| Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0328/';
$dunkintitle='Highway to Hell';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0822/';
$fingertitle='To Hell With This Desk';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hooper’s Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0704/';
$police='2005/0822/';
$polio='2005/0822/';
$poliotitle='WEASELS-B-GON';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='For the Last Time Deidrebane, Those Aren’t the Feds';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Judge to Miss North Carolina Pageant Contestants: "Girls, You're Both Pretty"September 16, 2002 |
Raleigh, North Carolina Junior Bacon/Ramon Nootles' Private Collection Judge Fox suggests girls put this behind them before they start getting frown lines.
Rebekah Revels had won the Miss North Carolina pageant, only to be forced to resign when a letter from her ex-boyfriend claimed he had topless pictures of her. Misty Clymer was chosen as Miss North Carolina afterwards, though Revels sued the pageant for the right to wear the crown. The winner of the lawsuit would go on to represent North Carolina in the Miss American pageant Sept. 21st.
The judge refused to pick one contestant over the other, leaving that to the Miss North Carolina pageant committee. Instead, the judge said in his ruling: "I see what this is really all about, Misty… R...
dispute over the rightful inheritor of the Miss North Carolina crown was settled Thursday when U.S. District Judge James Fox issued the ruling that both competitors were pretty.
Rebekah Revels had won the Miss North Carolina pageant, only to be forced to resign when a letter from her ex-boyfriend claimed he had topless pictures of her. Misty Clymer was chosen as Miss North Carolina afterwards, though Revels sued the pageant for the right to wear the crown. The winner of the lawsuit would go on to represent North Carolina in the Miss American pageant Sept. 21st.
The judge refused to pick one contestant over the other, leaving that to the Miss North Carolina pageant committee. Instead, the judge said in his ruling: "I see what this is really all about, Misty… Rebekah. Girls, you're both pretty. There's no need for all this fighting and competition."
The allegation of a forced resignation was the basis for Revels' case as she claimed the judges had rightfully chosen her to represent North Carolina. Pageant officials felt the nude photos taken by the ex-boyfriend tarnished the crown of the pageant and put dozens of future scholarships and sponsors for the Miss America and Miss North Carolina pageants in jeopardy. These photos, so crucial to the case, could not be obtained despite countless requests to both parties, but nude photos of Alyssa Milano were available on the Internet, as well as a compromising picture of Mandy Moore and two black men, but those pictures could possibly have been Photoshopped.
The case was settled amicably by the judge's declaration of equal prettiness. Miss North Carolina pageant representatives said Misty Clymer would go on to represent North Carolina in the national pageant. But the judge's ruling was a tremendous boost to Clymer's confidence.
"Like all girls, Misty needs a compliment every now and then to keep her going," said pageant representative Vill Gording. "And with all this stress of the case and the high pressure of being in a court setting, you can imagine she was a little down. The judge reminded her she was pretty—she knew it, but still, you like to hear it—and it made her day."
The declaration was also well-received by plaintiff Rebekah Revels and counsel. "Obviously, Ms. Revels is disappointed by the pageant's decision to uphold her resignation," said Revels attorney Wax Musstash. "But my client was more than satisfactorily compensated for her loss by the reassurance she is pretty. That's all she really wanted anyway—the judge was wise to acknowledge that."
"I'm glad that the court system is finally able to get past the frivolous lawsuits to the important stuff," said some smart-ass on the court steps as this reporter attempted to get better quotes from the lawyers involved.
The potential for future disappointments in both contestants' futures being high, the judge issued also his telephone number to both plaintiff and defendant, urging that they should call him sometime soon in the future for private rulings. That may or may not have been true, but this reporter certainly would have been disappointed to find the judge missed out on such an opportunity.
Again, if any informant has laid hands on the photos in question, please contact Ramon Nootles at the commune and we'll talk finder's fee. the commune news will frequently use Vaseline on its lips and duct tapes its ass, but for entirely different reasons.
