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 September 5, 2005 |
New Orleans, LA Junior Bacon Local slob Derrek Majors makes himself at home in the Superdome
“Don’t worry, the government will take care of you all,” explained President Bush, who drastically cut funding for levee upgrades in order to pay for a war in Iraq, so terrorists wouldn’t be able to destroy a major American city like New Orleans. “We’re sending water wings and crossword puzzle books on the double.”
Upon being plucked from their rooftops and attics after breeched levees on Lake Pontchartrain submerged the city in up to twenty feet of water, thousands of New Orl...
n the wake of the catastrophic flooding that hit New Atlantis/New Orleans this week following Hurricane Katrina, tens of thousands of refugees have been evacuated from their submerged homes and treated to an exciting whirlwind tour of America’s domed sporting facilities.
“Don’t worry, the government will take care of you all,” explained President Bush, who drastically cut funding for levee upgrades in order to pay for a war in Iraq, so terrorists wouldn’t be able to destroy a major American city like New Orleans. “We’re sending water wings and crossword puzzle books on the double.”
Upon being plucked from their rooftops and attics after breeched levees on Lake Pontchartrain submerged the city in up to twenty feet of water, thousands of New Orleans residents were transported to the Superdome, home of the NFL’s New Orleans Saints, for emergency lodging, beer, and giant cheese-filled pretzels.
“I really appreciated that they opened the Superdome to us,” expressed flooding victim LaTrevor Wynn. “But I gotta say they gouged the fuck out of us for boat parking at the stadium. I was saying we should park a few blocks away and swim to the stadium, but there was some guy in a wheel chair who wanted us to just pony up the money. I guess he was rich or something.”
Good spirits quickly turned foul, however, when the stadium’s power and sewage systems both failed, and they ran out of souvenir air horns. Before long, deteriorating conditions and asshole Saints fans forced the evacuation of the Superdome, which by then smelled strongly of poor people.
Refugees from the Superdome, which is now almost completely under water, were moved by bus to the Astrodome in Houston, formerly home to over 30 years of bad baseball courtesy of the National League’s Houson Astros, as well as the catastrophic 1992 Republican National Convention that offered America one last chance to listen to Ronald Reagan flapping his cheek meat.
Relief efforts at the Astrodome were short-lived however, as over 100 refugees suffered knee injuries from the stadium’s unforgiving Astroturf playing surface. Several reported serious cases of rugburn as well.
Re-refugees from the Astrodome were then bussed to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where a disappointing summer performance by the local Twins has left plenty of empty seats in the Metrodome.
“This place blows,” complained disaster victim and dome expert Marvin Milk. “It has all the ambiance of a bus station and the hot dogs are gross.”
Fellow refugees agreed about the hot dogs, but gave high marks to the stadium’s nacho hats, a popular refugee staple. Problems arose at the Metrodome, however, after some disenfranchised dickcheese left the stadium’s back door open, allowing all the air to escape and collapsing the dome’s pressurized roof. Some blame the mishap on the Metrodome’s short-sighted no-smoking policy.
The remaining refugees who didn’t take to wading through Minneapolis’ many metropolitan lakes out of sheer habit were shipped to either the Skydome in Toronto, Canada, or the Tacomadome in Tacoma, Washington.
“Man, this sucks. I knew we were going to get the Tacomadome,” bitched flooding victim Marcy Flobere of New Orleans.
A few lucky victims were bussed instead to Tropicana Field in St. Petersberg, Florida, which has a part time gig as the home of baseball’s Tampa Bay Devil Rays in-between housing refugees from the region’s monthly hurricane disasters.
Tropicana Field has not been without its share of problems, however, ranging from occasional hurricane damage to the roof and overcrowded bathrooms to the stinky, lousy baseball taking place on-field.
“This has been a disaster. I’ve had to watch four Devil Rays’ games this week,” groused Tropicana Field refugee Homer Angus. “This is worse than the hurricane.”
Government officials have assured the tired, huddled masses that they will be allowed to return to their homes in New Orleans as soon as disaster-relief workers can find the city. the commune would like to send our condolences to our brothers-at-arms in New Orleans, but the last time we did that we were accused of encouraging the armed gangs roaming the streets of the city. Ivan Nacutchacokov reports from New Orleans that in one day he has been bitten by an alligator, a water moccasin, and a deranged woman who thought he smelled like chocolate. We’re all hoping he has time for a cloned dinosaur of some sort or possibly a voodoo witch on day two.
