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Motherfuckers Still Blowing Up Shit in BeirutFebruary 7, 2001 |
West Front, Beirut Slovak Digger Assholes destroyed a building much like this one ssholes continue their onslaught of terrorism in the Western Front with a bombing of some important building.
Although details are sketchy, something resembling a building was blown up by several religious fucks believed to be complete assholes in their personal lives with their unbending fanatical devotion to their religion and complete lack of humor.
"These are probably not the same twisted fucks who bombed a bunch of shit back in the '80s," said Michael Winslow, a reknowned authority on religious assholes who bomb shit. "But frankly, they're all the same. For some reason they really think we can tell them apart. They couldn't be more wrong."
Winslow was not optimistic about these assholes getting their shit together.
"From what I hear ...
ssholes continue their onslaught of terrorism in the Western Front with a bombing of some important building.
Although details are sketchy, something resembling a building was blown up by several religious fucks believed to be complete assholes in their personal lives with their unbending fanatical devotion to their religion and complete lack of humor.
"These are probably not the same twisted fucks who bombed a bunch of shit back in the '80s," said Michael Winslow, a reknowned authority on religious assholes who bomb shit. "But frankly, they're all the same. For some reason they really think we can tell them apart. They couldn't be more wrong."
Winslow was not optimistic about these assholes getting their shit together.
"From what I hear these assholes' god is demanding they blow shit up until everyone else is dead. So they'll probably continue to do it. Unless we blow them all up. Or kill their god. When there's only one god left I imagine He'll be happy. And stop fucking up our daily lives." The preceding news was sponsored by Ropers' News Service, where three's company, too. Abby Ject Poverty is a silly name used by an unreal person and we found the news story laying on the floor and needed to fill some space.
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 August 15, 2001
Lost My Way on the Slow Gray TrainThis week's Nedmiller Column is excerpted from "Spastic Diaper: The Ned Nedmiller Story" by Rolando Burf. Continued from last week.
And it might still be that way today if it weren't for one Nedriff Nipplebelt Nedmiller. When Ned heard of the buffalo problem, he locked himself in his laboratory, pronouncing that he would not appear again until he had the solution. Neighbors wondered at the strange noises coming from Ned's lab at all hours of the day and night: the singing of saws, the burping of crows and the vague smell of a swimming pool on fire. Someone called for a constable when a rumor circulated that Ned was melting down school children into paraffin wax, but just as the fuzz was about to knock on Ned's door, the man himself flung open his doors and announced to the world that their problems were over.
The device that Ned presented to the world looked like a cross between a smallish piano and a largish dentistry utensil, on wheels. It had a crank on one side and a flared cone on the other. And on top there was a mannequin head wearing a hat. On the side, hand-lettered in on it's black surface in black paint (or so he told the people), it said "Ned Nedmiller's Framjambulous Laughing Machine".
Refusing the spectators' pleas for a demonstration, Ned hopped aboard the Laughing Machine and rode it west, toward the Plains. It was a four-week journey, but thanks to the help of a flock of pelicans, and Ned's invention of a land-sail, it...
º Last Column: Check His Nipples, He May Be The King º more columns
This week's Nedmiller Column is excerpted from "Spastic Diaper: The Ned Nedmiller Story" by Rolando Burf. Continued from last week.And it might still be that way today if it weren't for one Nedriff Nipplebelt Nedmiller. When Ned heard of the buffalo problem, he locked himself in his laboratory, pronouncing that he would not appear again until he had the solution. Neighbors wondered at the strange noises coming from Ned's lab at all hours of the day and night: the singing of saws, the burping of crows and the vague smell of a swimming pool on fire. Someone called for a constable when a rumor circulated that Ned was melting down school children into paraffin wax, but just as the fuzz was about to knock on Ned's door, the man himself flung open his doors and announced to the world that their problems were over. The device that Ned presented to the world looked like a cross between a smallish piano and a largish dentistry utensil, on wheels. It had a crank on one side and a flared cone on the other. And on top there was a mannequin head wearing a hat. On the side, hand-lettered in on it's black surface in black paint (or so he told the people), it said "Ned Nedmiller's Framjambulous Laughing Machine". Refusing the spectators' pleas for a demonstration, Ned hopped aboard the Laughing Machine and rode it west, toward the Plains. It was a four-week journey, but thanks to the help of a flock of pelicans, and Ned's invention of a land-sail, it only took him a month and