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 April 18, 2005 |
Baseball commissioner Selig explains to reporters how Gatorade makes you hard enough to do two chicks at once
“Who knows how many home runs Babe Ruth could have hit if he wasn’t thirsty all the time?” questioned baseball historian and still living at home middle-aged guy Roger Bankercruff. “The number would have been astronomical. With all the hot dogs that guy ate, plus the fact that he ...
t took congressional involvement to break the dyke, but baseball commissioner Bud “Charisma” Selig finally admitted to reporters this week that Major League Baseball has a serious problem with Gatorade. The performance-enhancing beverage, known in baseball circles as “The Juice,” has been giving modern ballplayers an unfair advantage over their historical counterparts for years, due to its advanced electrolyte-replacing technology and deliciously thirst-quenching lemon-lime flavor.
“Who knows how many home runs Babe Ruth could have hit if he wasn’t thirsty all the time?” questioned baseball historian and still living at home middle-aged guy Roger Bankercruff. “The number would have been astronomical. With all the hot dogs that guy ate, plus the fact that he never, ever drank anything but highly-dehydrating beer, even during games or when brushing his teeth, the evidence points to Ruth leaning heavily on death’s door for most of his playing career. Which makes the man’s accomplishments obviously all the more impressive. If he hadn’t been near-fatally dehydrated, not to mention completely bereft of vital electrolytes, for the whole of his adult life, we’d be talking about the one time he didn’t hit a home run, and how Barry Bonds isn’t fit to sniff the Babe’s grotesquely stained tidy whiteys.”
Pressed for an imaginary number of home runs Babe Ruth would have hit if we could go back in time with a case of Gatorade and convince the Babe that it was futuristic green beer, Bankercruff struggled with a calculator and his counting fingers for several minutes before deciding “10,000 home runs is not an unreasonable estimate,” had Ruth been hopped up on Gatorade during his playing days. Such a total would leave Bonds roughly 9,300 short in his quest to become baseball’s all-time home run leader, a number the Giants slugger may not reach without further developments in human growth hormone, Teflon knees, or Bonds’ head being re-attached to some kind of mechanical hitting machine.
Active home run leader Bonds, as well as notorious Michelin men Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Jason Giambi, have all come under fire in recent months for their performance and inhumanly well-hydrated appearances. A recent congressional hearing saw fan favorite McGwire dodge the issue of his Gatorade use like a ninja frog, virtually confirming fan suspicions that Big Mac had been “hydrating” for years. McGwire’s suspiciously non-parched speaking voice did nothing to dispel these concerns, in spite of the slugger’s claims that he had only used questionable but unbanned beverages such as Red Bull and Diet Rock Star. Baseball stars Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa and Curt Schilling conspicuously drank large quantities of water during the hearings, drawing attention to their obvious lack of artificial hydration.
In response, Major League Baseball has instituted a new Gatorade testing policy and tougher new rules, including a ten-minute talking-to for fifth-time offenders. Critics, however, have been calling the penalties too lenient and point to the new pink passionfruit Gatorade flavor that is rumored to be undetectable during drug screenings, and the use of other beverages such as Mountain Dew as a masking agent.
So far, the only player punished for Gatorade use has been Tampa Bay salary moocher Alex Sanchez, who was singled out after league officials noticed the green sweat on his jersey, which Sanchez blamed on his intense diet regiment of wheat grass and lime Play-Doh.
Other suspected hydrators have offered up similarly lame excuses, including Gary Sheffield of the Yankees, who admitted to performance-enhancing beverage use during an interview earlier this year. Sheffield explained that he had used Red Bull accidentally after it was given to him by Barry Bonds’ trainer, who told him it was baby aspirin.
“It didn’t help me, though,” explained Sheffield. “I mean, it made my headache go away, but I couldn’t hit a fastball any better. And I was up for two days scrubbing the grout in my bathroom. That shit was nasty dirty.”
Red Bull and Jolt Cola are both currently legal under Major League Baseball’s rules, but have been banned by the Olympics for years due to their hyperactive benefits, starting when 230-pound pipe-fitter Mark Tungley of Ohio won the Tour De France accidentally in 1998.
