| 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';
?> | 
Power Outage Tied to Cheney Personal ExcessesSeptember 1, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol Cheney attempts to quell accusations of blackout causement during his recent Zoo-TV tour.
It ended a troubling week for the Vice President, whose office was accused of holding out information on an energy probe Monday by refusing to turn over documents vital to the investigation. The General Accounting Office reported the administration met with a succession of energy lobbyists, to the complete and total surprise of Americans everywhere, but the extent of corporate involvement in energy policymaking could not be verif...
he White House, home of the White, faced a major embarrassment this week when a release by the president's private probe into the power failures of two weeks ago pointed to a most uncomfortable source—Dick. Indeed, Vice President Dick Cheney was singled out as the leading cause of the energy problem that left multiple states in periods of blackout.
It ended a troubling week for the Vice President, whose office was accused of holding out information on an energy probe Monday by refusing to turn over documents vital to the investigation. The General Accounting Office reported the administration met with a succession of energy lobbyists, to the complete and total surprise of Americans everywhere, but the extent of corporate involvement in energy policymaking could not be verified without the documents withheld by the Vice President.
The latest revelation of Cheney's involvement in energy problems could adversely affect his position on the 2004 Republican ticket. The president's probe, inserted deep inside the problem, made note of several private excesses that may have led to the undue strain on the northeastern power grids. Cheney officials confirmed Friday that the Vice President's quarters in the White House is the only one plugged into the northeastern power grid, pointing out that the Vice President's power needs "cannot be satisfied by the piddlin'-ass power grid currently supplying the D.C. area."
One of the power offenses Cheney is accused of includes the employ of an industrial-grade air conditioner used solely for the Vice President's bedroom. Some say the personal air conditioner is the only 90-million BTU unit made for personal use. Vice Presidential spokesperson Canton Canby only responded to the allegation by claiming, "The VP likes to walk around naked."
Close investigation by the probe, under the guidance of Neilson "Soft Crust" Reilly, revealed that virtually nothing in the Vice President's White House quarters were not temperature-regulated. His personal pool and hot tub were heated, and his private work-out room, never used, we can guess, was cooled. Documentation also proves the VP had his sauna air conditioned and his refrigerator heated, as the best way to keep balanced temperatures to all things. Personal assistant Canby did not find the temperature regulation obsession strange.
"Well, maybe to the working man that sounds like an odd thing, but I know if I were doing work as important as the Vice President, I certainly wouldn't want to be worried about how hot or cold my fridge needed to be to enjoy a frosty beverage when I got home from the Middle East or wherever he's gone off to."
Among the more alarming findings of the probe were hospital-grade shock paddles. Canby, now sweating and in need of an industrial-strength air conditioner himself, found nothing odd about the frequently-used paddles, employed by the VP sometimes up to six times a day.
"What? So you got to be dead to want a charge from those things? There's no law says you got to be dead. The Vice President got used to the jump start you get from absorbing electricity straight into the body. There's no law against it and at the time we weren't under orders to conserve energy. Get off the guy's back. Sometimes his heart needs a little warning blast to know to keep doing its job, if it knows what's good for it."
Canby refused to answer further questions on the probe's accusations, waiting to receive the results from a probe conducted by the Vice President's wife, Lynn Cheney, under the objective to find out who left all these lights on in here. the commune news has decided to help out the energy crisis by no longer referring to it as an energy crisis, but as the president prefers, "a shortage o' sparkage." Ramrod Hurley… hmm. Yeah, we heard the question. Ramrod Hurley. Wow. We'll have to get back to you on that.
 |
Media fascination with online dating inexplicably soars
 Global Warming Poses Threat to National Parks, Says WWF's "Machoman" Savage
Oliver Stone arrested for drug possession, knowing too much
 Poison Probe Reveals 90% of Packaged Foods Actually Dog Food |
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. “Blond Highlights the Devil’s Work,” Says Iran, Straight Men Dow Reaches 13,000, Tao Reaches ∞ |
| |
| 
 October 15, 2001
All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth, and a Robotic DinosaurEvery year when Christmas rolls around, kids everywhere are treated to the months of anticipation and hours of fun that only a really awesome Christmas present can bring. Unless they get a robot dog that's retarded.
