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Former CIA Director Doesn’t Know SportsApril 30, 2007 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee Former CIA Director George Tenet admits he doesn’t know dick about sports in his new book. In an old White House photo, Tenet tries to bluff his way through a description of a "goal and two assists" he saw in a televised game of checkers.  
Like a lot of women out there, this reporter only watches sports for the unspoken erotic tension between the players and the frequent male touching. But honey, at least I watch. Which leaves straight boys like George Tenet...
h, baby, there’s being a girl and then there’s being a girl—know what I’m saying? Take as an example former CIA Director George Tenet, the man who complains in his new book At the Center of the Storm that he became a poster boy for the fuck-up in Iraq and that his comment "It’s a Slam Dunk, Mr. President," was used as grounds for the Iraqi invasion and taken out of context. Now it turns out that, according to Tenet’s new book, the problem is trying to use sports terminology in the workplace without knowing shit about sports.
Like a lot of women out there, this reporter only watches sports for the unspoken erotic tension between the players and the frequent male touching. But honey, at least I watch. Which leaves straight boys like George Tenet trying to fumble (another sports term) around the office to describe international situations in a language the president can understand. If he don’t know sports and the president don’t know international politics, they might as well be speaking Swahili and German to each other, sweetie.
In Tenet’s new book, the freshest alibi that testifies he’s someone else who didn’t do shit to cause the unpopular war in Iraq, the former CIA Director tells how he responded to the president’s question about the intelligence that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction (WMD is so 2003 now), to which Tenet replied with the damned expression "Slam Dunk." But Tenet says the case against him is not so clear.
"The president likes to receive all of his briefings in language that the public can understand," Tenet wrote of his former boss and frequent sly critic. "This makes it easier for the razor-sharp mind of President Bush to prepare information for his press conferences—with so many things on his plate like writing a balanced budget, researching the privatization of health care, and his late-night situation meetings, sports terminology can get the point home to the American people without the president complicating the matter with the convoluted jargon familiar to President Bush, but strange to our ears.
"In this matter, I incorrectly clarified the intelligence case for Iraq’s possession of weapons of mass destruction as a ’Slam Dunk.’ I have very rarely ever seen a football game, so using this terminology was my mistake. I should have gone with ’home run,’ which is at least familiar to me because of dating slang. I did not mean that the ball was knocked out of the park. I meant that that thing happens where—what’s the term for when a player pretends to throw the ball, but you’re not sure he did, and any player could have or not have the ball? A ’clusterfuck,’ maybe? Whatever that thing is, that’s what I meant to say. Boy, I must have really messed up my sports lingo, though."
Tenet’s book further criticizes politicians out there, including the White House, for making him the scapegoat for the war because of the "Slam Dunk" comment. When the intelligence for Iraq was revealed as faulty, detractors pointed to Tenet as the face for the flawed intelligence system and put the burden on him and his people for a war that many accusers say was initiated only by the president’s interests. Tenet goes on to describe the process as "just plain mean."
Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice was uncharacteristically frank in her response to Tenet’s charges in her response with Wolf Blitzer on CNN Sunday.
"George screwed the pooch and he knows it," said Rice. "That’s not a sports term, so maybe I won’t have to translate it for him. We should send him to the penalty box for his knocking us over it all, but he wouldn’t know where the fuck it is anyway." the commune news is way familiar with sports terminology, and frequently likes to invent our own to liven things up. By the way, did you see the Cubs totally pontoon that short-sheet into the baker’s dozen last week? Total bullshit. Correspondent Stigmata Spent is also total bullshit, if you’re looking for a genuine lady to go out clubbing with, but she knows her football, and she’s more fun to talk to.
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Iraqi extremists boast killing 15 policemen, all ten-foot tall ninjas
Automatic bread-butterer butters wrong goddamned side
 Obama to Change Spelling of Name to oBAMa for Maximum Impact
Rock and roll hits China
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Turkey to Block Offensive Websites; commune Offers Pre-Emptive “Fuck You” Obama to Change Spelling of Name to oBAMa for Maximum Impact Oasis, Killers Combine Forces to Ruin Sgt. Pepper’s for Everyone Global Warming Poses Threat to National Parks, Says WWF’s “Machoman” Savage |
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 October 10, 2005
Volume 64Hello commune:
Do I know you from somewhere? I could swear that I do. You seem so familiar. Are you the website where I got all that barnyard porn last year? Thanks a lot, if that's the case. I had to enroll in veterinary school to justify that one to my wife. But no, the more I think about it, that site had more horse cocks than yours. Where do I know you from? Were you the website that told me to buy all that stock in that edible dildo company? Again, thanks a lot. But I seem to remember they had all their fonts in pink. Hmm. Who are you guys? You must have been on the computer during my brother's wedding. Something like that. Weird.
