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$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='Im Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$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='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hoopers Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0905/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='Im Not that Big a Fan of Talking';
$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='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
July 4, 2005 |
Hundred Acre Woods Courtesy Disney Tigger and Piglet, seen here in happier times performing a skit about terrorism he entire Hundred Acre Woods were in a state of shock this week with the harrowing discovery of the bodies of local favorites Tigger and Piglet, in the aftermath of an apparent murder-suicide. Authorities are uncertain as to what motivated the affable jungle cat to such drastic action, but evidence points to Tigger having a long history of mental illness.
âIn the end, Tigger just wasnât able to bounce back from his manic depression,â the tigerâs psychotherapist, Dr. Melvin Dirth, explained sadly. âOne day heâd be bouncing off the walls, driving everyone around him nutso! But then the next, youâd find him down at Eeyoreâs place, watching sad old black and white movies and gorging himself on Valentine candies.â
According to friends, the efferve...
he entire Hundred Acre Woods were in a state of shock this week with the harrowing discovery of the bodies of local favorites Tigger and Piglet, in the aftermath of an apparent murder-suicide. Authorities are uncertain as to what motivated the affable jungle cat to such drastic action, but evidence points to Tigger having a long history of mental illness.
âIn the end, Tigger just wasnât able to bounce back from his manic depression,â the tigerâs psychotherapist, Dr. Melvin Dirth, explained sadly. âOne day heâd be bouncing off the walls, driving everyone around him nutso! But then the next, youâd find him down at Eeyoreâs place, watching sad old black and white movies and gorging himself on Valentine candies.â
According to friends, the effervescent tiger was also afflicted with mild schizophrenia, haunted at times by an imaginary beast known only as the âHeffalump,â which Dr. Dirth believes represented the exteriorization of all Tiggerâs inner demons.
âI think we all have an inner Heffalump,â explained Dr. Dirth. âFor some of us, it might be a weight problem, or a fear of heights. For Tigger, it was some kind of deadly woodland beast no one had ever seen. Tigger battled his inner demons by pretending to be a jagular on the prowl, though heâd usually only end up scaring Pooh and Piglet in the end.â
âI keep thinking about the last thing he said to me,â sobbed Hundred Acre Wood resident and Tigger acquaintance Kanga. âHe said: âWoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! TTFN!â I didnât realize he really meant ta-ta-forever.â
A funeral service held Sunday featured a mournful poetic reading of the lyrics to the Tigger favorite âThe Most Wonderful Thing About Tiggersâ and a gag coffin filled with springy nut-can snakes, which everyone appreciated except for Eeyore.
Less is known about Piglet, the diminutive victim that friends describe as a shy, reedy-voiced pig with a fondness for taxidermy. Family friend Winnie the Pooh, a bear of very little brain and longtime Piglet confidant, paints a similar picture.
âPiglet loved nothing more than smacking his lips all the way down to the bottom of a delicious pot of honey,â Pooh reminisced fondly. âNo, now wait a minute. Thatâs me! Who was Piglet again?â
Sentiment and remembrance gave way to practical concerns over the weekend, as industry insiders began to gossip over who would be taking Tigger and Pigletâs places in the two highly-anticipated upcoming Disney films about the Hundred Acre gang, A Roo with a View and Eeyoreâs directorial debut, Jackass 2. Though final casting decisions have not yet been made, early rumor points to Tony the Tiger and Porky Pig as strong likely replacements for the deceased pair.
âIf you ask me, and I realize that no one has, though they should,â rambled Tigger neighbor and woodland asshole Owl, âTigger was a victim of cartoon violence. You canât let children or large cats grow up watching millions of acts of senseless violence on the television and not expect it to penetrate their psyche. Just look at the violence with which Tigger lived his life, crashing around like a whirling dervish, the end result should have been obvious! I saw this coming a long ways away, which is why Iâm the only Hundred Acre Wood resident with doorknobs on his doors. That stupid cat never did figure out how to use a doorknob.â the commune news was saddened by the news of this latest tragedy, theâWhat? Piglet? Shit, we were talking about those Brad Pitt-Angelina Jolie photos! Canât those smooth Hollywood assholes leave one hot girl for the rest of us? Boner Cunningham lobbied hard to cover the Hundred Acre Wood beat, which we were secretly grateful for since we were terrified at the havoc Ivana Folger-Balzac might inflict on the place, or what kind of innocence-shattering trouble Lil Duncan could get into out there.