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Electric car record-breaking run scrubbed for lack of D-cell batteries
Wine increases lifespan, likelihood of declaring friendship to everyone
Obama: "Fine, you guys do whatever the hell you want."
Mauve the "in" color this year for pimps in the know
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Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80 he world sighed a mournful “Oh” upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.
The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nation’s capitol. Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title. Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs’ takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact. “Willie gave it a hell of an effort,” praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. “Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadn’t come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game.” Stealers Wheel Win Super Bowl, Says Heavily Accented Man Colin Farrell Claims Responsibility for Groin Injury That Sidelined Kwan |
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 August 19, 2002
Tornado"There's nothing like a good tornado to put the fear of nature into you. The Hartwig family had their tornado experience back in the early '40s, in the days of us vs. the Germans and Japanese. You'd almost think God was a Nazi, throwing a big heapin' tornado on top of a hardworking American family.
We were doing evening living room things—us kids playing our favorite game, Flapper Smacking—while mom sewed bodybags for the boys overseas and Dad read the paper. Then, Dad looked out the window and raised his eyebrows, the warning to us all like an air raid drill.
The sky outside had turned a frightening Prince-colored purple. It had grown darker and darker by the second, a terrible foreboding like a fat man in a dark suit walking on a miniature Lego city, which I think is hilarious. I'm cracking up just thinking about it. But this storm coming on quick was no laughing matter. It was a peeing-your-pants matter.
'To the underground shelter!' shouted Dad, then ran ahead of us outside to the tornado cellar. We all followed, except Goose, who was getting out his kite and running out to meet the storm like Captain Ahab meeting his whale.
We all climbed inside and Dad barricaded the entrance with wood and nails. We told him it wasn't necessary, but he said tornadoes were sneaky enough to undo mere latches and closed doors. He also said tornadoes were taking all the American jobs and had murdered good Americans at the Alamo.
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"There's nothing like a good tornado to put the fear of nature into you. The Hartwig family had their tornado experience back in the early '40s, in the days of us vs. the Germans and Japanese. You'd almost think God was a Nazi, throwing a big heapin' tornado on top of a hardworking American family.
We were doing evening living room things—us kids playing our favorite game, Flapper Smacking—while mom sewed bodybags for the boys overseas and Dad read the paper. Then, Dad looked out the window and raised his eyebrows, the warning to us all like an air raid drill.
The sky outside had turned a frightening Prince-colored purple. It had grown darker and darker by the second, a terrible foreboding like a fat man in a dark suit walking on a miniature Lego city, which I think is hilarious. I'm cracking up just thinking about it. But this storm coming on quick was no laughing matter. It was a peeing-your-pants matter.
'To the underground shelter!' shouted Dad, then ran ahead of us outside to the tornado cellar. We all followed, except Goose, who was getting out his kite and running out to meet the storm like Captain Ahab meeting his whale.
We all climbed inside and Dad barricaded the entrance with wood and nails. We told him it wasn't necessary, but he said tornadoes were sneaky enough to undo mere latches and closed doors. He also said tornadoes were taking all the American jobs and had murdered good Americans at the Alamo.
We survived the tornado, of course, but I spent years carrying confusing stereotypes about Hispanics and tornadoes around, thanks to Dad's lack of education." º Last Column: Invisibleº more columns
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|  November 12, 2001
Take Them Out to the GuillotineThere was a lot of talk this season about contraction in baseball. In other words, rounding up the teams that are too pathetic to wear the mantle of MLB and having them taken out back to be shot, much like my last three dogs who had the plague and my wife after she broke her leg power-walking. Some say this would be good for the sport: to thin out the ranks so that only the strong survive, and throwing the rest to the wolves of more popular sports, like football and croquet. Others argue that it's just a ploy by the owners, a bluff to get the players to agree to electroshock tracking collars at the next contract negotiation meetings. Everywhere, people are talking about it: from a WWII vet I met in a barbershop on Tuesday to a traveling salesman I met in another barbershop Saturday afternoon. The buzz in the air is palpable.
