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New Invention to Take Americans to New Heights of LazinessDecember 10, 2001 |
Washington, D.C. Segway LLC Press Kit Segway HT forever ends plaguing question: "How do I get over there without walking?" he invention has been creating a buzz around the world before it was even revealed. Its inventors and investors guaranteed it would be the next big thing. And it’s finally revealed—the Segway HT, or Human Transporter, and it will forever change the world. Especially America, where Americans are barely walking on their own feet or engaging in any natural cardio exercise at all. The Segway HT promises to reduce American voluntary movement by up to 100%.
The Segway was invented by Dean Kamen, and its being hailed as the world’s first dynamic self-balancing human transporter.
In a recent commune poll, when asked about the major problems facing their lives, most Americans responded, in popular order: Terrorism, natural biological illnesses such as canc...
he invention has been creating a buzz around the world before it was even revealed. Its inventors and investors guaranteed it would be the next big thing. And it’s finally revealed—the Segway HT, or Human Transporter, and it will forever change the world. Especially America, where Americans are barely walking on their own feet or engaging in any natural cardio exercise at all. The Segway HT promises to reduce American voluntary movement by up to 100%. The Segway was invented by Dean Kamen, and its being hailed as the world’s first dynamic self-balancing human transporter. In a recent commune poll, when asked about the major problems facing their lives, most Americans responded, in popular order: Terrorism, natural biological illnesses such as cancer and AIDS, lack of income and jobs with high mobility, medical insurance skyrocketing, the uncertain global economy, and random slasher murders. “Walking” received less than 1% of the poll, outranked by waking up nude outdoors and alien invasions. Through a technology coined Dynamic Stabilization by the Segway LLC company, gyroscopes and tilt sensors calculate the device user’s center of gravity 100 times every second, adjusting accordingly and creating a sense of balance that makes the Segway safer to use than, say, a skateboard or surfboard with wheels. The device is also constructed to sustain the weight of fat people, who will likely be the first major market of the product outside of industry. The Segway HT is now available for corporate and industrial usage in plants and offices, and will likely make its way to the general consumer by 2002, though those who use the product are expected to be subject to severe ridicule until the Segway HT implants itself in the consciousness of all America. Once available, the Segway HT will retail for approximately $8,000. In contrast, even most expensive brands of shoes retail for less than $100. If the device becomes a mainstay of American culture, for use beyond just yuppies and trendy pricks, scientists predict a drop in pollution, an average weight gain of over 80 lbs. per person, and the blood of Americans to contain about 40% butter. the commune news isn't woman enough to take your man. Lil Duncan is a senior correspondent for the commune and has the wedding bell blues.
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 October 4, 2004
Ho's JobI've been wicked lucky lately. Sorry if the column hasn't been regular enough for you, Child Star fans, but I've been working—the big "W." It does start with a W, right, it's not like a silent P? Those fucking French can really mess up the English language.
But I have been working, no matter how you spell it. Not all of it's great stuff. I sexed chickens for a while at a KFC-owned chicken house, that's interesting for about an hour, unless you really, really like chickens. I guessed on about half of them, but if we're going to eat them anyway I don't see why we need to know if it's a rooster or hen. It's not like you ever eat some chicken and say, "Tastes like a cock!" or anything. Well, I said that once, but it wasn't the same situation at all. That's why I'm not welcome at Denny's anymore.
That gig was only temporary while I lined up showbiz jobs—you know, paying off the legal bills and stuff. I modeled some, did a bulletproof bra commercial for a The Survivalists Network and worked as a stunt head in an Excedrin commercial. I would have had the lead, but they didn't like my liberal use of the word "mindfucked." I also filled in at a book store when author Kitty Kelley had to cancel a signing at the last minute, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone about that. Her picture's right on the back of the book, everybody had to know they were being fucked with, but it was cool, everybody just sort of kept the fantasy going.
Then I...
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I've been wicked lucky lately. Sorry if the column hasn't been regular enough for you, Child Star fans, but I've been working—the big "W." It does start with a W, right, it's not like a silent P? Those fucking French can really mess up the English language.
But I have been working, no matter how you spell it. Not all of it's great stuff. I sexed chickens for a while at a KFC-owned chicken house, that's interesting for about an hour, unless you really, really like chickens. I guessed on about half of them, but if we're going to eat them anyway I don't see why we need to know if it's a rooster or hen. It's not like you ever eat some chicken and say, "Tastes like a cock!" or anything. Well, I said that once, but it wasn't the same situation at all. That's why I'm not welcome at Denny's anymore.
That gig was only temporary while I lined up showbiz jobs—you know, paying off the legal bills and stuff. I modeled some, did a bulletproof bra commercial for a The Survivalists Network and worked as a stunt head in an Excedrin commercial. I would have had the lead, but they didn't like my liberal use of the word "mindfucked." I also filled in at a book store when author Kitty Kelley had to cancel a signing at the last minute, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone about that. Her picture's right on the back of the book, everybody had to know they were being fucked with, but it was cool, everybody just sort of kept the fantasy going.
