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Great White Pyrotechnics Implicated in Columbia Disaster March 3, 2003 |
Released shuttle footage reveals the band, unscheduled to perform on the shuttle Columbia, gearing up for possible drum solo.
Great White is once bitten, twice shy, and three times an asshole this week. Not only did the gorgeous ladies of ‘80s commercial rock burn down the hottest spot in the Rhode Island night club scene; now NASA is saying crucial video footage of the shuttle shortly before explosion puts the hair band and their infamous pyrotechnics on the scene.
“We have nothing but scratchy de-rezzing video stills,” said NASA blame-thrower Pete Hucksnell, “but we’re reasonably sure that was the ‘80s metal band G...
irl, as if it wasn’t bad enough clubbing’s been more dangerous lately than before they invented the AIDS cocktail, now they found the reason Columbia lit up the sky with their name. And it’s a phrase you’ve heard more than once: Cock rock is responsible. Great White is once bitten, twice shy, and three times an asshole this week. Not only did the gorgeous ladies of ‘80s commercial rock burn down the hottest spot in the Rhode Island night club scene; now NASA is saying crucial video footage of the shuttle shortly before explosion puts the hair band and their infamous pyrotechnics on the scene. “We have nothing but scratchy de-rezzing video stills,” said NASA blame-thrower Pete Hucksnell, “but we’re reasonably sure that was the ‘80s metal band Great White in the aft part of the cockpit. They were in the midst of a first encore, possibly a second, as the craft was approaching its landing perimeter.” When asked what Great White was doing aboard the shuttle, wise-ass Hucksnell said NASA believes it was “Rock Me.” Since the announcement, speculation has been thick as to how Great White got aboard the shuttle, why they were playing a set during landing, and how they successfully escaped the shuttle blast to successfully destroy Rhode Island’s night life more than a week later. “Great White was playing at my club in Jersey shortly afterwards. They used their dangerous pyrotechnics without knowledge of management or any warning to anyone, despite being informed it was against fire safety laws,” said New Jersey night club owner Gary “I Tol’ Ya So” Maxwell. NASA insiders say early opinion is the video footage is genuine, though it was being closely studied to see if it was a prank by Internet jokesters or jealous Winger supporters. At press time, Great White fans were being sought to help NASA I.D. the band, particularly to distinguish them from Warrant, Slaughter, Whitesnake, and any other groups often mistaken for the quintet. Experts were not yet prepared to rule out Mr. Big or Firehouse, though neither band has been seen since the early 1990s. Shuttle design expert and metalhead Garth Study offered explanations. “If it were Kiss or Iron Maiden or a metal band with some degree of mystic power, you could easily theorize how they escaped a shuttle disaster to be seen shortly afterward, uninjured and completely intact,” said Study, brushing peroxide-blond hair from his sunglassed eyes. “But Great White’s only known power was the ability to rock the house. And they had a hell of a stage show! But I guess that’s kinda inappropriate to bring up now. I would place money on it being a Great White cover band, but the fault in that theory is there are none. The space shuttle has no escape pods and all blast re-enactment programs can’t pinpoint any scenarios for survival of anyone, especially a Robert Plant-esque vocalist, a twin-guitar assault team, and tight rhythm section. It’s mathematically mind-boggling.” Estimates are that if Great White can be proven culpable in the shuttle disaster as well, their total body count for 2003 would exceed one hundred. They would officially surpass Black Sabbath as the heavy metal band who killed more people, though Sabbath would still hold the record for encouraged suicides and Satanic sacrifices. the commune news also laments the loss of ‘80s hard rock—ten years go by and all of a sudden wearing a leather vest is gay. Stigmata Spent is perfectly comfortable with her sexual orientation, and would like to invite you and your cute friend to also become comfortable with it later on.
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 October 29, 2001
Shine On Harvest MoonshineShake up that Mason jar, there, Shorty. You see how them bubbles form? How they split right down the middle, just like a ol' zipper? That's how you know you got you a good jar o' 'shine. This here's some o' ol' Clem's best. Taste that, Shorty... whoa, not too much, now! That stuff'll put hair in your ears and make your pecker stand up and pay attention! Don't it? Huh?
