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Failed Experiment Produces Hideous Miniature CloneJanuary 6, 2003 |
Los Angeles, California Raelian K-mart Grotesque humanoid deformity reminds world of the dangers of playing God. enetic science took a step backward last week when the creation of a bald, chubby failed clone was revealed by members of the Raelian sect.
"They have attempted to play god, and they have failed," said someone in our newsroom.
The cloning was carried out by Clonaid, a terribly on-the-nose named company founded by members of the Raelian sect, who believe human beings were created by alien scientists years ago. In case you're wondering, yes, they are being completely sincere when they say that. Members of the socially unapproved religion announced their disappointment when the experiment yielded a clone one-eighth the size of the original, hairless, fatty, and with inhibited intelligence and language skills.
"Imagine our dismay when our optimistic at...
enetic science took a step backward last week when the creation of a bald, chubby failed clone was revealed by members of the Raelian sect.
"They have attempted to play god, and they have failed," said someone in our newsroom.
The cloning was carried out by Clonaid, a terribly on-the-nose named company founded by members of the Raelian sect, who believe human beings were created by alien scientists years ago. In case you're wondering, yes, they are being completely sincere when they say that. Members of the socially unapproved religion announced their disappointment when the experiment yielded a clone one-eighth the size of the original, hairless, fatty, and with inhibited intelligence and language skills.
"Imagine our dismay when our optimistic attempts resulted in a hideous, miniature version of the DNA donor," said Clonaid spokesperson Brigitte Boisselier. "Perhaps we have exceeded the limits of human capability, but our intentions were good. And we are not giving up yet. The next clones we are producing are due for next week, and we are waiting to see if they are successful."
Though Clonaid revealed little of its methodology, they did speculate the process of incubating the clone in the DNA donor's body for nine months may have been a misstep in the procedure. According to outside calculations, simple physics dictate an exact duplicate could not be produced within the original since the amount of space needed to house a duplicate of equal size would have to be bigger than the original.
Clonaid scientists considered the possibility of the clone outgrowing the host and bursting right through the body, like that scene in Alien or Pras in that "Ghetto Supastar" video, and the scientists considered it had begun to happen, but instead the failed experiment escaped through an existing orifice after hours of laborious effort. It was then they realized the experiment had failed, producing a smallish, demonesque humanoid of sub-human intelligence.
"We have not given up hope that the creature may offer us some insight as to what went wrong, and we have continued attempts to communicate with it," said Boisselier at a press conference. "So far the monstrosity only emits ear-piercing screaming and claws at any who approach it. Our scientists are working to decode its screams and construct a common language, but the sounds are animalistic and will likely be a dead avenue. It is probably just crying out in pain, begging to be put out of its misery."
When asked if there were a chance the creature was unrelated to the clone experiment, Boisselier said the possibility was considered and rejected.
"It is quite clearly a clone of some form, though definitely not what we intended. We brought in the DNA donor for identification, and the creature definitely has the donor's eyes, as well as her cute little nose and dimples. We were going to risk contact between the donor and the creature, but then the small one made a boom boom."
The experiment may have other results as well, pushing lawmakers to create legislation in response to the first human clone, besides possible Tom Cruise clone Peter Facinelli, and evoking edicts from the world's religious leaders.
"Life is sacred, and it is not man's place to play God," said the Pope, mumbling in Latin. "I'm not one to say I told you so, but…" the commune news has warned everyone of the danger of clones ever since the release of the putrid Judge Dredd. Boner Cunningham is an earnest young reporter, or at least a clone of an earnest young reporter we probably couldn't afford.
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 July 22, 2002
The Trojan HorseHistory has not been kind to the Trojans, inventors of the condom and quite possibly the stupidest people ever. Though they had an advanced culture that thrived for many thousands of years, the Trojans will always and forever be remembered as the people who were suckered by a gang of mercenary nutjobs hiding in a giant wooden horse.
Scam artists and traveling salesmen the world over knew of Troy, a town full of people so gullible that the best conmen stopped going there, as there was really no sport in it. The people of Troy had purchased several bridges in the lands of Mesopotassia and Outer Bulganium, neither of which actually existed. They bought into every diet and exercise fad that blew in on the wind, and most of the town was involved in a mutli-level marketing scam that involved paying people to wipe their own asses. Cedric the Stooped had sold the entire town invisible trousers that were cooler in the summertime, and most of the women in the town had purchased fat-burning crystals from Amaldine the Untrustworthy. The place was like a Scam artists' Disneyland, and many of them planned yearly vacations to Troy.
