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Meyers Denies Being Andy RooneySeptember 1, 1999 |
Toronto, Canada Noogie Townsend/AP Andy Rooney: Real? tar of such Hollywood Blockbusters as So I Married an Axe Murderer and Wayne's World 2, Canadian funnyman Mike Meyers today denied all reports that 60 minutes mainstay and purported crystallized fart Andy Rooney is actually one of his performance pieces. Many have taken it for granted for years that the impossibly out-of-touch and pathetic Rooney character was one of Meyers’ best latex-and-bravado creations, ranking with the likes of Wayne Cambell and Dr. Evil among his most popular bits. Naturally, it came as a great shock to millions of Americans to hear Meyers, rather incredulously, denying any involvement in the Rooney project. The comedian even seemed surprised that such as suggestion might be made.
Reportedly, the producers of 60 Minute...
tar of such Hollywood Blockbusters as So I Married an Axe Murderer and Wayne's World 2, Canadian funnyman Mike Meyers today denied all reports that 60 minutes mainstay and purported crystallized fart Andy Rooney is actually one of his performance pieces. Many have taken it for granted for years that the impossibly out-of-touch and pathetic Rooney character was one of Meyers’ best latex-and-bravado creations, ranking with the likes of Wayne Cambell and Dr. Evil among his most popular bits. Naturally, it came as a great shock to millions of Americans to hear Meyers, rather incredulously, denying any involvement in the Rooney project. The comedian even seemed surprised that such as suggestion might be made. Reportedly, the producers of 60 Minutes themselves were confused by Meyers’ statements, and have called an emergency meeting that may go on late into the night. Our sources indicate that an upcoming The Best of Mike Meyers video has been postponed and will be re-edited in light of today’s announcement. This turn of events leaves many unanswered questions for Americans young and old. Was Meyers’ announcement merely a publicity stunt aimed at boosting the ratings for 60 Minutes? Is it possible that Meyers created the character and later, growing bored with the project, passed the torch to another comedian? Could this explain the disappearance of Joe Piscapo? And finally, the most troubling of all possibilities: Could Andy Rooney be real? Many would sooner believe in the existence of a Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. It seems clear that many people, from small children to the incredibly aged, from construction workers to cultural anthropologists, will be up late tonight pondering that very question. the commune news would like to thank Budweiser for bringing back the Party Ball. Selma Brotnik has joined the commune staff thanks to this country’s silly quota system. Welcome aboard, Selma!
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 February 9, 2004
Working on CommissionThe president took an honest and sincere step toward covering up the recent questions of intelligence (the CIA's, not his) with his creation of a bipartisan (emphasis on the "partisan") commission this week. But the question remains: Are we supposed to buy this bullshit?
That question aside, and the answer is obviously a resounding "yes," issues still remain about the quality of intelligence the administration is receiving about terrorism. If the CIA thinks there are large deposits of chemical or biological weapons in an underdeveloped nation like Iraq, based, I might add, on some barbershop rumor floating around Nigeria, what does this mean for the safety of the country? Are we pretty much left at the mercy of the incompetence of terrorists? Much like they are left at the mercy of our own incompetence.
It might be easier for the American public if they knew exactly how intelligence is gathered for the purposes of national security. First and foremost, we buy it. Any episode of Starsky & Hutch should display this adequately. Foreign equivalents of Huggy Bears come nosing around our embassies, and back alley deals galore abound.
The second way is the kind we think of it most often: large, burly American national security agents wearing fake beards and dressed in swami hats and Lawrence of Arabia robes. These are the real heroes, the deceitful, backstabbing undercover agents who get the secretest information straight from the...
º Last Column: Doing it the Gay Way º more columns
The president took an honest and sincere step toward covering up the recent questions of intelligence (the CIA's, not his) with his creation of a bipartisan (emphasis on the "partisan") commission this week. But the question remains: Are we supposed to buy this bullshit?
