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Uneducated Former Children Sue Pink FloydDecember 6, 2004 |
London, England EMI/Capitol Records The band, pictured here during their âsalad days,â when they spent most of their days smoking âsaladâ he disturbingly enduring English space-rock band Pink Floyd has come under fire this week, thanks to a lawsuit filed by twenty former children who sang on the bandâs 1979 hit âAnother Brick in the Wall.â According to lawyers for the now-adults, Floyd never paid them for their services, and also didnât bother to use them on the bandâs 1983 follow-up The Final Cut, which sucked hard because of it.
âThese children gave minutes of their time, time that could have been spent in the classroom learning about fish, to contribute to this album, with only years of local notoriety and a permanent place in rock ân roll history as their reward,â explained the former-childrenâs lawyer, Theodore Chuck. âItâs time this injustice was rectified, and by that I don...
he disturbingly enduring English space-rock band Pink Floyd has come under fire this week, thanks to a lawsuit filed by twenty former children who sang on the bandâs 1979 hit âAnother Brick in the Wall.â According to lawyers for the now-adults, Floyd never paid them for their services, and also didnât bother to use them on the bandâs 1983 follow-up The Final Cut, which sucked hard because of it.
âThese children gave minutes of their time, time that could have been spent in the classroom learning about fish, to contribute to this album, with only years of local notoriety and a permanent place in rock ân roll history as their reward,â explained the former-childrenâs lawyer, Theodore Chuck. âItâs time this injustice was rectified, and by that I donât mean âput up your bum.â As Iâve explained to my clients time and time again, thatâs not what ârectifiedâ means.â
While recording the track for their hugemongously successful 1979 album The Wall, Floydâs management recruited the children from nearby Islington Green School, offering the schoolâs music teacher Alun Renshaw 1,000 pounds and âa shot at Debra,â a reference to one of the bandâs roster of loose groupies. The teacher insists that aside from getting his rocks off with the Floyd groupie, he wasnât compensated in any way for the childrenâs appearance on the album. The 1,000 pounds apparently went to the school itself, which it reportedly spent on adding windows to the grim, lightless building which had originally been used as a slaughterhouse.
âWe were just going to go over how they make pickles that day,â explained Renshaw. âSo I figured what the hell.â
School officials were mortified when they discovered their studentsâ involvement in a song with the lyrics âWe donât need no education, we donât need no thought control, no dark sarcasm in the classroom â teachers leave them kids alone.â
âWe just thought they were terribly hackneyed,â explained Islingtonâs headmistress Margaret Maden. âAnd at the time we were worried that this song would inspire British children to take less interest in their education. But what we quickly learned was that Pink Floyd only inspired prolonged attention in the heavily stoned, and except for those jokers who sang on the album, the rest of Englandâs children quickly went back to their studies.â
Those jokers, however, went about their own not learning with a passion, sure they would be able to coast through the rest of their lives on their association with the psychedelic prog-rock band. The academic habits of the twenty children involved, already questionable, took a turn for the worse after the songâs astonishing success. The children then felt like they needed to respect their newfound roles as spokeschildren for a generation, and feared being branded as sellouts if they were to learn their multiplication tables. Repeated efforts by teachers to point out that nobody in the outside world even knew who they were met with consistent failure. Convinced that stoners everywhere were praising them for their anti-establishment stance and their collective position on dark sarcasm in the classroom, the children succeeded in failing to learn anything for the rest of their academic careers.
After Floyd refused to prolong the childrenâs careers through more backup singing opportunities, Renshaw attempted to wrong that right with the childrenâs follow-up album in 1981, We Donât Need No Hygiene, Neither. But without Pink Floydâs publicity machine the album was doomed to fairly poor showing, selling few copies. Worst of all, Renshaw learned heâd been beaten to the punch by some knob over in Langley, Canada, and was personally sued for stealing a bad idea.
Though thoroughly uneducated, the now-adult claimants are clear on their expectations for a delayed slice of the Pink Floyd pie.
âI donât know, I think we should get a million, trillion pounds,â offered former schoolchild Roary Mills. âA kapchillion maybe.â
âNo way,â argued fellow former child Paul Richards. âIâm not getting ripped off. I wonât settle for anything less than twenty-five pounds.â
Should the matter go to trial, Mills believes the legal process will involve throwing fruit at the band until the truth is revealed. Richards, on the other hand, believes the judge will turn Pink Floyd upside-down and shake them until enough money falls out for everyone to buy ice cream. Stan Chancey, the groupâs expert on the legal system due to his having seen a courtroom drama on television years ago, explains to the others that a jury of their peers will decide Floydâs fate, meaning the jury will be made up of assorted British rock ân roll legends.
