| 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';
?> | 
 January 17, 2005 |
Kingston, Jamaica Whit Pistol The former resting place of reggae legend Bob Marley, soon to be woken from peaceful eternal slumber.
The exhumation would culminate in the body being cremated, inhaled deeply by close family and friends, held for as long as possible, and then released into the air. The ashes would then be scattered over the soil of Ethiopia, which Marley's widow Rita called his "spiritual resting place."
"Bob was the dearest soul I ever knew," said lifetime friend Cosell Hamlet. "An inspiration to everyone he ever met. ...
ortal fools announced their plans to disturb the earthly remains of reggae legend Bob Marley Wednesday, as part of a plan to celebrate what would have been the singer's 60th birthday. The proposal to exhume Marley has angered some Jamaicans, the few who are not exceptionally easygoing about everything, since Marley was one of the most famous sons of the country.
The exhumation would culminate in the body being cremated, inhaled deeply by close family and friends, held for as long as possible, and then released into the air. The ashes would then be scattered over the soil of Ethiopia, which Marley's widow Rita called his "spiritual resting place."
"Bob was the dearest soul I ever knew," said lifetime friend Cosell Hamlet. "An inspiration to everyone he ever met. I know his soul is in a better place. And I bet his body will be great shit."
Marley popularized reggae internationally in the 1970s, with a string of hits such as "No Woman, No Cry" and "Get Up, Stand Up." Reggae is the spiritual music of his home country of Jamaica, and the Rastafarian brought it to everyone in the world with his peaceful lyrics and mellow sound. Thanks to him reggae can now be heard at any party attended on a college campus or from any window from which pours copious amounts of smoke.
In Jamaica, however, all is not perfectly mellow for everybody, as some say to take Marley's body is to rob Jamaica of its history, and risk bumming everyone out.
"Nah, man, don't bogart Bob. He was a part of Jamaica, and now his body is part of the land itself," said Jamaican history expert Dr. Addi Townstone, who has started an organization to protest Marley's exhumation. "We ask the family to let him stay—stay in Jamaica."
Rita Marley refused further comment on plans to exhume and smoke her husband, who died in 1981 from cancer. The Bob Marley Foundation, not to be confused with the Peter Tosh Committee to Legalize It, was quick to quell the uproar.
"It's okay! It's nothing to get out of joint about, brother," said Bebe Shadley, press agent for the Foundation. "It's all irie, my friend."
Odidi Hubistato, who oversees the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and will be presiding over a ceremony honoring Marley on his birthday February 6, looked forward to the ceremony.
"Ashes to ashes, smoke to smoke, like we say," said Hubistato. "I for one plan to be up in the front row when we light those spleefly remains. Jah love the man."
All have apparently forgotten the price to be paid for unearthing the dead, regardless of good intentions. To stir the remains of the deceased is to invite an eternity of damnation and curses, the howls and haunts of the wretched specter himself. Prepare, all who trespass, for the nightly visitations of the angry ghost of the dead reggae superstar!
Bob Marley himself, an ethereal presence in a world unknown to mankind, declined to be interviewed. We were, however, able to talk to long-dead Jacob Marley, no relation.
"I wear the chain I forged in life," said Marley's ghost, indicating a very obvious large chain. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it." He concluded, "I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate." the commune news has to wonder, based on all this, what it would be like to shoot up Jimi Hendrix—the composer of "Purple Haze," all in our brains. Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown is, indeed, the long-dead Chicago Cubs Hall of Fame pitcher, and has given us strict orders to stay away from his remains with our straws and flaring nostrils.
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Police seeking "anti-American Arabic radical" in Iraqi copter bombing
Oprah Winfrey outraged when treated like everyone else
Lazy girl charged in father's assisted suicide didn't assist much at all
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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.” Conditions at Walter Reed Upgraded to “Nightmarishly Clive Barker-esque” Unveiling of First Black Disney Character Raises Some Concerns |
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| 
 August 19, 2002
Snuffles, Wonder DogThe call to alert had come! Or perhaps it was a call to alarm, there's a tricky subtle difference between the two that's always been tough to nail down. But whichever it was, the phone was ringing! Snuffles sprang into an action pose with his patented super-sound: "SPRAAANG!" This could only mean one thing: Snuffles' super-hero compatriots, Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend, had been taken hostage by Dr. Crossbaum and were being held captive in his secret industrial park lair! Oh no! With several other patented super-sounds, including "BRONK!" "FDDDDT" and "Pbbbbbb…" Snuffles shot across the floor like a runaway meatball. With unprecedented smork, Snuffles leapt into the air, pausing briefly to explain that "smork" is a measure of canine superpower on a scale of one to twelve, and shot like a pot-bellied rocket toward an open window.
