| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/1010/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 64';
$finger='2005/1107/';
$fingertitle='Little Man with a Gun in His Hand';
$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='2005/0912/';
$hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/1107/';
$losertitle='Paging Doctor Van';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/1107/';
$police='2005/1128/';
$polio='2005/1107/';
$poliotitle='Gods Hands';
$rent='2005/1107/';
$renttitle='Im Straight!';
$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='2005/1128/';
$zendertitle='The Seventh commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Elderly Celebrities Relieved Hackett Was the One to Go July 7, 2003 |
Los Angeles, CA Skeeter Barnes Late comedian Buddy Hackett, whose own material made a roast largely redundant
āYou know how the saying goes,ā explained Bob Hope, 100. āCelebrities always die in threes. After Peck and Hepburn went, every celebrity over 60 had to wonder if they would be next. Actually, I think most of these assholes thought it would be me. Maybe Iām just oversensitive, but I was definitely getting some strange looks last week.ā
āTo be honest, I thought it would be Bob Hope,ā confessed comedian Red Buttons, 85. āHow old is that guy? Heās definitely cheating death at this point. That guyās so old he looks like a ...
he death of legendary comedian Buddy Hackett early last week at the age of 78 was met with fond remembrances and tributes from his family and fans, and a collective relieved sigh from the nationās remaining elderly celebrities. āYou know how the saying goes,ā explained Bob Hope, 100. āCelebrities always die in threes. After Peck and Hepburn went, every celebrity over 60 had to wonder if they would be next. Actually, I think most of these assholes thought it would be me. Maybe Iām just oversensitive, but I was definitely getting some strange looks last week.ā āTo be honest, I thought it would be Bob Hope,ā confessed comedian Red Buttons, 85. āHow old is that guy? Heās definitely cheating death at this point. That guyās so old he looks like a big walking scrotum. If he gets any older, some far-off kingās gonna have to wrap him up in a silk box like a goddamned royal tortoise. When he does go they might have to count that as three celebrity deaths wrapped in one, like some kind of loophole for rolling over the oldometer.ā Some elderly celebrities handled the superstitious deathwatch more gracefully than others, with actress Fay Wray, 96, noted by loved ones for her calm demeanor and total lack of response to external stimuli all week. Comedian Sid Caesar, 81, took the threat more seriously, locking himself in a hyperbaric chamber with a pistol upon hearing the news of Hepburnās death. āLet āem come and get me,ā Caesar was quoted as snarling as the door to the chamber was sealed. It was unclear whether Caesar was referring to old age or gremlins. āI liked Buddy and all, but if it was between him and me, and it was, Iād pick me. So Iām glad it was him. He was probably in bad shape, anyway,ā rambled Phyllis Diller, 86. āProbably had a compacted bowel or the snorts or something, heās probably better off. I definitely am.ā While talking to a pair of twentysomething autograph-seekers, actor Mickey Rooney, 83, commented on his fondness for Hackett, with whom he once shared an ice cream. Rooney then answered his fansā queries by explaining that Hackett was neither the mascot for Lee jeans nor the inventor of the hackey sack. As they walked away, one fan was heard commenting to the other. āJesus Christ, Mickey Rourke looks like shit!ā Actor Karl Malden, 90, eulogized earnestly about Bob Hopeās career for 20 minutes before this reporter could adequately explain that it had been Hackett, not Hope, who passed away last week. āNah, youāre funninā me,ā colloquialized Malden. āIf Bob Hopeās still alive, how come heās been haunting my dreams all week? Unless that was Eli Wallach. Hmm. Is that bastard still alive? Tell you the truth; it starts to get hard to tell āem apart after a certain age, they all take on that Jacob Marley look after about 80. Shit, maybe it was the Ghost of Christmas Past! Gah! Whatād I give you last Christmas, the bath towel or the VCR?ā This reporter left Mr. Malden to his soul-searching, opting to pursue a quote and a Dilly bar from a passing ice-cream truck driver. the commune news knows youāre only as old as you feel, but you still look like you died five years ago. Ramon Nootles holds the utmost respect for his elders, unless they have that weird āold personā smell and donāt have the common courtesy to take the stairs instead of stinking up the elevator.
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Republicans: Iraq okay; Democrats: Iraq in trouble
Anything can be microwaved instead of cooked, says lazy bastard
Search for Bin Laden made into fun scavenger hunt
Argentine protestors appeal to American sense of utter chaos
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Santa Claus on Trial: Week Three ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity. Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecutions presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous Tooth Fairy. Unknown American Philosopher Dead illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as A pictures worth a thousand words, and Why buy milk when you have a cow at home? A pictures worth a thousand words, repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know. Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said A pictures worth a thousand words and didnt know what he was talking about. Finely Aged Winemaker Ernest Gallo Corked Failure of Sirius Radio Blamed on "You Can't be Sirius!" Ad Campaign |
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 February 17, 2003
Sister, Can You Spare a Dime?So I needed some start-up capital, right? Since they shut my lights off and won't start them back up until they get a check.