Rick Splitz
Old Phone, Vermont
Dear Rick:
According to our exhaustive research and forensic computer analysis, we believe the sites in question to have been BustyBarnyardBitches.com, EatADick.com and DrunkBridesmaidBang.com. As for the commune, we don't believe you've ever visited our site, since we know all of our eleven visitors by IP address and think of them lovingly as family. Which may make it seem strange that we've even bothered to answer your letter, but we're confident that word of its publication will eventually reach you through the grapevine of pedophiles, speed freaks, Oakies, defamed Catholic priests, jigsaw puzzle enthusiasts and sub-Star Trek geeks who read the commune. Take care.
the commune
Dear commune:
º Last Column: Volume 63
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Hello commune: Do I know you from somewhere? I could swear that I do. You seem so familiar. Are you the website where I got all that barnyard porn last year? Thanks a lot, if that's the case. I had to enroll in veterinary school to justify that one to my wife. But no, the more I think about it, that site had more horse cocks than yours. Where do I know you from? Were you the website that told me to buy all that stock in that edible dildo company? Again, thanks a lot. But I seem to remember they had all their fonts in pink. Hmm. Who are you guys? You must have been on the computer during my brother's wedding. Something like that. Weird. Rick Splitz
Old Phone, VermontDear Rick:
According to our exhaustive research and forensic computer analysis, we believe the sites in question to have been BustyBarnyardBitches.com, EatADick.com and DrunkBridesmaidBang.com. As for the commune, we don't believe you've ever visited our site, since we know all of our eleven visitors by IP address and think of them lovingly as family. Which may make it seem strange that we've even bothered to answer your letter, but we're confident that word of its publication will eventually reach you through the grapevine of pedophiles, speed freaks, Oakies, defamed Catholic priests, jigsaw puzzle enthusiasts and sub-Star Trek geeks who read the commune. Take care.
the commune
Dear commune: Please die. Stacey Altamont
Redburn, GeorgiaDear Stacey:
Finally, a civil letter we can respond to. Good to hear from you again Stacey. Though we like to honor reader requests when possible (see "commune please cure my cancer," issue 37), we've run into a small problem with yours. Apparently there remain a few antiquated state laws on the books about mass murder within office buildings, even when sanctioned by a total stranger via US Mail. What will they think of next? Making it illegal to keep small children locked in your basement for the purpose of pay-per-view pitbull wrestling? Sorry Stacey, try writing your congressman a letter.
the commune
Dear commune: the commune's retrospective article on baseball pioneer Hank Greenberg ( Big League Jew, July 14th) was both racist and derogatory. No it wasn't. Yes it was. The fact of the matter is that I don't know how I feel about the commune's Greenberg article. And this is a problem. Please make it a point to run articles in the future that I understand my feelings about more clearly. Thank you. Dickie Waters
Bleaching, New MexicoDear Dickie:
Always happy to hear from a fan. Actually, we're not. Okay, we are. Hold on. We'll get back to you.
the commune
Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for anyone's actions after reading the commune's first Book of the Month selection, "Why Do the Arabs Hate Us, and How Can We Kill Them?" We just liked the cool drawing on the cover.º Last Column: Volume 63º more columns
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|  June 10, 2002
Bouncing My Thoughts to You Off the Shimmering MoonBack in my school days I was of truest retro nature, riding a camel to school in a day when all the kids rode dromedaries, or at least Malibus. Can you pluralize Malibu? Sounds like a sickly French school bus to me.
Bas Lurman or no Bas Lurman (though of course I prefer the former), I have to say that retro anything is a good excuse to wear the clothes you get off the old couples when you do those home invasion robberies. You agree, no? Not fewer than seven times have I had the fashion-savvy passerby comment upon my depression-era negligee and feather boa. But I have to admit that even I cringe at those old high school yearbook photos, thinking as I did at the time that I was posing for a Playboy spread. Quite the challenge for a young Wisconsin boy but we're of scrappy stock and suffer for our art.
And suffer we did! The episodes with Scrappy were the hardest Scooby Doos to watch, indeed. I always thought "Scooby Doo" sounded like something you find on your windshield after you get your car out of long-term parking at the airport. But still the courts would not hear my intellectual property suit, which was a shame since its pinstripes were exquisite. Am I getting through to you?
I'm so confused... if only Alex Trebek were here to help me out in my time of need…
-dissolve-
"Welcome to the show Stu, why don't you start us off and pick a category? Your choices are: "Kidd Rock's in My...
º Last Column: A Brief Survey
º more columns
Back in my school days I was of truest retro nature, riding a camel to school in a day when all the kids rode dromedaries, or at least Malibus. Can you pluralize Malibu? Sounds like a sickly French school bus to me.
