|
$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='I’m Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$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='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hooper’s Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0905/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='I’m Not that Big a Fan of Talking';
$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='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Two Arrested, Charged with Posession of AnthraxAugust 8, 1999 |
Herman and Isley led a double life ocal residents of a small suburban community were stunned to find out two of its seemingly-adult contemporary neighbors, Bob Herman and Walter Isley, were secret metalheads when a routine traffic stop and search revealed the presence of Anthrax's State of Euphoria tape in their cassette deck.
"I can't believe it," neighbor Mildred Abramowitz said. "He borrowed my Yanni CDs several times. Now people are saying he doesn't even own a CD player. You think you know somebody..."
The album, called by some critics a disappointing follow-up to the successful Among the Living, does contain the melodic "Be All, End All" and the cover "Antisocial". Also confiscated from the car were Warrant's Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich and Trixter's se...
ocal residents of a small suburban community were stunned to find out two of its seemingly-adult contemporary neighbors, Bob Herman and Walter Isley, were secret metalheads when a routine traffic stop and search revealed the presence of Anthrax's State of Euphoria tape in their cassette deck. "I can't believe it," neighbor Mildred Abramowitz said. "He borrowed my Yanni CDs several times. Now people are saying he doesn't even own a CD player. You think you know somebody..." The album, called by some critics a disappointing follow-up to the successful Among the Living, does contain the melodic "Be All, End All" and the cover "Antisocial". Also confiscated from the car were Warrant's Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich and Trixter's self-titled debut, but authorities agree the only actual threat was the Anthrax. Detective Roger Harlan, head of the Buffalo Police Department's Corrosion of Conformity Special Squad, explained the danger of suburbanites possessing metal and speed metal albums. "The fact is that the rebellion and antisocial commentary and themes of metal and speed metal are meant for kids," Harlan said. "The idea of these themes spilling over into the homes of accountants, bankers, and homemakers is disturbing. Not only to us, but to the bandmembers and makers of the music themselves. When this music becomes the anthem of Lexus-driving corporate shells, it ceases to function and loses all integrity with the kids who sustain it." Although Anthrax could not be reached for comment, Trixter guitarist/prettyboy Steve Brown said, "Spare some change for a cup of coffee?" Lil Duncan is a senior reporter for the commune at 23, and loves bubble baths and men who smell like real men.
 | NAMBLA threatens to sue P2P child porn file sharers
Israeli suicide bomb had been talking about death a lot lately
Man who thinks like wife-killing ex-cop needed to catch wife-killing ex-cop
Discriminating junkies buy cheaper heroin, crack-cocaine in Canada
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Officials to Celebrities: Please Get Out of New Orleans isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: We’re serious; you really need to leave now. “We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.” The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans’ stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation. Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band he whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasn’t merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: He’s taken in a whole jazz band. “I just wanted to do what I could,” Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. “So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed.” However, Martinson didn’t stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles. Serial Killer’s Neighbor: “He just wouldn’t shut up about serial killing.” R.C. Car Enthusiasts Angered by Latest Mars Mission Snub |
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 August 19, 2002
Tornado"There's nothing like a good tornado to put the fear of nature into you. The Hartwig family had their tornado experience back in the early '40s, in the days of us vs. the Germans and Japanese. You'd almost think God was a Nazi, throwing a big heapin' tornado on top of a hardworking American family.
We were doing evening living room things—us kids playing our favorite game, Flapper Smacking—while mom sewed bodybags for the boys overseas and Dad read the paper. Then, Dad looked out the window and raised his eyebrows, the warning to us all like an air raid drill.
The sky outside had turned a frightening Prince-colored purple. It had grown darker and darker by the second, a terrible foreboding like a fat man in a dark suit walking on a miniature Lego city, which I think is hilarious. I'm cracking up just thinking about it. But this storm coming on quick was no laughing matter. It was a peeing-your-pants matter.
'To the underground shelter!' shouted Dad, then ran ahead of us outside to the tornado cellar. We all followed, except Goose, who was getting out his kite and running out to meet the storm like Captain Ahab meeting his whale.
We all climbed inside and Dad barricaded the entrance with wood and nails. We told him it wasn't necessary, but he said tornadoes were sneaky enough to undo mere latches and closed doors. He also said tornadoes were taking all the American jobs and had murdered good Americans at the Alamo.

º Last Column: Invisible º more columns
"There's nothing like a good tornado to put the fear of nature into you. The Hartwig family had their tornado experience back in the early '40s, in the days of us vs. the Germans and Japanese. You'd almost think God was a Nazi, throwing a big heapin' tornado on top of a hardworking American family.
We were doing evening living room things—us kids playing our favorite game, Flapper Smacking—while mom sewed bodybags for the boys overseas and Dad read the paper. Then, Dad looked out the window and raised his eyebrows, the warning to us all like an air raid drill.
The sky outside had turned a frightening Prince-colored purple. It had grown darker and darker by the second, a terrible foreboding like a fat man in a dark suit walking on a miniature Lego city, which I think is hilarious. I'm cracking up just thinking about it. But this storm coming on quick was no laughing matter. It was a peeing-your-pants matter.
