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 October 24, 2005 |
Washington D.C. Whit Pistol New Hampshire Senator Judd Gregg, Powerball winner, decided to give an impromptu speech on the way home from filming an Old Navy commercial for extra spending cash.
"It's about friggin' time I got some good luck," Gregg told reporters in front of his home in his home state of New Hampshire. Gregg waved his winning ticket in the air frantically and laughed. "Eat it, taxpayers! I'm gonna be my own boss from now on!"
Gregg, who chairs the Senate Budget Committee and spent more than $2 million in his last re-election campaign, did admit to some sour grapes in not winning the $340 million jackpot won by an Oregon player in the same lottery.
"I wouldn't hav...
epublican Senator Judd Gregg finally ran into a big steaming pile of luck Wednesday when he matched 5 of 6 Powerball numbers and won a lottery jackpot of $853,492. Gregg immediately called Vice-President Dick Cheney to let his boss know he would not be coming into work. "It's about friggin' time I got some good luck," Gregg told reporters in front of his home in his home state of New Hampshire. Gregg waved his winning ticket in the air frantically and laughed. "Eat it, taxpayers! I'm gonna be my own boss from now on!" Gregg, who chairs the Senate Budget Committee and spent more than $2 million in his last re-election campaign, did admit to some sour grapes in not winning the $340 million jackpot won by an Oregon player in the same lottery. "I wouldn't have minded some of that sweet cash," snickered Gregg, who didn't bother dressing up for the press conferences. Wearing a pair of cutoff jeans, brown flip-flops, and a Senate Budget Committee muscle T, Gregg added, "I only play the lottery when it gets into real money like that. I could've used it more than that Oregon guy. What do they even have in Oregon? I bet he uses that money to move to a kick-ass state like New Hampshire." Though Gregg's announced resignation would be effective immediately, officials at the Republican Party Headquarters, the very mouth of hell, claimed Gregg would soon recant his resignation, and chalked it up to "lottery euphoria." "He does this all the time," said RNC spokesperson Phyllis Harbor. "Last year he fixed up an old Geo of his and sold it and told Cheney he was quitting. Just a few months ago he called in because a banking error in his favor left $3,000 extra in his account. Or maybe that was a beauty contest he won… I may be getting confused with a Monopoly game we played in the office last night. But frankly, Mr. Gregg is fairly high-strung for a Senator. He quit one time when the Sci-Fi Channel had a Twilight Zone marathon on. He ended up taking a sick day and just came in regular. No big deal." Fellow Budget Committee member Sen. Kent Conrad (D, North Dakota) confirmed Sen. Gregg has a tendency to overreact in financial situations. "He was going around everywhere in town just a few months ago, trying to raise $300 million for some 'project' he was putting together. When I asked him about it, it turns out he wanted to open a bait shop by the interstate so he could quit this 'lousy job' and be his own boss. I reminded him he's a millionaire already, and he had perhaps overestimated the amount of start-up capital it takes to open a bait shop. But that's Judd for you. He doesn't take well to numbers." Gregg himself answered some questions by phone, and was so far staying resolved in his plans to leave the Senate. "Forget it. I'm quitting this shitty job. I might give 'em some notice—till the end of the week at least. But come Friday, no joke, I'm outta here." Gregg made a whistling sound to punctuate his impending exit, and the sound of Rosanne playing on Nick-At-Nite could be heard. "Between the lotto money and some stocks and shit I could sell, I might finally be able to buy a partnership in a bowling alley like I've always wanted. I'm so ready to be my own boss it's not even funny." The soon-to-be-ex-Senator was kind enough to respond to all questions, but no one here thought to ask what a Senator is doing playing the lottery anyway. the commune news doesn't play the lottery because it's all just a popularity contest. Ramon Nootles has never won any popularity contests, mostly due to him being an unrelenting asshole.
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 September 29, 2003
Get Me on the Next Plane to Nigeria!I'm sure you've all heard the latest news and controversy coming out of Nigeria, about how that lady was gonna get stoned because she did some dude before they got married. All I can say is if lighting up a jay is these people's idea of punishment, then get me on the next plane to Nigeria!
