|  | 
Bob Dylan Knighted By Wasted Guy Outside Night ClubAugust 19, 2002 |
Sir Bob Dylan, himself no stranger to chemical influence ock musician and poet Bob Dylan received the ultimate honor Friday night from an unknown fan believed to be under the influence of several chemical substances. For all his years of service in changing the face of modern music, Dylan was knighted in a brief ceremony behind the Homebrew bar and grill that took only a couple minutes.
Dylan, who was performing an unannounced set at the Homebrew promoting his new album, was extremely surprised and delighted by the honor.
"It was very cool," said Dylan. "You don’t get into this life with thought of major rewards like being knighted. You do it for the music, or maybe the money. This is quite a big moment for me and I’d like to thank the drug-influenced guy who bestowed this upon me, wherever he is."
Dy...
ock musician and poet Bob Dylan received the ultimate honor Friday night from an unknown fan believed to be under the influence of several chemical substances. For all his years of service in changing the face of modern music, Dylan was knighted in a brief ceremony behind the Homebrew bar and grill that took only a couple minutes.
Dylan, who was performing an unannounced set at the Homebrew promoting his new album, was extremely surprised and delighted by the honor.
"It was very cool," said Dylan. "You don’t get into this life with thought of major rewards like being knighted. You do it for the music, or maybe the money. This is quite a big moment for me and I’d like to thank the drug-influenced guy who bestowed this upon me, wherever he is."
Dylan was on his way to the parking lot of the club with friends when the unidentified high guy stopped him in the alley, proclaimed Dylan the man, and knighted him with a very quick tap on each of his shoulders with an empty Thunderbird bottle, pretending it was a sword. He then pissed his pants and stumbled back into the club. Surprised but happy with the honor, Dylan continued on to his car.
"I thought about trying to find the guy, but I didn’t want to insult him after he had just done this very great thing for me. I was also a bit shocked by it all. Even if you expect this sort of thing is going to happen, some alley behind a club is about the last place you’re ready for it."
Columbia Records, Dylan’s label, has jumped all over the high-press event. New releases of all Dylan’s previous albums are being issued with a royal seal on them under the artist heading of "Sir Bob Dylan."
"Everyone at Columbia has always known America has a special genius in Bob Dylan," said Columbia V.P. of Advertising John Bonlee, "and now people everywhere will know that. The dude on heroin or crack or whatever behind that club knew it, and recognized Dylan for his years of service to the music industry and world as a whole."
Sources report that if the blitzed night club rambler can be found, Columbia Records would like to have him knight Dylan again, just for the sake of press, on a two-hour TV special with friends and fellow musicians playing songs in Dylan’s honor. Dylan, who has written rock ’n’ roll and folk staples like "Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man," "Blowin’ in the Wind," and "Like A Rolling Stone," could not verify the possibility of a two-hour TV event, but said he would definitely not want to air opposite Friends and Survivor. the commune news stands for truth, justice, and the American way, but not all at the same time. Ramon Nootles will not stand for injustice, but he doesn’t mind sitting on his fat ass for it.
 | UN: Iran can keep nukes, but only if kept in Amsterdam
Seriously, Iceland? Again? WTF?
Headless bodies found in Iraq listed in critical but stable condition
commune Apologizes for Calling Quvenzhané Wallis a Cunt, We Meant Keisha Knight Pulliam
|
Brit Sailor Apology Video Obviously Just Photo with Superimposed Talking Lips “.XXX” Domain Reserved for Adult Content Sites, Online Moonshiners “Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough |
|  |
 | 
 November 25, 2002
Volume 30Dear Commune:
You have my phone number. You, the commune. You need to call the phone company and straighten this out. I've had the same phone number for 42 years and I'm NOT about to give it up. Thank you.
