| 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 18, 2005 |
Baseball commissioner Selig explains to reporters how Gatorade makes you hard enough to do two chicks at once
“Who knows how many home runs Babe Ruth could have hit if he wasn’t thirsty all the time?” questioned baseball historian and still living at home middle-aged guy Roger Bankercruff. “The number would have been astronomical. With all the hot dogs that guy ate, plus the fact that he ...
t took congressional involvement to break the dyke, but baseball commissioner Bud “Charisma” Selig finally admitted to reporters this week that Major League Baseball has a serious problem with Gatorade. The performance-enhancing beverage, known in baseball circles as “The Juice,” has been giving modern ballplayers an unfair advantage over their historical counterparts for years, due to its advanced electrolyte-replacing technology and deliciously thirst-quenching lemon-lime flavor.
“Who knows how many home runs Babe Ruth could have hit if he wasn’t thirsty all the time?” questioned baseball historian and still living at home middle-aged guy Roger Bankercruff. “The number would have been astronomical. With all the hot dogs that guy ate, plus the fact that he never, ever drank anything but highly-dehydrating beer, even during games or when brushing his teeth, the evidence points to Ruth leaning heavily on death’s door for most of his playing career. Which makes the man’s accomplishments obviously all the more impressive. If he hadn’t been near-fatally dehydrated, not to mention completely bereft of vital electrolytes, for the whole of his adult life, we’d be talking about the one time he didn’t hit a home run, and how Barry Bonds isn’t fit to sniff the Babe’s grotesquely stained tidy whiteys.”
Pressed for an imaginary number of home runs Babe Ruth would have hit if we could go back in time with a case of Gatorade and convince the Babe that it was futuristic green beer, Bankercruff struggled with a calculator and his counting fingers for several minutes before deciding “10,000 home runs is not an unreasonable estimate,” had Ruth been hopped up on Gatorade during his playing days. Such a total would leave Bonds roughly 9,300 short in his quest to become baseball’s all-time home run leader, a number the Giants slugger may not reach without further developments in human growth hormone, Teflon knees, or Bonds’ head being re-attached to some kind of mechanical hitting machine.
Active home run leader Bonds, as well as notorious Michelin men Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Jason Giambi, have all come under fire in recent months for their performance and inhumanly well-hydrated appearances. A recent congressional hearing saw fan favorite McGwire dodge the issue of his Gatorade use like a ninja frog, virtually confirming fan suspicions that Big Mac had been “hydrating” for years. McGwire’s suspiciously non-parched speaking voice did nothing to dispel these concerns, in spite of the slugger’s claims that he had only used questionable but unbanned beverages such as Red Bull and Diet Rock Star. Baseball stars Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa and Curt Schilling conspicuously drank large quantities of water during the hearings, drawing attention to their obvious lack of artificial hydration.
In response, Major League Baseball has instituted a new Gatorade testing policy and tougher new rules, including a ten-minute talking-to for fifth-time offenders. Critics, however, have been calling the penalties too lenient and point to the new pink passionfruit Gatorade flavor that is rumored to be undetectable during drug screenings, and the use of other beverages such as Mountain Dew as a masking agent.
So far, the only player punished for Gatorade use has been Tampa Bay salary moocher Alex Sanchez, who was singled out after league officials noticed the green sweat on his jersey, which Sanchez blamed on his intense diet regiment of wheat grass and lime Play-Doh.
Other suspected hydrators have offered up similarly lame excuses, including Gary Sheffield of the Yankees, who admitted to performance-enhancing beverage use during an interview earlier this year. Sheffield explained that he had used Red Bull accidentally after it was given to him by Barry Bonds’ trainer, who told him it was baby aspirin.
“It didn’t help me, though,” explained Sheffield. “I mean, it made my headache go away, but I couldn’t hit a fastball any better. And I was up for two days scrubbing the grout in my bathroom. That shit was nasty dirty.”
Red Bull and Jolt Cola are both currently legal under Major League Baseball’s rules, but have been banned by the Olympics for years due to their hyperactive benefits, starting when 230-pound pipe-fitter Mark Tungley of Ohio won the Tour De France accidentally in 1998.
“Iwasjustonvacation, outforabikeridetoblowoffsomesteam,” explained Tungley, speaking at a high rate of speed and sweating like a beer glass in spite of the cool weather. “Jesus,thisRedBull stufftasteslikecandy, Ican’tdrinkenough. Yourememberthose sweettartscandies? Thisislikedrinkingsweettarts, exceptwithout allthechewing. It’sawesome.” the commune news has always appreciated the value of being hydrated, but only within the limits of the law. Boner Cunningham, forever teen, wants to take you or your daughter to the Junior Prom. Interested parties should show up to the Flatbush High Junior Prom, Friday at 8pm. Boner will be the one wearing a pink tuxedo.
