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Bush Seeks Additional 4,000 Troops to Overtake CongressMarch 12, 2007 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol Senate Democratic leadership Sen. Harry Reid and Sen. Dick Durbin wearing their best "You're out your goddamned mind" faces in response to presidential troop requests; meanwhile, two Navy S.E.A.L.s (inset) somewhere are waiting to kick their asses into submission.   inding all requests for funding troops in Iraq and Afghanistan impeded by the new Democratic Congress, President Bush resorted to the only weapon at his disposal Friday: Requesting even more troops, more specifically, 4,000 new soldiers with the explicit purpose of conquering Congress.
Astounded Democratic leadership responded quickly, telling the press Saturday, "Of course, any action that brings greater safety to our nation will be considered. But for crying out loud, of course we're not going to approve that. I mean, get a clue."
Critics of the White House were quick to condemn what they called a "call for a military coup" from the president as "unconstitutional."
The White House responded with a brief memo stating: "We'll let the militarily-supported ...
inding all requests for funding troops in Iraq and Afghanistan impeded by the new Democratic Congress, President Bush resorted to the only weapon at his disposal Friday: Requesting even more troops, more specifically, 4,000 new soldiers with the explicit purpose of conquering Congress. Astounded Democratic leadership responded quickly, telling the press Saturday, "Of course, any action that brings greater safety to our nation will be considered. But for crying out loud, of course we're not going to approve that. I mean, get a clue." Critics of the White House were quick to condemn what they called a "call for a military coup" from the president as "unconstitutional." The White House responded with a brief memo stating: "We'll let the militarily-supported Congress establish what's constitutional and what's not." Some have been quick to characterize the measure as an attempt, however ill-conceived, by the White House to demonstrate the Democratic Congress is unwilling to work with them. Okay, it was just one guy who said that—political and pizza pundit Jefferson Shavers III. "It's really a no-lose situation for the president," said Shavers, revealing his dazzling smile in the quaint atmosphere of his wood-paneled office in mom's garage. "If the Democrats turn down even more requests for troops, even those which would be serving on domestic soil, the president can point to it as further proof Congress just won't cooperate. And if he gives them the troops, they're all going to die. He absolutely can't lose, unless a ridiculously low approval rating demonstrated Americans really aren't supporting the White House military demands anymore." While most in Congress, where the danger lies, continued to remain silent on the request after its announcement, the administration took the offensive by attempting to paint a picture of an anti-troops sentiment in the Democratic party. "I come from a different world than my Democratic colleagues, I suppose," said Vice-President Dick Cheney, the gaping orifice of the White House whenever it has to tell America something truly odious. "Where I come from, we support the troops, we don't try to make political ammunition out of the war they're fighting. We supported them when they're in Vietnam. We should support them when they're fighting in Afghanistan, in Iraq, or standing behind you with a rifle and demanding you vote 'yea' on a flag-burning amendment. That's just the way I was raised." The administration called for an immediate vote on its inappropriately named "Kill Congress" legislation, citing an expected Taliban offensive in the spring that the U.S. would be better prepared for when it could "bypass congressional authority and get as many troops as it needs" to stabilize the region. The bill goes to the House on Monday for a vote, where its chore of passing the house should be comparably to last year's "Snowball in Hell" amendment sponsored by insane Senator Zell Miller (D, GA). The White House refused comment to the commune, as per usual. Republican governor of California Arnold Schwarzenegger was contacted just for an amusing quote in his thick accent, but he turned out to be even more unintelligible over the phone than in person, so we scrapped that plan. the commune news wishes the word "coup" sounded more threatening—frankly, it sounds like something adorable is about to happen. Speaking of adorable, we found pictures of a girl who looks just like Lil Duncan on daddyslittlegirl.net. Actually, it was the naughty outfit she was wearing that reminded us of Lil, and the whole thing's pretty disgusting now that we think about it.
