| 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';
?> | 
 January 24, 2005 |
Flatbush, NJ Snapper McGee Dedicated American junkies, like Crazy Carl here, claim they can pick quality Afghani product out from lesser stuff even blindfolded, and we had enough time for the Opium Challenge.
"It's the least we can do to help out a poor population struggling to regain livelihood," said "Jizzy" John Webb, a Chicago-area heroin abuser of three years, before drawing a bloody cloud into a syringe stuck in his arm, then shooting it back in.
But fans of heroin aren't the only ones calling "hurrah"...
nternational fraternity received a boost here in America with the news that a large portion of our heroin junkie community is already supporting efforts to rebuild the economy of Afghanistan. The war-torn country, war-torn by us, has had an economic windfall by producing 87% of the world's opium and heroin derivatives, and a good percentage of that world's heroin buyers live in America, typically our inner-cities, our rural opium dens, and our rock concert halls.
"It's the least we can do to help out a poor population struggling to regain livelihood," said "Jizzy" John Webb, a Chicago-area heroin abuser of three years, before drawing a bloody cloud into a syringe stuck in his arm, then shooting it back in.
But fans of heroin aren't the only ones calling "hurrah" at the news. Libertarian economists agree as well. Malcolm Calhoun, of the Sweet Tit, Alabama Calhouns, a developer of open-air flea markets and international playboy, applauded the entrepreneurial spirit of the Taliban-free Afghanis.
"If only more enterprising young men and women would dare to bend these silly laws and make their own fortunes, we wouldn't need welfare in this country," said Calhoun, tapping his pen on his desk as if it made him seem more important. "This country is still suffering backward thinking about growing opium. We would rather subsidize work than let people grown their own stuff and sell it for a major profit—where does that leave us? Buying costly lamps and making inefficient use of our closet floor space. Meanwhile, Afghanistan rakes in the moolah, while honest guys with valuable gardening skills are forced to seek income running in city council elections. By the way—vote Calhoun in May."
Despite holding a virtual monopoly on the world's opium supply, Afghanistan claims it wants out of the business. As a country overcome by poverty and a war-devastated infrastructure, not to mention crippling years as a third world country, Afghanistan's anti-drug czar, a position the country actually has, occupied by a guy who could probably be doing more important work, has proposed that cash subsidies will be needed to end the flow of Afghan gold to the drug-bogarting world. Under the parental guise of the U.S., Afghani president Hamid Karzai declared a holy war on drugs when he took office in December, and as history has long proven, when Afghanis declare a holy war on something, it gets both barrels.
Counter-Narcotics Minister Habibullah Qaderi: "Right now, the 2.3 million farmers who are growing opium in Afghanistan can make more than twice as much with that crop as they can for more legal products, like cotton, rice, and wheat, which are not good for mainlining, I can assure you, but are much more needed within our own country. It is my firm belief that, if we pay them half those prices with money we do not have, they will give up growing opium. I also believe, if I were to run and jump fast enough, I could climb a rainbow all the way to the top."
Two junkies, Ray and Ray-Ray, who frequent the alley behind the commune building here in Flatbush, New Jersey, believed international legalization of opium sales offered the better economic solution.
"Check it out," said Ray-Ray, or possibly Ray, "alcohol and tobacco are, like, ten times more deadly than heroin. I can, like, get drunk and drive a car, that's legal, and I can kill, like, a dozen people driving over them. What the fuck? But if I shoot up with heroin, I'm way too fucking out of it to ever drive a car. It's just safer, dude."
"Plus," said the other Ray, "you can make all kinds of industrial shit out of opium, like rope, clothing, and wigs."
The two smackhounds conferred privately for a few minutes, then admitted that you really can't make any of that stuff, to their knowledge, but they would still like the twenty bucks this reporter promised them. the commune news is not quite ready for the kind of "hard" international economic support Afghanistan needs at this time, but is more than happy to donate to the economies of Mexico and California, but only on the weekends, for recreational economics. Boner Cunningham is a teen correspondent, and though he's worked for us for four years, we've forbade him to get any older.
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G8 conference attracts vanity license plate holders who like gates
Pakistan tests nuclear bomb; now has to save up for another one
Playstation 2 now portable; many Playstation 2 players not
Ukraine's Yuschenko falls for Yanukovych's old poison apple trick
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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. Big Ratings Prompts ABC to Seek More Dancing Handicapped Shows Strychnine Dog Food: Where Can You Buy It? |
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 July 4, 2005
Second DraftedI have started the next phase of my writing career: The Second Draft.