a half. He arrived to find the Chinamen, sitting about and scratching their heads, as a stoic buffalo stood, motionless, at the eastern termination of the Walking Rail. Without saying a word, Ned positioned his Laughing Machine in front of the buffalo, wet his thumb to check wind direction, and gave the crank a furious crank. Laughter of every size and denomination, every type and at all points along the spectrum of sanity, poured forth from the laughing machine's cone. Chortles, titters, guffaws and even silent shaking filled the air. Three times the laughter produced by a fart in Congress spilled out of the Laughing Machine. Laughter so contagious that all of the Chinamen began to laugh along, and those who had yet to drop their tools and daydream now dropped their tools and doubled over in laughter. The buffalo first looked at Ned (who nodded) in a confused fashion for a moment before it began to laugh. For those who have never heard a buffalo laugh, I suggest climbing inside an industrial textiles washing machine, starting up the cycle, and then letting loose the warthogs you've been hiding in your pants. Then you'll have bigger fish to fry than wondering what a buffalo sounds like when it laughs. The buffalo laughed and laughed until finally it collapsed onto it's side and shook with buffalo laughter. Ned promptly shut off his laughing machine and when the Chinamen had recovered, they went about their merry task, building their Walking Rail all the way to New England. Ned accompanied them the rest of the way, providing laughing machine support whenever they came across buffalo, brown bears or hillbillies. When they finally arrived in New York, Ned and the Chinamen were given a tickertape parade, and a recording contract with Capitol Records. In a show of gratitude, the Mayor of New York gave them all complimentary tickets for the maiden voyage of the first luxury liner built entirely by the blind, the Titanic. The problem was, the Titanic was sailing to New York, not from it, so Ned and the Chinamen quickly hitched a ride on a grand blimp called the "Hindenberg 2: NO SMOKING" all the way over to England, where they were just in time to ride the Titanic back to New York. Ned and the Titanic were like peas in a pod, and he entertained the guests and crew day and night with his inflatable pacemaker and a metal box that he claimed to contain Spain. He was voted "Best Grandmother" on the Titanic and was given a commemorative kick in the head. Unfortunately, these blissful days were not to last. Out of nowhere the "biggest skeeter this side of the Rio Grande" latched onto the ship and started "jimmyin' open the fuselage with his tremendous skeeter-beak". Ned knew that time was short and heroism was in high demand, so he leapt into the fray with only a freakishly large Q-tip and a loincloth on his side. When all was said and done, "them skeeter" had been swabbed into submission and nine months later Ned would unexpectedly give birth to a small Laotian boy named Ring-rong, who would go to work in the diamond mines, and was years later buried under a landslide of engagement rings. Unfortunately for all aboard though, at that moment some joker pulled the plug on the Atlantic and "them Titanic" went down the drain, never to be seen again. Ned survived only by holing up in the belly of a whale named Tim, who later washed up on the shores of Costa Rica, proving his long-standing claim that he was allergic to Danes. Over a hundred years later, the Walking Rails are still the mode of trans-continental transport preferred by most 10 year-old runaways. None of this would be possible without Nedrum Nightynight Nedmiller, and it's truly time that the city of Pasadena, California erects a gigantic knee brace in his name. º Last Column: Check His Nipples, He May Be The Kingº more columns
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|  September 1, 2001
Volume 3Dear commune:
I feel you've gone too far to the extreme once again. "Gun Control" is just another liberal name for over-regulation.
Every American is shocked and stunned by the outbreak of violence in the workplace and our schools. Yet I have been labeled everything from a buffoon to a bad American for my belief that it is not gun regulation our country needs, but a stronger moral code.
Most of the gun violence committed in this country is not preventable by new laws or even enforcing those we've got. It is not bad gun owners who are causing these problems, it is those who acquire these guns through crime or taking them from rightful gun owners without their knowledge. Even in the cases where your glorified "seven day waiting period" has passed, a criminal can later steal a weapon from someone justified to carry it and commit a crime.
Safety lock legislation is another savior built up by the left as something the NRA opposes without justification; the fact is, good gun owners will have safety locks or otherwise keep their weapons out of unqualified hands. Regulating the industry to have them is ridiculous. Once again the only blame liberals like the commune can place is that on faceless companies. Regulation is not the answer, nor has it ever been. When will you learn?
Harvey Canter Whitebury Plains, IL
Mr. Canter:
We at the commune value the freedom of...