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MySpace Premieres in Communist China as OurSpace Pain in the Ass Hawking Demands Handicapped- Accessible Space Shuttle “Blond Highlights the Devil’s Work,” Says Iran, Straight Men Dow Reaches 13,000, Tao Reaches ∞ |
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 September 2, 2002
Volume 24Dear commune:
Me and my friends think your publication is one of the greatest ever made, for real. We are not kidding when we say your news and reporting are top-notch, and your columnists are insightful and not at all ranting weirdoes.
Have you and your brilliant, and we don't mean that sarcastic, staff ever considered making a commune for kids? It's a shame, seriously, that kids grow up with such mainstream tripe like Highlights and Boys' Life and never get the counterculture experience of the commune. You should really do that, for real. Please excuse any misspellings or grammar errors, as it is hard to concentrate with my friends laughing over my shoulder.
Vance Grammett Lynnville, KS
Dear Vance: We have considered a commune for kids, and are working on features for the publication in our spare time at the bar. We plan to include news about school, hot teens, and all the other things that appeal to school kids and strange middle-aged men. Gossip columns on who has cooties, and who gives them. A feature like Goofus and Gallant, where Red Bagel does everything the right way, and his indistinguishable evil twin Rogue Bagel does things the mean and cruel way. Plus games and puzzles, like Guess Where Lil Duncan Woke Up This Morning and Pin the Theft on Bludney Pudd.
Of course, all of this hinges on efforts to clone Red Bagel to produce a childlike version of him to edit...
º Last Column: Volume 23 º more columns
Dear commune: Me and my friends think your publication is one of the greatest ever made, for real. We are not kidding when we say your news and reporting are top-notch, and your columnists are insightful and not at all ranting weirdoes. Have you and your brilliant, and we don't mean that sarcastic, staff ever considered making a commune for kids? It's a shame, seriously, that kids grow up with such mainstream tripe like Highlights and Boys' Life and never get the counterculture experience of the commune. You should really do that, for real. Please excuse any misspellings or grammar errors, as it is hard to concentrate with my friends laughing over my shoulder. Vance Grammett Lynnville, KSDear Vance: We have considered a commune for kids, and are working on features for the publication in our spare time at the bar. We plan to include news about school, hot teens, and all the other things that appeal to school kids and strange middle-aged men. Gossip columns on who has cooties, and who gives them. A feature like Goofus and Gallant, where Red Bagel does everything the right way, and his indistinguishable evil twin Rogue Bagel does things the mean and cruel way. Plus games and puzzles, like Guess Where Lil Duncan Woke Up This Morning and Pin the Theft on Bludney Pudd.
Of course, all of this hinges on efforts to clone Red Bagel to produce a childlike version of him to edit the content. Mr. Bagel feels that no one else but a youthful version of himself could deliver what the kids want in a commune fashion, and the idea is a no-go until technology catches up with us.
A suitable substitute for a children's commune is out there right now, usually sold under the title Rolling Stone. Enjoy, kids!
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the rash of child kidnappings out west. Yoga, coffee enemas, now this—those Californias will try anything for a good time.º Last Column: Volume 23º more columns
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|  February 18, 2002
My Reality Shows Rock HardYou should take a trip into my world some time. I think you'd be pleasantly surprised. Every night before I go to sleep, I close my eyes and stroll into the kingdom of my own imagination, a fuck-yeah world that's like some kind of fantastic movie or something. It's an awesome place. Nobody has to work, nobody has to ride the bus, and all the chicks are alotta hot. Not to mention that they're all over me like, well you know, like hot chicks on a rich guy. But most importantly, in my world, we don't have any of these candy-assed reality shows that you see on TV here. Survivor? The Mole? That crap is for kids who think eating worms is cool. In my world the reality shows rock, and you know they rock hard. Probably the most popular reality show in my world is called Feeb Factor. Imagine this, if you can: How will three different pharma-doped-up old farts with high blood pressure and veins as thin as crepe paper react when they're subjected to increasingly stressful and radical environments? The top tier involves making a mad-dash across a football field with a summer sausage stitched to your throat while a pack of crazed, starving German shepherds are released right on your goddamned heels. Keep in mind that you only get this privilege after you've passed the second-most-gnarly fear test, where everybody has to sleep with this nasty old hooker who's like a potluck of weird sex diseases, only some of which are known to science. Some of the middle levels...
