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commune Chastised for Use of Word "Dick"October 1, 1999 |
Greenwich Village, NY Al Graft the commune comes under fire
Many alternate names were suggested for future reference to the comedian in question. The Mennonite Express reprinted the commune’s article with the offending name changed to “Andy Penis.“ Yodum Yoder of the Amish American suggested a change to “Andy Yoder“ in future publications and reprints. Pointing out possible gendercentric leanings in the commune’s handling of the art...
recent story run by the the commune news about the arrest of comedian Andy Dick has inspired a maelstrom of reader mail and telephone calls, with readers taking offense at the commune’s repeated use of the word “Dick“ in that article. This is an issue that has sent shockwaves through the publishing community, shaking to the very foundation the way news is reported in this country. Many alternate names were suggested for future reference to the comedian in question. The Mennonite Express reprinted the commune’s article with the offending name changed to “Andy Penis.“ Yodum Yoder of the Amish American suggested a change to “Andy Yoder“ in future publications and reprints. Pointing out possible gendercentric leanings in the commune’s handling of the article, the Northern North Carolina Women’s Coalition has suggested the gender-neutral “Andy Genitalia“ for all future usage. Finally, a reader from Los Angeles going by the name Dandy Ick suggested the evocative “Andy Love Missile.“ The ruckus surrounding this issue has reached far and wide, leading to commune Issue 47 burnings all across the Southern US. Since the commune is an Internet-only publication, and isn’t at any point ever printed on paper, this led to the surreal scene of men in white robes setting fire to huge piles of PCs, laptops, and palm-top computers, in addition to telephones, phone chords, answering machines, reams of blank paper and sacks of kittens. To appease the varying interests among our readership and to diffuse any potential further controversy, from this date forward the commune will refer to comedian in question as “Adolf Hitler.“ Thank you. the commune News would like to thank Mike Tyson for teaching the world to love. Red Bagel is the commune’s fearless editor and Riverboat gambler extraordinaire.
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 March 1, 2004
Cell OutTruth be told, nobody ever thought Omar Bricks would get a cell phone, least of all Omar Bricks. That's strictly Captain Kirk bullshit for sci-fi geeks and mama's boys in my book. But to be honest I never thought somebody would leave one unguarded on the counter at Emergency Room Pizza, either. So let this be a lesson, we should always write our books in pencil or dry erase marker whenever possible or else look like an asshole later.
For those of you not native to the area, ERP is a local legend, a hospital-themed pizza joint that burns the fuck out of some tasty pepperonis. It's not really legendary for the food, but more for the number of people who have passed out or lost their shit while eating there, which are many. Apparently all the bloody tourniquets and bone saw decorations on the walls are too much for some local pizza lovers, and all the tables in there are pretty banged up from people falling down all over the place or scrambling out the windows in a panic.
Personally I think it's awesome. Yeah, what you've heard about the pizza is true; it does pretty much blow ass. It basically tastes like somebody smeared glue on a cardboard box, then set it on fire. Not that I've ever done that. But the place is never crowded, and you know Omar Bricks digs that part. I hate having to wait in line for shitty pizza. Plus ERP never fails to lift my spirits when I'm in a carless funk. They do this thing where every new customer gets a steaming cow...
º Last Column: Long Live Omar Bricks!
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Truth be told, nobody ever thought Omar Bricks would get a cell phone, least of all Omar Bricks. That's strictly Captain Kirk bullshit for sci-fi geeks and mama's boys in my book. But to be honest I never thought somebody would leave one unguarded on the counter at Emergency Room Pizza, either. So let this be a lesson, we should always write our books in pencil or dry erase marker whenever possible or else look like an asshole later.
For those of you not native to the area, ERP is a local legend, a hospital-themed pizza joint that burns the fuck out of some tasty pepperonis. It's not really legendary for the food, but more for the number of people who have passed out or lost their shit while eating there, which are many. Apparently all the bloody tourniquets and bone saw decorations on the walls are too much for some local pizza lovers, and all the tables in there are pretty banged up from people falling down all over the place or scrambling out the windows in a panic.
