| 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='I’m 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 Hooper’s 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='I’m 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';
?> | 
 April 11, 2005 |
Vatican City, Wherever Junior Bacon Vatican City residents proudly display their shopping bag from the Vatican gift shop
Published in newspapers, and on websites and Happy Meal boxes around the globe in over 90 languages, Catholics and heathens alike thrilled to the pope’s private inner thoughts and the great man’s eloquent musings this week, drinking in the pope’s thoughts on the nature of privacy and his joy at having this one small respite from a life lived on such a public stage.
Hounded all his life by an overzealous med...
n the wake of the pope’s alleged death last week, the Vatican has released John Paul II’s will and personal diary to the media. Among the juicy tidbits revealed with the publication of the papal diary was the 84-year-old man’s dying wish that the bloodthirsty media would please, please, please keep their grubby mitts off his motherloving diary.
Published in newspapers, and on websites and Happy Meal boxes around the globe in over 90 languages, Catholics and heathens alike thrilled to the pope’s private inner thoughts and the great man’s eloquent musings this week, drinking in the pope’s thoughts on the nature of privacy and his joy at having this one small respite from a life lived on such a public stage.
Hounded all his life by an overzealous media desperate to know what made the pope tick, John Paul II poured his thoughts into the small, leather-bound volume in a scrawl that some have called “Pope-script.” Among the nuggets revealed with the diary’s publication are the details of the pope’s third-grade crush on Margo Holzarian from the Ukraine, and his strange, life-long fascination with American actress Mariel Hemmingway.
“Thank God no one is ever going to read this diary,” the Pope wrote in one of his last entries, dated March 2005. “It is only through this precious cove of privacy that I cling to my very humanity.” According to various sources, the pope misspelled “humanity” in the original text, but newspaper editors have universally agreed that it is highly unlikely the pope was clinging to a humanatee.
Many readers have been especially touched by the earliest entries in the diary, which date back to the pope’s youth.
“Dear diary: Man, being the pope is hard. I miss my mom and dad, and sometimes I just want to go home. Everybody says I’ll get over it though, once I make some new friends. Well, gotta go. Love, The Pope.”
Some less-scholarly Catholics have been equally surprised to learn that John Paul II was referred to as “the pope” even as a small boy, which made for several humorous anecdotes about grade school roll-call.
Garnering somewhat less attention has been the publication of John Paul II’s last will and testament, which some Catholics awaited with great suspense over who would inherit the pope’s collection of pointy hats. In the end, however, it turned out that the pope’s will was written in Polish, so the Vatican instead handed out his belongings on a “first come, first serve” basis to the assembled masses.
“This is fucking awesome,” raved German tourist Himmel Blaus. “I got the pope’s toenail clippers and a pair of boxers with the dude’s initials on them!”
“I got the pope’s soap! The pope’s soap on a rope is dope!” shouted another ecstatic inheritor, dashing out of the room, apparently in a hurry to bathe.
Publishers worldwide are currently in negotiations for the hardcover publishing rights to the pope’s diary, though as of yet, none have thought to tap the gold mine that is the commune’s recent “Pope’s Diary Mad Libs” feature. the commune news knows a gold mine when we see one, which is a great explanation for why we left all those donkeys in your living room. Ivan Nacutchacokov is apparently upset that we won’t let him come home from Italy, but we here at the commune believe that the concepts of “home,” “Italy,” and “Ivan” are all overrated.
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Virgin claims record loss; record was 45 of Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing
 Cheney Comrade Injured During Hunt for Bin Laden
AskJeeves.com to know more shit by 30%
HD-DVDs could piss off DVD owners as soon as next year
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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: We’re serious; you really need to leave now. “We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re 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 hasn’t merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: He’s 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 didn’t 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. Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines Eminem, Ex-Wife Reunite to Work on New Material |
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 February 2, 2004
I Didn't Come Here to Argue SemanticsYou say I ruined your life, whatever.
