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March 8, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Mrs. Bird, Graphics Dept. Bushes, and Kerrys and Nader oh my! merica awoke this week to find itself trapped in a shitty Groundhog Day nightmare, thanks to a recent AP poll showing that if the election were held today, President Bush and Democratic candidate John Kerry would tie, with human Muppet Ralph Nader playing the spoiler once again by garnering 6 percent of the vote. These results were eerily and shittily similar to the 2000 Presidential election, when Bush won despite losing the popular vote, thanks in part to Nader siphoning off liberal voters and Bushâs brother Jeb taking a big, wet crap on the Constitution to ensure his brother would carry the crucial state of Florida.
Within moments of the Associated Press poll results being made public, Americans everywhere were comparing their feelings of nauseating year-2000...
merica awoke this week to find itself trapped in a shitty Groundhog Day nightmare, thanks to a recent AP poll showing that if the election were held today, President Bush and Democratic candidate John Kerry would tie, with human Muppet Ralph Nader playing the spoiler once again by garnering 6 percent of the vote. These results were eerily and shittily similar to the 2000 Presidential election, when Bush won despite losing the popular vote, thanks in part to Nader siphoning off liberal voters and Bushâs brother Jeb taking a big, wet crap on the Constitution to ensure his brother would carry the crucial state of Florida.
Within moments of the Associated Press poll results being made public, Americans everywhere were comparing their feelings of nauseating year-2000 dĂ©jĂ vu to the 1993 Harold Ramis film Groundhog Day, in which Bill Murray plays a news weatherman doomed to repeat the same day over and over again until he gets it right. How this phenomenon might be possible for an entire nation on a four-year scale is not yet understood, though faerie magic has yet to be completely disproved. Regardless of the cause, non-Republicans everywhere agree that America needs to make some kind of major soul-searching change to prevent waking up in 2005 to hear âI Got You Babeâ playing on clock radios across the country.
âFuck! FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!â fumed an epileptically frustrated Democratic National Committee Chairman Terry McAuliffe upon hearing the results of the poll, a replay of the 2000 election searing his brain stem like a cattle brand. Similar sentiments echoed across the nation this week as Democrats and the non-rich envisioned a bizarre replay of the last presidential election, with Gore being swapped out for Democratic nominee John Kerry like some kind of bad Hollywood script for a time-traveling comedy.
âI donât know if Kerry will be able to pull off what Gore did,â mused confident-sounding political pundit Prance Nancley. âAl Gore could have won that election in his sleep, after all he was running against a Mr. Potato Head doll. But Gore still somehow managed to drop the ball and kick it all the way down the street, allowing so-called adult George W. to sneak into the White House while the door was ajar and Gore was off looking for his ball. I donât think Kerry has that kind of comedy in him. He is rather dull.â
Still, the possible scenario of an election repeat has haunted more than a few Democrat dreams this week, with Kerry taking the place of Gore as the respectable, though thoroughly boring democratic hopeful who somehow loses to Bush on a technicality, after Floridaâs governor declares that blacks donât have the right to vote in his state any more.
The lone encouraging note in all this is that according to the same AP poll, politics arenât the only area in which America is trapped in a loop of dĂ©jĂ vu, as the AP cites âcurrentâ top-grossing films The Grinch, Cast Away and Mission Impossible 2, and has âN Sync, Santana and Eminem topping the album charts, which clearly isnât true.
Is it? the commune news had this exact same thing happen once, except we kept getting arrested for watching our next-door neighbor get undressed through binoculars. Lil Duncan is the communeâs Washington correspondent, and she experiences her own kind of painful dĂ©jĂ vu whenever she hears a man say âThat sounds like my wifeâs car!â
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 February 23, 2004
A Love Powerful Enough to Destroy the WorldNancy, sweet Nancyâthe heart and soul of my existence. I would say you are the wind beneath my wings, but using such a contrived clichĂ© to explain our love would make me vomit blood. You are not mere wind under silly bird wings, or I suppose bat wings or angel wings. You are a concussive force of destruction, 300mph winds that could drive straw through a brick wall.
