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Failed Experiment Produces Hideous Miniature CloneJanuary 6, 2003 |
Los Angeles, California Raelian K-mart Grotesque humanoid deformity reminds world of the dangers of playing God.
"They have attempted to play god, and they have failed," said someone in our newsroom.
The cloning was carried out by Clonaid, a terribly on-the-nose named company founded by members of the Raelian sect, who believe human beings were created by alien scientists years ago. In case you're wondering, yes, they are being completely sincere when they say that. Members of the socially unapproved religion announced their disappointment when the experiment yielded a clone one-eighth the size of the original, hairless, fatty, and with inhibited intelligence and language skills.
"Imagine our dismay when our optimistic at...
enetic science took a step backward last week when the creation of a bald, chubby failed clone was revealed by members of the Raelian sect.
"They have attempted to play god, and they have failed," said someone in our newsroom.
The cloning was carried out by Clonaid, a terribly on-the-nose named company founded by members of the Raelian sect, who believe human beings were created by alien scientists years ago. In case you're wondering, yes, they are being completely sincere when they say that. Members of the socially unapproved religion announced their disappointment when the experiment yielded a clone one-eighth the size of the original, hairless, fatty, and with inhibited intelligence and language skills.
"Imagine our dismay when our optimistic attempts resulted in a hideous, miniature version of the DNA donor," said Clonaid spokesperson Brigitte Boisselier. "Perhaps we have exceeded the limits of human capability, but our intentions were good. And we are not giving up yet. The next clones we are producing are due for next week, and we are waiting to see if they are successful."
Though Clonaid revealed little of its methodology, they did speculate the process of incubating the clone in the DNA donor's body for nine months may have been a misstep in the procedure. According to outside calculations, simple physics dictate an exact duplicate could not be produced within the original since the amount of space needed to house a duplicate of equal size would have to be bigger than the original.
Clonaid scientists considered the possibility of the clone outgrowing the host and bursting right through the body, like that scene in Alien or Pras in that "Ghetto Supastar" video, and the scientists considered it had begun to happen, but instead the failed experiment escaped through an existing orifice after hours of laborious effort. It was then they realized the experiment had failed, producing a smallish, demonesque humanoid of sub-human intelligence.
"We have not given up hope that the creature may offer us some insight as to what went wrong, and we have continued attempts to communicate with it," said Boisselier at a press conference. "So far the monstrosity only emits ear-piercing screaming and claws at any who approach it. Our scientists are working to decode its screams and construct a common language, but the sounds are animalistic and will likely be a dead avenue. It is probably just crying out in pain, begging to be put out of its misery."
When asked if there were a chance the creature was unrelated to the clone experiment, Boisselier said the possibility was considered and rejected.
"It is quite clearly a clone of some form, though definitely not what we intended. We brought in the DNA donor for identification, and the creature definitely has the donor's eyes, as well as her cute little nose and dimples. We were going to risk contact between the donor and the creature, but then the small one made a boom boom."
The experiment may have other results as well, pushing lawmakers to create legislation in response to the first human clone, besides possible Tom Cruise clone Peter Facinelli, and evoking edicts from the world's religious leaders.
"Life is sacred, and it is not man's place to play God," said the Pope, mumbling in Latin. "I'm not one to say I told you so, but…" the commune news has warned everyone of the danger of clones ever since the release of the putrid Judge Dredd. Boner Cunningham is an earnest young reporter, or at least a clone of an earnest young reporter we probably couldn't afford.
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 March 18, 2002
The "M" Stands for Music!Loyal followers of All Things Coleman know my middle initial is M. Those of you who keep details anally (and I don't mean that literally, disgusting thought) think that stands for Mershowitz. Nope! The "M" stands for music! Legally, too, I had it changed at 3 a.m. a couple of days ago. I didn't even know they did that in Vegas at those hours.
Everybody's talking about the 80's right now, especially 80's music. And I couldn't be happier. Finally we're getting back to what makes rock great—synthesizers and pastel spandex. This time, Clarissa Coleman's going to be a part of the New Wave re-revolution.
That's right, I've started a band. We're still debating names. Some in the band want to call it The Clarissa Coleman Experience, but the rest of them don't want us to become a novelty act or something. I personally don't want to capitalize on my prior successes, unless it makes us really popular. Still, there's other names that could do that. We're considering Stone Cold Burrito, The Fat-Ass Quakers, Your Mother Likes My Dick, and The Flaccid Band. The guys in the band aren't real keen on that last one, so we'll probably go with something else.
I'm personally leaning toward something that sounds really New Wave, like my favorite bands. I've offered Kaja-Schitzu, Spandex Opera, B.O.M. (Big Orchestra Music), The Eurothmicks (legally we can't use that), The Bobble Heads, The Taliban Twins, and Flock of Assholes. None of the band likes any of...