That means I finished the script, wrote it all the way through, and now someone has to rewrite it. Don't worry for me, it's not going to be me who rewrites it. I just had to find someone who wants to write it again for me, take out all the spelling errors and give the people who aren't me believable dialogue and stuff. That's what all the rewrites I've ever seen have involved, taking a script that's not so good and making it work as a movie.
I already found someone, even though I have to pay him. But I'm paying him 60% of whatever the script sells for, so it's not like it's real money. You may have heard of him—but probably not. It's office scourge Ramrod Hurley. He has a lot of free time, since no one likes him, and I assume he writes pretty well because he works here and the commune has standards and shit. It's not like they give everyone a job writing here, only the ones who write good. Plus, as I said, he works in percentages, which is basically like imaginary money.
I haven't even told you how the script turned out, have I? It's pretty sweet, if I can say so myself. It's all about a world-famous actress who witnesses a murder, then she has to go into hiding, disguising herself as an even more famous actress, this one has different color hair. So she hooks up with this wicked lead singer of a punk band/talk show host who helps her escape the guy trying to...
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I have started the next phase of my writing career: The Second Draft.
That means I finished the script, wrote it all the way through, and now someone has to rewrite it. Don't worry for me, it's not going to be me who rewrites it. I just had to find someone who wants to write it again for me, take out all the spelling errors and give the people who aren't me believable dialogue and stuff. That's what all the rewrites I've ever seen have involved, taking a script that's not so good and making it work as a movie.
I already found someone, even though I have to pay him. But I'm paying him 60% of whatever the script sells for, so it's not like it's real money. You may have heard of him—but probably not. It's office scourge Ramrod Hurley. He has a lot of free time, since no one likes him, and I assume he writes pretty well because he works here and the commune has standards and shit. It's not like they give everyone a job writing here, only the ones who write good. Plus, as I said, he works in percentages, which is basically like imaginary money.
I haven't even told you how the script turned out, have I? It's pretty sweet, if I can say so myself. It's all about a world-famous actress who witnesses a murder, then she has to go into hiding, disguising herself as an even more famous actress, this one has different color hair. So she hooks up with this wicked lead singer of a punk band/talk show host who helps her escape the guy trying to kill her, because she witnessed the murder, remember? Well, first she and rock star/talk show guy escape all these times she's almost killed, then they catch the guy. Set a trap, Scooby-Doo style, and get the guy all wrapped up in mummy bandages.
So I finished this "draft," as they call it in screenwriting class. But Nancy says I should always rewrite a script after the first draft, since a first draft is never perfect. Mine is, I told her, and she told me to stop interrupting her while she's teaching. Every script needs a second draft, she said, and then she wrote it on the board in color chalk, so we had to take it seriously. I figure I go to Hollywood and try to sell this script, if they ask me I did a second draft, I could always lie and say yes. But what if they can tell I'm lying? Better not risk it, so I figure I'd just get the second draft done. Damned if I'm going to do it myself, though, which is why I brought Ramrod in as a co-writer.
I guess it's going okay. I gave it to him a week ago, haven't seen him much since. I called him yesterday and he says it's going well. He changed a few things, like made the main character an aging dentist and took out the plot about witnessing the murder, instead made it this story of this dentist trying to find his wife who's been kidnapped by international diamond thieves. But it's basically the same thing I wrote, he said, but he did punctuate it and capitalize all the names, and wrote it on the computer instead of in a sketch book.
I can tell already we're going to have to sort shit out, Ramrod and I. I only did this bullshit because I need a really big comeback movie. How can I have a comeback movie if I'm not the big star of the movie I wrote? I certainly didn't do this because I wanted all the glory and recognition of writing for Hollywood. That's like saying I wanted the sweet reward of being kicked down a flight of stairs. He probably thinks I'm going to play the wife of the dentist, but I got other ideas—I can play a dentist. I know all about teeth, and I have a good smile. Well, I have a good smile.
I hope they don't give me a Best Screenwriter award. That thing nearly killed Damon's career. And I haven't seen Joe Esterhaz act in forever. º Last Column: Top 29º more columns
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|  May 9, 2005
Science DeifiedI have important matters to discuss. How important? I don't even have time to talk about my favorite conspiracy (World's Biggest). No, this concerns matters of the laws of nature themselves.