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Man-eating shark brought in by grouper wearing wire
Hillrods Celebrate Opening of Hurricane Season
Workplace shooting "had to happen on a Monday," says victim
Customers win $8.5 mil lawsuit with McDonald's, spend it all on cheeseburgers
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Popular TV Clown Robertson Delivers Weekly Outrageous Banter Terrifying children worldwide with his announcement that not all dogs go to heaven, Christian doorknob Pat Robertson reprised his role this week as America’s favorite amusingly religious guy. Nation’s Three Remaining Liberals Turn to Humor to Survive Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines Eminem, Ex-Wife Reunite to Work on New Material |
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 June 9, 2003
Mornin' Ralph, Mornin' SamWell, it seems as if another baseball season is well upon us, with the grotesquely overgrown boys of summer regaling us with their rawhide antics. This season has progressed like many others, with the Yankees and Braves keeping things safe for folks who only check the standings every couple of years, and the Mets playing a brand of baseball so ugly even the New Yorkers have noticed. I've been saying for years that trading for Mo Vaughn was a mistake, that team just hasn't been the same since he ate the middle infielders.
Last year the big controversy was steroids, when the apathetic public finally took notice after enough guys had their meat-laden arms rip out of the sockets mid-swing, drenching the field in a strange purplish blood that singed the grass. Ken Caminiti admitted to using steroids during his years as a player, which was just as shocking as Cheech and Chong dropping the bomb that they occasionally enjoyed a little toke of the reefer. Most steroid freaks only break a bat over their knee when they strike out, but Caminiti would break bats over his own throat when people pronounced his last name wrong. The league should have taken notice when he stopped wearing a cup and starting wearing a sports bra.
The big story this year is who in the hell did we send to play baseball in Detroit? I know the Red Wings are popular up there but I still say they have no business on the diamond. Get some real ballplayers up there, or at least some...
º Last Column: Stick a Fork in the Whole Damn Team
º more columns
Well, it seems as if another baseball season is well upon us, with the grotesquely overgrown boys of summer regaling us with their rawhide antics. This season has progressed like many others, with the Yankees and Braves keeping things safe for folks who only check the standings every couple of years, and the Mets playing a brand of baseball so ugly even the New Yorkers have noticed. I've been saying for years that trading for Mo Vaughn was a mistake, that team just hasn't been the same since he ate the middle infielders.
Last year the big controversy was steroids, when the apathetic public finally took notice after enough guys had their meat-laden arms rip out of the sockets mid-swing, drenching the field in a strange purplish blood that singed the grass. Ken Caminiti admitted to using steroids during his years as a player, which was just as shocking as Cheech and Chong dropping the bomb that they occasionally enjoyed a little toke of the reefer. Most steroid freaks only break a bat over their knee when they strike out, but Caminiti would break bats over his own throat when people pronounced his last name wrong. The league should have taken notice when he stopped wearing a cup and starting wearing a sports bra.
The big story this year is who in the hell did we send to play baseball in Detroit? I know the Red Wings are popular up there but I still say they have no business on the diamond. Get some real ballplayers up there, or at least some semi-coordinated beer-league softball guys you pulled out of a hat, like the Devil Rays did. There's just no way major league teams should be spotting each other runs or having their outfielders play on their knees to make things competitive. If the Tigers were a movie, they wouldn't be Major League, they'd be My Left Foot.
The feel-good story of the year so far is the Expos, who are doing well playing half of their games in a stadium in San Juan, whenever there aren't live chickens running across the field. Word is the locals have never heard of baseball, but turn out in droves to see the strange men wave sticks at each other. A concession is a concession, though, and Puerto Rican fans even got into the MLB spirit by hitting Carl Everett in the head with a radish last week. He wasn't even playing, I hear he was just in town for the world-class cockfighting. It's truly a strange world for the man who doesn't believe in dinosaurs.
People were even getting excited about the Royals this year, but that's only because everybody else in the league is on the disabled list. I don't know who let all these crybabies into the sport, but lately the MLB is like a dodgeball game at a fat camp.
Everybody's talking about Roger Clemens' 300th win, which is about as fun as watching an asshole win at cards. Not that I'm saying Clemens cheats, but if you were playing poker with some guy who suddenly hit you in the head with the five of diamonds, there'd be some eyebrows raised. I hear that as a token of gratitude the Yankees are going to trade him to Detroit for a Cadillac. Go Tigers.
