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commune Reporter Lil Duncan Contracts Syphilis

October 29, 2001
New York, NY
Junior Bacon
Duncan's skanky ass infected with the spirochete Treponema pallidum
F
reedom-loving news source the commune was the victim of international terror this week when much-beloved (no exaggerration there) reporter Lil Duncan was diagnosed with the venereal disease syphilis.

The disease, caused by the bacteria Treponema, was discovered in Duncan after a series of blood tests and physicals given to all commune staff members except Easily Riled Herb. The tests were specifically looking for anthrax or other communicable diseases possibly spread by terrorist to American news sources like ABC and NBC.

After the diagnosis, the commune offices were filled with panicked men and some of the randier women who were terrified they had contracted it, though so far all testing has revealed only Duncan carries the disease at this time. All commune staf...Read more...


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March 1, 2004

Click for Biography

Give Me an "Arr"

What a couple of weeks it has been! To jump right to the gory details, I'm no longer a nature documentary narrator, as I hoped to be last week. That was a little outlandish, I can now see. So I made the logical jump to pirate!

Logical though it may have been, I didn't see the wisdom of it and give up nature, no. I had to become the pariah of the countless Australian animal-taunters out there first, or actually I sat idly by and watched Camembert become their pariah. Camembert tried to convince them he was no threat to their livelihood, and in fact didn't even want to be a rugged outdoorsman, even after I tried so long to make him into one. But they wouldn't hear nothing of it. I think the Australians are naturally suspicious of the handicapped anyway, it probably didn't help his case. Camembert soon became the most hated man in Australia. And they even like Yahoo Serious down there.

One day Camembert and I had gone out monkey-hunting, even though he had actually asked to go to the Australian-equivalent of Wal-Mart, and they cornered us right out there in the open. Or perhaps they didn't corner us so much as challenge us, and I thought Camembert could put them in their place once and for all. He has pretty good upper body strength, that Camembert, and there were only four of them, with minimal weapons, so naturally I assumed the match was fairly even. But no luck.

They bagged Camembert, chair and all, and tossed him into the ocean, a...Read more...


º Last Column: Mutual of Ohmigod Presents...
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July 21, 2003

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Whistler's Motherfucker

You know what really pisses me off? People who can't whistle but still do. Talk about begging to be beaten about the head and neck areas. Whistling isn't even that enjoyable when it's good. Even if you're stuck in an elevator with the Stradivarius of whistlers, the Grand Dragon or whatever they call the dude who wins the World Whistling Championships down in Arkansas or wherever they have that crap, next door to the freaks who can play banjo like some inbred Jimi Hendrix, even if it's THAT dude and he can whistle like God himself farting out a melody, he's still probably gonna be whistling some song you don't like. In fact, that's a pretty safe bet since it's rare that somebody whistles any song you actually want to hear, anything hardass like "Ironman," instead it's usually the Andy Griffith theme or "Butterfly Kisses" or some gay bullshit like that.

According to commune answerman and office Sorry champion Griswald Dreck, whistling was invented by the Nazis in WWII as a way of drawing Allied snipers out of their hiding places. The German soldiers who were pinned down would whistle "Oye Como Va" and other annoying German songs off-key for days on end until the sniper finally went batshit and came charging out, yelling like "Alright fuckwad! Who wants to get bitchslapped all the way back to Hamburg?" If the Nazis spoke English at all, a hilarious fistfight would ensue since the Germans only knew Nazi karate, and that just involved stepping really high and...Read more...


º Last Column: Even Better Than the Reality Thing
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Quote of the Day
“Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever. This means you, Gerardo.”

-Napoleon Bugglyparte
Fortune 500 Cookie
Finally, you'll win that annual shit-talkin' contest. If the shoe fits, it still means you only have one shoe, dumbass. It may hurt, but don't worry, they can re-attach it if you put the testicle on ice quickly. Don't buy the lottery ticket this week—your money is better invested in cookie dough. Lucky marbles: steely, cat's eyes, and… uh… shit, we're fresh out of marbles.


Try again later.
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Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Violet Tiara
4/10/2006
Meat in the Ground
Toasters are boasters
and otters are modest
but the lotto
you bought
was for the wrong
archipelago.

Mangy changers
are deranged,
sez strange
Jessica Lange.

Druids love fluids
but who is
the wiser
the Kaiser?
On rye, sir,
that miser
misspelt Pfizer.

Fuck 'em.

Loosely
my tooth sings
of ribald
rococo.
Yoko
went loco
and toked all
my Midal
in a long bong
from Hong Kong
with tongs
from Longs
and songs
about John's
stained brainbeans
and Charlie Sheen's
love of Ween.

Cancer
is fancier
if called
carcinoma
Oklahoma
has roma
tomatoes
in pails
and...Read more...

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