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 January 24, 2005 |
Washington, DC Junior Bacon French protestors celebrate Bush's second term
"All who live in tyranny and hopelessness can know: the United States will not ignore your oppression, or excuse your oppressors. Except North Korea, or other oil-free regions not worth our time," Bush said in his speech, according to the Zaire Free Press. American papers instead ran lead stories Friday on Saturn's frozen, gas-soaked moon Titan, as well as the religious debate over the sexual orientation of Spongebob Squa...
eorge W. Bush was theoretically sworn in as the 43rd president of the United States last Thursday, in a ceremony that went completely unwatched in his native country. Foreign media debated the content of Bush's speech, while American scientists debated the age-old question, "If the president gives a speech and nobody bothers to tune in, does it make a sound?"
"All who live in tyranny and hopelessness can know: the United States will not ignore your oppression, or excuse your oppressors. Except North Korea, or other oil-free regions not worth our time," Bush said in his speech, according to the Zaire Free Press. American papers instead ran lead stories Friday on Saturn's frozen, gas-soaked moon Titan, as well as the religious debate over the sexual orientation of Spongebob Squarepants.
While some are blaming the lack of viewer interest on American political apathy, others point out that Bush's approval rating of 49 percent is unprecedentedly low for a president being sworn in, despite his very recent victory in the November election. Not only historically bad for a re-elected president, Bush's approval ratings are believed to be the lowest for any president ever at the time of his inauguration, and appear to indicate that at least 4% of the population voted for the president in November in spite of neither liking the man nor approving of the job he had done. Whether this figure should stand as an indictment of the voting public, or just former Democratic challenger John Kerry, is unclear. Bush supporters still put a positive spin on the numbers, however, explaining that those 49% probably really, really approve of the president a lot.
Neither Bush supporters nor detractors could be bothered much by the president's speech, however. Supporters complained that the replay of the speech ran right into Thursday night powerhouses The Apprentice and CSI: Crime Scene Investigations, setting Bush up to lose in a battle against more entertaining programs. Bush detractors explained that they'd rather have their skin removed by hyenas than have to watch that beef-brained cowboy flap his chops for ten whole seconds. Undecideds apparently spent the evening making handicrafts.
In Mena, Saudi Arabia, 2.5 million Muslims gathered to throw rocks at a picture of Bush on Thursday, celebrating the U.S. President's victorious second term with a traditional stoning and screamed curses about the devil.
Most of Europe was similarly excited, spending the hours after Bush's inauguration visiting churches, bars, and other places of comfort from deep spiritual despair. Numerous organized protests of the Bush presidency were held, most strangely enough in countries where Bush is not the president.
Americans seemed more surprised that anything had happened at all, asking confused questions about if it was time to vote again or if there was a part of an inauguration where you could speak up if you knew some reason that guy shouldn't be president, like the part in weddings. Others explained that they were fresh out of that not-apathy thing, or were saving their energy for the next soul-crushing election in 2008. the commune news knew there was an inauguration this week, we just thought they were opening a new Denny's and went to the wrong place. Lil Duncan is the commune's Washington correspondent and in-office air hockey champion, a fact she has yet to realize is related less to skill than to low-cut cleavage. Come to think of it, that comment could apply to either Washington corresponding or air hockey.
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 At Least One Team in SuperBowl 'Really Came to Play' |
Duke Prosecutor Disbarred, Accepts New Position as National Scapegoat High Gas Prices Threaten Tradition of Setting Homeless People on Fire Bob Barker Ceases to Exist After Retiring From Television Tree Bark Face Turns Out to Be Likeness of Jesus Lookalike Vance Waxman |
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 September 1, 2003
Not My Bag, ManI have never had my fingers pulled off one by one through my asshole. My wife Arvelyn used to tell me I should not knock things until I have tried them at least once, but I dare to say the experience is one I would not like even without trying it.
To avoid such an unwelcome new experience I have agreed to occasionally drop off packages for my new in-laws, i.e. the mob, to cohorts of theirs. Their reasoning was quite sound, even complimentary: "Rok, you are such a square as would not bat the eye of a policeman or G-man like Eliot the Ness, eh?" That's how my new cousin-in-law Yogi put it, and I agree. The police have no reason to suspect me for being a bagman for the vaguely-Russian mob. But it is exactly the case now.
