| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/1010/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 64';
$finger='2005/1107/';
$fingertitle='Little Man with a Gun in His Hand';
$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='2005/0912/';
$hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/1107/';
$losertitle='Paging Doctor Van';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/1107/';
$police='2005/1128/';
$polio='2005/1107/';
$poliotitle='God’s Hands';
$rent='2005/1107/';
$renttitle='I’m Straight!';
$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='2005/1128/';
$zendertitle='The Seventh commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Somebody Accidentally Downloaded Orrin Hatch MP3 June 23, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee Sen. Orrin Hatch, R-Utah, attempting to burn down the house
The fateful pirating in question took place when teenager Jody Whiteman of East Plains, New York accidentally downloaded the illegal MP3 file during a sleepover with high school friends. “I was trying to download that new American Hi-Fi song, and it was late so I guess I clicked the wrong thing or something because the next thing I ...
tah Senator Orrin Hatch made a surprising statement during last week’s hearing on copyright abuse, calling for the remote destruction of home computers used to illegally download music files. Though the senator refused to discuss his motivation, many believe Hatch’s sudden interest in copyright infringement stems from the first-ever illegal download of one of the Republican senator and part-time composer’s musical works earlier this month. The fateful pirating in question took place when teenager Jody Whiteman of East Plains, New York accidentally downloaded the illegal MP3 file during a sleepover with high school friends. “I was trying to download that new American Hi-Fi song, and it was late so I guess I clicked the wrong thing or something because the next thing I knew, the gayest thing that ever happened was playing through my computer speakers.” Whiteman had inadvertently downloaded the track “America Rocks!” from Hatch’s album “Heal Our Land,” recorded with composer Janice Kapp Perry in 1997. “We must’ve played that thing 100 times,” Whiteman confided, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was like that video clip of that fat guy falling off his bike, we couldn’t stop laughing. First it was funny just because it was so bad, but then we realized somebody must’ve did it on purpose, which was even funnier. Then Tom pointed out that somebody had to like it enough to post the MP3 online, and at that point we all really lost it.” Some speculate the MP3 download must have led to an ironic purchase of the album by one of the high school students involved, tipping off the senator that someone outside of the Hatch family had purchased one of his albums and leading to the discovery of the illegal download. “If they illegally download a song once, or twice, they’ll get a warning,” fantasized Hatch out loud during the hearing. “But the third time? Zap! We blow up their computer. I don’t know how, maybe a laser satellite or some kind of Mission Impossible button or something. But the point is, we blow it up and they never rape our music again. Do that a few hundred thousand times, and people will start to get the message. We’ll copyright-enforce them back into the stone age.” Thinking Hatch was kidding, technological consultant Randy Saaf attempted to save face for the entire Republican Party, if not the white race. “No one is interested in destroying anyone’s computer, but we feel that more strict enforcement of—” “I’m interested,” interrupted an annoyed Sen. Hatch, who was not kidding at all. A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Jonathan Lamy, spokesperson for the Recording Industry Association of America, suggested Hatch was “apparently making a metaphorical point that if peer-to-peer networks don't take reasonable steps to prevent massive copyright infringement on the systems they create, Congress may be forced to consider stronger measures.” “No,” countered Sen. Hatch. “I’m talking about blowing up fucking computers! Kaboom! Do I have to spell this out in sign language for you people? Kazap! And maybe a little shock or something to put the fear of Jesus into these people.” After the hearing limped to an awkward conclusion, several senators gathered in the hall to discuss Hatch’s proposal, but to this reporter’s ear it sounded more like a lot of laughing and some gut-busting falsetto renditions of such Hatch classics as “Jesus’ Love is Like a River,” “Someday I’ll Fly,” “I’m Goin’ to Pray for This Land,” “I Am Happy,” and “It’s Not So Easy Growing Old.” the commune news is against illegally downloading music, but only because our connection is so slow we have to go on the “one note a day” plan. Ramon Nootles has become convinced that anybody can put out a religious album these days, and is looking for musicians to back him on such tracks as “Let Me Fill You With the Holy Ghost” and “I Got Your Sister Pregnant with the Spirit of Jesus.”