Who gets machine-gunned to death these days, anyway? I mean, seriously. The chances have got to be astronomical. You practically have to be begging to be machine-gunned to death. My cousin was on the waiting list to get machine-gunned to death for three years when he was hit by a train. I'm serious! The way I see it, you should be writing me a thank-you note. I'd call you an inconsiderate prick if I wasn't certain you'd take it the wrong way.
Ruined your life, ha. That's rich. I'll have to remember that to tell my ex-wife, she'll get a real kick out of that one. She loves jokes like that, about me ruining her life or sucking out her will to live, all those old chestnuts. She has this great new one about me chewing up the best years of her life and spitting them out like tobacco juice, it goes over really well at parties.
Because really, how do you ruin somebody's life? Seriously. I can't even fathom it. A priceless Faberge egg, now that's something you can ruin. You can't play catch with one of those things without ruining it completely, trust me on that one. Friendships? Yeah, I suppose you can ruin a friendship. Especially if it's with a stuffy Faberge egg collector who doesn't keep his house locked securely at night. Those are both ruinable, I'll admit. But an entire life? Keep dreaming.
So what, so you have to get all your sustenance by licking pulp off the filter screen from...
º Last Column: Admit it, You Think Cancer is Funny
º more columns
You say I ruined your life, whatever. Who gets machine-gunned to death these days, anyway? I mean, seriously. The chances have got to be astronomical. You practically have to be begging to be machine-gunned to death. My cousin was on the waiting list to get machine-gunned to death for three years when he was hit by a train. I'm serious! The way I see it, you should be writing me a thank-you note. I'd call you an inconsiderate prick if I wasn't certain you'd take it the wrong way. Ruined your life, ha. That's rich. I'll have to remember that to tell my ex-wife, she'll get a real kick out of that one. She loves jokes like that, about me ruining her life or sucking out her will to live, all those old chestnuts. She has this great new one about me chewing up the best years of her life and spitting them out like tobacco juice, it goes over really well at parties. Because really, how do you ruin somebody's life? Seriously. I can't even fathom it. A priceless Faberge egg, now that's something you can ruin. You can't play catch with one of those things without ruining it completely, trust me on that one. Friendships? Yeah, I suppose you can ruin a friendship. Especially if it's with a stuffy Faberge egg collector who doesn't keep his house locked securely at night. Those are both ruinable, I'll admit. But an entire life? Keep dreaming. So what, so you have to get all your sustenance by licking pulp off the filter screen from a juicer now. Who doesn't? I'm serious, my grandpa lived off juicer pulp for years, and I didn't hear him complaining. Sure, after the kangaroo ripped out his voice box he had to talk by tapping out Morse code on a pair of spoons, but if he'd really wanted to complain I'm sure he'd have found the time. If he'd wanted to, grandpa could have sat around all day, bitching about how I took him to Australia and told him all the kangaroos were so tame you could get them to eat chewed-up peaches right out of your mouth. But did he? No way! Not after I took away his spoons. Who can sleep with that rat-a-tat-tat going on all night? Jesus. He acted like any of us actually bothered to learn Morse code. You kind of remind me of my grandpa, actually. That fuckin' guy would believe anything. Well, I'm not sure he'd believe a tall tale like "Go on, stick your hand in there. It's not like they'd keep a loaded machine gun laying around!" but he wasn't an idiot. He was just old and feeble of mind. He didn't run around, sticking his fingers inside the gears of a loaded machine gun on a fool's dare, just because the fool had talked him into sneaking onto a military base in the middle of the night. But then again, grandpa always did hold his liquor better than some people who I won't mention by name. (You.) So come on, let's drop this tired old argument. Any reasonable person knows you can't really ruin a life unless it's two thirds of the way there already. Yeah, then maybe you can give it a nudge down the crapper, but hey, that's life. The important thing to acknowledge is that we're both a little to blame. Sure, I may have pulled the trigger, but whose idea was it to ignore me when I was yelling "Dodge! Dodge!" like a good friend? Sure wasn't mine. Granted, you might not have thought it was funny when I was shooting the machine gun down at your feet and yelling "Dance, motherfucker!" but I sure did, so that's really your word against mine when you think about it. And hell, if your fingers hadn't been caught in the gears I don't think most of those bullets would have even hit you, if you insist on calling a spade a spade. I swear, when those doctors brought you back to life sometimes I think you left your sense of humor on the other side. Let me know if they ever sift it out of that sack of unidentified gristle that was left over after the operation. Otherwise, I don't even know why we're talking. º Last Column: Admit it, You Think Cancer is Funnyº more columns
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|  November 25, 2002
Michael Jackson Has Always ExistedCountless dozens (twelves) have marveled at the way all of the great Pharaohs and other self-important assholes of ancient Egypt, not to mention their monuments like the Sphinx, the Cooney and the Guggenheim, all look exactly like Michael Jackson. Few have followed their ass-scratching curiosity into the realm of arduous academic research, and I can't blame them because that's some dry shit. But for those few who have, the reward has been a startling revelation.
