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 January 20, 2003 |
Sacramento, California Junior Bacon A suspect arrested for a sex crime is handcuffed to a chair... and probably likes it; one of the few captured with the use of the "free molesting" coupon, pictured below.
It was a disappointment for state government, who has faced ridicule since January 7, 2003 for its admission that it lost 33,000 sex offenders from its registry. The registry was created in response to Megan's Law, legislation requiring convicted sex offenders to register their addresses with the state, manipulatively named after a murdered sexual assault victim.
"The coupon was not real, let me stress that," said California Department of Public Relations VP Millie Scheiner. "Damn truth-in-advertising laws required we put that note in all ads promoting the 'am...
he first attempt to locate 33,000 missing sex offenders in California failed when there was no response to a highly-publicized offer of a phony coupon good for "one free molestation and/or sexual assault."
It was a disappointment for state government, who has faced ridicule since January 7, 2003 for its admission that it lost 33,000 sex offenders from its registry. The registry was created in response to Megan's Law, legislation requiring convicted sex offenders to register their addresses with the state, manipulatively named after a murdered sexual assault victim.
"The coupon was not real, let me stress that," said California Department of Public Relations VP Millie Scheiner. "Damn truth-in-advertising laws required we put that note in all ads promoting the 'amnesty coupon,' but we made it really small and put it in the fine print. Who reads that? Well, apparently sex offenders are wise shoppers."
Part of the annoyance at the failure is that the state will now be forced to pursue more expensive searches to find the missing sex offenders. Budget analysts have suggested that it could cost the state at least $20 million to find the sex offenders and register them once again. To stave that cost, other proposals are already flowing in.
"A major step in reducing the cost of the search is to eliminate places you won't find sex offenders," said Geoff Jermaine, founder and president of PervSearch, an independent company formed with hope of winning a state contract to find the missing sex offenders. "For instance, it's pretty safe to assume we won't search police stations. We know they're not in prisons either, so that cuts down on a lot of search areas. How much of California can there be?"
The second step, according to Jermaine, is to actively seek places that might provide a good hiding place for sex offenders, like Georgia and Catholic churches.
"Our first step will be to check stadiums, large open fields, mid-size towns and army bases, anywhere that could house 33,000 people—that's a large number of perverts to go walking down Hollywood Boulevard in the daytime," said Jermaine. "But more than likely we'll have to consider the possibility that they've all split up by now. It's a damn shame. That's going to make the search a lot harder."
The state government hasn't ruled out hiring an independent contractor to locate and register the missing sex offenders, but they are still considering all options at this point. Governor's office insiders have leaked a number of possible methods of finding the sex offenders, including putting their faces on the side of milk cartons with messages such as, "Have you seen me? I'm a rapist. Please call 1-800-SEX-PERV." Early success with the milk carton search method could lead to T-shirts with similar messages, and might even catch on as a fad with cynical high schoolers and twentysomethings.
Still other solutions are on the drawing board. America's Most Wanted star John Walsh said he has approached the state government with a proposal for a weekend marathon on Fox where they show pictures of the missing offenders, present computer representations of what they might look like with old-time mustaches and glasses, and take calls from anonymous informers.
"I think it could be really great, for California and for Fox," said Walsh. "We could have a huge total board behind me and periodically I tell them to show me the total, and the roll up the numbers. We could continue right through Sunday night and I bet you we get at least 25,000 of them back. With the help of viewers like you."
Recovering the sex offenders would be the first step for California in recovering from its humiliation. According to insiders, Gov. Gray Davis has received countless prank calls from national senators, representatives, and other governors asking if he left the sex offenders in his other pants pockets, or saying they have seen the 33,000 missing ex-convicts at the local Safeway. the commune news has to officialy register as a sex machine wherever we go—and tonight we'd like to be at your place to register, baby. Raoul Dunkin is quite a card, and a number of the staff would like to put him in the spokes of their bicycle wheels to see if he makes noise.