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SUVs hazardous to kids, but still a lot of bad points about SUVs
Derby winner stripped of prize when revealed as man in horse costume
Germany announces "extermination" program for spam
Late Dr. Atkins was big fat liar
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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. Bush Admonishes Tornado’s Cut and Run Policy |
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| 
 August 29, 2005
Taking Back the communeRest easy, faithful commune reader, and any friends you might have: the commune is once again back in our hands.
If the spate of month-long repeats we've been running haven't clued you in, the commune was in a bit of a sticky situation as of late. And it wasn't, contrary to popular belief, just an attempt for us to catch a few winks while our competition stomped us into the ground. I had planned a little time off for the loyal commune staff, and everybody else we employ, but something more like a week, or even a few hours with me just not poking everyone to keep them working at top speed. But it didn't turn out as expected at all. Not at all.
To sum up, terrorists invaded the commune offices. Nothing less than Al Qaeda terrorists, or at least it appeared to me when the small group of foreign men stormed our offices with machine guns and demanded we all choose who would die first. We all chose my brother Gay Bagel, of course, unanimous vote (can you beat Gay voting for himself? What's up there?) Raoul and Ramrod tied for second, somehow beating out my favorite, Ivana. I placed a distant fifth, and I think it has something to do with putting real caramel in the caramel apples at this year's commune Days fair. But anyway, back to the terrorists.
If you think we're going to sit around and let third-world demagogues gun us down, you're sadly mistaken. To stand there and let terrorists kill you would mean the terrorists have already won....
º Last Column: The Adventures of Red & Rascal
º more columns
Rest easy, faithful commune reader, and any friends you might have: the commune is once again back in our hands.
If the spate of month-long repeats we've been running haven't clued you in, the commune was in a bit of a sticky situation as of late. And it wasn't, contrary to popular belief, just an attempt for us to catch a few winks while our competition stomped us into the ground. I had planned a little time off for the loyal commune staff, and everybody else we employ, but something more like a week, or even a few hours with me just not poking everyone to keep them working at top speed. But it didn't turn out as expected at all. Not at all.
To sum up, terrorists invaded the commune offices. Nothing less than Al Qaeda terrorists, or at least it appeared to me when the small group of foreign men stormed our offices with machine guns and demanded we all choose who would die first. We all chose my brother Gay Bagel, of course, unanimous vote (can you beat Gay voting for himself? What's up there?) Raoul and Ramrod tied for second, somehow beating out my favorite, Ivana. I placed a distant fifth, and I think it has something to do with putting real caramel in the caramel apples at this year's commune Days fair. But anyway, back to the terrorists.
If you think we're going to sit around and let third-world demagogues gun us down, you're sadly mistaken. To stand there and let terrorists kill you would mean the terrorists have already won. So I "flipped out," in the modern vernacular, and began to toss body after body against the wall. Many were Ivan Nacutchacokov, always in my ever-loving way, but I'm sure I got a few terrorists in there, too. We had just enough time to vacate the offices and taking our most valuable possessions with us. I had just enough time to unleash my deadly security force of weasels for the bastards to choke on, while Gay Bagel had just enough time to change the website programming and select a variety of articles for a few "best of" issues, so we wouldn't lose precious advertising revenue after we fled the terror. You never know when you might be able to use ten bucks, I suppose.
The fact that Omar Bricks did not follow us, and was in fact found at his desk, business-as-usual upon our return, speaks volumes about the perceptive depths of Mr. Bricks. We did find he had strapped one of the terrorists to the back of a grizzly bear, but upon closer inspection it's apparent he had mistaken the infidel for Ramrod Hurley.
I could thrill you endlessly with tales of our life on the run, searching out hiding places from which to build a new commune and the way our reporters cobbled together stories out of dust and scraps so we could continue to get the truth out to you. But thrilling you would be contrary to the usual routine of this column. Let's just say we were stumped for days on end on how to get our offices back and rid ourselves of the invaders. Well, I was stumped. Everyone else told me to call the police, the FBI, or any number of establishment-serving official organizations who hunt terrorists for fun. I was convinced this was not the right path. Until I got sick of living day and nigh with my staff in an abandoned building. So a quick call to the feds and we had our offices back, and a hefty reward as well.