Michael Jackson has always existed.
Through all cultures and all times over the course of human history there has been only one constant: Michael Jackson. Okay, and bacon. Everybody loves bacon, no lie. So two constants, but one is more surprising than the other.
No one can be quite sure where the King of Pop came from, as he predates even the earliest recorded history and can be found in the mythology of most world cultures. Historians agree that a crash-landing space egg is as reasonable an explanation as any.
Nowhere is Jackson's influence more evident than in the culture of ancient Egypt. When the great Pharaoh Titencouple built the Sphinx, the model was no other than the gloved one himself. Jackson convinced the Pharaoh to build the Sphinx by saying it would make him live forever, but through a neat linguistic trick Mike failed to clarify that he meant he, himself, and not the Pharaoh, who would die three years later in the crotch of an elephant.
º Last Column: Cancer's for Pussies: How Smoking Started
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Countless dozens (twelves) have marveled at the way all of the great Pharaohs and other self-important assholes of ancient Egypt, not to mention their monuments like the Sphinx, the Cooney and the Guggenheim, all look exactly like Michael Jackson. Few have followed their ass-scratching curiosity into the realm of arduous academic research, and I can't blame them because that's some dry shit. But for those few who have, the reward has been a startling revelation.
Michael Jackson has always existed.
Through all cultures and all times over the course of human history there has been only one constant: Michael Jackson. Okay, and bacon. Everybody loves bacon, no lie. So two constants, but one is more surprising than the other.
No one can be quite sure where the King of Pop came from, as he predates even the earliest recorded history and can be found in the mythology of most world cultures. Historians agree that a crash-landing space egg is as reasonable an explanation as any.
Nowhere is Jackson's influence more evident than in the culture of ancient Egypt. When the great Pharaoh Titencouple built the Sphinx, the model was no other than the gloved one himself. Jackson convinced the Pharaoh to build the Sphinx by saying it would make him live forever, but through a neat linguistic trick Mike failed to clarify that he meant he, himself, and not the Pharaoh, who would die three years later in the crotch of an elephant.
Through some kind of voodoo shenanigans that can only be explained using a detailed diorama and action figures, Jackson designed the Sphinx as a kind of supernatural Dorian Gray portrait who's magical powers kept the singer impervious to the ravages of time. It worked like a charm, though when the dog-loving warlord Mameluke shot off the Sphinx's nose during a drunken bender in the 1300's, Jackson began to lose the nasal portion of his magical protection. Eventually this lead to the unsightly implosion of his shnozz, an unfortunate side-effect of marrying one's fate to that of a stationary monument in asshole country.
