| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/1010/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 64';
$finger='2005/1107/';
$fingertitle='Little Man with a Gun in His Hand';
$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='2005/0912/';
$hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/1107/';
$losertitle='Paging Doctor Van';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/1107/';
$police='2005/1128/';
$polio='2005/1107/';
$poliotitle='God’s Hands';
$rent='2005/1107/';
$renttitle='I’m Straight!';
$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='2005/1128/';
$zendertitle='The Seventh commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Suspicious White Powder Turns Out to Be CocaineNovember 12, 2001 |
El Squatro, CA Junior Bacon The police, in too big a goddamn hurry to wait for the photographer to get there
"We were awful worried at first," said Sheriff Fluff Drivel of nearby Littlehead City. "These days everyone's on edge whenever they see white powder. Hell, my wife refuses to bake anything that involves using flour right now."
Drivel's partner, Officer Roy Dither, added, "I was the one to investigate the powder itself. You remember that TV show, I think...
truck laden with hundreds of packages of a mysterious white powder attempted to cross the border here today, drawing scrutiny from the Border Patrol and local law enforcement officers concerned that it could be just the latest in a series of terrorist attacks involving Anthrax. After closer investigation, a spokesman revealed, with some relief, that the substance turned out to be simply 94% pure Colombian cocaine.
"We were awful worried at first," said Sheriff Fluff Drivel of nearby Littlehead City. "These days everyone's on edge whenever they see white powder. Hell, my wife refuses to bake anything that involves using flour right now."
Drivel's partner, Officer Roy Dither, added, "I was the one to investigate the powder itself. You remember that TV show, I think it was 'Banacek' or maybe it was 'Mannix,' that one back in the '70s? Anyway, it was just like that episode of 'The Streets of San Francisco,' where they caught that guy with the big bag of white powder, and George Peppard or Karl Malden or whoever stuck his finger in the bag, right up to his knuckle, and then tasted the powder and said 'Pure horse.' Well, I just went ahead and scooped up a big handful of the powder in question, and I was all ready to say that, to say 'Pure horse,' but before I could, my mouth had got all numb and everything, and then I was thinking about how my neighbor used to have horses when I was a kid, and he used to race them, and I used to see him giving them some white powder before the races, and that got me to thinking, well, maybe it was something else. Then I remembered how these ants used to be all over the stable where he kept the horses, these really interesting little black ants, you know, and they would just all follow each other in a big long line up the wall, and I always wondered what made them do that, and then-"
Sheriff Drivel then gently interrupted his partner with a friendly, two-handed smack to the side of the head with his baton. Officer Dither reeled off, twitching spasmodically, his arms flailing and blood streaming from his nose and ear, while Sheriff Drivel continued.
"To make a long story short, we had the powder analyzed, and it turned out that it wasn't Anthrax at all. It also wasn't 'pure horse,'" he snorted, casting a glance at his still-convulsing partner. "All it turned out to be was your plain old garden-variety cocaine, so we sent these jokers on their merry way. I can tell you, we were awfully glad to find out it wasn't Anthrax, though. We hate that kind of music down here." Look for Wallace Watermelon's award-winning volume of poetry, "Reflections on a Gift of Chutney Pickle from Myself, Since You Heartless, Soulless Bastards Never Give Me Anything," as soon as he finishes writing it, and it gets published and wins some awards.
 |
Woman leads Muslim prayer service; promptly stones self
HD-DVDs could piss off DVD owners as soon as next year
Chicken magnate Frank Perdue dead; giblets saved for soup
Red Sox outcurse Yankees to win World Series
|
Santa Claus on Trial: Week Three ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity. Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecution’s presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous “Tooth Fairy.” Unknown American Philosopher Dead illions of Americans failed to mourn this week at the death of Baltimore-area rug salesman and unknown modern American philosopher Phillip Flaggart, originator of numerous lite-philosophical sayings such as “A picture’s worth a thousand words,” and “Why buy milk when you have a cow at home?” “A picture’s worth a thousand words,” repeated sayings fan Dennis Tudd, shaking his head in wonderment. “That kind of says it all, though a picture would say it all even better. You know.” Even within the sayings-geek community, Flaggart remained the enduring subject of controversy, with factions split between those who believed the man a humble genius, and those convinced Flaggart was a lucky moron. Flaggart himself fanned the flames in a 1987 interview, explaining that he was drunk at the time he first said “A picture’s worth a thousand words” and didn’t know what he was talking about. Serial Killer’s Neighbor: “He just wouldn’t shut up about serial killing.” R.C. Car Enthusiasts Angered by Latest Mars Mission Snub |
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| 
 October 14, 2002
Mouse in My HouseThe mouse in my house
has the run of the land.
He pees in my porridge
and he shits in my hand
while I lie sleeping,
naively unaware
that the mouse in my house
is nibbling on my hair.
And eating my breadcrumbs!
And drinking my pop!
I have asked him nicely,
politely to stop.
But did this dissuade him,
persuade him to cease?
He just ate my cold pizza,
every last doughy piece.