Personally I think it's awesome. Yeah, what you've heard about the pizza is true; it does pretty much blow ass. It basically tastes like somebody smeared glue on a cardboard box, then set it on fire. Not that I've ever done that. But the place is never crowded, and you know Omar Bricks digs that part. I hate having to wait in line for shitty pizza. Plus ERP never fails to lift my spirits when I'm in a carless funk. They do this thing where every new customer gets a steaming cow heart right in the middle of their pizza as a surprise the first time they eat there, and let me assure you that shit is some serious dinner theater.
Now, the classy move when you're new to ERP and you get a heart on, to the Bricks school of thinking, is to palm the bloody thing in one hand, then stagger up to the counter and start coughing like you just took a hit off a Pinto muffler. When the dude in the paper hat asks you what's the score, that's when you squirt the heart out of your hand like you just coughed the fucker up. What happens after that is a matter of chance and wind direction, but in my case the nasty thing smacked off the guy's face like a wet frog and the entire restaurant threw up all at once. That's how I got my picture on the wall.
Not everyone handles it so well. One time I was there gnawing on a slice when this rookie got her pizza, and she actually thought the cow heart was a big bell pepper or some shit, and I guess she was some kind of bell pepper freak because she stabbed the fucker with her fork like it was going to get away. By chance, at that exact moment somebody flushed a toilet in the john, which sets off that fountain that squirts all the fake blood up by the counter, an ERP landmark. As you might guess, the lady dropped two gonads trying to get out of there before her stomach caught up with her brain, and that's why the front door is missing the glass on the bottom.
Something similar must have happened last week, because some poor soul got the rock out of there at the speed of fear, too fast to be worried about cell phones or their left sneaker. I left the shoe there, since they have a wall they nail those to as trophies, but I was pretty sure that nails and cell phones mix about as well as nails and Jesus, so I liberated that bastard like an Iraqi oil well.
Of course, the real trouble with cell phones is trying to figure out what your phone number is, not enough people write it on the back of the phone with a grease pencil like you're supposed to. I had a plan to have commune speed bump Bludney Pludd dial every number in the phone book until my phone rang, which was brilliant enough, but some little shithead kept calling the thing to ask if his mommy was coming home and that cocked up the whole deal. I had to send Pludd out to take him for ice cream so he wouldn't eat up all my battery time calling like that, since I don't have a charger or anything.
At least I can call out well enough, which is handy when I'm at a fast-food drive thru and I don't want to roll down my window and let the cold in. But people still find a way to piss on my pageant, saying they're not allowed to drop food through a sunroof or there's certain places where it's not polite to use a cell phone. Hey, if I want to talk on my phone while I'm pissing in a movie theater urinal, that's my own business. As for whoever's on the other end of the line, well, that's why I didn't find a camera phone. I just say I'm at the ocean or in a rainforest or some shit and they have to take my word on that if they want hear the rest of the story.
And don't get me started about people bitching that it's dangerous to talk on a phone and flip through the yellow pages while you're driving. Christ on a bike, I'm starting to understand why this thing got left behind. It's like a nag magnet.
Bricks out. º Last Column: Long Live Omar Bricks!º more columns
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|  June 10, 2002
The Gimp Has Claimed Quentin TarantinoO Director, Where Art Thou?
That's what semi-intelligent critics who love making minor alterations to famous titles or phrases should be asking. Nobody else seems curious as to what's happened to two-hit wonder Quentin Tarantino. The writer/director defined '90s pop-culture referencing in film with his fantastic works Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. He also did Jackie Brown.
And then what happened, I ask? Like many others I actually have no clue, just extremely curious. The title "The Gimp Has Claimed Quentin Tarantino" is just a creative way of referencing his previous work and posing the topic, I actually don't know.
It does make you think, though. Alright, stop now.
