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 May 30, 2005 |
An artist’s conception of Smokel’s arrest, in which the artist took the liberty of suggesting Smokel was arrested by TWA pilots
“This motherfucker was guilty as shit,” explained officer Turk Winchel, who witnessed the crime. “I heard that asshole go off on his tirade like a cock-teasing bitch with her credit card taken away, with my own fucking ears. There were fucking kids around and everything....
olite society was rocked this week when a Kansas man was arrested for unleashing a five-minute tirade of profanity after the clumsy fucker fell out of canoe in a public park, sparking a nationwide controversy over foul language. According to shocked bystanders, recent immigrant dickhead Lataf Smokel shouted “whoops!” “shucks!” and other similar salty words after displaying his canoeptitude, running afoul of a little-known and controversial Kansas state statute outlawing indecent public speech.
“This motherfucker was guilty as shit,” explained officer Turk Winchel, who witnessed the crime. “I heard that asshole go off on his tirade like a cock-teasing bitch with her credit card taken away, with my own fucking ears. There were fucking kids around and everything. Un-fuckingbelievable.”
The event reminds many of the Michigan conviction of Timothy Boomer in 1998, who swore up a storm like Yosemite Sam on swearing pills after a similar canoe mishap on the Rifle River, only to have his conviction overturned by the ACLU after the fucking judge pussied out.
While many legal groups consider such laws to be total bullshit, local citizens have made it clear they’re fucking sick of inconsiderate motherfuckers exposing their children to irresponsible language in public places, and have shown their support for throwing the goddamned book at the homos.
“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s cocksuckers who don’t know how to watch their goddamned mouths in front of children,” explained Rote resident Archdeacon Mavis Plum, over tea. “The world’s not your own personal playground, shithead. And just because some cunt shit you out of her man-trap when you were a baby doesn’t mean you’re entitled to fuck up our children, dickface.”
“Some slut farting you out of her cooch doesn’t make you God’s own miracle, dickwad,” added Reverend Alan Thornburg, in reiteration.
Even normal people were in agreement.
“What kind of dickless honkeys would talk like that in front of our kids?” asked Maybel Cummings, a local PTA leader. “Talk about your real sacks of monkey shit.”
While many journalists reporting the story found Smokel’s language too fucking objectionable to print, since the commune only officially exists in the Cayman Islands this reporter is free to hint at the true extent of their offensive nature. Beyond such merely-scandalous epithets such as “golly,” “hoo-boy” and “Heavens to Betsy,” Smokel was also quoted as dropping several pants-shitting unmentionables. The most unpublishable of the man’s crimes against decency is spelled like “shit” and rhymes with “hoot,” if you catch our inference. Irresponsible rumor also points to the word “eff-hockey stick-eye-pee” being heard, though spontaneously blocked from the memories of several present in a subconscious act of self-defense.
Some anonymously supportive locals have suggested that Smokel may just be unfamiliar with American customs, since wherever he’s from, words like “he*k” and “d*rn” may be perfectly acceptable language in mixed company. But most Rote residents find that pretty fucking unlikely. the commune news has always supported the First Amendment, or at least the part that gives us the right to throw eggs. Ivana Folger-Balzac was considered a natural to cover this story, given her steely nature in the face of depravity she has witnessed or caused, but we have noticed the bitch has had a dirty mouth since she’s been back.
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Guilty: Libby Takes Blame in Plame Name Game Court Battle Continues as Worms Claim Ownership of Anna Nicole’s Body Finely Aged Winemaker Ernest Gallo Corked Failure of Sirius Radio Blamed on "You Can't be Sirius!" Ad Campaign |
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 January 30, 2006
What the Sleep Do We Know?Much bitching and moaning has been expelled over the course of human history about the unfortunate reality that man needs to sleep. Some women, too. From ruining slavemasters' productivity figures to making everyone late to the airport, sleep has always been a thorn in the side of humanity. But where does it come from, and why do we need it so desperately?