Agnes Knutson Bromade, NJ
Dear Agnes:
We here at the commune are very sorry to hear that your life has become interesting in a way that makes you mildly uncomfortable. Obviously, we'll call the phone company right away and make sure they restore to you the number you've earned by staying in the same miserable place for your entire life. Pssssh! Right! You can stuff it up your ass with the nice old lady act, lady. We here at the commune pay our bills, biiiiatch, and if you see fit to bring your mess all up in our shit again you will be introduced to some mad hurtin'. Damn. Also, tell your withered old biddy friends to stop calling here, they keep kicking us off the Internet.
the...
º Last Column: Volume 29 º more columns
Dear Commune: You have my phone number. You, the commune. You need to call the phone company and straighten this out. I've had the same phone number for 42 years and I'm NOT about to give it up. Thank you. Agnes Knutson Bromade, NJDear Agnes:
We here at the commune are very sorry to hear that your life has become interesting in a way that makes you mildly uncomfortable. Obviously, we'll call the phone company right away and make sure they restore to you the number you've earned by staying in the same miserable place for your entire life. Pssssh! Right! You can stuff it up your ass with the nice old lady act, lady. We here at the commune pay our bills, biiiiatch, and if you see fit to bring your mess all up in our shit again you will be introduced to some mad hurtin'. Damn. Also, tell your withered old biddy friends to stop calling here, they keep kicking us off the Internet.
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for anything we got your kids to eat. Lengthy precedent has established that U.S. courts consider a triple dog dare to be legally binding.º Last Column: Volume 29º more columns
| 
|  April 18, 2005
I, Robot BuilderWell well well, I have come to learn a few things about myself in these past few weeks, but nothing more important than this: I will never smoke PCP again. Unless it's free.
I've spent the past six weeks roaming the Earth, which later turned out to be my apartment, with my invincible quarter-sized right hand midget, Nevil. And because I spent most of my nearly two-month binge higher than Rodney King on payday, I was able to discover two important things.
One, I cannot stop a car moving at top speed with my face, as I may have wildly boasted in the past. And secondly, but most importantly, I am a master robot builder.
Now I use the word master somewhat loosely, because I've only built one. But oh what a robot she... he... s/h/it was.
The idea came to me while smoking pure PCP out of a trumpet I found in the trash, and watching that futuristic movie where Will Smith hunts down robots while wearing old school Converse sneakers. Now, I don't know if you've ever worn a pair of those, but whether you have or not, take it from me: They suck fuckin' whale dork. I say the future's looking pretty goddamned bleak when they can build robots that look and move like humans, but still can't make a pair of comfortable basketball shoes.
It was right about this time that I jumped up out of the bathtub and exclaimed "Holy shit!" That happens all the time, but this time in particular I capped off the gesture by dashing naked into...
º Last Column: Yuppies Aren't Real º more columns
Well well well, I have come to learn a few things about myself in these past few weeks, but nothing more important than this: I will never smoke PCP again. Unless it's free.
I've spent the past six weeks roaming the Earth, which later turned out to be my apartment, with my invincible quarter-sized right hand midget, Nevil. And because I spent most of my nearly two-month binge higher than Rodney King on payday, I was able to discover two important things.
One, I cannot stop a car moving at top speed with my face, as I may have wildly boasted in the past. And secondly, but most importantly, I am a master robot builder.
Now I use the word master somewhat loosely, because I've only built one. But oh what a robot she... he... s/h/it was.
The idea came to me while smoking pure PCP out of a trumpet I found in the trash, and watching that futuristic movie where Will Smith hunts down robots while wearing old school Converse sneakers. Now, I don't know if you've ever worn a pair of those, but whether you have or not, take it from me: They suck fuckin' whale dork. I say the future's looking pretty goddamned bleak when they can build robots that look and move like humans, but still can't make a pair of comfortable basketball shoes.
It was right about this time that I jumped up out of the bathtub and exclaimed "Holy shit!" That happens all the time, but this time in particular I capped off the gesture by dashing naked into the kitchen, to begin immediate construction of the Mickey Hanes 1.0.
Now the common moronic belief about robot construction is that you need a metallic skeletal frame surrounded by complex electrical wiring, a state of the art CPU brain, and some kind of gelatin-like skin to cover the whole mess. I'm here to tell you, that's a load of bullshit.