I thought about going to my parents, then I remembered they have no money and would make me do chores or something for it even if they did. I thought about asking Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley, but that dildo doesn't have access to anything at the commune, even Red Bagel's private stock of Tab is locked in the fridge and he has no combination. I thought about asking someone at the commune for the money, but they'd probably make me do chores, too, and I have an idea what kind of chores Ramon Nootles needs done.
Which left me to ask my sister. I mean, I could ask my brother, in fact I did, but he could only loan me the amount in crystals and I already tried to pay the bill with that. I needed real cash money or credit, and the only person I know is my sister. For those who need the background, my sister is the family outsider, Harvard Law grad, private law practice, does a lot of ACLU work, occasionally puts out a book or something. She's got the critics and liberals fooled, but we all know she's kind of an idiot.
I went to see her at her office and it was worse than I thoughtāall this big talk of success was just a sham, the place is a real dump. Her law office is all the way up on the 30th floor and she shares it with a bunch of other lawyers, though her name is first, good deal there, I'm really impressed. It's...
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So I needed some start-up capital, right? Since they shut my lights off and won't start them back up until they get a check.
I thought about going to my parents, then I remembered they have no money and would make me do chores or something for it even if they did. I thought about asking Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley, but that dildo doesn't have access to anything at the commune, even Red Bagel's private stock of Tab is locked in the fridge and he has no combination. I thought about asking someone at the commune for the money, but they'd probably make me do chores, too, and I have an idea what kind of chores Ramon Nootles needs done.
Which left me to ask my sister. I mean, I could ask my brother, in fact I did, but he could only loan me the amount in crystals and I already tried to pay the bill with that. I needed real cash money or credit, and the only person I know is my sister. For those who need the background, my sister is the family outsider, Harvard Law grad, private law practice, does a lot of ACLU work, occasionally puts out a book or something. She's got the critics and liberals fooled, but we all know she's kind of an idiot.
I went to see her at her office and it was worse than I thoughtāall this big talk of success was just a sham, the place is a real dump. Her law office is all the way up on the 30th floor and she shares it with a bunch of other lawyers, though her name is first, good deal there, I'm really impressed. It's so embarrassing I felt bad for her, no one will even share an office with her. She's in this huge place all by herself, even her secretary must have weaseled a place outside to avoid it. I can't blame her, we shared a room when I was a kid and I know she snoresāit would be impossible to catch an afternoon nap with someone who sounds like a motorboat.
She was happy to see me, she asked if I needed work again, but everything was cool since I have the new sitcom in pre-production. She can be cool at timesāback when she was doing better and I was on hard times she gave me a job playing Lady MacBeth in her backyard. There were no other actors to act with, and no stage and I had to make the costume, but I got paid pretty well and it was a sweet gig. Sure, I didn't know anything about MacBeth or his Lady, but I substituted the dialogue from a Facts of Life episode and she couldn't tell the difference. She was on the phone most of the time anyway during the show, which I usually hate.
Soon enough I got to the part about asking for money and Addie just nodded and wrote me a check from her big fat checkbook. I told her I'd pay her back, and she said I could pay her back whenever I could. Well, of course, then I said I might not be able to pay it back and she said that was no big deal. I told her I could work it off, but she said she's already seen MacBeth. So we're still kind of in negotiations, I might do some Antony and Cleopatra stuff maybe, if I can get that Who's the Boss? script.
Then, before she took me to lunch, she said, "You know, Clarissa, I was so jealous of you growing up. Mom and dad used to dote over you all the time and say they wished I was as pretty as you and had a job in TV. But then when the acting work dried up and you found it hard to get a job, and I had all my college and developed my skills and everything worked out for me, I realized I was lucky, in the long term. I had the better deal from it all."
Sure, whatever. I nodded and smiled and pretended to think it was not funny, but mostly I was just thinking we should eat some place with ribs. I hope now she doesn't want the money back since I basically worked it off being all like her psychiatrist and stuff. º Last Column: I Have a Lazy E-Mailmanº more columns
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|  June 7, 2011
Return to Zender (Week 8)Good news, commune fans: You exist! I know, Iād had my doubts as well. But the successful relaunch of the commune proves it: I can barely walk down the street now without being mobbed by commune fans. Maybe "mobbed" is the wrong word, commune fans tend to be of the solitary sort, ungroomed and not always masters of the social arts or their own bodily functions. But boy are they out there, and boy do they want me to pay them to wash my windshield. Which is indeed a strange request when Iām traveling to my destination on foot, but thatās commune fans for you. Irreverent to the last.