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Wine increases lifespan, likelihood of declaring friendship to everyone
Former FEMA Director Brown to start ignoring disasters in private sector
Two suicide bombers hit Israel with deadly 'Hamas sandwich'
McCourt Nets $2B Profit For Ruining Dodgers/Being Rich is Fucking Awesome
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Santa Claus on Trial: Week Three ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity. Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecution’s presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous “Tooth Fairy.” Unknown American Philosopher Dead illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as “A picture’s worth a thousand words,” and “Why buy milk when you have a cow at home?” “A picture’s worth a thousand words,” repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. “That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know.” Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said “A picture’s worth a thousand words” and didn’t know what he was talking about. Oasis, Killers Combine Forces to Ruin Sgt. Pepper’s for Everyone Global Warming Poses Threat to National Parks, Says WWF’s “Machoman” Savage |
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 March 17, 2003
Mutiny on the BagelA disturbing piece of mail has come to my attention lately, and for a change of pace, this one doesn't offer any free AOL hours.
Yes, in my Acting-Editor capacity I sometimes act like I'm opening my mail in the relative safety of my Acting-Office, otherwise known as Red Bagel's office. Usually the mail I open is addressed to the commune Editor, Editor Red Bagel, Bagel Red, Wanna-Be Colonel Sanders, Rudy Bega, Whoever Runs Your Lame-Ass Company, and variations thereof. Imagine my surprise to find a postcard addressed to Ramrod Hurley, Acting-Editor. Now imagine I study this postcard carefully, while being orally pleasured by supermodel Heidi Klum. It's not really necessary, but that's what I'm imagining so I thought we might as well be on the same page.
This postcard charmingly pictured a man holding a pile of dog feces, exclaiming in a word balloon, "Hey, look what I almost stepped in!" Immediately I was curious since I remember receiving the exact same image on a birthday card from Red Bagel last year. Indeed, this card was sent from "A desolate motel room" in Mobile, Alabama, signed by none other than our glorious leader Red Bagel. In effect, the card read:
"Ramrod: The situation is dire. Things proceed to grow more twisted and deceptive, as my unshakeable will continually nears faltering. I'm glad to see the commune is persevering in your hands even as I face an unknown fate in the bravest of ways. I wish you were beside me,...
º Last Column: The Government Can See into Your Soul
º more columns
A disturbing piece of mail has come to my attention lately, and for a change of pace, this one doesn't offer any free AOL hours.
Yes, in my Acting-Editor capacity I sometimes act like I'm opening my mail in the relative safety of my Acting-Office, otherwise known as Red Bagel's office. Usually the mail I open is addressed to the commune Editor, Editor Red Bagel, Bagel Red, Wanna-Be Colonel Sanders, Rudy Bega, Whoever Runs Your Lame-Ass Company, and variations thereof. Imagine my surprise to find a postcard addressed to Ramrod Hurley, Acting-Editor. Now imagine I study this postcard carefully, while being orally pleasured by supermodel Heidi Klum. It's not really necessary, but that's what I'm imagining so I thought we might as well be on the same page.
This postcard charmingly pictured a man holding a pile of dog feces, exclaiming in a word balloon, "Hey, look what I almost stepped in!" Immediately I was curious since I remember receiving the exact same image on a birthday card from Red Bagel last year. Indeed, this card was sent from "A desolate motel room" in Mobile, Alabama, signed by none other than our glorious leader Red Bagel. In effect, the card read:
"Ramrod: The situation is dire. Things proceed to grow more twisted and deceptive, as my unshakeable will continually nears faltering. I'm glad to see the commune is persevering in your hands even as I face an unknown fate in the bravest of ways. I wish you were beside me, instead of Sampson L. Hartwig, who snores loudly. Take heart and take pride, for though I know you would prefer stand by me in my time of need, yours is a greater role—to carry on my legacy if I fail to make it back. Godspeed, Redward Bagel."