º Last Column: Volume 2 º more columns
Dear commune: I feel you've gone too far to the extreme once again. "Gun Control" is just another liberal name for over-regulation. Every American is shocked and stunned by the outbreak of violence in the workplace and our schools. Yet I have been labeled everything from a buffoon to a bad American for my belief that it is not gun regulation our country needs, but a stronger moral code. Most of the gun violence committed in this country is not preventable by new laws or even enforcing those we've got. It is not bad gun owners who are causing these problems, it is those who acquire these guns through crime or taking them from rightful gun owners without their knowledge. Even in the cases where your glorified "seven day waiting period" has passed, a criminal can later steal a weapon from someone justified to carry it and commit a crime. Safety lock legislation is another savior built up by the left as something the NRA opposes without justification; the fact is, good gun owners will have safety locks or otherwise keep their weapons out of unqualified hands. Regulating the industry to have them is ridiculous. Once again the only blame liberals like the commune can place is that on faceless companies. Regulation is not the answer, nor has it ever been. When will you learn? Harvey Canter Whitebury Plains, ILMr. Canter:
We at the commune value the freedom of speech and welcome opposing viewpoints. Though we at the commune may not share your opinion, we respect it and take every chance to print your thoughts in this section.
Thank you for your letter.
the commune
deer comun I think you fart. I draw picher you fart! rusty klein age 7Mr. Klein age 7:
We at the commune value the freedom of speech and welcome opposing viewpoints. Though we at the commune may not share your opinion, we respect it and take every chance to print your thoughts in this section.
Thank you for your letter.
the commune
Dear commune: How can you say you don't like me if you've never tried me? That's not very adult of you. For years I have helped kids grow in many ways. I'm good for building bones and muscle, I make you strong. You could use a little better than all that junk food, you know? Starving kids would be happy to have me. Why don't you eat me? Sincerely, BroccoliBroccoli:
The editorial staff dwells very hard on all decisions it makes. After reviewing the position of the commune, we have to say we stand by our previous assertion: "Broccoli? Yeecch!"
Dear commune: Can you do this? Huh? Can you? Arvid Shane Comb, GeorgiaMr. Shane:
Do what, you asshole? What is it with you people sometimes?
the commune
Dear Playboy Advisor: The other day I dug my old Quadraphonic stereo out and hooked it up, but one of the subwoofers seems to have failed. This is a nightmare. I have a beautiful set up and it's a classic. I dread the thought of trying to replace it, the expense and hassle involved
is there any place I can get information on repairing an old Philips Quadraphonic speaker? Also, what's the best way to talk my girlfriend into anal sex? Thanks, Mitch Lumley Phoenix, AZMr. Lumley:
We think you may have mailed your letter to the wrong location. But we would highly suggest just taking the top and bottom off and tinkering around with a screwdriver. Keep plugging away at it until it makes noise. Persistence is the key.
And sorry, we don't know anything about fixing speakers.
Dear commune: My friends at school are mean. They tell me that there is no Santa Claus and my daddy and mommy lie about Santa. I know there is a Santa, I just know there is. Please tell me the truth, commune
is there a Santa Claus? Virginia Tucker
Halsbury, PennsylvaniaDear Virginia:
Yes, Virginia, there is a Satan. He knows when you're sleeping
he knows when you've been bad or good. And soon he'll be coming to your house! Merry Christmas!
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the content of its editorials, replies, or for proofreading any statements. Neither is the commune responsible for your being overweight, repulsive, or unloved. While we're at it, we had nothing to do with Nazi occupation of Poland either.º Last Column: Volume 2º more columns
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Milestones1982: Rok Finger's scheduled sex change operation is cancelled when he's told the technology does not yet exist to change your sex from "Bone Dry in Death Valley" to "Gettin' Some."Now HiringGoofus. Extreme cosmic fuck-up needed to offset commune staff as a whole boatload of Gallants. Pratfalls a plus. Strike that: Apparently we already filled this position with some Pludd guy months ago. Thought he was just an office in-joke, sorry.Top Enduring 2004 Election Scandals| 1. | Bush didn't really win; they forgot to count the comatose vote | | 2. | Identical twins voted twice, ignoring "1 Face, 1 Vote" principle | | 3. | Every 13th vote discarded as "unlucky" | | 4. | Too many precincts used antiquated paper ballots | | 5. | Too many precincts used newfangled electric voting machines | | 6. | 10,000 Florida voters cast ballots for dead man: John Kerry | | 7. | Too many military absentee ballots were marked for Bush: Now that's just stupid | | 8. | No paper trail for southern state "applause-o-meter" polling technique | | 9. | Oh sweet Jesus, Bush really won! | | 10. | Eskimos kept away from polls by sheer geography | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/28/2005 Gutentang, Americana. Everybody’s favorite Roland McShyster is here, wheeling and dealing out the movie reviews like you so lustily desire. We’re going to try something new this week: brushing our teeth with dish soap. Though I guess that "we" really depends on whether or not you’re one of the people who had that same idea this week. If so, good luck! I hear it gets a lot better after you get your gag reflex under control. Me, personally, I’m starting to think I picked a lousy week to start brushing my teeth.