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Loyal followers of All Things Coleman know my middle initial is M. Those of you who keep details anally (and I don't mean that literally, disgusting thought) think that stands for Mershowitz. Nope! The "M" stands for music! Legally, too, I had it changed at 3 a.m. a couple of days ago. I didn't even know they did that in Vegas at those hours.
Everybody's talking about the 80's right now, especially 80's music. And I couldn't be happier. Finally we're getting back to what makes rock great—synthesizers and pastel spandex. This time, Clarissa Coleman's going to be a part of the New Wave re-revolution.
That's right, I've started a band. We're still debating names. Some in the band want to call it The Clarissa Coleman Experience, but the rest of them don't want us to become a novelty act or something. I personally don't want to capitalize on my prior successes, unless it makes us really popular. Still, there's other names that could do that. We're considering Stone Cold Burrito, The Fat-Ass Quakers, Your Mother Likes My Dick, and The Flaccid Band. The guys in the band aren't real keen on that last one, so we'll probably go with something else.
I'm personally leaning toward something that sounds really New Wave, like my favorite bands. I've offered Kaja-Schitzu, Spandex Opera, B.O.M. (Big Orchestra Music), The Eurothmicks (legally we can't use that), The Bobble Heads, The Taliban Twins, and Flock of Assholes. None of the band likes any of my suggestions for band names, and they keep rejecting my songs and lyrics. Personally I think "I Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Flunked My Driver's Test" was a classic waiting to happen, and "Put on A Me Suit" still breaks my heart. Sooner or later they have to let me contribute. I am the backup singer and cowbell player, after all.
We've played three shows so far, and let me tell you, "backup singer" is just a title. I steal the show and everybody knows it. I've even had the lead singer Misha tell me to keep quiet or shut-up on occasion, everybody was listening to my vocals more. We actually got into a fight at the third show, but like all good bands and families, we make up afterwards, or just don't talk to each other for a long time until it's all forgotten. Apparently that bitch Misha is taking that route.
We're yet to record any demos, we're still in the process of gathering the money. The band naturally assumed I had millions of dollars, since I'm practically a household name like Sting or Lemon Joy, and were pretty upset to find out I had no money. We even talked about disbanding the band, starting with me, but I convinced them to hang in there and with all my contacts in the business and entertainment world I could get the money together for great demos.
It's just as well since we haven't really decided on our sound. Most of the audience doesn't even know we're New Wave yet. Most of the band doesn't know it, they think we're Christian Rock, hence the working name of Jesus Fish, but once we can agree on the way we sound and our name and how we dress (I still like the idea of purple Outbreak suits) we'll be the biggest new band on the planet. This planet, folks. Warzy, eh?
In the mean time I'm just going to be the silent team leader and be a professional about my rehearsals. I still can't really sing "the Lord is my savior" without laughing. º Last Column: I've Had Plenty of Inappropriate Relationshipsº more columns
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|  October 27, 2003
Patriot ChainsGoddammit! I'm tired of America taking away my rights.
Add "cooking" to the ever-increasing list of things you're not allowed to do in this country anymore. I was having another fun weekend night off from my job, and had everything all planned out: A lot of drinking, some cruel prank phone calls, and smoke-cooking whatever I could find leftover in the freezer. Well, you can see where this is going, even if you graduated from public schools. The cops knock on my door, mine, and tell me I can't cook.
I don't think it was meant as a critique, once minutes of arguing straightened it out. Apparently, now get this, it's illegal for you to cook in your own house. This is bullshit of colossal proportions.
Don't get me wrong, all y'all. I'm not some bleeding heart queer doing it pro bono for the ACLU, or as I like to call them, Domestic Al-Qaeda. I voted for the Patriot Act, and since I wasn't a congressman it took a lot of deception on my part and I eventually got out of it with a fine, but that should tell you how committed I am to upholding law and order. Except for those dreadful spin-offs. I figured I was white and voted Republican, there was no way my rights would be infringed upon.
But, Oh Contrary. That's the French saying for bullshit, and those French are on to something. If the government wants to know what books I buy, I'm perfectly okay with that—I like to write to Dennis Miller himself sometimes just to let him...
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Goddammit! I'm tired of America taking away my rights.
Add "cooking" to the ever-increasing list of things you're not allowed to do in this country anymore. I was having another fun weekend night off from my job, and had everything all planned out: A lot of drinking, some cruel prank phone calls, and smoke-cooking whatever I could find leftover in the freezer. Well, you can see where this is going, even if you graduated from public schools. The cops knock on my door, mine, and tell me I can't cook.
I don't think it was meant as a critique, once minutes of arguing straightened it out. Apparently, now get this, it's illegal for you to cook in your own house. This is bullshit of colossal proportions.