But the people of Troy were content to live their gullible little lives, and all was well for them until they screwed the pooch by inviting the Gods to a wedding between the king of Pthia, Peleus and Thetis, this crazy chick he knocked up at his brother's wake. History has shown us time and time again that when you bring the Gods into a...
º Last Column: What Causes the Seasons? º more columns
History has not been kind to the Trojans, inventors of the condom and quite possibly the stupidest people ever. Though they had an advanced culture that thrived for many thousands of years, the Trojans will always and forever be remembered as the people who were suckered by a gang of mercenary nutjobs hiding in a giant wooden horse.
Scam artists and traveling salesmen the world over knew of Troy, a town full of people so gullible that the best conmen stopped going there, as there was really no sport in it. The people of Troy had purchased several bridges in the lands of Mesopotassia and Outer Bulganium, neither of which actually existed. They bought into every diet and exercise fad that blew in on the wind, and most of the town was involved in a mutli-level marketing scam that involved paying people to wipe their own asses. Cedric the Stooped had sold the entire town invisible trousers that were cooler in the summertime, and most of the women in the town had purchased fat-burning crystals from Amaldine the Untrustworthy. The place was like a Scam artists' Disneyland, and many of them planned yearly vacations to Troy.
But the people of Troy were content to live their gullible little lives, and all was well for them until they screwed the pooch by inviting the Gods to a wedding between the king of Pthia, Peleus and Thetis, this crazy chick he knocked up at his brother's wake. History has shown us time and time again that when you bring the Gods into a situation, it always gets royally screwed up faster than you can say "man-eating serpents."
Anyway, somebody dropped the ball mailing out the invitations, and the goddess of promotional discounts, Eris, didn't get invited. Eris was about as high-strung as goddesses came in those days, and she shit a brick. Nobody was surprised, and they all rolled their eyes when Eris said some ominous shit and threw a golden apple on the table.
Nobody knew what in the world that was supposed to be about, and most of them ignored it, but Athena was drunk as a skunk and she grabbed the apple, declaring that it meant she was the hottest skank at the banquet. Aphrodite didn't believe in any of that voodoo, but she hated to see Athena happy, so she declared that she had seen the apple first. Zeus told everybody he wasn't going to touch that debate with a ten-foot finger of God, so he told the Trojan prince Paris to straighten the whole thing out while he went off to purge out the monster stack of flapjacks he'd put away at the banquet.
Right away Athena and Aphrodite were all over Paris, offering up everything they could think of, including every kind of nasty goddess sexual favor in the book. In the end he chose Aphrodite, who offered him the most beautiful mortal woman in the world. Right away, Athena was wishing she had bid higher than "my cousin Showanda." Aphrodite then gave Paris the hook-up with Helen of Troy, who Aphrodite knew from beauty school.
Paris traveled to Sparta and wooed Helen away from her husband, the Spartan king Menopause. She returned with Paris to Troy, which pissed off all of the Trojan girls who had sketches of Paris pinned up on their walls. Naturally, Menopause was pissed as well, since Paris had made off with both his wife and his best set of flatware. He got a hold of his brother Agamemnon, who had the much more intimidating name between the two of them, and sent Agamemnon with 1,000 ships filled with all his cousins and whatnot to go get Helen back and to stomp the fear of Greece into that wiseass Paris.
Though he had a pretty badass name, Agamemnon was still an idiot, and the Greek army spent ten years trying to get through the walls surrounding Troy. When their amazingly prolonged effort proved fruitless, finally the Greek soldier Sinon, who was tired of trying to run up the walls of Troy for ten years, suggested that they use the Trojans' weakness against them by building a giant wooden horse, hiding soldiers inside of it, and then leaving. Nobody knew what he was talking about, but it sounded like a good excuse to get the hell out of there and they could always blame Sinon if anyone asked them why they deserted.
