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November 29, 2004 |
Seattle, WA Boner Cunningham Leave it to terrorists to make the Cunningham family vacation even more miserable than it already was he Al-Qaeda jig was upped last week when the Texas Transportation Institute dropped their yearly bombshell with the release the Urban Mobility Report, showing that traffic has gone from bad to shitty everywhere nationwide in the last five years. Though the Texas A&M study lists the usual scapegoats of poor urban planning and American aversion to public transportation as the culprits, real Americans willing to talk to commune reporters while stuck in traffic put the blame squarely at the feet of the rogue terrorist network Al-Qaeda, which has been linked in recent years to everything from the 9/11 attacks to the heartbreaking cancellation of some of this reporterâs favorite television programs.
âMan, I was sitting in traffic the other day for like two hours,â bitched ...
he Al-Qaeda jig was upped last week when the Texas Transportation Institute dropped their yearly bombshell with the release the Urban Mobility Report, showing that traffic has gone from bad to shitty everywhere nationwide in the last five years. Though the Texas A&M study lists the usual scapegoats of poor urban planning and American aversion to public transportation as the culprits, real Americans willing to talk to commune reporters while stuck in traffic put the blame squarely at the feet of the rogue terrorist network Al-Qaeda, which has been linked in recent years to everything from the 9/11 attacks to the heartbreaking cancellation of some of this reporterâs favorite television programs.
âMan, I was sitting in traffic the other day for like two hours,â bitched Seattle motorist Clyde Williams, while sitting in traffic. âAnd no shit, there was an Arab dude sitting in the car in front of me. Theyâre everywhere. Motherfucker was playing that easy-listening station on the radio like he didnât know his windows was down, too. I hate that shit.â
Fresh off the successfully disastrous hijacking of a Russian elementary school and complete concealment of their very involvement months ago, Al-Qaeda has again set its sights on our friendly shores, though not covertly enough to fool shrewd American motorists. While going car to car during a recent traffic jam in Seattle, this reporter sampled a broad cross-section of American frustration with Al-Qaedaâs insidious infrastructure-stalling tactics.
âOh yeah, I see that all the time,â agreed motorist Dale Harvey, after this reporter suggested Al-Qaeda might be behind the I-5 backup heâd been stuck in for the last forty-five minutes. âThereâs always some terrorist assfuck driving slow in the left-hand lane or leaving his turn signal on for miles. Women, too. They say Al-Qaeda doesnât ever use women, but then how do you explain all these awful women drivers? I think those bastards leave all the driving up to their terrorist wives. Theyâve probably got camps out in the desert, teaching them to change lanes randomly and slow way down to rubberneck at accidents.â
âCan Chinese guys be Al-Quada?â added Harvey, in question. âBecause those guys drive for shit too. Might be something worth looking into there. Maybe theyâre branching out or outsourcing to the Orient. Tricky bastards.â
While not as dramatic as blowing up a bridge or nuking Chattanooga, Al-Qaedaâs efforts to delay and annoy average Americans have had a significant effect in recent years, according to the Texas study. Over 3.5 billion hours were lost to traffic jams nationwide last year, a number so large as to be meaningless unless put into context: Thatâs like watching Lawrence of Arabia five or six times.
âI wouldnât put it past âem,â confided motorist and housewife Darlene Pickering, gesturing to the wall of cars blocking her route home from spinning class. âDidnât they set off that hurricane over in Florida? And now this. We should stop giving the terrorists driversâ licenses, if this is how theyâre going to repay us.â
During the course of interviewing inconvenienced motorists, it became clear that Al-Qaeda has failed to hide its nefarious scheming from average Americans, or at least average Americans stuck in traffic. The terrorist network may have erred in giving Americans too much time to unravel their twisted dealings while killing time during traffic jams.
