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August 22, 2005 |
New York City Sloe Lorenzo Thanks to Merck’s decision, a two-day supply of Vioxx (as pictured) can now command up to $500 on the black market n the wake of a landmark $253 million lawsuit that found the company liable for heart damage caused by its arthritis painkiller Vioxx, things went from bad to shitty bad for drug giant Merck this week, as a group of prescription drug abusers announced they were suing the company for taking Vioxx off the market during the shitstorm of controversy last year.
“We were all hooked on Vioxx, and Merck left us high and dry,” sobbed prescription painkiller addict and group spokesperson Beth Simmons of Noodle Cove, Maine. “Somebody needs to pay for all the bedspreads I shit while I was detoxing after Merck’s short-sighted decision to yank Vioxx off the market.”
“Just because a few pussies had heart attacks is no reason to put good people through the hell we...
n the wake of a landmark $253 million lawsuit that found the company liable for heart damage caused by its arthritis painkiller Vioxx, things went from bad to shitty bad for drug giant Merck this week, as a group of prescription drug abusers announced they were suing the company for taking Vioxx off the market during the shitstorm of controversy last year.
“We were all hooked on Vioxx, and Merck left us high and dry,” sobbed prescription painkiller addict and group spokesperson Beth Simmons of Noodle Cove, Maine. “Somebody needs to pay for all the bedspreads I shit while I was detoxing after Merck’s short-sighted decision to yank Vioxx off the market.”
“Just because a few pussies had heart attacks is no reason to put good people through the hell we’ve all been through,” added group member Tom Cripe. “Shame on you, Merck.”
“Vioxx got you high as shit,” agreed fellow abuser Dennis Melvin, staring off into space.
Though unusual, the lawsuit is not as revolutionary as many might assume. It follows in the footsteps of last year’s landmark State of Louisiana Vs. BDI Pharmaceuticals settlement, which found manufacturer BDI liable for the productivity lost and emotional damage caused when they reformulated their Mini Thins ephedrine tablets under the new name Mini Two-Way Action, to prevent abuse by truckers and to boost sales among rhinoceros horn-grinding aphrodisiac freaks.
“Merck formed a good-faith pact with their customers,” explained prosecuting attorney Ray Longam. “An implicit agreement that said: you get hooked on our pills, crushing them up and snorting them up your nose, or shooting a solution into your ass fat, scamming your insurance company out of thousands to feed your addiction, or turning to the black market to buy Vioxx pills stolen out of the medicine cabinets of old ladies, you hold up your end of the bargain, and we’ll keep you high as fuck all the time. Only Merck didn’t live up to their end of the bargain. And that’s just not right. Somebody’s got to stand up for the little guy.”
Joe Borchard, a little guy who estimates he snorted over $10,000 in powdered Vioxx pills during the painkiller’s short reign, is happy to know his voice will finally be heard. “I had to switch to OxyContin after they took Vioxx off the market. And that was a major pain in the ass. I could never remember how to spell it. One time I snorted a whole bottle of pimple cream on accident, and that shit dried out my brain for like three weeks.”
A Merck spokesperson, however, finds the lawsuit to be absurd.
“These people are clearly stupid,” explained Merck spokesperson Charles Ludlow. “Vicodin will get you so high you shit your pants and don’t even know it. So what were these people doing messing around with Vioxx? If we give these people a few million dollars in a settlement, they’re probably just going to blow it trying to get high off asthma medicine or something.”
Legal experts contend that an unfavorable judgment could cost Merck millions in expired Vioxx tablets, rumored to be buried in bunkers in the New Mexico desert. Industry insiders suggest that the pharmaceutical giant would be better served by paying off the plaintiffs before the trial even begins with free samples of Arcoxia, the company’s Vioxx replacement, which is twice as addictive as Vioxx and gets you so high there’s no way you’d get to the courthouse on time. the commune news knows that drug abuse is no laughing matter, unless you order two junkies to play ping pong on roller skates, then it’s funny as fuck. Ivana Folger-Balzac didn’t make any friends during the reporting of this story, but she didn’t kill any endangered species either, and we think that’s a step in the right direction. Way to go Ivana!
