| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0328/';
$dunkintitle='Highway to Hell';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0822/';
$fingertitle='To Hell With This Desk';
$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='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hooper’s Fifth Syphilis';
$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='2005/0704/';
$police='2005/0822/';
$polio='2005/0822/';
$poliotitle='WEASELS-B-GON';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='For the Last Time Deidrebane, Those Aren’t the Feds';
$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';
?> | 
Colin Powell An Ass ManMarch 18, 2002 |
Washington, D.C. Ansel Evans Oh, yeah, Secretary of State likey
"Sure enough," Powell said, addressing a room full of inquisitive teen-agers and fine ladies, "I am, always have been, and always will be a connoisseur of sweet asses."
"Don't get me wrong," Powell continued, "I love every part of a tasty young lady—and I do mean every part. But if you nailed me down, oh, I don't know, say held a gun to my hand and demanded to know… it's true, folks. I'm a rear admiral."
Previous statements from sources close to the Secretary of State have suggested he loves big and bouncy titties, ...
.S. Secretary of State Colin Powell answered an M-TV audience's question on the show Be Heard: An M-TV Global Discussion With Colin Powell that, despite contradictory claims by friends and gossipers, he is indeed an ass man.
"Sure enough," Powell said, addressing a room full of inquisitive teen-agers and fine ladies, "I am, always have been, and always will be a connoisseur of sweet asses."
"Don't get me wrong," Powell continued, "I love every part of a tasty young lady—and I do mean every part. But if you nailed me down, oh, I don't know, say held a gun to my hand and demanded to know… it's true, folks. I'm a rear admiral."
Previous statements from sources close to the Secretary of State have suggested he loves big and bouncy titties, the bigger the better. One close friend, female, assured the press Powell was a legman, and couldn't resist a sweet mama with a long pair of "sex handles."
"Again, nothing wrong with a nice pair up there or down there," Powell said with a sly grin, running his hands sensuously against the podium, "but you all have me wrong. I'm into hip fox with a loose caboose."
As if proving his statement, as he exited the press room, Powell stopped and craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of a female M-TV intern with a fully-loaded trunk on the way up the press aisle. "Mmm-mmm-MMM!" Powell grunted under his breath, shaking his head to escape the vision and exiting quietly. the commune news is presented in anamorphic widescreen to preserve its original theatrical aspect ratio of 2.35:1. Lil Duncan is the commune's Washington correspondent and therefore gets a parking space close to the building while hard-working tiny-type writers have to hoof it in from two blocks away.
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Study: Driving while on cell phone makes users look important
Study: Cel fon txt msging on riz :oP
Greece Auctions Off Airports, Highways, Olivia Newton-John
 Polish Roof Falls in Following "Drinks Are on the House" Debacle |
Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80 he world sighed a mournful “Oh” upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.
The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nation’s capitol. Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title. Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs’ takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact. “Willie gave it a hell of an effort,” praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. “Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadn’t come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game.” Bush Admonishes Tornado’s Cut and Run Policy |
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 February 7, 2005
No Love for the Working ManCan you believe those cheap ass pants-handlers at the commune? I just found out they're paying us the same this year, despite the double-barreled workload increase that comes with the switch to the weekly schedule. That is the Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger of bullshit. If I'm going to be doing twice the work this year, I demand at least an increase in the number of surplus novelty calendars we get to take home every month. Like the saying goes, "Time is calendars," and you know I deserve to be compensated for mine.
And then to add insoles to injury, I accidentally emailed that last paragraph to Randy "Machoman" Savage yesterday, while writing one my weekly emails about how he sold out when he stopped doing Shakespeare and joined the WWF (sue me, panda-fuckers). Goddamned Windows is all I can say about that. If you're gonna put the "send email" button right next to the "kill" button on Minesweeper, shit like this is just going to keep on happening to good people. And I was pissed about that times two, since not only did I send Machoman the beginning of my new column, which was likely going to sell for hundreds on eBay within the hour, that also blew a golden opportunity to break my Minesweeper record for blowing that little guy's ass up in under a second.
Weirdest thing of all, though, was that Machoman actually wrote me back. For the first time as far as I can tell, unless his previous messages got smurfed by my spam filter. Whatever happened,...