Then I lucked into the pilot, which is my big news. Not that it will necessarily go to series, I've been burnt way too often to get my hopes up on that one, but it could happen. I went into the audition to deliver pizzas to the casting agency, and figured while I was there I would knock the out. The whole pizza gig was just a drug delivery front anyway, so I didn't even risk losing a real job.
And they loved me, no other way to say it. I didn't even list Who's Your Daddy? on my resume, it seems like I have a better shot at getting cast when I do that. They didn't recognize me either, so I got this one purely on talent, and maybe some of that free stuff I passed out before the audition. But they said I really knew the role, 'cause I faked it so well, and called me back a couple of times. Then I was cast.
It's called Ho's!, and it's being considered as a mid-season replacement for the WB. Just one of those excellent ideas. I've been in the business long enough to know gold when I hear it. There's the rich, snobby ho, the fat ho, the dumb ho, and the white ho—that's me. They were going to go with an Asian ho, but I didn't do a very believable accent, they said. They also have an old ho, and they were trying to get Della Reese, but they're going with an unknown instead because Reese called the script "insulting and degrading." I think she was just holding out for more money, though.
Seriously, the show will rock. It's about the four ho's and the pimp they work for, played by David Faustino. And the old ho rents the building to us. But we have arguments and funny disagreements and shit. Still, in the end, we always learn that we have to stick together, or we'll get turned out. I used to ask all the time why there weren't any shows about ho's, and my tutors could never say why. I think it's an idea whose time has come, and I'm psyched to be a part of it. Like I said, I'm not getting my hopes up—networks never have any real vision. But if the WB shoots us down, maybe we can take it to HBO. It would be like a funny Oz there. Funnier. º Last Column: Help Me Get a DVD Box Setº more columns
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|  April 16, 2001
I Can't Get UpHelp me! Good people, this is not a lark, I'm serious—I've fallen and I can't get up.
I can excuse the snickering and guffaws from the peanut gallery. I, too, have witnessed those B-grade commercials for elderly alarm devices in which pathetic crones are horizontal in embarrassing positions, crying and screaming in weak cinema pathos about their inability to get up. I, too, have lampooned such advertisements—but this is serious! I really can't get up!
Ow… ooo… I think I landed on my keys, too, to make it worse. Yikes, that smarts! This is no longer amusing. At first it held a bit of self-deprecating charm, but now I'm terrified I'll never be able to get up. Help me!
This just isn't funny. I can't even move and nobody's helping me. I wish I had one of those damned alert devices now, I can see the wisdom of one now that I'm in this situation. ARRRRGH! I just moved a little and it really hurts! I'm not doing this for comic effect! I'm in serious agony!
I just stepped into the bathroom to change a light bulb, climbed up on the toilet—without having the foresight to close the lid first—and then my foot slipped right into the mouth of the toilet and I fell backwards with severe impact against the bathtub. Ouch! It hurts even more when I recall the incident, still fresh in my quickly-fading consciousness. I don't even know where the light bulb went… I heard a glassy smash when I hit, but I worry that could've been...
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Help me! Good people, this is not a lark, I'm serious—I've fallen and I can't get up.
I can excuse the snickering and guffaws from the peanut gallery. I, too, have witnessed those B-grade commercials for elderly alarm devices in which pathetic crones are horizontal in embarrassing positions, crying and screaming in weak cinema pathos about their inability to get up. I, too, have lampooned such advertisements—but this is serious! I really can't get up!
Ow… ooo… I think I landed on my keys, too, to make it worse. Yikes, that smarts! This is no longer amusing. At first it held a bit of self-deprecating charm, but now I'm terrified I'll never be able to get up. Help me!
This just isn't funny. I can't even move and nobody's helping me. I wish I had one of those damned alert devices now, I can see the wisdom of one now that I'm in this situation. ARRRRGH! I just moved a little and it really hurts! I'm not doing this for comic effect! I'm in serious agony!
I just stepped into the bathroom to change a light bulb, climbed up on the toilet—without having the foresight to close the lid first—and then my foot slipped right into the mouth of the toilet and I fell backwards with severe impact against the bathtub. Ouch! It hurts even more when I recall the incident, still fresh in my quickly-fading consciousness. I don't even know where the light bulb went… I heard a glassy smash when I hit, but I worry that could've been my own spine. I certainly don't feel much pain below the neck. Surely, if I could feel intense pain I could likewise move, but both seem just fond memories to me now.
I hope my wife comes home soon. She stepped out for more light bulbs, ironically. Maybe I'd find that more amusing if I wasn't broken into pieces with my foot in a toilet, pain gnawing at me like a rat on my nerves.
Christ, almighty, how long does it take that woman to buy light bulbs? Is she making them from scratch?!? And what's with you people? I'm in pain and you sons of bitches are sitting there reading the commune like it holds the meaning of life! I'm just asking for a goddamn ambulance or something! Shit on fire, help me!