I'm talking, of course, about evolution in Kansas. That's not an insistence that evolution did happen in Kansas—my last drive through Kansas, I doubted evolution had occurred there at all. But it's not up to me to decide such matters, sir, and I think everyone who's not a science teacher should stay out of it. Yet in Kansas, evolution and creationism is once again a political battle between the hardcore fundamentalist Christians and normal people.
Why involve myself, you ask? It's not hard to figure out. Everything we teach in the science classroom is fact—am I right? Of course I am. Years ago we started teaching evolution. It was in all the papers, you might have read about it. The teaching of evolution gave the theory validity. And I'm scared shitless about teaching Creationism in science class. What happens if we validate "intelligent design"?
This is crap we don't need. God is dead—haven't you read the papers? If you want to go to your church and chat up the ceiling, that's perfectly fine. It's in the Constitution, I understand, though I think I may be paraphrasing. But you make God a part of my science class and that makes him real again. The last thing I need is God to come back, all pissed off about our erasing his existence by not...
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I have important matters to discuss. How important? I don't even have time to talk about my favorite conspiracy (World's Biggest). No, this concerns matters of the laws of nature themselves.
I'm talking, of course, about evolution in Kansas. That's not an insistence that evolution did happen in Kansas—my last drive through Kansas, I doubted evolution had occurred there at all. But it's not up to me to decide such matters, sir, and I think everyone who's not a science teacher should stay out of it. Yet in Kansas, evolution and creationism is once again a political battle between the hardcore fundamentalist Christians and normal people.
Why involve myself, you ask? It's not hard to figure out. Everything we teach in the science classroom is fact—am I right? Of course I am. Years ago we started teaching evolution. It was in all the papers, you might have read about it. The teaching of evolution gave the theory validity. And I'm scared shitless about teaching Creationism in science class. What happens if we validate "intelligent design"?
This is crap we don't need. God is dead—haven't you read the papers? If you want to go to your church and chat up the ceiling, that's perfectly fine. It's in the Constitution, I understand, though I think I may be paraphrasing. But you make God a part of my science class and that makes him real again. The last thing I need is God to come back, all pissed off about our erasing his existence by not teaching Him in science class. And how do you think He'll feel about the rest of the world and the state it's in? He probably won't even care about the evolution business, too busy freaking out about subjecting the third world to poverty and the stockpile of nuclear armaments. He got pissed about eating a single apple off his tree, how do you think he'll feel about destroying the world?
I've traveled to Topeka to take part in this state argument. It's not like everything's going to topple if the unintelligent "intelligent design" forces win Kansas—halfway there already, you ask me. But if they get encouraged by their victory, the Creationists will probably take their fight somewhere more important, like Fly Creek, Alabama, or the Bayou. If they conquer enough school boards—or worse, the hearts and minds of the America itself—science will be forever changed. God will return, wished into existence by the demon we call science, evolution will go the way of the dodo, and science will be subject to extremists, instead of hard-thinking, boring scientists. What will they go after next—gravity? That's all I need, all my papers going flying around and my entire staff falling off the surface of the earth. Which will probably be flat again, by the time all this is over.
To prevent this paradigm shift, I'll no doubt make this argument to the Kansas School Board itself. But if I go as myself they'll surely recognize millionaire playboy/publisher/conspiracy-buster Red Bagel. Fortunately I've had a lot of disguise experience lately, so I'll be making my arguments as other personas. I plan on playing Edgar C. Bummington, an esteemed Professor of Evolution from England (my accent is top-notch), arguing the case for evolution and against Creationism. I also plan to play concerned parents Bill-Joe and Marjorie Cutler (both roles, though I'm not sure how I'll pull that off just yet), and, time permitting, the precocious show-stealer Joe "Stinky" Bagel, arguing it from a kid's perspective. Sure-fire ways to convince Kansans to respect science and keep evolution? Maybe not, but I'm giving it everything I've got. I've come to like gravity too much to give it up. º Last Column: Slow Change Artistº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I am the very model of a modern major general. Perhaps this explains my inability to move my limbs and the pungent smell of airplane glue.”
-Gilgamesh SullivanFortune 500 CookieYou will get kicked in the balls for a good cause this week. Expect a telephone call from a long forgotten friend today—your split personality from Belgium. Lose the mustache, that "Hitler" look is so 1997. This week's stomach-pump jackpot: $20 in loose change, long-lost stash, grandma's favorite knitting needles, Nerds.