That question aside, and the answer is obviously a resounding "yes," issues still remain about the quality of intelligence the administration is receiving about terrorism. If the CIA thinks there are large deposits of chemical or biological weapons in an underdeveloped nation like Iraq, based, I might add, on some barbershop rumor floating around Nigeria, what does this mean for the safety of the country? Are we pretty much left at the mercy of the incompetence of terrorists? Much like they are left at the mercy of our own incompetence.
It might be easier for the American public if they knew exactly how intelligence is gathered for the purposes of national security. First and foremost, we buy it. Any episode of Starsky & Hutch should display this adequately. Foreign equivalents of Huggy Bears come nosing around our embassies, and back alley deals galore abound.
The second way is the kind we think of it most often: large, burly American national security agents wearing fake beards and dressed in swami hats and Lawrence of Arabia robes. These are the real heroes, the deceitful, backstabbing undercover agents who get the secretest information straight from the horse's mouth by putting their lives on the line in barely plausible disguises. There is no more dangerous job in the world, except for being an employee of Phil Spector. Many is the time some jihad-crazy Muslim terrorist flips out and frisks you to yell out, "Abdul's wearing a wire!" It's all over then, sir.
There is also what the government calls "option three": Kicking in doors of suspected terrorists, arresting them on suspicion and searching their base of operations without warrant. Right now this is still hard to do overseas, with their difficult laws preventing illegal search and seizure, at least in the more Westernized countries and some of the third world, but rollback in constitutionally-guaranteed rights in the states has made it a lot easier to fight terrorism on our own turf. We might have to annex the world before they agree.
So whose balls were dropped on this particular outing? Democrats suggest the administration manipulated intelligence to manufacture consent for an unjustifiable war with Iraq. Plausible, yes, and even the most likely case, which makes it a poor choice to discuss in this column. So I point the blame squarely at the acting schools in this country.
What kinds of intelligence operatives are we turning out? Nervous, jittery young rubes who make poor choices in their acting and offer only an overbaked performance any first-year Hamas fanatic could see through. Our guys show up on their doorsteps, spewing anti-American rhetoric in a British accent because it's all they can do, and the terrorist masterminds of the world are laughing at us. They tell our guys six or seven times a month they're ready to launch a major attack on our soil, when in fact their biggest effort is not to giggle while they discuss fake plans to use dirty bombs and chemical agents.
Hopefully this nine-person distraction Bush is calling a bipartisan commission will get right to the heart of our off-off-Broadway operatives. We're the richest nation on the planet, and our security is something we should not be paying half-price for. I say, shell out the $20 million for Pacino. De Niro, Hoffman, any of these guys. We should at least be able to afford Billy Dee Williams. He was fantastic in Mahogany. º Last Column: Doing it the Gay Wayº more columns
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|  April 1, 2002
The Rok CoupleWhen they say "we're all family here at the commune," they don't mean it. At least they don't mean they're the kind of family you can move in with when you hit upon hard times. In fact, I don't think they even say "we're all family here at the commune," I think I just heard Red Bagel singing "We Are Family" and possibly misinterpreted it. I haven't been this embarrassed since the similar incident where Mr. Bagel was singing "I Want Your Sex."
By now you're probably asking yourself, "Is this going anywhere?" Yes, indeed it is. And in response to the other question you're possibly thinking, you're correct, I believe that is infected. However I'll let you deal with your private problems while I deal with mine.
Following the disintegration of my marriage and the disruption of life as I knew it, I've spent roughly a month (indeed roughly) living in my desk here at the commune. Fortunately I have a large desk and my small stature allowed for comfortable quarters, but we can't keep cleaning people employed, they all have pretty weak stamina for seeing a small nude man sleeping in a desk drawer. I personally say stay out of my drawers, but since they work for tips and whatever they can find in the desks, the staff and administration of the commune have tossed me out to the streets.
Fear not, good people, I'm no longer homeless. Help has come from a most unexpected source: My nephew Camembert has taken me in. Camembert has a heart as big as...