With paws feverishly skittling at the wallpaper, Snuffles impacted the wall two feet below the window and slumped down to the baseboards, landing in an upside-down canine super-heap. "Interesting," thought the Wonder Dog. "Looks like Dr. Crossbaum has raised the windows once again!" With that sly remark, Sunuffles scratched behind his ear for a few minutes before falling asleep in a sunbeam.
Snuffles awoke with a start, his super-ears already working double-time even though they were only being paid for time and a half. There! In the distance! The neighbor… mowing his lawn! This could only mean that Snuffles'...
º Last Column: The Story of the Unids
º more columns
The call to alert had come! Or perhaps it was a call to alarm, there's a tricky subtle difference between the two that's always been tough to nail down. But whichever it was, the phone was ringing! Snuffles sprang into an action pose with his patented super-sound: "SPRAAANG!" This could only mean one thing: Snuffles' super-hero compatriots, Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend, had been taken hostage by Dr. Crossbaum and were being held captive in his secret industrial park lair! Oh no! With several other patented super-sounds, including "BRONK!" "FDDDDT" and "Pbbbbbb…" Snuffles shot across the floor like a runaway meatball. With unprecedented smork, Snuffles leapt into the air, pausing briefly to explain that "smork" is a measure of canine superpower on a scale of one to twelve, and shot like a pot-bellied rocket toward an open window.
With paws feverishly skittling at the wallpaper, Snuffles impacted the wall two feet below the window and slumped down to the baseboards, landing in an upside-down canine super-heap. "Interesting," thought the Wonder Dog. "Looks like Dr. Crossbaum has raised the windows once again!" With that sly remark, Sunuffles scratched behind his ear for a few minutes before falling asleep in a sunbeam.
Snuffles awoke with a start, his super-ears already working double-time even though they were only being paid for time and a half. There! In the distance! The neighbor… mowing his lawn! This could only mean that Snuffles' super-compatriots were still in ever more perilous peril! Snuffles hurried over near the closet to find a super box he could pull over and stand on to see out the window. He then quickly became preoccupied with sniffing under the closet door and a new mission arose: There's beef jerky in this closet!
Sniffles pawed at the bottom of the closet door and barked in a manner signifying that he did, indeed, mean business. Few present doubted him, especially not a pill bug hiding in a crack between the floorboards. Pawing to no avail, Snuffles cursed the diabolical contraption. Could it be Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend trapped inside? Bound and gagged silent, with the package of beef jerky tucked into Token Gay Friend's Jansport backpack as their only means of sending a distress signal? It was looking increasing more likely as the only plausible explanation.
For a time, Snuffles considered fashioning a crude lock-picking device out of a chicken bone and a shoe string, as he had in Snuffles Gets Spayed and Wonder Dog Gone Missing. Snuffles chewed on an old tennis shoe distractedly for several minutes while weighing his options, then it hit him like a bolt out of a licked electrical outlet. It was so obvious, and he'd almost fallen for it! Clearly, the jerky was a trap set by Dr. Crossbaum and his minions: the ear-pulling baby or the nameless man who's breath always smelled of Ding Dongs. Clever, Dr. Crossbaum, but not clever enough! Snuffles smiled a satisfied dog smile as he humped a discarded high-heel shoe. Snuffles, Wonder Dog: 37. Dr. Eli Crossbaum, VMD: 0. º Last Column: The Story of the Unidsº more columns
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|  December 22, 2003
The Night Before Testimony'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the...
º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Death
º more columns
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the cops.
They arrived with guns blazing and clubs swinging free
unaware of the danger, but hey, they're N.Y.P.D.
Old Rok spilled his guts in a new record time
and begged for protection from the dear FBI.
They wasted no time, and hauled Rok away
to meet with J. Edgar or whoever runs it today
With the dirt Rok had on Yogi, Mario, and all,
the state prisons will soon be packed wall to wall.
Rok gets probation and time served—how cool!
"It's the way we reward you for being a stool."
And with those kind words the agent disappeared in the night
for survivalists in Montana waited to pick a fight,
For Rok and Felchyana, they planned the best Christmas yet
though they were as far from civilization as you could now get,
"But we'll enjoy the grim situation, no matter what 'tis,
or wherever the hell this 'Fargo' place is."
So with prospects all brighter, things turned out great in the end
except for poor Camembert, sentenced from five to ten. º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Deathº more columns
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Quote of the Day“My love is like a red, red rose… always surrounded by pricks.”
-Wycked BurnsFortune 500 CookieDuck! Jesus, did you see that? Now may be the time to consider ending your relationship with Columbia House. That weird lump you feel may not be an alien tracking device after all; go ahead and see a specialist. You won't remember the name of that Faith No More tribute band anytime soon.
