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 May 31, 2011 |
Oakland, CA Courtesy ACPA7 Harold Camping, seen here live on Alameda County Public Access 7 espousing his firm belief that you can’t keep a bad format down.
HD-DVD, the home video optical disc format launched by Japan’s Toshiba Corp in 2006, spent the entirety of its brief existence engaged in a bitter format war with rival Sony’s Blu-ray. The war came to a sudden, testicle-bashing end in January of 2008, when Warner Bros. announced it would end its policy of supporting both formats and throw its weight behind Blu-ray, because of that technology’s larger capacity and cooler n...
orld famous for his claims that bible math proved the rapture would come on May 22nd, and less famous for his claims a few days later that the rapture actually totally did happen, but it was all meta and conceptual and shit, Harold Camping has emerged from hiding this week to announce his boldest prediction yet: HD-DVD will be coming back on July 27th.
HD-DVD, the home video optical disc format launched by Japan’s Toshiba Corp in 2006, spent the entirety of its brief existence engaged in a bitter format war with rival Sony’s Blu-ray. The war came to a sudden, testicle-bashing end in January of 2008, when Warner Bros. announced it would end its policy of supporting both formats and throw its weight behind Blu-ray, because of that technology’s larger capacity and cooler name. Toshiba vowed to keep up the fight, while immediately stopping HD-DVD player production with its other hand and dispatching ninjas to WB headquarters with a surprise third hand that ended up being a fake made of paper mache. Soon after, the disc format folded like a delivery from Netflix.
"This is the real one," claimed Camping when questioned by the commune as to whether or not this was the real one. "I’ve read the bible twice and there it is, plain as day. Thine format begat by Toshiba shall rise once more, because The Jerk hath never come out on Blu-ray."
When this reporter pointed out that there was no fucking way it says "Toshiba" in the bible, Camping issued me a demerit for swearing and gave me a note to take to my parents. They are dead.
Skeptics of Camping’s revelation were not difficult to find.
"Bullshit," explained movie collector "Rowdy" Ronnie Pepper.
"Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit," he explained further.
And yet, Camping’s devout are convinced their man has it right again, for the first time.
"I totally knew it," boasted Philadelphia layabout Bob Rudolph. "All my friends were re-buying Black Rain on Blu-ray and I was like no way dude, HD-DVD is coming back. It’s in the bible and shit. With numbers."
"Wouldn’t that be awesome?" queried Quad Cities grass painter Mitchell Clung. "Imagine a world where you could buy any movie you wanted in high-def, as long as it was put out by Universal. It would be like heaven."
"The whole rapture fake-out was just a test to weed out the non-believers from the faithful," shouted Wisconsin housewife Mary Snupp, because this reporter had already started to walk across the street to interview someone who didn’t have cartoon cats on their doormat. "Now only the true of heart will know to start bidding on that Bee Movie HD-DVD on eBay."
When asked if Jesus would be returning with HD-DVD, Camping made a joke about The Passion of the Christ and then mumbled something about getting back to us after he’d learned how to do bible fractions. the commune news is still waiting for the return of laserdisc, but when it comes back we’ll be ready and waiting with the gigantic 200-laserdisc changer we’ve been working on in our garage since 1992. Raoul Dunkin is the commune’s key contact with our invaluable underground source, a sketchy figure known only by the alias "Deep Ass."
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 January 3, 2005
What's a Cornhole?I have a question for my loyal readers, or even the disloyal ones, anyone who traipses over the column on their way to reading Entertainment Police or Pickle Barrel or maybe some guys stumble on the page by accident thinking commune is French for pussy or something, I don't know, the French probably have 50 words for it.
My question is: What's a cornhole?
Please don't laugh now, I've just never heard the term before. I grew up in California and we had no real experience with corn out there. I mean, we'd eat it, but it's not like in Iowa or nothing, we didn't go out and plant it and grow it and sit and watch it for hours and burn it for fun or nothing. We had television and yoga where I grew up, not ways to waste your time.
I tried asking my mom and she passed out on the phone, which might be unusual except for the fact she does it all the time. My dad just went into a spiel about how back in his days the homosexuals didn't rub it in your face. I'm not sure what that has to do with corn or why the homosexuals would rub corn in your face, or what exactly it is that they rub in my dad's face that gets him so riled up, but it wasn't worth talking to him for another hour to figure it out.
