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April 4, 2005 |
Kalamazoo, MI Assad the Unseen Pat Buchanan, explaining why he regretted taking a convertible on the ride over ld-Right conservative and Al Gore vote poacher Pat Buchanan fumbled his way into the national spotlight yet again last week, after being doused with salad dressing by a Western Michigan University student who found the former presidential candidate to be dry and lacking in flavor.
Speaking to a group of conservative college students and future knobs in Kalamazoo, Buchanan’s scheduled appearance had garnered considerable controversy even before it began. Some felt that scheduling Buchanan’s talk on the birthday of the late Mexican-American labor leader Cesar Chavez was in poor taste, given the conservative commentator’s well-known “Get Back, Wetback” stance on immigration.
Buchanan spoke to the fawning crowd about keeping Mexicans away from our low-...
ld-Right conservative and Al Gore vote poacher Pat Buchanan fumbled his way into the national spotlight yet again last week, after being doused with salad dressing by a Western Michigan University student who found the former presidential candidate to be dry and lacking in flavor.
Speaking to a group of conservative college students and future knobs in Kalamazoo, Buchanan’s scheduled appearance had garnered considerable controversy even before it began. Some felt that scheduling Buchanan’s talk on the birthday of the late Mexican-American labor leader Cesar Chavez was in poor taste, given the conservative commentator’s well-known “Get Back, Wetback” stance on immigration.
Buchanan spoke to the fawning crowd about keeping Mexicans away from our low-paying jobs for nearly an hour before closing with one of his trademark bizarre slogans.
“And if I’m wrong, may God strike me down with Ranch dressing!”
Almost as if on cue, a moment later Buchanan was drenched by an unlikely quantity of salad dressing, either thrown by an irony-savvy student in the audience or the producers of You Can’t Do That on Television, hiding amongst the catwalks high above the stage.
After briefly losing his composure and waving his penis around the stage like an enraged jungle beast, Buchanan took a moment to taste some of the dressing he was wearing and smiled broadly.
“Wait a minute, this is Thousand Island. Bet’s off!”
The incident came only days after conservative buttwipe William Kristol was hit in the face by a student-thrown pie during an appearance at Earlham College in Indiana. The Weekly Standard editor continued answering questions for another 30 minutes after the pie incident, apparently unaware that thrown food is a customary sign that it’s time to get off the stage.
When asked later what he thought of the incident and the crowd at Earlham, a college known for peace studies, a besotted Kristol seemed surprised. “Pie?”
Both incidents mark a rising tide of food-based violence in America. Similar well-publicized incidents began occurring last year, beginning with the pop group N’Sync being pelted by powdered donuts in Miami and continuing with the completely shocking sight of Gloria Estefan being broadsided by a live marlin on stage in Nebraska, which are now seen as early signs of an alarming trend.
However, these latest events point to a politicization of the food-throwing movement, which could spell trouble for President Bush when he speaks at the National Egg-Lovers’ Convention next month in Chicago. the commune news supports the right to political protest, but come on guys, we’d been looking forward to eating that pie all night. Ivana Folger-Balzac was briefly held for questioning in both of the food attacks mentioned in this article, but quickly released after it was confirmed that her MO for political protest usually involves hurling less-benign articles such as fire extinguishers and power tools.
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 March 4, 2002
Let the Games BeginThere's nothing quite like a global controversy to really bring an Olympic Games to the next level. Every Games worth its wound full of salt has at least one memorable knee-whacking or equestrian sex scandal to its name. This year the brouhaha has been all about the pairs figure skating championship that saw the Russians Anton Sikharulidze and Elena Berezhnaya take the gold over Canadians David Pelletier and Jamie Sale, in spite of the fact that Sikharulidze tripped over his own untied shoelaces and his partner farted loudly when she was lifted over his head during the routine's finale.