Modern science gives us the answer that we have no fucking idea. Sleep is as mysterious today as it was back before anyone knew anything, circa 1953. Scientists have come up with a lot of lame excuses over the years for why they can't figure out sleep, most of them revolving around them being too tired. A Belgian scientist claimed to have had a dream that explained it all in 1964, but the only parts he could remember didn't make any sense to anyone and revealed a disturbing internal fascination with snail anatomy.
The closest scientists have come to explaining the need for sleep has been to document what happens when you don't get any, subjecting some poor underpaid bastards to days of insanity-fertilizing sleeplessness. Rarely, if ever, has there been a more satisfying way to give money to people you strongly dislike.
After the first 24 hours without sleep, the average person retains most normal functionality, only with any asshole personality traits magnified by a factor of four. Normal people become assholes, assholes become giant assholes, and giant assholes are usually shot by research...
º Last Column: The History of Lies
º more columns
Much bitching and moaning has been expelled over the course of human history about the unfortunate reality that man needs to sleep. Some women, too. From ruining slavemasters' productivity figures to making everyone late to the airport, sleep has always been a thorn in the side of humanity. But where does it come from, and why do we need it so desperately? Modern science gives us the answer that we have no fucking idea. Sleep is as mysterious today as it was back before anyone knew anything, circa 1953. Scientists have come up with a lot of lame excuses over the years for why they can't figure out sleep, most of them revolving around them being too tired. A Belgian scientist claimed to have had a dream that explained it all in 1964, but the only parts he could remember didn't make any sense to anyone and revealed a disturbing internal fascination with snail anatomy. The closest scientists have come to explaining the need for sleep has been to document what happens when you don't get any, subjecting some poor underpaid bastards to days of insanity-fertilizing sleeplessness. Rarely, if ever, has there been a more satisfying way to give money to people you strongly dislike. After the first 24 hours without sleep, the average person retains most normal functionality, only with any asshole personality traits magnified by a factor of four. Normal people become assholes, assholes become giant assholes, and giant assholes are usually shot by research staff to prevent further incident. After a second day of sleeplessness, motor skill coordination becomes impaired, which makes sleep-deprived Jai Alai one of the most entertaining sports to watch. Thinking becomes slower, and internal mathematical calculations are always off by five. Social skills erode further as well, causing most normal people to act like Gilbert Gottfried. Phone numbers and birthdays are nearly impossible to remember in this state, and anything softer than a dumpster full of broken glass begins to look like an appealing place to lie down for a nap. Day three is best glossed over. Imagine a mental institution on "Free Cocaine Day," add a wolverine that's been soaked in gasoline and set on fire, and dub the whole thing poorly into Cantonese. Smart researchers usually schedule their days off to coincide with Day 3. On day four, subjects seem to start acting normal again, only until researchers realize they have swapped personalities with each other, and underwear. Subjects in this state have a difficult time speaking in anything less than a full-throated scream, and most express a desire to learn square dancing. A spontaneous understanding of Japanese is often reported. By the fifth day, complete bladder control is lost, and internal monologues are involuntarily spoken out loud, a hilarious fact that leads many scientists to subject their subjects to five days of sleeplessness even when two or three would have done the job for the research's sake. Day six is a nice break for the researchers, since everyone suddenly falls into a coma and dies. Reduced appetite is also reported. Scientists didn't understand the importance of sleep until the early 20th century, prior to which people only slept involuntarily, like when you doze off behind the wheel of a carriage and trample sixteen epileptic children while dreaming of pastry. This fact helps to explain the whole of history prior to the year 1900, from the horrors of colonization, to wars, numerous creative forms of public execution, and the widespread belief in Jesus. It also explains how people used to get so much done in a day; however this was something of a small consolation for the millennia of balls-out worldwide insanity. A few native