| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='I’m Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$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='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0912/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0912/';
$renttitle='Way Inside Jokes';
$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='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
 April 25, 2005 |
The spankin'-new pontiff practices his "give it up for God" cheer, a welcome change from his previous "Heil Jesus" hand salute.
Responding to accusations of being a fascist, Ratzinger addressed his Nazi history and reassured detractors he was generally against the extermination of non-Catholics. In memoirs, Ratzinger described being "forced" into joining the Hitler Youth against his will as a youngster in Nazi-fied German...
he newest pope has been elected and chosen the name Pope Benedict XVI, and already the supreme being of Catholicism has taken a fierce stance against faded fascist groups by renouncing his own brief history with the Hitler Youth. In the world's entire Catholic population, it would seem to be an easy task to find one respectable cardinal who wasn't previously involved with the Nazi party, but apparently Joseph Ratzinger of Germany has some inside dish that landed him in the pope seat.
Responding to accusations of being a fascist, Ratzinger addressed his Nazi history and reassured detractors he was generally against the extermination of non-Catholics. In memoirs, Ratzinger described being "forced" into joining the Hitler Youth against his will as a youngster in Nazi-fied Germany. He left to study for the priesthood, aided by his anti-Nazi family (who kept their anti-Nazism secret), but was drafted into the army in 1943, where he put his hate for fascism to work foiling the Nazi machine from the inside, until he deserted and arranged capture by U.S. troops before moving on in fascism-free Germany to become a priest.
Ratzinger renewed his fight against Nazism Thursday, answering challenges from those who opposed his Popedome.
"I have always been an enemy of fascism in all its forms," said the Pope. "And I look forward to laying down a rigid doctrine of Catholicism, the one true religion, to be obeyed by one and all."
The selection of Pope Benedict came in the wake of the death of Pope John Paul II, who some sources only at the commune claim is still alive and has been taken into hiding by Vatican officials. Why? So a younger, fresh pope of Bel-Air could reinvigorate the stagnating Catholic church.
Pope Benedict has been an advisor of the late/missing Pope John Paul for years, and an opponent of reform within the Vatican. As Ratzinger, his secret pre-Pope identity, he argued against such church-devastating movements as religious pluralism, gay rights, feminism, communism, and liberation theology, which argues that the church should play an active role in politics of change.
Before his election, Ratzinger lectured the selection committee on "relativism" in the Catholic Church, and dedication to principle was unfairly labeled "fundamentalism."
"We are moving toward a dictatorship of relativism which does not recognize anything as for certain and which has as its highest goal one's own ego and one's own desires." Then, the officials still elected him.
As the new pope, Benedict compared efforts to change and reform the church to following whims and fads, and ended his early speeches by extending his arm and shouting a rousing, "Hail the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!" He was then asked by Vatican consultants to not ever do so again.
Theologians believed the selection of Ratzinger a clear attempt to distance the modern Catholic Church from the hedonistic reign of Polish Pope John Paul II.
"The 'anything goes' days of the old pope are gone," said professor of Theology at the Newark University Norm Chauncey, whom this reporter interviewed for strictly vindictive reasons. "The Church was obviously sick of becoming the laughing stock of the world, out of touch with the rigid morality of the modern era and its uncompromising dedication to religion. What better way to bring the wayward back to the fold than to force closer adherence to the guidelines set for Catholics in the 1960s?"
Thanking the professor, this reporter then went home and reaffirmed his commitment to atheism. the commune news personally would have gone with a way out-of-left-field choice for Pope, like Bob Newhart, but nobody asked us—and, yeah, we're a little hurt by that. Religiphobic Raoul Dunkin, King of the Tampons, if we were still giving him titles, seemed a perfect choice to cover the Catholic Church, given we don't like him.
