Over 200 Heretics Arrested in New York City Protest

March 31, 2003

New York City, NY

Whit Pistol

Throngs of unbelievers harangue the city that never sleeps, with extremely wordy signs and bored expressions.

arring factions in the corporeal world clashed Thursday as police arrested 215 blasphemers expressing anti-American sentiments. More than 150 were hosting a "die-in" where they laid down in the street and did a poor impression of dead Iraqi civilians and U.S. troops, while the mathematical remainder of those 215 were melodramatically hosting a funeral procession. All of it was quite a disgusting site to those who like their country, as well as those who found their caricature of the dead highly offensive.

The incident was one of many that seemed to accelerate since the start of the war, the whateverth of March, 2003. Despite support of biblical proportions from the American public that accompanies the inception of every war, small cells of protestors have continued heresy in cities around the country. Over 200,000 deviants have been arrested everywhere from San Francisco to New York City, though primarily San Francisco, for their refusal to accept the edicts handed down by the administration.

"Protesting before the war was one thing. But now that it has started, it's important to get behind our president and give up their own opinions for the sake of showing the world a unified front," said this reporter. "Back in my day, it was more important to believe your president was doing the right thing than to risk possibly thinking he might not have a clue what he was doing."

Across the country, other groups of pro-Bush protestors protested the protestors protesting the Iraq War. As obligatorily mentioned in every article on anti-war sentiment, protestors of administration actions have been met with equally vehement gatherings rallying to support U.S. involvement in Iraq.

"I just think that the president wouldn't go to war if there wasn't a good reason," said stay-at-home mom twelve-year-old Becky Surrey of Burkutt, Missouri. "That's the kind of thing Saddam Hussein would do. You've heard he gasses his own people, right?"

Demonstrators holding signs saying, "Iraq needs a regime change!" and "Support the troops!" as well as other Bush administration sound bytes, have turned out in, let's just say, record numbers to counter the sacrilege.

"If they love Iraq so much, why don't they move over there and live there and protest?" said Hoyt, Arizona truck loader Darryl Gavin. "Because they'd get killed there. They're lucky to live in a country where they can say whatever they want. So they should shut-up and support the war like the rest of us."

The White House, rather than allowing war efforts to be distracted with arguments, has wisely chosen to ignore protestors in the U.S. and the millions worldwide. Others, however, are quick to step up to the administration's defense.

"The Bush administration has strong evidence Iraq has weapons of mass destruction, and it's a shame that so many Americans are so mistrustful that they demand to see such evidence," said White House publicist Fox News in a released statement. "Everyone is allowed the right to their opinion, but they're wrong."

"Independent" news agency CNN expressed a different view.

"The main thing the United States needs right now is a clear, objective report on the war's impact, both here and abroad," said a broad, some pretty anchor thing. "There are two sides to every story, and it's CNN's responsibility to report that. Are people still protesting the war because they're radicals who hate everything the United States does, or are they simply uninformed? It's important to maintain that balanced perspective."

the commune news is never afraid to tackle an issue, but we would be afraid to tackle Emmitt Smith. Again. Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown has been dead longer than most of you have been alive, and assures us even reporting for the commune is more fun than facing that cold, numbing darkness again.

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December 22, 2003

No Need to Check That List Twice

º Last Column: The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back
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Well, I'll give you three guesses as to what Omar Bricks wants for Christmas this year, with the added bonus that I get to kick you in the ass if you're wrong. Because that means you're either stupid or haven't been reading my column for the last eight months. And even if you're just trying to be funny by saying shit like "a boob job" or "world peace," come on man, I'm giving you three guesses here.

It should come as no surprise to those of you out there who respond to external stimuli that a new car is way at the top of the Omar Bricks wish list this holiday season. Yes, even higher than a gas-powered man kite or a money-winning horse like that Seabiscuit. Sweet as those both would be, and even sweeter in combination, a new car has to be Christmas Priority #1. Besides, I didn't get either of those other things last year and I prefer to maintain exclusivity when it comes to the gifts I request: If you didn't get me what I wanted last year, you missed your chance, Bud. Sucks to be you, but I have my pride to consider.

So this year it's all about the car. And possibly car-themed accessories like a ball-ratting stereo system or some stylish naugahyde seat covers. Or some skiis. Basically, if it fits in the car somehow, I'll take it.

But the main part of the present had better be a car, because if end up with a shitload of fuzzy dice and hula girl statues and crap with no car to put them in, I'm pretty sure I'll be pissed. The smart money's on some Bricks rage in that scenario. Not to be an ungrateful giftee or anything, but come on. That's just bullshit. Half that crap has no use outside of an automobile, unless I take a sewing class so I can turn a set of naugahyde seat covers into some kind of bizarre Buffalo Bill couch cover or some disturbing shit like that. And then I'd need to redo the whole house with a Silence of the Lambs theme just to make the couch match, which sounds like a lot of work and a waste of all the carnival mirrors I bought last week.

