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Steven Seagal's Life Like Bad Steven Seagal MovieNovember 25, 2002 |
Hollywood, California Half-Past Dead Press Kit Steven Seagal, ironically playing a prisoner in his latest movie. Fun twist to see
The victim of the terroristic threatening was a Los Angeles Times reporter, Anita Busch, whose name was being held confidential by police at press time. Busch wrote articles alleging a former filmmaking partner of Seagal's used mob connections to extort $700,000 from the actor, who, in one of his own movies, would have likely punched out the ex-partner with one Aikido punch and cracked the mob boss's arm into a severe fracture before kicking him backwards off the balc...
ews just keeps getting better and better for fans of the bizarre and absurd. Friday allegations were made that "actor" Steven Seagal, famous for his chubby-flanked kicking and limp ponytail in horrible action movies, is linked to a private investigator who alleges Seagal hired him to terrorize a reporter.
The victim of the terroristic threatening was a Los Angeles Times reporter, Anita Busch, whose name was being held confidential by police at press time. Busch wrote articles alleging a former filmmaking partner of Seagal's used mob connections to extort $700,000 from the actor, who, in one of his own movies, would have likely punched out the ex-partner with one Aikido punch and cracked the mob boss's arm into a severe fracture before kicking him backwards off the balcony. Instead, the actor paid the money.
Private investigator Anthony Pellicano was allegedly hired by Seagal to scare Busch away from writing her articles about the extortion. Police reports say in June the show biz reporter found a dead fish, a rose, and a note saying "Stop!" on the hood of her smashed car windshield. The monosyllabic note initially led police to suspect Seagal's involvement, but the combination of the dead fish and the rose was just slightly more imaginative than anything that appeared in his films, leading investigators to believe Seagal's involvement was more hands-off.
Just after the incident, Busch was approached by two men and told to stop writing articles about Steven Seagal. Had Seagal not been the perpetrator, and been in the car, and had the whole thing been one of his movies, he likely would have gotten out of the car, leaped upon the hood to deal out a series of bone-splitting kicks before flipping through the air to land behind the larger villain, bending his arm back and forcing him into the car's hood, warning him not to mess with the lady again.
Further, had this been a Steven Seagal movie, the police force would have been under the power of the corrupt Hollywood star/villain—Seagal, in this case—and seeking their help against the threatening would have been fruitless for the victim. However, the victim did go to the police in this case, and Seagal's alleged henchmen were arrested and charged with the incidents. Seagal has yet to be charged, but a paper trail and witness accounts may put Seagal behind bars yet, this time for a crime he did commit.
In the private investigator Pellicano's office, police found a cache of plastic explosive, a detonating cord and blasting cap, two grenades, 15 to 20 bundles of cash bearing $10,000 wrappers and a number of pieces of jewelry—i.e., things you might find in the hideout of the lead henchman in any Steven Seagal movie. Had the police not intercepted Pellicano and his hired goon, according to initial statements, plans were in place to blow up Busch's car, something that would have sent movie-Seagal out in the night, angrily breaking into the top boss's house—his own, in this case—to deliver the final, fatal beating that ended the movie.
In the real world, however, Seagal waits patiently for his court date, when his lawyer will argue fine points and details of testimony to discredit Pellicano's claims of direct requests from Seagal that initiated his actions. There is likely to be little kicking and punching, and Seagal will be referred to as Steven or Mr. Seagal instead of "Jack," "John," or "Mason Storm." the commune news has gotten really worked up by this article, and if anyone wants to watch an Under Siege marathon at their apartment later, we're all aboard. Ramon Nootles is as tough as they come, meaning little girls; please, don't hit.
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 August 18, 2003
Volume 49Dear commune:
Maybe you can settle a bet for my buddy Steve and me. Say two guys are shocking each other in the nutsack with a cattle prod, with the agreement that whoever passes out first loses the bet and has to buy the other guy some chili fries, right? Okay, now if you shock Steve in the nuts and he screams like a girl so loud that you pass out from surprise, do you still lose the bet even though you never got your nuts shocked? Steve thinks you do, but I think he’s full of shit and has been sitting on a bag of ice too long. Is the commune a bunch of lesbo-bangers from the Steve camp or do you see my point?
Sincerely,
Artie Duchamp
Flatskull, NJ
Dear Artie:
Cattle prods? What are you guys, a couple of seven-year-old girls in floral-patterned dresses at a tea party? You sure you guys aren’t pulling our legs? Because we doubt you really have the nuts to shock, nice try ladies. Any two guys who were really serious about a snack-bar wager like that would take turns stuffing their nuts into a power outlet, and the first one who’s blown out the window loses. "Passing out" is pussyese for feinting, as any southern debutante knows. Quit wasting the commune’s time and write us back when you have some local press clippings to enter as evidence.
the...