Try again later.QVC Top Sellers| 1. | Edible Bacon Sleeping Mask | | 2. | Avocado Clock | | 3. | Big Bag 'o Cubic Zirconiums | | 4. | Electronic Feces Sniffer | | 5. | "Great Jews of the 60's" Trading Card Set | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Stefan Myer-Wiener 1/27/2012 TweenightIt had been the world's most boring flight to Big, Oregon and I hated every minute of it. The old lady sitting next to me wouldn't even listen to me telling her about my stamp collection, all she wanted to do was watch gay porn on her laptop. It would be another super-dull summer in Sporks. I've been coming to Sporks ever since I was the world's most naĂŻve five-year-old. My dad and my mom split up when I was just a baby, and unlike most kids, I have a lot of sadness over it.
Dad picked me up at the airport, after bringing back the hot chick he thought was me and apologizing several times. Lawsuits are the worst. We talked about stupid stuff on the way to drive out to Sporks, the weather, how I liked school, how he lost both arms and his nose when a bomb went off in his...
It had been the world's most boring flight to Big, Oregon and I hated every minute of it. The old lady sitting next to me wouldn't even listen to me telling her about my stamp collection, all she wanted to do was watch gay porn on her laptop. It would be another super-dull summer in Sporks. I've been coming to Sporks ever since I was the world's most naĂŻve five-year-old. My dad and my mom split up when I was just a baby, and unlike most kids, I have a lot of sadness over it.
Dad picked me up at the airport, after bringing back the hot chick he thought was me and apologizing several times. Lawsuits are the worst. We talked about stupid stuff on the way to drive out to Sporks, the weather, how I liked school, how he lost both arms and his nose when a bomb went off in his face. I kept trying to tell him about the things that were bothering me, like the tag on inside of my shirt that keeps scratching that soft skin around my neck. Same old dad. He just didn't show any interest in anything I said.
When school started, it was even worse. All of the girls didn't want anything to do with me. I guess they all have money, all of them carry designer Trapper Keepers and wear the newest clogs. Mine are from last year. Mom makes a lot of money but she makes me wear second-hand clothes and get my hair done at the Dollar Salon because she says girls without money are much easier to relate to. Dad told me I can't go to the Dollar Salon anymore, unless my rich mother wants to pay for it, I'll have to cut my own hair in the car mirror.
So I was all alone, without a friend in the world, a virtual outcast in a brand new high school. I tried to tell mom I didn't like it here in Sporks, that I wanted to come home, and she just kept asking why school was in session during the summer. I can't talk to her. I'm all alone.
Or I was alone—until I met the new boy, Tedwin.
From the first time we saw each other in the cafeteria I was drawn to him. None of the other kids want anything to do with him. It's like he's an outcast, just like me. Everyone is turned off by the fact that he's so quiet, and that he looks like a male supermodel. Between that strange pale color and the fact all the girls and a lot of the guys want to have sex with him, he's got to be the most enigmatic outsider in all of this school, and this school is about 95% outsiders, you know. Oh, I forgot about Bleedin' Tits Pete. That guys like a super-outsider, but no one is drawn to him.
My dad forgot to pick me up at school one afternoon, sometimes I slip his mind when he finished having sex with my art teacher. So I was stuck walking home. I was heading down Puberty Road and most of the cars were passing me, but to my surprise, Tedwin pulled up on a sleek motorcycle, the kind all the cool mysterious outsiders drive.
"You're Bona… aren't you?" he said enigmatically. I nodded shyly, because I really got nothing else in my arsenal. He looked into the sky, in the distance, where they keep it, and noticed the sun was going down. It seemed to kind of worry him. "Are you… going home?"
I told him about my dad's forgetting to pick me up, and how my fish sometimes eats the whole leaf of lettuce but yesterday she didn't, and he gave me a smile. He asked where I lived, and I told him, and then I told him most people like Miracle Whip, but I think mayonnaise is actually better. He agreed—I've never had someone who listened to me before. And he was oddly beautiful, for a male supermodel outsider.
"I'll give you a ride, Bona." I got on the back of his motorcycle, hugging extra close to him for sexiness. It felt good to have another heart beating so close to mine. Other hearts feel best when they're inside finely carved pecs.
When we got to my house, we stayed up for hours, sitting on the porch. His family seemed just as screwed up as mind, all they ever did was nitpick and bite on each other. Both of his parents were dead, he told me, but he said they still tried to make time to see him now and then. I told him about my talent for counting words in sentences that are spoken to me (we used six-hundred and forty-two!) and my entire set of Suddenly Susan on DVD. He eventually looked outside and saw it was night, then got up to leave in a hurry. I noticed he was kind of… glowing.
"Bona… you're the most fascinating person I've ever met," he said, and I noticed he was nibbling at something in his hand. "I want to see you again… but I can't."
"You can't leave me without telling me why, Tedwin," I told him. "Even though we've only known each other for two hours, I've fallen in love with you. I think you love me, too. Tedwin— listen to me! Stop eating while I'm talking to you…!"
I smacked his hand and his food fell to the floor. It looked like… but I wasn't completely sure… brains?
"Tedwin," I said with a little gasp. "Are you… a zombie?"   |