âI think about that shit sometimes,â mused Harvey. âLike how come Arbyâs never has that â5 for $5â deal any more? They think we wouldnât notice that? Shit. Man, I hope some terrorist fuck didnât set his old beater on fire up ahead in the breakdown lane, âcuz I gotta piss bad.â the commune news was once accused by Homeland Security of being the result of an Al-Qaeda plot, but then again so was everyone who suggested Bush didnât really win Florida. Boner Cunningham is the communeâs most enthusiastic and least-discerning reporter, who hopes to one day go for the office Triple Crown should Ivan Nacutchacokov ever step down as the ugliest.
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 September 16, 2002
Scrumpletydumples"Flippetyripples dapplety-giblets!"
cried the elf-like thing.
Pouncing on his footstool,
he was dressed fit for a king.
His sniveling little attendant
was harshly reprimanded:
"Dimplety-smackers⌠chalooga!"
he so eloquently demanded.
"Snabblety-scrabble, applety-pee!"
he examined it loudly,
the chain of gold that wrapped around his pudgy fingers three.
This would never do, it was much too yellow
is what he seemed to say, what I heard him bellow.
And deep within his deep blue eyes
I sensed a bluish dissatisfaction rise.
A glint of a look that seemed like it said
"Bring me my wife, and off with her head!"
For she had been spotted by the Chudaluk brook
with the caddest of cads, the deplorable Rook.
And that could only mean one of three things:
that she sings when it's hot, or it's hot when she sings
or lastly, unfortunately, that it's not singing at all,
that noise which echoed up through stairways and halls
which made it no secret, the shameful Rook's gall.
Though the last time I saw him, he stood not so tall
for on the king's mantle, in a jar, are his balls.
King Scrumpletydumples quite nearly was dressed
as he fastened a gold chicken medallion to his breast.
He wrapped his squat legs in chiffon and gauze
and dipped in royal rose water his royal red shnozz.
For...
º Last Column: Snuffles, Wonder Dog º more columns
"Flippetyripples dapplety-giblets!"
cried the elf-like thing.
Pouncing on his footstool,
he was dressed fit for a king.
His sniveling little attendant
was harshly reprimanded:
"Dimplety-smackers⌠chalooga!"
he so eloquently demanded.
"Snabblety-scrabble, applety-pee!"
he examined it loudly,
the chain of gold that wrapped around his pudgy fingers three.
This would never do, it was much too yellow
is what he seemed to say, what I heard him bellow.
And deep within his deep blue eyes
I sensed a bluish dissatisfaction rise.
A glint of a look that seemed like it said
"Bring me my wife, and off with her head!"
For she had been spotted by the Chudaluk brook
with the caddest of cads, the deplorable Rook.
And that could only mean one of three things:
that she sings when it's hot, or it's hot when she sings
or lastly, unfortunately, that it's not singing at all,
that noise which echoed up through stairways and halls
which made it no secret, the shameful Rook's gall.
Though the last time I saw him, he stood not so tall
for on the king's mantle, in a jar, are his balls.
King Scrumpletydumples quite nearly was dressed
as he fastened a gold chicken medallion to his breast.
He wrapped his squat legs in chiffon and gauze
and dipped in royal rose water his royal red shnozz.
For today was the day he would take a new wife,
a woman so faithful with which to spend his life,
or at least that's what we figured he meant when he said
"Frognatz rulpumba! Tolingle! Shub-bed!"
Hey, your guess is our guess, it's the Kingdom's anguish
that the royal red king speaks an unfathomable language. º Last Column: Snuffles, Wonder Dogº more columns
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|  September 12, 2005
Way Inside JokesNobody gets me. I swear. They're all too stupid.
It's not my fault. Having your own abbreviations and slang just makes life way more fun. Like whenever someone tells me they're a fan of something or other, I like to think that "fan" is short for "fancy vagina." Then nobody knows why I'm cracking up because that fat guy in the third row just announced that he was a Philadelphia Phillies fancy vagina. What a dork!
Mom is another good one. M.O.M. could just as easily stand for "Musky Otter Meat." That one has tons of mileage on Mother's Day. Or "Moldy Old Moose," that one really gets her going. "Murderer of Mexicans" got me grounded for a week, no lie. Eventually she just started insisting that I call her Carol. Whatever, some people have no senses of humor.