And as if to taunt me
he loves to play
and roll in my bed sheets
while I am away.
He loves to go dipping
in my marinara sauce
and to leave marinara footprints
up, down and across,
and on up the stairs
to the top of my bedspread
where I sleep unawares.
He ate all my baloney!
Now this is no joke.
And he twice left the tops off
my toothpaste and Coke.
One went quite flat,
and the other went hard.
And this mouse in my house
left his bike in my yard!
It's not like it would kill him
to put the toilet seat down,
or wipe the mud off his feet
when he's been mousing around town.
There's just no reason he can't
put his playing cards away
or clean up his jigsaw puzzles
at the end of the day.
Or close the front door
when he's gone out to play.
Or whisper more quietly
when he kneels down to pray.
But...
º Last Column: The Boy From Demon's Bay
º more columns
The mouse in my house
has the run of the land.
He pees in my porridge
and he shits in my hand
while I lie sleeping,
naively unaware
that the mouse in my house
is nibbling on my hair.
And eating my breadcrumbs!
And drinking my pop!
I have asked him nicely,
politely to stop.
But did this dissuade him,
persuade him to cease?
He just ate my cold pizza,
every last doughy piece.
And as if to taunt me
he loves to play
and roll in my bed sheets
while I am away.
He loves to go dipping
in my marinara sauce
and to leave marinara footprints
up, down and across,
and on up the stairs
to the top of my bedspread
where I sleep unawares.
He ate all my baloney!
Now this is no joke.
And he twice left the tops off
my toothpaste and Coke.
One went quite flat,
and the other went hard.
And this mouse in my house
left his bike in my yard!
It's not like it would kill him
to put the toilet seat down,
or wipe the mud off his feet
when he's been mousing around town.
There's just no reason he can't
put his playing cards away
or clean up his jigsaw puzzles
at the end of the day.
Or close the front door
when he's gone out to play.
Or whisper more quietly
when he kneels down to pray.
But the one mousey caper
I just cannot forgive
is when he got my sister pregnant.
I hope you like d-Con, mouse. º Last Column: The Boy From Demon's Bayº more columns
| 
|  February 2, 2004
DownsizzlingI guess I'm not top dog here at the commune anymore. They got a new dog. Which sucks for me 'cause those chicken livers were about the only source of protein I get in a week. Dry, chewy, but good.
That's sort of the explanation for why I haven't been writing as much lately as I used to. That and I got fired from my regular toilet brush job. That big gay Bagel Gay Bagel told everyone to cut some of the deadweight around here and everyone thought of me first. Which is nice in a way. But that way doesn't help me any, since I'm out of a job. It worked out nicely for them because Gay got a real plastic toilet brush as a gift for Christmas from people who didn't like him, so the office has one of their own. Two people doing the same job, one doesn't ask for any pay and doesn't short out the office electricity trying to build his own lightsaber, so you do the math on who gets fired. Me, I mean.
Not like it's the first job I've been fired from. That was helping my dad fix the car. I wasn't working for real pay there either, even though I tried to hold out for a hug or something, but you could never hardball dad. I would stand by him while he put the lugnuts in my hand, at least that's what he said they were. Then he heaped on more work, making me look for a 9/16th wrench out of the toolbox and then yelling at me when I told him he didn't own a toolbox. He said it was a trick question, just to see if I could think independently. And I could, and he didn't...
º Last Column: Old Lame Sign
º more columns
I guess I'm not top dog here at the commune anymore. They got a new dog. Which sucks for me 'cause those chicken livers were about the only source of protein I get in a week. Dry, chewy, but good.
That's sort of the explanation for why I haven't been writing as much lately as I used to. That and I got fired from my regular toilet brush job. That big gay Bagel Gay Bagel told everyone to cut some of the deadweight around here and everyone thought of me first. Which is nice in a way. But that way doesn't help me any, since I'm out of a job. It worked out nicely for them because Gay got a real plastic toilet brush as a gift for Christmas from people who didn't like him, so the office has one of their own. Two people doing the same job, one doesn't ask for any pay and doesn't short out the office electricity trying to build his own lightsaber, so you do the math on who gets fired. Me, I mean.
Not like it's the first job I've been fired from. That was helping my dad fix the car. I wasn't working for real pay there either, even though I tried to hold out for a hug or something, but you could never hardball dad. I would stand by him while he put the lugnuts in my hand, at least that's what he said they were. Then he heaped on more work, making me look for a 9/16th wrench out of the toolbox and then yelling at me when I told him he didn't own a toolbox. He said it was a trick question, just to see if I could think independently. And I could, and he didn't need that in his employees. Then he was attacked by a lemur and I never found out if he got that car fixed or not.
It doesn't bother me to get fired from a job if I screwed it up somehow. It doesn't even bother me to get fired from a job I was doing really good. I imagine—hard to prove that one, I guess. What really steams my beans is getting fired from a job I didn't even have. I slept in a McDonald's for three weeks one time and they finally found me when they cleaned out the grease trap, and I got yelled at real bad and they fired me and I didn't even work there. I would have told the guy so, but you know. The grease in my mouth and all.