º Last Column: The Basement Tapes
º more columns
Can you believe those cheap ass pants-handlers at the commune? I just found out they're paying us the same this year, despite the double-barreled workload increase that comes with the switch to the weekly schedule. That is the Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger of bullshit. If I'm going to be doing twice the work this year, I demand at least an increase in the number of surplus novelty calendars we get to take home every month. Like the saying goes, "Time is calendars," and you know I deserve to be compensated for mine.
And then to add insoles to injury, I accidentally emailed that last paragraph to Randy "Machoman" Savage yesterday, while writing one my weekly emails about how he sold out when he stopped doing Shakespeare and joined the WWF (sue me, panda-fuckers). Goddamned Windows is all I can say about that. If you're gonna put the "send email" button right next to the "kill" button on Minesweeper, shit like this is just going to keep on happening to good people. And I was pissed about that times two, since not only did I send Machoman the beginning of my new column, which was likely going to sell for hundreds on eBay within the hour, that also blew a golden opportunity to break my Minesweeper record for blowing that little guy's ass up in under a second.
Weirdest thing of all, though, was that Machoman actually wrote me back. For the first time as far as I can tell, unless his previous messages got smurfed by my spam filter. Whatever happened, this one got to me and really put my colon in a twist. That meat mountain actually had the balls to suggest I've got an easy job, then he pressed his luck all the way by asking what in the hell I do the rest of the time if I've only got one column to write a week. What do I do? Shit man, what don't I do?
Who do you think writes Quentin Tarantino all those letters about how he never puts backwards-talking midgets in his movies any more? That's right, Roland McShyster. But who do you think mails that shit? Bludney Pludd, usually. Stay with me here. Who do you think covers the stairwell in grease-coated marbles before all this happens? Omar "Don't Tell Me You Didn't Know It Was Greased Marble Day" Bricks, that's who. Didn't think about that when you were so busy laughing at Bludney Pludd's hilariously broken body, did you? Somebody's got to put in the work behind the scenes to make this world go around, man.
Damn, that Machoman chaps my ass. Leave it to an ex-Shakespearean actor to underestimate how much this extra column cuts into my prank-calling time. I had to abandon an elaborate plan to sell Rok Finger the deed to a Nigerian gold mine just to give me the time to procrastinate about writing this column. And it just doesn't sit right with me, the idea of Finger spending his commune paycheck on bread and electricity instead of the commune in-office scam of the week, or Griswald Dreck's 1-900 answer line. Fucking Machoman.
It's time Omar Bricks proved to the world that he earns his paycheck, times two. I don't care if it takes a fake beard, fake tits, or imitation Alaskan king crab, Omar Bricks is going to find a way to get paid like he was two people, while maintaining the workload of a small child. This victory shall be my crowning achievement, making up the bulk of the text in my eventual obituary, and helping to pay for the ski jump I've been wanting to put in my back yard. Even better, the effort will likely kill the rest of the down time until they finish building my neighbor's new house and I can get all up in that biatch. Bricks out. º Last Column: The Basement Tapesº more columns
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|  August 4, 2003
Kids, Meet Your New MomAustin; Cheryl; Penny… it's time to meet your new mom.
I know you kids don't take to change very well. And I wish like hell there was a more comforting way to introduce her to you than through my column, which I sincerely doubt most of you even read. But you're all spread out over the country and this is the most affordable way to do it, time- and money-wise.
Philip; Cassie; Archie; Vicki… I'm talking to you, too. Don't think I've forgotten. I may not have been the greatest dad to all of you, and if I've misspelled your names in any fashion, please forgive that minor indiscretions. After all, if it weren't for minor indiscretions, most of you wouldn't even be here! But I kid your promiscuous mothers.
Back to the subject. Felchyana may be different than all of you, and her country is full of heartless atheists who dwell in poverty, but that doesn't make her any different than any other step-moms I've brought home, even the one-night variety. And Felchyana will be here for quite a while, since we've paid out the apartment lease through the month. She also speaks a funny language and loves baking cakes, so if you kids want any delicious birthday surprises, you'd better be on your best behavior. Don't think I don't mean you, Ronnie.
Felicia; Kim; Dambo; Manray! I hope you're paying attention. You never did come around to Arvelyn all that much. I know she may have been a deceitful, hateful bitch who tried to kill me. A...