Try again later.Top Wastes of Time| 1. | Writing Congressman | | 2. | Big Brother | | 3. | Writing Supermodels | | 4. | Celery | | 5. | Prayer | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 4/18/2005 Howdy Doody, Americans and others, Roland McShyster here, you there. Now that we've set the stage, let's get on to the movie reviews: Sadly, there's only one new movie out to review this week, but on the happy side, I've taken this opportunity to give the full McShyster treatment not usually possible due to time constraints. Hold on to your Eggos, kids.
In Theaters Now:
The Spamityville Horror
Few consumer products of the last half-century have been more terrifying than Spam, the spicy cured pork by-product sold in tins to the uninformed and desperate for meat nationwide. And few bullshit stories that are supposed to be true have haunted the nation like the tale of the Spamityville Horror, which chronicles a family moving...
Howdy Doody, Americans and others, Roland McShyster here, you there. Now that we've set the stage, let's get on to the movie reviews: Sadly, there's only one new movie out to review this week, but on the happy side, I've taken this opportunity to give the full McShyster treatment not usually possible due to time constraints. Hold on to your Eggos, kids.
In Theaters Now:
The Spamityville Horror
Few consumer products of the last half-century have been more terrifying than Spam, the spicy cured pork by-product sold in tins to the uninformed and desperate for meat nationwide. And few bullshit stories that are supposed to be true have haunted the nation like the tale of the Spamityville Horror, which chronicles a family moving into a house that was haunted by the ghost of Spam.
Urban legend has it that the house was built on the grounds of an old Spam factory in upstate New York, which once supplied quasi-edible tin meat for the entire eastern seaboard. According to kooks and teenagers, the house was then forever haunted by the souls of all the pigs who had met with a tacky end on the way to becoming Spamfodder.
The story of the haunting was the subject of a bestselling book in the 1970's, which owed some of its success to the fact that it came packaged free with every can of Spam sold in 1976, until the company actually read the book and realized it was a very poor promotional tie-in. Hollywood execs took the hint, however, noticing that Spamericans had a powerful built-in fear of unsettlingly generic bricks of meat, and funneled this into the terrifyingly bad 1979 original film. This year, realizing that an entire generation of Spamericans have yet to learn to be terrified of pink pig snack, Hollywood is at it again with a remake that won't let you out.
The latest is a Spambitious remake of the original film, which was hampered by the poor special effects of the day and the fact that the producers weren't able to strike a deal with the makers of Spam. Because of this, the product in the original movie had to be called Slam, which led to great confusion with audiences. The original Slamityville Horror was plagued by unsatisfied moviegoers who thought they were going to see a hard-core horroporno, a few who thought the film would involve poetry competitions, and numerous dyslexic viewers who had been eagerly awaiting a new movie about salami.
The new film avoids these problems, yet otherwise follows the original very closely, only with better Spam effects. In both versions, during the day, the house is Spamiable enough, but at night the family realizes something is Spamiss when the house starts chanting "Spam-Spam-Spam-Spam!" keeping the entire family up with its geeky Monty Python fandom.
At first thinking the Spam-chanting to be only a minor quirk, the family realizes the house means business when they wake up to find their cabinets and pantries filled with Spam, even though they hadn't been to the grocery store in weeks.
After a few days of this, at their wits end and hungry for something unrelated to dead pigs, the family calls in a Catholic priest to exorcise the house. Unfortunately, upon entering, a bossy male voice tells the priest to "Go Buy Spam!" The terrified old man rushes home, relieved to find that his house is, indeed, well-stocked with spiced ham in a can.
But the final straw for the family, and the scariest effect in the film itself, is Jodie the Pig. A Spam mascot who haunts the family with her glowing red eyes and sickly-sweet ham texture on a daily basis, Jodie is enough to put even the staunchest Spam fan off the stuff. The filmmakers wisely chose to avoid cheesy CGI effects in creating Jodie for this remake, instead covering a Great Dane with actual spam to terrifying effect.
So does the remake do justice to a case that has fascinated Spamericans for nearly 30 years? Will you be Spamazed, or will you be Spamused? Well, let me just say this: I'll never eat Spam again.
Granted, I was already never going to eat Spam again, but the movie certainly didn't change my mind. Spamen, brother.   |