“Iwasjustonvacation, outforabikeridetoblowoffsomesteam,” explained Tungley, speaking at a high rate of speed and sweating like a beer glass in spite of the cool weather. “Jesus,thisRedBull stufftasteslikecandy, Ican’tdrinkenough. Yourememberthose sweettartscandies? Thisislikedrinkingsweettarts, exceptwithout allthechewing. It’sawesome.” the commune news has always appreciated the value of being hydrated, but only within the limits of the law. Boner Cunningham, forever teen, wants to take you or your daughter to the Junior Prom. Interested parties should show up to the Flatbush High Junior Prom, Friday at 8pm. Boner will be the one wearing a pink tuxedo.
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Paul Giamatti snubbed in "Sexiest Man Alive" contest
Flash ad obscures pop-up ad in online advertising clusterfuck
The sign doesn't say anything about no pants, fascists
Arafat sharing room with whining methadone patient
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Brit Sailor Apology Video Obviously Just Photo with Superimposed Talking Lips “.XXX” Domain Reserved for Adult Content Sites, Online Moonshiners “Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough |
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 January 7, 2002
Volume 11Dear commune:
Hey, what up? Long time no see, m’man. How’s shit gone down for ya? What you do for New Year’s and all? I was getting down with some tasty honeys. Nothin’ too drastic, I get enough action I ain’t gonna exaggerate it or nothin’. But it was suh-weet! You KNOW I got their digits.
Where you been? Ain’t nobody seen you at the club since Shorty got that clap. Everything cool?
Dennis Warrell
St. Louis, MO
Dear Dennis:
Everything’s cool. We had nothing going on for New Year’s. Had some friends over, played board games of all things, just downed some cases of beer and a bottle of wine, watched the ball drop on T.V. Dick Clark still looks like he ain’t aged none, something’s going on with that guy.
It’s all good here, we just ain’t been down with the club scene in a while. It’s getting tired, man. We know you’re gonna give us shit for it, but we just can’t keep on doing the same thing anymore. The girls get younger and younger and dumber and dumber, there ain’t no sport in clubbing anymore. the commune would rather just hang out on the weekend with a nice girl, or just relax and watch T.V. or read a book. But you the man! You keep up the hunt, if you got game in ya. I think we’re hanging up the jersey, though.
What’s up with Shorty? Last time I saw that motherfucker he had this fuck-ugly bitch hanging all on his jock and he was...
º Last Column: Volume 10
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Dear commune: Hey, what up? Long time no see, m’man. How’s shit gone down for ya? What you do for New Year’s and all? I was getting down with some tasty honeys. Nothin’ too drastic, I get enough action I ain’t gonna exaggerate it or nothin’. But it was suh-weet! You KNOW I got their digits. Where you been? Ain’t nobody seen you at the club since Shorty got that clap. Everything cool? Dennis Warrell
St. Louis, MODear Dennis:
Everything’s cool. We had nothing going on for New Year’s. Had some friends over, played board games of all things, just downed some cases of beer and a bottle of wine, watched the ball drop on T.V. Dick Clark still looks like he ain’t aged none, something’s going on with that guy.
It’s all good here, we just ain’t been down with the club scene in a while. It’s getting tired, man. We know you’re gonna give us shit for it, but we just can’t keep on doing the same thing anymore. The girls get younger and younger and dumber and dumber, there ain’t no sport in clubbing anymore. the commune would rather just hang out on the weekend with a nice girl, or just relax and watch T.V. or read a book. But you the man! You keep up the hunt, if you got game in ya. I think we’re hanging up the jersey, though.
What’s up with Shorty? Last time I saw that motherfucker he had this fuck-ugly bitch hanging all on his jock and he was pretending she was fine. I was about ready to swat that bitch, I swear. His standards gone to shit or what? Peace out, man.
the commune
Dear commune: I appreciate the extreme views on your website. Even when I don’t agree with them it’s nice to see people thinking for themselves and asking different questions. It keeps our media fresh and alert, which keeps our system of checks and balances working. I do have one question for the commune: Is all the strong language necessary? It seems to me these are basically public air waves, in a sense, and children and anybody could find the commune and read what’s printed here. I don’t think the essence of what’s being said, the real substance, would change if the language were more fitting for all potential readers. I truly believe that a poor vocabulary is the product of an unimaginative mind. Surely the columnists and feature writers for the commune write better words than the ones they often use? Annette Bustlen
Ontario, CanadaDear Annette:
Fuck a yeti, you rusted old Canuck twat.