Chances are something happened to Tarantino during the making of Jackie Brown, the making of his last unreleased feature, or one of his infamous verbal battles with Spike Lee. With all the guns and swords and backroom raping that goes on in a Tarantino film, it's entirely possible something awful destroyed him before his next film could be released. This must have happened sometime around 1997. Unless it perhaps happened earlier…?
How do we know for sure Quentin Tarantino made Jackie Brown? In fact, how do we know for sure Tarantino did anything after Pulp Fiction? When he accepted the Oscar at the Academy Awards ceremony that year he seemed a little suspect to me. Not to mention all through that From...
º Last Column: The MCP Has Abducted My Office Manager
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O Director, Where Art Thou? That's what semi-intelligent critics who love making minor alterations to famous titles or phrases should be asking. Nobody else seems curious as to what's happened to two-hit wonder Quentin Tarantino. The writer/director defined '90s pop-culture referencing in film with his fantastic works Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. He also did Jackie Brown. And then what happened, I ask? Like many others I actually have no clue, just extremely curious. The title "The Gimp Has Claimed Quentin Tarantino" is just a creative way of referencing his previous work and posing the topic, I actually don't know. It does make you think, though. Alright, stop now. Chances are something happened to Tarantino during the making of Jackie Brown, the making of his last unreleased feature, or one of his infamous verbal battles with Spike Lee. With all the guns and swords and backroom raping that goes on in a Tarantino film, it's entirely possible something awful destroyed him before his next film could be released. This must have happened sometime around 1997. Unless it perhaps happened earlier…? How do we know for sure Quentin Tarantino made Jackie Brown? In fact, how do we know for sure Tarantino did anything after Pulp Fiction? When he accepted the Oscar at the Academy Awards ceremony that year he seemed a little suspect to me. Not to mention all through that From Dusk Till Dawn film. I surmise maybe Tarantino never made it to either one of those events. Now's the part where you smugly doubt me, saying that Tarantino has been seeing numerous places since Pulp Fiction debuted. Listen, toad, I don't need to be reminded of facts I have exhaustively researched. Take that tone with me again you'll be reading this column with your eyes in your ass. Don't make me try to figure out that physical nightmare, just shut up already. Alright, I'm calmer now. The truth is, in theory, Quentin Tarantino, the talented writer/director, has been replaced with a lookalike. You might suspect an android replacement—I did at first, but the animations of most human beings are beyond current android technology, especially for the nervous manic animations of Tarantino. Delve into your collective sitcom psyche and ask yourself, if it's not a robot, not a future or past self (trust me on this one), and not another Tarantino from another universe, what is it? If you said "twin brother," you're right on the money. If you said "mask," please, you're wasting my time and yours with your bizarre fantasies. I'd bet dollars to dildos Quentin Tarantino's less popular, less talented brother has imprisoned or eliminated his brother and is parading around as him. This other brother—let's assume his name is Quincy since parents always name identical twins with an alliterative name—lacks the technical film knowledge Tarantino himself, a former video store clerk, possesses, and therefore had ground to a halt any filmmaking Tarantino was in the midst of. He's riding around on Tarantino's kick-ass coattails, hobnobbing at all the parties and rubbing celebrity elbows and squawking like a chicken while his brother remains missing. Tarantino has become the victim in his own crime-drama, tied to a chair, ball-gagged, while some smarmy redneck hollers to bring out the gimp. We must find him and free him before the gimp is brought out. And when I say "we" I mean "you."ame way—a little painful at first, not without some mis-steps, but ultimately for the better of everyone. º Last Column: The MCP Has Abducted My Office Managerº more columns
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Quote of the Day“My love is like a red, red rose… always surrounded by pricks.”
-Wycked BurnsFortune 500 CookieDuck! Jesus, did you see that? Now may be the time to consider ending your relationship with Columbia House. That weird lump you feel may not be an alien tracking device after all; go ahead and see a specialist. You won't remember the name of that Faith No More tribute band anytime soon.