 |
Anything can be microwaved instead of cooked, says lazy bastard
Diamond price-fixing keeping poor out of diamond market
Cat hunting legalized in Madison, WI; dog insulting still morally nebulous
Lawmakers: Blogs are protected, self-indulgent, whiny speech
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Venezuela Adds Itself to ‘Axis of Evil’ he so-called ‘Axis of Evil,’ which now has more points than a pinwheel, took on another member when the forgettable South American country of Venezuela added itself to the roster of anti-U.S. countries this week. The announcement was made in the most awkward fashion, when President Victor Chavez made allegations that the United States has made plans to invade Venezuela soon. How soon? Chavez didn’t pinpoint a date, but said the invasion would happen imminently. According to Chavez, the U.S. has been planning to invade his country for some time, and he has proof, although he didn’t exactly present it to anybody. The most precise allegation made by Chavez cited “invasion training maneuvers” being made in his country by CIA operatives, who apparently weren’t in Venezuela for one of their thousands of monthly beauty pageants. Orleans Refugees at Home in Disneyland’s French Quarter efugees from the New Orleans disaster were thrilled this week by the news that Mayor Ray Nagin plans to re-open large parts of the city as early as today, allowing the many refugees spread across the American South like spilled milk to finally return home. The decision to return, however, is not so easy for the small number of lucky refugees who were relocated to the French Quarter section of the Disneyland theme park in Anaheim, California during the first days of flooding. “This is great, it’s like being back home, except Disneyer!” gushed socialite Anita Bomes, thrilled with her new New Orleans, a quaint miniature version of the city located near a fake lake that, to date, has never flooded. “Blond Highlights the Devil’s Work,” Says Iran, Straight Men Dow Reaches 13,000, Tao Reaches ∞ |
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 November 1, 2004
Barf Like You Mean ItDid I mention I had to break down and get a job? Yeah, turns out the New Mexican tit isn't as milky as I had assumed and they actually expect me to drag my own load here. What a bummer. But the upshot is that I'm not entirely sure what it is I do at my new job. Hard to get too stressed out when you have no idea what's going on.
I'm working for a company that makes the nameplates that go on a certain brand of walkers for the elderly. I couldn't make that up. I'm in the office, but downstairs there's a warehouse full of boxes of little metal tags that say "GERIATRIX" on them. I wandered down there once when I was trying to find the can and it was like remembering a Twilight Zone episode where you can't quite remember what the twist was. But I did survive my brief foray across the white-collar/blue-collar divide, possibly because my fuchsia shirt denoted me as a neutral party.
I definitely started here on the right week, since yesterday I just got paid to attend the company picnic. The pic-a-nic (I've been possessed by the spirit of Yogi Bear lately) was a raging blast, before it was over the lawn was soaked with keg beer and vomit. Frumpy CEOs and buttoned-down executive-types got naked and rode the mechanical bull, which turned out to actually be the third-shift supervisor from shipping. There was a contest to see who could hit a marshmallow the furthest with a golf club, and traffic was stopped on I-25 due to an unusually heavy marshmallow...
º Last Column: I Was Born to Love This Song
º more columns
Did I mention I had to break down and get a job? Yeah, turns out the New Mexican tit isn't as milky as I had assumed and they actually expect me to drag my own load here. What a bummer. But the upshot is that I'm not entirely sure what it is I do at my new job. Hard to get too stressed out when you have no idea what's going on.
I'm working for a company that makes the nameplates that go on a certain brand of walkers for the elderly. I couldn't make that up. I'm in the office, but downstairs there's a warehouse full of boxes of little metal tags that say "GERIATRIX" on them. I wandered down there once when I was trying to find the can and it was like remembering a Twilight Zone episode where you can't quite remember what the twist was. But I did survive my brief foray across the white-collar/blue-collar divide, possibly because my fuchsia shirt denoted me as a neutral party.
I definitely started here on the right week, since yesterday I just got paid to attend the company picnic. The pic-a-nic (I've been possessed by the spirit of Yogi Bear lately) was a raging blast, before it was over the lawn was soaked with keg beer and vomit. Frumpy CEOs and buttoned-down executive-types got naked and rode the mechanical bull, which turned out to actually be the third-shift supervisor from shipping. There was a contest to see who could hit a marshmallow the furthest with a golf club, and traffic was stopped on I-25 due to an unusually heavy marshmallow coating in the right three lanes. I ate three chicken sandwiches and an orange dreamsicle, then spent the rest of the afternoon practicing stomach-stretching yoga postures to keep food from squirting out when I opened my mouth to speak. Viva la picnic!