Chancey envisions seminal British rockers like Eric Clapton, Ray Davies and the Rolling Stones delivering their verdict via an electrifying supergroup courtroom concert the likes of which the world has never seen. If the jury decides in favor of the band, Chancey explains, look for them to reprise the obscure George Harrison classic âNot Guilty,â especially if Harrison himself is on the jury. If Floyd are found guilty, however, the band may compose a brand-new tune to unveil at the verdict reading, with a title something like âTheyâre Guilty,â which will likely feature each of the jury members singing a line of lyrics in turn, sort of like the Traveling Wilburys or that big Dylan benefit concert years back.
Chuck, who has long since given up explaining the British legal system to the former children, hopes the settlement will be large enough for him to retire and never have to deal with the uneducated ever again. The commune news donât need no education, neither, we enjoy sex-ed films purely for their artistic value. Boner Cunningham is no Pink Floyd fan himself, but admits he had to at least learn a few song titles in order to qualify to buy weed.
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 April 23, 2007
Famous Like AmosLike every other American Idol fan, I was sorry to see Sanjaya Malakar go from the blockbuster TV talent show last week. I have to believe anybody with that many A's in his name is destined to be a star, so if it doesn't happen here and now, it'll happen some other time, some other place. Maybe in Bollywood. Mad props to Sanjaya for keeping it going as long as he did. All of us brothers with more looks than talent know what it's like to coast on pre-teen chick love.
I'm not a big Simon Cowell fan anyway. Simon and me go way back. I blew away the competition on American Idol back in the second season auditions, but Simon managed to rig everything against me. I didn't even make it to the show because the prick made some argument about the video from the security camera not being "network quality." I did a cover so ass-blasting amazing of "Hot Blooded" that Foreigner took out a court order that forbid me from ever singing it again, 'cause it made them look like chumps. Simon kept me out of the contest by voting against me, because he was the only judge. I don't know where Paula and Randy were, I guess they were probably in their hotel rooms. Security wasn't understanding enough to let me climb up on their balconies and audition for them, 'cause that dick Simon had me thrown out.
I've been destined to be huge star since I was conceived, and I'm not just talking about the porn industry. I'm talking a cross-media star of unstoppable magnetism...
º Last Column: Grand Canyon º more columns
Like every other American Idol fan, I was sorry to see Sanjaya Malakar go from the blockbuster TV talent show last week. I have to believe anybody with that many A's in his name is destined to be a star, so if it doesn't happen here and now, it'll happen some other time, some other place. Maybe in Bollywood. Mad props to Sanjaya for keeping it going as long as he did. All of us brothers with more looks than talent know what it's like to coast on pre-teen chick love. I'm not a big Simon Cowell fan anyway. Simon and me go way back. I blew away the competition on American Idol back in the second season auditions, but Simon managed to rig everything against me. I didn't even make it to the show because the prick made some argument about the video from the security camera not being "network quality." I did a cover so ass-blasting amazing of "Hot Blooded" that Foreigner took out a court order that forbid me from ever singing it again, 'cause it made them look like chumps. Simon kept me out of the contest by voting against me, because he was the only judge. I don't know where Paula and Randy were, I guess they were probably in their hotel rooms. Security wasn't understanding enough to let me climb up on their balconies and audition for them, 'cause that dick Simon had me thrown out. I've been destined to be huge star since I was conceived, and I'm not just talking about the porn industry. I'm talking a cross-media star of unstoppable magnetism and Q-rating power, like Jamie Foxx. You remember him, he was famous a couple of years ago. But mine is the kind of fame that is like a big cosmic secret that only I know aboutâright now. Soon it's going to be busting out of every galactic orifice there is. Guys will go to see my movie because I'll be running around shirtless in it, shooting terrorists, and girls will snuggle me under their arms on the way to school on the cover of their Trapper Keepers. I'll be shirtless there, too. I'm assuming that anti-shirtless Alamo Cruise legislation will be overturned by then. When I'm super-famous, I'll have to dress the part, and I'm already way ahead on that front. I have an extensive collection of baseball caps and sunglasses. Some I bought even before I did my American Idol audition, just because I liked them. Like my "Mega-Ninja" hat, or the one that says "Hard Cock Inspector"âimagine being a lady and seeing that coming at you. You know it's a police detective and he's got an extra-hard cock for you. But they probably don't let you wear something like that in Scotland Yard because they make you were those stupid Sherlock Holmes hats, but I think Scotland sucks anyway and don't want to go there when I'm famous. If I get into a fight with the Pavarottis, too, I'll know how to handle myself. A lot of celebrities like to kick Pavarotti ass because they want to keep their pictures from being taken, but I don't care about that. I just want to kick a lot of ass to show I'm from the streets. But after I kick all the Pavarotti ass, I'll let them take pictures of me. I'll even sign their tits, if they want me to. If they aren't girls, I suppose I'll have to sign something else, but that's going to cost them. Shit. Why didn't Simon just let me go on the show and let the fans choose me? This "getting famous without really doing anything" would have been so much easier. Maybe I can change my name to Alamo Hilton. º Last Column: Grand Canyonº more columns
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|  May 17, 2004
Supernatural DisasterIf there's any bar out there, buy everyone a drink and put it on my tab. I'm rolling in it, and this time it's not pigshit. I've got more money than I know what to do with since I was declared a disaster.