It's no joke, Nancy. My love for you is so strong I sometimes feel like it will overcome me. I am not unlike Frodo, carrying a burden too big for such a small insignificant midget to handle, continually tempted and in danger of being overwhelmed by the power of the one true ring that is your love. All of that describes my affection for you, except for the implied evil I may not have ruled out quick enough.
Yours is no simple love I could slip in my back pocket and forget about, least of all because it is not a real tangible object. Your love is constantly on my mind, except for when I'm at work or in the bathroom, and it occupies my every other waking thought. That's got to be a good 65% of my day.
No, our love, mine for you and you for me, though I have yet to see a column expressing yours in such a way, our love is the strongest force nature has ever known. If it were a knife it could split open the earth to its very core and allow the hot magma within spill out into space. It would have to be a big knife, of course, but that's basically implied. It is a love more...
º Last Column: On the Vindication of Stockcar Car Racing º more columns
Nancy, sweet Nancyâthe heart and soul of my existence. I would say you are the wind beneath my wings, but using such a contrived clichĂ© to explain our love would make me vomit blood. You are not mere wind under silly bird wings, or I suppose bat wings or angel wings. You are a concussive force of destruction, 300mph winds that could drive straw through a brick wall.
It's no joke, Nancy. My love for you is so strong I sometimes feel like it will overcome me. I am not unlike Frodo, carrying a burden too big for such a small insignificant midget to handle, continually tempted and in danger of being overwhelmed by the power of the one true ring that is your love. All of that describes my affection for you, except for the implied evil I may not have ruled out quick enough.
Yours is no simple love I could slip in my back pocket and forget about, least of all because it is not a real tangible object. Your love is constantly on my mind, except for when I'm at work or in the bathroom, and it occupies my every other waking thought. That's got to be a good 65% of my day.
No, our love, mine for you and you for me, though I have yet to see a column expressing yours in such a way, our love is the strongest force nature has ever known. If it were a knife it could split open the earth to its very core and allow the hot magma within spill out into space. It would have to be a big knife, of course, but that's basically implied. It is a love more powerful than anything ever covered on the weather channel, even tornado hail.
If our love were funk, the whole world could get down to it. It would blast through speakers and rattle every window on earth, as if booming from a 2,000-mile long lowrider.
I am thoroughly convinced our love is the strongest thing in the universe, like the Hulk arm-wrestling Mr. T. It is like the pungent smell of paint thinner and that perfume you bought from Lazarus that one time, you remember which oneâyou kept complaining you couldn't get it off for a week. It is more than that powerful. But this is all good, because who wants an average love? A textbook love, with boring pictures like Leave it to Beaver's parents. You ever notice how they slept in separate beds? What was going on there?
Yes, I don't exaggerate to say our love may be the biggest thing the universe has ever known. Or perhaps I do, just a little, but our love is well worth embellishing, it is that cherished to me, and probably youâhaven't heard a lot in response lately. But our love is so good, we don't need to parade it around town like our neighbor with his convertible Chrysler. Ooo, I'm Jack Hamilton, I can afford a convertible, well, who cares, Jack? Your love with that girl who comes over on Friday night is only Friday-night love, and I have a love so strong in can occupy 8 days in the span of only 7. I'm not sure how exactly it works, if it squeezes extra seconds in-between or adds the extra hours at the end of the day, but it does just that.
Unfortunately, our love is susceptible to lying. Not my lying, because I swear I thought those earrings were real diamonds when I bought them off the guy. We both totally got taken. But I don't expect you to simply take me back on the basis of my proclamation here, I just want to get together and you can hear my side of the story. It was a pretty shitty Valetine's Day for me, too, Nancy, having to sleep in my car because you got more than a little pissed off. Still, I don't hold a grudge, and you've had time to realize some of those things you said about my penis were quite out of line. Truce? º Last Column: On the Vindication of Stockcar Car Racingº more columns
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|  February 3, 2003
Boris is Superbowl PartyAh, hello! How'd it happen? Yes, yes, Boris is good too.