My access card stopped working today. I feared for a second that Big Brother may have made me an unperson for my transgressions against the greater good, but it turns out there's just a server down. This seems to only effect me, so it makes me feel pretty cool to think that I have my own server. I wonder if it could bring me a club soda? *ding ding* Stewardess!
So far I've gotten in twice with other people, and once I snuck to the back door and did the secret knock and some Hispanic guy let me in. Next time, I'm going over the wall with both guns blazing. Either that or I'll just hang around by the door until someone with a working card decides to go in. Still undecided on that one.
So between the pic-a-nic thing and the access card thing, so far I've managed to go three days without learning what my actual job is here. I'm hoping to make it a month, but hey, you know I like to dream big. And in two hours I have my half-hour nap, which should seem like a thick, juicy, two-pound steak to an underfed Ethiopian boy. Come to think of it though, I could also go for a thick, juicy, two-pound steak, which would seem like a long nap to someone who stayed up too late bowling last night.
Tonight it's me and the bed 'til the cows come home. Then, it's me, the bed, and the cows. The possibilities are needless. I mean Endless. Yeah. But seriously, the thing that gets me through the day is remembering that no matter how long the day is, I know that it will end with me naked in bed, with about a half-dozen codfish. Wait a minute.
Though Mr. Timeclock tells me that I have an extra 15 minutes from Monday (though I think this is bullshit and I have at least an extra hour, but it's not been good to argue with Mr. Timeclock since his wife left him, he can be a little rough around the edges), so I should be able to cut out of here like a pair of retarded left-handed scissors at 5:15, for an arrival time at Umbrage International Apartment of 5:35pm. And you can be sure my tray tables will be in their upright and locked position (any idea how to get the tray tables DOWN in my car?) and I most certainly won't be locked in the lavatory, smoking a blunt and leafing through a porno magazine, with my socks hung over the smoke detector, muffling its cries for help.
God, I hope that clock isn't fast. And I hope a guy in a big fiberglass Droopy Dog suit gets elected president and his inaugural speech consists of grabbing the microphone in both oversized paws and shouting "LET'S GET LOOOOOADED!!"
We've all got to hope. º Last Column: I Was Born to Love This Songº more columns
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|  December 8, 2003
Pure Garbage"As Jerry Springer said when announcing he was about to have dinner with a loyal viewer, 'It's time to take out the trash.'"
Is there a real Tony Soprano? I'm just asking because my neighbor says he knows him. And I've seen the TV show before and I don't want to get on the bad side of this guy if my neighbor goes mouthing off to him like he threatened to. Either way I guess it's in my best interest to stop throwing the garbage into the hall.
Garbage men are like Winston Churchill: They get no respect. A bunch of guys whose job it is to ride around on the back of a truck. That's the only highlight of their day. Then they have to haul your messy garbage to the truck and dump it in the back. In some cases. In other cases, the truck can do all the work. They hire Transformers or something, I don't know, but sometimes I watch through the blinds and see the truck pull up and the garbage can is lifted up by robot arms and dumped in the back. I always wonder what happened to the garbage men. I guess the real question is, is it a friendly Transformer or one of the evil ones? Like the Tony Soprano thing, I don't care to find out.
Being a garbage man is the worst job in the world. That's what I told myself when I was working at Trojan as a condom taster, and I stand by it. Sure, I went home feeling weird at the end of a long shift and you can't really get the taste of banana-flavored rubber out of your mouth, but at least only my tongue was...
º Last Column: Eat the Dog
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"As Jerry Springer said when announcing he was about to have dinner with a loyal viewer, 'It's time to take out the trash.'"
Is there a real Tony Soprano? I'm just asking because my neighbor says he knows him. And I've seen the TV show before and I don't want to get on the bad side of this guy if my neighbor goes mouthing off to him like he threatened to. Either way I guess it's in my best interest to stop throwing the garbage into the hall.