Try again later.Least Effective SARS Protective Efforts| 1. | Stop breathing | | 2. | Fire handgun blindly at coughs | | 3. | Smoking deceased SARS victims | | 4. | Wave hand, say "Don't go in Toronto! Whew!" | | 5. | Drinking imported Hong Kong bathwater | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/15/2001 Hey there kids and kidophiles, welcome to Roland's neck of the woods for another stab at finding something fun to do this weekend. We're here once again to poke the bloated, gassy corpse of this week's new releases with a stick to see if it makes any funny noises.
And should you find yourself with any extra expendable income this weekend, why not make a contribution to The Roland McShyster House? We help culturally disadvantaged kids find stuff to do when they're bored, like clean my boat or weed a ravine. And what's better, it counts as community service in the eyes of the court, and that's hard to beat! So what the hell, spend a buck or two, or several exponential multiples of two dollars, to make a kid feel like he's earning his keep. It might even relieve some of that...
Hey there kids and kidophiles, welcome to Roland's neck of the woods for another stab at finding something fun to do this weekend. We're here once again to poke the bloated, gassy corpse of this week's new releases with a stick to see if it makes any funny noises.
And should you find yourself with any extra expendable income this weekend, why not make a contribution to The Roland McShyster House? We help culturally disadvantaged kids find stuff to do when they're bored, like clean my boat or weed a ravine. And what's better, it counts as community service in the eyes of the court, and that's hard to beat! So what the hell, spend a buck or two, or several exponential multiples of two dollars, to make a kid feel like he's earning his keep. It might even relieve some of that guilt you've been feeling about renting all that Asian porn lately.
And you don't need the money, trust me. Most of these movies suck anyway.
On to the movies!
In Theaters Now:
Don't Say a Word
Sometimes, when a studio gets ready to put out a movie and, in the final polishing stages, they realize that the script was written by an inbred hillbilly flypaper salesman while he was drunk on Rogaine, and the resulting movie is so bad that the print actually smells like cat pee, they try to control the damage by not letting critics see the film before it's released. This is known in the business as "Sneaking the Farmer's Daughter Out to the Barn While the Farmer is Passed-Out Drunk and in a Full-Body Cast". Sometimes this works, and sometimes all the cat pee causes the film to catch on fire and the audience revolts, dropping their popcorn on the floor and spilling out into the streets to overturn traffic safety cones and kick tumbleweeds. Other times, the film is so unbelievably bad that the studio sets up a secret bribe system for all of the nation's film reviewers (except Rex Reed, he likes everything anyway and just reviews movies to get attention), which they subtly tip off in the film's title. I read you loud and clear, guys! Wink. Wink.
Jeepers Creepers
I love those two cartoon crows as much as anyone, but thanks to the civil rights movement it's just not as funny watching Jeepers and Creepers banter on about how they have to use a different bathroom than Woody Woodpecker and how they're going to catch him in a sack with a wolverine and throw it in the river. And it's really not fair, since these are classic characters and people should just learn to have a sense of humor about wolverines.
Meggido: The Omega Code II
Offending censors and parents' groups like no film since "Barney Does the Alpha-Betty", this gangsta-rap opus smokes it's way onto the screen with more bitch-slappin', doggy-stylin', barely-conscious thug mayhem than the last three Sally Fields movies combined. This is a must-see if you have a girlfriend or mother who runs your life but are too whack to stuff a Gat up her ass yourself.
The Princess Diaries
Look, if you're going to make a book into a movie, rule A is that it probably shouldn't be a phone book, the bible, or one of those little books full of annoying sayings that make middle-aged women feel better about smothering their children in their sleep. This turkey tot breaks subsection three of the above rule, trying to turn Princess Di's self-help bestseller into a two-hour commercial for Princess Di's self-help bestseller. Call it Chicken Soup for People Who Like Crap.
Training Day
If you thought this series ran out of gas after "Look Who's Talking", "Look Who's Talking Too", "Look Who's Talking To The Creepy Neighbor in the Trenchcoat" and "Look Who's Missing Now", you've obviously underestimated the unlimited comedic possibilities involved in kids talking who shouldn't talk. This time little Mikey's still not talking yet (some think he may be mildly retarded), but he's learning all about pull-up diapers, training toilets and his body's functions while his ass does the talking for him.
