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the commune Focus: Teen Mind-ControlFebruary 2, 2004 |
Flatbush, NJ Snapper McGee Teens: Could we make them look more like dorks? n efforts to control crime and young minds in the past decade, many cities have followed the move of small towns to institute curfews and keep young people off the street. As part of the commune's ongoing attempt to bring you closer to the world around you, the issues presented to the American public, and eventually get you to buy our sociological journals, the commune brings you the commune Focus: Teen Curfews and Other Forms of Mind-Control.
Most recently, the town council of Vernon, Connecticut, some kind of state in the country, decided not to appeal a federal court ruling upholding a ban on their longtime teen curfew. Teens everywhere celebrated by playing X-Box, using swear words, and having unprotected sex in between backyard wrestling matches. The town council vowed t...
n efforts to control crime and young minds in the past decade, many cities have followed the move of small towns to institute curfews and keep young people off the street. As part of the commune's ongoing attempt to bring you closer to the world around you, the issues presented to the American public, and eventually get you to buy our sociological journals, the commune brings you the commune Focus: Teen Curfews and Other Forms of Mind-Control.
Most recently, the town council of Vernon, Connecticut, some kind of state in the country, decided not to appeal a federal court ruling upholding a ban on their longtime teen curfew. Teens everywhere celebrated by playing X-Box, using swear words, and having unprotected sex in between backyard wrestling matches. The town council vowed to do nothing until hearing which way the parental outrage swung.
The ban on the town curfew came after ACLU (ack-loo) lawyers challenged the law on the premise it was written in Spanish. That having failed, the ACLU then challenged on behalf of parents' rights to set their own children's curfews, and then challenged on the idea it violated the rights of children themselves, best two out of three, but the court bit on the second suit.
The ruling could dissuade other pompous town council people in Footloose-type situations from passing legislation taking away the rights of anybody under the age of 21. Other issues in controlling teen thought are in dangerous territory with the frown on teen curfews, including a legal drinking age of 21, school uniforms, and chemical castration (for boys only).
"It's very important teens learn restraint in social situations," said Child Psychology professor Fett Geraldo, an ancient prick far too old to have any fun anymore. "Children lack the same wizened social skills and experience to make decisions of importance for themselves like what to wear and what time to come in, whether to obey their parents or not. I know you're thinking people once said that about women and non-white people, but I assure such assessments are only mostly accurate. Anyone under the age of eighteen, or twenty-one, if we're talking alcohol, is clearly not mature enough to make decisions for himself. Or herself. Hell, look at all these teen websites for just-turned-eighteen girls, you can see what I mean."
This reporter did look at the websites, and was quite impressed by Dr. Geraldo's point. And the flexibility of one particular Ukrainian girl.
Teens, however, were demonstrably pissed off by the professor's opinion, and modern music.
"This is just another example of one group claiming they know what's best for another," said seventeen-year-old Betty Fullback. "But I know what's best for them—just shut up already. Adults always think young people can't make decisions about anything, and it's stupid. It's just like the sixties—I hear. We need to mobilize and rebel and stuff, to get our rights like the African-Americans did in the 1600s. I'm trying to get some people together at my house this weekend, so if you know anybody who's interested in fighting for their rights, just—as long as I have approval, you know. Let me check the list. I'm on student council, you know, I have some respect to maintain."
Consequently, this reporter found himself uninvited from the party after a lewd pass and a little commune name-dropping. the commune news is happy to introduce our Focus section, where each week we'll pretend to be interested in the same things you are, whoever you are. It's how we show we want to seem like we care. Boner Cunningham is a teen correspondent, and as part of our teen dress code, must wear a dress when we think it's funny.
 |  Bush Admonishes Tornado's Cut and Run Policy Police crack IRA "money-loindering" scheme
Harsh critique of new book leaves Clinton heartbroken
Iran's plan to renew nuclear program inspires hard-ons with 24 producers
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Bush’s MySpace Page Traffic Way Down Plans for Tallest Ferris Wheel Scrapped; Yao-Ming Too Busy to Turn It Entwistle Pleads Not Guilty of Murder, Last Several Who Albums Condi Rice Hates the Way She Smiles in Pictures |
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 January 31, 2005
The New Government NinjasIt's about time the government dropped the ball, publicly, and proved me right. I told you years ago, in one of my earliest columns, about the top-secret anti-terrorist unit operating out of the Pentagon with free reign to go anywhere and do whatever they want to stop terrorism. The government at last admitted the unit exists, and they're now calling it the "SSB" (or Strategic Support Branch), operating under the direction of the Pentagon's Defensive Intelligence Agency. Their original name, you'll remember me telling you, was the True Badasses.