In the 20th century, acid rain began to deface the Sphinx further, wreaking more havoc on Jackson's visage and driving him to more and more paranoid attempts to stave off the effects of aging. Sleeping in a giant vacuum-sealed Pringles container made for good press in the tabloids, but eventually proved to be of little help. A Sphinx haircut would come later, though some would argue that he went too far with it and ended up looking more like a character from Big Trouble in Little China than the Sphinx.
Some may bring up the well-known footage of a young Jackson rumpshaking his way through Motown hits in the early 70's as evidence of his normal human lifecycle. Few realize that this footage is from, amazingly, 7840 B.C.. Check out the cord on Jermaine Jackson's bass guitar. Looks suspiciously like a braid of camel hair, doesn't it? Jackson has proved that he's nothing if not adept at predicting cultural trends ahead of time, only few have realized just how far ahead. Once again in pop music, everything old is new again.
Some might wonder what to make of this discovery, to panic wildly and fling one's ass out an open window, or to shrug apathetically and help oneself to another helping of chicken fried steak. I believe the correct approach is mild curiosity. While it would be easy and understandable for one to succumb to an intense bout of the heebie-jeebies, it's important to realize that if Jackson had the power to destroy the world, he surely would have done so after HIStory sold like Cancer McNuggets a few years back. He may hold some bizarre powers we have yet to discover, but whatever happens we know that over in Egypt we've always got him by the man-headed lion balls. And personally, you can keep your immortality if it means that any yahoo out there with a rocket launcher can blow your sandy bits back to Cairo any time he pleases. º Last Column: Cancer's for Pussies: How Smoking Startedº more columns
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Milestones1987: A practical joke backfires, resulting in Roland McShyster being put in charge of Orion Pictures.Now HiringNeighbor. Must be unpredictably silly and capable of conjuring up outlandish schemes week after week. Applicant will be judged based on appeal to uncreative mass audiences and spin-off potential. Non-white, homosexual a plus.Least Popular April Fools' Pranks| 1. | Entire world repopulated with talking dogs while you slept | | 2. | Autistic cousin did your taxes for you, but it turns out he's a music savant | | 3. | You're CNN's Kidnapper of the Week! | | 4. | Woke up covered in 200 glued-on toupees | | 5. | Anal rape | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/21/2005 Grab your nuts and yank, America, it's Oscars time! What some have called "the most wonderful time of the year" in a mistaken interpretation of Christmas songs is finally upon us. The glitz, the glamour, and the total disrespect for artistic achievement are about to wash over us in one big, self-congratulating wave. Who's got their boogieboards ready? Well get on down to the beach you morons, because it's not that kind of wave. As for the rest of us, what we need even more than a shower and plastic surgery is a comprehensive look at this year's nominees in all the major categories you're not likely to miss while you're pissing or heating up nachos during the awards show. So on that note, this!
BEST PICTURE
The Alligator
Grab your nuts and yank, America, it's Oscars time! What some have called "the most wonderful time of the year" in a mistaken interpretation of Christmas songs is finally upon us. The glitz, the glamour, and the total disrespect for artistic achievement are about to wash over us in one big, self-congratulating wave. Who's got their boogieboards ready? Well get on down to the beach you morons, because it's not that kind of wave. As for the rest of us, what we need even more than a shower and plastic surgery is a comprehensive look at this year's nominees in all the major categories you're not likely to miss while you're pissing or heating up nachos during the awards show. So on that note, this! BEST PICTUREThe Alligator-read EP review-Considered by many to be the Oscar front-runner due to the Academy's love of those polo shirts with the little alligator on them. But some wonder if the film's attachment to the award-repellant director Martin Scorsese might spell its doom, since Scorsese could slap his name on Citizen Kane and get it booed at Cannes. Regardless, the Academy does love this film, as evidenced by the gang of palookas they nominated up against it. For that reason, look for Alligator to take home the gold Sunday night, and for director Martin Scorsese to ride up to the podium on a giant crepe-paper alligator being carried by Chinese people. You heard it here first. Finding NevermindDepp is terrific as usual as Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain in this lighthearted probing into the world of creativity and magic, following Cobain as he struggles to find the inspiration that would eventually lead to the landmark album Nevermind. Could a narcissistic, drug-addled bitch serve as his ultimate muse? Do you believe in magic? A long shot to win the statue, but a sure bet to win your heart or other vital organs. Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-Clint Eastwood has proven that he's got the rest of Hollywood running scared after scoring an Oscar nomination for taking this million-dollar shit. That's what a perfect record in gunfights and a reputation as a mean son of a bitch will earn you: major, serious Academy ass-kissing. Well enjoy it while you can, Clint old boy, because I still think you stink. And be advised that I'll be wearing a cast-iron stove like a vest until I'm certain you won't be coming after me for that last remark, bub. Ray-read EP review-Call me a dick if you must, or if you were going to already, but I just don't think Man Ray deserves his own biopic. I don't care if he drove a bunch of nails through an iron or glued teeth on a toothbrush, that kind of modern art just doesn't do it for me. Sitting through the movie was like ironing my tongue with the iron that had all the nails sticking out of it, if you know what I'm talking about. Best Picture? Yeah, Ray made some cool pictures. But I don't think that's what the award is supposed to mean. SidewaysPay attention, America. The Academy's running a "question and answer" joke theme in the nominations this year, which you'd all be in the dark about if I hadn't secured my own copy of the questions. Here's the first one: "How should you cram it?" BEST DIRECTORMartin Scorsese, The Alligator-read EP review-Sure, his past body of work has received about as much Oscars love as the cinematic portfolio of Bob Denver, but regardless, Scorsese keeps trying to make a film the Academy will love. Many expected him to quit after his masterpiece Alien Vs. Predator was snubbed last year, but this is a man with no quit in him, regardless of gene therapy attempts to cure his defect. I say he takes home the golden oldie on Sunday, and then uses it to bludgeon Kevin Costner into a merciful retirement. Clint Eastwood, Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-Bite it, Clinty. I've got your Oscar right here, and a rubber band gun aimed at the door if you're ready for the startling of a lifetime. Taylor Thomas Hackford, Ray-read EP review-I knew that kid from Home Improvement was eventually going to pop up somewhere, I only expected it to be the six o'clock news. After seeing his movie, I kind of wish it had been. Alexander Pain, SidewaysA deep vein of Academy humor this year continues with this question-and-answer nomination about pro-wrestling fixture Alexander Pain, that big Russian guy with the meat cleaver. The question, if you're wondering, was "Who showed up on your blind date last week, and how'd you fit out the bathroom window?" Mike Leigh, Likes ItLame, lame academy joke based on the legendary cereal commercial. Get some new writers guys, and I don't mean those SNL bums who tail you around everywhere. BEST ACTORDon Knotts, Hotel Rwanda-read EP review-Nominating Don Knotts for anything is kosher in my book: I love that guy. But painting him up in black face and having him star as the black guy from Traffic in a movie about the Eagles is either a historic stroke of genius or just really confusing. I've decided to split the difference and call it confusius. Johnny Depp, Finding NevermindDepp should win the Oscar for bringing humanity to a man who became famous for screaming about mulattoes, but unfortunately he'll likely run into the Academy's usual heroin suicide grunge rocker biases. Look for Depp to take home the less-coveted "First Loser" statue of the guy with his head up his own ass. Leonardo DiCaprio, The Alligator-read EP review-Finally, Leo the Greek finds his stride as an impetuous fashion designer who wants the whole world to have his alligator logo on their titties. Always seeming too young, or two alienish in his roles in the past, here Leo lets his inner egomaniac loose, and the results don't stink. Will that be enough to win him the statuesque knick-knack? Nobody cares. Clint Eastwood, Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-I'm starting to think that