Now on Video:
Exit Wounds
At first I was excited because I thought they'd finally made the action movie about a covert watchmaker that I've been dreaming of, but then I realized that the proper grammar for that would be "Exit Winds". This turns out to be a snore-fest about a guy who polls people coming out of the voting booths and then lies about the results to CNN so that Willie Nelson can finally take his rightful spot as our nation's leader. Cool idea, but too many slow-motion shots of hillrods trying to figure out the butterfly ballot really bog this flick down.
Heartbreakers
Can Reese Witherspoon, Kirsten Dunst, Jennifer Love-Hewitt and Mena Suvari make their high school dream come true and run a successful trendy clothing store at the mall? Are you kidding me? Can the four of them together operate the doorknob? But thanks to their underage boob shots, loose morals and total naivety, the store is never empty, the rent is never due and the movie is never slow.
One Night at McDonalds
This attempt to one-up the low-budget cult hit Clerks by presenting "Slackers... in COLOR!" is undermined by annoyingly polite employees and a whiny second-shift manager who's constantly calling home to see if her dog likes it's new rawhide munchies. Nobody sleeps with a dead guy, but one customer is caught in the bathroom jerking off to a picture of Bela Lugosi.
Television:
Wow! The new fall season is here and the high-quality shows make all the delays from the threat of terrorism worth it! Too many great new shows to cover, but I'll start with some of my personal favorites:
Twenty-Four (Fox)
Larry Wilcox returns to T.V. as an aging blackjack dealer in the world's poshest casino. Each week hustlers and conmen (famous guest stars like Isaac Hayes and Newt Gingrich) try to beat the house, but Wilcox is just a little too bad for them! Dealer bust? I think not!
Smallville (WB)
"Mini-Me" from those wacky Austin Powers movies explodes with talent on this fantastic new variety show that demonstrates why everybody's talking about the WB! Sure, some of the sketches are slow to start, but the tiny sets with all the midget stars walking around in teensy costumes is just darling! And with musical guests like Little Feat and Tiny Turner, how can you say no?
Inside Schwartz (NBC)
Believe me, if you'd said a week ago I'd be raving about a program where former U.S. General Norman Schwarzkopf is subjected to a colonoscopy, I'd have called you a bald-faced liar and smacked you brazenly! But I'm hooked! Sure, I'm wondering how they can keep up the excitement, but every episode promises to take us further and further into the complicated bowel structures of the former commander—and I'm more excited than anybody!
Video Games:
Silent Hill 2 (Playstation 2)
When the original "Silent Hill" was a hit for the Playstation .1, you know that they would stick close to a winning formula for a kick-ass sequel. Once again you're the little bald guy, and you have to chase Benny Hill around dressed as a bobby. Sounds easy, right? But remember, if Benny starts his little boring song sketches in his foreign cockney accent that nobody can understand, the show's over!
ICO (Playstation 2)
Another amazing virtual reality simulator, you get the chance to be an overweight, lonely Internet-addicted bachelor without leaving your home. Only this time, you actually have friends! Chat to your friends on the user-friendly ICO program and try to convince them you're not a child molester or, worse, a cop pretending to be a child molester. Chillingly realistic.
Crazy Taxi 2 (Dreamcast)
It's strange that famed director Martin Scorsesesese chose to release the long-awaited continuing story of Travis Bickle directly to a video game console, but that's why he's a genius. Now, Bickle's a retired cabbie called back into the business to catch another crazed taxi driver (Ben Affleck's voice) before he can assassinate a pimp from Thailand with diplomatic immunity. I would tell you more but truthfully I couldn't get past the first stage where you get into the taxi.
That's all for now, buckaroos! Stay tuned in two weeks for more entertainment value than you can scrape off of your shoe with a garden trowel. Stay entertained, America!   |