Hee hee... ol' Clem's about the best 'shine-stiller goin' anymore, Shorty. Learnt it from his daddy, who learnt it from his daddy afore him. I guess that tradition goes way back. Anywho, ain't nobody does 'shine like Clem. Pass me that Mason jar afore it's all gone, wouldja, Shorty? I need me another snort.
You remember how Clem was havin' all that trouble with them hippies up there near his place not too long ago? They was a wild, raggedy bunch, yessir. All shaggy and like that. They was about eight or fifteen of 'em, runnin' around half-nekkid there in the hollow, and they was so hairy couldn't no one tell the boys from the girls. All they did was talk about free love and smoke that there herojuana all day, I tell you, it was damn disgustin' is all it was. You could ask anybody.
Clem, now, he didn't cotton much to people too close to his works, seein' as how it might draw attention to what he was doin' up there. So every oncet in a while, he'd take a few shots at that ol' hippie house, just kinda friendly-like, you know, plinkin' away, not really aimin' at no one. That...
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Shake up that Mason jar, there, Shorty. You see how them bubbles form? How they split right down the middle, just like a ol' zipper? That's how you know you got you a good jar o' 'shine. This here's some o' ol' Clem's best. Taste that, Shorty... whoa, not too much, now! That stuff'll put hair in your ears and make your pecker stand up and pay attention! Don't it? Huh?
Hee hee... ol' Clem's about the best 'shine-stiller goin' anymore, Shorty. Learnt it from his daddy, who learnt it from his daddy afore him. I guess that tradition goes way back. Anywho, ain't nobody does 'shine like Clem. Pass me that Mason jar afore it's all gone, wouldja, Shorty? I need me another snort.
You remember how Clem was havin' all that trouble with them hippies up there near his place not too long ago? They was a wild, raggedy bunch, yessir. All shaggy and like that. They was about eight or fifteen of 'em, runnin' around half-nekkid there in the hollow, and they was so hairy couldn't no one tell the boys from the girls. All they did was talk about free love and smoke that there herojuana all day, I tell you, it was damn disgustin' is all it was. You could ask anybody.
Clem, now, he didn't cotton much to people too close to his works, seein' as how it might draw attention to what he was doin' up there. So every oncet in a while, he'd take a few shots at that ol' hippie house, just kinda friendly-like, you know, plinkin' away, not really aimin' at no one. That wasn't no big deal until one time, I guest he jus' got a little too close, and he winged a couple o' them hippies, and Lordy, you shoulda heard the screamin' and the carryin' on like Satan hisself was flyin' around inside that ol' shack. Them hippies was runnin' around like wrung-necked chickens, ever' which way but up. Ol' Clem near laughed hisself to death that night, watchin' that bunch.
What finally got rid of 'em, though, was when ol' Clem brought a few copperheads back from the Pentecostal service and tossed 'em in the window late one Sunday night. Come Monday afternoon, they wasn't no more hippies to be found nowhere in the hollow, and Clem was just as happy as a ol' blue-tick hound under a shady porch. He went on down to that ol' hippie shack, and poked around inside, just to make sure they wasn't none o' them still hidin' in there. He said the smell o' that herojuana they smoked and them patchy-oily sticks they burned like to make him heave his guts up, but he stayed in there long enough to find a few things.
They was all kind o' them Orientalist rugs and such, and he brought a few of 'em home to patch up his ol' place, even though he said the colors and the patterns on 'em was enough to make you dizzy if you looked at 'em too long. The other thing he found was some kind o' hippie still. They was all these big ol' glass tubes and beakers and that, and they had them a Mason jar full o' clear liquid, just like 'shine. Only when Clem tasted it, it didn't taste nothin' like 'shine. Fact is, it didn't taste nothin' like nothin', is what he said. But after he carted all that stuff back to his place, he said he spent the rest o' the day talkin' to his dead gran'pappy and watchin' the trees breathe.
He figgered it musta been the hippie 'shine that did him like that, so the next day, he went back to the ol' hippie shack and brought up the whole hippie still and all them jars of chemicals and everythin' they had there. He says maybe he learnt a few things about makin' 'shine from them hippies, but I don't know. I never had no problem with the stuff he been makin' all these years, you know what I mean, Shorty? Ol' Clem's stuff is the best around, and that's one hunnert percent true. You could ask anyone.