º Last Column: I Must Strongly Disagree With Myself º more columns
When they say "we're all family here at the commune," they don't mean it. At least they don't mean they're the kind of family you can move in with when you hit upon hard times. In fact, I don't think they even say "we're all family here at the commune," I think I just heard Red Bagel singing "We Are Family" and possibly misinterpreted it. I haven't been this embarrassed since the similar incident where Mr. Bagel was singing "I Want Your Sex."
By now you're probably asking yourself, "Is this going anywhere?" Yes, indeed it is. And in response to the other question you're possibly thinking, you're correct, I believe that is infected. However I'll let you deal with your private problems while I deal with mine.
Following the disintegration of my marriage and the disruption of life as I knew it, I've spent roughly a month (indeed roughly) living in my desk here at the commune. Fortunately I have a large desk and my small stature allowed for comfortable quarters, but we can't keep cleaning people employed, they all have pretty weak stamina for seeing a small nude man sleeping in a desk drawer. I personally say stay out of my drawers, but since they work for tips and whatever they can find in the desks, the staff and administration of the commune have tossed me out to the streets.
Fear not, good people, I'm no longer homeless. Help has come from a most unexpected source: My nephew Camembert has taken me in. Camembert has a heart as big as all outdoors, just like his thick eyeglasses. Plus, he's living the high life on those disability payments from the government, in no small part thanks to Rok Finger, and I think he remembers that.
Camembert and I make the perfect odd couple, it's quite hilarious. He is a slob and I am a neat freak, minus the "neat" part. I am actually very sloppy, and so is he, but we hate each other so it's kind of like we're neat and sloppy alternately. He is gangly and bookwormish, while I'm suave and popular, at least while inside the apartment. I can walk. He can't.
The two of us being such an odd couple, you can bet I'm always thinking of that play. Camembert, on the other hand, is not as big a fan of Oleanna and doesn't enjoy acting it out as much as I do. I would allow him to play the role of the professor, but I don't fit into the wig and school girl outfit as well as he does. But we have fun, even if he sometimes doesn't.
Being on my own again, with Camembert, reminds me of the old Rokwell T. Finger bachelor days. Being single is not so bad, except for the debilitating loneliness. No woman to nag me, no woman to tell me to clean up my messes and bug me about where I'm going and why am I out so late, no woman to keep me up all night with her crying. Camembert does that all better than Arvelyn ever did. And boy, can he cook! No, he can't.
I've already begun making the place my own, putting in some of my furniture like the pine needle sofa and hanging up some things like my Farrah Fawcett posters. Camembert is quick to point out they're not posters so much as invasive polaroids taken through her window, and I have to agree, then we laugh and I dress him up as a girl and kick him around for a bit.
I'm going to enjoy the single life. º Last Column: I Must Strongly Disagree With Myselfº more columns
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Milestones2004: President Bush, in a farewell address to the nation, apologizes for corruption in his administration and senseless slaughter of American lives, as well as the mangling of the language (courtesy of Future Bob).Now HiringNew Now Hiring Guy. What can we say? Richie quit. Stupid, if you ask us. It was a sweet gig. Most of time he never even got any applications or resumes to review. He just made up half these jobs, but don't tell anyone we said so. You just can't make some people happy.Funniest Fake Names Read Aloud on Nightline| 1. | Tad Shitbetter | | 2. | Grant Goodeve | | 3. | Phil Shitbetter, beloved brother of Tad | | 4. | Ho Chi Minh | | 5. | Royster Culpepper Ottowa Fantastic III | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/3/2003 Humpty Dumpty, America, and welcome to the silent majority's favorite movie review feature. It's Entertainment Police, brought to you by Mike's Hard Turpentine™. It's that time of year when we can start to feel Oscar Fever crawl up the back of our throats… in a few short weeks they'll be handing out the hardware! We'll have a handle on all things Oscar next issue, but for now let's take a whiff of what's wafting through the theater's central air system this week.
In Theaters
Dark Blue
Pitting the LAPD against a genius-level chess-playing computer is a risky strategy for any film, but naming Kurt Russell as the brains behind the human team pushes this one straight into the realm...
