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7/11/26   
Kills Grandmas Dead
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Paltrow a Hollywood Pariah After Weight-Gain Roller Coaster of Shallow Hal

December 24, 2001
Hollywood, CA
Ramrod Hurley
Actress Paltrow, pudgy and proud
H
idden away in the dark corners of her ranch-style Hollywood home, where thick oaken blinds strain the noontime sunlight to a dull trickle, former A-list actress Gwyneth Paltrow stares out over the rim of a vodka-and-tonic.

"I don't know what's going on," sighs Paltrow in barely a whisper. "It's like I've got the clap or something. Nobody calls, the doorbell doesn't ring... I haven't heard from my agent in weeks."

Such is the fate of a once in-demand star who dared to play the fat girl.

"Honestly, I'm surprised nobody has tried to hollow out her chest to hole up for the winter. My God. I mean, what was she thinking?" gossiped Hollywood producer Mart Wixle.

Paltrow's star seemed to be unstoppably on the rise until her fatal miscue of accept...Read more...


Charles and Camilla disturbed by lack of American manservants

Celebrities donate lip service to needy tsunami victims

Sudan peace plan calls for Led Zeppelin song about Darfur

Apple iPhone to Contain Real Fruit Filling



March 18, 2002

Click for Biography

At Least Your Last Name's Not Fagerbakke

Over the course of my life, any time I've had a gripe about the way things were going or if I had things that I thought were unfair, my mom was always there to remind me that there are people out there who have it worse off than me. No matter what your problem is, there's always some poor S.O.B. out there whose wretched existence made yours look like a complimentary trip to a Bangkok whorehouse.

My mom's the undisputed master of this line of reasoning. No matter what happened when I was growing up, she always had some reason why I should be happy about it. Any time I took the guys to meet Mr. Bike Frame after riding my Huffy into a gopher hole or a curb or something, while I was on the ground in the fetal position, writhing in pain, she always reminded me that at least I didn't have spinal meningitis. I'm not kidding! Needless to say, that's not the kind of thing a guy wants to hear when he's just had his family jewels knocked back into his earlobes, so I spent a large portion of my childhood years sucking on a bar of Ivory soap.

But she never faltered. Your dog got hit by a car? That's a piece of cake compared to having cystic fibrosis. Pulled a 300 on the SATs? That'd make your day if you had hooks for hands. I don't know where she got half that shit. Every once in a while I'd catch her blatantly making something up, like the time in Jr. High when I got kicked in the nuts by a mule and she told me it was better than having Herkemer's Syndrome. I...Read more...


º Last Column: Way to Cock Up My Birthday Party, Grandpa
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March 12, 2007

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Swing-to-the-Left Voters Can Eat Me

As one of two conservatives in the commune office, the other being a complete asshole, I felt quite alone watching the election coverage back in November. It was like the 1994 election, only horribly inverted—Democrats, Democrats everywhere, and not a successful attack ad in sight. Piss on the current administration, I say. Not because I'm not a loyal Republican, but because I firmly believe if the president had kicked a little pay-off action to the voters again (we call it tax relief) he could have skated all his cronies back into office with ease. "Iraq-a-what?" millions of greedy undecideds would have said, dollar signs clicking comically in their eyes. I love it in cartoons when you can see dollar signs rolling in someone's eyes—it wish everybody was that honest in real life.

But no, goddammit, he put his faith in the conservative religious base once again, and trusted his purges of minority voters in key states would do what he needed. Well, that left a lot of your guys shit out of luck, Mr. President. We're all financially fucked now. And don't expect the healthy sense of fear and respect we've been getting from enemy nations, now that the cursed undecideds have lame-duckified both the president and congress. Old Glory (yes, you capitalize it, goddamn you) has become a welcome mat we can roll out to terrorists, dictators, fascists, welfare moms, pervert artists, and other enemies of the great republic.

I still remember watching it on the TV,...Read more...


º Last Column: The New War on Poverty
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Milestones
1992: Lil Duncan's alternative band Fuck Off is signed to a major label, on the condition they replace Lil and change their name to The Cranberries.
Now Hiring
Genie. Duties include magically delivering gifts of high monetary and social value on demand. Must have own lamp or bottle, no backtalk. Evil "wish becomes curse"-type genies need not apply.
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Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

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

View Past Columns
BY Danson Macrane
12/22/2003
Glass I
I once had a glass I
and in case you're reading this
out loud to someone
I feel the need to clarify.

Not a glass eye
as in an eyeball made of glass,
a creepy hazel doodad
staring frozen in impasse.

Nor some tricky
eye-sized marble
clenched within your skull cavity,
designed expressly by the glass man to mask your deformity.

But rather an entire me made of glass.
Hands, wrists and ass.
All stunningly in proportion and accurate in mass.

This is no lie,
I'm loathe of jest.
Merely something I felt an inkling to get finally off my chest.

It was a sight to behold
and a feeling to be holding,
this pellucid Botticelli was like paradise...Read more...

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