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 January 10, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol Attorney General nominee Alberto Gonzales defends his previous record against human rights without losing any vital smug.
Gonzales, nicknamed "Francisco Franco-American" by this reporter just now, has been accused of creating the Bush White House position on human rights—summed up by the statement, "Human rights? Huh?" In his form...
he U.S. may have a new Attorney General by this time next month, one who makes John Ashcroft seem like a reasonable candidate for the job. Alberto Gonzales, possibly the world's most Hilteresque Hispanic-American, is set for confirmation and expected to get all the votes needed for appointment, even though he has still been defending his record on human rights. On Friday, Gonzales attempted to clarify some of his previous statements, including one made in a memo from September of 2001, stating, "America will feast on terrorists' bones when the sun falls on this war."
Gonzales, nicknamed "Francisco Franco-American" by this reporter just now, has been accused of creating the Bush White House position on human rights—summed up by the statement, "Human rights? Huh?" In his former position as White House counsel, Gonzales, miraculously keeping the president out of jail for four years, challenged that prisoners taken without evidence and without due process in the War on Terror were not subject to the same protections as other soldiers imprisoned during wartime under the codes of the Geneva conventions.
In other feats of jaw-dropping "what the fuck," Gonzales challenged the very definitions of torture accepted around the world. Previous definitions, based on ideas of "cruel and unusual punishment," were replaced with the even more ambiguous definition of "excruciating and agonizing pain." At least with this definition, Ashton Kutcher movies are now officially designated torture.
"Unusual punishment? What's so bad about unusual punishment?" defended Gonzales in Friday's seven-hour testimony to the Senate Judiciary Committee Friday. "If I get a bare-bottom spanking from Mamie Van Doren, it might unusual, but I say that doesn't qualify as torture. And those guys in Camp X-Ray—they got it so good it ought to be illegal. I mean, it probably would be, if it were on American soil. But you know what I mean."
Asked if the attorney's arguments against the Geneva conventions opened the door for the abuses at Iraq's Abu Ghraib prison, Gonzales pretended not to hear the question. Asked again, he pretended not to know what Abu Ghraib was. After a lengthy recount of the many incidents of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib, Gonzales gave a more definite response.
"Nah. Probably not," said the attorney.
Gonzales then took a firmer stance, saying the pictures of abuse, which he owned plenty of in his personal collection, were "people who were morally bankrupt having fun." At least, continued Gonzales, it "looked like a lot of fun."
The attorney, who had by now pitted out his entire suit with sweat, was asked to clarify the infamous statement on eating the bones of terrorists.
"I was paraphrasing the Jolly Green Giant," answered Gonzales. "Or whoever that guy was. The one whose home was invaded by the tiny terrorist who stole his golden goose. We will use their bones, meaning the terrorists', to butter our bread. That's all I meant to say. I apologize if the meaning was taken that we will actually be eating the bones straight out of their bodies. I don't believe that would be very appetizing for most Americans. Not at all. Anyway, if we do it, nobody has to watch—is that the problem here?"
Senate Judiciary Committee Chairman Arlen Specter comically threw all his papers up in the air at that point, mugged for the grandstand, and told the people, "Well, I frankly don't see a problem here…" the commune news has been going through its own confirmation process around here, and yep, we can confirm for certain Mrs. Paul's individual fish sticks taste more like real fish than all competing brands. Lil Duncan is the commune's White House correspondent and loves exchanging tit for tat on the various issues of the day, provided you have any tat.
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 November 25, 2002
Uncle Bing"Growing up, Uncle Bing was like the uncle I never had. He was my father's estranged brother, who had been kicked out of the family for loving jazz. That's what he said, anyway, it didn't seem that bad to us.
Dad would secretly invite Uncle Bing to Thanksgiving dinner every year, and we'd pass him turkey and giblets through the doggy door. I was never sure who we were hiding Bing from, since mom always made sure to make extra portions for him. Maybe Stephanie had a problem with Uncle Bing I hadn't heard about.
When dad wasn't around, Bing liked to take my brother Goose and I under this wing, teaching us that money was for folks who didn't know how to pick a lock or sledgehammer a doorknob. For the bold, every neighborhood was like a department store and every kitchen a supermarket. Every garage was still a garage, but Uncle Bing had sent away for a correspondence course in hotwiring. So really every garage was like a used car lot, only not yet.
