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Rover Finds Ted Kennedy’s Face on Martian SurfaceMarch 15, 2004 |
Los Angeles, CA Courtesy NASA A craggy outcropping in the Bonneville Crater has NASA longing for the DTs ASA scientists were stunned and slightly nauseous this week to find the face of US Senator Ted Kennedy unexpectedly present in the most recent feeds from their Spirit rover, one of NASA’s two remote-controlled toys currently canvassing the Martian surface. Once they’d recovered from the pain and confusion of seeing the senator’s visage cruelly larger-than-life on the big screen, however, speculation erupted among engineers as to what this means about the red planet’s mysterious history.
“This is huge,” explained mission commander Emeril Welch. “Bigger than Ted Kennedy even, if you can imagine that. This is incontrovertible evidence of life on Mars, and booze.”
Once only a controversial theory, this latest evidence all but proves that Mars once...
ASA scientists were stunned and slightly nauseous this week to find the face of US Senator Ted Kennedy unexpectedly present in the most recent feeds from their Spirit rover, one of NASA’s two remote-controlled toys currently canvassing the Martian surface. Once they’d recovered from the pain and confusion of seeing the senator’s visage cruelly larger-than-life on the big screen, however, speculation erupted among engineers as to what this means about the red planet’s mysterious history.
“This is huge,” explained mission commander Emeril Welch. “Bigger than Ted Kennedy even, if you can imagine that. This is incontrovertible evidence of life on Mars, and booze.”
Once only a controversial theory, this latest evidence all but proves that Mars once contained enough booze and loose women to support the Massachusetts senator. The news is sweet vindication for the few fringe scientists who have argued for years that the red planet once played host to representative democracy, and floozies.
“Ted Kennedy might have been able to get by on Mars without water, but no way is this a dry planet in the alcohol sense,” stated Welch. “We think it’s only a matter of time before one of the rovers uncovers evidence of shot glasses and used condoms.”
The discovery is a boon for scientists of all stripes, who had previously been embarrassingly excited about finding trace evidence of long-gone water inside rocks on the Martian surface. This latest finding confirms that Mars once contained not only various forms of water and club soda, but also a virtual minibar of alcoholic concoctions.
Preliminary drilling in Kennedy’s face has uncovered evidence of whiskey, vodka and scotch, with various crags in the face showing evidence of large quantities of rum once existing on the Martian surface. Such discoveries represent a quantum leap for NASA scientists, who have gone from scouring the Martian surface for faint evidence of microbes to speculating about the Martian bar scene in mere days.
How Kennedy got to Mars, or perhaps came to Earth from Mars, is another question entirely, and one scientists will explore after they’ve answered the burning question of whether or not a Martian could get drunk off the dust from Kennedy’s face. Conspiracy theories have already surfaced suggesting some kind of drunken shuttle mishap, covered up jointly by NASA and the Massachusetts senator. These theories have put a new spin on the original controversial “face” on Mars, first spotted by the Viking Orbiter 1 in 1976 and now thought to possibly be the visage of Kennedy’s female shuttle companion, presumably killed in the crash and later denied by the Kennedy family and the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.
These latest discoveries have put on hold cash-strapped NASA’s plans to charge $5 a minute for web surfers to drive the Mars rover from their home computers, using keyboard commands or supported peripheral joysticks. This would seemingly put an end to heated online debate over whether the rover would accept quarters or would require special tokens. Early indications are that the online community is “pretty bummed” at the prospect of missing out on killer games of “Tank Battle” between the rovers Spirit and Opportunity. the commune news swears we would have told about the girl in the passenger seat, if we hadn’t been convinced she’d turn into a mermaid and swim to safety as soon as the car hit the river. What can we say, the bitch lied to us. Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown is not responsible for either of the faces on Mars, but does claim responsibility for “the face” on the wall of the Flatbush Arby’s, a chilling portrait in grease and horsey sauce.
 |  OH MY GOD SNOW Rock and roll hits China
 Alec Baldwin Records Devastating Voice Mail Message for Shooter Michael Jackson completely innocent, assures fan who never met him
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MySpace Premieres in Communist China as OurSpace Pain in the Ass Hawking Demands Handicapped- Accessible Space Shuttle “Blond Highlights the Devil’s Work,” Says Iran, Straight Men Dow Reaches 13,000, Tao Reaches ∞ |
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 August 18, 2003
Volume 49Dear commune:
Maybe you can settle a bet for my buddy Steve and me. Say two guys are shocking each other in the nutsack with a cattle prod, with the agreement that whoever passes out first loses the bet and has to buy the other guy some chili fries, right? Okay, now if you shock Steve in the nuts and he screams like a girl so loud that you pass out from surprise, do you still lose the bet even though you never got your nuts shocked? Steve thinks you do, but I think he’s full of shit and has been sitting on a bag of ice too long. Is the commune a bunch of lesbo-bangers from the Steve camp or do you see my point?