I made mine almost completely out of common household items: some toilet paper rolls, a few empty potato chip bags, and a ton of spare parts I found attached to my neighbor Tom's Mustang. You'd be amazed at all the parts that aren't being used under the hood and on the undercarriage. That's right; my baby is running on a turbocharged V-6. And just to make it super-bitchin, I sawed the head off my old NES robot and crafted it into the ever-vigilant crest of Mickey Hanes 1.0.
My original plan for building a high-tech computer brain out of an X-box and a Black & Decker toaster oven was cruelly kicked in the pills by the news that my neighbor's X-box had a porno stuck in it and some kind of heinous weasel had taken up residence in my own toaster oven. Always thinking, I ended up just sticking the antenna from my old RC car behind the robot's chrome-plated bumper shoulders. No points for style, but hey, fuck that.
When I fired up the robot for the first time, I almost dropped the RC controller, because it instantly snatched up Nevil and stuffed him in a shoebox in 2.3 seconds flat. I know this because I timed it several times afterwards.
I didn't know midgets had collapsible skeletons.
After several hours of laughing at Nevil trying to eek his way out of that shoebox before sicking the robot on him again, my face started hurting, so I decided to make some adjustments.
I tweaked a few wires here and there, played with a crankshaft or two, then yanked the ripcord to turn the robot on again.
I don't know what the hell I did that time, but when the V-6 started up, Mickey Hanes 1.0 made a sound like a roaring lion on angel dust. That was right before it made a bee-line straight through the front door, and hauled ass completely out of the range of my RC controller.
I vaguely remember screaming a semi-intelligible order at Nevil to stop that thing, but the robot mowed over that worthless, pint-sized meatsack like he wasn't even there. Nevil at least had the good sense to cling to the robot's underbelly and let it drag him through the door, and out of kicking range, before it peeled out on his face and left him in a smoking midget divot on the front lawn. I haven't seen the robot since. Nevil, unfortunately, hung around until I dug him out of the lawn.
Understandably furious at his letting-my-robot-escape insubordination, I hung Nevil upside down out of my window with piano wire for three days, by which time there was a family of birds nesting in his pants. Teach that goddamn twerp to disobey my orders.
In closing, wherever Mickey Hanes 1.0 is, I hope he's happy and doing good things, or at least running over important shit in that berserk way of his. But hey, no use crying over spilled milk, so off to my next task. I just tricked Nevil into eating two pounds of Alka-Seltzer by telling him the stuff will make him invisible. This is going to be awesome. Later. º Last Column: Yuppies Aren't Realº more columns
|

|  |
Quote of the Day“It is a wise man who makes a career of providing quotes, for the dollar-to-word ratio is fantastic. Eat your heart out, novelists.”
-Beenjammin Lynn-FrankFortune 500 CookieYou! In the yellow shirt! You’re going to have an awful week. Move along now. This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, but your lifetime ban from the municipal aquarium still applies. Those repressed childhood memories you’ve been having about animal abuse and a shady-looking construction site? That was Donkey Kong. Try eating something with at least 17 letters in it this week: mailboxes and Alpha-Bits don’t count. Your lucky dong accessories: ornaments, jingle bells, argyle cock sock, festive wreath, racing stripe, spare donut.
Try again later.Top Phrases Never Before Spoken| 1. | Do these pants make my cock look too big? | | 2. | That's one hot retard. | | 3. | Sheboygan? That's my kinda town. | | 4. | That movie would have been better with a lot more Ben Affleck. | | 5. | Hot damn, airplane food! | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/4/2004 Buenos Nachos, Americanos, it's time for another weekly injection of the Entertainment Police serum. Hope you've all been good boys and girls out there in boy and girl-land, I don't really have the technology to follow up on that in order to deny the latest movie reviews to those of you who have been bad, so I guess we'll just have to keep on with the honor system on that one. You bad ones, you know who you are, you miserable fucks. And I bet you feel just awful poaching the straight world's movie-reviewing good time. You should. As for the rest of you, sorry for that ugliness, but now let's get on to the new releases!