The neighborhood kids loved to make fun of Goose and I for our threadbare, out-of-season clothes, thanks to Dad's gambling and croquet habits. But only the really stupid ones were still laughing when we showed up wearing the clothes that had recently gone missing from their closets, thanks to Uncle Bing.
Goose and I looked up to Bing like he was our dad's brother, and we even baked him a giant oatmeal cookie the year he scammed the government into letting him stay at their big gray...
º Last Column: Lottery
º more columns
"Growing up, Uncle Bing was like the uncle I never had. He was my father's estranged brother, who had been kicked out of the family for loving jazz. That's what he said, anyway, it didn't seem that bad to us.
Dad would secretly invite Uncle Bing to Thanksgiving dinner every year, and we'd pass him turkey and giblets through the doggy door. I was never sure who we were hiding Bing from, since mom always made sure to make extra portions for him. Maybe Stephanie had a problem with Uncle Bing I hadn't heard about.
When dad wasn't around, Bing liked to take my brother Goose and I under this wing, teaching us that money was for folks who didn't know how to pick a lock or sledgehammer a doorknob. For the bold, every neighborhood was like a department store and every kitchen a supermarket. Every garage was still a garage, but Uncle Bing had sent away for a correspondence course in hotwiring. So really every garage was like a used car lot, only not yet.
The neighborhood kids loved to make fun of Goose and I for our threadbare, out-of-season clothes, thanks to Dad's gambling and croquet habits. But only the really stupid ones were still laughing when we showed up wearing the clothes that had recently gone missing from their closets, thanks to Uncle Bing.
Goose and I looked up to Bing like he was our dad's brother, and we even baked him a giant oatmeal cookie the year he scammed the government into letting him stay at their big gray hotel for free." º Last Column: Lotteryº more columns
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|  January 20, 2003
The Big Clarissa Coleman ComebackOh, jiminy! Thanks for whatever good thoughts you sent me, folks! And if you didn't, I wish you all a long burning eternity in hell. Somebody must have been on my side because I got the part! Yippie! Perhaps you couldn't read it in this small, mocking font.
I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!!
Just to verify, in case you just read that part and think you accidentally went to Rok Finger's column on some spiel about penile implants, the part I got was of Shelly, the resourceful and somewhat ingenious desert island castaway on the new action show Archipelago Law.
None of it should come as much of a surprise, seeing as how I mentioned I had the audition and felt pretty good about it last go-round. Of course I didn't mention the show title—what, like I'm going to advertise to a bunch of wanna-bes the location of the next big audition? Forget it, I like keeping the competition reasonable. But let's just say once I gave them my Bilbo Baggins monologue from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings, there really wasn't any competition. Producer Matt Viggoschultz had a feeling that I was the one for the job, he wasn't disappointed by my performance, or not significantly disappointed anyway; a little disappointment is normal.
I've met some of the other actors already and they are extremely talented, a great bunch to work with. Sure, there are a few of them I'll have to whip into shape, give them...
º Last Column: The Audition
º more columns
Oh, jiminy! Thanks for whatever good thoughts you sent me, folks! And if you didn't, I wish you all a long burning eternity in hell. Somebody must have been on my side because I got the part! Yippie! Perhaps you couldn't read it in this small, mocking font.
I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!!
Just to verify, in case you just read that part and think you accidentally went to Rok Finger's column on some spiel about penile implants, the part I got was of Shelly, the resourceful and somewhat ingenious desert island castaway on the new action show Archipelago Law.
None of it should come as much of a surprise, seeing as how I mentioned I had the audition and felt pretty good about it last go-round. Of course I didn't mention the show title—what, like I'm going to advertise to a bunch of wanna-bes the location of the next big audition? Forget it, I like keeping the competition reasonable. But let's just say once I gave them my Bilbo Baggins monologue from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings, there really wasn't any competition. Producer Matt Viggoschultz had a feeling that I was the one for the job, he wasn't disappointed by my performance, or not significantly disappointed anyway; a little disappointment is normal.
I've met some of the other actors already and they are extremely talented, a great bunch to work with. Sure, there are a few of them I'll have to whip into shape, give them some quick lessons in the entertainment biz I've picked up over the years the hard way, but I can see them being around for years. Especially with infomercials going stronger than ever.