Don't get me wrong, all y'all. I'm not some bleeding heart queer doing it pro bono for the ACLU, or as I like to call them, Domestic Al-Qaeda. I voted for the Patriot Act, and since I wasn't a congressman it took a lot of deception on my part and I eventually got out of it with a fine, but that should tell you how committed I am to upholding law and order. Except for those dreadful spin-offs. I figured I was white and voted Republican, there was no way my rights would be infringed upon.
But, Oh Contrary. That's the French saying for bullshit, and those French are on to something. If the government wants to know what books I buy, I'm perfectly okay with that—I like to write to Dennis Miller himself sometimes just to let him know I'm putting money in his pocket. If the government wants to know what websites I go to, fine, I don't care; as long as they know occasionally Ramon Nootles borrows my computer to surf for some really freaky weird sex shit—I'm the one surfing turkey-hunting sites and entertainment news. I've let the government so far in they can tell me if I've got bowel obstructions. But here's where I draw the line.
A man's home is his castle. It doesn't matter if his castle looks like a trailer on the outside or not. Keep fucking with me, I'll stow every one of you all in the dungeon. I'm not shitting around here, guys. I'm small, but I'm spry. Just test me. I'm a good American, I always vote, I pay most of my taxes, and now I want to be left alone so I can do whatever the hell I want behind closed doors. If that means I want to start a bonfire and blacken fish in the privacy of my living room, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. In a fair and just America. The America I grew up with.
What do you expect me to do? I've given this country all I can, short of military service or volunteer work. I'm a hard worker, I make my opinion known, sometimes three blocks over in the dead of night, and I salute that goddamn flag every time you run it up the pole. You want my blood, too? Or do you want me to turn informant? Rat out all my red-loving friends at the commune just so I can cook anytime of the day or night, despite EPA emissions standards, and be left in peace and quiet? Because in spite of our differences, these people at the commune are my friends. That's what America is about, in my book: Freaks and normal people, no matter how different, can put aside their differences to be friends, and really rake in the dough.
Not that I'm saying I won't do it, mind you. Some of these whack-jobs can stand to have the fear of G.W. put into them. I think Lil Duncan has committed an obscene act with every object on or in her desk. And Bludney Pludd, I don't think the DSM-IV even has names for the kind of perversions he's capable of. Call me up. We'll chat. You dish your dirt and I'll dish mine. But don't send anymore uniforms to my door—I certainly rate higher than that. º Last Column: Welcome to Ted Ted's Worldº more columns
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Milestones1982: Fred Connor born, grows up to lead successful rebellion against war of the machines in 2011. Or at least he would have been, if a Terminator hadn't successfully eliminated him from history, according to Research Editor Griswald Dreck.Now HiringGood Terminator. Talking to Griswald Dreck has made us see the wisdom of employing a preventative Terminator security system, preferably a skilled Terminator robot who has been reprogrammed to protect commune staff members. No pay or retirement plans—yours is not to reason why, just to do and die.Top Raoul Dunkin Nameplate Engravings| 1. | Excess Scrotal Flap | | 2. | Mr. Skids | | 3. | Fellator of Bono | | 4. | Living, Breathing Lung Chunk | | 5. | Abstract Barf | | 6. | The Dreaded Rear Admiral | | 7. | Charles Bronson Pinchot | | 8. | Prancing Machine | | 9. | Chowdermouth | | 10. | Latrine Archaeologist | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/4/2002 Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a...
Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a scam on us, a complex ploy to secure more than their fair share of dancing puppets on the "It's a Smallish World" ride at Disneyland. Interesting. You tend to the entertainment reviews below while I ponder this further over another Eskimo Pie.
In Theaters Now:
A Beautiful Mime
If there's one thing this movie taught me, it's that mimes are a lot more tolerable when they're jaw-droppingly gorgeous and have the body of a porn star. I'd like to thank Jennifer Connely for expanding my cultural awareness and my BVDs for a solid two hours in this powerful film. There's a lot of awards buzz surrounding Connely's performance here, and I have to agree: she's hot as hell! You can bet I'll be keeping an eye out for her Golden Globes in the future.
Big Fat Liar
What's funnier than Jim Carrey running around like he's retarded and not being able to tell a lie? You guessed it, a 300 pound Jim Carrey running around like he's retarded and not being able to tell a lie. They promised the sequel would be bigger than the original, but none of us dared to think they were talking about Carrey's drooping leg fat. And yeah, it's pretty funny, but I have to admit it's the ultimate insult when Hollywood would rather dress up attractive people in fat suits than hire one of the many genuinely fat people available for the role.
Collateral Damage
Arnie's latest meat-headed action flick casts him wholly unbelievably as a nerdy office drone who's expertise in collating office files and Xeroxes somehow prepares him to be an awe-inspiring ass-kicker who cold-boots faceless terrorist booty, in triplicate. Wait until this one comes out on video, then put it back on the shelf and see if they have any decent soft-core in stock.