putting Clint Eastwood on the nominations board was a mistake on the Academy's part. I mean, have a little modesty Clint. What's the matter man, did you get so tired of raising your hand that you couldn't nominate your cinematography or catering? Putz. Jamie Foxx, Ray-read EP review-Dammit man, when is Jamie Foxx going to get off his ass and play a real artist, like the magical light-wizard Thomas Kinkade? BEST SUPPORTING ACTORAlan Arkin, The Alligator-read EP review-Though I can't honestly say I remember him being in the movie, that's usually a good thing to say about an actor. That he blended in so seamlessly, sank so deeply into his role as to become invisible. Who can say what role he played? The lawyer? The hotel clerk? The potted palm tree? We may never know. And I think that’s genius. We’ll see if the Academy agrees. Thomas Haden Church, SidewaysThe Supporting Actor and Actress nominees are always a fertile ground for the Academy’s pun-ishing sense of humor when it comes to gag nominees. This one is one fourth of the question-and-answer gag, with the third question being “Who’d you boff this afternoon, and how was it?” Jamie Foxx, CollateralI’m sorry, but a movie about Ray Charles driving a cab in L.A. just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve driven in L.A., and this would frankly explain a lot of things, but Foxx blew it for me by looking at the road too much. If I go to a movie about a blind dude driving a taxi, I want to see him bobbing his head all around and smiling like Stevie Wonder on ecstasy. A classic case of misjudging your audience. Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-Oh no, I’ve seen Unforgiving, and I know you two shits are in cahoots. Nice try, Eastwood. Clive Owen, CloserIt’s truly rare to see an Oscar nomination for a performance in a music video, but here we’re talking about the most celebrated Nine Inch Nails video ever, Closer. And I think it’s commendable that Clive Owen is finally getting his due for playing that creepy pig head spinning on the table. I hope all the nausea and creeping feeling of dread is worth it now, Clive-o. BESTEST ACTRESSAnnette Being, Being Julia RobertsIn what was probably the biggest rip-off of the year, Hollywood decided to remake the quirky cult hit Bean John Malkovich with more star power and a catchier name. The result? Shit. The people in it? Shit. Next slide. Catalina Sandino Moreno, Maria Full of ShitThe cautionary children’s tale of the boy who cried wolf is given a facelift with this modern retelling, which I found enjoyablish for the hot Mexican women. Apparently the Academy also wants in those pants, and thinks a little golden statue might be just the trick. Incidentally, somebody spilled hot fudge on the rest of my Bestest Actress list, but they probably weren’t worth commenting on anyway. BESTEST SUPPORTING ACTRESSCate Blanches, The Alligator-read EP review-Ah, thank you Academy. You can always count on those Oscar nuts to save their best gag names for the Bestest Supporting Actress category. Rather than wasting valuable mental space remembering who played the best ex-girlfriend or hooker in some movie you barely even remember, the Academy showers us with some much-needed levity. Bravo. Laura Skinny, KinkyYou remember her, skinny chick in Kinky? I thought she pulled it off pretty well. Fact is, the actual actress is really 300 pounds. No joke. If that’s not what they made those Oscar statues for, then I’ve been following the wrong business. Virginia Slims, SidewaysA great punch line nomination, hilarious if you know that the set-up question is “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke, and how?” That part got mailed out to us reviewers in advance, it’s our inside joke but I hate to leave you guys in the dark on this kind of stuff. Sophie Okineedtogo, Hotel Rwanda-read EP review-Another classic gag name, obviously written by a Tonight Show reject with an impatient girlfriend named Sophie. I guess we can’t all work for our money. Natalie Portman, CloserI didn’t even realize that was her in the video until I heard this nomination, but I guess she was like seven at the time so she would have been hard to recognize inside the “crucified monkey” outfit. Brilliant work, even for a child. And that’s a motherfucking wrap, America. Excuse my uncharacteristically salty language, readers, I’m just that excited. Christmas comes early for movie fans this Sunday, or really late, I guess, depending on how you look at it. But I prefer the optimist’s view. The rest of you can die. But before you do, be sure to check back in two weeks for more Entertainment Policing fun!   |