º Last Column: Wedding Bell Booze
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Austin; Cheryl; Penny… it's time to meet your new mom.
I know you kids don't take to change very well. And I wish like hell there was a more comforting way to introduce her to you than through my column, which I sincerely doubt most of you even read. But you're all spread out over the country and this is the most affordable way to do it, time- and money-wise.
Philip; Cassie; Archie; Vicki… I'm talking to you, too. Don't think I've forgotten. I may not have been the greatest dad to all of you, and if I've misspelled your names in any fashion, please forgive that minor indiscretions. After all, if it weren't for minor indiscretions, most of you wouldn't even be here! But I kid your promiscuous mothers.
Back to the subject. Felchyana may be different than all of you, and her country is full of heartless atheists who dwell in poverty, but that doesn't make her any different than any other step-moms I've brought home, even the one-night variety. And Felchyana will be here for quite a while, since we've paid out the apartment lease through the month. She also speaks a funny language and loves baking cakes, so if you kids want any delicious birthday surprises, you'd better be on your best behavior. Don't think I don't mean you, Ronnie.
Felicia; Kim; Dambo; Manray! I hope you're paying attention. You never did come around to Arvelyn all that much. I know she may have been a deceitful, hateful bitch who tried to kill me. A hideous bottom-feeding creature who sucked all will to live and joy out of my life. But—what was the question? Forget it. I just want you kids to give Felchyana a chance. She means more to me than anything in the world. Even you kids.
Pablo! Juanita! Federico! Hablo inglés, kids? Treat your new mom with respect, that's all I'm trying to say. I have never taken marriage lightly, except for maybe the monogamy part. But when I enter into a marriage, it's like a contract. Like doing business with someone. You have to trust them, and I trust Felchyana more than anyone knows. There's simple explanations why I don't give her a key to the apartment and lock her inside when I leave. I just don't need to explain myself to you kids. When was the last time you even came around to see me, your own father? I'm not talking to you, Hugo. I know you're in the iron lung still. Get better soon, kiddo!
Bah. Look at me, getting angry for little or no reason. That isn't like me. But when I say I want things to better between us, I mean all of us. That includes Felchyana as well as you. I also include all of you in that declaration, even those of you I've disowned in a furor over the years. So Slim; Buaana; Jefferson Davis; Lindetta; Moby; Sheena; Opinion; Dandy; Carl; Carl, Jr.; Mannix—welcome back into my life kids. Let bygones be bygones. Except for you, Abraham. You can never be forgiven, for reasons you know all too well.
Ah. Caroline; Fanta; The Gooch… this weight has finally been lifted. I never tried to hide how I felt about Felchyana, but I may not have let you know just how serious I feel about her until now. Especially since some of you I haven't spoken to in 40 years or more (By the way, how is the new hip, Soma?). But I'm starting a new part of my life, and I feel like a young man. Practically 55 again! Which reminds me, happy 55th birthday, Rambo. º Last Column: Wedding Bell Boozeº more columns
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Quote of the Day“The unexamined life is not worth living… so show me your tits already.”
-Sol CratesFortune 500 CookieNobody loves you anywhere near as much as your mother, but the bad news is you were adopted and never met her. Your "Most Favored Nathan" status will be revoked this week when a more-favorable Nathan arrives in town. Sorry. Try to start flossing your teeth, crotch and armpits, ASAP. This week's lucky bullets: zingers, greenies, pissmakers, Big Bens, deconstipators, "lead flapjacks," armor-piercing, elephant piercing, Ella Fitzgerald-piercing.
Try again later.Top 5 Issues for Next Supreme Court| 1. | Official legal definition of "fucked up" | | 2. | Arrange long-awaited challenge of man versus beast | | 3. | Discount a minimum of ten urban legends | | 4. | Settle this Lindsey Lohan-Hilary Duff feud once and for all | | 5. | Reverse hundreds of years of progress | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/1/2000 Hey troops, welcome back to Entertainment Police! Sorry for the gap in my columns, but apparently DUI stands for Don't Underestimate Interpol! Goodness me, well needless to say it's great to get back onto Yankee soil and back to the hunt for worthwhile Entertainment. A lot's happened since our last EP: the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the Peabody... and somebody told me Carmen Electra got married! Bless her heart. I asked around, but nobody seems to think Harry Connick Jr was the lucky guy... poor Harry. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It's useless to dwell on the disappointments and massive cocaine busts of our past though, so let's get on with the show!
