|  | 
Are You Shot? an Iraqi Reality Hit September 1, 2003 |
Baghdad, Iraq Junior Bacon Contestants vie for prizes and medical attention on ABC’s newest reality show he most recent Nielsen ratings released Monday confirm the surprising success of ABC’s controversial new show, Are You Shot?, an unscripted reality program featuring former soap opera star Lorenzo Lamas and a panel of judges critiquing the injuries suffered by American GIs and civilians in post-war Iraq.
Critics and social commentators have savaged the program ever since it rose from the ashes of ABC’s ill-fated reality dud Are You Hot? The Search for America's Sexiest People, which was cancelled earlier this year due to lukewarm ratings and a lawsuit by radio shock jock Howard Stern. Despite claims that the new show (which features Lamas detailing puss-soaked head wounds and missing limbs with a laser pointer) is in appallingly bad taste and degrades the wh...
he most recent Nielsen ratings released Monday confirm the surprising success of ABC’s controversial new show, Are You Shot?, an unscripted reality program featuring former soap opera star Lorenzo Lamas and a panel of judges critiquing the injuries suffered by American GIs and civilians in post-war Iraq. Critics and social commentators have savaged the program ever since it rose from the ashes of ABC’s ill-fated reality dud Are You Hot? The Search for America's Sexiest People, which was cancelled earlier this year due to lukewarm ratings and a lawsuit by radio shock jock Howard Stern. Despite claims that the new show (which features Lamas detailing puss-soaked head wounds and missing limbs with a laser pointer) is in appallingly bad taste and degrades the whole of humanity, U.S. viewers can’t get enough. “I always want to keep up on what’s going on over there in Iraq, but it can be so tough,” explained avid viewer and bakery assistant Megan Herbert. “One minute we’re the bad guys, then the good guys, then the bad guys again, then a deli blows up. I like it better when there’s points and we can see who’s winning.” Producers set up the show by dividing Iraq into twelve different “Hell Zones,” geographical regions from which contestants would be drawn. Each episode of the show focuses on contestants from a different zone, with viewers voting over the Internet on which challenger had been most severely fucked-up as a result of the ongoing U.S. occupation. Early episodes of the show have scored Nielsen ratings as high as 26.3, besting such popular reality staples as Temptation Island and Oops, I Ate Your Dog. Such a surprising early success has ABC executives buzzing about possible record ratings for the planned season finale in the “Hell Zone” of the Sunni Triangle. Thus far, the Nielsen Media Research corporation has been unable to track accurate ratings for the show in Iraq itself, due to the small number of working televisions in the country which haven’t been either kicked in or bartered for food. On top of suggesting that the show devalues human suffering and takes too long to get to the good gory parts, critics have also slammed Are You Shot? for extending the career of celebrity waste-of-space Lorenzo Lamas, who until recently was making ends meet lending his talents to a celebrity prank-calling service. “Sure, some people may argue that the show is in poor taste,” admitted Lamas, while compulsively highlighting this reporter’s papercut with his laser pointer. “But America has always thrived on raising poor taste to the level of an art form. Without our example, the rest of the world would have no way of knowing when the bottom of the barrel has been scraped.” “Hold on a second,” Lamas interrupted, glancing at his watch as he dialed a cell phone. “Hello, this is Lorenzo Lamas, from Falcon Crest. Do you have Prince Albert in a can? No, no, that’s Prince Harry. No, I don’t think he would actually fit in a can. Yes, he is quite adorable. Uh-huh, you’re right on that. Okay. Okay, thank you. Goodbye.” the commune news has launched its own in-office reality show, Are You Shit?, which amounts to little more than an ongoing staff roast aided by Boris Utzov’s confiscated laser pointer, but it passes the time. commune foreign correspondent Ivan Nacutchacokov didn’t actually need to travel to Iraq to cover this story, but we thought it’d be funnier to tell him that when he got back.
 |  Duke Prosecutor Disbarred, Accepts New Position as National Scapegoat  Colin Farrell Claims Responsibility for Groin Injury That Sidelined Kwan Homeland Defense nominee withdraws name; no longer eligible for free ham
Cocaine, ecstasy may turn kids into awesome mutants, like X-Men
|
Border Patrol Agents Recruited for Iraq, Since Border Patrol Worked So Well New Adams Dollar Coin Already Worth 75 Cents Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay |
|  |
 | 
 March 31, 2003
Sand in the Vaseline: The History of IraqIn ancient times, the land area that is now Iraq was famous as the birthplace of the donut. A romantic land rich in donut-making resources, Iraq was the envy of pastry-loving empires both far and wide. All was well until neighboring Iran developed the bagel, a less enjoyable but more religiously sanctioned round breakfast food. The ensuing bad blood led to several wars and snide remarks between the nations that have persisted to this day.