Last year for Christmas I got a retarded robot dog. It doesn't do anything cool. I was hoping that my robot dog would have heat vision or at least be able to curse in French, but all it does is eat puppy food and pee on the couch. I told my mom and dad that we should check the instructions, because they probably put the batteries in backwards. That happened one year when I got the Hot Wheels Detailing Shop for Christmas and it started smoking and caught the drapes on fire. That wasn't such a big deal though since Billy Doogan down the street got the same thing and his Hot Wheels always looked lame after that, he could never get the paint to go on smooth and all of his cars looked like they were fresh out of a burn ward. But last year I was excited about the robot dog so I thought we should check the directions. My mom and dad said that Santa hadn't brought any directions but I think they were just afraid of being wrong again, like the year I wanted the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers video and it turned out dad got confused and got me Nightly Muff'n Pussy Rangers instead. Dad thought we should just keep it but mom made him take it back and get the right one.
So last year I was stuck with a retarded robot dog that probably had the batteries...
º Last Column: Where the Fuck's Jesus?
º more columns
Every year when Christmas rolls around, kids everywhere are treated to the months of anticipation and hours of fun that only a really awesome Christmas present can bring. Unless they get a robot dog that's retarded.
Last year for Christmas I got a retarded robot dog. It doesn't do anything cool. I was hoping that my robot dog would have heat vision or at least be able to curse in French, but all it does is eat puppy food and pee on the couch. I told my mom and dad that we should check the instructions, because they probably put the batteries in backwards. That happened one year when I got the Hot Wheels Detailing Shop for Christmas and it started smoking and caught the drapes on fire. That wasn't such a big deal though since Billy Doogan down the street got the same thing and his Hot Wheels always looked lame after that, he could never get the paint to go on smooth and all of his cars looked like they were fresh out of a burn ward. But last year I was excited about the robot dog so I thought we should check the directions. My mom and dad said that Santa hadn't brought any directions but I think they were just afraid of being wrong again, like the year I wanted the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers video and it turned out dad got confused and got me Nightly Muff'n Pussy Rangers instead. Dad thought we should just keep it but mom made him take it back and get the right one.
So last year I was stuck with a retarded robot dog that probably had the batteries in backwards. Or maybe it's just deflective from the factory, but something's definitely wrong. My friend Carl Washbaum got a deflective Poo-Chi for his birthday one time and all it would do was rub it's butt on the floor while it made the noise from electronic battleship, and mine is at least ten times more screwed up than his. I even think that mine's getting bigger, which is definitely not supposed to happen. If it keeps this up, pretty soon I won't be able to close the lid on my toybox.
At least Carl's deflective Poo-Chi was fun for a while. We used to hide it under his older sister's bed and she would run around, looking for her cell phone every time it went off. Mine just makes whining noises and chews on an old tennis shoe. And if you thought a Tamagotchi had to be fed a lot, you obviously have never owned a retarded robot dog.
My parents thought I might have fun with my robot dog if I taught it to do some tricks. Billy Doogan has a robot parrot that he taught to say "Fuck You Asshole" just like in Terminator so I thought my robot dog might be able to do some cool tricks too. But unless you consider crapping on the kitchen floor to be a real special trick, my robot dog just plain sucks at tricks. No "Simon Says", no adapter to connect to my Nintendo 64, nothing. I did see him eat a potato beetle over by the pantry one time but I'm having a hard time figuring out how to impress my friends with that one.
It's hard not getting your butt kicked at school when you're missing a front tooth and you whistle when you say "Miss Spankenauber" in class. Everybody thinks you have a crush on the teacher and that means serious underwear violations. Richie Turner really does have a crush on Miss Spankenauber, but his dad brought him a GameCube from Japan last month so he's pretty much untouchable.
If you think a lousy retarded robot dog is going to keep me from coming home with snapped underwear elastic and that it's going to restore my status among my classmates, you're sorely mistaken. At this point, there's only one thing that's going to set things right: a robot dinosaur.