It turned out, by the way, that the "terrorists" were actually nothing more than some Middle Eastern mercenaries hired by Crochet! Magazine to end our longtime dispute once and for all. Needless to say, Crochet! gots to pay for its major league fuck-up. And if you see Omar Bricks on the street, thank him for that insightful 10-part investigative report on ben-wah balls he did, but tell him I can't publish it because he submitted it to the faux Bagel mercenary. Who is planning to publish it in a prison newsletter, I think. º Last Column: The Adventures of Red & Rascalº more columns
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|  January 3, 2005
What's a Cornhole?I have a question for my loyal readers, or even the disloyal ones, anyone who traipses over the column on their way to reading Entertainment Police or Pickle Barrel or maybe some guys stumble on the page by accident thinking commune is French for pussy or something, I don't know, the French probably have 50 words for it.
My question is: What's a cornhole?
Please don't laugh now, I've just never heard the term before. I grew up in California and we had no real experience with corn out there. I mean, we'd eat it, but it's not like in Iowa or nothing, we didn't go out and plant it and grow it and sit and watch it for hours and burn it for fun or nothing. We had television and yoga where I grew up, not ways to waste your time.
I tried asking my mom and she passed out on the phone, which might be unusual except for the fact she does it all the time. My dad just went into a spiel about how back in his days the homosexuals didn't rub it in your face. I'm not sure what that has to do with corn or why the homosexuals would rub corn in your face, or what exactly it is that they rub in my dad's face that gets him so riled up, but it wasn't worth talking to him for another hour to figure it out.
I asked everybody at the commune and they just break out laughing, like when I ask who's supposed to edit my columns. Nobody would tell me at all, though Ramon Nootles offered to show me. I don't even want to talk to him after the last time...
º Last Column: Roasting Pockets O'Shannon
º more columns
I have a question for my loyal readers, or even the disloyal ones, anyone who traipses over the column on their way to reading Entertainment Police or Pickle Barrel or maybe some guys stumble on the page by accident thinking commune is French for pussy or something, I don't know, the French probably have 50 words for it.
My question is: What's a cornhole?
Please don't laugh now, I've just never heard the term before. I grew up in California and we had no real experience with corn out there. I mean, we'd eat it, but it's not like in Iowa or nothing, we didn't go out and plant it and grow it and sit and watch it for hours and burn it for fun or nothing. We had television and yoga where I grew up, not ways to waste your time.
I tried asking my mom and she passed out on the phone, which might be unusual except for the fact she does it all the time. My dad just went into a spiel about how back in his days the homosexuals didn't rub it in your face. I'm not sure what that has to do with corn or why the homosexuals would rub corn in your face, or what exactly it is that they rub in my dad's face that gets him so riled up, but it wasn't worth talking to him for another hour to figure it out.
I asked everybody at the commune and they just break out laughing, like when I ask who's supposed to edit my columns. Nobody would tell me at all, though Ramon Nootles offered to show me. I don't even want to talk to him after the last time he offered to show me something. Stu Umbrage actually did offer an explanation, but he would only speak in palindromes, so after an hour of him uttering only four words, three of which weren't even palindromes, I gave up. No answer at the commune.
I've heard "cornhole" plenty of times, usually in movies or reading through Omar Bricks' hate mail, but I'm never sure what it's supposed to mean by the context I find it in. It didn't bother me until I picked up a script over the weekend for a part I'm auditioning for next week. The movie is titled Cornhole but I couldn't really grasp the meaning of the word from reading my six-line part. You might guess, I don't like to read entire scripts because I don't want my character to know about things going on that my character wasn't there for, and I also hate to read.
Would you believe "cornhole" isn't in the Webster's dictionary? That's the assumption I'm going on. If anyone finds it in there, let me know. It will definitely be a surprise.
I guess it could be a Spanish word or something, maybe some kind of dip. Sometimes really artsy movies are titled after foreign words because that makes them smarter. If you called a movie Fartknocker you're not getting the same kind of audience as if you called it Le Knocquer de Flatulénte. As far as field research on the term and everything, I've never seen holes in corn. I suppose if you rip a corntree out of the ground the hole left could be called a cornhole, but what's the point of calling somebody that or referring to that in a prison?