Originally, the land of Iraq was called Sumeria, because they didn't know yet that it was Iraq. Actually, originally it was just some primordial goop deep underwater, filled with little one-celled nasties having sex and eating each other, but that timeline is beyond the scope of our column today. In recognizable human terms, the land was originally Sumeria. The Sumers were a decent folk, which is exactly why they were conquered and raped to death by the Akkordians in 2300 BC. A vile and heartless people fond of inventing annoying musical instruments, the Akkordians took thousands of years of Sumerian agricultural and cultural development and cocked them all up, and after a few decades they had nothing left but a handful of stale beans and polka music.
Eventually the Babylonians came and kicked their strange asses out of town. Peace and prosperity returned to the region and the people lived in happiness. Which, understandably, bored them to tears. The prosperous Babylonians grew cocky, especially king Hummerabi,...
º Last Column: The Guinness Book of Weird Records º more columns
In ancient times, the land area that is now Iraq was famous as the birthplace of the donut. A romantic land rich in donut-making resources, Iraq was the envy of pastry-loving empires both far and wide. All was well until neighboring Iran developed the bagel, a less enjoyable but more religiously sanctioned round breakfast food. The ensuing bad blood led to several wars and snide remarks between the nations that have persisted to this day.
Originally, the land of Iraq was called Sumeria, because they didn't know yet that it was Iraq. Actually, originally it was just some primordial goop deep underwater, filled with little one-celled nasties having sex and eating each other, but that timeline is beyond the scope of our column today. In recognizable human terms, the land was originally Sumeria. The Sumers were a decent folk, which is exactly why they were conquered and raped to death by the Akkordians in 2300 BC. A vile and heartless people fond of inventing annoying musical instruments, the Akkordians took thousands of years of Sumerian agricultural and cultural development and cocked them all up, and after a few decades they had nothing left but a handful of stale beans and polka music.
Eventually the Babylonians came and kicked their strange asses out of town. Peace and prosperity returned to the region and the people lived in happiness. Which, understandably, bored them to tears. The prosperous Babylonians grew cocky, especially king Hummerabi, who reveled in putting the neighboring Assyrians in their place. One day Hummerabi went too far when he enraged the king of Assyria by sending him a plaque on his birthday that featured two gold walnuts over the inscription "Nuts to You."
People lived to conquer back in those days, since your arid desert kingdom and nagging wenches never seemed as appealing as the other guy's. So the birthday prank was all the invitation that Assyria needed to attack Babylonia and conquer it. This was all fine and good, since the people had seen it all before and frankly were bored of being conquered, until the Assyrians passed a law saying no cursing on Sundays. Now, the Babylonians were some cursing motherfuckers, and they weren't about to let some bitch-assed Assyrians come in and tell them what the fuck they could say and what they couldn't. So the people rose up and put the smackdown on Assyria, wishing the Assyrians a pleasant fucking voyage as they rode them out of town on a rail.
Eventually a man named Nebuchadnezzar (Babylonian for "naked at noon") rose to lead Babylonia to great heights of power and wealth. Known for stunning the enemy by appearing in battle stark raving naked, Nebuchadnezzar (known from here on out as "Neb" to prevent carpal-tunnel damage) led the Babylonians in conquering all of Assyria and destroying all of the wonderful culture and science the Assyrians had developed over hundreds of years. While the Babylonians were celebrating their victory, Neb also conquered Judea and Jerusalem without telling anyone. Before long, Neb's conquering became a serious problem and his friends had to hold an intervention, which was less than successful since he stormed out in the middle and conquered the Cassites.