the commune
Dear commune: I don’t know why I’m choosing to write to you. I’m at my wit’s end and need help. I have a neighbor who plays his stereo way too loud. I hate to think of myself as an old fuddy-duddy, but it really bothers me. He plays the stereo at top decibels all day long, even as late as 10 p.m. at night. I have to work in the morning! Not right now, it’s Saturday night, I just mean through the week when I usually hear the stereo and get upset. What should I do? I hate to be a jerk about it or anything. Darren Hutchins
Calder, CaliforniaDear Annette:
Usually straightforward honesty is the best policy for dealing with an unpleasant situation. Confront your neighbor, be unrelenting but understanding and explain to him why the loud stereo is a problem for you. It is important you refuse to give any quarter or show any signs of backing down, often people will try to talk their way out of situations or turn the blame on you. By being polite yet forthright, you should alleviate the problem. Failing all else, you must be firm and contact the police or landlord about the problem, anyone who can enforce a stern rule about disturbing the peace. Sooner or later, with your commitment toward solving the problem, your neighbor will concede and turn his stereo down.
Unless it’s Creedence. Crank that shit till the dial breaks! It rocks, it rocks hard.
the commune
Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible low turn out at American professional soccer events. C’mon—it’s soccer, people. What did you expect?º Last Column: Volume 10º more columns
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|  March 8, 2004
I Have Caught the CIA's Latest Death VirusI am in no mood to talk, gentle readers. Fortunately I can do my column in a written fashion, although it throws me off my game not to hear my own voice ranting as I freestyle my diatribe. But my voice hurts too much to even think about talking—see? That just now hurt really bad. I am sick with the influenza.
At least that's what doctors tell me. I have much darker suspicions that I have been infected with the CIA's latest death virus.
Doctors, friends, and those folks at the radio call-in show are quick to doubt me, I know, but it only makes my suspicions stronger. They ask me, "Why would the CIA waste time trying to kill you?" Of course, that question has a list of answers a mile long. There's my controversial columns which someone must be reading, influencing a whole generation of hypothetical readers toward an underground revolution. Or there's what I did last year in the city of Branson, Missouri's water supply. And these two things are only at the top of the list. Frankly, who knows? They're the CIA. I don't pretend to understand their motivations, even as I make them up.
All that matters is this may well be true. As you may know, the CIA are not to be fucked with, sir, when it comes to death viruses. They invented the best of them—AIDS, syphilis, Hong Kong flu, herpes. I hear tell one of them even escaped the lab and got a talk show under the name Jenny Jones. These people are clearly the go-to folks when it comes to...
º Last Column: Work Sucks
º more columns
I am in no mood to talk, gentle readers. Fortunately I can do my column in a written fashion, although it throws me off my game not to hear my own voice ranting as I freestyle my diatribe. But my voice hurts too much to even think about talking—see? That just now hurt really bad. I am sick with the influenza.
At least that's what doctors tell me. I have much darker suspicions that I have been infected with the CIA's latest death virus.
Doctors, friends, and those folks at the radio call-in show are quick to doubt me, I know, but it only makes my suspicions stronger. They ask me, "Why would the CIA waste time trying to kill you?" Of course, that question has a list of answers a mile long. There's my controversial columns which someone must be reading, influencing a whole generation of hypothetical readers toward an underground revolution. Or there's what I did last year in the city of Branson, Missouri's water supply. And these two things are only at the top of the list. Frankly, who knows? They're the CIA. I don't pretend to understand their motivations, even as I make them up.
All that matters is this may well be true. As you may know, the CIA are not to be fucked with, sir, when it comes to death viruses. They invented the best of them—AIDS, syphilis, Hong Kong flu, herpes. I hear tell one of them even escaped the lab and got a talk show under the name Jenny Jones. These people are clearly the go-to folks when it comes to inventing death viruses. And if this one is their latest, it stands to reason I'm in big, contagious trouble.
The doctor was right about one thing—nothing you can do but let it run its course. So I'm taking a fatalistic approach to it all, I suppose, saying what happens happens. Of course, this doesn't stop me from making our Marketing VP Sully work on a cure 24 hours a day, minus lunch. I've also cursed the name of God for letting this happen and trashed a church, but I was probably going to do that anyway.