 | Laser pointers shined at plane annoy passengers watching Meet the Fockers
Australian record industry cracks down on mate-to-mate file-swapping
Cowardly GIs didn't want to die for someone else's country
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President Demands More Wheels on Airplanes learly delighted to have an offensive position at last, President Bush lashed out at “safety ign’rant” airlines and the FAA for its low-wheel requirements on commercial aircraft. According the president’s amusing new platform, safety could be increased a bunchfold with the addition of 8-10 new sets of landing gear on standard airplanes, and hopefully would prevent scenes like the dramatic emergency landing of JetBlue Flight 292 on Thursday. The commercial airline flight JetBlue 292 ran into difficulty landing when its foremost landing wheel arrogantly faced the wrong direction and forced a tense landing situation. The event was made all the more worthy of national attention when it was revealed passengers/potential victims aboard Flight 292 were watching their own ordeal on satellite television, one of the perks the airline offers passengers willing to risk becoming human charcoal on their flights. In the end, the plane landed successful, jetting down the runway covered with foam and emitting sparks in a thrilling scene of real life danger only seen previously on repeats of Jackass. Today’s Hurricanes Not Worth a Damn, Say Elderly Southerners In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and the currentmath of Hurricane Rita hot on Katrina’s high heels, elderly southerners who’ve been there before are offering a reassuring voice of bitter calm to troubled Americans across the South. “Today’s hurricanes aren’t worth a hot goddamn,” groused Boca Raton resident Carter Dunlop, 88. “You all can quit your bellyaching. Back in the day, we had hurricanes to remember. I don’t recall their names or any details, but you can rest assured these latest pipsqueaks are even less noteworthy. Trust me, you’ll all hear Carter Dunlop scream like a woman when a real hurricane hits.” “Category 5? Pssh, they’ll call any old stiff breeze a hurricane nowadays,” griped Biloxi native Ted Knuck. “Back in my day, you wouldn’t cross the street for anything less then a Category 15. And that was only because it blew you across the street.” “Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough |
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 November 11, 2002
The Girl Everyone Just Sort of Assumed Was Native AmericanHere is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.
Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.
Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.
So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty...
º Last Column: GET UP! º more columns
Here is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.
Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.
Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.
So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty about. º Last Column: GET UP!º more columns
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|  April 29, 2002
ome, Come to Jamaica!I've got to say, I've always laughed at those commercials urging me to "Come, Come to Jamaica." For one, it's stupid to say "come" twice—I'm not a dog, I get it, you want me to come there. Forget it. You said it twice like I'm some sort of dog or something. Jamaican jackasses.
For another thing, Jamaica's not even a state! It's a whole other country or something. If it's not American, forget it, you won't catch me tanning my backside on some communist beach in Castroland.
Third: Well, I don't really have a third thing. It looks pretty nice on TV and all, no problem with that. Probably the "ai" thing, that bothers me. Look, you hotsy pseudo-French dorks, you don't need an "i" if you have an "a" already, it's still pronounced "Juh-may-ka." I know from experience in America we pronounce "ai" like "i-ee," as in my friend Aisha. That bitch.
At least that's how I felt before I got on the wrong plane. I've flown out to Hollywood on planes so many times it's second nature to me, so forgive me for getting flight 34 to Jamaica confused with flight 43 to California. But I can honestly say it was worth the mistake, even if I missed the L.A. premiere of Desert Dogs and that audition for Promise margarine I was flying out for.
Jamaica is pseudo-American, it turns out. Some of the people talk funny and say things you can't understand, but just don't talk to them. They're locals anyway. Turns out Jamaica has a lot of people that speak...
º Last Column: Let the Buyer Beware º more columns
I've got to say, I've always laughed at those commercials urging me to "Come, Come to Jamaica." For one, it's stupid to say "come" twice—I'm not a dog, I get it, you want me to come there. Forget it. You said it twice like I'm some sort of dog or something. Jamaican jackasses.
For another thing, Jamaica's not even a state! It's a whole other country or something. If it's not American, forget it, you won't catch me tanning my backside on some communist beach in Castroland.
Third: Well, I don't really have a third thing. It looks pretty nice on TV and all, no problem with that. Probably the "ai" thing, that bothers me. Look, you hotsy pseudo-French dorks, you don't need an "i" if you have an "a" already, it's still pronounced "Juh-may-ka." I know from experience in America we pronounce "ai" like "i-ee," as in my friend Aisha. That bitch.
At least that's how I felt before I got on the wrong plane. I've flown out to Hollywood on planes so many times it's second nature to me, so forgive me for getting flight 34 to Jamaica confused with flight 43 to California. But I can honestly say it was worth the mistake, even if I missed the L.A. premiere of Desert Dogs and that audition for Promise margarine I was flying out for.
Jamaica is pseudo-American, it turns out. Some of the people talk funny and say things you can't understand, but just don't talk to them. They're locals anyway. Turns out Jamaica has a lot of people that speak perfect English and they're ready and willing to take your bags and point you toward the pool, all the stuff you need to know.