cultures have always understood the importance of proper sleep, as evidenced by their completely boring histories. Eskimos, Jamaicans and Canadians have long been distinguished by their lack of berserk rampages of bloodletting, a fact not coincidentally tied to their shared cultural heritage of long, restful nights of sleep. What we do understand about sleep, however, does explain another popular question every third smartass who rides the elevator with Griswald Dreck feels the need to ask. This pertains to the oft-repeated but seldom understood notion that human beings only use 10% of our brains. What most people don't understand is that this figure is an average. If you subtracted the small number of cogent individuals using large portions of their brains from the mix, the truth would be revealed that most people actually only use about 2% of their brains, which becomes even more frightening when you realize that it takes 1% of your brain to remember to breathe. The average person splits up the other lonely percentage point between the sections of the brain responsible for channel surfing, being hungry, and thinking Jeff Foxworthy is funny. Incidentally, cows use up to 4% of their brains, and university research has shown cows can chew bubblegum and roller-skate at the same time. Food for thought. So why do we use so little of our non-cow brains? Because they're there? Funny answer. But in truth, the reason is that the rest of the brain's vast potential is reserved for sexual fantasies and plotting out the upcoming night's dreams, a very complex affair since it is exceedingly difficult to weave talking penguins, long-dead historical figures, and inappropriately sexualized elderly relatives into the same dream scene. This takes up most of the brain's energy and is the reason everyone gets tired in the afternoon, that and eating four pounds of bacon for lunch. So sleep shall remain a mystery, unless some berserk sleepless madman conquers the world tomorrow and decrees that we're all living in a dream world we return from only during our sleeping hours. Then? Not so much a mystery, by decree of the king. As Roger Daltrey observed on The Who's final album, "Who Cares?" in 1984: "I wrote this song/in my dream/don't remember/what it means/That's all/ I recall/oooooo/Thank you/Goodnight!" º Last Column: The History of Liesº more columns
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|  June 24, 2002
Yours Truly For Four Easy Payments of $39.95First off, do you know the names of those damn Umpa Lumpas who released their wreath on me? I think I might have winged one of them with an empty whiskey bottle, but those buggers do scurry off rather fast. Really, I just want to give the thing back, it's a pretty nice wreath. Lots of little chipmunk heads on it, with nametags like "Alvin" and "Dale". Quite strange. I don't think I've ever seen a blue chipmunk before... "Smurfette?" Quite an odd name for a chipmunk.
Anyway, I left a note on the window of their Suburban (silly little Lumpas, running off and leaving their truck parked in front of my place) saying they could come by and pick up the wreath some time, but you know... I don't think those little buggers can read all that well. I've heard bad things about the school system in that Chocolate Factory. A terrible Lumpa-to-Wonka ratio.
That was phonetically a very strange sentence. Lumpa-to-Wonka ratio? Sounds like a Native American classic rock station. "You're listening to Loompatuwanka Radio! Keep on rockin' in the free Res!" Man, all I'm saying is get a piece of me now before somebody buys up the sitcom rights.
See what you people do to me? I'm babbling like a brook. And not even a very smart brook, more like a Brooke Shields.
I'm really starting to wonder if I returned that paperback copy of "Steel Magnolias" I was borrowing from Lil Duncan. Man, I probably put it in the drop slot at Hollywood Video again. I'm...
º Last Column: Bouncing My Thoughts to You Off the Shimmering Moon
º more columns
First off, do you know the names of those damn Umpa Lumpas who released their wreath on me? I think I might have winged one of them with an empty whiskey bottle, but those buggers do scurry off rather fast. Really, I just want to give the thing back, it's a pretty nice wreath. Lots of little chipmunk heads on it, with nametags like "Alvin" and "Dale". Quite strange. I don't think I've ever seen a blue chipmunk before... "Smurfette?" Quite an odd name for a chipmunk.
Anyway, I left a note on the window of their Suburban (silly little Lumpas, running off and leaving their truck parked in front of my place) saying they could come by and pick up the wreath some time, but you know... I don't think those little buggers can read all that well. I've heard bad things about the school system in that Chocolate Factory. A terrible Lumpa-to-Wonka ratio.