It's not even based on my physical appearance this time. I recently had a weather phenomenon happen to me that has never happened before. The guys at the meteorological society called it "isolated catastrophe," which is fancy talk for my own private tornado. It happened in my apartment about three weeks ago, but I didn't notice the damage done to my apartment until two weeks ago, it didn't look much different. I sort of remember being lifted a few feet off the ground while I was sleeping, but you never know, it could have been some form of ESP materializing in my unconscious mind. But the state is paying me $500, and I'd much rather have that than mental powers.
I qualified for disaster relief, the first time any single person has ever done that. Though there was a married couple one time in New Jersey, but that may be just a rumor. It's a pretty sweet deal for me, that's all I know. I'm supposed to use the money to clean up my apartment and seek counseling or something, but fat chance. I'm going to blow a fourth of the money on cheese, and the other half I'll invest or just buy luxury items with.
I'm going to spend my money smartly, though. People think money is about buying things you want, but that's for amateurs. Really smart money...
º Last Column: Downsizzling º more columns
If there's any bar out there, buy everyone a drink and put it on my tab. I'm rolling in it, and this time it's not pigshit. I've got more money than I know what to do with since I was declared a disaster.
It's not even based on my physical appearance this time. I recently had a weather phenomenon happen to me that has never happened before. The guys at the meteorological society called it "isolated catastrophe," which is fancy talk for my own private tornado. It happened in my apartment about three weeks ago, but I didn't notice the damage done to my apartment until two weeks ago, it didn't look much different. I sort of remember being lifted a few feet off the ground while I was sleeping, but you never know, it could have been some form of ESP materializing in my unconscious mind. But the state is paying me $500, and I'd much rather have that than mental powers.
I qualified for disaster relief, the first time any single person has ever done that. Though there was a married couple one time in New Jersey, but that may be just a rumor. It's a pretty sweet deal for me, that's all I know. I'm supposed to use the money to clean up my apartment and seek counseling or something, but fat chance. I'm going to blow a fourth of the money on cheese, and the other half I'll invest or just buy luxury items with.
I'm going to spend my money smartly, though. People think money is about buying things you want, but that's for amateurs. Really smart money people know you use money to make more money. They call that investing, or maybe they call it something else, but investing is a real word. You make your money work for you. You use a little money to give the impression of a lot of money. That means buying nice clothes, like a purple suit made of silk and a hat with a giant feather. Then people know you're a high roller.
I've already got my luxury things picked out. I want to buy a car with silver wheelsâI thought about gold wheels, but people might steal those. You have to keep silver wheels polished all day, so I'm going to buy a $300 spank rag. Maybe I'll buy two of them, but I suppose I could buy a whole box of monogrammed napkins to do the same job. I also have my eye on a few other expensive things, like a perfume that smells like loose change and a toaster so ritzy it refuses to make toast.
It would be nice to have money, I know that. I get so sick of heating my apartment with hot water bottles and going to the bathroom out the window. Gas, electricity, indoor plumbingâthey sound like pretty nice things. So I'm going to invest this money right so I can make some real money later on, keep it flowing in. One of these days I'll have that kind of money, the kind where you don't have to wear the same T-shirt with the DeFranco Family on it for years. I'll have to borrow some food to live on for a while, until the money pays off. I don't want to make the mistake of eating the cash like I did last time I came into some money. º Last Column: Downsizzlingº more columns
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Quote of the Day“A little bad taste is like a dash of paprika. A lot of bad taste, like a grinder full of cayenne pepper. And doing that annoying Cajun guy impression while doing anythingâwell, that's just beyond bad taste.”