I'm serious, this sounds like my kind of country. What do they do if you rob a bank, give you a blowjob? I can't believe nobody told me about this place before, all those lucky Nigerian pricks have been over there living the good life and keeping it all for themselves. And for how long? As soon as I get over there, I'm gonna give those guys some serious shit while I'm looking for a married chick to score with. They could have at least sent me a postcard or something, spread the wealth and all, instead of leaving me kicking around Puritanical America like some kind of yutz.
It's about time somebody got it right, you'd think with all the dozens of countries out there eventually somebody would've come up with a set of laws that didn't suck. It makes you wonder what else they've figured out over there, like maybe instead of parking tickets they give back massages. I could live with that. Or if they catch you stealing a VCR they give you like a million VCRs until you're sick of them, like my dad did the time he caught me stealing cookies when I was five. To this day I still can't see a cookie without retching, but at the time I thought that was a pretty sweet...
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I'm sure you've all heard the latest news and controversy coming out of Nigeria, about how that lady was gonna get stoned because she did some dude before they got married. All I can say is if lighting up a jay is these people's idea of punishment, then get me on the next plane to Nigeria!
I'm serious, this sounds like my kind of country. What do they do if you rob a bank, give you a blowjob? I can't believe nobody told me about this place before, all those lucky Nigerian pricks have been over there living the good life and keeping it all for themselves. And for how long? As soon as I get over there, I'm gonna give those guys some serious shit while I'm looking for a married chick to score with. They could have at least sent me a postcard or something, spread the wealth and all, instead of leaving me kicking around Puritanical America like some kind of yutz.
It's about time somebody got it right, you'd think with all the dozens of countries out there eventually somebody would've come up with a set of laws that didn't suck. It makes you wonder what else they've figured out over there, like maybe instead of parking tickets they give back massages. I could live with that. Or if they catch you stealing a VCR they give you like a million VCRs until you're sick of them, like my dad did the time he caught me stealing cookies when I was five. To this day I still can't see a cookie without retching, but at the time I thought that was a pretty sweet punishment.
They're way into Islam over there, which from what I hear involves listening to a lot of Bob Marley and taking it easy. Right on. Actually, I've been doing a little reading up on Islam lately, and let me tell you it's pretty sweet. Any religion that recognizes Muhammad Ali as the supreme badass is all right in my book. It definitely puts a quick end to all those "my savior could beat up your savior" arguments, smart move on Islam's part.
The nice thing about living in a country that has religious law is that they've got way more loopholes that a dude in the know can exploit. Like if they make you get stoned for having sex with a married chick, then it only stands to reason that if they catch you smoking a doob they'll make you pick out some married hottie for a night of adulterous Muslim passion. Score! That may sound strange to our Christian ears, but that's the way it works over there, it's in their Bible thing. And all that shit goes both ways, like Elton John.
You know it's a different kind of country when their biggest national industry is an Internet chain-letter scam. Right on. Like they're gonna be able to say shit about the ten-foot-high pot plants growing in my backyard when their own government makes its dough scamming Ohio housewives out of their bingo money. Talk about dudes living in some serious glass houses. I don't know if that "stone-throwing" proverb is in their Bible too or not, but I'm sure they've at least got some kind of "pot calling the kettle black" saying, since I hear there's a lot of black guys living over there.
The black factor alone might worry some Americans, but not yours truly. It's not like I'm planning on living on the shady side of Nigeria, whichever side that is. I'm sure it's a lot like here, and once I get my bearings and figure out where the white people live I'll be golden. I might still have to cruise through "Little Chicago" or whatever they call the black part of Nigeria if there's a sale on Reeboks or something, but as long as I keep my windows rolled up it should be no problem.
Nigeria, here I come! º Last Column: You Belittle Us Allº more columns
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| March 19, 2012
Suicide is Too Good For YouAgain we find ourselves in this same spot, George. You, babbling on about your hurt feelings; myself, thankful I do not have a gun, because all it takes to kill a man is a gun and the will to riddle them with bullets, and believe me, all I lack is the gun. What’s that? You would kill yourself if you had a gun? Then we’re at last in agreement on something, George, and it’s long overdue. Actually, no. Suicide is too good for you, George.