Hey Shorty, lookit what I can do with my hand. I can catch my own hand! Lookit that, wouldja! Wouldja just- hey, Shorty, how come your face is meltin'? º Last Column: An Eye for Catfishº more columns
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|  September 30, 2002
State Fair"When I was a boy, every year Dad would take Goose, Stephanie and I to the State Fair. Mom would never come, on account of her belief that the State Fair was the devil's yard sale.
So once every fall, Dad would pile all of us kids into the family car, and we'd head off to the State Fair while Mom went down to the airport to throw rocks at foreigners. Personally, I never much minded riding in the back hatch of the car with the luggage, since I knew how much Dad enjoyed having the passenger cabin to himself while he drove and worked out his dirty limericks aloud.
But leave it to Goose to find something to complain about in every situation. This may have been due in part to his permanent role as the foundation of the Hartwig children stack, which was only natural since he was the least claustrophobic of the Hartwigs and less given to breaking out in spontaneous hives or untimely urination when sat upon during long car rides, unlike Stephanie and myself, respectively. He may have thought it unfair, but Goose was born the low man on the totem pole, and far be it from the Hartwig clan to challenge God's natural order on that one.
Dad was truly in his element at the State Fair. Never was there a man born who could eat more corn dogs without getting sick on the Tilt-a-Whirl. It was all the three of us could do to keep up with him as he sprinted from attraction to attraction, tossing rings, flirting with schoolgirls and gawking at the state's...
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"When I was a boy, every year Dad would take Goose, Stephanie and I to the State Fair. Mom would never come, on account of her belief that the State Fair was the devil's yard sale.
So once every fall, Dad would pile all of us kids into the family car, and we'd head off to the State Fair while Mom went down to the airport to throw rocks at foreigners. Personally, I never much minded riding in the back hatch of the car with the luggage, since I knew how much Dad enjoyed having the passenger cabin to himself while he drove and worked out his dirty limericks aloud.
But leave it to Goose to find something to complain about in every situation. This may have been due in part to his permanent role as the foundation of the Hartwig children stack, which was only natural since he was the least claustrophobic of the Hartwigs and less given to breaking out in spontaneous hives or untimely urination when sat upon during long car rides, unlike Stephanie and myself, respectively. He may have thought it unfair, but Goose was born the low man on the totem pole, and far be it from the Hartwig clan to challenge God's natural order on that one.
Dad was truly in his element at the State Fair. Never was there a man born who could eat more corn dogs without getting sick on the Tilt-a-Whirl. It was all the three of us could do to keep up with him as he sprinted from attraction to attraction, tossing rings, flirting with schoolgirls and gawking at the state's biggest pig all at once. One of my fondest childhood memories is of Dad challenging us kids to guess the fat man's weight, and the fat man coming out from behind the cotton candy booth and punching dad in the mouth.
Without Mom being around to Yin his Yang, or however the Chinese work that, Dad sometimes got a little carried away in his State Fair enjoyment. That being said, he was still nothing but a hero to the three of us kids the year he drove the family car straight into the bumper car gallery, declaring himself the Grand Champion of All Time." º Last Column: Game Showº more columns
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Milestones1993: Ivan Nacutchacokov/Ivana Folger-Balzac honeymoon ends in stalemate.Now HiringPatsy. Must be willing to take the fall for numerous state and federal offenses. Should bear a passing resemblance to Red Bagel, Omar Bricks or Rok Finger. Immunity to electrocution a plus.Top-Selling Pamphlet Books| 1. | Women Who Are Happy with Their Weight | | 2. | The Reagan Memoirs | | 3. | The Joy of British Cooking | | 4. | A Complete Guide to Montana's Gay Bars | | 5. | The Tao of Vince Lombardi | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 5/17/2004 Hello readers, and welcome to the greatest Entertainment Police ever. Sure, we can't say for certain that this truly will be the best the column's ever been, especially since I just started writing it, but we can hope, can't we? After all, it's a new season and the smell of spring movies is in the air like somebody farted. So let's hope for the best as we peek through the keyhole this week, to see what Hollywood's been doing in there that's been making so much noise and making the house smell kind of like bacon. To the movies!