So anyway, I hate to take up a whole column with this question, but I've got to find out, it's driving me nuts. Hurry up and let me know, if you can. Nothing would be worse than showing up at an audition for a movie called Cornhole and not knowing what it means. They'd think I'm an asshole or something. º Last Column: Roasting Pockets O'Shannonº more columns
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Milestones1996: Red Bagel fires entire commune staff during "Crazy Bagel's Everything Must Go Liquidation Madness" phase of the commune's August Sale-abration. Analysts praise Bagel for ridding his staff of junkies and losers, who he promptly replaces with the current batch of junkies and losers.Now HiringBloodhound. Needed to track down former commune staffer Smilin' Jack Costello, who disappeared in May, still owing $8 to the office petty cash fund. Smart dog needed who is not fooled by turbans or overly distracted by running foxes. Generous wages to be paid in beef kidneys. Most-Dreaded Christmas Gifts| 1. | Gift certificate from Bedwetters' Depot | | 2. | Fine pewter anything | | 3. | Lapdance from Rhonda | | 4. | Red Commie Hilfiger jacket | | 5. | Love | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/7/2002 Hello hello, America and welcome to a very special Entertainment Police with which to ring in the New Year! The time has come for the first ever "Ask Roland Special Edition," and if that doesn't put exciting lumps in your oatmeal, I don't know what will. As I'm sure you all know, your old friend Roland gets all kinds of letters, faxes and emails here at the commune and under the windshield wipers of my car and I do my best to answer them in the semi-regular feature that you've come to know and love as… "Ask Roland!" But sometimes due to space considerations, I just can't get to every last letter and they start to pile up around here. When that happens, I sort them into different piles based on the kind of question being asked and whether or not any naked pictures came in the...
Hello hello, America and welcome to a very special Entertainment Police with which to ring in the New Year! The time has come for the first ever "Ask Roland Special Edition," and if that doesn't put exciting lumps in your oatmeal, I don't know what will. As I'm sure you all know, your old friend Roland gets all kinds of letters, faxes and emails here at the commune and under the windshield wipers of my car and I do my best to answer them in the semi-regular feature that you've come to know and love as… "Ask Roland!" But sometimes due to space considerations, I just can't get to every last letter and they start to pile up around here. When that happens, I sort them into different piles based on the kind of question being asked and whether or not any naked pictures came in the envelope with the letter. Seeing as there's squat in the theaters right now that's interesting to write about, I figured this was a perfect time to address my biggest pile, which is all letters asking about famous Hollywood legends and rumors. So sit back, relax, and drink in the "Ask Roland Hollywood Legends Special Edition!"
Q. Yo, Roland, I was hangin' over at my buddy Steve's house and we were, like watching some TV and the Wizard of Oz comes on and Steve says to me, he says "Dude, you know if you play some Floyd or some shit while you're watching this movie, it'll like totally fuck up your life, right?" and I said no way Steve, and I pissed in his aquarium. But anyway, I asked this other dude down at the head shop about it and he says it's totally true, that if you watch the Wizard of Oz at the same time as you're playing Dark Side, you'll trip into some alternate dimension or some shit. No way! So what's the deal Roland, are they totally yanking my shank or what?
Chuck Meadley, Hangrow, Vermont
A. It's totally true, Chuck. Except your drug-addled friends seem to have mixed up a few basic details in that what you actually have to do is listen to Nick Drake's 1972 classic "Pink Moon" while you're watching The Wizard of Oz, preferably on Betamax. The album is like a perfect soundtrack to the film, even though you have to restart it four times during the course of the movie and there's no dialogue so you never know quite what the hell is going on. But you'll be shocked out of your socks when "Which Will" plays right when the wicked witch is shaking her broom at Dorothy and again when "Things Behind the Sun" plays during the scene when Dorothy gives the Wizard a knob-job behind that big fake sun prop.
Also, if you play the album backwards, while fast-forwarding through the film, a small elf will come out of your television set and give you a kiss on the nose. You heard it here first. And this isn't the only album-movie synchronicity that you should check out. Hip listeners have known for years that Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" forms a perfect counterpoint to the 1980 classic "Herbie Goes Bananas," and some folks say "The Graduate" is pretty cool if you watch it while listening to some Simon & Garfunkel, too.
Q. Hey Roland, is it true that a bunch of hicks were watching "Twister" at the Drive-In when the Drive-In itself was hit by a tornado? Man, talk about your special effects!
Meryl Dunkle, Pitchwater, VA
A. Don't quit your day job, Meryl. This is another example of a true story that gets blown way out of proportion in the telling. What really happened was that some out-of-work fish-hook bender in Alabama was watching Twister on video in his trailer home when a tornado hit the trailer park, picked up his trailer, and dumped it right in front of the drive-thru of a nearby Rax. The guy didn't realize there'd been a tornado, even though a live pig was blown in his bedroom window and had sex with his sleeping wife. He just thought someone had built a Rax on his property, so he went nuts and shot a bunch of kids or something. Business as usual in Alabama, I'm afraid. So even though it would be really cool if your Drive-In story was true, Meryl, real life just isn't that strange.