º Last Column: Volume 48
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Dear commune: Maybe you can settle a bet for my buddy Steve and me. Say two guys are shocking each other in the nutsack with a cattle prod, with the agreement that whoever passes out first loses the bet and has to buy the other guy some chili fries, right? Okay, now if you shock Steve in the nuts and he screams like a girl so loud that you pass out from surprise, do you still lose the bet even though you never got your nuts shocked? Steve thinks you do, but I think he’s full of shit and has been sitting on a bag of ice too long. Is the commune a bunch of lesbo-bangers from the Steve camp or do you see my point? Sincerely, Artie Duchamp
Flatskull, NJ
Dear Artie:
Cattle prods? What are you guys, a couple of seven-year-old girls in floral-patterned dresses at a tea party? You sure you guys aren’t pulling our legs? Because we doubt you really have the nuts to shock, nice try ladies. Any two guys who were really serious about a snack-bar wager like that would take turns stuffing their nuts into a power outlet, and the first one who’s blown out the window loses. "Passing out" is pussyese for feinting, as any southern debutante knows. Quit wasting the commune’s time and write us back when you have some local press clippings to enter as evidence.
the commune
Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any property or nutsack damage caused by the commune’s own brand of dubious advice. By reading this website you have agreed to the legal release that is encoded, Beautiful Mind-style, randomly throughout the site’s text and images. And just try to disprove that, brainiac.º Last Column: Volume 48º more columns
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|  May 26, 2003
Little Deuce CoupTo those of you out there who think you can bust down my heavily barricaded office door with your flimsy limbs and pathetic, jerryrigged battering devices, I say bring it on. Unless you happen to be a huge and well-built muscleman, in which case I say don't come in here, I'm naked. And if you'd like to pick up some spare change for your supplements and muscle fuel, kindly pound the rest of my staff into quivering, mutinous jelly while you're out there.
Welcome to day two of the commune staff's soon-to-be-unsuccessful coup against yours truly, Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley. They may think they can outlast me out there, what with their access to the outside world and all, but I have a secret weapon those dolts don't even know about: a case of army rations from WWII that Red Bagel had stashed away under the suspicion that they contained alien fetuses. Whatever kind of fetuses they have in them, they're delicious.
So don't expect me to crawl out of this office on my hands and knees waving a white flag any time soon, communers. Sure, I could use some medical attention for a gangrenous paper cut on my ankle, and using the windowsill for a toilet got old about 30 hours ago, but they can have this office when they pry my stiff, emaciated corpse out from behind the file cabinet, where I've built a makeshift fort in case the outer wall is breached.
It all started last week, when I found the office staff gathered around a television set playing...
º Last Column: The President Needs a Wingman
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To those of you out there who think you can bust down my heavily barricaded office door with your flimsy limbs and pathetic, jerryrigged battering devices, I say bring it on. Unless you happen to be a huge and well-built muscleman, in which case I say don't come in here, I'm naked. And if you'd like to pick up some spare change for your supplements and muscle fuel, kindly pound the rest of my staff into quivering, mutinous jelly while you're out there.
Welcome to day two of the commune staff's soon-to-be-unsuccessful coup against yours truly, Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley. They may think they can outlast me out there, what with their access to the outside world and all, but I have a secret weapon those dolts don't even know about: a case of army rations from WWII that Red Bagel had stashed away under the suspicion that they contained alien fetuses. Whatever kind of fetuses they have in them, they're delicious.
So don't expect me to crawl out of this office on my hands and knees waving a white flag any time soon, communers. Sure, I could use some medical attention for a gangrenous paper cut on my ankle, and using the windowsill for a toilet got old about 30 hours ago, but they can have this office when they pry my stiff, emaciated corpse out from behind the file cabinet, where I've built a makeshift fort in case the outer wall is breached.
It all started last week, when I found the office staff gathered around a television set playing grainy home-video footage of a mysterious figure striding across a street in some unnamed US city. Nobody wanted to say anything while I was in the room, but it was obvious everyone knew what this was.
Red Bagel. Alive.
It was then that I began to feel my igloo of lies collapsing in around me. Sure, I'll admit it, I'd been telling the staff Bagel died within a month of his disappearance, in a gas station bathroom during a botched abortion attempt. It was the only way I could demand the respect and obedience of the staff, get them to stop calling me "dickface" and end the childish outbursts of "You're not my real editor! I'll stay up as late as I want!" all the time. And now my roosters had come home to roost. Proof of Bagel's survival, writ large on the small screen.
Leave it to the commune staff to get all up in my head with mind games, like pretending there hasn't been a coup at all. That the coffee has always been this bad and that the staff was just watching Signs last week, the creature seen waltzing across the street on TV just some bugged-out space alien from the film. Nice try, commune staff. But anyone who's sat a mile in Red Bagel's office chair knows that he would never risk techno-viral infection by setting foot on a Hollywood movie set. Hurley: 1, Coupers: 0.
Besides, I've seen the effigy of my likeness they had strung up in the office last week, and I don't buy the claims that it was just a piñata. I know a piñata when I see one, and that thing was clearly a jackass, an obvious reference to the staff's term of endearment for me, Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley.