'To the underground shelter!' shouted Dad, then ran ahead of us outside to the tornado cellar. We all followed, except Goose, who was getting out his kite and running out to meet the storm like Captain Ahab meeting his whale.
We all climbed inside and Dad barricaded the entrance with wood and nails. We told him it wasn't necessary, but he said tornadoes were sneaky enough to undo mere latches and closed doors. He also said tornadoes were taking all the American jobs and had murdered good Americans at the Alamo.
We survived the tornado, of course, but I spent years carrying confusing stereotypes about Hispanics and tornadoes around, thanks to Dad's lack of education." º Last Column: Invisibleº more columns
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|  September 30, 2002
I Do Not Like Green Eggs and HamFew were happier than good Samaritan Rok Finger when Lee came out of his coma. Sure, Camembert appeared happy about it—a little too happy, if you ask me. But I was the one who had loaded him up with alcohol and convinced him real men can knock back a few dozen Harvey Wallbangers and then drive with no problem, so the guilt was more than enough to make me hope for him to pull through—and when he did, I expected a few questions. Where am I? How did I get back here? Why didn't you take me to a hospital? Why can't that kid walk? But this is not what I expected. Lee after the crash did not really seem all that different from Lee before the crash (let's refer to him as Lee B.C.). Yes, he's taken to speaking in rhyme and wearing a three-foot peppermint-striped hat, but I thought it a phase we all go through. What really bothers me is he won't answer to Lee anymore and insists I eat rotten meat and eggs. Okay, they may not actually be rotten, but they're bright green. You tell me what your first assessment is of the quality of this ham and eggs he's pushing. I wake up, my first guilt-free sleep in a week (besides my afternoon naps), and find Lee cooking breakfast. Fantastic! It appeared at first the crash actually improved him—the old Lee never cooked breakfast, woke up early, paid rent or bathed. I considered taking Camembert for a ride like Jeff Bridges took Rosie Perez in Fearless, hoping for the same great results as with Lee; or Rosie...
º Last Column: Wasted Away in Mormonville º more columns
Few were happier than good Samaritan Rok Finger when Lee came out of his coma. Sure, Camembert appeared happy about it—a little too happy, if you ask me. But I was the one who had loaded him up with alcohol and convinced him real men can knock back a few dozen Harvey Wallbangers and then drive with no problem, so the guilt was more than enough to make me hope for him to pull through—and when he did, I expected a few questions. Where am I? How did I get back here? Why didn't you take me to a hospital? Why can't that kid walk? But this is not what I expected. Lee after the crash did not really seem all that different from Lee before the crash (let's refer to him as Lee B.C.). Yes, he's taken to speaking in rhyme and wearing a three-foot peppermint-striped hat, but I thought it a phase we all go through. What really bothers me is he won't answer to Lee anymore and insists I eat rotten meat and eggs. Okay, they may not actually be rotten, but they're bright green. You tell me what your first assessment is of the quality of this ham and eggs he's pushing. I wake up, my first guilt-free sleep in a week (besides my afternoon naps), and find Lee cooking breakfast. Fantastic! It appeared at first the crash actually improved him—the old Lee never cooked breakfast, woke up early, paid rent or bathed. I considered taking Camembert for a ride like Jeff Bridges took Rosie Perez in Fearless, hoping for the same great results as with Lee; or Rosie Perez herself, if I could get her in the car. That is, until Lee revealed his true colors—bright green. I politely refused to eat his foul-colored eggs and porkskin, but that wasn't enough. He kept offering to make the setting more presentable in any way to make me eat them. A bigger or shinier plate, a glass of milk, bringing a fox to the table or threatening to trap me in a box. I'm not sure what either of those would do to improve my appetite, but he was pretty insistent. He already had the fox locked in my bedroom. I still tried to politely reject it, then I resorted to the F-word—flatulence; odd-colored food makes me gassy. But he would not be thwarted. Even going to the office didn't stop him. He popped up in the backseat of my car and tried to shove them in my mouth. I later found him stuffed inside a drawer of my desk, which at his full 5'5" height made it uncomfortable for him, I'm sure, yet he still was trying to force these emerald eggs and bacon down my gullet. I told him I wouldn't even eat them on a train, or on a plane—though it looks an awful lot like travel food. I beat him to the punch as well by telling him I wouldn't eat them in the rain, a sewer drain, off a yellow stain, if served by Billy Zane, while listening to the Clash's "Train in Vain," wrestling Tom Payne, or if I was insane. This impressed him to no end, I believe. Then, finally, just to be left alone, I tried them. Nobody was more surprised than I was. I was made horribly, horribly sick. They rushed me to the emergency room and pumped my stomach, and when they found green meat and eggs, let's just say the doctors and nurses chided me into humiliation in front of the whole emergency room. They said it was obvious Lee had a severe head trauma and needed medical attention as well. And me, well, I was just an asshole for eating green eggs and ham offered by a man with a critical concussion. So I've learned my lesson. Or maybe I haven't. I won't eat any food that isn't the right color anymore, I know that. Sometimes your instincts are dead on, and men in peppermint hats can't be trusted. º Last Column: Wasted Away in Mormonvilleº more columns
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Quote of the Day“The true measure of a man is four inches, four and a quarter. That's flaccid. No joke.”