Another funny thing is when somebody else is talking, add "with my penis" to the end of everything they say. If it's a guy talking it's pretty funny. Like when my dad told me "I'm going to go mow the lawn (with my penis)" last week, ha ha. Or when the president was on TV talking about how he was going to send assistance to New Orleans with his penis. I'd like to see that! Or the best was when my English teacher Mr. Appleton said "I'd like to touch your naked breasts (with my penis)" the other day! I couldn't stop giggling.
Most people think you need to have two people to have an inside joke, but I think that's just stupid. Nothing's funnier than being the only one who knows why...
º Last Column: I'm Not that Big a Fan of Talking º more columns
Nobody gets me. I swear. They're all too stupid. It's not my fault. Having your own abbreviations and slang just makes life way more fun. Like whenever someone tells me they're a fan of something or other, I like to think that "fan" is short for "fancy vagina." Then nobody knows why I'm cracking up because that fat guy in the third row just announced that he was a Philadelphia Phillies fancy vagina. What a dork! Mom is another good one. M.O.M. could just as easily stand for "Musky Otter Meat." That one has tons of mileage on Mother's Day. Or "Moldy Old Moose," that one really gets her going. "Murderer of Mexicans" got me grounded for a week, no lie. Eventually she just started insisting that I call her Carol. Whatever, some people have no senses of humor. Another funny thing is when somebody else is talking, add "with my penis" to the end of everything they say. If it's a guy talking it's pretty funny. Like when my dad told me "I'm going to go mow the lawn (with my penis)" last week, ha ha. Or when the president was on TV talking about how he was going to send assistance to New Orleans with his penis. I'd like to see that! Or the best was when my English teacher Mr. Appleton said "I'd like to touch your naked breasts (with my penis)" the other day! I couldn't stop giggling. Most people think you need to have two people to have an inside joke, but I think that's just stupid. Nothing's funnier than being the only one who knows why something's so funny. Whenever my friend Marcy talks about getting her period, I can't stop laughing because it would be so funny if she was talking about the punctuation mark, the other kind of period. "Oh no, here comes my period again!" At least it's not a comma, you dumb bitch! Ha ha. Just the thought of an ampersand flopping out of Marcy's See You Next Tuesday is enough to get me kicked out of Social Studies for the laughing fits! And no, Mr. Dunlin, this isn't even about Napoleon Bonerparts, that was SO last year. Doofus! Everyone has a funny name, when you really think about it. Tim? Come back and talk to me after you've done something about those Tiny Implanted Mammaries, you freak! Shawn? Nice try, but we all know your mother named you after masturbashawn. Ha, loser. And Jane? You're the worst of them all! I can't even believe you'd go out in public with a name like Just Another Naked Elephant. You could at least go by your less-embarrassing middle name, Sexy Underwear Eater. And don't even talk to me about these freaks who don't even catch on after I've been laughing at them for like half an hour. I mean, come on, you should at least stop saying things like "there's a lot of room" or "I like to play croquet" after it becomes obvious I've been adding "inside my mom's ass" to everything you say in my own mind! But nope, nobody gets how funny and dumb they really are. It's a shame really, for everybody except me. º Last Column: I'm Not that Big a Fan of Talkingº more columns
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Milestones1975: Bludney Pludd is born. He didn't make a big deal about it at the time and we're certainly not going to change that tradition now.Now HiringKnife-Thrower. Should be capable of agile manipulation of melee weapons for entertaining stage spectacle, including throwing blades at volunteer Bludney Pludd. No references required, but we will insist on counting fingers.John McCain's Most Ill-Conceived Jokes| 1. | Trick "Good for One Free House-Cleaning" coupon he gives to homeless that looks like $100 bill | | 2. | Open letter to Crocodile Hunter widow Terri Irwin inviting her to spend the night with a "real man" | | 3. | "I fully and unequivocably support the rights of homosexuals. Nah, just kidding. That shit makes me throw up." | | 4. | Wearing hole-filled NASA sweatshirt to press conference Saturday | | 5. | Big "I have cancer" gag in 2000 election | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 4/5/2004 I'm afraid during my long absence the movies haven't gotten any better. Waiting for Hollywood to start turning out art is quite equivalent to waiting for a train at a bus stop. Still, with the amount of pure, uncut horseshit shoveled in our direction on a weekly basis, you would think they would accidentally produce something good out of sheer probability. Meanwhile, the box office fills up with a Scooby Doo sequel and a Coen Brothers movie with Marlon Wayans. How does Hollywood know the exact things I detest to make movies so finely targeted to make me vomit?