Humpty Dumpty, America, and welcome to the silent majority's favorite movie review feature. It's Entertainment Police, brought to you by Mike's Hard Turpentine™. It's that time of year when we can start to feel Oscar Fever crawl up the back of our throats… in a few short weeks they'll be handing out the hardware! We'll have a handle on all things Oscar next issue, but for now let's take a whiff of what's wafting through the theater's central air system this week.
In Theaters
Dark Blue
Pitting the LAPD against a genius-level chess-playing computer is a risky strategy for any film, but naming Kurt Russell as the brains behind the human team pushes this one straight into the realm of science fiction. I suppose it's believable if it's set in the future, and some time between now and then the rest of the human race got hit on the head with the stupid stick a couple dozen times. Anyway, after seeing Dark Blue mop the floor with the Eastern European chess champion on the day his TV broke and got stuck on PBS, Russell becomes convinced that the computer program is behind all drug smuggling in America. He springs to action, leading his fellow cops on a dangerous spree of beating the shit out of anybody they can get their hands on. It doesn't help the drug-smuggling situation, but it does make them feel better. After all, it's not like these beer-swilling retards are really going to outsmart some hyperintelligent computer, come on now.
Old School
Continuing adult education has probably been funnier than this incontinent piece of trash. The potential is definitely there, what with the dean busting students caught with prescription medication, microwaves setting off pacemakers left and right, and half-deaf WWII vets complaining about having the same erection for three years while they're supposed to be learning how to turn a computer on. This could have been funnier than the inauguration address former President Reagan made to Cedar Valley Middle School last year. But instead, it's a lot of bad computer animation and adult diaper jokes that would make even Eddie Murphy scrunch up his nose. Will Ferrell does what he can with a malfunctioning colostomy bag that rings like a cell phone when it's full, but Luke Wilson doesn't have his brother's funny nose, and it shows. If the filmmakers had actually spent some time with old people before making the film, they would have realized that you don't have to invent far-out situations to make them funny, asking them to set up an answering machine will suffice.
Spider
Drawing inspiration from the classic Stephen King short story where the guy hates spiders and then wakes up one morning and he's a spider, Ralph Fiennes' latest picture is sure to confuse and alienate his many fans who are still waiting for him to fly in a biplane and tell romantic stories again. But as his recent roles (Faceeater 3, Little Buck Naked) have shown, that's exactly the kind of thing Fiennes gets off on. That, and making up absurd pronunciations for his name that he insists stupid interviewers and the Entertainment Tonight boobs use. I've always admired Fiennes for his sense of humor, which is well on display in Spider. The film does have some serious moments, but nothing that will distract you too much from how hilarious Fiennes looks in the spider suit. It may be a little too slapstick for highbrow horror fans, but anyone who can't laugh at a giant spider farting on a guy deserves their humorless lot in life.
Studyhall Junkies
Whoever thought this was a cool idea for a movie needs to spend some serious time after school writing behavior-altering slogans on the chalkboard, that's all I know.
The Time-Life Christmas of David Gale
Shoplifting Christmas CDs is obviously a hot button issue these days, so it's hard to argue that this film wasn't inevitable. Some might wonder at what powers within the government kept it from coming out until now. But some people just love to blame things on the government, everything from high taxes to the Vietnam War. The real reason the movie didn't come out until now is because it stinks on ice. If they had released it when there were lots of great movies coming out, it would have been eaten alive. They'd be painting the theater while it was playing. Now that things are slow they can turn the movie on like a bug zapper and figure at least a few hapless souls will wander into the wrong theater on accident. Kevin Spacey proves yet again that he took a method acting approach to being killed in American Beauty, and whoever this claymation robot is who's collecting his paychecks now has incredibly bad taste in scripts. The Shipping News, K-Pax, Pay it Forward and The Bad News Bears: All Growed Up? What's next, The Hee-Haw Movie?
That's that, America, and the that to which I refer is the extent of our movie reviews for the week. Huh? You heard me. Won't you come calling again in a few weeks when we take a peek down Oscar's blouse and ogle the rubber tits within? Uh… good.   |