The horse was built, and Agamemnon's best men hid inside while the rest of the army left town, leaving only Sinon behind to put on his puppy dog eyes. When the Trojans came out to find Sinon and the horse, he claimed to have been deserted by the army, who built the horse as an offering to Hobby, the God of big wooden horses. The Trojans walked around the horse and whistled to show their appreciation, kicking the wheels and standing around for a few hours. When they decided to bring it inside the city, the Trojan prophet Laocoon warned that it was a Greek subterfuge and banged on the side of the horse with his cane to illustrate that it was hollow. Instantly, giant sea serpents shot up out of the sea and devoured Laocoon and his sons, no fooling.
Deciding the matter settled, the Trojans wheeled the giant wooden horse through the gates of Troy, despite the occasional sneezing noises heard coming from inside and the guy who hopped out of the horse's ass while they were inspecting it and ran off into the woods to take a leak.
Like idiots, the Trojans partied all night to celebrate their victory and their cherry new wooden horse, and when they fell asleep the Greek soldiers hopped out of the horse, opened the gates of Troy and let in the Greek army, which had been hiding in the bushes the whole time. The people of Troy were screwed, figuratively and literally, as the Greeks had sex with everybody and took the most desirable women as their concubines, kind of like when AT&T bought out TCI a few years back.
Troy was destroyed, but the Trojans got the last laugh as the Greeks had been there so long they forgot the way back to Greece, and ended up wandering around in their ships until they ran out of food and were eaten by sea serpents. That is, the Trojans would have had the last laughs if they hadn't all been either killed in battle or stuck as sex slaves in bondage on the Greek ships when the sea serpents showed up. But you get the feeling like they appreciated that there was at least some sort of payback at the end.
These were pretty rough-and-tumble times, remember. It didn't really pay to be anything but a God or a sea serpent back then. º Last Column: What Causes the Seasons?º more columns
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|  November 11, 2002
Angry Like a Eunuch's Long-Gone BallsSorry, pardon the bad attitude, but I'm fresh out of condoms. What really pisses me off is that it probably won't make a difference. Think about it for a minute, if running out of rubbers is going to change your day at all and you'll probably get pissed off, too. So let's both get pissed off and dig in.
I probably wouldn't be so dang incensed if I had actually used it in some fashion, even heroin smuggling, but no, I gave it away out of the goodness of my heart. Just some kid who gave me a hard-luck story about not having any money and needing a prophylactic, so I loaned him one—to be paid back with interest. I thought I was doing a good deed! No, turns out this kid just puts it on like a hat and runs off and I find out later he's some lunatic who's scammed sixty free rubbers off of suckers like me. The world's a sad place sometimes.
Oh, I just saw jackass: the movie, by the way. So what's the big deal? Seems like any normal weekend with your buddies and a trunk full of beer to me. Putting a taser to your nutsack and jumping out of a tree with a bungee cord attached to your underwear isn't even a memorable weekend on my block. Those jackass guys should bring me aboard as a consultant or something. I have a brilliant idea for a sequel, and I've tried it before so I know it works—it involves two hundred chocolate bars, a bag full of marmosets, and a high school bully who works in a hospital burn ward lately. That's all I'm saying...
º Last Column: The Myth of American Constipation º more columns
Sorry, pardon the bad attitude, but I'm fresh out of condoms. What really pisses me off is that it probably won't make a difference. Think about it for a minute, if running out of rubbers is going to change your day at all and you'll probably get pissed off, too. So let's both get pissed off and dig in.
I probably wouldn't be so dang incensed if I had actually used it in some fashion, even heroin smuggling, but no, I gave it away out of the goodness of my heart. Just some kid who gave me a hard-luck story about not having any money and needing a prophylactic, so I loaned him one—to be paid back with interest. I thought I was doing a good deed! No, turns out this kid just puts it on like a hat and runs off and I find out later he's some lunatic who's scammed sixty free rubbers off of suckers like me. The world's a sad place sometimes.
Oh, I just saw jackass: the movie, by the way. So what's the big deal? Seems like any normal weekend with your buddies and a trunk full of beer to me. Putting a taser to your nutsack and jumping out of a tree with a bungee cord attached to your underwear isn't even a memorable weekend on my block. Those jackass guys should bring me aboard as a consultant or something. I have a brilliant idea for a sequel, and I've tried it before so I know it works—it involves two hundred chocolate bars, a bag full of marmosets, and a high school bully who works in a hospital burn ward lately. That's all I'm saying until we ink a deal, this cow don't give away milk for free.