The shame of it all! And imminent danger. Me, Rok Finger, champion of all things stodgy and establishment, delivering goofballs for no-goodniks! As I've made implicitly clear, the possible involvement in the Eurasian mafia by my wife Felchyana in no way diminished my love for her, but I cannot stomach doing wrong to the law. Unless I personally profit from it, for that's the American way, but being threatened into dishonesty, that's just plain… well, dishonest.
It's too bad to be forced to do favors for the mob in such a reprehensible way. Their might be some charm in robbing an armored truck or something fanciful like that. There might be a smidgen of honor in doing something like the old fashioned,...
º Last Column: The Honeymoon is Over
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I have never had my fingers pulled off one by one through my asshole. My wife Arvelyn used to tell me I should not knock things until I have tried them at least once, but I dare to say the experience is one I would not like even without trying it.
To avoid such an unwelcome new experience I have agreed to occasionally drop off packages for my new in-laws, i.e. the mob, to cohorts of theirs. Their reasoning was quite sound, even complimentary: "Rok, you are such a square as would not bat the eye of a policeman or G-man like Eliot the Ness, eh?" That's how my new cousin-in-law Yogi put it, and I agree. The police have no reason to suspect me for being a bagman for the vaguely-Russian mob. But it is exactly the case now.
The shame of it all! And imminent danger. Me, Rok Finger, champion of all things stodgy and establishment, delivering goofballs for no-goodniks! As I've made implicitly clear, the possible involvement in the Eurasian mafia by my wife Felchyana in no way diminished my love for her, but I cannot stomach doing wrong to the law. Unless I personally profit from it, for that's the American way, but being threatened into dishonesty, that's just plain… well, dishonest.
It's too bad to be forced to do favors for the mob in such a reprehensible way. Their might be some charm in robbing an armored truck or something fanciful like that. There might be a smidgen of honor in doing something like the old fashioned, pre- GoodFellas gangsters would have taken part in. Rolling in barrel after barrel of illegal Canadian booze and firing a tommy gun at thick packs of Irish cops. Who would object to that? If only those damned teetotalers hadn't lost all their power in Congress.
But there's nothing respectable about hard drugs, like marijuana. Pot kills brain cells and makes people act like complete assholes. It has none of the charm of hard liquor. Plus, it's frequently used by hippies—if you need a bigger case than that against it, I don't know where you're coming from. Hippie-lover. So, in addition to threatening to de-finger me and making my new marriage more complicated than it had originally been, these mob thugs have put me on a pro-hippie bandwagon. That I will not tolerate.
With all doors closed to me, some slammed violently on my feet, I have turned back to my reliable old friends Lee and Camembert. Well, I've turned to Camembert—Lee was busy with another tour date for his new book, written under the pen name of Daili Lama. All of Camembert's suggestions were lame, of course, such as contacting the FBI or telling the local police force, but it was good to have someone I could boss around again, even for a little while. I would probably ask him to move in with Felchyana and I, but Yogi might take a liking to him and make him capo or something. That's the last thing I need.
So right now, in this little mob war I'm going through, Camembert is my secret weapon. The secret being what he's capable of doing against the mob, and I wish I was in on that secret. But it's good to have an ace in the hole, and Camembert can be a huge ace-hole when called upon. My plan as for right now is to play along with Yogi and the gang, deliver the packages and betray no disloyalty, while figuratively hiding Camembert up my sleeve. We tried it literally and even without the wheelchair there's no way he'll fit. º Last Column: The Honeymoon is Overº more columns
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|  July 11, 2005
Gwar of the WorldsThank your lucky stars you're alive to witness another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, with your host, Stu "the Dew" Umbrage. The part of Stu will be played this week by Lil' Abner.
SU: Thanks for joining us, folks. Those of you who were not eaten by dinosaurs while waiting in line will be happy to know that I've got a whole new line-up of dinosaur jokes tonight. So, let's waste no time getting to the funny. What did the dinosaur say to the Reflections of a Goocher fan right before it ate him?
AUDIENCE: WE COULDN'T MAKE IT OUT THROUGH ALL THE SCREAMING!
SU: Very good! You guys are one step ahead of me yet again, I'm going to have to either fire my audience or hire smarter writers. Funny, funny stuff people. So, anyway, you ever pull a jar of something out of your refrigerator, only to be stunned by how old the expiration date is? I saw one at my house the other day that said "PALEOLITHIC ERA"! I'm going to have to buy some more Worchester sauce!