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Flood-based sitcoms and movie scripts shelved indefinitely
Chinese AIDS vaccine cheaper if you go for immunization buffet
Rod Stewart finds one true love for third time
Everyone kind of a little relieved Bob Hope finally dead
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British Nearly Affected by London Terror Attacks ith their famously stoic façade put to the ultimate test, Londoners came through with flying colors this week, failing to register the slightest emotion in the face of stunning terror attacks on the city’s mass transit system that left 50 dead and over 700 wounded. “Oh yes, it was quite a mess,” explained commuter Harold Alburn, who was aboard one of the bombed subway trains and only survived due to being caked in a human cocoon formed by the flaming remains of his fellow passengers. “That rail line’s going to be down for weeks, you have to assume.” Jackson Prosecution Produces Bloody Glove he Michael Jackson trial escalated to the seventh level of hooplah Friday as prosecutors introduced into evidence a bloody sequined gloved that had not been previously revealed publicly. The defense requested a recess, to which the witty judge replied that no one had been good enough to deserve recess, but they would take a brief break. It gave the Jackson defense, led by attorney and Warhol knock-off Thomas Mesereau, a chance to recover from the five-fingered blow. Merck: “Crazy-Ass Brazil Giving AIDS Drugs to People With No Money” Poison Probe Reveals 90% of Packaged Foods Actually Dog Food |
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 December 9, 2002
Re-Decorating My LifeAs you might guess, I'm back inside the safety of my apartment. It turns out it was all some sort of misunderstanding—Lee was on tour with his new band and Camembert was with him, acting as roadie. Sure, it doesn't explain the nasty note telling me to fuck off, but it was more than enough explanation to make me happy. And now that I'm back in, I've got to get this place in better shape.
I was so happy to find a place to stay after leaving my ex-wife's house I never noticed how awful this apartment looks. Sure, it's four walls and a roof, not to mention the great floor that keeps us from falling into the crazy veteran's apartment beneath us, but it lacks panache. So the first thing I did was went out to buy a panache, but it turns out to be some kind of adjective or something instead of the burrito-making appliance I thought it was. Which leaves me wondering how they make burritos.
The walls are a bland egg-white here. Not the natural paint color, but after all the egg fights Lee and I have had, what color can you expect them to be? The yolks run down to the floor and color the carpet, the whites just stay on the walls. I'm thinking anything with a fairly light color will charm the place quite a bit, and if there's a kind of paint that makes walls softer or bouncier and resists cracking eggs it will be a plus.
I suppose the carpet is fine, light brown so it matches virtually any paint color. I believe it's light brown. It was light...
º Last Column: Let My Love Open the Door
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As you might guess, I'm back inside the safety of my apartment. It turns out it was all some sort of misunderstanding—Lee was on tour with his new band and Camembert was with him, acting as roadie. Sure, it doesn't explain the nasty note telling me to fuck off, but it was more than enough explanation to make me happy. And now that I'm back in, I've got to get this place in better shape.
I was so happy to find a place to stay after leaving my ex-wife's house I never noticed how awful this apartment looks. Sure, it's four walls and a roof, not to mention the great floor that keeps us from falling into the crazy veteran's apartment beneath us, but it lacks panache. So the first thing I did was went out to buy a panache, but it turns out to be some kind of adjective or something instead of the burrito-making appliance I thought it was. Which leaves me wondering how they make burritos.
The walls are a bland egg-white here. Not the natural paint color, but after all the egg fights Lee and I have had, what color can you expect them to be? The yolks run down to the floor and color the carpet, the whites just stay on the walls. I'm thinking anything with a fairly light color will charm the place quite a bit, and if there's a kind of paint that makes walls softer or bouncier and resists cracking eggs it will be a plus.
I suppose the carpet is fine, light brown so it matches virtually any paint color. I believe it's light brown. It was light brown the last time I saw it—picking up some of the cans and candy bar wrappers would help. It may be light brown. Camembert told me when I moved in it was white, but that was too long ago to remember. He also complains he can't vacuum because Lee turned his vacuum into bagpipes, but that was a problem that solved itself as the bagpipes drown out the complaining.
My room is perfect, of course—the first thing I did was glue-and-glitter the walls to liven them up, and Lee's suggestion of black lights was ingenious; now all my white clothes look like neon purple. But I can't spend my redecorating talent on my room alone! I will not rest until the entire house screams "Rok Finger lives here!" The same way I do when women pass by my window.
In Rok Finger's world, of course, form follows function. My method of design follows the scheme, "If it sounds like fun, I say do it." Back when I lived with Arvelyn I had to design according to "color schemes" and "motifs." As a bachelor with no hope of trapping a woman within these walls, I design this place for fun, fun, fun! And sleeping, when necessary.