Bas Lurman or no Bas Lurman (though of course I prefer the former), I have to say that retro anything is a good excuse to wear the clothes you get off the old couples when you do those home invasion robberies. You agree, no? Not fewer than seven times have I had the fashion-savvy passerby comment upon my depression-era negligee and feather boa. But I have to admit that even I cringe at those old high school yearbook photos, thinking as I did at the time that I was posing for a Playboy spread. Quite the challenge for a young Wisconsin boy but we're of scrappy stock and suffer for our art.
And suffer we did! The episodes with Scrappy were the hardest Scooby Doos to watch, indeed. I always thought "Scooby Doo" sounded like something you find on your windshield after you get your car out of long-term parking at the airport. But still the courts would not hear my intellectual property suit, which was a shame since its pinstripes were exquisite. Am I getting through to you?
I'm so confused... if only Alex Trebek were here to help me out in my time of need…
-dissolve-
"Welcome to the show Stu, why don't you start us off and pick a category? Your choices are: "Kidd Rock's in My Outhouse!" "High School Fashions of the Damned" "Andy Rooney's Hemorrhoid Pillow" "Things You've Eaten By Accident" and "What's In This Damn Shampoo?"."
"I'll take Vanna White for a ride, Alex!"
"That's not an option, Stu. That's not even the right show."
"Judges?"
"Goddammit Stu! Only I can question the judges! You're treading on thin ice mister!"
-jarring return to reality-
Last year I met those Hansen kids in person and I have to say, those were some cute motherfuckers. We're talking cute beyond all intelligible speech. I had to communicate through a hand puppet the whole time. If I'd had more time to prepare, it probably wouldn't have been a boxing puppet of Hitler dressed up as a nun, but it was short notice and all. I don't think they really meant what they said about my ruining of their lives and all that. Crazy kids.
But a restraining order is a restraining order, as my dad used to say. And this one, I believe, has also been ratified by NATO. That can't be right.
I was just commenting the other day: Man, Clorox sucks on cereal! Oh, wait -flips through mental file- I guess the relevant comment would actually be: I need to come up with a plan for my life. A mission, even. Do you have a mission, should I choose to accept it? Why thank you, I love Spanish architecture! Haha. That one never gets old. Seriously though, my plan:
(Read slowly, 'cause I don't write that fast.)
Five years from now, I'd like to be, for all intents and purposes, Bjork.
There you go. That is my five-year plan, though Dad tells me it shouldn't have taken five years just to come up with that. I told him to bite it, Hotsy.
Anyway, now I see a wayward soul trying to put a parking ticket on my windshield outside, I must go and act as his conscience. I did mention that I'm three inches tall, and a cricket, right? º Last Column: A Brief Surveyº more columns
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Quote of the Day“There's more than one way to skin a cat. But only one reason: cat skin tacos.”
-Emil the Lonely ChefFortune 500 CookieYou will become unbearably wealthy this week, and pen a beautifully-written suicide note. Donkey meat tastes just like chicken, but don't leave the hooves on unless you want your dinner guests seriously freaking out on you. This week's lucky swear words: fafuck, dickfish, shatly, bitcheese, cashit, cabbageass, shitch.
Try again later.Top Cruel New Rumors| 1. | Gay people can't whistle | | 2. | Tennessee quarter shows state trooper harassing black motorist | | 3. | French Stewart not actually French | | 4. | Cats love vodka | | 5. | Donald Trump is secret owner of McDonald's chain | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 10/28/2002 Hello hello, America!
Boy have we got some nipples for you this week! I ca- nipples? You know what I mean, America, movies. Weird. Some people think it's significant when you nip out like that, ma- slip up, nip rocks, whatever. It's not like this is a column about taut, hairy man-nipples or anything. Woman! Woman nipples. Hairless and soft. I mean, it's not about that either, but if this column were about nipples, it sure as hell wouldn't be about any tempting, salty, lickable man nipples. Gross.
All right, let's get to the boobies before somebody gets hurt.
In Theaters
Auto Focus
Ford loves to kiss its own ass over the fact that they present the hit drama...
Hello hello, America!
Boy have we got some nipples for you this week! I ca- nipples? You know what I mean, America, movies. Weird. Some people think it's significant when you nip out like that, ma- slip up, nip rocks, whatever. It's not like this is a column about taut, hairy man-nipples or anything. Woman! Woman nipples. Hairless and soft. I mean, it's not about that either, but if this column were about nipples, it sure as hell wouldn't be about any tempting, salty, lickable man nipples. Gross.
All right, let's get to the boobies before somebody gets hurt.