Thankfully for the rest of the free world, Neb got ahold of a bad egg while conquering the Mitanni and died of salmonella. The world rejoiced a second time when Neb's son Nebuchadnezzar II turned out to be gay, and instead of conquering everything in sight he built the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, which he kept saying were for his "wife" but nobody bought that worn-out old chestnut.
Babylonia rose to unprecedented power and distinction under Neb II, since all of their resources weren't going toward ridding the planet of the scourge of non-Babylonians. After the death of Neb II, the land was conquered in succession by Cyrus the Great, Alexander the Great and Ted the Good Father. The Persians won the land in a promotional sweepstakes, and though they moved in they never stopped complaining about the sand on their nice rugs. Eventually the Muslims came to town and blew the shit out of everybody, even though there were only about three of them, but they meant business.
Thanks to a progressive "Muslim or die!" philosophy on the part of the region's new landlords, the area remained Muslim until Genghis Khan showed up in 1219. In the mean time, Baghdad had become the center of world power and higher learning, which meant it was about time for some asshole with a club to come and kill everyone. Sure enough, that's what Genghis did, pausing only briefly when he himself died in 1227. To the surprise of few, Genghis' son popped out of his father's corpse like some kind of insane matrioshka doll and continued the continent-wide rampage that was his father's dream for humanity.
Eventually the Mongols died off, or more accurately, ate each other, and Iraq was without leadership. Several different gangs ruled Iraq at one time or another, including the Ding Dong Daddies and the Sand Badgers. Leather jacket motorcycle rumbles in the street were common, or at least their camel-based equivalents.
Eventually the Ottomans took over, ruling the land fairly and with exceptional foot comfort. Of course the Ottomans got greedy when they made a play for the whole couch in WWII and were ordered to go piss off and die. The British then ruled Iraq until the 1960's, when they were so into the Beatles they forgot about the Middle East entirely and Iraq snuck out after curfew and declared its independence.
The rest of the story has been pretty well covered by Tom Clancy and on Entertainment Tonight. It's the usual story: ineffectual leaders and kings are blown up left and right, and Saddam becomes president after shiving some dude in the shower. Iraq attacks Iran in 1980, still pissed about the bagel thing. Iraq attacks Kuwait in 1990 because they won't stop touching Iraq's border, and the US steps in to intervene, figuring it'll be good for a few bear claws and pink donuts with sprinkles. That brings us to the present day, as Iraqis wait out the US hamburger-bombing of their country, waiting out this latest conquering in hopes that they'll come out of the deal with a Hard Rock CafĂ© in the end. º Last Column: The Guinness Book of Weird Recordsº more columns
| 
|  January 6, 2003
Nude Year's ResolutionLike any God-fearing man, Omar Bricks is careful to make a New Year's Resolution every year. Not that I'm all that religious, at least not since being banned from church for impersonating the Pope at a bake sale years ago. But the way I see it, it's best to stay on God's good side, in case he exists. So every year I resolve something.
One year it was to make a shitload of money. The next year it was to quit gambling and get out of debt, not to mention getting the mob off my back. Another year I resolved to be a Big Brother to some underprivileged kid, until I found out that was a different thing than living in a house with a bunch of hot bimbos and everything you do is on TV. One year I resolved to only eat things I like, but a few days later I accidentally ate at a White Castle when I was piss drunk, so that didn't last too long. Most of the resolutions don't turn out so well, to be perfectly honest, except for the year I resolved to quit smoking. I'd never smoked before, but I still went the whole year without starting up the habit. So I think that counts.
This year I've resolved to spend more time naked. This may seem similar to last year's resolution, which was to see Salma Hayek naked, but I figure it's different enough to qualify. After you die, they stuff you in some ridiculous monkey suit in a box for all of eternity; so really, you have to take advantage of your available naked time while you can. The way I look at it, I've already wasted...
º Last Column: Shut-In and Shit On º more columns
Like any God-fearing man, Omar Bricks is careful to make a New Year's Resolution every year. Not that I'm all that religious, at least not since being banned from church for impersonating the Pope at a bake sale years ago. But the way I see it, it's best to stay on God's good side, in case he exists. So every year I resolve something.