That was phonetically a very strange sentence. Lumpa-to-Wonka ratio? Sounds like a Native American classic rock station. "You're listening to Loompatuwanka Radio! Keep on rockin' in the free Res!" Man, all I'm saying is get a piece of me now before somebody buys up the sitcom rights.
See what you people do to me? I'm babbling like a brook. And not even a very smart brook, more like a Brooke Shields.
I'm really starting to wonder if I returned that paperback copy of "Steel Magnolias" I was borrowing from Lil Duncan. Man, I probably put it in the drop slot at Hollywood Video again. I'm always doing that with my library books, dry cleaning, and urine samples. Though I have to admit the book was a bit of a disappointment. I though it was going to be one of those futuristic techno-thrillers. I mean, hell, if John Wayne's real name can be Busty McSugarhips then I'm willing to accept a half-man half-cyborg superhero named Magnolias. Uh...
Just to set the record straight right now, before it's a problem, I take serious offense at the bashing of my hometown. Regardless of what you may have heard, my family's ancestral Crack Plantation is a national tourist attraction and a serious boon for the state's economy. We provide the brain-shellacking nutrient-rich rock cocaine that makes life, and ABC's primetime line-up, bearable for over 20 million Americans. And I feel proud to come from a town where you can lean out the window of your car and scream "WELL I'LL BE DIPPED IN SHIT!!" at pedestrians without eliciting even the slightest reaction from their oceanized eyes. So there.
And right now, somewhere near Pasadena, there is a young man with a Rastafarian haircut who understands what in the hell that has to do with anything. Trust me.
-ding-
Ooooh! Junk-Email! No time! º Last Column: Bouncing My Thoughts to You Off the Shimmering Moonº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. The second to last refuge of the scoundrel is a cave in the Ozarks. Third to last? Under the bed in a four-star hotel in Paris. Fourth? Puns. Puns are the fourth-to-last refuge of the scoundrel.”
-Johnuel SamsonFortune 500 CookieWhoever cut your jib, they fucked it all up, dude. Try wearing more spandex this week, your current quantities aren't providing sufficient coverage. Remember: an ounce of prevention is worth an inch of milk-fed veal. This week's lucky pizza restaurant mascots: The Noidette, Little Greaser, Humpy the Pizza Camel, "Cheese Dick" Richard Romano, Lumpy-Thighed Sex Goddess Valotta Ricotta.
Try again later.Worst-Selling Meat Alternatives| 1. | M-Eat Brand Fungal Rot Cakes | | 2. | FEET!® | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Vegan Roadkill | | 4. | Henson's Best Muppet Meat Steaks | | 5. | Wiccan Nuggets | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/29/2001 Sweet Jesus America, are you back again already? It looks like Uncle Roland will have to dig deep into his bag of goodies for some tender morsels to keep you entertainment hounds happy! How about we start with everyone's favorite Quid Pro Bono, Ask Roland?
Q. I've been an avid fan of yours since back in your days of writing movie reviews for the Radio Shack employee newsletter, and even your brief stint as a film reviewer for Trucker Girls Magazine. Looking through my collection of your reviews recently, I was startled to discover that you gave "Cock-Gobbling Space Sluts" a four-star review when you were writing for TGM. Excuse me? Were we watching the same movie? Only a truly desperate fan of low-budget erotic science fiction comedies would find...
Sweet Jesus America, are you back again already? It looks like Uncle Roland will have to dig deep into his bag of goodies for some tender morsels to keep you entertainment hounds happy! How about we start with everyone's favorite Quid Pro Bono, Ask Roland?
Q. I've been an avid fan of yours since back in your days of writing movie reviews for the Radio Shack employee newsletter, and even your brief stint as a film reviewer for Trucker Girls Magazine. Looking through my collection of your reviews recently, I was startled to discover that you gave "Cock-Gobbling Space Sluts" a four-star review when you were writing for TGM. Excuse me? Were we watching the same movie? Only a truly desperate fan of low-budget erotic science fiction comedies would find this cavalcade of clearly faked Venusian orgasms and unconvincing prosthetic Martian hard-ons anything less than tiresome. And where's the internal logic? So the mischievous vibra-doodles need to hide in Linda Sproket's cleavage to survive the journey through deep space so they can sneak into Luke Dorkmer's pants, but Stud Astroglide and Gina Galaxy apparently don't need to breathe while copulating on the moon's barren surface? There's no air on the moon, Roland. Oh, and also, are there any plans in the works for a book of your movie reviews to be published?
