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McCartney, Bradshaw to TourFebruary 18, 2002 |
New Orleans,LA Courtesy Schizophrenic Dan The greatest duo since Coverdale-Page?
The response to the pairing of Bradshaw and McCartney for an impromptu version of "A Hard Day's Night" during the Super Bowl halftime activities was nothing less than overwhelming. The phone lines at Fox were lit up for virtually the entire second half of the game with viewers asking where they might be able to pur...
ith the rousing success of their recent surprise duet at the Super Bowl, entertainers Terry Bradshaw and Sir Paul McCartney have announced that they are going on tour together soon, and will play major stadium and arena dates in selected cities across America. McCartney, former front man for the band Wings and alleged ex-Beatle, was quoted as saying that he "very much enjoyed Terry's fresh approach to lyrics. He plays fast and loose with the words, and I like that."
The response to the pairing of Bradshaw and McCartney for an impromptu version of "A Hard Day's Night" during the Super Bowl halftime activities was nothing less than overwhelming. The phone lines at Fox were lit up for virtually the entire second half of the game with viewers asking where they might be able to purchase a copy of the song as sung by the two well known personalities. The ragged vocals and fractured lyrics caused many of those inquiring to ask about "that punk-rock song about the hard day's dog" the two had sung. Callers were told that, unfortunately, there was no recorded version available at that time. Spokesmen for both McCartney and Bradshaw hinted that they may spend some time in the studio together soon to rectify that situation, however.
"The other thing I like about this arrangement," said McCartney, "is that, ever since Linda died, I've been looking for someone to sing backup on 'Hey Jude' like she did. Up until now, I hadn't met anyone who had that kind of vocal range and musical intuitiveness that she had. But Terry's 'nah nah nah naaah's' have that certain je ne sais quois that I've been looking for."
Asked for further comment, Bradshaw responded excitedly in a language that was completely unintelligible, waving his arms and gesticulating wildly. His eyebrows shot up and down his tall forehead, his eyes bugged completely out and his tongue seemed to take on a life of its own as it rolled and flopped around in and out of his mouth. "Blah-dah boogah wah wah wah! Hibbidy dibbidy woogah! Manalanna frack!" Bradshaw apparently said. the commune news already knows that the answer to the question "What lives on a farm and has three legs?" is "Paul McCartney and his fiancee," so don't even bother asking. Stigmata Spent thinks that jokes about cripples are lame.
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 December 23, 2002
Cakes Are for Baking"Cakes are for baking
and rakes are for raking,"
declared Paul Von Nosberg
Von Shaking.
"Numerous studies
have indicated the same thing,"
he said as he buffed
his large amethyst ring.
"Ships are for shipping
and chips are for chipping,"
he continued,
though little encouragement came.
"Though not for dipping,
as dips are made for the same."
"Meats are for meeting,
and fleas are but fleeting,"
he pondered as he scratched his strange chin.
"And therefore ticks are for tickling,
and sticks are all sticky,"
his eyes lit as he grinned a pontificant grin.
"In tombs filled with tumors…
you cough in your coffin.
And in day old-canoe,
in robes made for rowing
we paddle with oars but not witches…"
"Which witch grabbed the oar or the paddle,
which, padded, was added to the boat for an ad, which I wrote?
Do not eat a donut in shorts that show nuts if you're grown-up.
And if you groan up tree number three, which is a Douglas fir,
doubtless fur will fall in the Fall,
as chipmunks who live with hens within when scared are given not to shitting but, as ought to, shedding."
"I met a man named Mark who I avoided,
lest my hands turn black.
But I was quite keen on Carrie,
since I had some heavy boxes waiting around the back.
I met Robbie in...
º Last Column: There Was No Way to Tell
º more columns
"Cakes are for baking
and rakes are for raking,"
declared Paul Von Nosberg
Von Shaking.
"Numerous studies
have indicated the same thing,"
he said as he buffed
his large amethyst ring.
"Ships are for shipping
and chips are for chipping,"
he continued,
though little encouragement came.
"Though not for dipping,
as dips are made for the same."
"Meats are for meeting,
and fleas are but fleeting,"
he pondered as he scratched his strange chin.
"And therefore ticks are for tickling,
and sticks are all sticky,"
his eyes lit as he grinned a pontificant grin.
"In tombs filled with tumors…
you cough in your coffin.
And in day old-canoe,
in robes made for rowing
we paddle with oars but not witches…"
"Which witch grabbed the oar or the paddle,
which, padded, was added to the boat for an ad, which I wrote?
Do not eat a donut in shorts that show nuts if you're grown-up.
And if you groan up tree number three, which is a Douglas fir,
doubtless fur will fall in the Fall,
as chipmunks who live with hens within when scared are given not to shitting but, as ought to, shedding."
"I met a man named Mark who I avoided,
lest my hands turn black.
But I was quite keen on Carrie,
since I had some heavy boxes waiting around the back.
I met Robbie in the lobby and when I did I clutched my handbag tight.
I thought Will was too determined, and Davie kept me up at night.
Hal I found quite funny
Bill just wanted my money
As did Sue, though she was less polite."
"Charles burnt my hot dogs,
Bertha goes into labor every time she jogs,
Miles made me wait too long,
Paul kept humming this depressing song,
John pissed me off,
Dusty made me cough,
Pat was too touchy-feely,
Lisa's monthly payments kept her from living freely,
Sharon had nothing of her own,
and Peter?"
"He was just a dick." º Last Column: There Was No Way to Tellº more columns
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|  December 22, 2003
The Night Before Testimony'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the...
º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Death
º more columns
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the cops.