On Sunday, January 23, the Washington Post broke the mainstream news about the existence of the SSB, while the rest of us who read the commune or report the alternative news just sat back and yawned in a patronizing fashion. Nobody needed to tell me about the super-secret Pentagon anti-terrorism unit—and by nobody, of course, I mean my super-secret embedded Pentagon source, who I'll call Doggie Style. He told me early in 2002, after the unit's creation, that it had begun operating. They were the True Badasses back then, but the scope hasn't changed—they still were developed and hand-picked by Secy. Donald "Rumplestickdick" Rumsfeld, still dressed all in their black ninja outfits, and had the unconstitutional freedom in their mandate to operate any and everywhere they please, if it served counter-terrorism.
How could this happen? Too late to ask now, sir. It would have done us all well if...
º Last Column: Gay Demographics º more columns
It's about time the government dropped the ball, publicly, and proved me right. I told you years ago, in one of my earliest columns, about the top-secret anti-terrorist unit operating out of the Pentagon with free reign to go anywhere and do whatever they want to stop terrorism. The government at last admitted the unit exists, and they're now calling it the "SSB" (or Strategic Support Branch), operating under the direction of the Pentagon's Defensive Intelligence Agency. Their original name, you'll remember me telling you, was the True Badasses.
On Sunday, January 23, the Washington Post broke the mainstream news about the existence of the SSB, while the rest of us who read the commune or report the alternative news just sat back and yawned in a patronizing fashion. Nobody needed to tell me about the super-secret Pentagon anti-terrorism unit—and by nobody, of course, I mean my super-secret embedded Pentagon source, who I'll call Doggie Style. He told me early in 2002, after the unit's creation, that it had begun operating. They were the True Badasses back then, but the scope hasn't changed—they still were developed and hand-picked by Secy. Donald "Rumplestickdick" Rumsfeld, still dressed all in their black ninja outfits, and had the unconstitutional freedom in their mandate to operate any and everywhere they please, if it served counter-terrorism.
How could this happen? Too late to ask now, sir. It would have done us all well if somebody, besides me, had read the Patriot Act. They made it in really small type for a reason, you know. Since no one read it, no one found Clause 631 unusual: "The signing of this Act hereby invalidates all Constitutional guarantees of due process, and promises the creation of a group of elite terrorist-fighters dressed as ninjas and armed to the teeth with amazing ranged and melee weapons, a group herein referred to as 'The True Badasses.'" There it is, in bright red tiny type for us all to have read, and prevented. Damn you, M-TV-generation attention spans.
Nothing to do about it now. Our best bet at this point is to elect some exceedingly liberal leaders (we're talking Dennis Hopper and Karen Finley here) who can sponsor an "anti-Patriot Act Act" that will include the "complete reversal clause" that several of our early amendments cleverly contained. While we're at it, legalizing prostitution wouldn't be bad idea. As Las Vegas and Atlantic City have proven, the worst effects that can happen is having David Cassidy and Andy Williams put on an excessive number of shows in your city. Worth it? I'm not going that far.
That doesn't help us in the meantime, of course. What should you do if the True Badasses, or whatever they're calling themselves now, burst through your window, suspecting you of being a terrorist sleeper cell? Really, this doesn't differ much from the response outlined in my much-maligned self-help pamphlet, "Help! Ninja Attack!"
First, if you are capable of disappearing in explosions of smoke or shadows, by all means, do so. For the rest of us, I'm afraid you're left with stop, drop, and roll—I know this is customarily used to put out fires, but it also works well in Badass, ninja, or bear attacks. Bears run in fright from a clearly insane person, while a True Badass or ninja will often believe you're suffering a seizure, and attempt to put a wallet under your tongue. While they search for their wallet, take advantage of their distraction and wrestle the weapons from their hands. The numbers may be against you, but if you do it fast and well enough, you can at least stage a stand-off likely to last for hours and draw out the FBI and the media. There's nothing ninjas and True Badass terrorist-fighters hate more than public exposure. This will send them back into hiding for sure. Saved again! Now… as for how you can get rid of the media and the FBI, that's a puzzler. If you come up with any ideas, or write your own pamphlet, bounce it my way. I've been working on that one for years. º Last Column: Gay Demographicsº more columns
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|  August 29, 2005
Taking Back the communeRest easy, faithful commune reader, and any friends you might have: the commune is once again back in our hands.
