write about it either way. At least we can get some Ask Roland rolling here to keep the kids off the streets:
Q. Hey Roland, when they set some dude on fire in the movie, how does he keep from going all blind and shit? I mean, I know they've got him in some kind of special flame-retarded suit so he doesn't get his biscuits burned or nothing, but it's still got to be pretty bright to be on fire like that, don't you think? I don't know about you, but I'd be wishing for some Oakleys or something if I was ever on fire like...
What a shitty prom date we've got this week, America. I'm not kidding folks, there isn't dick coming out in the next fortnight. And it looks like I'm the one left holding the dead broad's head when the music has stopped, because I've still got to write about it either way. At least we can get some Ask Roland rolling here to keep the kids off the streets:
Q. Hey Roland, when they set some dude on fire in the movie, how does he keep from going all blind and shit? I mean, I know they've got him in some kind of special flame-retarded suit so he doesn't get his biscuits burned or nothing, but it's still got to be pretty bright to be on fire like that, don't you think? I don't know about you, but I'd be wishing for some Oakleys or something if I was ever on fire like that.
Marc Blanst, Toronto, ON
A.Good question, Marc. Actually, it's not, but I'm required by our insurance company to say that. Since when do they have the Internet in Canada? I hope you didn't have to break into the US embassy to send that. I don't know about the sunglasses, I always just figured those guys kept their eyes closed when they were on fire, since they're usually just stumbling around and flailing their arms like I would be if my eyes were closed. It's not like you see a lot of people typing or doing needlepoint while they're on fire in the movies.
Q. Roland, what do you think of the latest Sight and Sound Magazine critics poll of the greatest movies ever? Don't you think it's just intellectual snobbery that inspired them to not include a single film since 1980? What about Tootsie? What a bunch of needledicks. I wish they would get the cancer and die.
Linda Desantis, Port Richey, FL
A. You're exactly right, Linda, except the part about Tootsie. Let's not get carried away here. While most of the last 20 years have been crap, I challenge anyone out there to watch a film made before 1972. You just can't do it. And if you can, your friends and family should end their suffering now and have you committed for being clinically boring.
All right, I guess we'd best get the movies out of the way. Hold your breath kids, it's a long tunnel.
In Theaters
City by the Sea
Did anybody else hear that Robert DeNiro died about three years ago? Nobody told me anything about it, but it must be true since someone apparently has gone to the trouble of digging him up from his grave to star in this turkey. He actually does pretty well for a guy who's animated only by a car battery that's alligator-clipped to his anus, but no amount of pancake make-up can cover up the fact that his nose falls off about twenty minutes into the film. To be fair, it's one of the best zombie-puppet performances since Chris Farley starred in Wagons West six months after he died, but it's still not enough to salvage this soggy epic. To be honest, I'm not sure what kind of script approval a dead DeNiro rates these days, but you still like to think he'd find some way to turn down a script who's central conceit involves one fogey's frantic race to counsel his son, who's embarrassed to come home because he walked through some wet cement and ruined his new Reeboks. Been there, done that, Hollywood.
fear dot com
Well, at least there is one small thing to get excited about this week. Dorf is back! And if this isn't proof of the law of supply and demand, I don't know what is. Middle-aged idiots the world over have been crowing for years for a funny little perverted midget to come and teach them how to use the Internet, and Dorf has finally answered. No surprise there. Though I am a little shocked at the decision to release this special interest video as a big-budget feature film, I guess they're anticipating some pretty high demand. And that's understandable; there are a lot of overpaid simpletons out there who would probably stick the mouse up their asses in search of a kinky thrill if they were left alone with the computer unsupervised for long enough. So what the hell, you know? Slap an intimidating title on the thing, throw in a few oil-tanker explosions and a bazooka fight and you've got some slack-jawed popcorn fun all over your pants before you know it. Incidentally, Dorf dazzles on screen as always, showing unprecedented acting range and impressively nimble physical comedy for a guy who always looks like his feet are nailed to the floor.
Swimfan
Wisely changing the film's title from the evocative but easily-confused Shitfit, those faceless Hollywood bigwigs are at it again, trying to sell us on another warmed over "girls are insane" cautionary tale of a film. Hip to the fact that cramming yet another gooey giblet into America's already stuffed gut often leads to abdominal pain and unsightly gas, the filmmakers have tried to spice things up a bit by tying the whole thing into the mesmerizing new world of the Internet. This is nothing new, as a fevered desire to cash in on the popularity of the Internet has resulted in several Internet-themed film titles lately, from AOL's 40 Days and 40 Nights to Big Fat Logon and the gay porn epic Manhandle. Lame as the effort is, still, that girl from the Traffic video is convincing as every frat boy's worst nightmare, and her balls-out performance will ensure that Americans stay afraid of women and their emotions until at least next year, when Reese Witherspoon will play a heavily-tattooed extreme sports star who goes lovenuts on Brendan Fraser and kills his pet rabbit with a somersaulting speed boat.
Well, that's it, America. I told you it was grim. And the scary thing is that the fall has just begun. You might want to brush up on your eavesdropping or buy a puppy or something until the real movies get back from vacation in November. Just a thought. As for me, I'll be in the theaters as always, taking one for the team. You can't miss Roland McS, he's the one in the back row with the hari kari sword across his lap. Until then America, keep 'em hangin.   |