Garbage men are like Winston Churchill: They get no respect. A bunch of guys whose job it is to ride around on the back of a truck. That's the only highlight of their day. Then they have to haul your messy garbage to the truck and dump it in the back. In some cases. In other cases, the truck can do all the work. They hire Transformers or something, I don't know, but sometimes I watch through the blinds and see the truck pull up and the garbage can is lifted up by robot arms and dumped in the back. I always wonder what happened to the garbage men. I guess the real question is, is it a friendly Transformer or one of the evil ones? Like the Tony Soprano thing, I don't care to find out.
Being a garbage man is the worst job in the world. That's what I told myself when I was working at Trojan as a condom taster, and I stand by it. Sure, I went home feeling weird at the end of a long shift and you can't really get the taste of banana-flavored rubber out of your mouth, but at least only my tongue was worn out. With being a garbage man, that's probably a worse smell, and you have to move a lot. At least at the condom tasting job the other guy was the one doing all the moving.
What's even worse about being a garbage man, people always use you in negative examples. Some shithead kid doesn't do his homework and all of a sudden his mom is threatening to give your job to him. That mom better watch out. 'Cause if she's right and the kid becomes her garbage man one day, I bet she'll never get any furniture or boxes taken away. And the kid will be lapping it up. "I'm sorry, ma'am, that refrigerator box isn't officially in the dumpster, so we're not allowed to take it. Fuck you, mom. You should have shelled out the money for a tutor if you wanted your boxes picked up."
I wonder if you can even pick up garbage on your own home route, or if they assign you to some other route on purpose. Like it's a conflict of interest or something. Like a doctor can't operate on her own son. The garbage manager stops the guy as he's on the way out the door, all like, "I'm assigning you another route, Bill. You're too close to this case." That would be pretty cool, I guess. The other highlight of the job. Then you're right up in the ranks with doctors and lawyers. Because if your mom comes into the Burger King and wants a Whopper, you still have to wait on her. No matter how much she's making fun of you.
There's got to be some mobility in being a garbage man. Better routes or something. Like if you get in good with the boss or get a lot of letters of recommendation from people on your route, you can get reassigned to the rich people's routes or something. The kind of routes where people just throw out hundred dollar bills because they got dirty and shit. But then you probably couldn't even take them. Some kind of garbage collectors' code I don't know about. You see perfectly good sea food lying right on top, not even dirty, but you're bound by honor not to eat it. That's gotta suck.
There's so much I don't know. º Last Column: Eat the Dogº more columns
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Quote of the Day“They say you are what you eat, which is precisely why I ate fine young Bernard. Though I regret to report that I feel largely unchanged, except for the part about being in prison and having a permanent case of indigestion.”
-Percy "The Cannibal" DandridgeFortune 500 CookieNobody knows the trouble you've seen, and you'll keep it that way if you know what's good for ya, bub. Try mixing your unique brand of illiterate rage with random fits of giggling this week. People hate it when you bring your own records to be played on the jukebox—it's just a soda joint, asshole. This week's lucky piercings: throat, spleen, tear duct, tooth.
Try again later.Top Amish Profanities| 1. | God look upon that hammer with a distainful eye! | | 2. | Shnnniiggrrleeeppf! | | 3. | I wouldn't mind raising 35 slightly inbred children with that woman. | | 4. | May your beard itch. | | 5. | Cock-Fucking Bitch of a Basket! | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Stefan Myer-Wiener 1/27/2012 TweenightIt had been the world's most boring flight to Big, Oregon and I hated every minute of it. The old lady sitting next to me wouldn't even listen to me telling her about my stamp collection, all she wanted to do was watch gay porn on her laptop. It would be another super-dull summer in Sporks. I've been coming to Sporks ever since I was the world's most naĂŻve five-year-old. My dad and my mom split up when I was just a baby, and unlike most kids, I have a lot of sadness over it.
Dad picked me up at the airport, after bringing back the hot chick he thought was me and apologizing several times. Lawsuits are the worst. We talked about stupid stuff on the way to drive out to Sporks, the weather, how I liked school, how he lost both arms and his nose when a bomb went off in his...