What do I think about the impeding contraction? Good riddance! The teams most often rumored to be under the axe are the Montreal Expos, the Florida Marlins, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and the Minnesota Twins—not a half-dozen men between them. I mean that: the Devil Rays are actually a little-league team from Georgia who won some kind of Cheerios Sweepstakes to play in the big leagues. The last time they played the Yankees half the team went home with wedgies and pink-bellies. So they're an easy call.
How about the Montreal Expos? Frankly, I'm surprised a team named after an off-brand of panty hose has lasted this long. No...
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There was a lot of talk this season about contraction in baseball. In other words, rounding up the teams that are too pathetic to wear the mantle of MLB and having them taken out back to be shot, much like my last three dogs who had the plague and my wife after she broke her leg power-walking. Some say this would be good for the sport: to thin out the ranks so that only the strong survive, and throwing the rest to the wolves of more popular sports, like football and croquet. Others argue that it's just a ploy by the owners, a bluff to get the players to agree to electroshock tracking collars at the next contract negotiation meetings. Everywhere, people are talking about it: from a WWII vet I met in a barbershop on Tuesday to a traveling salesman I met in another barbershop Saturday afternoon. The buzz in the air is palpable. What do I think about the impeding contraction? Good riddance! The teams most often rumored to be under the axe are the Montreal Expos, the Florida Marlins, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and the Minnesota Twins—not a half-dozen men between them. I mean that: the Devil Rays are actually a little-league team from Georgia who won some kind of Cheerios Sweepstakes to play in the big leagues. The last time they played the Yankees half the team went home with wedgies and pink-bellies. So they're an easy call. How about the Montreal Expos? Frankly, I'm surprised a team named after an off-brand of panty hose has lasted this long. No need to worry about protests if we put them out of their misery, a gay pride parade in Nebraska draws more folks than an Expos game. I went to an Expos game one time on fan appreciation day, thinking I'd get a bobble-headed doll or something, right? Wrong. I went home with Vladimir Guerrero, it turns out every ticket-buying fan got a player for the weekend. He sealed my driveway and helped me dredge out the basement: a very nice young man. It was probably our folly in thinking that Canadians would be interested in American baseball anyway, since what they call "baseball" is a far different sport that involves whiskey and chainsaws. What about the Florida Marlins? Their problem is exactly the opposite of the Devil Rays: the youngest guy on the team is 76, and he's the bat boy. I guess that's what you get for putting a team in a place where the state bird is Betty White. I saw a Marlins game once where the third baseman was killed three times during the game: twice by line drives and the third time he had a stroke during the seventh-inning stretch. They have more EMTs in their stadium than the Cardinals have hot-dog vendors, and their games take six hours because they're constantly having to revive the players (and some fans) with the electroshock paddles. And did I mention that they're slower than David Wells in a Jacuzzi full of glue? The entire team had one stolen base last year, and that only happened because the catcher for the Brewers, Snapper McGee (who had been traded from the Marlins only weeks earlier), died on the play and hence couldn't throw to second. So the Marlins are out. That leaves the Minnesota Twins. Here's my question to you: has anyone actually seen the Twins in the last few seasons? I don't recall that I have and I'm starting to get worried that they might be buried in the snow up there or may have been eaten by Sasquatches. I recommend we send some St Bernards northward to confirm that the team is even still there before we talk about folding their franchise. The thing I want to know, though, is why only four teams? Surely these aren't the only miserable excuses for a baseball team that we could rightfully give the ol' Kervorkian treatment to. Are we sure anyone in Anaheim got those flyers under their windshield wipers letting them know they have a team? The last time I was at an Angels game, the team didn't even show up, and I spent the afternoon playing pickle with their coach and a janitor. I heard the Kansas City Royals had to bus in hobos for their games this season, since the only fans that showed up were the players' moms, and they were driving the coaches crazy, loudly second-guessing all of their decisions. I'm sure we could cut a lot more teams if we were serious about ridding this sport of losers and has-beens. Who would cry a tear for the Verno Beach Needledicks or the Fresno Filibusters? What about the Woody Creek Dirty Liars or the Mason City Menopause? Now that I think of it, I'm kind of tired of the Chula Vista Screaming Dandies, the Eugene Scat-Flinging Apes and the Apple Valley Dipshits, too. I say off with their heads, every last one. Look, I've got nothing against any of these towns or their fans and I love an underdog just as much as the next guy. I'm just tired of being called on to pinch-hit every time I've sat down and just gotten comfortable with my beer and sausage-dog, that's all. º Last Column: Invisibleº more columns
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Quote of the Day“How does it feel? To be on your own? With no direction home? Not even an amber alert? And nobody's bound to look in this van, so keep quiet and just try to enjoy yourself.”