I'm not normally drawn to drama, I've been a natural for comedy since I was 6, but I was intrigued by the challenge, as well as the prospect of getting paid for work. Between the exotic locale—Vancouver—and the great writing, not to mention the sexy costumes, it's a can't-miss show. Not like my can-and-will-miss shows over the years like Cat Cop and That 1870's Show.
This show is banking in no small part on my talent, I can tell you that. The main star is John Flomp as Sheriff Burger, but the next biggest character after THAT… well, it's Nuge, the Kooshkoosh Tribal Leader; but after THAT, it's Kiko, the Bendari Tribal Leader. Then it's Dr. Cope, the medicine person, then the inventor Professor Hannibal, the sexy lawyer Vicki Scarlet, then the twins, then the nameless, mysterious mute character, but after THAT, it's all Clarissa Coleman.
And I got a fantastic contract when my agent negotiated for the role—say what you will about Dusty, or read some of my past columns and let all that stuff stand, but he's a shark underneath that very frail, fragile exterior. I didn't get any more money, really, and points on merchandising or syndication rights were right out, but I did get an "and" before my name. And I'm listed last, folks—after the first credit there's no more important credit for a regular than "and Clarissa Coleman." Unless that's not your name, but your name is what I mean. Don't be stupid.
Yep, Hollywood has come back to me, begging and pleading, after all these years. I know I practically shit confidence, but in complete honesty there's always been some part of me, as I think is the case with most former child stars, that whispers the question, "What if you're a one-hit wonder?"
I can now say with utmost certainty: The world is about to see I'm a two-hit wonder. º Last Column: The Auditionº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Get out of my way, you're crapping up my genius, dumbnuts.”
-Ayn RandyFortune 500 CookieAll of those great things we said were going to happen to you last week? Yeah, sorry, we had you mixed up with your brother. You're fucked. Try parking your car at the far end of the lot and walking this week: everyone finds the way you jiggle when you walk highly amusing. Your friends and the packaging aren't lying: that's not toothpaste. Did you really think you were going to get away with naming your son Pringles? This week's lucky ass creams: Vaseline Intensive Hair, Ditch the Itch Ultra, Smooth Movers Hibiscus Scent, Baby's Ass in a Bottle, Johnson & Johnson No More Flaming Mass of Ground Hamburger Hemorrhoid Salve.
Try again later.Top Surprising Oscar Snubs| 1. | Yentle 2: Yentler | | 2. | The Berenstain Bears Don't Care | | 3. | The Diary of Al Franken | | 4. | assBUSHhole: An Empire in Decline | | 5. | Jamie Foxx in Socks | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/7/2005 Buenos Aires, America. Hope you're all doing as well today as I was yesterday. Today? Not so much. But I wouldn't kick yesterday out of bed for eating crackers. While in it. Bed, that is. Because you can get a lot of crumbs on the sheets and then you're sleeping all night with cracker crumbs poking you in the ass, unless you sleep in pajamas. But still, even this would not sour me on yesterday. Good day.
Today, however, I've got to review the latest ugly orphans Hollywood has dropped off on our Entertainment Policing doorstep in the black of night. You notice they keep the cute ones for themselves. Cute babies referring to good movies, in this in-depth analogy of my creation. Nope, we get the uglies, and the thrill of giving them a quick once-over before selling them to the...
Buenos Aires, America. Hope you're all doing as well today as I was yesterday. Today? Not so much. But I wouldn't kick yesterday out of bed for eating crackers. While in it. Bed, that is. Because you can get a lot of crumbs on the sheets and then you're sleeping all night with cracker crumbs poking you in the ass, unless you sleep in pajamas. But still, even this would not sour me on yesterday. Good day.
Today, however, I've got to review the latest ugly orphans Hollywood has dropped off on our Entertainment Policing doorstep in the black of night. You notice they keep the cute ones for themselves. Cute babies referring to good movies, in this in-depth analogy of my creation. Nope, we get the uglies, and the thrill of giving them a quick once-over before selling them to the Chinese. So on to the movies!