And just so I can cover all my bases this year, let me make it clear that I consider the gag gifting of any kind of little matchbox or other toy car to be grounds for serious retaliation, as that shit's neither funny nor useful, and that's seventy-five cents you could have put toward some very small fraction of a car I could actually drive. Use your brains here, people: pool your resources. Hold a walkathon or something, I don't give a shit. I'll even submit a decent photo to have printed up on the t-shirts, that's how far I'm willing to go to make this happen. I don't imagine there are many charitable mugs out there who could look at a picture of Omar Bricks throwing eggs at the president and deny that this man needs a car. Me, not the president. I'm not sure if the president owns his own car or not, but he seems to get around okay. You never see him pushing a little kid off his bike when he's late to work in the morning, that's all I'm saying.

As for what kind of car, be creative. Unless your idea of "creative" means cheap and shitty, in that case don't be creative. Forget I said that. Think of it as if you were buying yourself a car, only imagine that you like yourself more than you do, and money's no object. That should work. And if you like Volvos, fuck off. You shouldn't be involved in this process at all; I don't want you skewing my car gift with your bad taste and questionable judgment.

You can get me a radar detector or something. Pretty hard to fuck that up. Thanks.

Bricks out.

º Last Column: The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back
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May 26, 2003

Bricks on the Fourth of July

º Last Column: Polio at 50
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I definitely need to hire out as a Fourth of July consultant. If you think you don't need a Fourth of July consultant, you've never experienced a Bricks Fourth of July, end of story.

It's about a month away, I know, but when you want to make it a memorable good time, you've got to plan well in advance. It's just not smart to put a houseful of fireworks and a truckload of Miller Genuine Draft together without more than a little planning. Now usually I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, even if the ass of the pants rips out and you get kicked out of the kid's birthday party, but hey, it's not like I knew the kid anywayâ€”nothing ventured, nothing gained; but when it comes to Fourth of July, Omar Bricks turns into a rocket scientist of event planning.

It's more than just explosions and drunken fight after drunken fightâ€”shit, if I didn't have that on a daily basis I'd hang up my hat and go home already. The way I see it, Fourth of July is the world's celebration of pure, uncut freedom, and for me there's nothing better worth celebrating. Hanging out with buddies, sipping beers, and trading swimming pool-building tips is like a fart in freedom's face. Omar Bricks don't fart in anyone's face unless they personally asked for it or take out those little opera glasses in public, which is the same as the former in my book.

It takes more than a month just to save up enough money to rent the arena. Why go through the trouble and expense of renting an arena? Well, you might as well ask what's the point in having a demolition derbyâ€”you can't hold it in your backyard, don't argue with that because I've tried. And the demolition derby is the big part of the Bricks Fourth of July gathering, and in the tight-money times I haven't been able to rent an arena I find an unguarded farmer field is a fantastic substitute. If you check with your friends who fake crop circles on the weekends they can probably tell you which places are frequently unsupervised and have the best tire traction.

Then you have to select the special car, I like to nickname it the "doom buggy". The best way, I've discovered, is to hold a little private lottery the night beforeâ€”if you have one hundred ping pong balls, a giant hamster ball, and a tuxedo, have a little fun with it, it's like a party in itself. Then whatever number wins that's your car, since they'll all have numbers painted on them at the derby. I would recommend keeping it something only you know. Sure, you can let everybody in on the secret, but when most people find out the car's trunk is full of fireworks the volunteers to drive it dry up real fast.

No demolition derby is complete without a lot of beer, whether you're a spectator or a driver. Still, with luck you'll get flipped over by the car with the bulldozer prod welded on the front early and can get a seat right up front in time for the first explosion to hit the doom buggy. Man, that's Fourth of July. Our founding fathers would have been proud enough to piss themselves.

That's just my favorite part, of course. Some Bricks partygoers love shaving the heads of the derby losers. Others love the swimming pool full of Thunderbird, throwing flammable things on the bonfire, or the wrestle Lil Duncan contest. I'm not complaining, I love every part of it, even the swarming of S.W.A.T. team members to close the whole thing down gets me kind of misty-eyed. Like America, there's a little something for everyone. Bricks out.

º Last Column: Polio at 50
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Milestones

1998: Future turncoat Raoul Dunkin joins the burgeoning commune staff, blatantly lying about his desire to learn more about alternative journalism and liking Red Bagel's haircut.

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North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

2/18/2002

What it is, America? Welcome back to the long and lonely road of Entertainment Policing. You've probably heard about most of what's gone down since the last installment of this column, including the restraining order placed against yours truly by Saul Worthington of the Bronx, New York. Sometimes the path to the truth can be littered with hardship and legal fees, that's all I have to say about that. But the important thing is that we're back, and ready with another two-weeks' worth of vital editorial nuggets pertaining to the entertainment choices you, the valued reader, must make on a regular basis. But before we get to that, how about we set the mood with a tall, cool glass of Ask Roland? No? Alright, but don't come crying to me when you wake up in the middle of the night hungry for...