-Bobby Molesterman, now doing 15-25Fortune 500 CookieNobody thought it was funny when you said you snorted your dad's ashes, so it's best not to mention going bowling with your mom's skill—your first instinct was right, nobody gets your sense of humor. Tough love is not the only kind of love, except in prison, so you'd better learn to like it. Lucky Strikes—smoke 'em if you got 'em.
Try again later.Top Phil Spector Trial Revelations| 1. | Spector threatens to shoot all his visitors in the mouth if they leave—get the fuck over it already | | 2. | Middle-aged Spector traded "Wall of Sound" for "Wall of Hair" | | 3. | Yes, everyone in L.A. really is as crazy as you've heard | | 4. | Spector goes through pizza delivery guys like you wouldn't believe | | 5. | No you're thinking of "Help Me Rhonda," "Da Doo Ron Ron" goes "I met him on a Monday and my heart stood still, Da do ron ron ron, da do ron ron" | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 11/24/2003 Hello, America! Curious about what Hollywood's been hoarding in their vaults, waiting to spring on an unsuspecting public this fine Thanksgiving season? I hear ya squawking big chicken. Let's take a look and see if we can't separate the gobble from the sound turkeys make when they're not happy. On to the movies!
In Theaters
21 Grams of Fat
Cuban heartthrob Mauricio Del Toro sweats up the screen opposite sniveling wiener Sean Penn in this harrowing tale of a Subway sandwich gone wrong. Fans have been clamoring for years to know the juicy background story on how mumbling hunk Del Toro got so goddamned sloppy fat for his role of Big Fat Slob Lawyer #1 in the 1960's classic Feral Loving in Las Vegas, and...
Hello, America! Curious about what Hollywood's been hoarding in their vaults, waiting to spring on an unsuspecting public this fine Thanksgiving season? I hear ya squawking big chicken. Let's take a look and see if we can't separate the gobble from the sound turkeys make when they're not happy. On to the movies!
In Theaters
21 Grams of Fat
Cuban heartthrob Mauricio Del Toro sweats up the screen opposite sniveling wiener Sean Penn in this harrowing tale of a Subway sandwich gone wrong. Fans have been clamoring for years to know the juicy background story on how mumbling hunk Del Toro got so goddamned sloppy fat for his role of Big Fat Slob Lawyer #1 in the 1960's classic Feral Loving in Las Vegas, and this year they finally get their wish. 21 Grams of Fat tells the true story of Del Toro's innocent stop at a roadside Subway franchise and the Caramelized Gyro-Meat Sub that freakishly ballooned his ass up to Limbaughian proportions within minutes. Penn plays the pencil-necked counter jockey who sold him the sub, and the resulting tale or revenge and recrimination will leave you popping your heart medication and reaching for a thesaurus. If you've ever followed a fast food worker home and cut down the door to his mom's house with a skill saw in a berserk, flabby rage, then this is the movie for you. Unless that brings up some unpleasant memories, which is understandable. So maybe it's better if you've never done such a think and can just enjoy the film vicariously.