The worst thing about any cold, even a death virus, is being sick all the time. Snotty, sore throat, always rushing to the bathroom at the drop of a hat, or something less hat-like. Everything in my office is germ-ridden and nasty. I've gotten the commune cleaning staff (a.k.a. the copywriting desk) to come in and scrub down my office every two hours, just to keep it less contagious—also, I admit, I'm a little curious to see how quick they catch it, to see what this death virus can really do. I've also had them empty all my jars of urine, since when they began to get in the way I had to confess I really didn't have much idea what I was saving them for.
In the even of my death, however, seeing as how this is a death virus, I believe the commune will be in good hands. I've assigned editorial duties to Sully, Mazie the Chicken, Lil Duncan, and celebrity heartthrob Leif Garrett, just to shake things up a bit. Each will have the reigning editorial duties on a certain day of the month, from first to fourth. On the event of a rare fifth Monday, responsibility for those duties will be determined by a battle to the death. Perhaps a bit extreme, but I'm damned to determine to see the creative control doesn't suffer due to my brother's meddling and the CIA's attempt to kill me.
Sure, I suppose I could get better, but you have to plan for the worst. After all, this all probably could have been avoided if I had invested in that hermetically-sealed personal bubble I planned on buying after seeing that John Travolta movie all those years ago. º Last Column: Work Sucksº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I have not yet begun to finish my senten…”
-John Paul JonesFortune 500 CookieEverything’s looking up this week, to avoid making eye contact with you. At long last it has become clear that your master’s degree in goat teasing was a total waste of time. Everyone knows sneezing into your sleeve is just good manners, you should try the same when you break wind. On the bright side, we showed a picture of you to a time-traveler who stopped by the office last week, and he said "Oh Jesus, that guy?" so apparently you’re well-known in the future. This week’s lucky gadgets: HP iPlaid (launching next week on clearance), Samsung MySlate laptop-sized smartphone, iRobot Chippy: Autonomous Quadrotor Personal Killdrone, Sonicareless dental apathy kit, Windows 7 Phone in Bluescreen Blue.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Twins: God's Mistake | | 2. | HD-DVD, Blu-Ray Discs, Digital Tape, and 10 More Reasons to Stop Buying Movies | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Bathtub Tequila | | 4. | Touched by an Angel: "I Was Molested by Gabriel" | | 5. | Critic's Corner: How You Personally Ruined Western Culture | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/1/2001 Welcome back to Entertainment Police, gents and gentiles, I hope you came hungry for some fresh whinin' and opinin'. We've got a new batch of movies for you to ogle and unlike the last batch, we promise these won't turn out to be Gremlins. But before we get to that, let's take a moment for America's favorite back-and-forth: Ask Roland!
Q. I recently watched the film "Hannibal" and have to admit that I was troubled by the pigs who eat people. I live next-door to a pig farm and ever since I saw that movie, I am afraid of those pigs. Sometimes, at night, I can see them looking at me through the fence with their greedy little pig eyes, and I can only imagine that they're thinking that I'd be good to eat with some scrambled eggs and biscuits. Roland, can you set the record...
Welcome back to Entertainment Police, gents and gentiles, I hope you came hungry for some fresh whinin' and opinin'. We've got a new batch of movies for you to ogle and unlike the last batch, we promise these won't turn out to be Gremlins. But before we get to that, let's take a moment for America's favorite back-and-forth: Ask Roland!
Q. I recently watched the film "Hannibal" and have to admit that I was troubled by the pigs who eat people. I live next-door to a pig farm and ever since I saw that movie, I am afraid of those pigs. Sometimes, at night, I can see them looking at me through the fence with their greedy little pig eyes, and I can only imagine that they're thinking that I'd be good to eat with some scrambled eggs and biscuits. Roland, can you set the record straight? Do pigs really eat people?
Max Falcon, Corn Hole, Kansas
A. Thanks for your question Max. You should be able to sleep better at night knowing that of course pigs don't eat people! As a matter of fact, people eat pigs! It may surprise you to know that they're always screwing up little details like this in the movies. We have eagle-eyed viewers like yourself to thank when Hollywood is called to the carpet for their frequent oversights and blunders.