This just fresh in from the list of things that pisses me off: You're sitting there, trying to enjoy a Captain D's shrimp dinner with hush puppies and some pre-teen priss in a pink sweater materializes on the TV and asks, "Can we talk about something personal?" Not if you want this shrimp to stay down, Sabrina. There is no way, no matter how loud you yell, to cut this discussion off before it starts. I don't know why these nasty tarts are asking me if they can talk about it when they know I can't answer, like they just want to taunt me. Mark my words, if I ever see one of these stuck-up debutantes sitting in a restaurant enjoying snails and squid I'm going to pull up a chair and start talking loudly about that bout of crabs back in 1993.
I've been watching TV Land all this week and had a scary thought: If aliens were receiving our broadcast signals and watching only TV Land, they would assume Scott Baio held a very high position in our government, like a world leader or something, mayhap even a god. Between Charles in Charge and Happy Days there is a vast over-representation of Scott Baio in our TV history. It keeps me up some nights thinking about it. Our best hope, if this were the case, is that all those commercials for scrubbing bubbles would scare the aliens into thinking we had nano-technology that would destroy them.
I'm developing my own take-off on that Kevin Bacon game, and I'm planning on calling it "Stu Umbrage's Six Hyperlinks to Amazon.com." Your friends come over, they all write down various word strings and dump them into a bowler hat, and people draw the word strings and search Yahoo or Hotbot or something for them, then they have six hyperlinks to get to Amazon.com from any of those sites. First person wins it all! In case you're wondering, I plan on selling the bowler hats for the game and I will make a killing. I'll be like that Pet Rock guy nobody remembers.
I had planned on launching a political diatribe concerning the recent elections, but you can see where all that ranks in the Stu Umbrage animal kingdom. Frankly, I'm bored with voting and supporting candidates. They started generating politicians out of a machine a few years ago and none of them are interesting to watch or listen to anymore—which is how they get elected, I guess. I'm looking for a political firebrand to earn my vote. If anybody wants to take care of insane condom bums and the Scott Baio TV Land inundation, I personally promise you a write-in vote the next go-round. º Last Column: The Myth of American Constipationº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal. They have to, because let's face it—you're never going to support yourself as a fucking poet, cheech.”
-B.S. EliodeFortune 500 CookieExpect a big upturn in your finances when a bag of silver dollars dropped from a skyscraper nearly kills you. People flock to your show when The New York Times calls you "Stomp for people who wish Stomp would just fucking die already." The court case is decided this week and you now legally have bragging rights. Lucky meat substitutes: Soy, tofu, tofurkey, a McDonald's hamburger.
Try again later.Top 5 Ways for a Fantatic to Honor Favorite Musician| 1. | Break into house; masturbate in the bathtub. | | 2. | Nothing says "I love you" like your name in scar tissue | | 3. | Dress like Hootie. Talk like Hootie. Be Hootie. | | 4. | What the fuck—kill him so he can never make any more wonderful music. | | 5. | Talk loudly at parties about how much better his early work was. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/31/2003 Holy movie overload, America! Like most of us, Hollywood is doing a little spring-cleaning this week, but instead of dragging unused exercise equipment and boxes of used pornography to the curb, they're dragging their excess cinema to the, well… Cinema. That's what they call movie theaters over in Europe, unless they're showing skin flicks. They call those places Fuckhausen, which if you ask me is much better than the obvious alternative of Skinema. Because that just sounds gross. Enough of that though, we have no time to waste on Europe this week. Too many movies!
In Theaters
Ass! Ass! National Tango!
Either a bold career move by star Robert Duvall, or else the product of a Duvallian...
Holy movie overload, America! Like most of us, Hollywood is doing a little spring-cleaning this week, but instead of dragging unused exercise equipment and boxes of used pornography to the curb, they're dragging their excess cinema to the, well… Cinema. That's what they call movie theaters over in Europe, unless they're showing skin flicks. They call those places Fuckhausen, which if you ask me is much better than the obvious alternative of Skinema. Because that just sounds gross. Enough of that though, we have no time to waste on Europe this week. Too many movies!
In Theaters
Ass! Ass! National Tango!