Yes, suicide, that haven for cowards and those who lack the will to fight. You are a coward, George, and you lack the will to do anything. But I still would not have the actions of all those courageous self-killers blemished by you adding your lumpy, wrinkle-ridden corpse to their numbers.
Oh, I’m sure you’d do it. Not because you have the shred of self-respect that suicide requires, but because you’re just that thoughtless, to blow your brains out and leave me to find a disreputable cemetery where I could bury you in an unmarked grave. Perhaps I would put a big "X" on the ground to mark your place, only so an unwitting family doesn’t build a house over your bones and find itself haunted by the world’s most sadsack ghost. Better yet, I’ll put a small wooden tombstone at the head of your grave site, with a picture of you tacked to it—the international symbol for pathetic windbag buried here.
I take that back, George, there’s no way you could kill yourself, if you dared to, if you...
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Again we find ourselves in this same spot, George. You, babbling on about your hurt feelings; myself, thankful I do not have a gun, because all it takes to kill a man is a gun and the will to riddle them with bullets, and believe me, all I lack is the gun. What’s that? You would kill yourself if you had a gun? Then we’re at last in agreement on something, George, and it’s long overdue. Actually, no. Suicide is too good for you, George.
Yes, suicide, that haven for cowards and those who lack the will to fight. You are a coward, George, and you lack the will to do anything. But I still would not have the actions of all those courageous self-killers blemished by you adding your lumpy, wrinkle-ridden corpse to their numbers.
Oh, I’m sure you’d do it. Not because you have the shred of self-respect that suicide requires, but because you’re just that thoughtless, to blow your brains out and leave me to find a disreputable cemetery where I could bury you in an unmarked grave. Perhaps I would put a big "X" on the ground to mark your place, only so an unwitting family doesn’t build a house over your bones and find itself haunted by the world’s most sadsack ghost. Better yet, I’ll put a small wooden tombstone at the head of your grave site, with a picture of you tacked to it—the international symbol for pathetic windbag buried here.
I take that back, George, there’s no way you could kill yourself, if you dared to, if you had the fraction of self-esteem it would take. No bullet could pass through your head. It would simply bore half-an-inch deep, yawn, and then lose itself in the humdrum of your inane conversation. Yes, George, I’m convinced even inanimate objects find you offensive, and more offensive than offensive, agonizingly dull. Poison in your food would leap off the fork just to get away from your ever-running mouth, just as the dead chicken it coats would, if it hadn’t been mercifully slaughtered already. The blade of a knife? George, no self-respecting piece of steel would be caught dead penetrating you, terrified of what the other blades would think, all the names it would be called or the inevitable accusations of preposterously low standards. Hell, the blade would shrivel like your most reprehensible bits themselves if it came within a millimeter of your ashen bare flesh.
So, George, it appears you’re resigned to live the rest of your hideous natural life, and I’ll be forced to live it with you, unless Death is much kinder than tales have told, and it comes to take me in my sleep tonight. I will count the hours. You, however, George, you may be luckier than anyone else. How do you fancy immortality, George? Kind or not, Death would have nothing to do with you, that’s my prediction. You will trod down the street, searching everywhere, see Death in a bar, either at work or taking a break at the end of its long day, and Death will put its skeletal hand over its face and try to hide from you. Oh, Christ, there’s George, he wants me to at last end his life, but that would require touching him. Fuck that, Death will say, in the vernacular of our times. Heaven will not take you if it did, because it’s Heaven up there and those good occupants should be spared your constant whining, and Hell—well, even those damned to Hell do not deserve some tortures. You geriatric loose sphincter.
Enough, George, I say enough of your tears! Enough of your prattle, enough of your pleas for compassion. I have enough compassion to tell you things the way they are. Stop your sobbing and put on your best numb façade, as the rest of us do while you speak.