I Am Sam
The Dr Seuss classic takes a turn for the creepy in this dark psychological thriller starring Chris Kattan as the food-obsessed stalker who just won't let Michael Douglas' businessman be. Some might consider this re-imagining disrespectful to the original book, but I'm convinced that Dr Seuss himself would have done the train shoot-out scene just the same way if he'd had access to this kind of technology back in his day.
Rollerball
I know what you're thinking. Cross the white-hot fad of rollerskating with the popular teenage dance movie, throw in Skeet Ulrich, and you've got a sure hit on your hands, right? Think again. Take a closer look at what you've got on your hands, and note it's nutty texture and off-brown hue. Pretty nasty, eh?
Now on Video:
Captain Correlli's Man-dolphin
I can't honestly say I knew what the hell was up with this movie, or how they got Nicholas Cage involved, but to suffice it to say it was original. It was sort of like a cross between Buck Rogers, Powder, The Abyss and an Arco commercial, if that makes any sense. It wasn't bad, but it was one of those movies that makes you wonder if you left the gas on.
The Curse of the Sade Scorpion
Another strange one to keep you scratching your head until you're in need a band-aid. Imagine if they remade "Anaconda" in the desert, with Ben Kingsley instead of Ice Cube, and instead of a big snake eating people it's a scorpion that sings "Smooth Operator" almost constantly. And believe it or not, this was actually the scarier movie of the two. Come to think of it, maybe that's not so hard to believe.
Ghost World
The second feature from Nintendo Pictures follows the reasoning that if the original is good, throw in a egg-pooping dinosaur and it'll be even better. I'm not sure what to think of the result, however. Whoopi Goldberg has some great lines as the wise-cracking dinosaur, but I just couldn't get over how dumb Patrick Swayzee looks in that little plumber hat.
Kiss of the Drag Queen
Jet Li is back and this time he must face his toughest adversary yet: his own ambiguous sexuality! How will Li react when he finds out that the girl he just chop-sueyed a platoon of ninjas to save turns out to be a flamboyant drag queen from Frisco? S/he is Li's perfect match, but will he risk the scorn of his ultra-traditional culture and his macho ass-kicking buddies to know her love? No chance, but he did kick a guy's ass with a tuna fish in a scene that I thought was pretty cool.
Television:
The networks are rushing out new episodes of their biggest shows for what they call "sweeps" and that means it's the best time to be a television fan! Here's some highlights of the coming week:
Frasier (NBC)
The episode we've all been waiting for as the champ puts to rest old grievances with his longtime arch-nemesis Muhammad Ali. A tear-jerking episode, or something gets jerked anyhow.
Si, Esse (CBS)
I've been hearing everyone raving about this show about forensic science cops, but didn't think it sounded appealing. Still, pretty ballsy move to have an all-Spanish cast. I managed to follow it pretty good and this week's episode ought to be the best as that guy who seems to be in charge has an affair with the young girl with the sombrero, who I think might be his protogé or something. Hot Spanish chicks and possible nudity? Roland is there, compadré!
Everybody Loves Reagan (CBS)
Last I heard this guy was drooling all over his presidential bib in some nursing home, so I don't know how he gets a hit sitcom. Then again, I still don't know how he beat Mondale in a landslide. It's their biggest episode yet this week as the current president (you know, the one with the dirty name) stops by to talk about his space station that blows up nuclear missiles. You won't want to miss it. I will, though.
Video Games:
State of Emergency (PS2)
This flag-waving tribute to New York is long on sentiment and short on fun. Sure, I agree firefighters and cops and paramedics and all of them are the real heroes, yeah, I'd gladly look the other way if they wanted to murder somebody or rob a bank, but any game with more candle-lit worshipping-at-the-feet and less fighting and explosions just isn't my idea of fun. Not that they aren't walking gods among us, of course.
Rackless (Sexbox)
The boys at Microsoft are going all out to beat the competition. This game is truly a new frontier, as you're a cosmetic surgeon trying to pump up the chest of a young hottie who just can't attract the boys 'cause of her natural flatlands. Keep adding on inches to turn her from Kate Moss to Jennifer Connelly and watch out you don't snap her spine in half. Success is its own reward!
Ninja Gayed In (PS2)
Wash-out of a game based on that Saturday Night Live gay ninja character that was only funny the first sketch. You play the ninja in sequined black commando gear and can stun enemies with glitter-laden throwing stars or your special move which I'll save you the nausea of describing.
There are foul things afoot, Entertainment Policers. After a little cursory research on the "internet", I've discovered that the Eskimos and the Hawaiian Islanders do in fact share a common ancestor! From everything I can tell, his name is Saul Worthington and he lives in the Bronx. Looks like I'll be giving our Mr. Worthington a little phone call this afternoon to get to the bottom of this. Wish me luck, America!   |