One year it was to make a shitload of money. The next year it was to quit gambling and get out of debt, not to mention getting the mob off my back. Another year I resolved to be a Big Brother to some underprivileged kid, until I found out that was a different thing than living in a house with a bunch of hot bimbos and everything you do is on TV. One year I resolved to only eat things I like, but a few days later I accidentally ate at a White Castle when I was piss drunk, so that didn't last too long. Most of the resolutions don't turn out so well, to be perfectly honest, except for the year I resolved to quit smoking. I'd never smoked before, but I still went the whole year without starting up the habit. So I think that counts.
This year I've resolved to spend more time naked. This may seem similar to last year's resolution, which was to see Salma Hayek naked, but I figure it's different enough to qualify. After you die, they stuff you in some ridiculous monkey suit in a box for all of eternity; so really, you have to take advantage of your available naked time while you can. The way I look at it, I've already wasted too many of my prime naked years. Conservative parents, misguided high school teachers and small-minded local cops have kept this bod under wraps for far too long.
I realize this is a big resolution, bigger than most, so I've been making some dry runs at it these last few weeks that have been going pretty well. People are generally pretty cool about you being naked at the health club, though I did get some dirty looks on the treadmill. Most likely jealously, since most people can't run that fast when they're naked. It's a little trick I picked up while I was on vacation in Norway one year. I was taking a shower on the plane and the fuckers landed and cleared out all the luggage while I was in the bathroom. Granted, I was in there a while, but I'm not the one that designed those things so crazy, putting a toilet and trash can and all that shit in the shower. The least they could do would be to put a showerhead in there that's higher than nutsack level, it's not like that many midgets fly coach.
So I get out of the shower and all my bags with my clothes in them are gone, and there's just some cleaning lady on the plane who looks at me like she's never seen that much naked man before. As a matter of fact, I don't think the city of Oslo had ever seen that much naked man before, but I managed to sprint to a clothes store without too much incident and it was pretty cool to feel like I was in the movie Terminator with the Norwegian audio track on.
Other places are not so cool with you being naked, or at least they're able to make their disapproval heard in English. Toys 'R Us is downright fascist about not having any naked guys running around in their stores. I could understand them not wanting any naked little kids running around who don't know a Gamecube from a training toilet, but it's not like nudity is contagious. All they need is some cardboard sign of a naked giraffe saying you've got to be this tall to be naked in the store, problem solved.
Most restaurants are pretty weird about nudity, too. Maybe it's because they don't think you'll be able to pay if you don't have any obvious place to carry a wallet, I don't know. They might have been worried I was going to ass up the booth but if that's all it was I would have been more than happy to sit on a napkin or one of those toilet-seat horseshoes or something. Let that be a lesson, people, sometimes it pays just to ask.
To me, the weirdest nudity policy has got to be at the community swimming pool. It's like these people don't think the water is going to find a way to sneak around their bathing suits and touch all their junk anyway, they want to string me up for cutting out the middleman. I'm not sure why swimming and hypocrisy go hand in hand, but they do.
I think the success of my 2003 resolution is going to depend mainly on finding naked-friendly places and spending lots of time there. Thankfully the commune offices revoked their dress code long ago, after Ramrod Hurley sued over Lil Duncan not being able to wear things from the slutty end of her wardrobe. Which if you ask me is both ends and the middle, but that's not my business. Right now my business revolves squarely around finding some kind of fuzzy ass-friendly cover for this office chair, because this vinyl clings like a motherfucker.
Wish me luck, and warm weather. Bricks Out. º Last Column: Shut-In and Shit Onº more columns
|

|  |
Quote of the Day“How many roads must a man walk down before someone will give him a fucking ride? What, do I look like a serial killer or something? Blow me in the wind, buddy.”
-Zimm BobbermanFortune 500 CookieHere comes another lecture on the same old tax-and-spend bullshit, courtesy your butler. Quit picking at it and maybe it wouldn't get infected. Who beefed? Details inside. Better save that big comeback tour until after you've had at least one hit song.
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 Mitch Kroeger 2/13/2006 The AristocratsEveryone knows I come from a show business family, and the stories from those days have more than once enthralled huge pockets of the coach section on boring trans-Atlantic flights. The best story of all, however, can’t be told on an airplane due to its tendency toward self-incrimination.