But besides all of that, I suppose I'll still talk to you all once in a while. I got woke up one day by a call at the Long John Silver's grease trap and it was Red Bagel, asking me where my column was, it was a month overdue. I told him I didn't work for him anymore and he called me a slacker. If I knew what one was I would have argued with him, but he gets away with insulting people by thinking up big words for insults. So he said it was no excuse for not doing my column. Sampson L. Hartwig has to write one still and he's been dead for more than a year, is the story. Well, no one's going to compare me in a bad way with a dead person. So I'll get that column done and turned into Red Bagel, Mr. Smart Insult Ass, as soon as I can think of something to write. If you come up with anything, let me know here at the commune. º Last Column: Old Lame Signº more columns
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Milestones1994: Omar Bricks arrested after setting a statue of the Virgin Mary ablaze atop the Ferris wheel at the State Fair. Gets off on a technicality that goes down in legal history as the Proud Mary defenseNow HiringFlamenco Dancer. Leggy Latin beauty needed to, well, you know. And dance. Must be disease-free and light on the orthodontia. Garden hose-based qualifications a big plus. Mus- wait. Really? Then what the hell's flamenco?Worst-Selling Wireless Devices| 1. | Sir Flush-a-Lot | | 2. | The SpayMaster | | 3. | "Look Ma, No Hands" Harpoon Gift Set | | 4. | Salad Euthanizer | | 5. | The Mysterious Ouijigenie | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Davidson Estherhouse 3/18/2002 Lincoln & NapoleonLincoln sat at the end of the large banquet table of Napoleon's. It's a shame, he thought quietly, I could feed every hungry slave in the Union for the price of this fancy French table.
"You are quiet, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, his eyes barely peeking above the other end of the table. "Henri!" he shouted to his butler with a clap of his hands. "Fetch the phone books for my seat!"
"You need not do that, Henri," Lincoln said in his heavy, somber voice. "I won't be staying for dinner."
"I sense you do not like me very much, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, and he was right. Lincoln had only come for one thing—military expertise. Perhaps there was something he could find out from Napoleon, some secret to his success that would help end the...
Lincoln sat at the end of the large banquet table of Napoleon's. It's a shame, he thought quietly, I could feed every hungry slave in the Union for the price of this fancy French table.
"You are quiet, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, his eyes barely peeking above the other end of the table. "Henri!" he shouted to his butler with a clap of his hands. "Fetch the phone books for my seat!"
"You need not do that, Henri," Lincoln said in his heavy, somber voice. "I won't be staying for dinner."
"I sense you do not like me very much, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, and he was right. Lincoln had only come for one thing—military expertise. Perhaps there was something he could find out from Napoleon, some secret to his success that would help end the Civil War without more casualties.
"It's nothing personal, Mr. Napoleon. My feelings are of no consequence, even if they're right. I'm not here to make friends. I'm only here because perhaps there's something I can find out from you, a secret to your success that will help end the Civil War in America without more casualties."
"Maybe I can help you, in some way," said Napoleon. "Tell me more of this fantastic time machine, Monsieur Lincoln."
"Perhaps later," said Lincoln.
"Now!" demanded the short bastard. "I must know! I must have this secret to time travel! If it is in my hands I can conquer more than Europe, bon homme. I can conquer the Roman Empire itself!"
"You would misuse the technology, I'm afraid," said Lincoln. "Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon—don't you know no matter how many men you dominate you will never be tall?"
"Shut up!" screeched Napoleon, smashing away all the silverware in front of him. "You think you know what it means to be short? Bah! How tall are you? 6'9"?"
"I am a tall man, Mr. Napoleon. I am the tallest president the Union has ever seen, and perhaps ever will see. I was born in Kentucky as well. But my strength comes not from the stature of my body, but the height of my heart."
Napoleon's face boiled over with red. "Garcon! Seize him!"
The waiter grabbed Lincoln from behind, wrapped his smarmy French arms around the president's neck.
He's got me! Lincoln thought. It's fortunate I traveled into the future first and learned jujitsu.
Lincoln flipped the Frenchman over his shoulder, landing in brie cheese. Lincoln turned and darted for the door.
"We'll meet again, Napoleon!"
Before Lincoln could escape, the French army surrounded him.
"No, no, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, dusting himself off with the hand that wasn't tucked in his shirt. "You're not going anywhere." Lincoln was cornered. "Tell me of the time machine."
"No," said Lincoln gravely. "I promised the professor I wouldn't tell anybody the secret of time travel. Honest."
"Then you will die!" snapped Napoleon. "Garcon! Take him for torture!"
But before they could grab the 16th president, Lincoln reached up and grabbed the chandelier. He climbed up onto it and jumped over the French army. He leapt through the window and landed on a horse.
"Not today, Napoleon!" laughed the president, waving a hand good-bye. "Away, Planters!"
As the president rode off, Napoleon watched from a milk crate in front of the window.
"This Lincoln… he is my greatest enemy."   |