That's what it said, in effect. In straight quotation, it read:
"Ramrod, you needledick: What the fuck have you done to my organization? I leave you alone for two goddamn seconds and you let the entire news department go to hell. Is it martial law there yet or not? You will rot in hell for eternity for what you've done to my column alone. Oh, nice job hiring that retarded Russian to write a regular column. Can you not tell when I'm joking? As of this minute I'm putting that numbnuts Raoul Dunkin in charge, and when I get back I'll show you how much I appreciate all the changes made in my absence. In the meantime I have to extract a bullet from Sampson L. Hartwig's back and fashion a temporary tourniquet. You'd better hope they get me before I can get you. Please forgive the smell of gin and unfiltered tobacco on this letter. Suck a skunk's ass, Redward Bagel.
"P.S. This postcard will self-destruct if held too close to a lit match."
This was, as you can guess, extremely alarming to me. Things had been rolling along so smoothly, the changes I implemented seem to be oiling the commune gears so well, now this: A coup attempt.
Fear not, peonic masses. Raoul Dunkin's transparent attempt to rattle my throne will not amount to anything more than a series of unpleasant assignments for a certain infamous turncoat reporter. Next week, Mr. Dunkin has the stellar position of covering the frontlines of the Iraqi-Kuwaiti border. Sure, it will be hard on died-in-the-wool action correspondent Ivan Nacutchacokov, but it's a necessary move. Not to punish Mr. Dunkin, no—if I wanted to do that I'd force him to move in with Rok Finger.
What I need is not vengeance; I need loyalty. If Raoul Dunkin can carry through with this assignment, not out of allegiance to me so much as to the commune, then I'll know I can trust him with the more important duties and assignments. In the meantime, while he's gone I'll need to figure out how he so perfectly duplicated Mr. Bagel's signature. º Last Column: The Government Can See into Your Soulº more columns
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|  October 29, 2001
Fortune 5Growing up with snowflake, one learned to drink their sap in the morning. There was no time for globe-girdling as we chased the bears though the jungle of oil refineries, then were eaten like pudding by Lyndon B. Johnson. "Let's get away from the sea!" I remember thinking. Robin sails home to tell the tale. "May this car bring you happiness," he begins. "It's rotunda is all you expect Japan to be. The sky is our home. The earth is our winding path. As the wheel spins, the pot forms clarified butter." Robin always speaks of butter as a mother would. He's prone to dream of beautiful maiden cats and lovely lands. He hates the sea. He says snowflake is too heavy for most tree limbs to support. Once again, he is right. Get a shovel.
You will find yourself at war with the sea. Try again...
º Last Column: Fortune 4
º more columns
Growing up with snowflake, one learned to drink their sap in the morning. There was no time for globe-girdling as we chased the bears though the jungle of oil refineries, then were eaten like pudding by Lyndon B. Johnson. "Let's get away from the sea!" I remember thinking. Robin sails home to tell the tale. "May this car bring you happiness," he begins. "It's rotunda is all you expect Japan to be. The sky is our home. The earth is our winding path. As the wheel spins, the pot forms clarified butter." Robin always speaks of butter as a mother would. He's prone to dream of beautiful maiden cats and lovely lands. He hates the sea. He says snowflake is too heavy for most tree limbs to support. Once again, he is right. Get a shovel.
You will find yourself at war with the sea. Try again later. º Last Column: Fortune 4º more columns
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Quote of the Day“Love, love will tear us apart again. So quit telling those jocks we both like it in the butt.”
-Joy DivinskiFortune 500 CookieYou will spend so much time with your foot in your mouth this week, people will mistake it for performance art. Beat the living shit out of the first person who calls you "buddy" today—best to nip that shit in the bud. Your only remaining shot at true happiness now is joining a cult or getting hooked on heroin: your call. This week's lucky midgets: "Stretch" Svorsded, Suitcase Mike, Jimmy "Dogslapper" McVaughn, Upskirt Kilgore, Ross "The Toss" Ramstein.