AUDIENCE: AH! RUN! FUCK ME!! (indistinguishable guttural noises, roaring)
SU: You people are a great audience, did I ever tell you that? Those of you who are left are just awesome. Moving right along, what time is it when a triceratops sits on your fence?
AUDIENCE: FOUR O'CLOCK!
SU: That fucker sat on my fence again? What, he can't read the sign? Where's my...
º Last Column: If God Had a Lawn, It Would Be Nice Like This
º more columns
Thank your lucky stars you're alive to witness another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, with your host, Stu "the Dew" Umbrage. The part of Stu will be played this week by Lil' Abner.
SU: Thanks for joining us, folks. Those of you who were not eaten by dinosaurs while waiting in line will be happy to know that I've got a whole new line-up of dinosaur jokes tonight. So, let's waste no time getting to the funny. What did the dinosaur say to the Reflections of a Goocher fan right before it ate him?
AUDIENCE: WE COULDN'T MAKE IT OUT THROUGH ALL THE SCREAMING!
SU: Very good! You guys are one step ahead of me yet again, I'm going to have to either fire my audience or hire smarter writers. Funny, funny stuff people. So, anyway, you ever pull a jar of something out of your refrigerator, only to be stunned by how old the expiration date is? I saw one at my house the other day that said "PALEOLITHIC ERA"! I'm going to have to buy some more Worchester sauce!
AUDIENCE: AH! RUN! FUCK ME!! (indistinguishable guttural noises, roaring)
SU: You people are a great audience, did I ever tell you that? Those of you who are left are just awesome. Moving right along, what time is it when a triceratops sits on your fence?
AUDIENCE: FOUR O'CLOCK!
SU: That fucker sat on my fence again? What, he can't read the sign? Where's my gun?
AUDIENCE: (gunshots, dying)
SU: I swear, you people. I know I say this every night, but you guys really are the best audience ever. What's that folks? There's an invisible dinosaur waiting for me in my dressing room? Tell him I can't see him! Ha! Oh God, I've got to write that down. Hey, where are you two going? We can't finish the show without an audience.
AUDIENCE: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HIDE US! THEY'RE COMING!
SU: Hide you? Then who are the cameras going to cut to for reaction shots after the big punchlines? What's that? The cameramen are dead? That reminds me of a great joke: What's the name of the dinosaur that's hunting you down right now?
Doyathinkysaurus? Ha ha!
AUDIENCE: (digestive noises)
SU: Well, I'm afraid that's about all the time we have this week on Reflections of a Goocher. Be sure to join us next time when we'll have a fresh new audience that's a lot more fun than this last bunch, and maybe by then the exterminator will finally get his ass over here to spray for these berserk, blood-hungry carnivores. Until then, I'm Stu Umbrage and you're a homo. º Last Column: If God Had a Lawn, It Would Be Nice Like Thisº more columns
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Milestones2004: President Bush, in a farewell address to the nation, apologizes for corruption in his administration and senseless slaughter of American lives, as well as the mangling of the language (courtesy of Future Bob).Now HiringNew Now Hiring Guy. What can we say? Richie quit. Stupid, if you ask us. It was a sweet gig. Most of time he never even got any applications or resumes to review. He just made up half these jobs, but don't tell anyone we said so. You just can't make some people happy.Top 5 Worst Things to Hear in a Blackout| 1. | Let's play Guess Who's Not Wearing Pants? | | 2. | Did you ever hear how electricity was invented? Funny story… | | 3. | We'll find our way out by lighting my farts. | | 4. | Say, this feels like a tumor. | | 5. | Wow, we're trapped in an elevator with Ashton Kutcher! | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Vinder Ferfsson 9/16/2011 The Goth Chick With the Attitude
Tuesday, January 18-Thursday, January 20
The Chief Inspector walked the courtyard, wishing he had worn something more suited to the Icelandic weather, even something slightly more masculine. But they only played The Rocky Horror Picture Show once a month, and he promised himself when he started work as a homicide detective he wasn’t going to give up his personal life for anything. Still, the nylons weren’t as flattering as his plaid trousers.
An outline in the snow marked where the body had fallen.
Grooves marked where it had been dragged away.