A robot dinosaur would be bound to do some awesome tricks, and probably could eat other kids' robot pets alive. Maybe even other kids. And I bet it could do my homework, too, or at least scare Miss Spankenauber into giving me less workbook pages to do every night. And I'm sure it's got some kind of flashcard mode or some kind of educational thing going on somewhere in there, easily making it a better choice than that lame-o "LearnCo Systems Tutoring Funputer" that I know my parents have been looking at. And I'd be willing to bet you never have to mash up a heartworm pill into a robot dinosaur's food every night. º Last Column: Where the Fuck's Jesus?º more columns
| 
|  June 15, 2001
I Will Destroy the People Living in My TrashAs some of you may know, I'm now at war with the people who live in my trash. This is nothing unexpected, nor is it anything new. For years the people living in my trash have been casually testing the boundaries and pushing the envelope; now they've finally pushes Rokwell T. Finger too far.
It started innocently enough. I found people living in my trash—this was around 1967—and was at first a little startled, alarmed, and even disturbed about it. Was it due to society's injustice or the imbalances in our distribution of wealth? Fortunately, soon after I turned Republican and realized the smarmy people live in my trash because they want to. This solved my immediate moral dilemma, but the fact was I still had people living in my trash and it wasn't too appealing a thought.
Over the years I've tried everything. I offered to get them a hotel room; drive them to the dump where there was a megalopolis of refuse to inhabit; I even fixed up my neighbor's trash with gift baskets and other tempting items, all to no avail. These people were particularly fond of my trash.
The '80s became a real trial, and for a while I thought I was winning the war—one of them even passed away, leaving only three men and a woman living in my garbage. But as the '80s progressed they only seemed to irritate me more, feathering their hair with my mousse and watching through the window as I watched such delightful television staples as "ALF," and "Cheers,"...
º Last Column: The Joker
º more columns
As some of you may know, I'm now at war with the people who live in my trash. This is nothing unexpected, nor is it anything new. For years the people living in my trash have been casually testing the boundaries and pushing the envelope; now they've finally pushes Rokwell T. Finger too far. It started innocently enough. I found people living in my trash—this was around 1967—and was at first a little startled, alarmed, and even disturbed about it. Was it due to society's injustice or the imbalances in our distribution of wealth? Fortunately, soon after I turned Republican and realized the smarmy people live in my trash because they want to. This solved my immediate moral dilemma, but the fact was I still had people living in my trash and it wasn't too appealing a thought. Over the years I've tried everything. I offered to get them a hotel room; drive them to the dump where there was a megalopolis of refuse to inhabit; I even fixed up my neighbor's trash with gift baskets and other tempting items, all to no avail. These people were particularly fond of my trash. The '80s became a real trial, and for a while I thought I was winning the war—one of them even passed away, leaving only three men and a woman living in my garbage. But as the '80s progressed they only seemed to irritate me more, feathering their hair with my mousse and watching through the window as I watched such delightful television staples as "ALF," and "Cheers," and "We've Got it Maid." These bums were pushing me! Through the '90s they mellowed out some, except for that harsh period where grunge was popular, where they seemed to multiply into dozens of trash-dwelling people. But when that was over with, they were back to the three men, though the woman disappeared, perhaps gone on to follow the Dead or become a biker's mama or some such counterculture schtick. But last weekend we got off to a bad start for the new century as several items from my personal belongings turned up missing, including a pair of shoes, a camel tweed jacket, and a Kiss T-shirt that's particularly valuable to me now that it's a collector's item. On top of that, a new company has taken over the trash pickup and they refuse to pick up refuse while people dwell in it! And of course, the homeless aren't worried about it all, laughing it up like a Sunday brunch. And yesterday morning, I spied on them while they slept and—wouldn't you know what one of them seems to have found? A camel tweed jacket! I'm not kidding, good people. All I await is evidence they have my prized Peter Criss T-shirt and I'm going to go apeshit on these vagrants. You watch. This will be an explosion and Rok Finger will come out untouched. After thirty-three years, I'd say we're due. I have to go—one of them is peeing on my cat. I'll keep you updated. º Last Column: The Jokerº more columns
|
| |
Quote of the Day“History is written by Jonathan Winters.”