Try again later.Most Painful Music Lawsuits| 1. | Christopher Cross vs. Kris Kross (1992) | | 2. | John Fogerty vs. John Fogerty (1985) | | 3. | Warner Bros. vs. Pri.. The Ar.. That Guy Over There in the Pastel Pants (1994) | | 4. | Michael Jackson vs. Insane Kahlil's Rhinoplasty (1987) | | 5. | The Ghost of Nat "King" Cole vs. Natalie Cole (1991) | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Millard Halftruth 9/15/2003 The Shoeshine ExemptionLife on the inside was tough. "The inside," that was what we call the penitentiary. I had been on the "inside" for nearly forty years. I was forty-four. That's more than half a man's life spent repaying a debt to society. What kind of debt takes that long to repay? What did I get out of it? A house? That's the kind of debt we're talking about. House-size.
You had two kinds of people in the joint: The guys who took what life dealt them and the ones who didn't. I was one of those guys who took what life dealt them. It was a pair of eights, a five, a four, and a two. Almost like it could be a decent hand, but not quite, enh, you know? I'm not complaining. And then there was Timmy.
Timmy was the kind of guy who didn't take what life dealt them. He was always thinking...
Life on the inside was tough. "The inside," that was what we call the penitentiary. I had been on the "inside" for nearly forty years. I was forty-four. That's more than half a man's life spent repaying a debt to society. What kind of debt takes that long to repay? What did I get out of it? A house? That's the kind of debt we're talking about. House-size.
You had two kinds of people in the joint: The guys who took what life dealt them and the ones who didn't. I was one of those guys who took what life dealt them. It was a pair of eights, a five, a four, and a two. Almost like it could be a decent hand, but not quite, enh, you know? I'm not complaining. And then there was Timmy.
Timmy was the kind of guy who didn't take what life dealt them. He was always thinking there was a way out, that there was more to life than slaving away making license plates to keep your mind off doing the time, and avoiding sodomy in the shower room. There was successfully avoiding sodomy in the shower room, and so much more. Timmy was always thinking big.
There were two kinds of guys who didn't accept the cards life dealt them: The kind who got angry, got mean, and turned it all against the prison. Bigot Deuceballs was like that, the meanest man the "inside" had ever seen. He would rip you a new asshole just as soon as look at you—some of them men he ripped a new asshole for didn't even want it, but he did it anyway. And the other kind of guy who didn't accept the cards life dealt them was the kind who dreamt of getting out, by any means necessary. That was Timmy.
There were two things Timmy was good at: Shoeshine and something else I probably shouldn't mention. But he was good. Man, he was incredible with that one talent. But he also shined a decent shoe. And on the "inside," that was his ticket to an easier life.
The warden made Timmy the personal bootblack to every officer in the prison. Sometimes the governor would visit and Timmy would give him the ol' spit-shine. Then after that he would shine his shoes, and the governor loved the look of his big ol' white bald head in that shoe, yes sir. It was better than the horrid demon face that popped up sometimes and scared him to loosin' his bowels. The governor was insane, you see, I might have mentioned that earlier.
Being the penitentiary pet and having the respect of the governor, that was good enough for most of us on the inside. But Timmy always dreamt bigger and bigger. There are two kinds of guys who always dreamt bigger and bigger: The guys who nobody believed were ever going to do anything, and the kind who would actually do something. Timmy was the second kind, but we all thought he was the first kind. He kept talking of busting out.
"I'm going over the wall tonight," Timmy told me one night, whispering down the cell block. For the sake of this story let's say I could hear him.
"Ain't no wall so much as a fence, Timmy," I replied.
"Fine, then I'm going under the wall. You going with me or not?"
When you're a young man, escape seems like it's possible. It seems all you got to do is pick your moment and run, and keep running until you get somewhere better. Then you get to be a forty-four year-old convict like myself and start to doubt you ever knew how to run in the first place. I tried to tell Timmy not do to it—but there was nothing you could teach Timmy about the world. He had a learning disability.   |