Q. Roland. Is true Three Men Baby? Nastenk tell dead boy of movie. In window! Tell of apartment boy dead of shotgun. I do not of belief. You drunking, Nastenk! You get out from my window! Roland, you think? Is true?
Marfushka Khvylya, Bronx, New York
A. Well Marfushka, I'm going to run with the idea that you're asking about the infamous "Three Men and a Baby" suicide rumor, because otherwise I don't know what in the hell you're talking about. Ever since the video release of "Three Men and a Baby," people have been saying that they see the ghostly image of a boy with a shotgun standing in a window in the background of one of the apartment scenes. Rumor has it that the boy committed suicide with a shotgun in that very apartment, which was later rented by the studio for use in the film. Pretty creepy, huh? Even creepier is the true story!
In fact, the ghostly figure is not a boy at all, but rather the infamous suicidal munchkin who hanged himself on-camera during the filming of The Wizard of Oz. "Three Men and a Baby" wasn't filmed in a real apartment, but rather on a Hollywood soundstage, and one known to be haunted by the munchkin's ghost, no less. It's been known around Hollywood for years that the munchkin's ghost has been sneaking into dozens of films and hamming it up for the camera, appearing in the background of such diverse movies as "Breakin' 2," "Cannonball Run," and "Young Einstein." Creepier still is the fact that when you watch the Wizard of Oz while listening to Nick Drake's "Pink Moon," during the Tin Woodsman scene, the munchkin suicide coincides perfectly with Drake singing the line "I'm hung up on little things," no fooling!
Q. Greetings, Roland. I'm curious as to your take on the old Hollywood legend of James Dean's Death Car, and the rumors that several of the car's subsequent owners met with untimely ends as well, like in that one episode of Alf. Should we place any stock in these stories of "Little Bastard" and it's legacy of woe?
Sterling Bosnich, Santa Fe, New Mexico
A. Interesting question, Sterling. For years people seem to have been intoxicated by the lore surrounding James Dean's car. And although Dean himself considered his car to be cursed, the rumors that have surfaced in the years since his death have been totally unfounded. Few doubt that Dean's car was remarkable: a remarkable piece of shit. Many have understandably turned to the supernatural to explain the behavior of this rusted-out shitbox El Camino that wouldn't roll down a hill unless the parking brake was on. No one knows how great Dean's film legacy could have been if he'd had more reliable transportation. He was considered a shoe-in to play the starring role in "Gone with the Wind," but the car's air conditioner exploded on the way to the audition, spraying mosquito-egg infested water all over the interior of the car. When Dean pulled over to inspect the damage, the engine caught on fire and this shitty Herb Albert 8-track that he was only borrowing to appease a pushy buddy of his melted permanently into the radio. The knobs even melted solid but the radio continued to work, blasting Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass at full volume every time he started the car from then on. Even after this incident, the car continued to run, though just enough to piss Dean off and to keep him from buying a newer car. The windshield leaked, the entire front end was held on by a bungee cord, there was a spring that poked up through the driver's seat and the windshield wipers only worked when it was warm out, at which time they ran constantly and couldn't be turned off.
The car didn't earn the nickname "Little Bastard," however, until the night of Dean's infamous arrest when he ran over an aluminum can while driving behind a police car. Little Bastard, as if on cue, simultaneously lost it's muffler and the horn began to blare constantly, which it continued to do for two whole days until someone took an axe to the hood of the car in a police impound lot. Dean was arrested for embarrassing the police officers, who thought they had driven onto the railroad tracks and bailed out of their squad car in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard. However, remarkable as this car may have been, the rumors of its subsequent owners meeting with suspicious ends are untrue. After Dean owned the car, it was sold to a Puerto Rican man named Henry, and it spent the better part of the next two years up on blocks on his front lawn. Never able to get it to run, Henry opted to have the car towed away, only to have his plan foiled when the rear axle broke during the attempted towing. Henry later pushed the car off a cliff in desperation, but it got caught up in some trees halfway down the cliff face and Henry was arrested for endangering a nest of baby condors. No one is quite sure where the car went to after that, but the consensus is that wherever it is now, it's most likely pissing somebody off.
And that's a wrap! I hope it was informative, enlightening, and deadline-fulfilling for you, too. Be sure to check back in two more weeks for a return to your favorite movie, video and electronic game reviews, and keep those letters waltzing in!   |