And grab your good sport jacket. I won’t have you looking like the world’s most vile hobo when you collect your Lifetime Achievement Award this evening. The good shoes, George, not the Crocs. My word, George. Get dressed by yourself once, that would be a lifetime achievement. º Last Column: We Must Become the Change We Want to See in the Worldº more columns
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Milestones1983: Red Bagel is thrown out of a casino for counting cards. He is not cheating, merely trying to settle a bet with a friend on how many decks the casino uses.Now HiringJames Bondian Action Hero. Must be proficient in fire arms and small mechanical gadgets with ridiculous capabilities. Responsibilities include killing unnamed lackeys and doing battle with bizarre supervillians of non-distinct European origin. Good benefits, adventure, and pussy galore. Most Misunderstood Nirvana Songs| 1. | Smells Like Clean Spearmint | | 2. | Race Me | | 3. | Come as You Barf | | 4. | Small Pathologies | | 5. | Harp-Shaped Fox | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 6/18/2007 Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since I’m focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldn’t have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I haven’t had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orson’s favorite movies of all time. What’s that? Movies I like? That’s correct. They are few, but they exist. Let’s see the “they” to which I’m referring.
The Great Muppet Caper
There has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood...
Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since I’m focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldn’t have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I haven’t had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orson’s favorite movies of all time. What’s that? Movies I like? That’s correct. They are few, but they exist. Let’s see the “they” to which I’m referring. The Great Muppet CaperThere has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood than to team up Charles Grodin with felt-headed puppets. Never. I challenge you to find one. Grodin is a daring jewel thief who attempts to manipulate Miss Piggy with a romantic relationship. Yes, you read that right. Simply for the tantalizing daydreams I’ve had about how Charles Grodin would get busy with a pig puppet, if that involves Frank Oz’s hand at all or not, this movie ranks very highly in my list. And like all Muppet movies, the human are not at all curious why these somewhat inarticulate animal puppets are welcomed rather than scorned by society, a great commentary on the generation gap of the 1960s and 1970s, though a bit dark for the taste of most. YojimboAkira Kurosawa’s samurai epic has been remade many times, but too many remakes miss the exceptional subtlety and style of Kurosawa. This movie is not as excellent as it is because it is a tightly-plotted story of a samurai in feudal Japan playing two greedy sides against each other; it’s brilliant because without telling us, Kurosawa has staged the timeless story of a collection of insane Japanese men who have taken up residence in the old west. When Sergio Leone remade this tale as A Fistful of Dollars, he unwittingly sapped all the brilliance out of it by staging it in the old west where it was originally set in Kurosawa’s version. The fact the main character has no name is a subtle testament to the fact everyone is completely out of their minds in this movie and that’s why they think they’re samurai. A searing and subversive indictment of everyone who goes to see a movie and expects the characters to be in full possession of their faculties. Toshiro Mifune was a god among actors with hyperactive attention deficit disorder. THX-1138Before George Lucas decided it was more fun to make money than cutting social commentary films, he made THX-1138, and we’re all the better for it. Contrary to Lucas’ opinion he was making a sharp attack on the drug-abusing rule-following fascism of pre-1960s culture, he was actually making a critical symphony that mocked white America’s subtle hatred of itself. Not only are very few of the actors in the movie black at all, but the lead actor, Robert Duvall, can only escape the dirty world of which he’s part and the dull silver automatons who enforce the law by crossing the longest expanse of pure white ever seen on screen. Fascinating. So only by running toward something even whiter can we at least be safe from our basic whiteness? No wonder people complained so loudly about the low-key racism in the Star Wars prequels. Lucas definitely has issues. Paris on FireThere is no better film alive than Paris on Fire. No, this has nothing to do with Hilton heiresses. Quite simply, Paris on Fire is the most damning fire safety film ever made in the French New Wave vein. The acting is excellent as Marie Chevalier plays “Woman Woken By Fire Alarm,” trying for the entire length of the film to find a way out of her burning house only to find fire behind every door. She tries each door several times, and while some audiences might find these repeated scenes fairly boring, they’re actually morons because it makes a pointed statement about the repetitive nature of trying to avoid burning to death in general. Paris on Fire makes the bold statement that, no matter how any of us might die, we are truly burning to death, slowly but surely, and we should probably enjoy it. Fucking genius. Is that all there is? Possibly. I know it’s not for me, as I have that research thing starting next week. I will miss these little chats we’ve had, but I suppose it’s all for naught, as we’re but burning to death slowly over along period of time. So enjoy.   |