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Officials to Celebrities: Please Get Out of New Orleans isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: Were serious; you really need to leave now. Weve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans, sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Armys 92nd Airborne. Theyre drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day. The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation. Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band he whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasnt merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: Hes taken in a whole jazz band. I just wanted to do what I could, Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed. However, Martinson didnt stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles. Female Sex Patch Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough |
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 May 16, 2005
GuanicaThis column marks day three of my lawsuit with my neighbor Hamms over Guanica, the masterpiece I painted on his bathroom wall in axle grease, batshit and chicken blood. Before you start freaking out, let me explain that the chicken blood part was an accident, since the guy at the pet store never told me that chickens are stupid enough to run straight into a live fan just because they're excited you put "What a Feeling" from Flashdance on the stereo again.
I'd originally bought the chicken to make sure I wasn't going to get cancer from the grease fumes in Hamms' bathroom while I was painting, sort of like the canary in the coal mine idea, only with a bigger bird. I figured canaries are pussies so I wasn't real worried about canary-killing levels of fumes, but if it was enough to put a chicken down I'd probably have to install some ventilation or invest in some scuba gear or something. "Safety First" has always been my motto. But then I had trouble finding a pet store that carried chickens, turns out those places are lousy with canaries, I guess because of the demand from local coal miners and hungry cats, but you ask for a chicken and those pricks try to sell you a goddamned Lhasa apso or something. Like I'm going to take a dog's word on dangerous gas levels. I've already got a dog that puts out enough gas to drive the dodos into extinction, thanks.
That's when I had the bright idea to just go straight to the source and buy a chicken...
º Last Column: The Seven Month Itch º more columns
This column marks day three of my lawsuit with my neighbor Hamms over Guanica, the masterpiece I painted on his bathroom wall in axle grease, batshit and chicken blood. Before you start freaking out, let me explain that the chicken blood part was an accident, since the guy at the pet store never told me that chickens are stupid enough to run straight into a live fan just because they're excited you put "What a Feeling" from Flashdance on the stereo again.
I'd originally bought the chicken to make sure I wasn't going to get cancer from the grease fumes in Hamms' bathroom while I was painting, sort of like the canary in the coal mine idea, only with a bigger bird. I figured canaries are pussies so I wasn't real worried about canary-killing levels of fumes, but if it was enough to put a chicken down I'd probably have to install some ventilation or invest in some scuba gear or something. "Safety First" has always been my motto. But then I had trouble finding a pet store that carried chickens, turns out those places are lousy with canaries, I guess because of the demand from local coal miners and hungry cats, but you ask for a chicken and those pricks try to sell you a goddamned Lhasa apso or something. Like I'm going to take a dog's word on dangerous gas levels. I've already got a dog that puts out enough gas to drive the dodos into extinction, thanks.
That's when I had the bright idea to just go straight to the source and buy a chicken from KFC. I figure they're swimming in the birds and wouldn't mind cutting me a deal on one, since I'd be saving them the trouble of killing the stupid thing and shaving all the feathers off with a chainsaw or whatever they do in the back before the customers come in. But you know my luck, I get a real "by the book" type behind the counter and end up having to break into KFC at three in the morning, only to find that they must let the chickens out at night, or maybe each of the workers takes a couple home for entertainment, but they sure as hell weren't anywhere in the kitchen or coat closet.
I briefly considered sneaking into work and making off with the commune's own Mazie the chicken, but I didn't want to take a chance on getting roped into one of Red Bagel's lame after-hours adventures, plus I didn't want to risk any confusing voodoo bullshit as a result of stealing a mystical chicken.
Finally I found a pet store that had a chicken, though they only had one because some fast-talking traveling salesman had duped the owner into thinking it was a rare Polynesian dancing bird, and the guy was still pissed off that he'd traded a purebred Shar-Pei for a chicken and a handful of magic beans. I must have made the guy's day when I took the chicken and the beans off his hands, but it was all for a good cause since now I could get back to painting and had some magic beans to sell to Boris Utzov for lunch money this week.
The chicken only lasted about a half an hour in the end, since the fan I'd brought in to push out the grease fumes and Foghat's B.O. didn't come with any warnings about keeping it away from extremely stupid birds. It did do a remarkably efficient chicken-killing job, however, and I've considered trying to sell it to the guys over at KFC once I've determined that they don't have my fingerprints on file. And really, the random spray of chicken gore did nothing but good things for the bathroom wall painting, adding some interesting texture to the smeared grease and caked on batshit already there.
Truth be told, the batshit part was partially an accident as well, since I hadn't realized that leaving Hamms' bathroom window open all the time so I could get in and out was going to mean the place would become infested with bats in no time flat. But it did give me a name for the painting, and I hear guano is good for wallpaper, though I'm not sure where I heard that. Probably from the "cigarette ash is good for your carpet" school of home improvement, something dreamt up by a clever Deadhead who wanted to get out of cleaning up after his stanky ass.