If the spate of month-long repeats we've been running haven't clued you in, the commune was in a bit of a sticky situation as of late. And it wasn't, contrary to popular belief, just an attempt for us to catch a few winks while our competition stomped us into the ground. I had planned a little time off for the loyal commune staff, and everybody else we employ, but something more like a week, or even a few hours with me just not poking everyone to keep them working at top speed. But it didn't turn out as expected at all. Not at all.
To sum up, terrorists invaded the commune offices. Nothing less than Al Qaeda terrorists, or at least it appeared to me when the small group of foreign men stormed our offices with machine guns and demanded we all choose who would die first. We all chose my brother Gay Bagel, of course, unanimous vote (can you beat Gay voting for himself? What's up there?) Raoul and Ramrod tied for second, somehow beating out my favorite, Ivana. I placed a distant fifth, and I think it has something to do with putting real caramel in the caramel apples at this year's commune Days fair. But anyway, back to the terrorists.
If you think we're going to sit around and let third-world demagogues gun us down, you're sadly mistaken. To stand there and let terrorists kill you would mean the terrorists have already won....
º Last Column: The Adventures of Red & Rascal º more columns
Rest easy, faithful commune reader, and any friends you might have: the commune is once again back in our hands.
If the spate of month-long repeats we've been running haven't clued you in, the commune was in a bit of a sticky situation as of late. And it wasn't, contrary to popular belief, just an attempt for us to catch a few winks while our competition stomped us into the ground. I had planned a little time off for the loyal commune staff, and everybody else we employ, but something more like a week, or even a few hours with me just not poking everyone to keep them working at top speed. But it didn't turn out as expected at all. Not at all.
To sum up, terrorists invaded the commune offices. Nothing less than Al Qaeda terrorists, or at least it appeared to me when the small group of foreign men stormed our offices with machine guns and demanded we all choose who would die first. We all chose my brother Gay Bagel, of course, unanimous vote (can you beat Gay voting for himself? What's up there?) Raoul and Ramrod tied for second, somehow beating out my favorite, Ivana. I placed a distant fifth, and I think it has something to do with putting real caramel in the caramel apples at this year's commune Days fair. But anyway, back to the terrorists.
If you think we're going to sit around and let third-world demagogues gun us down, you're sadly mistaken. To stand there and let terrorists kill you would mean the terrorists have already won. So I "flipped out," in the modern vernacular, and began to toss body after body against the wall. Many were Ivan Nacutchacokov, always in my ever-loving way, but I'm sure I got a few terrorists in there, too. We had just enough time to vacate the offices and taking our most valuable possessions with us. I had just enough time to unleash my deadly security force of weasels for the bastards to choke on, while Gay Bagel had just enough time to change the website programming and select a variety of articles for a few "best of" issues, so we wouldn't lose precious advertising revenue after we fled the terror. You never know when you might be able to use ten bucks, I suppose.
The fact that Omar Bricks did not follow us, and was in fact found at his desk, business-as-usual upon our return, speaks volumes about the perceptive depths of Mr. Bricks. We did find he had strapped one of the terrorists to the back of a grizzly bear, but upon closer inspection it's apparent he had mistaken the infidel for Ramrod Hurley.
I could thrill you endlessly with tales of our life on the run, searching out hiding places from which to build a new commune and the way our reporters cobbled together stories out of dust and scraps so we could continue to get the truth out to you. But thrilling you would be contrary to the usual routine of this column. Let's just say we were stumped for days on end on how to get our offices back and rid ourselves of the invaders. Well, I was stumped. Everyone else told me to call the police, the FBI, or any number of establishment-serving official organizations who hunt terrorists for fun. I was convinced this was not the right path. Until I got sick of living day and nigh with my staff in an abandoned building. So a quick call to the feds and we had our offices back, and a hefty reward as well.
It turned out, by the way, that the "terrorists" were actually nothing more than some Middle Eastern mercenaries hired by Crochet! Magazine to end our longtime dispute once and for all. Needless to say, Crochet! gots to pay for its major league fuck-up. And if you see Omar Bricks on the street, thank him for that insightful 10-part investigative report on ben-wah balls he did, but tell him I can't publish it because he submitted it to the faux Bagel mercenary. Who is planning to publish it in a prison newsletter, I think. º Last Column: The Adventures of Red & Rascalº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I never met a man I didn't like, want to kill.”