Sincerely, Artie Duchamp Flatskull, NJ
Dear Artie:
Cattle prods? What are you guys, a couple of seven-year-old girls in floral-patterned dresses at a tea party? You sure you guys aren’t pulling our legs? Because we doubt you really have the nuts to shock, nice try ladies. Any two guys who were really serious about a snack-bar wager like that would take turns stuffing their nuts into a power outlet, and the first one who’s blown out the window loses. "Passing out" is pussyese for feinting, as any southern debutante knows. Quit wasting the commune’s time and write us back when you have some local press clippings to enter as evidence.
the...
º Last Column: Volume 48 º more columns
Dear commune: Maybe you can settle a bet for my buddy Steve and me. Say two guys are shocking each other in the nutsack with a cattle prod, with the agreement that whoever passes out first loses the bet and has to buy the other guy some chili fries, right? Okay, now if you shock Steve in the nuts and he screams like a girl so loud that you pass out from surprise, do you still lose the bet even though you never got your nuts shocked? Steve thinks you do, but I think he’s full of shit and has been sitting on a bag of ice too long. Is the commune a bunch of lesbo-bangers from the Steve camp or do you see my point? Sincerely, Artie Duchamp Flatskull, NJ Dear Artie:
Cattle prods? What are you guys, a couple of seven-year-old girls in floral-patterned dresses at a tea party? You sure you guys aren’t pulling our legs? Because we doubt you really have the nuts to shock, nice try ladies. Any two guys who were really serious about a snack-bar wager like that would take turns stuffing their nuts into a power outlet, and the first one who’s blown out the window loses. "Passing out" is pussyese for feinting, as any southern debutante knows. Quit wasting the commune’s time and write us back when you have some local press clippings to enter as evidence.
the commune Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any property or nutsack damage caused by the commune’s own brand of dubious advice. By reading this website you have agreed to the legal release that is encoded, Beautiful Mind-style, randomly throughout the site’s text and images. And just try to disprove that, brainiac.º Last Column: Volume 48º more columns
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|  February 3, 2003
Boris is Superbowl PartyAh, hello! How'd it happen? Yes, yes, Boris is good too.
Already Boris feel American like John Sinatra. Louis teach about football, andcheese in can. What wonderful thing! Boris press button on can, and cheese jumpout like "Here I am to eat!" Boris is master of cheese.
Boris eat much can cheese while watching thing that is Superbowl. So much sothat fun is had and Boris cannot make toilet for week! What way to save time. Notoilet time wasting for Boris, who is busy doing Superbowl.
Talk about fun things that are Superbowl! Men in costumes who run outside, thisis football. What great things this is, or as Louis say shit. What great shitswe are having when men run with little turkey thing that flies. "Shit!" saysLouis when turkey flies long way. "Shit!" says Boris who is having Superbowlfun.
But there is more than costumes to Superbowl, there also have nice men fromgovernment tell stories of football while wearing suit. They tell rules why menson field not getting up. Nope! You stay down on field, you are dead. You arefootball dead, sorry. Boris love this part of excitement.
Louis love dancing girls who are girlfriend of players on sides. "Hello!" hecheer when they are dancing in small clothes. Louis want give them babies inass. Ho ho! Louis is generous robot.
Boris like dancing girls, too, but they are bad at catching turkey, almost neverthey get that thing. But they are girls, so persons understand....
º Last Column: Hello From Robot Apartment º more columns
Ah, hello! How'd it happen? Yes, yes, Boris is good too.
Already Boris feel American like John Sinatra. Louis teach about football, andcheese in can. What wonderful thing! Boris press button on can, and cheese jumpout like "Here I am to eat!" Boris is master of cheese.
Boris eat much can cheese while watching thing that is Superbowl. So much sothat fun is had and Boris cannot make toilet for week! What way to save time. Notoilet time wasting for Boris, who is busy doing Superbowl.
Talk about fun things that are Superbowl! Men in costumes who run outside, thisis football. What great things this is, or as Louis say shit. What great shitswe are having when men run with little turkey thing that flies. "Shit!" saysLouis when turkey flies long way. "Shit!" says Boris who is having Superbowlfun.
But there is more than costumes to Superbowl, there also have nice men fromgovernment tell stories of football while wearing suit. They tell rules why menson field not getting up. Nope! You stay down on field, you are dead. You arefootball dead, sorry. Boris love this part of excitement.
Louis love dancing girls who are girlfriend of players on sides. "Hello!" hecheer when they are dancing in small clothes. Louis want give them babies inass. Ho ho! Louis is generous robot.
Boris like dancing girls, too, but they are bad at catching turkey, almost neverthey get that thing. But they are girls, so persons understand. No persons yellat them and they are on T.V. and happy.
Boris favorite football part is wonderful commercials which do funny thing. Alltimes there is dog talking or little animals doing magic. Aha! Who teach thosebeers to play football? Boris does not know! It is a funny magic.
Speak of magic, Boris thinking America have magic beer. In Homeland, beer makesBoris fat and go home with ugly woman. But not so America! America beer makepersons strong and have sexy womens and fun all times, not never woke up in dogpounds. Persons run and jump and have beer fun but not chuck up beer in backseat of taxi. And also them are on T.V.