I went to a Twins game last week and Torii Hunter caught a tee shirt they were trying to air-cannon into the stands, that guy's an asshole.
I'll keep you updated on my attempts to get on the Yankee payroll this season. I can still play a little left field, and it's not like they've ever heard the phrase "expense control." So wish me luck, and if you see Steinbrenner, tell him I go to bed every night at 7.
Thanks. º Last Column: Stick a Fork in the Whole Damn Teamº more columns
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|  October 13, 2003
Volume 53Dear commune:
Would the commune eat me, if I had a body made of cake? You don’t know that it isn’t. Would the commune lick the frosting off my buttercup? That doesn’t mean you’re gay. Just that you like cake! And who doesn’t like cake? C’mon.
Wenzel Spitz
Olander, ME
Dear Wenzel:
Barf. Gag. Retch. Seriously. If we here at the commune ever eat cake again, it’ll be because we forgot your letter. Jesus.
the commune
Dear commune:
My car makes a noise like this when I turn left: "GrraaaGrraaaaGraaaaaang!!" What the fuck?
Bruce Shimer
Slomo, KS
Dear Bruce:
Allow us to answer your question with another question: The commune staff talks in a hilarious huckleberry accent whenever they read your letter aloud. What the fuck?
the commune
Dear commune:
I thought Battlefield Earth was pretty good, but a little long. Seriously, I thought that middle part would never end. That thing dragged like a dead hooker. Anyway, is it true what I heard that the movie was actually a sequel to The Dark Crystal? I didn’t know Jim Henson was a Cosmotologist, but I guess that would explain that freaky Fraggle Rock show. Crazy. Anyway, see you later.
Ed Pamela
Digmont, MN
º Last Column: Volume 52
º more columns
Dear commune: Would the commune eat me, if I had a body made of cake? You don’t know that it isn’t. Would the commune lick the frosting off my buttercup? That doesn’t mean you’re gay. Just that you like cake! And who doesn’t like cake? C’mon. Wenzel Spitz
Olander, MEDear Wenzel:
Barf. Gag. Retch. Seriously. If we here at the commune ever eat cake again, it’ll be because we forgot your letter. Jesus.
the commune
Dear commune: My car makes a noise like this when I turn left: "GrraaaGrraaaaGraaaaaang!!" What the fuck? Bruce Shimer
Slomo, KSDear Bruce:
Allow us to answer your question with another question: The commune staff talks in a hilarious huckleberry accent whenever they read your letter aloud. What the fuck?
the commune
Dear commune: I thought Battlefield Earth was pretty good, but a little long. Seriously, I thought that middle part would never end. That thing dragged like a dead hooker. Anyway, is it true what I heard that the movie was actually a sequel to The Dark Crystal? I didn’t know Jim Henson was a Cosmotologist, but I guess that would explain that freaky Fraggle Rock show. Crazy. Anyway, see you later. Ed Pamela
Digmont, MNDear Ed:
Thanks for keeping in touch. Hope all is well with the wife and kids. Hey, remember that part in UHF when that Chinese guy was like "You so stupid!"? That was pretty funny. Take it easy.
the commune
Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for anyone who failed a history test because they confused former president Grover Cleveland with the purple Muppet, also named Grover. We’ve taken the heat for that nonsense for way too long.º Last Column: Volume 52º more columns
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Quote of the Day“There ain't no cure for the summertime blues. Or HIV. Boy, AIDS, that must suck. This has been a Public Service Announcement from Eddie Cochran.”
-Eddie CochranFortune 500 CookieLook to the stars for guidance: preferably someone who's been in a big movie in the last five years. You will go to the bathroom this week. Don't be fooled by your lack of progress in life: things can still get much worse. This week's lucky gelatin desserts: Jell-O Jigglers, Jell-O Epileptics, Limp Hicks, Greased Piggie Bites, Spineless Weasels, Slime Dogs.
Try again later.Best-Selling Video Games| 1. | Grand Theft Ottoman | | 2. | The Al Qaeda Flight Simulator | | 3. | Rockabilly Jeopardy | | 4. | Jerry Seinfeld's X-Treme Game About Nothing | | 5. | Final Fantasy XI: Judy and Audrey Landers | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 9/6/2004 Booya, America. I'm not sure what that means, but it seemed appropriate. Whatever sentiment that expressed, you can file it in triplicate because Roland McShyster's in a good mood today. Good? Nay, agreeable! I've seen the proverbial bluebird of happiness and I ate him on my salad this morning. What better time to review some of Hollywood's finest handiwork, September-style? I don't know.