-Samuel "Big" JohnsonFortune 500 CookieTry to remember every dog has his day, and Tuesday, it's yours, Rags. Looks like you being selected as Oprah's Book of the Month wasn't the last bad thing that'll happen to you. You still haven't taken down the Christmas decorations? Son of a bitch.
Try again later.Best-Selling Video Games| 1. | Grand Theft Ottoman | | 2. | The Al Qaeda Flight Simulator | | 3. | Rockabilly Jeopardy | | 4. | Jerry Seinfeld's X-Treme Game About Nothing | | 5. | Final Fantasy XI: Judy and Audrey Landers | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/13/2003 Suffering succotash and other unfortunate vegetables, America! Roland McShyster here and we're back for another hermetically sealed bag of entertainment goodness. What has Hollywood got under the heat lamps for us this week? As usual, it's their dry rubbery best and we're here to sort out the inedible from the kinda okay. Let's take a look at the movies:
In Theaters
The House of the Dead
I'm going to go ahead and go out on a limb here to say this is hands-down the scariest and most accurate Grateful Dead documentary to date. Focusing mainly on the scary butt-funk chateau the band lived in communally until Jerry Garcia's death, the film also serves as a haunting overview of the band's...
Suffering succotash and other unfortunate vegetables, America! Roland McShyster here and we're back for another hermetically sealed bag of entertainment goodness. What has Hollywood got under the heat lamps for us this week? As usual, it's their dry rubbery best and we're here to sort out the inedible from the kinda okay. Let's take a look at the movies:
In Theaters
The House of the Dead
I'm going to go ahead and go out on a limb here to say this is hands-down the scariest and most accurate Grateful Dead documentary to date. Focusing mainly on the scary butt-funk chateau the band lived in communally until Jerry Garcia's death, the film also serves as a haunting overview of the band's career. The filmmakers use extensive archive footage to chilling effect, including clips from when the Dead played the same song for three terrifying hours during a concert in Montreal in 1988. Also of interest to Dead fans and horror fans alike is the extremely early footage of the band as teens, jamming on "Polly Wolly Doodle" for a day and a half.
Intolerable Cruelty
When the original Cruel Intentions was released in 1999, few thought it would spawn a franchise that has included over twenty films. But moviegoers have kept coming back for more emotionally hurtful antics over the years, making hits of Cruel Intentions 2, Be Cruel to Your School, Back to Cruel, Cruel Hand Luke, and Cruel Runnings. The latest installment in the franchise offers more of the same, the bitter mayhem skewing a bit older with George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones in the lead roles as the filmmakers hope to tap into the lucrative "deceitful 32 to 51-year-old" demographic.
Kill Bill Vol. 1
As usual, Quentin Tarantino has his cock on the pulse of the zeitgeist with his latest film, a jazzy mix of karate, technology, and Snapple commercial antics. This time around, Uma Thurman loses it while downloading the 10,000th patch for Windows XP, thanks to the discovery of a security weakness that allows hackers to use your PC to enter your womb and steal your eggs. As we all have at one time or another, she decides to kill Bill Gates and sets out on a cross-country karate rampage to bring the trillionaire nerd some street justice. Does she succeed? What are you, a gimp? The guy weighs like ninety pounds, I'm only surprised the movie was so long.
Miss Tick River
This heart-rendering drama from director Clint Eastwood is something like a cross between Deliverance and Straw Dogs, a combo like peanut butter and applesauce that nobody was asking for. Big-city smoothie Sean Penn marries a small town beauty queen from some awful redneck backwoods, only to discover that all her neighbors and most of her family like guys with a purty mouth. The plot makes a Peanuts comic strip look unpredictable, but Oscar nominations are still expected since Penn plays a character who isn't afraid to show his feminine (ass) side.
Runaway Jury
Plausibility gets smacked around like a redheaded stepchild in this Runaway Bride knock-off, which takes the crown from The Lion King as the worst film ever to show Gene Hackman's bare ass cheeks. Runaway Jury starts out amicably enough, with the story of a trial that's been dragging on for years with no explanation. Then comes the rub: Every time the moment comes for them to read the verdict, the jury gets cold feet and splits from the courthouse in a hurry, usually piling onto a trolley that pulls away right before the judges and reporters can run out into the street and wave their fists. It's a good idea, but after the third trial you get kind of tired of hearing that Beatles song again and again and start to hope the jury will run out in front of a bus.
And that's all the salami they're selling this week, gents and lady-types. Hope to see you back for more the next time our Entertainment Police truck comes "Farmer and the Dell"-ing its way through your neighborhood!   |