In Theaters Now:
13 Going on 30
I don't know who the hell was clamoring for a Michael Jackson movie this month, but the sick bastard got what he deserved with this piece of shit. If...
Hello readers, and welcome to the greatest Entertainment Police ever. Sure, we can't say for certain that this truly will be the best the column's ever been, especially since I just started writing it, but we can hope, can't we? After all, it's a new season and the smell of spring movies is in the air like somebody farted. So let's hope for the best as we peek through the keyhole this week, to see what Hollywood's been doing in there that's been making so much noise and making the house smell kind of like bacon. To the movies!
In Theaters Now:
13 Going on 30
I don't know who the hell was clamoring for a Michael Jackson movie this month, but the sick bastard got what he deserved with this piece of shit. If turds could fly, this thing would be a 747. Though the vanity of not calling the movie 9 going on 50 is pretty appalling, that's nothing compared to the film's creepy vision of Jackson sprinkling magic powder on his birthday cake and waking up as a 13-year-old boy. Normally this kind of scenario would be good for some fish-out-of-water comedy, but in this case the results make a lot more sense than Jackson's real everyday life. Because of that, the film is little more than one man's boring-to-watch wish fulfillment, though there is one funny part near the end where Jackson realizes he undershot his mark a little and is still too old for sleepovers, but won't be tall enough to reach the magic-powder shelf for another five or six years. Still though, creepy.
Man on Fire
It's a rare actor who can believably pull of playing both Malcolm X and Richard Pryor (not in the same movie, though that would be kind of cool), but Denzel Washington wins that honor either by virtue of his talent or the fact that he's the only marketable black actor around for a dramatic leading role. Some might question the tasteless title of this Pryor biopic, or the slow-motion trailers that show the comedian running around with his shit all on fire, but few can argue that a film about Pryor wasn't overdue, and this one qualifies since it's got a character in it named Richard Pryor who is sort of vaguely like the real thing. My history may not be rock-solid here, but I'm pretty sure Richard Pryor didn't know karate in real life, if he did I'm nearly certain he would have used it in the movies more, because nothing sells like a funny black man who can kick some ass. Hollywood attempted many times to teach Eddie Murphy Ken-Po for this very purpose, but that went about as well as their attempts to teach Wesley Snipes to do impressions. Regardless of how much ass the real-life Pryor could kick, the Denzelified version boots much of it in Man on Fire, which covers up well for the fact that the filmmakers didn't bother to learn anything about Pryor before making the film. Though in truth the facts might have just got in the way of their desire to make a movie about a troubled CIA comedian who's followed around all the time by a creepy little white girl who sees dead people.
National Lampoon's Van Helsing
Have you ever wondered what you'd get if you crossed Dracula, Dead and Loving It, every monster movie ever, X-Men, Underworld, The Three Stooges and the Monsters of Rock pinball machine? You really have? Weird. I don't know what the chances of that are, but I'd imagine they'd have to be up there with the corpse of Adolph Hitler winning the Miss America swimsuit competition. You either wrote this movie or are totally out of your fucking mind. Anyway, somebody wondered, and then they made National Lampoon's Van Helsing in a desperate attempt to exorcize their demons and get some sleep at night. The results, I have to admit, are pretty fun, in an "I left my brain in my other pants" kind of way. Canadian wrestling legend and Teen Wolf, Too star Huge Ackman suits up as the title character, Venice Beach washout Van "Big Hat" Helsing, who is randomly pressed into service protecting the world from 100 years of movie villains using only open hand slaps, eye pokes, and that thing where you wiggle your hand in front of the guy's eyes up and down and then hit him with a wrench when he's mesmerized. In this role, Ackman proves he's got the range not only to act like he's got really funny hair, but to make you believe he's wearing a big, goofy hat as well.
New York Minute
Wow, an Olsen twins movie based on that crappy Don Henley song? Where do I stick the gun?
Well damn, America, looks like that's it. Looks like we've got so caught up in the viewing and reviewing that another column's passed us by. Don't let the same happen to you, America, be sure to take the time to stop and smell the roses, count the commas, whatever the hell you do when you're appreciating life and reading a movie review at the same time. Ciao.   |