-Dirty ParkbenchFortune 500 CookieIn the annals of history, there has always been one man who laughs uncontrollably whenever someone says "annals"âthat's your legacy. Turn up the heat this week, 'cause that fucking turkey has been in the oven since Saturday. If you can't beat them, join them, and show them what real losers they are for accepting you into the group. Lucky bastards this week are Tom Monroe, Pete Gelbart, Judy Simon, and that son you're pretty sure is living in Winnipeg now.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Ronald Reagan: One-Sided Interview | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Carbless Rock Soup | | 3. | The Diarrhea Weight Loss Miracle | | 4. | 10 Questions for Marcel Marceau | | 5. | the commune's 100 Best Norwegian Rap Songs Ever | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/20/2003 Alright, who ordered the crap? Oh, it's you! America! Well, here you go then:
In Theaters
Darkness Falls
I have to admit I was pretty scared going into this one until I realized that the bad guy wasn't the tooth fairy from that Hannibal Lector book. Once I realized that it was the fuckin' tooth fairy, I broke out the airhorn. The little sprite that leaves you quarters and sells your teeth for serial killers to make into necklaces or whatever she does with them is right up there with Al Gore on my personal list of terrifying movie villains, but I'm happy to say the movie was redeemed by random blurts of high-intensity noise. For a while the audience thought the tooth fairy was...
Alright, who ordered the crap? Oh, it's you! America! Well, here you go then:
In Theaters
Darkness Falls
I have to admit I was pretty scared going into this one until I realized that the bad guy wasn't the tooth fairy from that Hannibal Lector book. Once I realized that it was the fuckin' tooth fairy, I broke out the airhorn. The little sprite that leaves you quarters and sells your teeth for serial killers to make into necklaces or whatever she does with them is right up there with Al Gore on my personal list of terrifying movie villains, but I'm happy to say the movie was redeemed by random blurts of high-intensity noise. For a while the audience thought the tooth fairy was driving a semi truck or something, which was pretty funny, but then I got a little airhorn-happy and had to spend the last half of the movie listening from outside.
A Guy Thing
Pretty hard to keep the storylines straight in this film, which was slightly less confusing than watching Twin Peaks on acid at Disneyland. Jason Lee porks a monkey who used to belong to an organ grinder who's the brother of his fiancée's uncle's dentist, and it's a race against time to keep her from finding out. And at the same time there's a vet who's racing against time to let Jason Lee know that the monkey he porked has the splits, or some kind of banana-eating monkey disease they made up for the movie, whatever they called it. So he's got to stop Lee before he porks again and begins the downfall of mankind. But Jason Lee once teabagged the vet while he was sleeping, and the photos are in the mail so it's a further race against time for Lee to avoid the vet and track down the highly-paranoid mailman before he delivers the package that contains the pictures of Jason Lee teabagging the vet who knows about the monkey who belonged to the brother of his fiancée's uncle's dentist. Bottom line: you have to see it twice to understand how much it sucks.
The Hours
I always wondered how you spelled the Canadian pronunciation of whores, and now I know. Nicole Kidman and a couple of other high-profile women who aren't hot enough to remember star in this disappointing feature that has very little to do with whoring and a lot to do with being boring. Calling it The Bores would have been more fitting, but I guess people would have stayed away because nobody wants to watch another goddamned movie about pigs.
Kangaroo Jack
Jack Nicholson must have a powerful yen for scaring the shit out of little kids, because he's at it again for the second time already this year. First he was terrifyingly middle-aged in About Shit, now he's a goddamned kangaroo. I wasn't sure what to make of a movie that's mainly Jack hopping around and waving his ballsack at people in a threatening manner, but after a while I realized it was all a meditation on America's role in the Middle East and from there on out I enjoyed the film.
National Security
Hilarious September 11th spoof starring Steve Zahn as George W. Bush and Martin Lawrence as Colin Powell. These guys are just in the wrong place at the wrong time all the time and their bumbling attempts to stop an international terror network will leave your pants moist with laughter. The truth hurts, but every once in a while it hurts because you're laughing too hard and your catheter pulled out or whatever. This is all the stuff CNN wouldn't let you see, and I bet that right about now they're kicking themselves that they didn't go with a comedy news format the instant W. got elected. They should show this in grade school and during voter registration.
That's that for this week, check back in two more when we'll measure the diameter of the sun in lousy romantic comedies from 2002. Until then!   |