Boris have so much fun doing Superbowl, why not invite all persons for Superbowlparty? Large fun to have with many persons doing Superbowl and sharing can ofcheese. So Boris press numbers on phone until persons talking to Boris.
"Hello! Boris is Superbowl party!"
Many time Boris call robots who speak not Boris language and instead answer"Baaaaaaaaaaaah…" in robot voice. Hello? Is this yes? Only robots know is thisyes. If Louis home he could ask robots is this yes, but him out getting robotmoney.
When Louis come home Boris tell of Superbowl party and invited telephone personsand robots. Louis excited!
"Boris, you inbred beer fart, the Superbowl was last month! It's only once ayear!"
Oh, ha ha. Louis is funny with robot jokes. º Last Column: Hello From Robot Apartmentº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I got the blues so bad. Real bad. You know what I'm talkin' about? Uh-huh. No fun. Bluesy blues. Well, that's about all I got to say about that. Song's another four minutes long though. Soooo… Any of y'all from Cleveland?”
-Ugly CarmichaelFortune 500 CookieYou will get kicked in the balls for a good cause this week. Expect a telephone call from a long forgotten friend today—your split personality from Belgium. Lose the mustache, that "Hitler" look is so 1997. This week's stomach-pump jackpot: $20 in loose change, long-lost stash, grandma's favorite knitting needles, Nerds.
Try again later.Most Popular US Flag-themed Paraphernalia| 1. | Child-Sized Thong Bikini Bottoms | | 2. | Ol' Glory Toilet Brush | | 3. | Rastafarian Hat | | 4. | Browning Zenophobe 12 Guage Shotgun | | 5. | Stars 'n Stripes Edition Volvo | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Douglas Canterwick 9/16/2002 GorzillaToucan Sam was a ham-eating son of a bitch. I'm not kidding, he could put it away like he was trying to sneak a pig through customs in lunchmeat form. It would make you sick just to watch this ham hound operate. This guy's bedroom smelled like a fuckin' Hormel factory, and that was just the bedroom. Nobody liked him, not even in a "he's a sick bastard, but what a character" kind of way, but few would argue that he wasn't the best plastic explosives man this side of Mozambique. True, few would argue that he was, but this was generally a pretty passive group who didn't like to rock the boat too much in either direction.
What they were, however, was experts. Were experts. Was. Is. Are still. If you needed an elite group to travel deep into the jungles of Vietnam to track down...
Toucan Sam was a ham-eating son of a bitch. I'm not kidding, he could put it away like he was trying to sneak a pig through customs in lunchmeat form. It would make you sick just to watch this ham hound operate. This guy's bedroom smelled like a fuckin' Hormel factory, and that was just the bedroom. Nobody liked him, not even in a "he's a sick bastard, but what a character" kind of way, but few would argue that he wasn't the best plastic explosives man this side of Mozambique. True, few would argue that he was, but this was generally a pretty passive group who didn't like to rock the boat too much in either direction.
What they were, however, was experts. Were experts. Was. Is. Are still. If you needed an elite group to travel deep into the jungles of Vietnam to track down and capture a mysterious gorilla-thing with swords for arms and the head of a great white shark, these were your men. And luckily for billionaire collector R. Hyram Mozzle, this is exactly what he hired them for. Because they were lousy at soccer and didn't get along all that well, and they weren't much to look at. Assholes, all of them. Their hygiene was also questionable. One of them was hideously fat. But they were brave, probably, and they were experts who carried around all kinds of high-tech gadgets and guns so improbably huge they would make your head spin, should you be shot in the head with one of them.
And most importantly, they all believed in mysterious gorilla-things with swords for arms and a head like a great white shark. Some would call them gullible. Others, undereducated. Still others would suggest that they didn't read the contracts and just thought that Vietnam sounded like a good place to get laid. They were all right.
Seated next to Toucan Sam on the dank and poorly lit cargo plane was Blisters McGee, the group's chef and personal trainer. Since McGee was the only one who ever sat near Toucan, some implied that they were friends. In actuality, Blisters had lost his sense of smell in a sulfur mining accident as a boy and he had no idea just how disgusting Toucan Sam was. He just liked to sit where there wasn't a bunch of guys crowding around, farting and telling sex jokes.
On the flight over to Vietnam, the men spent most of their time crowded around, farting and telling sex jokes, as all men do shortly before they die. The joking lent an air of congenital levity and camaraderie to the scene, which few thought would hang in the air like a nifty irony later when they're all laying in their own entrails and trying to crawl screaming away from the shark-headed gorilla thing that the locals all warned them about but they weren't scared because Jesus Christ are their guns big.
Sanchez was the technology expert, which is funny because he's Mexican. Most of the guys just figured he was there to be the first guy to be killed by the shark-headed gorilla thing, so that everybody else could start to think, "maybe this gorilla thing means business." They were pretty spot-on about that, since as it turns out technology doesn't do you a whole hell of a lot of good against a frenzied shark-headed gorilla that's nine feet tall and has eight rows of teeth. You eventually just have to club its stupid head in with a rock after everybody else is dead and all of your weapons are exhausted, but I'm getting way ahead of myself here.   |