In Theaters Now:
The Boogeyman
You ever have a friend who always wants to go dancing? Isn't that terrifying? I'm actually surprised that nobody thought to make a horror flick out of that concept before now, I guess Hollywood's horror elite have been too enamored with the horrors of Japanese consumer electronics lately to notice when a good idea crawls up their ass and opens a lemonade stand. But somebody finally got around to it this year, probably after a harrowing night out hitting the clubs with some self-described "dancing-machinery" or "funk-robot," as they tend to prefer to be known. Unlike most of us who save dancing for extremely inebriated wedding receptions or the funerals of particularly delicious enemies, there is a small subset of the population that will latch onto any excuse to dance: 80's night, PTA meetings, bar fights, spring, or even the opening of a new Blockbuster. I for one find these "boogeymen" to be at least twelve times as scary as Freddy Krueger or Martha Stewart.
So they definitely started with a good idea, but then they funked it up by casting the guy from that TV show about those sneaker-wearing comet cult boneheads in the main role. Sure, I believe that guy could be a dancing asshole, but I'd never buy that anybody would see enough redeeming value to keep him around as a friend regardless of the dancing thing. He would have boogied his way right out of my address book with the first few convulsions of his mashed potato.
Itch
Will Smith is back, and not a moment too soon. Audiences have been clamoring for his "just black enough" attitude for months, and don't think that animated Card Sharks movie came anywhere near yanging their yin. I've heard tell that some have even resorted to watching reruns of Smith's 1980's sitcom The French Prince of Belfast, which I can only hope was a wild exaggeration. Either way, Smith is black (that's a combination of "back" and "black," FYI) as the world's greatest lothario, who nevertheless can never get a date because he's scratching his balls all the time. Can a new miracle cream change his crotch-handling ways, and his luck with the ladies? Can an orangutan play the trumpet using a hand-held vacuum cleaner? I don't know the answer to either of those questions, thanks to an extremely long men's room line at the theater and a recent infomercial with an unprecedented cliffhanger ending.
Pooh's Hemp Movie
Everybody's favorite pot smoking bear is back for another slow-witted adventure in what was probably the most poorly animated film I've seen since Pearl Harbor. But since the animators were probably stoned at the time as well, I can pretty easily forgive their lazy scribbles and the indiscriminately psychedelic watercolor work that pervades this film.
What I can't forgive is Pooh's latest turn as an incessant hemp advocate, spending the entire movie trying to get everyone in the hundred acre woods to buy his shitty homemade hemp rope, writing paper and ponchos. Their patience already stretched thin by Pooh's candle-making phase, the entire menagerie of Pooh's dope-head buddies spend the majority of this film sitting at home with the lights out, hoping to fool Pooh into thinking they're not home. Although the movie's politics are likely to offend some, kids will just be thrilled to see that the studio's contract negotiations with all the main stars were successful, and piglet, rabbit and Owl all came back to appear in this latest Pooh vehicle.
The Wedding Date
If you thought a blind date was a lot of pressure (unless you're dating a blind girl, which would probably be less pressure than normal, but that's rarely the lucky card you pull on a "blind" date), try the wedding date: a strange practice that apparently exists somewhere, where you get to know someone new through the process of marrying them. If you think about it, it makes sense. Unless you think about it too much, then it stops making sense again and wraps back around to stupid. But the movie doesn't last that long, so it only seems really stupid on the drive home, by which time it's probably too late for a refund. Nice trick, Hollyweird. They must've learnt that one from the guys who made that Illegal Alien Vs. Sexual Predator movie.
Anyway, this movie's got that girl from the show where the girl's got the gay guy living in her closet, which is something to say about it. I have to admit I liked the idea of a blind date where everybody's throwing you a party and you get dressed up all snazzy and there's a priest, sure beats the usual disappointing night at the Sizzler where you remember half-way through that the last time you wore those pants, you spilled a whole bottle of Ranch dressing right on the crotch, and that shit doesn't come all the way out, even if you had remembered to use the stain stick. So I give this movie three stars, out of forty.
And that's a wrap America, and the curiously large contingent of Swedes who read the commune. Don't start your bawling, you got your fair dose of Entertainment Policery, and barring a back-alley run-in with Smokey Robinson I'll be back in two weeks with more smoldering pap. Plus you'll have a dose of my unwilling protégé Orson "Sunshine" Welch next week to tide you over. Until then, don't fear the reaper, unless he wants to go dancing.   |