It all starts with my father, a proud and foolish man, who once had a bright idea for how to spruce up the family’s sagging vaudeville act: he had us all drop acid before the show. Everyone: my sister, my brother, our baby brother, our mother, our grandmother, and the family dog, Lucas. And dad was so confident in his newfound scam that he invited a top talent agent to the nightclub where we were performing, in hopes of spinning the new act off into a variety show on ABC.

Everyone knows I come from a show business family, and the stories from those days have more than once enthralled huge pockets of the coach section on boring trans-Atlantic flights. The best story of all, however, can’t be told on an airplane due to its tendency toward self-incrimination.
It all starts with my father, a proud and foolish man, who once had a bright idea for how to spruce up the family’s sagging vaudeville act: he had us all drop acid before the show. Everyone: my sister, my brother, our baby brother, our mother, our grandmother, and the family dog, Lucas. And dad was so confident in his newfound scam that he invited a top talent agent to the nightclub where we were performing, in hopes of spinning the new act off into a variety show on ABC.
The show that night started off pretty normal, with dad playing "Swanee" on his armpit and grandma shooting hard-boilt eggs out of her snatch into the crowd like a Gatling gun. But then out of nowhere, a donkey that may or may not have been an official part of the show jumps on stage and starts sodomizing my older brother, who was already terrified of donkeys from a similar incident in early childhood.
Out of the corner of his eye, my dad catches sight of the donkey, which causes him to immediately and thoroughly upchuck his entire lunch and a martini he had for breakfast. The problem is, he’s French-kissing my mother at the time, and after a half-second delay the vomit gushes out of her nose like the soda fountain at a bulimia theme park. As my mother pulls back in disgust, there’s a wet piece of roast beef hanging out of her nose, and in that instant everyone realizes my dad had Arby’s for lunch. This fact grosses out everybody completely, and they start vomiting back and forth like a giant game of laser tag.
My father, still phased, blindly flails out and whips off my sister’s skirt, revealing a gang of Balinese pygmy midgets gang-fucking the corpse of Jackie Kennedy like a pack of starving rats underneath.
This guy in the back starts laughing so hard he throws up blood, which a pregnant waitress slips in, popping her baby out like a cork and the thing zips across the room straight into the donkey’s mouth. The donkey chokes on it, falls off my brother and dies.
The crowd screams, causing my father to flail again and tear off my grandmother’s skirt, which reveals Tom Cruise sucking Dame Edna’s cock.
Now the crowd’s reacting like it’s the end of the world, and then suddenly it is. Out of nowhere, the fattest man anyone there has ever seen comes out in a latex bikini and eats a mess of dried apricots out of Jimmy Stewart’s diaper, setting off another chain reaction of vomiting that climaxes in a priest somehow barfing up my baby brother’s ass. The worst part of it all is that the baby loves it.
Dad, still blinded by his own vomit and roast beef, falls into the rear curtain, tearing it down and revealing the oldest chorus line in Reno, Nevada, their dentures in a wet pile on the floor, struggling to stretch their gummy maws around Steve Urkel’s disturbingly monstrous dong. Urkel’s playing a Gameboy. Seemingly oblivious to his surroundings and the gang of great-grandmothers slobbering on his Pocahontas, he achieves a personal best at Tetris.
A cadre of underage Vietnamese girls run out and start mopping up the stage with their hair, while we take a short break to watch my drunken uncle Henry trying to piss on the family dog, which has been shaved, coated in butter, and is dog-dancing in a giant scalding frying pan on the side of the stage to the adulation of dozens.
For the climax, the entire state of Oklahoma comes out and shits on my grandmother.
Believe you me, the talent agent is blown away.
"Christ on ice!" he shouts over the din of applause and unconscious people falling into tables. "What do you people call yourselves?"
My dad, proud as an unrepentant felon, honks a horn and spreads his arms, beaming with a smile as wide as Louie Anderson’s ass, and proudly intones:
"The Kroegers!"
And at just that moment, a premature Negro baby flops out of my mother’s cooch and hits the floor with a wet slap, squeaking:
"No, fuck that!
THE ARISTOCRATS!"   |