But anyway, the painting turned out great, whatever the department of health or Hamms might think about it. As one local alcoholic art historian has observed, "it's like Picasso's Guernica, without all the crappy parts." Which was cool by me, since I was just trying to finger-paint Lynard Skynard rumbling with a gang of tough nuns. Now the question is just to determine who really owns that bathroom wall: Hamms, whose house it's attached to and surrounded by, or Omar Bricks, who provided the blood, sweat and tears that made it into a work of art that may or may not be dangerous to the public health. The courts will have their say, but I leave the true judgment up to the art fans, who I've been charging $10 a head to use my ladder to get into Hamms' bathroom.
Bricks out. º Last Column: The Seven Month Itchº more columns
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|  April 4, 2005
Flies Without a FaceSlow week here, my boss is still out recovering from a belch so violent he had to change his pants afterwards. I'm no doctor, but I think that means you've been eating too much red meat. Hey, I should have that printed up on a shirt. "I'm no doctor, but I think that means you've been eating too much red meat." That would be snazzy.
I think "smuggle" is perhaps the dumbest-sounding English word that I can think of right now. "Bloat" is pretty gross, but useful. I've never liked "chard."
Now for a message from the US Postal Service:
Through rain, sleet or driving snow, we will damage your mail. That is our pledge. Thank you.
And now we're ready for our next contestant here on Reflections of a Goocher, Ms Myra Drizzle from Upper Carpathia. How are you today, MsâJesus, she bit my arm! Somebody get this crazy bitch off me!
Let this be a lesson to all our readers, wear a suit made of fruit roll-ups sewn together with licorice thread at your own considerable risk. This dry cleaning bill alone is going to be insane.
Let me be the first to say that Rudy Bega would be a really funny name for a kid. Now I've just got to find a guy named Bega to marry, and some hard-up girl to be the baby farm. This might take all afternoon.
And now for another brief word from our sponsor:
Assholes everywhere agree, Crest is America's #1 toothpaste. Crest: Keep smiling,...
º Last Column: Barf Like You Mean It º more columns
Slow week here, my boss is still out recovering from a belch so violent he had to change his pants afterwards. I'm no doctor, but I think that means you've been eating too much red meat. Hey, I should have that printed up on a shirt. "I'm no doctor, but I think that means you've been eating too much red meat." That would be snazzy.
I think "smuggle" is perhaps the dumbest-sounding English word that I can think of right now. "Bloat" is pretty gross, but useful. I've never liked "chard."
Now for a message from the US Postal Service:
Through rain, sleet or driving snow, we will damage your mail. That is our pledge. Thank you.
And now we're ready for our next contestant here on Reflections of a Goocher, Ms Myra Drizzle from Upper Carpathia. How are you today, MsâJesus, she bit my arm! Somebody get this crazy bitch off me!
Let this be a lesson to all our readers, wear a suit made of fruit roll-ups sewn together with licorice thread at your own considerable risk. This dry cleaning bill alone is going to be insane.
Let me be the first to say that Rudy Bega would be a really funny name for a kid. Now I've just got to find a guy named Bega to marry, and some hard-up girl to be the baby farm. This might take all afternoon.
And now for another brief word from our sponsor:
Assholes everywhere agree, Crest is America's #1 toothpaste. Crest: Keep smiling, assholes.
Personally, I don't think they should put people to death just because they're ugly. What's that? They don't? Well good, I'm still against it. For now.
Hold on, looks like we're going to have to start the call-in segment of our show a little earlier than normal! Caller, you're live on Reflections of a Goocher!
Caller: Yeah, Stu, do you know where that RXL2B form that was supposed to be filed last Monday went to? I can't seem to find it in the paperwork for that file.
SU: No, I'm sorry caller! The correct answer was "Afghan Panties." I'm sorry to say you haven't won a trip to Monaco or Bedwetting for Dummies. Better luck next time!
Caller: Uh, Stâ *click*
Oh, looks like we lost the connection. Anyway, I'm going to make this getting out of here a reality before this last dogsled team leaves for the parking lot. Until next time, keep sending in those cookies shaped like famous composers, and I'll keep eating them. Now mush you Malamutes! Mush! º Last Column: Barf Like You Mean Itº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever. This means you, Gerardo.”