Next column I hope to tackle the touchy subject of teenage pregnancy. If I'm not fucking dead by then, which seems like a blissful alternative at this point. º Last Column: This is High-Grade Stuffº more columns
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Milestones1999: Rok Finger's highly offensive rendition of "White Christmas" marks the end of the commune's yearly Christmas parties, and the birth of the Parents Against Rok Finger Coalition (PARF).Now HiringRubik. Crazy puzzle-making hermit needed to devise a way to keep staff out of Red Bagel's mini-fridge. Knowledge of trap doors and spinning blades a plus.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 Stefan Myer-Wiener 1/27/2012 TweenightIt had been the world's most boring flight to Big, Oregon and I hated every minute of it. The old lady sitting next to me wouldn't even listen to me telling her about my stamp collection, all she wanted to do was watch gay porn on her laptop. It would be another super-dull summer in Sporks. I've been coming to Sporks ever since I was the world's most naĂŻve five-year-old. My dad and my mom split up when I was just a baby, and unlike most kids, I have a lot of sadness over it.
Dad picked me up at the airport, after bringing back the hot chick he thought was me and apologizing several times. Lawsuits are the worst. We talked about stupid stuff on the way to drive out to Sporks, the weather, how I liked school, how he lost both arms and his nose when a bomb went off in his...
It had been the world's most boring flight to Big, Oregon and I hated every minute of it. The old lady sitting next to me wouldn't even listen to me telling her about my stamp collection, all she wanted to do was watch gay porn on her laptop. It would be another super-dull summer in Sporks. I've been coming to Sporks ever since I was the world's most naĂŻve five-year-old. My dad and my mom split up when I was just a baby, and unlike most kids, I have a lot of sadness over it.
Dad picked me up at the airport, after bringing back the hot chick he thought was me and apologizing several times. Lawsuits are the worst. We talked about stupid stuff on the way to drive out to Sporks, the weather, how I liked school, how he lost both arms and his nose when a bomb went off in his face. I kept trying to tell him about the things that were bothering me, like the tag on inside of my shirt that keeps scratching that soft skin around my neck. Same old dad. He just didn't show any interest in anything I said.
When school started, it was even worse. All of the girls didn't want anything to do with me. I guess they all have money, all of them carry designer Trapper Keepers and wear the newest clogs. Mine are from last year. Mom makes a lot of money but she makes me wear second-hand clothes and get my hair done at the Dollar Salon because she says girls without money are much easier to relate to. Dad told me I can't go to the Dollar Salon anymore, unless my rich mother wants to pay for it, I'll have to cut my own hair in the car mirror.
So I was all alone, without a friend in the world, a virtual outcast in a brand new high school. I tried to tell mom I didn't like it here in Sporks, that I wanted to come home, and she just kept asking why school was in session during the summer. I can't talk to her. I'm all alone.
Or I was alone—until I met the new boy, Tedwin.
From the first time we saw each other in the cafeteria I was drawn to him. None of the other kids want anything to do with him. It's like he's an outcast, just like me. Everyone is turned off by the fact that he's so quiet, and that he looks like a male supermodel. Between that strange pale color and the fact all the girls and a lot of the guys want to have sex with him, he's got to be the most enigmatic outsider in all of this school, and this school is about 95% outsiders, you know. Oh, I forgot about Bleedin' Tits Pete. That guys like a super-outsider, but no one is drawn to him.
My dad forgot to pick me up at school one afternoon, sometimes I slip his mind when he finished having sex with my art teacher. So I was stuck walking home. I was heading down Puberty Road and most of the cars were passing me, but to my surprise, Tedwin pulled up on a sleek motorcycle, the kind all the cool mysterious outsiders drive.
"You're Bona… aren't you?" he said enigmatically. I nodded shyly, because I really got nothing else in my arsenal. He looked into the sky, in the distance, where they keep it, and noticed the sun was going down. It seemed to kind of worry him. "Are you… going home?"
I told him about my dad's forgetting to pick me up, and how my fish sometimes eats the whole leaf of lettuce but yesterday she didn't, and he gave me a smile. He asked where I lived, and I told him, and then I told him most people like Miracle Whip, but I think mayonnaise is actually better. He agreed—I've never had someone who listened to me before. And he was oddly beautiful, for a male supermodel outsider.
"I'll give you a ride, Bona." I got on the back of his motorcycle, hugging extra close to him for sexiness. It felt good to have another heart beating so close to mine. Other hearts feel best when they're inside finely carved pecs.
When we got to my house, we stayed up for hours, sitting on the porch. His family seemed just as screwed up as mind, all they ever did was nitpick and bite on each other. Both of his parents were dead, he told me, but he said they still tried to make time to see him now and then. I told him about my talent for counting words in sentences that are spoken to me (we used six-hundred and forty-two!) and my entire set of Suddenly Susan on DVD. He eventually looked outside and saw it was night, then got up to leave in a hurry. I noticed he was kind of… glowing.
"Bona… you're the most fascinating person I've ever met," he said, and I noticed he was nibbling at something in his hand. "I want to see you again… but I can't."
"You can't leave me without telling me why, Tedwin," I told him. "Even though we've only known each other for two hours, I've fallen in love with you. I think you love me, too. Tedwin— listen to me! Stop eating while I'm talking to you…!"
I smacked his hand and his food fell to the floor. It looked like… but I wasn't completely sure… brains?
"Tedwin," I said with a little gasp. "Are you… a zombie?"   |