Scandal raged when allegations surfaced that French judge Marie-Reine Le Gougne had been coerced to vote for the Russians after the Russian judge threatened to single-handedly conquer France. This prompted the French government to double their defense budget and send Le Gougne, a neurotic housewife who always votes for her janitor husband in political elections, the cryptic message "GIVE RUSSIANS SEX". Unfortunately for the Canadians, and possibly the Russian judge, "sex" is also French for "six" and Le Gougne misinterpreted the message by giving the Russian figure skaters a perfect score. The Chinese and Ukrainian judges also voted for the Russians, reportedly because Chinese and Ukrainian people think farts are funny.
Topical as such scandal may be, it's hardly anything new. We need look no further than the Summer Games of two years ago to find the last Olympic... º more columns
There's nothing quite like a global controversy to really bring an Olympic Games to the next level. Every Games worth its wound full of salt has at least one memorable knee-whacking or equestrian sex scandal to its name. This year the brouhaha has been all about the pairs figure skating championship that saw the Russians Anton Sikharulidze and Elena Berezhnaya take the gold over Canadians David Pelletier and Jamie Sale, in spite of the fact that Sikharulidze tripped over his own untied shoelaces and his partner farted loudly when she was lifted over his head during the routine's finale.
Scandal raged when allegations surfaced that French judge Marie-Reine Le Gougne had been coerced to vote for the Russians after the Russian judge threatened to single-handedly conquer France. This prompted the French government to double their defense budget and send Le Gougne, a neurotic housewife who always votes for her janitor husband in political elections, the cryptic message "GIVE RUSSIANS SEX". Unfortunately for the Canadians, and possibly the Russian judge, "sex" is also French for "six" and Le Gougne misinterpreted the message by giving the Russian figure skaters a perfect score. The Chinese and Ukrainian judges also voted for the Russians, reportedly because Chinese and Ukrainian people think farts are funny.
Topical as such scandal may be, it's hardly anything new. We need look no further than the Summer Games of two years ago to find the last Olympic falderal to quake the globe. In the 2000 Summer Games, scandal cropped up around the gymnastics meet when disgruntled workers botched the equipment set-up by making the uneven bars even, the rings uneven, and setting up a leather loveseat instead of the short vault. Look back even further and you'll find that the Olympic trail of travesty is alarmingly well marked.
Rarely is archery the source of Olympic controversy, which made it all the more shocking in 1926 when Poland's Frederyk Speitzel errantly picked up his bow backwards and shot bronze medallist Fonzlow Proust of Germany in the neck while he was browsing a catering tray set up behind the contestants. From that day forward, bow safety certification has been required of all Olympic contestants in the archery event.
In 1930, Pierre Altmount of France was stripped of his gold medal in the high jump after it was discovered that he'd planted explosive charges in the heels of his shoes. Few could forget the emotional scene when the Olympic Commissioner stood at the side of the hospital bed and slipped the gold from around Pierre's comatose body.
In 1954 the equestrian show jumping event was won by what turned out to be two Bulgarians in a horse suit, who later apologized, said they'd learned their lesson, and asked if they could both be considered co-champions. Instead they were shot and made into a potted meat dessert by the IOC.
In perhaps the most infamous judging decision ever, the 1962 gold medal in the high-jump event was awarded to the German Hans Hansel, who suffered a brain aneurysm and died instantly while in mid-jump. Though his body flopped like a tuna under the bar and off the corner of the mat, judges argued that Hans' soul shot straight up to heaven, setting a new record for the event.
Few can forget 1966, the year that Austrian Molmo Zoop won the synchronized swimming event all by himself, sparking a heated debate over whether one should be rewarded for being supremely in synch with oneself.
An eerie harbinger of things to come, in 1986 table-tennis favorite Tang Zui was taken out of competition when a deranged fan pulled Zui's underwear up around his armpits and gave his ear a merciless flicking, an injury from which Zui never fully recovered. That year the gold went instead to Zui's rival Chaney "Dweebasaurus" Clarkson, who rose to the occasion in spite of having his arm twisted and his lunch money taken from him only moments before the championship match.