In Theaters Now:
The Forgotten
Sure, I'll be the first to admit that it's a major bummer when somebody's...
Buenos Nachos, Americanos, it's time for another weekly injection of the Entertainment Police serum. Hope you've all been good boys and girls out there in boy and girl-land, I don't really have the technology to follow up on that in order to deny the latest movie reviews to those of you who have been bad, so I guess we'll just have to keep on with the honor system on that one. You bad ones, you know who you are, you miserable fucks. And I bet you feel just awful poaching the straight world's movie-reviewing good time. You should. As for the rest of you, sorry for that ugliness, but now let's get on to the new releases!
In Theaters Now:
The Forgotten
Sure, I'll be the first to admit that it's a major bummer when somebody's supposed to pick you up at the mall and they completely forget about you, but is that really dramatic fodder for a major motion picture? It is if you're Julianne Moore, the queen of overreacting on the big screen. And although I'm sure you're waiting for me to give this turkey the patented McShyster "McShit!" razzle, I'm afraid I'm going to have to blow your mind by cracking open the stunner that I actually enjoyed this movie. Sure, the idea's batshit, but Moore's just touched enough to make it work on that crazy big screen. At first, when she starts ranting to strangers in the mall parking lot about how her son didn't show up to give her ride and how that means he never existed and her whole life is a giant alien conspiracy lie, you just shrug your shoulders and start making that cross-eyed, finger-twirling "crazy" gesture to your fellow theater patrons. But then you start to think. What if your ride doesn't come pick you up from the mall after the movie? How much would that suck and just how far out of your own ass might you crawl? Though I didn't see the rest of the movie, I'm sure it was fine. I had to go out in the hall and call my ride for a preemptive bitching-out.
National Lampoon's Gold Niggers
Let me be the first to make it clear that I don't approve of this film's title. No need to beat down the commune's doors and beat Roland McShyster to a bloody, racially insensitive pulp. Save that rage for the exploitive pencil-dicks over at the studio, if you don't mind. I don't care how many hard-core rappers you put in the cast, that kind of boorish insensitivity hasn't been welcome in movie titles since the 1950's. Or the mid-90's, in southern states. Though I'm sure the guys over at National Lampoon have been especially desperate for cheap laughs ever since John Belushi died and Chevy Chase had his soul removed in that infomercial accident, this one still has to go down with the infamous Skating Chink and the typo nightmare Emaneulle in Jew Zealand in the annals of the most offensive movie titles ever. But how was the movie, you ask? Are you shitting me? You think I was going to parade my white ass into that theater and announce that I'd just paid $9 to see some gold niggers? I got the hell out of there, and stopped to rent Roots on the way home in case anyone had followed me from the theater. Shit.
Shy Captain and the World of Sbarro
Maybe I spent too much of my childhood out in the sunshine, but I somehow managed to miss the comic book about the Italian-fast-food-loving WWI-era fighter pilot captain who was famous for never landing, due to his paralyzing fear of social situations. Nor did I catch wind of his most famous adventure, when he ends up being the only pilot left to fight off an invasion after the entire air force is destroyed on the ground by giant flying desk lamps. Did you read that one? Or maybe Hollywood is just starting to make this shit up, since audiences obviously don't care what they're getting as long as it's some kind of half-assed escape from reality. It's gotten so bad that I've even had offers to develop that Hero Gang comic I used to draw in high school, but I decided to take a pass since they wanted Ashton Kutcher to play me. Some things are just more valuable than money, and not spending the rest of your life having everyone think you're a gonad is definitely one of them.
And that's a wrap, but not the kind that come filled with delicious meats and shredded vegetables. Sorry about that, I wish it was that kind of wrap too. We'll be back in another few weeks with even more movie reviews for you to peruse, but probably still no wraps, so you might want to look into bringing your own lunch next time.   |