Get Rick or Die Tryin’
Run, leap, and ass-scoot your way to the theater now while you can still catch this harrowing inner-city tale of rapper 50-Cents (played by rapper Eminem in stunning blackface) trying to pick up his brother Rick from...
Gutentang, Americana. Everybody’s favorite Roland McShyster is here, wheeling and dealing out the movie reviews like you so lustily desire. We’re going to try something new this week: brushing our teeth with dish soap. Though I guess that "we" really depends on whether or not you’re one of the people who had that same idea this week. If so, good luck! I hear it gets a lot better after you get your gag reflex under control. Me, personally, I’m starting to think I picked a lousy week to start brushing my teeth.
Get Rick or Die Tryin’
Run, leap, and ass-scoot your way to the theater now while you can still catch this harrowing inner-city tale of rapper 50-Cents (played by rapper Eminem in stunning blackface) trying to pick up his brother Rick from the mall but there’s no parking. Auntie Em’s (an excellent nickname I’ve just now coined) refreshingly acting-free performance gives the film its central nuts, but the true star is that mall parking lot, which is really big and really, really full of cars. I don’t know if they had to use the CGI team from Antz in Pantz or if they just filmed all of Southern California from space, but they definitely got a lot of cars into that lot. Look for the next ride at Universal Studios to play off this thrill-monster, with two gripping hours of the dude driving around, trying to find a place to park the tram.
Jarhead
Leave it to George Lucas to fuck us all in the ass. Sorry, I’ve just always wanted to start a movie review with that sentence. But this time it really applies, as Lucas has finally shat the inevitable and dreaded Jar-Jar Binks spin-off movie into our laps, allowing the big G to remain safely ensconced within his Star Wars universe for the foreseeable future. Get ready to hate the next several spin-offs in the works, including "Han’s Having a Baby," "Wedge Anilles’ Last Stand," "Jabba Gets a Job," and "Droid Annoyed" scheduled every four years from now until the merciful end of the world.
Legend of Gonzo
At first I thought Antonio Banderas was a questionable answer to the question of "Who should play Gonzo, Antonio Bandearas or what?" But then I saw the original Mask of Gonzo. That movie was so long that I forgot the question for nearly three years, and by then I had forgotten the movie so I wasn’t at all sure if Banderas had done a good Gonzo job or not and I didn’t much care because I had discovered Dippin’ Dots, this space age super-frozen ice cream that you can only get at the mall or the place where they froze Walt Disney’s head. Now I have to ask the question again, because I’m sure there are a lot of great actors out there with huge noses and/or purple felt skin who would have been naturals for the role. Not that Banderas did a bad job, he just did a terrible job. My wait for a great Gonzo movie continues.
Shopgirl
You’ve got to admit, Steve Martin took a huge risk in directing a movie spin-off of Tool Time from Home Improvement and in casting Claire Danes as the bimbo. It could have turned out to be a giant disaster, and it did. Sadly for all involved in the watching, Martin’s leap of faith sailed just five inches to the left of genius, where it landed squarely in regrettable. Merely starting over completely from scratch could have made all the difference, though, so keep your eyes out for Martin’s next harebrained idea: it could be a winner.
The Whether Man
Nicholas "Pileggi" Cage is greatific in this, the finest movie that will ever be made about a guy who can’t make up his mind about anything. I know that’s a big statement, encompassing all future events in the existence of mankind and all, but I’m that confident no one is reading this column. Cage employs both of his acting modes "SURPRISED" and "BEFUDDLED" in this role, which should earn him either an Oscar or a Husker, the customary award for going both ways. As for the film itself, the plot wasn’t so memorable that I retained it in my brain in any way, but every time the sky was shown in this movie, it was uniformly blue and beautiful, which is more than I can say about any film made before 1930.
So that’s the agony and the ecstasy, America, but excuse me if I sound a bitter bit when I say the X ran out long before it got down to my row. Here’s hoping you’re doing the high life, not doing life high, and until next week and maybe even then, I’m Roland McShyster.   |