º Last Column: Say What You Will, But I Still Don't Like Midgets º more columns
You should take a trip into my world some time. I think you'd be pleasantly surprised. Every night before I go to sleep, I close my eyes and stroll into the kingdom of my own imagination, a fuck-yeah world that's like some kind of fantastic movie or something. It's an awesome place. Nobody has to work, nobody has to ride the bus, and all the chicks are alotta hot. Not to mention that they're all over me like, well you know, like hot chicks on a rich guy. But most importantly, in my world, we don't have any of these candy-assed reality shows that you see on TV here. Survivor? The Mole? That crap is for kids who think eating worms is cool. In my world the reality shows rock, and you know they rock hard. Probably the most popular reality show in my world is called Feeb Factor. Imagine this, if you can: How will three different pharma-doped-up old farts with high blood pressure and veins as thin as crepe paper react when they're subjected to increasingly stressful and radical environments? The top tier involves making a mad-dash across a football field with a summer sausage stitched to your throat while a pack of crazed, starving German shepherds are released right on your goddamned heels. Keep in mind that you only get this privilege after you've passed the second-most-gnarly fear test, where everybody has to sleep with this nasty old hooker who's like a potluck of weird sex diseases, only some of which are known to science. Some of the middle levels are especially sweet, too. There's one where you glue your face to a wolf's ass and get thrown down a bobsled run wearing only a pair of sneakers. How wicked is that? Or how about the one where you get shot out of a cannon into a gigantic man-made beehive that instead of bees is full of serial killers? Or the one where you have to climb a skyscraper in a hurricane using a rope made of live rats? Holy shit! But to be honest none of the old bastards ever make it past the "parallel parking" test at the beginning. One lady even had a brain aneurysm while they were introducing her to the studio audience. It's a shame, really. But there are some joke challenges they throw in that are pretty killer, like having to run naked into a bank and withdraw $50 to buy some pants. Or one time they stapled all the foges to the studio floor and had them reenact that hilarious "I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!" show from the 80's. The next most popular reality show in my world is called Temptation Island of the Cannibal Sluts. Six average guys are let loose on the island, just looking to score. Only one comes back. Actually, usually none of them come back but it doesn't seem to hurt ratings, and Arby's has a tie-in promotional deal for a pretty choice sandwich. One time a guy came back but he'd just spent the whole time recording birdcalls, I don't know what his problem was. One season they tried doing Temptation Island in Manhattan, with the whole island as the set, but that just got confusing as one guy ended up with a family, another got engaged to a drag queen and the others were all hacked up by the Meat Market Killer. Cool idea though. Another popular reality show in my world is Big Brother, which sounds familiar, but it's actually way cooler than you think. On this one, contestants are assigned an immature, muscle-bound and nearly psychotic older brother who belittles them in front of their friends, pushes them around and tries to score with their girlfriends when they're at band practice. The first one to crack and split open their Big Brother's head with a jack-handle wins. This is one that really hits home. So I don't think you have to waste any time arguing that this world's feeble reality programming can hold any kind of candle to the awesome shit I've got going on in my head. Maybe one day those TV people will wise up and come to me for ideas, but they seem to be the stubborn sort who will have to suffer through some pretty weak ratings before they wise up and decide to cash in the gold mine I've got going on upstairs. Incidentally, the movies in my world kick a lot more ass than the ones here do, too. If you haven't seen Allan Quarterbag and the City of Lost Couch Poofs, or Fuzzbumbers in Paradise, and I'm thinking you haven't since they've only played out on the vast theater screen in my imagination, you truly haven't enjoyed film. Sucks to be you, but you have my condolences. º Last Column: Say What You Will, But I Still Don't Like Midgetsº more columns
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Quote of the Day“If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it must be Microsoft's new Futuretron 3000 Duck Simulator. That's almost a duck!”