On DVD
Matrix Revolutions
To qualify as a one-trick pony, do you not at least have to know one trick? Myself, I discount wearing leather and shooting...
I'm afraid during my long absence the movies haven't gotten any better. Waiting for Hollywood to start turning out art is quite equivalent to waiting for a train at a bus stop. Still, with the amount of pure, uncut horseshit shoveled in our direction on a weekly basis, you would think they would accidentally produce something good out of sheer probability. Meanwhile, the box office fills up with a Scooby Doo sequel and a Coen Brothers movie with Marlon Wayans. How does Hollywood know the exact things I detest to make movies so finely targeted to make me vomit?
On DVD
Matrix Revolutions
To qualify as a one-trick pony, do you not at least have to know one trick? Myself, I discount wearing leather and shooting extended kung fu sequences as tricks. I will not dignify the "philosophy" of the movie by calling it such without the quotations—Nietsczhe shit more memorable thoughts after bouts with diarrhea. Still, I could see someone buying this movie, besides the mentally deficient. Say, you were charmed by the first one and bought it, then bought the second one since you haven't seen it in the theater and had high hope for its improvement on the original. Then, this one comes out and you have a severe collectors' obsession to own everything that comes in threes. I excuse you only if you promise never to watch it, except for ironic enjoyment.
Cheaper by the Dozen
The title also doubles as a phrase summing up screenplays for remakes of classic Hollywood films. Most troubling of all, the film it's based on was a bottom-dweller on the Hollywood classics list in the first place. New ideas are so scarce in tinsel town now they've finally decided to remake their epic bombs. Prepare yourself for a digitally-assembled Howard the Duck, and Ishtar starring Justin Timberlake and Heath Ledger. My only relief comes from the idea that Steve Martin is a popular name, and perhaps the Steve Martin starring in this film is not the same one who did the more palatable surreal comedies of the '70s and '80s. There are plenty of kids as well who make for a strong pro-choice argument.
Kill Bill: Vol. 1
I hate to knock a movie before seeing how it officially concludes. But here goes: A gassy expulsion by Quentin Tarantino, cinema's Puff Daddy, stealing blatantly and brazenly from lame B-grade movies and schlock films that were lucky to do one or two things right in their 120 minutes. It would be more commendable if he could steal the things that worked. Tarantino is ripe for Hollywood Squares, only the film community is reluctant to admit it to themselves. He made the '90s much livelier, though not better, with his dressing up old Welcome Back, Kotter stars in funny haircuts and giving us the long discussions about oral sex and cereal we needed in that decade. Then Jackie Brown came out and people said, "Oh, right—this is kind of stupid." Making one bad movie into two has seldom proved a remedy to creative malnutrition, so I'm not expecting the latter half of the Bill killing to shine any light on this violent, faded celebrity fest. By the time the sequel comes to DVD Uma Thurman will
need a reminder of her past successes on the back of the box, such as Pulp Fiction or⌠shit. She may be in trouble.
The summer blockbuster season is quickly closing in, and I'm already salivating at all the juicy adjectives I'm about to sling. Of course, thanks to a glandular problem, I actually salivate non-stop all of the time. One of my few vices. There. I feel like we've shared. Now return for more righting of cinematic wrongs next month.   |