First step is to rip the carpet out—really, what purpose does it serve? I don't sleep on floors, you plebeians. I'll replace it with linoleum, like the kitchen. Now that fun we have sliding across the floor in socks can be for every room in the house! Except the bathroom, where it's too dangerous to slide around porcelain and crap cans. In there we put natural flooring—a foot of dirt and grass, which is impossible to slip on. Also, it makes it less important if you hit the toilet or not.
Something really needs to be done about these walls, too. Away with them! Walls just close people out and make the place seem smaller. No secrets here in our apartment. At least there won't be once I do away with the walls. Finally I'll be able to tell if Lee and Camembert are talking about me when I'm in the bathroom; or, as it will be known from now on, "the left side of the room."
I'm excited about the re-designing already, and as soon as I tell them, Lee and Camembert will be, too. Or if they come home later than I do, they'll be excited with the results. º Last Column: Let My Love Open the Doorº more columns
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|  September 1, 2003
Volume 50Dear commune:
How come we don’t have no national holidays for stuff that’s happened while I was alive? Was the past so great we’ve really got to be celebrating that junk all the time? Gimmie a break. I don’t even like the president, what am I supposed to do on President’s Day? Go to work by myself? Fat chance. We should have a "Remember When the Cubs Won the Pennant?" day or a "Joey Knocked Up That Hot Blonde Who Works Down at the Bottling Plant" day. That’d be fun. I’d vote for it, if I voted. But if I thought I was filling out a rebate for batteries and then it turned out I was voting on accident, then forget that! Because shame on you guys for tricking me. Damn. So pass it on.
Yours,
Jack Hargraves
Hell’s Belt, NV
Dear Jack:
Wow, it’s rare that the commune receives a letter with that level of thought, or motor oil, put into it. We thank you for taking the time to dig a piece of scrap paper out of your trunk and writing to us. And we think you’ll be pleased to know that we here at the commune celebrate holidays for any conceivable reason, including "Lil Duncan Negative Prego Test Day" and "Griswald Dreck Says It’s Bastille Day Day." It doesn’t take much to get us out of the office and into a dry martini, let’s just say that. Or a keg filched from some uppity needlepoint magazine’s office party, whatever it takes. So you’re in good company Jack, as long as you don’t...
º Last Column: Volume 49
º more columns
Dear commune: How come we don’t have no national holidays for stuff that’s happened while I was alive? Was the past so great we’ve really got to be celebrating that junk all the time? Gimmie a break. I don’t even like the president, what am I supposed to do on President’s Day? Go to work by myself? Fat chance. We should have a "Remember When the Cubs Won the Pennant?" day or a "Joey Knocked Up That Hot Blonde Who Works Down at the Bottling Plant" day. That’d be fun. I’d vote for it, if I voted. But if I thought I was filling out a rebate for batteries and then it turned out I was voting on accident, then forget that! Because shame on you guys for tricking me. Damn. So pass it on. Yours, Jack Hargraves
Hell’s Belt, NVDear Jack:
Wow, it’s rare that the commune receives a letter with that level of thought, or motor oil, put into it. We thank you for taking the time to dig a piece of scrap paper out of your trunk and writing to us. And we think you’ll be pleased to know that we here at the commune celebrate holidays for any conceivable reason, including "Lil Duncan Negative Prego Test Day" and "Griswald Dreck Says It’s Bastille Day Day." It doesn’t take much to get us out of the office and into a dry martini, let’s just say that. Or a keg filched from some uppity needlepoint magazine’s office party, whatever it takes. So you’re in good company Jack, as long as you don’t ever show up here or write us again. We’ll be sure to add "Remember When the Cubs Didn’t Suck Day" and "Joey’s Fucked Now Day" to our office calendar.
the commune
Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any of the many creative ways your lover left you, we were just humming that song in the elevator and it appeared to strike a chord. So please, give the commune a break, Jake.º Last Column: Volume 49º more columns
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Quote of the Day“Ask not what your country can do for you; cuz trust me, you ain't gonna get shit that way.”