Already Boris feel American like John Sinatra. Louis teach about football, andcheese in can. What wonderful thing! Boris press button on can, and cheese jumpout like "Here I am to eat!" Boris is master of cheese.
Boris eat much can cheese while watching thing that is Superbowl. So much sothat fun is had and Boris cannot make toilet for week! What way to save time. Notoilet time wasting for Boris, who is busy doing Superbowl.
Talk about fun things that are Superbowl! Men in costumes who run outside, thisis football. What great things this is, or as Louis say shit. What great shitswe are having when men run with little turkey thing that flies. "Shit!" saysLouis when turkey flies long way. "Shit!" says Boris who is having Superbowlfun.
But there is more than costumes to Superbowl, there also have nice men fromgovernment tell stories of football while wearing suit. They tell rules why menson field not getting up. Nope! You stay down on field, you are dead. You arefootball dead, sorry. Boris love this part of excitement.
Louis love dancing girls who are girlfriend of players on sides. "Hello!" hecheer when they are dancing in small clothes. Louis want give them babies inass. Ho ho! Louis is generous robot.
Boris like dancing girls, too, but they are bad at catching turkey, almost neverthey get that thing. But they are girls, so persons understand....
º Last Column: Hello From Robot Apartment º more columns
Ah, hello! How'd it happen? Yes, yes, Boris is good too.
Already Boris feel American like John Sinatra. Louis teach about football, andcheese in can. What wonderful thing! Boris press button on can, and cheese jumpout like "Here I am to eat!" Boris is master of cheese.
Boris eat much can cheese while watching thing that is Superbowl. So much sothat fun is had and Boris cannot make toilet for week! What way to save time. Notoilet time wasting for Boris, who is busy doing Superbowl.
Talk about fun things that are Superbowl! Men in costumes who run outside, thisis football. What great things this is, or as Louis say shit. What great shitswe are having when men run with little turkey thing that flies. "Shit!" saysLouis when turkey flies long way. "Shit!" says Boris who is having Superbowlfun.
But there is more than costumes to Superbowl, there also have nice men fromgovernment tell stories of football while wearing suit. They tell rules why menson field not getting up. Nope! You stay down on field, you are dead. You arefootball dead, sorry. Boris love this part of excitement.
Louis love dancing girls who are girlfriend of players on sides. "Hello!" hecheer when they are dancing in small clothes. Louis want give them babies inass. Ho ho! Louis is generous robot.
Boris like dancing girls, too, but they are bad at catching turkey, almost neverthey get that thing. But they are girls, so persons understand. No persons yellat them and they are on T.V. and happy.
Boris favorite football part is wonderful commercials which do funny thing. Alltimes there is dog talking or little animals doing magic. Aha! Who teach thosebeers to play football? Boris does not know! It is a funny magic.
Speak of magic, Boris thinking America have magic beer. In Homeland, beer makesBoris fat and go home with ugly woman. But not so America! America beer makepersons strong and have sexy womens and fun all times, not never woke up in dogpounds. Persons run and jump and have beer fun but not chuck up beer in backseat of taxi. And also them are on T.V.
Boris have so much fun doing Superbowl, why not invite all persons for Superbowlparty? Large fun to have with many persons doing Superbowl and sharing can ofcheese. So Boris press numbers on phone until persons talking to Boris.
"Hello! Boris is Superbowl party!"
Many time Boris call robots who speak not Boris language and instead answer"BaaaaaaaaaaaahâŠ" in robot voice. Hello? Is this yes? Only robots know is thisyes. If Louis home he could ask robots is this yes, but him out getting robotmoney.
When Louis come home Boris tell of Superbowl party and invited telephone personsand robots. Louis excited!
"Boris, you inbred beer fart, the Superbowl was last month! It's only once ayear!"