Duke Rainfever, Lost Meadow, Maine
A. Thanks for the letter, Duke. It's always heartening, and a bit suffocating, to know you have fans who have been following your career so closely. I take it from your collection that you're both a Radio Shack employee and a frequent reader of Biker Girls Magazine, and from your return address stamp that you live in Maine. The question I have for you, Duke, is which set of fingerprints on the envelope are yours: the big, smudged greasy ones or the smaller, more delicate prints with the tighter swirls? I have a bet going with some friends at the FBI on this one—Christmas might come early for Roland this year! And lastly: Stay the hell out of my car.
Q. On a recent trip to the theater to see David Lynch's new romantic comedy "Mulholland Dive", I was plagued by one nagging question throughout the film's generous 400 minute running time. And that question is this: "What the fuck?". Thought maybe you could help, thanks.
Carny Viceroy, Tumult, Florida
A. Your question is an understandable one, Carny. There are two important things to remember when watching any David Lynch film. The first is that Lynch did a gargantuan quantity of drugs early in his career and is now considered to be mildly retarded. Did you ever see that "this is your brain on drugs" commercial several years back? They actually used David Lynch's brain for that commercial, no lie. As a result, Lynch's films are best enjoyed after drinking a bottle of shoe polish and setting your feet on fire, as the director intended. The second thing is that it's best to remember that all of Lynch's films are originally shot in Portuguese, underwater and backwards, then they are translated back by migrant workers, dubbed into English by the cast of "Saved by the Bell", run forward and spliced together with Mexican soap operas at random intervals. So to best follow a Lynch film, it's recommended that you have an illegal immigrant friend watch the film for you, then describe it to you through two tin cans attached by a waxed bit of string. If you missed any of those directions, don't worry. They're reprinted on the DVD packaging for "Lost Highway", which was actually about the Spanish Civil War.
Now for the movies!
In Theaters Now:
From Hell
Good God! This isn't the touching Christmas fable I remembered as a child! I think they've pulled a fast one on you and I, America.
Iron Monkey
A completely yawn-worth action epic that pits the Beastie Boys and their fake karate antics against a gang of futuristic numbskulls, set against the backdrop of a post-apocalyptic New Jersey suburb. What do you mean it's not post-apocalyptic?
Mulholland Drive
Confirmed nutbag director David Lynch finally teams up with an actor who's talents match and compliment his own: Sylvester Stallone. Sure, the movie is the same backwards mindfuck that Lynch's last 13 films have been (some say he never recovered from the intense drug-fueled filming schedule of his first hit, "Dumbo"), but finally we're given someone interesting to look at up on the screen while all of the Shriners are running around and playing croquet with Ann Margret's balls. Sly pulls off every albino midget enema scene with dignity and style, and he's got a skull that could stop a runaway trolley car to boot. I'm looking for these two to team up again, maybe on the next James Bond film if we're lucky.
Riding in Cars with Boys
Britney Spears' acting debut reminds me of the innocent days of cherry cokes and sock hops, when every children's film didn't end with the heroine in a three-way Asian gang bang. Not much happens in the film, but that's precisely as it should be in films made for teenagers, lest they get any bright ideas. As ever, Spears is a sterling role model of decorum and taste, teaching young girls that it's better to be respected for your mind
than ogled for your body, and that it's okay to wait for marriage before you go down on an entire soccer team on live national television.
Now on Video:
About Adam
Here's some free advice to first-time director Adam Curry: If you're going to shoot a biographical documentary, it's probably best to choke down a pinch of humility and make it about someone slightly more fascinating than yourself. Also: I hear that every hairdresser in the nation is on a mission to search out and destroy that hair, dude.