The lesser controversies of Olympic history are too numerous to mention, among them: the infamous "Ding Dong Incident" at the 1956 men's hockey final, the international vomiting incident in 2000 when Garth Brooks' hit song Shameless was played before the men's gymnastics preliminaries, Norwegian belching champion Leif Olafassen's alleged use of bicarbonates in the 1936 Games, the polyester running pants fire during the 1974 Games, the controversial inclusion of professional shot putters in the 1960 Games, the alleged rope-greasing of the 1982 German men's tug-of-war team, and the much-debated victory of the Canadian curling team in the 1972 Games, who defeated their only competitor in the Albanian men's team, then took the Albanians' money in a "double or nothing" match that was clearly a set-up.
A little knowledge of history helps put things in perspective and goes to show that even though a corrupt and ridiculous judging system may be a total bummer for skating fans, at least they didn't let any bears get loose on the ice like back in 1926. Talk about your low technical scores! It may not always be pretty, but the Olympics truly have come a long way, baby.º more columns
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|  December 24, 2001
How the Kaiser Stole ChristmasNow every person loves Christmas,
Near every last one.
'cept the Kaiser of course
who don't like it none.
The Kaiser don't like it,
no more than a sliver.
He hates it like taxes,
or a boiled smelly liver.
He thinks it's the worst thing
he's seen in some time.
He hates it like beechnuts,
or poetry that rhymes.
Nobody's quite sure when he started his hating,
Not least his mother, nor the waitress he's dating.
Some think that his conscience was ate by a frog,
Or that a starved reindeer bit off his Yule log.
Some think it's that Christmas he got locked in a Hooters,
Or as a small boy that his pooter got neutered.
But whatever it was, his life or his genes,
Around Christmas he grew to be frightfully mean.
He'd sneak into toy stores and stomp on the toy trains
All dressed as Santa, just to mess with the brains
Of the children who stood there and hoped all the while
That he'd stay away from the Nintendo isle.
But the Kaiser grew bored of his old Christmas tricks
And he even got tired of heaving those bricks
At the Christmas parade, or his rumor that festered
That old Santa Claus was a child molester.
One year he decided it was time for his coup,
For he'd pulled all his pranks and had nothing to do.
He'd fed chili to all of the reindeer at the zoo,
And he'd tracked...
º Last Column: Things You Think When You're on Fire º more columns
Now every person loves Christmas,
Near every last one.
'cept the Kaiser of course
who don't like it none.
The Kaiser don't like it,
no more than a sliver.
He hates it like taxes,
or a boiled smelly liver.
He thinks it's the worst thing
he's seen in some time.
He hates it like beechnuts,
or poetry that rhymes.
Nobody's quite sure when he started his hating,
Not least his mother, nor the waitress he's dating.
Some think that his conscience was ate by a frog,
Or that a starved reindeer bit off his Yule log.
Some think it's that Christmas he got locked in a Hooters,
Or as a small boy that his pooter got neutered.
But whatever it was, his life or his genes,
Around Christmas he grew to be frightfully mean.
He'd sneak into toy stores and stomp on the toy trains
All dressed as Santa, just to mess with the brains
Of the children who stood there and hoped all the while
That he'd stay away from the Nintendo isle.
But the Kaiser grew bored of his old Christmas tricks
And he even got tired of heaving those bricks
At the Christmas parade, or his rumor that festered
That old Santa Claus was a child molester.
One year he decided it was time for his coup,
For he'd pulled all his pranks and had nothing to do.
He'd fed chili to all of the reindeer at the zoo,
And he'd tracked down Burl Ives and had painted him blue.
So he dreamt up a plan on the 12th of December,
The final grand prank for which he'd be remembered.
This was a dastardly, devious idea so smelly
It seeped out his ears like a shiny black jelly.
The Kaiser sent Santa a gift in the mail.
The address? He'd questioned a snail in the hail,
And checked with a quail that had eaten a whale,
Who said it was current and would work without fail.