-Germaine "Double Dip" ProverbFortune 500 CookieFor God's sake, don't climb up in that porcupine tree. Sorry, being optimistic still won't get you a discount on eyeglasses. Remember, "lambast" is neither a compliment nor a veterinary term. This week, you will find love where you least expected it: up the ass. Your lucky disguise: a giant plastic toucan.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Six College Courses for Retards and Sorority Girls | | 2. | Tanks: Why Can't We Drive 'Em? | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Pure Gristle Hamburgers | | 4. | Music Piracy: Are You a Fucking Thief? | | 5. | Critic's Corner: The Sailboat My Husband Painted | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/4/2002 Holy washed-up franchise, Batman! It's Oscar season and no lisping game bird is going to convince Roland McShyster otherwise. Pay no heed to the lies about Christmastime, the most magical time of the year is truly upon us. So let's get coked up to the gills and revel in the joy that is the month before the Oscars!
Here's your dossier on the bewildering list of nominees:
Best Picture
A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
This film touched me in much the same way as last year's Requiem for a Dreamcast. Both were films made me stand up and shout back at the void: "Now THOSE are some...
Holy washed-up franchise, Batman! It's Oscar season and no lisping game bird is going to convince Roland McShyster otherwise. Pay no heed to the lies about Christmastime, the most magical time of the year is truly upon us. So let's get coked up to the gills and revel in the joy that is the month before the Oscars! Here's your dossier on the bewildering list of nominees: Best PictureA Beautiful Mime -read EP review-This film touched me in much the same way as last year's Requiem for a Dreamcast. Both were films made me stand up and shout back at the void: "Now THOSE are some tits!" Powerful filmmaking that has given me a new taste for women of few words… who let the cleavage do the talking. I advise you to let it change your world some time soon.
Goosefart Park
Those loveable Animal House morons are back, and this time they're stuck at a quaint Country Inn in the small English town of Goosefart Park. A surprise pick for a Best Picture nomination, but you'll be hard-pressed to find a film this year with more beaver jokes. There's a lot of raunchy humour for the whole family, but this isn't a one-sided farce. The film also brings home the important life lesson that England is stupid.
In the Bedroom
It's a bold statement, but this is probably the best film ever based on a Cream song. To be honest, I didn't understand the movie any better than I understood the tune, (psychedelic interior decorating tips? And who buys black curtains these days?) but regardless, this flick is head and heels above Kevin Costner's dismal Aqualung.
The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring -read EP review-
This is the year gay boxing movies stepped into the mainstream, and there is no finer example than The Lords of the Ring. If a picture is worth a thousand words, and this isn't the best picture of the year, then that means there are a thousand finer words out there somewhere, and personally I find that disbelievable. This is one of those rare movies that grabs you by your manhood and sucks you off. Or in. And as the wizened old boxing trainer Gaydar says in the film: "Sometimes you choose gay boxing. And sometimes gay boxing chooses you." I couldn't have put it better, even with 989 more words and a Polaroid.
Mule in Rouge -read EP review-
Another surprise nomination for Best Picture, as the Academy seems to have a soft spot for screwball comedies this year. This time it's a loveable Talking Mule picture that gets the surprise nod and a wink. And I know what you're thinking, that they always nominate the Talking Mule pictures but they never win the big awards. It's like an unwritten rule. But this year things could be different since there's a lot of buzz under this donkey's tail and I hear the Church of Scientology is throwing it's Hollywood weight around to secure the golden flasher for this picture.
Best Director
Don Henley, A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
Leave it to a former Eagle to take this tale of form-fitting mime costumes all the way to the limit. Sure, he could have taken it easy, but that's not Henley's style. Being the new kid in town, director-wise, he had a lot to prove, and I for one am hoping there's no heartache for him on Oscar night. Hopefully his film will leave Academy voters with a peaceful, easy feeling, and provide them with a place to hide their lion eyes.
Ripley Scott, Black Hawk Down -read EP review-
Every film this guy does without having a space lizard or whatever spring out of his chest is a triumph in my book. I'd really be pulling for him to take home the gold this year on that basis alone if it weren't for the fact that his movie had way too much pan flute music in it for my tastes. I mean, I guess it's a depressed-bird kind of instrument, but in my opinion you can take that too far.