Oh, ha ha. Louis is funny with robot jokes. º Last Column: Hello From Robot Apartmentº more columns
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Milestones2002: commune staffer writes this ĂŹMilestonesĂź blurb, causing time to fold in on itself and destroy the universe.Now HiringCharles Bronson. Experienced Charles Bronson needed to pull off some Deathwish-style menacing to scare off Ivana Folger-Balzac once and for all. Five years Charles Bronson experience minimum. Please provide references, and filmography.Top 5 Worst States| 1. | Oklahoma | | 2. | Wyoming | | 3. | West Virginia | | 4. | Nevada | | 5. | Nebraska | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY R.L. Kuntz 4/25/2005 Charlie and the Fudge PackersThere were these two old farts living in a farty old house and they were Grandpa and Grandma. And before they were dusty and old they had children who grew up like weeds and had a son, but not with each other. And that son was Charlie Pugmuck. Forget all the rest of them, this is Charlie's story.
The rest of the Pugmucks are just there to show that Charlie lived in a crowded house with no money, on account of being poor. They were so poor that all they could get Charlie for his birthday every year was a single piece of fudge, which he had to chew up and then spit back into the wrapper, so they could wrap it back up and sell it to an even poorer family down the block. Charlie looked forward to his birthday fudge all year but sometimes he wondered who was chewing on it before...
There were these two old farts living in a farty old house and they were Grandpa and Grandma. And before they were dusty and old they had children who grew up like weeds and had a son, but not with each other. And that son was Charlie Pugmuck. Forget all the rest of them, this is Charlie's story.
The rest of the Pugmucks are just there to show that Charlie lived in a crowded house with no money, on account of being poor. They were so poor that all they could get Charlie for his birthday every year was a single piece of fudge, which he had to chew up and then spit back into the wrapper, so they could wrap it back up and sell it to an even poorer family down the block. Charlie looked forward to his birthday fudge all year but sometimes he wondered who was chewing on it before it got to him. He hoped it wasn't more than a few people.
So you can imagine Charlie's surprise when one year he was the lucky boy who got the fudge that was contaminated with the E. Spori Chrysanthemum bacteria. And as part of the legal settlement he got to tour the fudge factory, every boy's dream after his dreams of being a famous football player or president or going to a toy factory have been ground into the dust by cold, cruel reality. Charlie liked fudge.
Charlie saved up for months collecting bottle tops and wishing well pennies and tiny scraps of aluminum foil to be able to buy a pair of pants to wear to the factory that didn't smell like hot dogshit. In the end, the pants store didn't want anything to do with the bottle tops or aluminum foil, but they just so happened to be having a "Get These Pants Out of Here Sale" where tragically unfashionable trousers were being sold for 99 cents a piece. And it just so happened that over the months, Charlie had fished exactly 98 pennies out of the muck at the bottom of the wishing well and from urinals in the bathrooms of bars around town, so in the end he had to hit the store keeper with a bottle and steal the pants, but it was okay because he really wanted to see that fudge factory.
When the magical day finally came, Charlie could hardly contain his excitement. He was so excited that morning he could barely eat the bowl of twigs and surplus marshmallows his mother had lovingly prepared for him as a special breakfast. His hands were shaking too much from malnutritionâand excitement!
On the way to the factory, Charlie had his dad let him out of the wheelbarrow a half-mile from the factory, since Charlie didn't want the other kids on the tour to know his family couldn't afford a car or servants to push him around in a nicer wheelbarrow. Charlie walked the rest of the way, careful not to ruin the nice new shoes his grandfather had made him out of bread bags and duct tape just that morning.
All of Charlie's efforts at putting on an illusion of not being desperately poor turned out to be for naught, however. Upon Charlie's arrival, the factory manager, the magically mysterious Mr. Wanker, told Charlie that no one was allowed to wear pants inside the fudge factory, a strange rule but one that somehow added to the fun of the fudge factory atmosphere. Unfortunately, Charlie hadn't had enough time or bottles to steal himself any proper new underwear for the trip, and he was embarrassed that all the other snotty rich kids on the tour made fun of the gently used disposable diaper he wore inside out as underwear, owing to his poorness.
But all of this would be quickly forgotten once Charlie caught an eyeful of the glorious fudge packing going on inside.
For more of this great story, buy R.L. Kuntz's magical
Charlie and the Fudge Packers   |