These are the salad days, my friends, and not just because Iāve been eating a lot of salads to be able to afford sending Raoul Dunkin jet setting around the country to cover the latest and greatest in the world of news. Thankfully that hasnāt been quite as expensive as you might imagine, since during his last two years in the employ of the original commune, Raoul was paid exclusively in frequent flier miles. Apparently this was a common practice back then, as Iām told Omar Bricks was paid entirely in Camel cash and Boris Utzov was paid in camel shit. I shudder to think of what Boris was doing with all that camel shit, though Iāve heard rumors he used most of it to erect a camel shit statue of Saddam Hussein in the middle of Central Park. As the story goes, this understandably upset the natives, but Boris claimed it was actually a likeness of his cousin Boguslaw Sadowski,...
º Last Column: Return to Zender (Week 2)
º more columns
Good news, commune fans: You exist! I know, Iād had my doubts as well. But the successful relaunch of the commune proves it: I can barely walk down the street now without being mobbed by commune fans. Maybe "mobbed" is the wrong word, commune fans tend to be of the solitary sort, ungroomed and not always masters of the social arts or their own bodily functions. But boy are they out there, and boy do they want me to pay them to wash my windshield. Which is indeed a strange request when Iām traveling to my destination on foot, but thatās commune fans for you. Irreverent to the last.
These are the salad days, my friends, and not just because Iāve been eating a lot of salads to be able to afford sending Raoul Dunkin jet setting around the country to cover the latest and greatest in the world of news. Thankfully that hasnāt been quite as expensive as you might imagine, since during his last two years in the employ of the original commune, Raoul was paid exclusively in frequent flier miles. Apparently this was a common practice back then, as Iām told Omar Bricks was paid entirely in Camel cash and Boris Utzov was paid in camel shit. I shudder to think of what Boris was doing with all that camel shit, though Iāve heard rumors he used most of it to erect a camel shit statue of Saddam Hussein in the middle of Central Park. As the story goes, this understandably upset the natives, but Boris claimed it was actually a likeness of his cousin Boguslaw Sadowski, which no one could argue with because they couldnāt understand what he was saying.
But back to why these are the salad days. Running the commune out of my motherās house is like a dream come true. Itās an impressive scene I assure youā¦ I wish you could see it. I mean that literally, I wish I had a camera so I could take pictures and post them to the site. Thatās a subtle hint for any of you commune fans doing some early Christmas shopping. We could also use a computer, because running down to Kinkoās to upload new articles to the site is becoming a serious pain in both of my balls. News doesnāt always break during Kinkoās business hours, as the old journalism saying goes.
But I assure you itās quite a scene. When Raoul isnāt globetrotting to bring you the poop most in need of scooping, heās here, bitching that I donāt even have a computer. But Iām not even here myself, because Iām down at the Safeway checking for new Roland McShyster reviews or down at the library scouring back issues of old porno mags for new-to-us Rok Finger columns. In a side note, I am truly surprised at just how well stocked our local library is when it comes to pornography. If more people knew this I think libraries would be a lot more popular.
But thatās not all! the commune family is expanding like Paris Hiltonās belly after she eats a paperclip. Iām proud to announce that commune favorites Griswald Dreck and Ivan Nacutchacokov have both rejoined the flock, and not a moment too soon! I mean, itās not the kind of operation someone could join too soon. I suppose they could have joined us before the original commune building burnt to the ground, that would have been kind of strange and maybe too soon, but any point after that was pretty much ideal for us.
Anyway, youāll never guess where I found Mr. Dreck. A few weeks ago I was eating some garlic ice cream and let me tell you, it left a pretty funky taste in my mouth. So I reached for a delicious hunk of Bazooka bubble gum to tame that garlicy tongue beast and as I was happily chewing away, eager to lose myself in the adventures of Bazooka Joe and his dog, Walkie Talkie, I was instead treated to a byzantine comic about the history of penile implants. Gobsmacked as I was, I still had enough blood flowing to my brain to instantly recognize this as the work of none other than commune answerman Griswald Dreck. I dialed the Bazooka bubble gum emergency hotline just as fast as my fingers would carry me, and after navigating through a bewildering forest of options ( If youāre choking on bubble gum right now, press or say "Iām choking on bubble gum right now") I was eventually put in touch with a Human Resources guru. He informed me that Dreck had been fired from his post for drawing comics that werenāt about Bazooka Joe at all, or that covered the origins of things like pencil sharpeners or democracy, or that were too densely packed onto the wrapper to be legible, or, usually, all of the above. Thankfully, they had Dreckās home address due to him sending them regular letters explaining how their "New Adventures of Bazooka Joe" wrappers werenāt canon and contained factual errors about eye patches. Before long I was in touch with Mr. Dreck himself, and it didnāt take much convincing to get him to travel to Vermont and rejoin the team, since heād been scraping together a living on the brutal underground bar trivia circuit and was ready for a change.