Q. Roland, what do you think of the recent death of Pauline Kael and what it will mean to the future of film criticism?
Regina Lumley,
Newtons Curve, Vermont
A. That's a great question, Regina. "Peppermint" Pauline has been a fixture in the Peanuts world since I was a boy, and few will miss her more acutely than Roland McShyster. It seems like just yesterday that she was calling Charlie Brown "Chuck" and goosing him behind the water fountain. To be honest, if I'd been a Peanuts character ("Rolo", perhaps?) I would have been all over her. And she probably would have gone for me, too. Hell, she didn't even know Snoopy was a dog, so she probably could have really used some glasses. Her loss? My gain! My friends always told me she played for the wrong team but to be honest I don't remember ever even seeing the team that the Peanuts gang was playing ball against all those years, they could have been Smurfs for all I know. But to answer your question, Reg, any day that they break Superman's back or have "Peppermint" Pauline drown when the dam goes out in Peanuttown just to boost readership is a dark day for all professions, film criticism included.
Now for the movies!
In Theaters Now:
Hardballs
James Bond is back, and this time his nemesis is a customer service rep at BMW who won't give 007 any love when his tricked-out Z8 starts making a weird clunking noise when he turns right. Not the most edge-of-your-seat Bond film to date, but for once I can really relate to his predicament.
Heart's in Atlantis
Following in the red-hot footsteps of last year's Oscar nominees Gladiator and Traffic, this year 70's hair band Heart enters the band-movie races with their mystical underwater adventure. Dubbed by some "The Not-So Little Mermaid", this flick features a mix of animation and live action, with plenty of Heart classics sang by fish, like "Barracuda", "All I Want to Do Is Make Love to Neptune" and "The Beautiful Briny Sea".
The Others
Finally, the Professor and Mary Ann get their own movie. Too bad it's a love story, I was
hoping for some clever cocoanut gadgets myself.
Planet of the Grape Apes
Nostalgia is big this month, and when I say big, I mean like 80-foot tall idiot gorilla big. This summer's special-effects blockbuster stars Mark Harmon as a cocksure astronaut who's interplanetary hot-dogging ends with him crash-landing on an uncharted planet in deep space, and landing on a small dog to boot. Before Harmon knows it, he's putting on a Beegily Beagily suit and driving a Minibus around, trying not to get sat on by any gigantic damn dirty purple apes and having comic misadventures in 22-minute bursts. This is thinking-man's sci-fi, with social overtones and dialogue that sticks with you for weeks, like: "You Moron! You Sat on My Car! Goddamn You to Hell!" "Grape Ape, Grape Ape?". Watch out for the double-whammy ending where Harmon discovers that the Grape Apes love grapes.
Now on Video:
Amorous Parrots
This sequel to the popular kidflick "Paulie" sees the wise-cracking Parrot (voiced by Woody Allen) sold to a bird breeder who plans to use him as a stud to boost her reproductive empire. But is the neurotic and self-doubting Paulie up to the task with a stable of big-crested female Parrots who only know how to say "Braaaaak, I've got a headache!" and who insist on being treated to dinner first? Finally, a sex comedy the whole family can enjoy.
Blow
Something tells me Pamela Anderson forgot to secure veto rights for the name of this sensationalized biography piece, and to be honest it's a little light on the home video footage. But still, American moviegoers should be happy they were spared a movie called "Pamdemonium" this year.
Enemy at the Gates'
Stephen Seagal's back and aiming for the techie crowd in his latest effort, where he portrays Megagazillionaire Bill Gates in his ass-kicking, neck-snapping battle against the US Justice Department. This one is a definite hit, and those of you out there who think computers are boring obviously haven't seen Seagal tenderize a courtroom full of DOJ thugs with PC keyboard. Sensitive strongman Carl Weathers classes up the production three notches with his turn as Judge Thomas "Action" Jackson.
Memento The Mexican
Loveable and hard-to-understand as ever, everyone's favorite tortilla mascot finally gets his own movie, and boy is it a doozie. Memento's donkey is so lazy that one day he has to pour hot sauce in the donkey's water pail to get him going, only he puts too much in and Mucho the Donkey runs away to the hills! I'm not even sure what Memento is doing for the rest of the film's 90 minute running time and most of it is in Spanish, but it hardly matters. I love that little guy!
The Tailor of Panama
Leave it to documentaries to shine the spotlight upon the hidden heroes of today's culture. This gem focuses on Armand DeJesus, the brilliant costume designer from Van Halen's seminal "Panama" video. Few men's greatness can be measured in Eddie Van Halen's pants, but Armand is the true exception in this case.
Alright folks, now that you're a better informed consumer, go on out there and consume!
What are you waiting for, an interest rate cut? See you next month!   |