The gift got to Santa, who was quite surprised,
When he opened it and could not believe his own eyes.
It was a gift like no other, of which Santa had dreamed:
A watch with a Global Positioning Beam.
But the Kaiser knew something, that no-account jerk,
The Kaiser knew that those things never quite work.
So when Santa took off on that Christmas Eve night,
With that watch on his wrist, all was not right.
And before very long it became quite apparent
That Santa's directions had become quite aberrant.
The land looked like Russia, but the watch told him Greece,
Though the farmers were wrapped up in parkas, not fleece.
Then the watch changed its mind and it said Gall,
Then it said the mountains just north of Nepal.
Then it was England, and then worst of all,
It said he's on Rice St. somewhere in St Paul.
Meanwhile, the Kaiser's eyes glowed with elation
Santa Claus getting directions from a gas station!
He'd never make it, Christmas was over!
The Kaiser smiled and he kissed his lucky clover.
The Kaiser then drifted into a dark sleep,
And dreamt of cod liver oil and black sheep.
He slept like a stone, with hardly a wiggle,
Except for the occasional evil dream giggle.
And when he awoke, he sprung from the bed
With visions of No Christmas ripe in his head
But from his window, quite to his dismay,
He saw tiny foot prints, and tracks from a sleigh.
The Kaiser spun round and gasping, quite shocked,
He found his small bedroom to be quite well stocked
With presents and candy. He yelled "What a crock!"
When he peeked in his stocking and found a large rock.
And above his stocking there hung a small note
That Santa had left there, and on it he wrote:
"For the new watch I'm thankful, my merry old chap.
Thanks just the same but I'll stick with my map."
The Kaiser, defeated, threw a tantrum right there
He spit in his spittoon and pulled out his hair,
He tossed his tree out the window and his rocking chair
Came rocking and tumbling right on down the stairs.
And then something happened that seemed strange to me,
His heart swelled and grew to it's own size times three.
And the Kaiser was rushed to the hospital of course,
As that heart's too big, unless you're a horse. º Last Column: Things You Think When You're on Fireº more columns
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Quote of the Day“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas! Except near Houston, Dallas or Fort Worth. Talk about your smog. Jesus, this song's gonna need another verse.”
-Clement B. DoogleFortune 500 CookieMama said there'd be days like this, but the bitch lied. The success or failure of this coming week hinges on your proper understanding of the word "gonad," so take our advice and go buy a dictionary now, Skippy. Order lots of Chinese food this week, but don't pick it up. This week's lucky accidents: back-flip off ladder onto hardwood floor, lip caught on drain while bathtub's full, wearing flammable jumpsuit to Great White concert, 15 car pile-up.
Try again later.Most Misunderstood Nirvana Songs| 1. | Smells Like Clean Spearmint | | 2. | Race Me | | 3. | Come as You Barf | | 4. | Small Pathologies | | 5. | Harp-Shaped Fox | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 12/24/2001 Ho ho ho, America! Season's greetings and welcome to a special Christmas edition of "Entertainment Police". What makes it special, you ask? I'm not sure, but it's Christmas Eve so why the hell don't you step off my balls, alright? Damn. If I'd known you were going to be like this I wouldn't have worn my new shirt. Why don't we just skip straight ahead to the "Ask Roland" before somebody blows a snot rocket in my eggnog, alright?
Q. Hey Roland, man, what have you been smoking? They must have some powerful drugs up there in commune land, because you forgot to review the greatest movie of all time: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone! You been living under a rock or something, man? This thing's bigger than Mama Cass retaining water! They should send some Magicals and...
Ho ho ho, America! Season's greetings and welcome to a special Christmas edition of "Entertainment Police". What makes it special, you ask? I'm not sure, but it's Christmas Eve so why the hell don't you step off my balls, alright? Damn. If I'd known you were going to be like this I wouldn't have worn my new shirt. Why don't we just skip straight ahead to the "Ask Roland" before somebody blows a snot rocket in my eggnog, alright?