And, boy, do they have beaches! Hot sand, warm water. That makes a beach. What beaches.
There were so many fantastic people I met. I've never met so many interesting people in a weekend, and I'm from Hollywood, you know. Jamaica is full of them. At least Jamaica was full of them, they all had to go back to the states since they were just visiting like me. But I'm sure more were arriving from fascinating places like Ohio, South Carolina, Nebraska, and other exotic places I've never been to.
All this unexpected travel made me think, and I've made an important decision—I've got to start asking the people at the terminal to check my ticket for me or something. In addition to that, however, I think I'm going to travel more often. Visit all these amazing places that exist out there. Call me crazy, but I'm even thinking of taking a trip to New Mexico. It's a little intimidating, I'll have to get inoculations and get a passport or whatever, but I just might do it.
Aw, who am I kidding? I'm not ready for something like that. Maybe I'll just rent a video about New Mexico first, at least then it will hopefully be dubbed and I can get a feel for what I'm avoiding. º Last Column: Let the Buyer Bewareº more columns
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Milestones1999: Eurocommune opens, burns down four minutes later after an electrical outlet misunderstanding.Now HiringGood Humor Man. Must be willing to drive around the commune offices in a circle 24 hours a day. Familiarity with The Farmer in the Dell strongly recommended. Dilly Bars a plus.Top Embarrassing Baby Names| 1. | Skyler Ridge | | 2. | Dakotah Ember-Trace | | 3. | Cheyenne Smokewindow Teardrop | | 4. | Dick Cheney | | 5. | Rat Face | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Violet Tiara 9/16/2002 Mrs. The PopeI'll elope with the Pope
on a Sunday in Spain,
and I hope that the dope
won't pick a day when it rains.
For though the walrus and crow
might find it refreshing,
the sugar-drop people would melt
right through the chairs' meshing.
And the rest of the guests
won't think it so smashing,
the vows we espouse
drown out by their teeth gnashing!
But then I'll be famous! As famous as Amos.
And though it's thought taboo… really, who could blame us?
"What a dashing young couple!" would be what they all said.
For I would be dashing and he (in a couple years), dead.
And then I'd be sitting, all pretty with gloat,
since I had a bulletproof car and a boat,
and a bulletproof bathroom,...
I'll elope with the Pope
on a Sunday in Spain,
and I hope that the dope
won't pick a day when it rains.
For though the walrus and crow
might find it refreshing,
the sugar-drop people would melt
right through the chairs' meshing.
And the rest of the guests
won't think it so smashing,
the vows we espouse
drown out by their teeth gnashing!
But then I'll be famous! As famous as Amos.
And though it's thought taboo… really, who could blame us?
"What a dashing young couple!" would be what they all said.
For I would be dashing and he (in a couple years), dead.
And then I'd be sitting, all pretty with gloat,
since I had a bulletproof car and a boat,
and a bulletproof bathroom, and a bulletproof tan.
I would be invincible, even while on the can.
For you can't shoot the Pope, nor Mrs. the Pope, neither.
I could have things your way or my way or either.
I could have omelettes without touching the eggs,
I could pay ballerinas to crack them with their legs.
I could smoke cigars and wear wax mustaches.
I could smote enemies and blow snot on their ashes.
I could pass bulls, writs and papal decrees.
I could have chocolate without asking please.
I could take religion and turn it on its head,
and say Jesus was Hispanic and he wet the bed.
That Monday is sock day and Sunday is hat day,
and Tuesday and Thursday are Be Nice To Your Cat Days.
I could wear swanky hats and tell priests to get bent
and say things like "These buffalo wings are heaven-sent!"
I could go to Aruba and if the locals should scoff,
my lackeys would say "Mrs. the Pope is here!
Clear the island! Get off!"
For with Mrs. the Pope you just do not mess.
I could sell off on eBay all the things that I bless!
I'll rename Rome Rubber Rome, then bring it to its knees,
and I'll make sure that every store carries Pope Cheese.
I don't care if it's a shoe store or a tutu store,
they can call it The Pope Cheese, Shoes, Tutus and More Store.
And then I'll be richer than my wildest dreams,
So I'll have to dream wilder, of kneesocks on bees
and teatherballs roasted like glazed honey hams,
and the children eat telephones instead of sweet yams,
and glaciers sing harmonies of Happy Birthday to Me,
and I used karate to chop down a tree.
That's it! It's settled. The Pope's wife I'll be.
I can't believe it took so long to occur to me.
Now where to begin? Without a battle plan I'm hosed.
Ah! I'm off to check my email.
In case he proposed!   |