-Napoleon BugglyparteFortune 500 CookieFinally, you'll win that annual shit-talkin' contest. If the shoe fits, it still means you only have one shoe, dumbass. It may hurt, but don't worry, they can re-attach it if you put the testicle on ice quickly. Don't buy the lottery ticket this weekâyour money is better invested in cookie dough. Lucky marbles: steely, cat's eyes, and⌠uh⌠shit, we're fresh out of marbles.
Try again later.Top New Orleans Rebuilding Proposals| 1. | Houseboats for all! | | 2. | Move entire city to Ames, Iowa, just to see what happens | | 3. | Dig city another 20 feet lower, install Plexiglas ceiling for viewing marine life | | 4. | Pave over city to create parking lot for Atlanta SuperTarget | | 5. | Fuck it, the place was way too French anyway | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 8/29/2005
Holy Toledo, America. I've never been to the place, but it sounds like quite the religious Mecca. What religion? I have no idea, but if it's Ohio, it's probably Shriners. That just seems to fit. Anyway, we're back and black after a wonderful vacation from the grind of viewing and reviewing. Are you all ready for the return of The Entertainment Police? Neither are we. Tough noodles.
In Theaters Now:
The Brothel Grimm That weird cartoon witch's dog is back, and he's running a whorehouse. Sure, it's been done before, but this time legendary director Terry Gilmore of Gilmore Girls fame is at the helm, and he knows how to weird shit up like a pro. From Time Midgets to What's Eating Gilbert's Grapes?, Gilmore has proven...
Holy Toledo, America. I've never been to the place, but it sounds like quite the religious Mecca. What religion? I have no idea, but if it's Ohio, it's probably Shriners. That just seems to fit. Anyway, we're back and black after a wonderful vacation from the grind of viewing and reviewing. Are you all ready for the return of The Entertainment Police? Neither are we. Tough noodles. In Theaters Now:The Brothel GrimmThat weird cartoon witch's dog is back, and he's running a whorehouse. Sure, it's been done before, but this time legendary director Terry Gilmore of Gilmore Girls fame is at the helm, and he knows how to weird shit up like a pro. From Time Midgets to What's Eating Gilbert's Grapes?, Gilmore has proven time and time again that he can spin gold into hay or blonde hair or however that Rapunzel alchemy shit is supposed to work. The scariest thing this time around was that I couldn't tell if this movie was animated or claymated or CGI or if it was made by those creepy-ass Duracell people from that Christmas Train movie. I suppose some people would find that ambiguity magical, but I have to admit it creeped the hair right off my ass and I spent most of the movie in the john. The Dukes of GazzaraBen Gazzara is back and hick as ever in this remake of his popular 70's show about Gazzara and his legendary contempt for royalty. Sure, Ben's a lot older now, but with age comes wisdom (occasionally) and in Gazzara's case, it just makes the wisecracks crankier and that much more funny. The supporting cast leaves a little bit to be desired though, since country music upstart Johnny Knoxville and that other guy don't have much to do, plus Jessica Simpson's ass suit springs a leak about ten minutes in and by the end of the film her cutoffs are looking pretty saggy. Which pretty much negates her reason for being in the film, and begs the question of whether or not J-Lo's ass had other engagements, or if there was a falling star sitting on it at the time of this film's production. The 4-Year-Old VirginSex comedies don't get any more offensive than this raunchy chronicle of a preschooler dealing with the intense social pressure to get laid. Some deep inner part of me was pained by the very concept of the film, but then I realized I was just hungry. After a box of nachos I was able to do my duty (not like that, I took care of that during The Brothel Grimm) and enjoy what Hollywood was crapping into my lap. Offensive or not, there are plenty of great jokes in the film about naptime and getting together over a couple of juice boxes, that kind of thing. But whoever penned the bit about giving 4-year-olds Viagra, could you raise your hand so I'll know to stand clear when the lightning strikes? Thanks. Wedding CrushersHere we go again with another weird Transformers rip-off about lonely killing machines who hate to see people getting married. Vince Ray Vaughn and sports magnate Owen Wilson star as the titular bots, and breathe some much needed life and levity into a script that has more emotional baggage than the Samsonite heirs. Though as with almost any comedy released these days, I missed most of the film while I was wondering what in the hell is up with Owen Wilson's nose. Seriously. If you know, send an email. And that's that-a-tat-tat, America. Hope you're finding a reason to breathe these days, if not, well then you probably can't read this anyway. Unless they've got the Internet in hell. Do you think they have in Internet in hell? Probably, but I bet it's over a really crappy slow dial-up connection, and they've got some kind of virus that inserts disturbing transvestite porn into everything. I guess that's why nobody wants to go there. That, and I hear it's full of the kind of people who forward mass emails. Yech. Until next time, I'm Roland McShyster.   |