It was some time shortly after that when I discovered that Ivan Nacutchacokov had been living in my basement the entire time since the original commune folded. This was awkward at first to discover, but it worked out fine since it meant Ivan had to make less of a transition to living in my basement than the others. Iām not sure how he feels about Dunkin and Dreck invading his turf, but there havenāt been any knife fights or anything yet. Ivan agreed to rejoin the commune on the condition that we donāt tell his ex-wife Ivana Folger-Balzac where he is. The truth is sheād already been here looking for him, months ago, but at the time I had no idea he was in the basement so I imagine I provided pretty good ignorant cover. Truth be told I might have cracked when she started hitting me with her car door if Iād actually known he was down there.
And so weāre off. Keep those tips coming, commune fans and assorted law enforcement personnel nationwide. Youāve made my wish come true, and I didnāt even have to get cancer to make it happen. Emil Zender: 1, Make a Wish Kids: 0, for those keeping score at home.
Zincerely,
Emil Zender º Last Column: Return to Zender (Week 2)º more columns
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Quote of the Day“History is written by Jonathan Winters.”
-Germaine "Double Dip" ProverbFortune 500 CookieFor God's sake, don't climb up in that porcupine tree. Sorry, being optimistic still won't get you a discount on eyeglasses. Remember, "lambast" is neither a compliment nor a veterinary term. This week, you will find love where you least expected it: up the ass. Your lucky disguise: a giant plastic toucan.
Try again later.Best John Travolta Comeback Films| 1. | Pulp Fiction (1994) | | 2. | Look Who's Talking (1989) | | 3. | Blow Out (1981) | | 4. | Staying Alive (1983) | | 5. | Welcome Back, Sweat Hogs (2003) | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 5/31/2004 There's apparently a new Roland Emmerich film out at the box office. Wall-to-wall disaster, gargantuan catastrophe destroying the world, an apocalypse like we've never seen before—I haven't heard anything about it, but I'll bet your last cent it's an accurate review. Now, let's pretend the summer box office season doesn't exist and spend our time ridiculing the upcoming DVD releases.
In Theaters
Monster
Hollywood's orgasmic response to this film, and specifically Charlize Theron in it, only reinforces my theory that Hollywood doesn't believe unattractive people really exist. Apparently there was a real female serial killer who was more "mass populace" in her appearance, and west coast California filmmakers...
There's apparently a new Roland Emmerich film out at the box office. Wall-to-wall disaster, gargantuan catastrophe destroying the world, an apocalypse like we've never seen before—I haven't heard anything about it, but I'll bet your last cent it's an accurate review. Now, let's pretend the summer box office season doesn't exist and spend our time ridiculing the upcoming DVD releases.
In Theaters
Monster
Hollywood's orgasmic response to this film, and specifically Charlize Theron in it, only reinforces my theory that Hollywood doesn't believe unattractive people really exist. Apparently there was a real female serial killer who was more "mass populace" in her appearance, and west coast California filmmakers couldn't figure out how to capture her brutality on film, so they cast a very attractive box office star and some prosthetics to convey just how ugly she was. Then they took a script from another TV movie in progress about a female serial killer and we got Monster.
50 First Dates
Every once in a while you build up expectations so high, they can't possibly be met. All my friends at the Critics' Circle chat room, most of them pinheads, sold me on this movie so much I couldn't wait to see it—Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore in a date movie? This was going to be horrific! The absolute worst picture to come along in decades. It would make Waterworld look like King Lear. Well, let's just say I built my hopes up too high. Sure, the cast is insipid, but not nearly disgraceful enough as, say, Happy Gilmore. Sandler almost retained some of the dopey likeability from Punch-Drunk Love, which I also despised. Barrymore had her Barrymore-like innocence on display, and some moments were almost worth not snidely exhaling at. By all means, don't see it, but I found it to be a big letdown as a critical timebomb. My own fault, I suppose, for not expecting less.
Bad Santa
Bad script. Bad plot. Bad sentiment. Bad acting. Bad supporting cast. Bad costumes. Bad jokes. Bad language. Bad directors. Bad two hours. Just bad.
Thanks to the magic of modern technology, you can take home each one of these films to own, and embarrass yourself when friends come over and peruse your shelves. Practice saying, "I got it as a birthday present." No one will be any wiser. Speaking of bad films, I'm off to catch a matinee of The Day After Tomorrow because I think my negative adjectives are falling into disuse lately. See you again, after the disaster.   |