-Dill "California Angst" WongersFortune 500 CookieYou will fall in love with a new douche this week, a fact that unfortunately has nothing at all to do with feminine hygiene. Try to pay more attention to your figure: word on the street is you're upgrading from "pear-shaped" to "sack of shit-y." You will finally come to understand the phrase "fifteen men on a dead man's chest" this week, thanks to an unfortunate dogpile mishap. Your lucky perfumes: Colonic for Men, Goat's Dong, Eau Du Crapper.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Better Living Through Buggery | | 2. | Tom & Jerry: A Reunion | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Best-Kept Secret Recipes | | 4. | Undercover Exposé: My Three Days as a White Blood Cell | | 5. | Critics' Corner: Books and Shit | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 7/12/2004 Well spank it, America, we're back for another week of Entertainment Police and all that that implies. Hope you've been doing as well in your sad little life as Roland McShyster has been in his. We've got three new movies to review this week, which is a good thing since I wasn't looking forward to having to go back into the archives and review Castroblanca yet again. Let's take a look at what mother bird is stuffing down our throats this week, shall we?
In Theaters Now:
Fahrvergnugen 9/11
Singing/acting cyborg sensation Mandy Moore has teenybopped her way into a new genre with her first documentary this month, a hard-hitting look at the Bush family's ties to the Volkswagen corporation and German extremists...
Well spank it, America, we're back for another week of Entertainment Police and all that that implies. Hope you've been doing as well in your sad little life as Roland McShyster has been in his. We've got three new movies to review this week, which is a good thing since I wasn't looking forward to having to go back into the archives and review Castroblanca yet again. Let's take a look at what mother bird is stuffing down our throats this week, shall we?
In Theaters Now:
Fahrvergnugen 9/11
Singing/acting cyborg sensation Mandy Moore has teenybopped her way into a new genre with her first documentary this month, a hard-hitting look at the Bush family's ties to the Volkswagen corporation and German extremists more interested in making a profit than dancing around in those funny little shortpants for our entertainment. Though I personally give about a shit and a half about how some overrated British hair/grunge band spends their money, apparently the Seattle sound is a hot-button issue for the upcoming election and everybody's getting their flannel in a twist about this film. The good news is that Moore proves as adept a documentary filmmaker as she has a singer, actress, veterinarian, corporate CEO, cooking show host and Olympic gymnast since hatching from that cryogenics lab a short time ago. The bad news? There's plenty of Bush, but no tits.
I, Gobot
Hollywood finally gets it right by making a lame knock-off movie about the lamest knock-off toy ever, the Gobots. And who better to star than the king of lame knock-off songs and movies, Will Smith? I don't know, really. There might be somebody especially lame out there I'm not thinking of, but I think Will Smith was a pretty spot-on choice. He's got a look that just screams "lame-o," which saves a lot of time in explaining to the audience what the movie's about and if it's going to suck or not. He was probably worth his paycheck for the lame pedigree he brings to the film alone, a credible lameocity that another actor would have had to work hard to establish, before the audience got to thinking that the move might be kind of okay. As for the film itself, it's kind of okay in the sense that we're not likely to go to war with any Middle Eastern countries over it, but that's the best thing I can say about it. The special effects aren't all that special, though I guess hiring a guy just for "effects" is some kind of insulting no-no in the movie biz these days. They CGI the Gobots transformations pretty well, but since they stayed true to the source material you're stuck with the unintentional comedy of the Gobot leader transforming into a coffee machine when the action starts, and when his love-interest Gobot changes into a pogo stick it's pretty hard to take the movie seriously. Will Smith does a pretty good job of turning into Eddie Murphy about half way into the movie, though as with the Gobots you're more or less just left wishing you'd spent the last two hours watching the real thing.
King Arthur
I read somewhere that perseverance is a virtue, and if that's true you have to tip your cap to the brains behind the Arthur series of movies, who didn't let a minor hiccup like the death of the franchise's star keep them from dealing out the sequels like a mimeograph machine. This time it's presumably far-from-death teen sweat machine Freddie Prinz Jr. in the title role, and the producers have set the series' third film somewhat anachronistically in the middle ages so they could throw in a bunch of Lord of the Rings shit and cast that hot pirate girl without confusing audiences who don't understand that movies aren't real. The end result is a lot like eating a whole bag of Milk Duds by yourself, though not for the obvious reasons.
Well America, it's come to an end yet again. Like many of you, I was starting to hope this column would go on forever. And it will, in a way, since we'll be back again in a few weeks and really everything on the Internet sort of lasts forever anyway, but that sort of makes your brain hurt to think about it so forget I said anything.   |