In Theaters Now:
Anacondors: The Hunt for the Blood Orchard
Leave it to Hollywood to make a big-budget fright flick of out of one of my doodles from seventh-grade art class. That's right, it was me, when I was twelve I drew the first half-snake, half-endangered bird hybrid to ever terrify a hot tub full of blonde cosmetics models. I don't have...
Booya, America. I'm not sure what that means, but it seemed appropriate. Whatever sentiment that expressed, you can file it in triplicate because Roland McShyster's in a good mood today. Good? Nay, agreeable! I've seen the proverbial bluebird of happiness and I ate him on my salad this morning. What better time to review some of Hollywood's finest handiwork, September-style? I don't know.
In Theaters Now:
Anacondors: The Hunt for the Blood Orchard
Leave it to Hollywood to make a big-budget fright flick of out of one of my doodles from seventh-grade art class. That's right, it was me, when I was twelve I drew the first half-snake, half-endangered bird hybrid to ever terrify a hot tub full of blonde cosmetics models. I don't have the slightest idea how Hollywood got its talons on my sketch, since I thought for sure my mom had thrown it out. The sad thing is I didn't even get a chance to complete the colored-pencil work, so those Tinseltown hacks had no choice but to fuck it up and make the wings purple, totally defeating the purpose of crossing an anaconda and a condor in the first place.
But how was the movie, you ask? Who asked that? I see you back there. Anyway, it was as good, and as bad, as could probably have been expected. The CGI on the Anacondor was a little weak in parts, and if you've spent a lot of time wondering what a half-snake, half-bird would sound like when it belched, you're going to be disappointed. But I did actually appreciate the movie's plot, about a ragtag gang of reality TV rejects searching for the mythical blood orchard, where once you go in, you don't come out. They never really covered why in the hell anyone would want to find that place, if it had delicious apples or what, but it still made for a pretty wicked tagline on the poster.
The Brown Bunny
Ugly-chic "smoking heroin off a toilet bowl" fashion model Vincent Gallo takes a bizarre tangent in his latest film, The Brown Bunny, Gallo's self-directed and harrowing portrait of the PETA-nightmare and ultraviolent cartoon staple Elmer Fudd. Though not the most obvious candidate to play Fudd on the big screen (I would have gone with either Ned Beatty or Chris Elliot), Gallo brings a edgy neediness to the picture that suits the character well.
Though the very idea seems absurd at first, and the out-of-focus and Blair Witch-like chaotic trailer doesn't help, a film delving into this dark territory seems obviously overdue in retrospect. After all, loveable and dim-witted as he may have seemed in the children's cartoons, who was this guy, really? What kind of sick bastard treks off into the woods to shoot rabbits in the face at point-blank range with a double-barreled shotgun? Did he run out of squirrels to napalm? Chainsaw broke down after he cut that last gopher in half? What kind of woodland beat-downs did this freak suffer as a kid? Leave it to Gallo to ask the question the rest of us were laughing too hard to ponder, to see the tears behind the amusing, murderous rage of this mysteriously befuddled hick.
Suspect Zero
Few things in life would be scarier than spending years on the trail of a serial killer, only to discover at the last moment that it's Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins. Holy shit. Talk about scary, that guy looks like what would happen if the dude from Midnight Oil got locked in a bakery overnight. And what if the lead investigator, an FBI hounddog with the nose of a man, turns out to be a huge Pumpkins fan? What does he do then? If Corgan's singing that godawful "Tonight, Tonight" song you shoot him, of course. But what if he isn't? Do you try to get an autograph, and then shoot him? What if he won't wait around long enough for you to run home and get your Pisces Iscariot mayonnaise poster? What if your garage band was scheduled to play in the big battle of the bands that night, and your guitar player just called in sick? What then? Definitely a cool set-up for a thriller, though I thought James Iha was badly miscast as James Iha.
Whew, America. That was a workout. I'm definitely feeling it in my pecs. Hope you are too, and be sure to get plenty of Vitamin B or something. Check back in a few weeks, I'll be the big hunk of hunk dishing out the movie reviews for your favorite Internet backwater, the commune. Until then!   |