They arrived with guns blazing and clubs swinging free
unaware of the danger, but hey, they're N.Y.P.D.
Old Rok spilled his guts in a new record time
and begged for protection from the dear FBI.
They wasted no time, and hauled Rok away
to meet with J. Edgar or whoever runs it today
With the dirt Rok had on Yogi, Mario, and all,
the state prisons will soon be packed wall to wall.
Rok gets probation and time served—how cool!
"It's the way we reward you for being a stool."
And with those kind words the agent disappeared in the night
for survivalists in Montana waited to pick a fight,
For Rok and Felchyana, they planned the best Christmas yet
though they were as far from civilization as you could now get,
"But we'll enjoy the grim situation, no matter what 'tis,
or wherever the hell this 'Fargo' place is."
So with prospects all brighter, things turned out great in the end
except for poor Camembert, sentenced from five to ten. º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Deathº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Fight back, men! It's not the size of the boat, it's the motion of the ocean!”
-Capt. William Thomas Turner of the LusitaniaFortune 500 CookieLooks like your lawyers have kept those topless photos out of the magazine; that and the fact you're 89 years old. Tonight, conquer life's mystery: Find out what that Alpo tastes like. Today is great week to give the gift of peanut brittle. Shaved or unshaved? Your dogs will love you either way. Today's lucky charms: Pink hearts, blue moons, green clovers, virtually any of them.
Try again later.Most-Dreaded Christmas Gifts| 1. | Gift certificate from Bedwetters' Depot | | 2. | Fine pewter anything | | 3. | Lapdance from Rhonda | | 4. | Red Commie Hilfiger jacket | | 5. | Love | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Red Bagel 4/19/2004 A Fist Full of Tannenbaum Chapter 4: Different Day, Same BulletsEditor's Note: Jed Foster and sidekick Reilly have found their lockbox, for whatever it matters. But before the story could be successfully closed, some asshole named Fango popped in, with a buddy and a gun.
Projectiles projected everywhere as Jed and Reilly ducked for cover, behind a duck. But the yellow-belly mallard skirted away from the firefight, leaving Jed and Reilly scrambling. The two flipped a table on its side, spilling salt and pepper shakers and dumping a plate of bread, and shielded themselves behind it.
"It's amazing we haven't been hit yet!" shrieked Reilly.
"Yep, better to not let the reader dwell on it." Jed drew a handgun from his belt and pulled back the trigger. "You packing heat?"
"My balls are a little...
Editor's Note: Jed Foster and sidekick Reilly have found their lockbox, for whatever it matters. But before the story could be successfully closed, some asshole named Fango popped in, with a buddy and a gun.
Projectiles projected everywhere as Jed and Reilly ducked for cover, behind a duck. But the yellow-belly mallard skirted away from the firefight, leaving Jed and Reilly scrambling. The two flipped a table on its side, spilling salt and pepper shakers and dumping a plate of bread, and shielded themselves behind it.
"It's amazing we haven't been hit yet!" shrieked Reilly.
"Yep, better to not let the reader dwell on it." Jed drew a handgun from his belt and pulled back the trigger. "You packing heat?"
"My balls are a little sweaty, but other than that, I'm alright," Reilly said. He brandished a weapon. "Thank God for my reliable thirty-eight."
"Amen to that!" said Jed. Then, in a John Woo-esque display of imaginative poetic violence, he leapt aside from the table, firing well-targeted shells into the henchman not given a name. The anonymous drone cried out weakly and tumbled to the floor.
Fango, startled by his partner's demise, hugged the wall—a little too tightly, you ask me. He fired a barrage to keep Jed pinned behind a pile of dustbunnys, where he had taken cover. Rats! he might have thought. In one swift, commendable move, Jed had halved his enemy's numbers and put him in a fight with two fronts.
Before Fango had a chance to articulate his respect in the form of applause, or perhaps a "bravo!" Reilly had rolled the table toward him until it solidly crunched his foot. The big toe—no way to get out of a big toe hold. Jed crossed the floor quickly, a little less graceful than before, but nobody's complaining, and held the gun to Fango's temple.
"Well, well, well, old friend," said Jed, "it looks like things are going my way now."
"Damn your sharp wits and manly beauty, Foster!" snapped Fango, throwing his gun to the ground. "I told them not to saddle me with that unnamed flunky! That slacker always goes down the first bullet anybody fires."
"They? So you are working for someone?" asked Jed.
"Drat!" cursed Fango. "I fell for your clever trap!"
"Not really a trap, I didn't even bring it up. You did."
"Then apparently I'm just a bigmouth." Fango ran a finger along his waxed mustache. "Yes, Jed, it's true. I work for Ostrich now."
"Ostrich!" exclaimed Reilly, who hadn't said anything for a few minutes. "The giant flightless bird who buries its head in the sand or the elite corporate oligarchy who really makes all the decisions that affect the world?"
"That's the one."
"The bird?"
"The oligarchy.
"Ah. That makes more sense."
"We don't have time for this," interrupted Jed, although actually they did and he just didn't want to hear it. Jed held the lockbox aloft for them to see and rattled it. "Ostrich can do what it likes now. We've got the lockbox, and we're not giving it up without a fight."
"Oh, it will be a fight, I assure you, Jed Foster," said Fango, smiling ominously, with bad teeth. "In fact, keeping that lockbox out of the hands of the world's most powerful group will be the fight of your life!"
Jed and Reilly made haste as they left the cabin and started down the mountain, leaving Fango to clean up the place before calling for a helicopter service to pick him up.
Next Chapter: Surprise Truck   |