-John Fitzpatrick KentuckyFortune 500 CookieOrganization is the key to surviving life's travails. Try sorting your problems large to small, then run like hell. Nobody can stand your face, voice or odor, but on the upside, everyone likes your car. This week's lucky ways to die: hanging plus drowning, three-year diarrhea, shop 'til you drop, the summertime blues.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Big Boobs Mouseketeer | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Meat Pringles | | 3. | Shiving For Gold | | 4. | Dream Meanings: Poked in the Armpit | | 5. | Rent Midgets to Toss | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 8/19/2002 Hey is for horses, America! And since at last count, horses were unable to manipulate computer keyboards with their big, stupid paws, I'm going to go ahead and assume we've got real live people in the house tonight. So I won't be serving up any hay today people, just some hot, steaming vittles of entertainment flavor. Hopefully that sounds just about right up your alley, as the British say. And hopefully that's not some kind of nasty euphemism for sex, though I've got a bad feeling about it since nearly everything the British say is, so the odds aren't in my favor. But enough about the British! When's the last time they made a movie worth seeing? I thought not. Let's get our minds back on the great U.S. of A, and the thing we do best: selling dreams and soda pop. On to the movies!
Hey is for horses, America! And since at last count, horses were unable to manipulate computer keyboards with their big, stupid paws, I'm going to go ahead and assume we've got real live people in the house tonight. So I won't be serving up any hay today people, just some hot, steaming vittles of entertainment flavor. Hopefully that sounds just about right up your alley, as the British say. And hopefully that's not some kind of nasty euphemism for sex, though I've got a bad feeling about it since nearly everything the British say is, so the odds aren't in my favor. But enough about the British! When's the last time they made a movie worth seeing? I thought not. Let's get our minds back on the great U.S. of A, and the thing we do best: selling dreams and soda pop. On to the movies!
In Theaters
Adventures of Pluto Nash
Yet again, Eddie Murphy plays another troubled mathematical genius trapped in the body of a cartoon dog. Yawn. This time around it's on the moon, as if that's supposed to stir up our Malt-o-meal something fierce. Rosie O'Donnell co-stars as the hot young multi-ethnic thang on the lunar block, which goes a long way toward showing how little attention went into making this film. Murphy's obviously still pissed about not landing the Eddie Murphy role in the Men in Black films, but his revenge here is misguided: I highly doubt Will Smith is going to get suckered into sitting still for two hours to watch this turkey.
One Hour Photo
A picture's worth a thousand words, and if you say 'em slow enough it takes about an hour to say all one thousand. At least that's the message I got from Robin Williams' latest philosophical snorer about an annoying birthday party clown who learns the value of family when he kills one with his Suburban. Williams flees the scene of the crime with only a worn photo he pulled from the flaming wreck, a family photo that haunts him and always seems to trigger eerie harpsichord music. As you may have guessed, by the end he's learned the value of laughter, seizing the day, respecting the insane, cross-dressing and eating leafy greens. I might have been more touched if he didn't do that leprechaun voice so much.
Serving Sara
Another great cannibal comedy starring a Friends alumnus, I guess that's one formula that really can't go wrong. Matthew Perry carries in his pocket an innate likeability that makes him a natural to play the American-Psycho-next-door at the heart of this crowd-pleaser. Don't clog up your brain cells worrying about the plot, since the writers sure didn't, just know that it'll be worth your eight bucks when that stuck-up heifer Elizabeth Hurley finally gets hers in the last act. And take it from me, you haven't laughed until you've seen a surprised Perry spit a breast implant across the table at his family's Thanksgiving dinner.
Simone
It's true: great films have been made on far skimpier premises than a producer's drunken bar boast that he can make a star out of an inflatable sex doll. And for a while, this one works, making us laugh at Al Pacino's frantic bumbling attempts to make an A-list movie and recording star out of a polyurethane actress with a BJ mouth. But the comedy turns mean when Pacino's creation turns out to be a huge success, rubbing our noses in the fact that we'll pay good money to see any rubber-boobed bimbo who smells hyped and has been seen dining with Harrison Ford. It may be true, but it's a cheap shot nonetheless.
Undisputed
Look, anyone who can walk on his hands to Kansas wins my respect right away. I don't care if you make crappy movies, or you can't act your way out of an airsickness bag. You're still the man. Keep that in mind when seeing Wesley Snipes' new popcorn-muncher, a prison male-bonding picture in which Snipes spends way too much time cradled up against Ving Rhames' big, manly tit. I mean, it could be worse, you know? You could be at dinner theater.
Well folks, that's the way the shammy shakes, at least this week. Now it's time to get out there and do your patriotic duty to keep those turnstiles turnstiling. It may not always be fun, but where else can you find such a large, captive audience with which to share your fascinating cell-phone conversations? We'll be back next time with cakes, cookies and… dare I say movies? Maybe! You'll just have to check back then if you want to find out.   |