Q. Hey Roland, man, what have you been smoking? They must have some powerful drugs up there in commune land, because you forgot to review the greatest movie of all time: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone! You been living under a rock or something, man? This thing's bigger than Mama Cass retaining water! They should send some Magicals and Muggles and some shit over to your place to give you a wake-up call. Fuck you, dude!
Marty Ramart, Luger, Oregon
A. Nice try, Marty. This reminds me of that "You should review E.T." joke that was going around several years back. Right, like they'd name a big-shot movie "E.T." What's that supposed to stand for? Evil Turkeys? Sounds like a bomb to me. If that was going to be a hit it would have to stand for "Enormous Tits" and it's not like we're in Europe here. Here in America we like our sex classy, like in "Bram Stoker's Dracula" or "Showgirls". I give you points for creativity in making up a title though, what's your movie supposed to be about? A wizard trying to pass his gallstones? Bombs away, Marty!
Q. Hey Roland. I just got done watching the second season of The Sopranos on DVD and I have to admit that I was surprised by the death of Salvatore "Big Pussy" Bompensiero. But even more than that, I'm curious as to how you get to be a big mob guy with a nickname like "Big Pussy". The last time I checked, that wasn't a compliment. I called an Italian guy "Big Pussy" at a bar one time and he hit me with a table. Is this just bad writing or is this some La Cosa Nostra secret that I don't know about?
Mersh Lauben, Ripe Grove, Wisconsin
A. Good question, Mersh. While many of us have watched this show faithfully, riveted by the exploits of these big fat singing Italians, few know the behind-the-scenes stories of how the characters came to be. Everyone knows that the lead character of Tony Soprano is based on rough-and-tumble opera bad-boy Lucky Pavoratti, who once beat up a small child for a candy bar during a layover at a train station in Europe. But what few know is that the character of "Big Pussy" Bompensiero is based on real-life opera fatass Flaccid "Big Pussy" Domino, who opens his mouth so wide when he sings that a cat once jumped down his throat after the tuna sandwich he'd eaten for lunch. Hence the nickname, and the occasional weak meows while he's singing. Personally, I can't wait for them to base a Soprano character on the third member of their trio, the certifiably hot Tia Carerra, who sings pretty good for a skinny chick.
Now that that's out of the way, let's talk movies!
In Theaters Now:
ALI
Listen, I looked the other way when the religious right got fed up with the current state of insipid, bumbling, amoral Hollywood movies and started making their own insipid, bumbling, moral films. Apparently "Super Jesus Christ Brothers" and "The Last Temptation Island of Christ" weren't enough for them, but that's fine, let them throw their money into making films that only the heavily stoned or alarmingly elderly will pay to see. But now that lawyers nationwide have decided that they should cut out the middleman and make courtroom dramas themselves, I have to ask: Where do you draw the line? Who's going to want their own movies next? Women? Black people? Fatties? Anyway, that's all beside the point, since whoever thought the American Law Institute was a good subject for a movie needs to be held in contempt of entertainment.
Jimmy Nimrod, Boy Genius
Okay, now I'll be the first one to admit that this, and any other, comedy about a retarded kid who thinks he's an inventor and super-spy is in bad taste. But you can punch my one-way Amtrak ticket to hell because this is the funniest movie of the year. You'll laugh until you need head restraints and a drool cup yourself when Jimmy unveils inventions like the dumpling gun and the magic "poop-to-pudding beam", or when Jimmy's secret spy pictures of the Russian operatives turn out to be just out-of-focus shots of his privates. I only hope the massive karmic debt wracked up by this film falls on the filmmakers themselves for making it, and not us for laughing because I plan on seeing it twice more this weekend.