In Theaters
Auto Focus
Ford loves to kiss its own ass over the fact that they present the hit drama 24 without commercial interruption, like Robitussin used to do with Twin Peaks. But then they turn around and flush all of that goodwill right down the crapper by putting out a movie that's one thinly-disguised two hour commercial for their miserable mini-car, the Focus. Sure, there's some porn and scandal and whatnot in there to distract you from this fact, but it's still obviously the opening salvo in the upcoming "Battle of the Shitty Midget Cars" with Ford trying to high-step its way out to an early lead over the Toyota Echo and the Chevy Burp. You might think the Honda Cramp should have a place in the fray, but it's technically in a different car class since you can fit a jug of milk in the trunk.
Formula 51
Leave it to Samuel L. Jackson to bring Heinz founder Mortimer P. Heinz to badass life on the big screen. Sure, Heinz wasn't black, but he sure made catsup like he was. And Jackson brings that tomato-squashing verve to this role so convincingly, you'll almost forget how he tricked you into paying to see that shitty genius shark movie a while back.
Ghost Ship
It sure as hell didn't work for Speed, but the makers of the 2001 Nintendo Pictures hit Ghost World apparently thought two times was a charm when they decided to needlessly recycle their hit film by setting the sequel on a big ol' boat. Sure, Patrick Swayzee gets to hop around some more and shoot fireballs out of his nose at skeleton pirates, and you know the kids love that, but not bringing back Whoopi Goldberg for the sequel was a big mistake, and the picture runs out of gas halfway through because of it. The second half of the film is exactly the same as the first, except now the ghosts are orange instead of blue, which I guess is supposed to mean something.
Jackass: The Movie
The elephant fetishists aren't going to like it, but Michael Moore's latest cannonball into the kiddie pool of conservative life is his funniest film yet. Not that it takes someone with an IQ over 15 to make our president look like a yokel, but Moore does it up right with this hilarious space invasion of all things George W. Bush. It's all here, every time he's made up a word to express his complex feelings during an interview, the notorious "Stuck Inside a Port-a-John" episode from the Republican Primaries, and some jaw-dropping super-8 footage of a teenage George W. being outsmarted by a Chinese finger trap (and tape of the classic 911 call that followed). Sometimes Moore can be too far-reaching in his satire, but this time he hit the nail on the nards.
The Truth About Charlie
Red Bagel's third unpublished book about the Vietnam War finally finds its way to the big screen, credited of course to one of Bagel's many pen names. Always one of the most popular of Bagel's photocopied manuscripts around his favorite local haunts (the Laundromat and the Crazy Crotch Tavern), Charlie uncovers the untold story of the Vietnam conflict, beginning with Grover Cleveland's illegal importation of midgets from the Orient in the 60's and continuing through the mock battles staged on a Hollywood set for the benefit of JFK's private investors. The book, if you can call a ragged stack of Xerox paper binder-clipped together a book, ripped the asshole off the entire cover-up, and changed the way about fifteen people thought about Vietnam forever. The movie, of course, is watered down horseshit with some pretty faces plastered on the package, but that's to be expected. The government hasn't let Hollywood come anywhere near the truth since Benji the Hunted in 1987*.
(*Note: Benji Bones a Bitch, the 1992 home-video hit, was filmed entirely in Vancouver, outside of the Hollywood system.)
Waking Up in Reno with Billy Bob Thornton
You know it's got to be Halloween season when they start putting scary junk in all of the upcoming movie trailers, like Jennifer Love Hewitt or shots of Billy Bob in his bikini briefs. This is what they mean when they call something a "Psychological Thriller," unless it's a movie about a killer psychologist, in which case that's what they mean. I probably should have seen it coming, from the title and all, but I have to admit I jumped halfway out of my pants during the scene when Ashley Judd wakes up and rolls over to find Mr. Slingblade between her sheets. Absolutely the scariest waking up scene since the one where that Canadian chick wakes up to find a moose head in her bed in The Godfather.
Well, it looks like that's that, America. Another two weeks down, another several hundred to go before we can lay down and die. That's how the country song goes, anyway. Old-time country, not this new truck commercial country they play nowadays. I'm talking about back when country was about having your balls chewed off by a thresher and how that means you won't be able to have no two-headed children with your cousin Moline, and how that drove you to drinkin'. These days country music is all about how your agent tricked your dumb country ass out of a million dollars and now you've got to do a Dr. Pepper commercial so the bank doesn't repossess your hideously decorated triple-decker yacht. It's crap, but it still sells since there are plenty of small-town minivan moms out there who need to be sheltered from irony. But listen to me here, you'd think I was trying to make up for not running any album reviews since Clinton was in office. Take it easy, America.    |