So let's drop the charade and bring the noise, commune staff. I'm stocked to weather this storm. And I'll be here waiting to accept your unconditional surrender once you realize the hopelessness of your situation, on one condition: That you bring pizza, beer and toilet paper with you. And don't forget the TP. º Last Column: The President Needs a Wingmanº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores... uh, on second thought, scratch that. If I can pick, don't give me any losers.”
-Emily DickinsomeFortune 500 CookieGive up the ghost this week—everybody knows you're drawing those eyebrows on with a magic marker. You may only be a gigolo, but that doesn't mean anybody wants to hear you sing about it. Try naming a constellation after yourself: it worked for that "Chantilly Lace" guy. This week's lucky pets: salamander, ostrich, rutabaga, cow fetus, bottle of deadly germs.
Try again later.Top Revelations of 9/11 Investigation| 1. | "World Trade Center" actually two buildings | | 2. | Apparently some people don't like the U.S. | | 3. | Bush fled Air Force One in private jet shuttle, "Baby Bush" | | 4. | Possibility tragic incident could have been prevented | | 5. | Colin Powell really nice | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY B. Brown Dullard 3/5/2007 Floof GoofersThough these words may appear to be written in modern English, rest assured they have been conveyed via thought concept and visual feedback, therefore appearing in your brain as your own native language. Trust this illusion only so far as it serves you to do so.
What follows is a concise and revelatory history of Teefsak, the planet more commonly but less correctly known as "Earth," and Zefro, the celestial overlord most responsible for Teefsak's tragic and frothy past. The Teefsak tragedy has gone down in the annals of galactic history as a tear-jerker of epochal proportions.
Seventy-five million years ago, give or take several weeks for Spacelight Savings Time, Teefsak was one of 76 planets in a Galactic Conformerancy known as D12. The ruler of the Conformerancy...
Though these words may appear to be written in modern English, rest assured they have been conveyed via thought concept and visual feedback, therefore appearing in your brain as your own native language. Trust this illusion only so far as it serves you to do so. What follows is a concise and revelatory history of Teefsak, the planet more commonly but less correctly known as "Earth," and Zefro, the celestial overlord most responsible for Teefsak's tragic and frothy past. The Teefsak tragedy has gone down in the annals of galactic history as a tear-jerker of epochal proportions. Seventy-five million years ago, give or take several weeks for Spacelight Savings Time, Teefsak was one of 76 planets in a Galactic Conformerancy known as D12. The ruler of the Conformerancy was Zefro, a tall, stern-looking gentleman with the letter "Z" shaved into his afro. For all other intents and purposes, Zefro greatly resembled Charlton Heston. Zefro had proposed radical new ideas for the Conformerancy, including personal income taxes, passports, and collectable trading cards bearing the likeness of every citizen of the Conformerancy. In direct opposition to Zefro's radical policies stood Zefro's arch-nemesis, LouRawls. LouRawls was a loyal officer, dressed in off-white. Zefro was forced to call in Master Lord Chew, the Master Lord of the Conformerancy, to resolve this dispute. Chew looked exactly like a pig squeezed into a tuxedo. He is completely ugly and worthless. Chew says the Martians are invading and everyone should throw porridge at Zefro. Everyone cheers LouRawls and Zefro is made to dance naked in a telephone booth in front of the entire Conformerancy. Zefro, disappointed, goes home and orders Doctor Snoot to robotize his mistress, Lady Man. "Depersonalize her with neurosurgery!" Zefro demands. Doctor Snoot accidentally robotizes Zefro's dog, Pooches, instead, and Lady Man escapes by not knowing any of this was going on and going to lunch. On the way to lunch, however, she crash lands Doctor Snoot's space Harley, which she had shoplifted, on the forest moon Smendor and lives there the rest of her life as the Queen of the Cats with Batfaces. Meanwhile, Zefro is meeting with his most trusted conspirators on NotEarth, planning the immanent destruction of all that is good and oily. Zefro orders that all black people, the elderly and golfers be rounded up via space freighters and brought to Teefsak for "rewardation." Zefro's psychiatrist goons love their work only too much and also round up all the cosmetologists, the Dutch, homeowners, crossword puzzle enthusiasts, children between the ages of seven and ten, light sleepers, the underweight, doctors, show ponies, everyone living east of Kansas City, baseballers, disco musicians, the large of hair, craps junkies, anyone over six feet tall, sailors, presidents, watchmakers, reggae fans and oakies as well. All are drugged and brought to Teefsak, and strapped to volcanoes for safekeeping. Atomic bombs are stored nearby in case they are needed. But suddenly, and without prior warning, Zefro goofs the floof and orders that all the atomic bombs be detonated! The result would not make a very nice card from Hallmark. Zefro would later be defeated by LouRawls after a colossal and exciting space battle where at the end Zefro tried to go for his secret hidden gun but LouRawls kicked it away and said "That's just like you, Zefro. But not this time. You are hereby sentenced to imprisonment in a mountain sustained for eons by life support." And that's where Zefro remains today. So let that be a lesson to us all. Send me $59,000 if you want to know what the lesson is.   |