The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring
I don't think I'm going too far out on a limb when I say this has got to be the most heavily anticipated gay boxing movie, ever. Finally a filmmaker has the cajones to address the obvious sexual tension that ensues when two men in their shorts pound each other's asses for an hour in front of thousands of spectators. Most boxing films to date (except the notable lesbian opus "Raging Bull") have drawn the line at hugging in the ring, but this brave film shatters that barrier with passionate open-mouth kissing during the fight's dramatic climax. Certainly more satisfying than the usual "beat 'em up" ending. Sensitive direction, fabulous costumes and Hector "Macho" Camacho's first inside-the-ring kiss make this a gay boxing film for the ages.
Now on Video:
Mule in Rouge
Scoot over Francis, there's a new mule in the spotlight! Loveable Moonie Margot Kidder stars in this hilarious farce produced by hubby, Mr. "Mission: Important" himself, Tom Cruise. Margot's brother Vlasik from Croatia needs a green card to stay in the country, so with the help of a farmer with a heart of gold, they dress up a mule like a woman to fool the immigration officials and pose as Vlasik's wife. The only thing is, Vlasik doesn't realize she's a mule! You can just imagine the comedy that comes shooting out that hole.
The Center of the World
Once again, those megalomaniacs in Omaha, Nebraska have tipped their hand and wildly overstated their case for tourism for yet another year. To hear these people talk you'd think that Omaha was the fashion, culture and banking capital of the free world. Every year they put out a new movie trying to rope suckers into visiting the Cornhusker state. This one is about on par with last year's "Omaha Spring Break" and "Nebraska: The Wet T-Shirt State" from the year before, but none can compare with their audacious 1992 entry: "Omaha: Everyone Gets a Blowjob".
Scary Movie 2
Generic-brand movies are all the rage this year, and why not? Their plain-text posters are easy to read, the admissions are cheap, and who's to say that once you get inside, they're not the same as the more expensive brand-name pictures? Who wants to pay for all of that expensive packaging and advertising anyway?
Television:
The Amazing Racist (CBS)
The network that brought you hilarious bigot Archie Bunker is hoping lightning strikes twice with this hour-long drama about a loveable Louisiana state legislator who always says the wrong thing, to the horror of his politcally correct spin doctors.
The Tick (Fox)
The terrifying Edgar Allen Poe story about a clock that won't let its owner forget the murder he committed doesn't exactly make for hit sitcom material. The star power of Tom Wopat is wasted and the show is neither funny nor scary. What a huge disappointment from the network that shook things up with groundbreaking shows like Married to Children and The Tex-Mex Files.
The Garbageman (CBS)
CBS turns to the tried and true formula for success again with this show about an amateur sleuth. In this case, a smart trash-talking garbage man (James Earl Jones) finds a dead body in a dumpster every week which leads him on a brand new mystery to find out whodunnit. Predictable? Maybe. Successful? Sure 'nuff! I'm predicting the biggest hit for CBS since Murder She Dead.
Video Games:
Forever Kingdom (PS2)
This game is, of course, based on that syndicated show about a guy who's a cop by day and a king of a small mediterranean country by night. Not bad, some fun moments, but the fact the show was canceled years ago doesn't get me very excited to play it. Just shows how long it takes to program stuff for that Playstation 2.
Blood Wake (XB)
Nauseating game where you're a teen-ager trying to find out why there's so much blood in your nocturnal emissions. I've never been into that zombie-fighting role player game crap in the first place, but this one hit a little too close to home for me. Trust me, dude, just cut down to three or four times a week and everything ought to be fine.
NBA Inside Driver 2002 (XB)
For all of you people who say there's never been a successful game playing as Shaquille O'Neil's chauffeur… you keep on saying it. This dillhole game is as boring as driving games get. Where to next, Mr. O'Neil? Nike endorsement deal? Kazaam sequel negotiations? Recording studio for another rap album? Yessir, your 10-foot-tall holiness. What a biter.
Okay, America. May you sleep tight tonight with visions of sugarbeets dancing in your head, and I hope Santa brings you everything you've ever dreamed of. Unless you've been dreaming of writing entertainment reviews for the commune. If that's the case, then fuck right off. And Merry Christmas.   |