I asked everybody at the commune and they just break out laughing, like when I ask who's supposed to edit my columns. Nobody would tell me at all, though Ramon Nootles offered to show me. I don't even want to talk to him after the last time...
º Last Column: Roasting Pockets O'Shannon
º more columns
I have a question for my loyal readers, or even the disloyal ones, anyone who traipses over the column on their way to reading Entertainment Police or Pickle Barrel or maybe some guys stumble on the page by accident thinking commune is French for pussy or something, I don't know, the French probably have 50 words for it.
My question is: What's a cornhole?
Please don't laugh now, I've just never heard the term before. I grew up in California and we had no real experience with corn out there. I mean, we'd eat it, but it's not like in Iowa or nothing, we didn't go out and plant it and grow it and sit and watch it for hours and burn it for fun or nothing. We had television and yoga where I grew up, not ways to waste your time.
I tried asking my mom and she passed out on the phone, which might be unusual except for the fact she does it all the time. My dad just went into a spiel about how back in his days the homosexuals didn't rub it in your face. I'm not sure what that has to do with corn or why the homosexuals would rub corn in your face, or what exactly it is that they rub in my dad's face that gets him so riled up, but it wasn't worth talking to him for another hour to figure it out.
I asked everybody at the commune and they just break out laughing, like when I ask who's supposed to edit my columns. Nobody would tell me at all, though Ramon Nootles offered to show me. I don't even want to talk to him after the last time he offered to show me something. Stu Umbrage actually did offer an explanation, but he would only speak in palindromes, so after an hour of him uttering only four words, three of which weren't even palindromes, I gave up. No answer at the commune.
I've heard "cornhole" plenty of times, usually in movies or reading through Omar Bricks' hate mail, but I'm never sure what it's supposed to mean by the context I find it in. It didn't bother me until I picked up a script over the weekend for a part I'm auditioning for next week. The movie is titled Cornhole but I couldn't really grasp the meaning of the word from reading my six-line part. You might guess, I don't like to read entire scripts because I don't want my character to know about things going on that my character wasn't there for, and I also hate to read.
Would you believe "cornhole" isn't in the Webster's dictionary? That's the assumption I'm going on. If anyone finds it in there, let me know. It will definitely be a surprise.
I guess it could be a Spanish word or something, maybe some kind of dip. Sometimes really artsy movies are titled after foreign words because that makes them smarter. If you called a movie Fartknocker you're not getting the same kind of audience as if you called it Le Knocquer de Flatulénte. As far as field research on the term and everything, I've never seen holes in corn. I suppose if you rip a corntree out of the ground the hole left could be called a cornhole, but what's the point of calling somebody that or referring to that in a prison?
So anyway, I hate to take up a whole column with this question, but I've got to find out, it's driving me nuts. Hurry up and let me know, if you can. Nothing would be worse than showing up at an audition for a movie called Cornhole and not knowing what it means. They'd think I'm an asshole or something. º Last Column: Roasting Pockets O'Shannonº 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“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, even more shame on you! Big fooler. Fool me three times… man, that brings back memories. Reminds me of when you made me drink that urine one time.”
-Vick-O MartiniFortune 500 CookieThat heart attack medicine may be making your penis smaller, so just for safety's sake, stop taking it altogether. Learn to play the guitar this week; it's just another good reason to carry out that plan to kidnap Dweezil Zappa. Remember, passing gas in an elevator is not only rude, it also slows down your arrival time by up to 2 seconds.
Try again later.Worst-Selling Breakfast Cereals| 1. | Scroats! | | 2. | Branimal Crackers | | 3. | Frosted Mini-Thins | | 4. | Too Much Fibre | | 5. | Vitamin Pill Crunch | | 6. | Unlucky Leprechaun Pocket Fuzz | | 7. | Byproducts | | 8. | Easter Peeps in Milk (milk included) | | 9. | You’ve Got Crabs | | 10. | Beano: The Cereal | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 8/4/2003 Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's right… wait, what were we talking about? Movies! Blow 'em out your ass, America! I'm fuckin' sick of movies, this week we're going to review vegetables. Cucumbers! Radishes! En… Endives! Yeah!
Alright, smartass, I'm out of vegetables. Here's your goddamn movies:
In Theaters
American Wedding
A formerly hardass franchise has gone all Friends on us, ladies and gentlemen. Hollywood's obese felines are betting you'll slap down your hard-earned pesos to watch these dirtballs get hitched, and I say screw 'em! Screw 'em and their imported water. If I wanted to see somebody stick their...
Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's right… wait, what were we talking about? Movies! Blow 'em out your ass, America! I'm fuckin' sick of movies, this week we're going to review vegetables. Cucumbers! Radishes! En… Endives! Yeah!
Alright, smartass, I'm out of vegetables. Here's your goddamn movies:
In Theaters
American Wedding
A formerly hardass franchise has gone all Friends on us, ladies and gentlemen. Hollywood's obese felines are betting you'll slap down your hard-earned pesos to watch these dirtballs get hitched, and I say screw 'em! Screw 'em and their imported water. If I wanted to see somebody stick their dick in a wedding cake I would have gone to my cousin Dave's wedding last month. So let me be the first to add this movie to my list of things we're all boycotting: Pizza Hut, the boyscouts and this movie. Oh, and vegetables. Fuck vegetables. You heard it here first.
Fucking Friday
Jamie Lee Curtis and some anonymous tampon star in this triple-hashed remake of all those "Dad woke up with his teenage son's boner" movies from the 80's. Only now it's a mother and daughter sharing the misery, and it's not a onetime deal, but rather a once-a-week hassle that the family has come to know derisively as Fucking Friday. The expected faux-hilarity ensues, with daughter getting hot flashes and mom getting hot pants, blah blah blah. The bulk of the film consists of queasy sequences featuring mom being pawed by underage slobs with beer on their breath and daughter air-sickness bagging her way through routine, mechanical sex with dad, both of which I sincerely could have done without. Somebody actually found Mark Harmon buried in the wreck of the Lusitania and dug him up to co-star as the hot neighbor who may or may not have mind-switched with a two-year-old Latino boy. They must have figured Harmon had the necessary experience with catastrophes, but at least the first time around he probably got some decent seafood.
Gigli
With his latest picture, Ben Affleck proves he's whiter than any of us could have possibly imagined, despite his current marital status as a lemur clinging tenaciously to Jennifer Lopez's ass. Affleck plays Larry Gigli, a walking punchline whose constant references to "gettin' Gigli wit it" demonstrate that Affleck can't even appropriate faux-black culture from Will Smith, of all people. Thankfully, J-Lo sings a song on the soundtrack, so maximum camp value is achieved, allowing audiences to enjoy the film on an ironic level even if they like acting and music.
The Secret Lives of Dennis
Who out there among you didn't think it was too late for a Head of the Class spin-off movie? Okay, that's not many hands, but I'll assume that's because not many of you foresaw the possibility, or even recall the show from your cocaine-encrusted chest of 80's memories. For those of you that did think a spin-off was a good idea, wouldn't you have spun off a movie around rebel loner Eric or even geek chic Arvid? Okay, you guys with your hands still up are just fucking with me, go on home and quit busting my balls. As for the rest of you, were you really thinking of going to this movie? Good God man, don't you have some chores to do? Stay home and spellcheck your suicide note or something, for the love of all that is holy.
S.W.A.T.
The latest Playstation game to skip the Playstation and come straight to the theater is a loose (and I mean like the cousin that let you feel her up at the family reunion loose) sequel to the 1994 Stephen "Midget Golfer" Dorf flick S.F.W.. This is not to be confused with the Bridget "Anaconda" Fonda handjob S.W.F. (Super White Female) or the Three Stooges flick W.F.S. (Where the Fuck is Shep?). Since the original wasn't actually about anything, the producers had the leeway to build the sequel from the ground up, and to give the franchise a kick in the ass by making it a blaxploitation thrill ride. As with the original, the American public was deemed too square to be exposed to this film's title in its full glory (Some White-Ass Turkeys), but savvy filmgoers should know without being told that Samuel L. Jackson wouldn't get mixed up in another lame movie about the actual S.W.A.T. team, not after The Negotiator. Though he did still manage to walk into a door frame by not demanding that the screenwriter change his character's name from Hohmo, I can't help but think that's going to get more laughs than any of the actual jokes in the picture.
Alright, everybody out unless they want Bacardi on their pants! You got your movies, now leave Uncle Roland to drown his sorrows in a kiddie pool full of inexpensive rum. Check back in another two weeks, but if nobody answers when you knock then just dream up your own pithy comments for once. Lazy bastards.    |