Robert Palmer, Goosefart Park
Three years ago it was all about foreign dictators directing films, and last year it was about rock-band movies. This year the natural progression continues and it's pop stars turning into directors, and nobody was more surprised than me to discover that this pedophile-looking limey can direct a frat comedy like nobody's business. Both this film and A Beautiful Mime make me realize how far ahead of his time Terrence Trent D'Arby really was when he directed The Thin Red Line a few years ago, really the grandfather of pop star directors. Sure, the inclusion of Power Station's Some Like it Hot in Palmer's film was a little self-serving, but I have to admit it synched up pretty well with the scene where the morons set the Inn on fire.
Peter, Paul and Mary Jackson, The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring -read EP review-
What's more amazing than pop stars making the successful transition to directing feature films? How about entire bands making the leap? Scoff no more my friends, because it happened while you weren't paying attention. If these 60's folkamuffins can direct the best gay boxing film ever, I can't wait to see Metallica's directorial debut this summer.
David Lynch, Mulholland Drive -read EP review-
Sure, he's crazier than a shithouse weasel, but there's no denying that some people out there enjoy the scrambled brainbatter he yanks out of his rectum every few years. Personally, I liked his films more before he decreed that all film scores should be played by throwing live fish at a piano, but you've got to admire his creative vision.
Best Actor
Russell Crowe, A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
Really rubbing the charm thin after his role in Almost Famous, Crowe serves as a cleavage-blocking impediment to an otherwise arresting film. Back to the Louvre with you, Frenchie.
Sean Penn, I Am Sam -read EP review-
Leave it to a balls-out amazing actor like Penn to garner an Oscar nomination for the smallest of roles. Some may argue that his cameo as the fox in the box was too scant a role to deserve the Oscar nod, but I ask you this: did you ever doubt for a second that that there was really a fox in that box where Knox would not eat the green eggs and ham, would not eat them Sam I Am? I rest my case.
Geoffrey Rush, Lantana
Who?
Mr. Smith, ALI -read EP review-
Talk about taking a boring film and driving it right into the dull, lifeless ground! This is it. The American Law Institute could have salvaged some shred of an audience's attention by casting a big-name star in this plodding logjam of a film, but instead they chose to feature this faceless corporate lawyer in an unbelievably gray suit. I thought for a second this movie might turn into a Pink Floyd video but in the end it turned out that irony was not on the witness list.
Denzel Washington, Training Day -read EP review-
After a long, painful journey, Denzel finally finds his niche in this talking toddler pic. He's never had a finer moment than when he's chasing little Mikey around the apartment while he's got a shitty pair of pull-ups around his ankles (but don't ask me why Denzel was wearing pull-ups in the first place! Zing!). It just goes to show that talent can blossom late, and here Denzel is at his best since To Wong Fu…
Best Animated Film
In a surprising move by the Academy, the Best Actress category has been replaced this year by a new award for Best Animated Film. I'm sure you can imagine the endless griping that has ensued, but for what? I mean, who doesn't like cartoons?
Jimmy Nimrod: Boy Genius -read EP review-
Hands-down the funniest film of the year, and one of the main reasons you'll be hearing Roland McShyster's tortured screams echoing up from hell once we all hit the afterlife. I stand behind my actions, however, and if seeing an exploitive comedy about a retarded super-spy twelve times in the theater is a damnable offense, then damn the torpedoes and steer this cruise ship towards the Hades water park, my friends.
Mobsters, INC. -read EP review-
A computer-animated classic set in the mobster's paradise of New Jersey. A funny, fascinating, and fuggetaboutit musical for those of us who like our fellas good and our fathers godly. Or something, I don't know. Look for Joe Piscapo in his trademark insane mobster role.
Beatty and the Beast
I had the weird deja-vu feeling that I'd seen this movie before, but with all of the great new stuff they're cranking out, it's not like Disney would just rehash one of their old movies to make a few extra bucks. Anyway, it's great to see Ned Beatty working again, though to be honest sometimes I got confused about who was the Beast.
And that's a wrap! Now's it's time to bask in the afterglow while we await the ceremony itself. When will it be? Nobody knows! But that's half the fun of it. And from me to you, America, I hope it's some kind of wonderful. See you in a month!
  |