Along Came a Spider
I've said it before and I'll keep saying it again until these slow-witted Hollywood types get the message: ENOUGH WITH THE INTERNET MOVIES ALREADY! They apparently didn't get the hint from the millions of people who didn't turn out to see other 'net thrillers like "The Net", "Cookie's Fortune", "Bandwidth on the Run", "James Baud in Golden-ISP" and "Summer of Spam", not to mention NWA's controversial "FTP" video. Whoever thought a 90 minute thriller could hinge on the suspense of whether or not a website would get indexed by search engines or not needs to dial-up the real world sometime soon.
Freddie Got Fingered
Less ballsy moves have ruined the careers of bigger stars, so you have to applaud loveable meathead Freddie Prinz Jr's foray into the brightly-colored world of gay porn. Even if everybody knew it was going to happen sooner or later.
With a Friend Like Harry
Funny bio picture about Harry Houdini's best friend Mick Rabbie, who remained affable and good-natured throughout a lifetime of being ditched at parties and dinners by Houdini, who could never refuse the challenge of escaping from anywhere and everywhere. There's a great whorehouse scene here that I won't ruin for you by telling too much about the hermaphrodite in the closet.
Television:
Continuing my run down of this year's new shows:
Scrubs (NBC)
Only Spike Lee could make racism and ghetto danger so darn funny! A couple of white MIT graduates
move into the middle of gang territory in L.A. One's sloppy, one's a stuffed shirt, but if either leaves the
apartment wearing blue or red they'll be dead! I usually don't laugh at white guys being threatened by
gang members and insulted constantly, but when it's funny it's funny! Way to go for this daring new
sitcom!
Philly (ABC)
Yikes! Somebody call ABC and tell them the day of the cute kid and his horse is over. I don't know
what possessed them to replace tough-talking crime drama "N.Y.P.D. Nude" with this sugary third-rate
Black Stallion, but the guys in Programming ought to be hung up by their novelty corporate
neckties. Get with it, people! The plots are lame, the kid is ugly, and the horse can't act. Say good-bye
to this Awful World of Disney hour.
Accordion Jim (ABC)
This year ABC must stand for "All Bound for Cancellation." What's the most annoying instrument on the
face of the planet? The accordion! And who's the master of the accordion? Who cares! Turns out it's
some guy named Jim and ABC has given him a half-hour variety and sketch comedy show that's so
popular these days. But mark my words and small dollar bills, this son of a gun is going nowhere. One
more second of that trilling blowhard sound and I'd smash my T.V.! Not to mention the accordion
drives me nuts, too.
Video Games:
Woo-hoo! What a time to be a game enthusiast! Because they're making a whale's ass load of games!
Let's just skim some of my favorites quickly, eh?
Tony Hawk Prosecutor 2 (Playstation 2)
Playstation brings their successful courtroom simulator to the all-powerful PS2, and it doesn't
disappoint! The defense attorneys are real bastards this time out, but only you, as world-class
criminal prosecutor Tony Hawk, can womp them on the head with a writ of habeas corpus
so def as to make them think twice about taking the Bar exam!
Devil May Cry (Playstation 2)
No telling how the geniuses at PS2 got a game about the bombing of Afghanistan out so quick, but
more power to those ace patriots! It's your job to find and destroy Mr. O-some-asshole bin Laden
himself using the military's top bombadiers. Just hit every cave you can find, and when that fails, bomb
everything within the border! Unlike other games of the same type, there's no penalty at all for bombing
civilian targets, so have at!
Final Fantasy Tac Tics (Playstation)
I usually love to give a game a chance, but I just didn't get this one, folks. Maybe I lack vision, but I
don't see breath-freshening candy making a successful transition to the video game consoles, though
maybe the limited power of the Playstation wasn't a good platform to start out on. Just between you
and me, the disc itself tastes like shit, too.
That'll have to do for now, gents and wo-gents. Check back in two weeks for more entertaining
bits shaken out of the nation's toaster!   |