It had been the world's most boring flight to Big, Oregon and I hated every minute of it. The old lady sitting next to me wouldn't even listen to me telling her about my stamp collection, all she wanted to do was watch gay porn on her laptop. It would be another super-dull summer in Sporks. I've been coming to Sporks ever since I was the world's most naĂŻve five-year-old. My dad and my mom split up when I was just a baby, and unlike most kids, I have a lot of sadness over it.
Dad picked me up at the airport, after bringing back the hot chick he thought was me and apologizing several times. Lawsuits are the worst. We talked about stupid stuff on the way to drive out to Sporks, the weather, how I liked school, how he lost both arms and his nose when a bomb went off in his face. I kept trying to tell him about the things that were bothering me, like the tag on inside of my shirt that keeps scratching that soft skin around my neck. Same old dad. He just didn't show any interest in anything I said.
When school started, it was even worse. All of the girls didn't want anything to do with me. I guess they all have money, all of them carry designer Trapper Keepers and wear the newest clogs. Mine are from last year. Mom makes a lot of money but she makes me wear second-hand clothes and get my hair done at the Dollar Salon because she says girls without money are much easier to relate to. Dad told me I can't go to the Dollar Salon anymore, unless my rich mother wants to pay for it, I'll have to cut my own hair in the car mirror.
So I was all alone, without a friend in the world, a virtual outcast in a brand new high school. I tried to tell mom I didn't like it here in Sporks, that I wanted to come home, and she just kept asking why school was in session during the summer. I can't talk to her. I'm all alone.
Or I was alone—until I met the new boy, Tedwin.
From the first time we saw each other in the cafeteria I was drawn to him. None of the other kids want anything to do with him. It's like he's an outcast, just like me. Everyone is turned off by the fact that he's so quiet, and that he looks like a male supermodel. Between that strange pale color and the fact all the girls and a lot of the guys want to have sex with him, he's got to be the most enigmatic outsider in all of this school, and this school is about 95% outsiders, you know. Oh, I forgot about Bleedin' Tits Pete. That guys like a super-outsider, but no one is drawn to him.
My dad forgot to pick me up at school one afternoon, sometimes I slip his mind when he finished having sex with my art teacher. So I was stuck walking home. I was heading down Puberty Road and most of the cars were passing me, but to my surprise, Tedwin pulled up on a sleek motorcycle, the kind all the cool mysterious outsiders drive.
"You're Bona… aren't you?" he said enigmatically. I nodded shyly, because I really got nothing else in my arsenal. He looked into the sky, in the distance, where they keep it, and noticed the sun was going down. It seemed to kind of worry him. "Are you… going home?"
I told him about my dad's forgetting to pick me up, and how my fish sometimes eats the whole leaf of lettuce but yesterday she didn't, and he gave me a smile. He asked where I lived, and I told him, and then I told him most people like Miracle Whip, but I think mayonnaise is actually better. He agreed—I've never had someone who listened to me before. And he was oddly beautiful, for a male supermodel outsider.
"I'll give you a ride, Bona." I got on the back of his motorcycle, hugging extra close to him for sexiness. It felt good to have another heart beating so close to mine. Other hearts feel best when they're inside finely carved pecs.
When we got to my house, we stayed up for hours, sitting on the porch. His family seemed just as screwed up as mind, all they ever did was nitpick and bite on each other. Both of his parents were dead, he told me, but he said they still tried to make time to see him now and then. I told him about my talent for counting words in sentences that are spoken to me (we used six-hundred and forty-two!) and my entire set of Suddenly Susan on DVD. He eventually looked outside and saw it was night, then got up to leave in a hurry. I noticed he was kind of… glowing.
"Bona… you're the most fascinating person I've ever met," he said, and I noticed he was nibbling at something in his hand. "I want to see you again… but I can't."
"You can't leave me without telling me why, Tedwin," I told him. "Even though we've only known each other for two hours, I've fallen in love with you. I think you love me, too. Tedwin— listen to me! Stop eating while I'm talking to you…!"
I smacked his hand and his food fell to the floor. It looked like… but I wasn't completely sure… brains?
"Tedwin," I said with a little gasp. "Are you… a zombie?"   |