Either a bold career move by star Robert Duvall, or else the product of a Duvallian drunk-fest lost weekend, Ass! Ass! National Tango! is a stupefyingly bizarre new film that establishes writer/director/star Duvall as the Japanese David Lynch. And yeah, I know he's not Japanese, but how else can you explain that title? Or the fact that half of the roles in the film are played by roller-skating apes? Reviewing this film is like trying to review a dream, or a sexual encounter with a great white shark. Good luck there. Over half the film is instruction on what you should bring with you if you want to have a nice picnic. The rest is like a cross between Last Tango in Paris, Tango & Cash and the commercial where that guy wakes up hung-over in bed with the Budweiser Clydesdales. Weird.
Bringing Down the House
Steve Martin's trail of tears continues, as apparently whoever has been picking his scripts for him lately still has Martin's wife and kids in an undisclosed location with guns to their heads. You've got to feel bad for Martin, no doubt, but the real victims in all of this are his fans, since I highly doubt Steve has actually sat through any of the shitty movies he's been in lately. Sure, you wouldn't be crazy to suggest that his kidnapped family are victims too, that's fair enough. But wherever they are, they still probably haven't seen Bringing Down the House, since even kidnappers have a conscience. That, and I imagine it's pretty difficult to bring kidnapping victims to the movies, as people have enough trouble with their own kids and elderly relatives. Having someone hog-tied and with a pillowcase over their head tagging along while you're trying to find a seat in the dark and then they need you to carry them to the bathroom would probably sour you on the whole experience even before the Coke commercials were over.
Dreamcatcher
You know gay cinema has hit a saturation point when they start naming big-budget films after gay slang terms that most breeders would completely miss. The name fits the film however, a bizarre parable about the search for Mr. Right. Only in this case Mr. Right turns out to be some weird alien thing that explodes out of people's asses and makes everyone in a one-mile radius overact. I'm not sure exactly what symbolic significance this has within the gay dating culture, but the alien is pretty badass.
The Hunted
Crüe drummer Tommy Lee and Benecio Del Toro of riding mower fame star in this remake of the popular "stupid French skunk in love" cartoons from the 1940's. The stunt casting might seem a misfit at first, but Del Toro is perfect as the horn-dogging Pepe and Lee is scarily convincing as the hot chick skunk who always seems to have a headache.
Piglet's Big Movement
Residents of The Hundred Acre Woods are suffering from a serious case of the heebie jeebies after Piglet takes a shit the size of an El Camino. Everybody wants to ask him about it, for the sake of curiosity and the public health; only nobody knows a tactful way to bring it up. A lot of soul-searching ensues before Pooh is finally elected to solve the mystery, since with his name the matter seems to fall under his jurisdiction. After some funny misunderstandings and adventures, Pooh finally discovers that Piglet didn't shit at all; Eeyore just fell asleep in a mud bath. Disney's latest is fun for the whole family, though it make be too graphic for any conservative senators in the family.
Tears of the Sun
Let me be the first, or at least the most recent, to say that this is a really stupid name for a movie. It sounds all poetic at first, and you imagine Bruce Willis saying some shit so beautiful it makes the sun cry, like he does in all his movies. But then when you stop and think about it, it's just insane. Even if the sun really did come to life with a face and start flinging scoops of raisins all over the place, and then Bruce said some sappy high-school graduation speech nonsense that made the sun cry, it wouldn't be some beautiful poignant moment like you'd think. It would be hell on earth! Those would be some molten, flaming tears that would fuck up everything in sight, burning right through houses and orphanages and there'd be car alarms going off all over the place. Thanks a lot, Bruce! Asshole.
Willard
I always knew there was something not quite right with Willard Scott, but I never would have imagined he controlled a huge legion of nasty killer rats. I just thought he probably wore panties or was secretly in the KKK or something. The grisly truth snuck up on me like I was a drunk virgin on prom night. I guess it just goes to show that just because you're optimistic and give people the benefit of the doubt, that doesn't mean they're going to play along just to keep you from looking stupid.
That's the column this week, gents and gentiles. The Oscars are worm-food until next year, but we're still frolicking through the meadow, picking delicious movie melons from the melon tree. Be sure to check back next issue for more of the smoky bacon flavor you've come to crave.   |