To where, nobody knew.
It was a classic "whodunnitandwhere’ditgoaftertheydunnit."
*
Humdrummus Pretentious. In the...
Tuesday, January 18-Thursday, January 20
The Chief Inspector walked the courtyard, wishing he had worn something more suited to the Icelandic weather, even something slightly more masculine. But they only played The Rocky Horror Picture Show once a month, and he promised himself when he started work as a homicide detective he wasn’t going to give up his personal life for anything. Still, the nylons weren’t as flattering as his plaid trousers.
An outline in the snow marked where the body had fallen.
Grooves marked where it had been dragged away.
To where, nobody knew.
It was a classic "whodunnitandwhere’d itgoaftertheydunnit."
*
Humdrummus Pretentious. In the native tongue, it’s known as a crimson willow. It was brought to the continent by African immigrants as far back as 200 A.D. The long off-yellow stem gives the bulbous red petals a perch from which to adjaksdfaskdadjksdasa Oh, shit, did I doze while typing that? Well, fuck me, it’s a flower. You can’t expect me to really care about background information on a flower. Where’d the goddamn murder mystery go? Still waiting for a stupid body. Let’s just pretend we went through the unnecessary flower background, it’s important for a red herring later. Shit, wasn’t supposed to say "red herring." But that does make me hungry. Let me grab lunch.
*
Hansel Bergenbjörgenfurd had lost everything that mattered to him. His keys as well. He had to rent a car to take him up to the Forfürgen Estate. Never in all of his career as a down-and-out crime reporter had he ever seen such a palatial mansion. Everyone at the Forfürgen Estate was so rich they could afford to dress every letter on every sign in umlauts. As a young boy in Reykjavik, Bergenbjörgenfurd had dreamed of having multiple-umlaut wealth. But like his once-promising journalistic career, all of Bergenbjörgenfurd’s dreams had died.
Through the umlaut-laden hallway he passed, admiring the pictures of long-dead relatives who might be important later, I’m just saying. The butler, because I should have mentioned there was a butler, led him into the Lunch Hall, which was adjacent to the Breakfast Hall and on the opposite wing from the Brunch Hall, the Dinner Hall, and one floor beneath the Midnight Snack Hall. There waited Erbst Skafaldingyad.
"Mr. Bergenbjörgenfurd," said Erbst Skafaldingyad.
"Please, call me Hansel," Bergenbjörgenfurd insisted.
"I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Bergenbjörgenfurd," said Erbst Skafaldingyad, smoking a Barginfarg brand cigarette. "Let’s cut to business, Mr. Bergenbjörgenfurd: I wish to hire you."
Bergenbjörgenfurd was stunned, and slightly exhausted. "I don’t work as a reporter anymore. I don’t care how much money you have."
"We have all the money," Skafaldingyad said. "All of the money in Iceland."
"Oh, then I do care."
"We have a murder we wish you to investigate," said Skafaldingyad. "If you are successful, it could restore both your name… and your career. But you will need help. The help of a Goth chick. With an attitude."
*
At home with her laptop computer, Muriel Salamander crunched on Snöktjargon cookies and surfed the internet. She had hacked the bank account of a disreputable corporate slimeball and was transferring all his money to NOW, just for laughs. She was always doing such things of a highly moral nature and questionable legal status. It helped her forget the horrible secret in her past, which is revealed on page 435, if you simply can’t wait to find out later.
She was a girl of modest height, with jet-black hair that she dyed even blacker, shining green eyes that all innocence had left, a killer body, several tattoos on her neck of unicorns and lygers, and a giant nosering.
A knock at the door grabbed her attention. Could that be the cops there again? She mistrusted all cops, and all men. Most cops were men, so she mistrusted them twice as hard.
She cracked the door, then figured she could continue her kung fu later, the guy was still knocking. Opening the door only part way, she saw an older man that she was inexplicably hot for.
Bergenbjörgenfurd was shocked by the appearance of the girl inside the apartment, particularly the gold nose ring she wore. I should mention that while it’s 2011 in much of the world, it’s 1988 in Iceland.
"Muriel Salamander? The Goth Chick With the Attitude?" asked Bergenbjörgenfurd. He held up pictures of an empty, body-shaped gouge in the snow. "I need your help finding a dead man. And then solving that dead man’s murder."   |