In Theaters Now:
Being John Malkovich
Hey troops, welcome back to Entertainment Police! Sorry for the gap in my columns, but apparently DUI stands for Don't Underestimate Interpol! Goodness me, well needless to say it's great to get back onto Yankee soil and back to the hunt for worthwhile Entertainment. A lot's happened since our last EP: the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the Peabody... and somebody told me Carmen Electra got married! Bless her heart. I asked around, but nobody seems to think Harry Connick Jr was the lucky guy... poor Harry. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It's useless to dwell on the disappointments and massive cocaine busts of our past though, so let's get on with the show!
In Theaters Now:
Being John Malkovich
Daring use of the helmet cam demonstrates the multitude of possible ways people on the street can say "What the fuck is that on John Malkovich's head??".
Bicentennial Man
Robin Williams stars as a Tennessee-native traveling soap salesman who won't shut up about his state's 200th anniversary. A chilling portrait of state pride. Eventually he's killed in Harlem. Watch for the surprise ending.
Man on the Moon
Hearing Neil Armstrong's boozy rant about how he's the "Greatest goddamn thing to ever happen to this planet" is amusing for maybe the first ten minutes, but this documentary has long dry spells between the magical moments. Moments like when Armstrong demonstrates that he can still urinate without getting up out of his recliner, or when he shows how he can take his dentures out and watch them float around the room in zero gravity. It's touching though when he begins to cry and explains that the dentures only float when no-one's watching, and now he's got carpet fuzz on his teeth. The last twenty minutes of the film show Armstrong snoring in his recliner, a daring artistic move that challenges the way we think about on-screen napping.
My Dog Skips
A fierce argument for child-safe windows is made in this film about a schnauzer who tries to chase cars, from the back seat of his family's Suburban.
Sweet and Lowdown
A deadly terrorist who leaves packets of America's favorite coffee-sugar substitute as his calling card is blowing up all of Seattle's great coffeehouses? Who do you call when the odds are long and the stakes are this high? Wesley Snipes, motherfucker. Always bet on black, and hold the cream!
The Talented Mr Ripley
An exciting but altogether bullshit-packed biopic of the late Robert Ripley, collector of oddities and the human bizarre. Nunchucks in one hand, highball in the other, this film paints Ripley as one bad, kung-fu motherfucker who had a soft spot for little kids with brass rings around their necks and guys who could eat shopping carts. But when he trounces an entire school of expert ninjas using only his gargantuan member, one is left to wonder: Believe it... or Not?
Now on Video:
American Pie
The touching story of an alcoholic from Wisconsin who wants nothing more than to be a chef at Baker's Square, this documentary documents his struggles through at-home, Thanksgiving and bake sale pie-making attempts and leaves you hanging with the final question: Will he ever earn that poofy hat?
The Iron Giant
This rote sequel to The Giant Iron isn't nearly as scary and didn't once keep me up at night, wondering if I heard a mister button clicking out in the hall.
The Red Violin
Seeking to snatch the inanimate-object leading man kudos from Disney's Brave Little Toaster, this is one communist-sympathizing musical instrument that's going to tickle your animated fancy. When he teams up with The Fascist Bathtub and the Socialist Salad Shooter, you know the fun's not going to stop until the capitalist pigs are dead.
T with Mussolini
Look out, action fans! Fresh off his Oscar-winning turn in Life is Beautiful, Benito Mussolini is back and this time he's left the pacifism at home! Mussolini teams up with American acting institution Mr T for this high-octane tale of Harleys, shotguns, and shit blowing up all over the place.
Wild Wild West
Adam West is back as a hard drinking, hard-loving two-fisted bar-brawling motorcycle-racing crazy man in a film that practically blows out it's own intestines in an effort to introduce West as an action hero for the new generation. West's credibility in this role is marred slightly by his paunch, thinning hair and the Ben Gay tie-ins throughout the film. Also destined to miss it's mark is his questionable catch-phrase of "That was so dangerous, I think I need to change my adult diapers."   |