-Rodney CheesesteakFortune 500 CookieWhen kicking out at opponents this week, aim for the nuts—always a good strategy. It's time to let that baby shark go home to its mama; it's been two years and you've got to take a bath sometime. Look forward this week to a final showdown with your mortal nemesis, Weezer. But watch out for the Rentals to intervene.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Heavy Petting: When Fat People Make Out | | 2. | Review: Give 'Em Hell, Harry Houdini | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Pure Stallion Dog Food | | 4. | Six College Courses for Retards and Sorority Girls | | 5. | Critics' Corner: Whatever Brad Pitt's in Sucks | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Anderson Jeans 1/24/2005 VietNAMBLANobody loves a weird-ass.
That's the lesson of Vietnam, when you boil it all down. All the napalm, choppers, unintelligible macho screaming and ping-pong recede into a garish blur one day and only that truth remains. I learned it the hard way. In Vietnam.
It was a cold January morning in Phu Bai and I was out on patrol with little Marky Jujitz, a four-foot-tall paratrooper from Pine Hive, Arkansas. Jujitz was a spastic, both in personality and in medical reality. He could talk faster than a broke man in a cathouse, and he could juggle cats. Or maybe more correctly he had to juggle cats. If there were cats in the room, or sometimes even in the neighborhood, Marky couldn't sit still until those cats were flying through the air all at once, screaming and...
Nobody loves a weird-ass.
That's the lesson of Vietnam, when you boil it all down. All the napalm, choppers, unintelligible macho screaming and ping-pong recede into a garish blur one day and only that truth remains. I learned it the hard way. In Vietnam.
It was a cold January morning in Phu Bai and I was out on patrol with little Marky Jujitz, a four-foot-tall paratrooper from Pine Hive, Arkansas. Jujitz was a spastic, both in personality and in medical reality. He could talk faster than a broke man in a cathouse, and he could juggle cats. Or maybe more correctly he had to juggle cats. If there were cats in the room, or sometimes even in the neighborhood, Marky couldn't sit still until those cats were flying through the air all at once, screaming and pissing on the ceiling. According to the story, Jujitz was barred from every pet store and veterinary hospital back in Pine Hive, they even had his picture up. Marky's great regret about being sent to Vietnam was that he had been two weeks into veterinary school at the time, having finally found a loophole that would allow him to handle cats without raising suspicion. They only gave the students dead cats, but Jujitz didn't care. They were easier to juggle.
I told Jujitz to hang back while I took a Vietnamese leak. Marky watched the road for paparazzi as the tendrils of steam curled and peeled away from my piss stream in the bracing Vietnamese cold. It had to be at least 74 degrees out there.
I guess Jujitz only anticipated paparazzi coming from the North, because he never even looked up the road the other way and was run over by a supply truck while I was out pissing. So there you go, requiem for a weird-ass Arkansas spazz midget.
My one salvation inside the gaping maw of wet, jungle hell was Sing-Li, a beautiful Vietnamese woman I met in Saigon and married right before I got my walking papers. She was the only thing pure and good I took out of that godforsaken hellhole, and only thanks to her did I return with my humanity intact.
Some time after we got back to America, I was embarrassed to discover that my wife was actually a 14-year-old Vietnamese boy. What the fuck kind of country is it where they name a boy Sing? Seemed pretty girly to me, even by Asian standards. That's when I finally understood what they meant by the saying, "Vietnam is Hell."
Now I was married to a 14-year-old foreign boy, and worse, I was starting to get NAMBLA flyers in the mail. Those guys are like magic, it's amazing. I could have used that kind of perceptiveness back in 'Nam.
Things got a little uncomfortable for a while there, until Sing got run over by a supply truck on his way to school one day. Turns out I should have taught him about sidewalks, one of the many differences between Vietnam and America.
It was a cold September morning in Planey, no comfort to be found in the relentless powder blue sky. The cruel realities of Vietnam and life bloomed across my mind as I rolled slowly past Sing's poorly-attended funeral, then peeled out and drove to Arby's.
Nobody loves a weird-ass.
For more of this great story, buy Anderson Jeans'
VietNAMBLA   |