Battlestar Gothica
It has always struck me that Halle Berry missed her true calling by never starring in a bad Sci-Fi series, so it's comforting to see her finally correct fate's oversight. Answering the never-before-addressed question of what would happen if somebody went crazy in space, Battlestar Gothica also proves that while Halle Barry's increasingly public assets can spice up a routine action flick or a dull party, they do little to lend credibility to an ill-conceived space drama.
Black Santa
In what may possibly go down as the most offensive holiday movie ever filmed (notching in ahead of even Elvis' Dead Blue Christmas, Rudolph Giuliani in Red-Nosed Rehab and the chairman of the board, Santa Claus Cocksucks the Martians), Black Santa features redneck delight Billy Bob Thornton in riot-inducing blackface, stealing a role that probably should have gone to Eddie Murphy, DMX, or Whoopie Goldberg with a sock in her jockeys. Instead it's Thornton creeping down chimneys to deliver presents, only to be chased screaming out of the house and gunpoint in a world that's not ready to accept the fact that Santa is actually a black man. It's not easy being a black Santa in a white world, and it's really not easy sneaking your white ass out of the theater after watching two hours of white folks chasing a bag-toting black man across their lawn with a shotgun. I thought I was going to get some reparations stamped into the back of my skull for sure. Luckily for me there weren't any black people at the screening, though I'm not sure how eager other racial groups are for a sympathy riot. The two Korean women who were in the theater when I saw this one didn't seem too upset, at least not violently so, but I think I may have just caught them unprepared when I hit that fire door full tilt just before the credits rolled.
Dr. Seuss Shat in a Hat
At least they weren't pretending that the latest Dr. Seuss grave-robbery is anything but a crime against humanity when they named this cinematic turd du jour so fittingly. Mike Meyers picks up the grave-pissing-oning where fellow maladjusted Canadian Jim Carrey left off in this colorful assault on all that is decent and holy, striking a blow for the forces of shit everywhere. Learning a lesson from Now the Grinch Stole Christmas!, a film that made decent bank but alienated a generation of Dr. Seuss fans who remembered the book actually being good, this time around the filmmakers have chosen a title that suggests Seuss's original book sucked anyway, to give the impression that the film doesn't really ruin anything and you can buy your Shat in a Hat-themed tie-in pacemakers, burp rags, shotgun ammunition, prostate medication and other assorted shwag free of guilt. Thanks for freeing me from this burdensome faith in humanity, fellas.
The Haunted Manson
Apparently Eddie Murphy was unavailable for Black Santa because he had a prior commitment to keeping his cold streak going with The Haunted Manson, the first in what promises to be a long line of uninspired Being John Malkovich knock-offs. With all of that film's stoned reasoning and none of its charm, The Haunted Manson saddles Murphy and his cereal-commercial family with a distant cousin visiting from out of town, who seems at first to be a run-of-the-mill former cult leader and serial-killing ex-con, but turns out—just their luck!—to be haunted. Murphy's pretty funny as the stuffed shirt dealing with Manson's unexpected quirks and celebrity-murdering eccentricities, and Sean William Scott is loveably batshit as the baked noodle Manson. The CGI could have been better, as several of the dismembered bodies in the film are obvious fakes, but the picture is aimed squarely at a family audience that rarely scrutinizes such details.
Timeline
Don't you hate it when your dad accidentally goes back in time a thousand years and all he brings you back is a lousy pair of woolen undershorts? Such is the lament of whoever the nameless dweeb is that they stuck in the lead role of this painfully average paean to teenage lament. Apparently not only is it dangerously uncool to have a scientist for a dad, but if he doesn't bring you an awesome sword or golden goose or something back from medieval times, you might as well just curl up and die somewhere, gawd.
It just occurred to me indeed, that I forgot to heed, Universal's demand that all reviews, and all accounts in the news, of Dr. Seuss Shat in a Hat be written in verse, so they might to nurse, the last bit of magic from that tit, before we all come to despise it, so here it goes: the movie blows. You're welcome.   |
