| 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';
?> | 
 June 14, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Walt Disney The late president examines his presidential portrait in 1982, in a special episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Presidents.
Despite the week of funeral processions, not all machinations in America stopped, as grief-stricken politicians began the work of "tidying up" the Reagan legacy as president of the United States of America, 1981-1988, and a phantom on the political scene ever since.
A week of remembrance has reminded us frequently of Reagan's strong moral values, his deep faith, his dedication to democracy, how he made it "okay" to be a "patriot," and that charming way he had of ignoring important questions. Mostly forgotten are Reagan's fundamenta...
he world took a long, mournful pause, or perhaps a quiet vacation, when Ronald Reagan passed away of natural (or supernatural) causes June 5, after a long bout with Alzheimer's that apparently plagued him all his life. He was ancient.
Despite the week of funeral processions, not all machinations in America stopped, as grief-stricken politicians began the work of "tidying up" the Reagan legacy as president of the United States of America, 1981-1988, and a phantom on the political scene ever since.
A week of remembrance has reminded us frequently of Reagan's strong moral values, his deep faith, his dedication to democracy, how he made it "okay" to be a "patriot," and that charming way he had of ignoring important questions. Mostly forgotten are Reagan's fundamentalist cow-towing, his close-minded prejudices, his fascistic pursuit of global democracy, the mania of conformity he embraced, and how the poor dangled on the shit stick for the entire duration of his reign. All minor changes in the book of American history rewritten in the wake of the president's death.
A proponent of America as the Enforcer, Reagan ran up a national deficit in the trillions of dollars chasing military superiority, even though our nearest rival, Russia, had no hopes of keeping up. Conservatives point to the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had begun happening long before, as proof Reagan's policy was a success, which is quite like saying taking out six mortgages on your house is worth it if your neighbor can no longer afford his house payments.
The military build-up came with a price, of course, as social programs were mauled as if by a big Libertarian bear. Welfare slashed, minimum wage ignored for years, leading to a growing body of working men and women living beneath the poverty line, and don't make anyone piss themselves laughing by asking about school funding and the arts. So important was the stealth bomber the president even slashed the runaway costs of school free lunch programs, and made ketchup a vegetable to meet national health requirements.
Blind to any problem created after communism, Reagan led a government effort to ignore the AIDS crisis until it had ravaged whole communities and helped conservatives who believed AIDS a homosexual plague carried on by promiscuity remain comfortably ignorant. A wise decision, since avoiding spending anything to save American lives allowed the purchase of the Patriot missile, which didn't work, and of course allowed him to piggy bank money for his masterpiece: Star Wars, a cheeky name for his imaginative laser defense system that would stop "just about" every nuclear missile aimed at the United States and give us real tactical superiority over Russia should a Roland Emmerich movie ever occur here. But don't worry, nostalgias—the current president hasn't given up on the fantasy.
But we shouldn't, however, forget Reagan the man. The wealth of misinformation he gave us entertained people everywhere. According to Reagan, trees were bad for the environment, homeless people preferred living on the streets, hired mercenaries fighting for right-wing causes were "freedom fighters," and important decisions betraying your own political ideological statements weren't worth remembering. Lest we forget, he also expanded presidential powers into strikebusting by firing the air traffic controllers like a $400,000 a year Pinkerton.
Even as the sorrow winds up for America, text book manufacturers are busy as we speak preparing the Reagan legacy for the next generation of leaders.
According to Shouton-Felix's Greg Ward, a history book editor: "I think we've decided to skip all the irrelevant material from 1981-1988, people only seem to remember The A-Team and New Wave music from the decade anyway. We think Reagan's presidency is best represented by a full-page headshot of the president, with the caption: 'Win one for the Gipper!'" the commune news: The last angry office. Red Bagel is the commune's fearless editor and is not against betraying his own constituents if they start demanding to get paid, all bossy-like.
 |
Teen still missing in Aruba, Jamaica, oh-woo I wanna take ya
Saudi Arabian royal impersonator pardons self
Moon of Saturn not orange, probe just taking photos without flash
 Serial Killer's Neighbor: "He just wouldn't shut up about serial killing." |
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.” Isaac Hayes Recognized on Bad Mother’s Day 'Paris Hilton Autopsy' Sculpture Signed to Three-Picture Deal |
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| 
 December 9, 2002
Through the Colon of a WhaleA Gonit on a sled
races home to his bed
through the colon of a whale
sleeping on a bed of shale
snoring gently, without fail.
Through corridors the green sled slid
past hooks and nooks
where blue snails hid
by toreadors who long debated
how they'd come to be located
improbably, deep in these innards
and who was singing that Lynard Skynard.
The Gonit's sled shot past the belly
where several ships swayed in the jelly
each one's crew singing quite loudly
a different tune, and they sang it proudly
all except for an alien saucer
who's crew sat glumly, reading Chaucer.
And from the stomach's cavernous walls
sounded pounding, and muffled calls
to keep it down, we're trying to sleep
and we hope you drown, you bleepity-bleep.
The Gonit slid
the Gonit slipped
past a half-digested ship
and a clam who had the grippe
and a drunk who was quite ripped.
A school of sturgeons
were seen merging
with a herd of white sea horses
and a jar of jellyfish changing courses.
A submarine was wedged between
an obese dolphin and a walrus,
six antelopes who'd caught a virus
squeezed by in search of mint papyrus.
And still the Gonit sped along
from colonic locations far and yon
through endless twisting tubes and tunnels
that slowly...
º Last Column: The Girl Everyone Just Sort of Assumed Was Native American
º more columns
A Gonit on a sled
races home to his bed
through the colon of a whale
sleeping on a bed of shale
snoring gently, without fail.
Through corridors the green sled slid
past hooks and nooks
where blue snails hid
by toreadors who long debated
how they'd come to be located
improbably, deep in these innards
and who was singing that Lynard Skynard.
The Gonit's sled shot past the belly
where several ships swayed in the jelly
each one's crew singing quite loudly
a different tune, and they sang it proudly
all except for an alien saucer
who's crew sat glumly, reading Chaucer.
And from the stomach's cavernous walls
sounded pounding, and muffled calls
to keep it down, we're trying to sleep
and we hope you drown, you bleepity-bleep.
The Gonit slid
the Gonit slipped
past a half-digested ship
and a clam who had the grippe
and a drunk who was quite ripped.
A school of sturgeons
were seen merging
with a herd of white sea horses
and a jar of jellyfish changing courses.
A submarine was wedged between
an obese dolphin and a walrus,
six antelopes who'd caught a virus
squeezed by in search of mint papyrus.
And still the Gonit sped along
from colonic locations far and yon
through endless twisting tubes and tunnels
that slowly narrowed like a pink funnel.
The tunnel's subtle turn and twist
lulled the Gonit like a hypnotist
and his eyes began to droop
by the three-hundredth loop-the-loop.
First he nodded, then he dazed,
his eyes took on a glassy glaze
as he began to dream and dream of sleeping
because quite shut his eyes were creeping.
Into a Gonit dreamscape he sweetly slipped
as his body slouched forward and his round head dipped,
a move he regretted, there can be no doubt,
when he missed his turn and was pooped right out. º Last Column: The Girl Everyone Just Sort of Assumed Was Native Americanº more columns
| 
|  September 19, 2005
ChangesOmar Bricks has never believed in oil changes. I've always been one to say "Get it right the first time, jackass." Why waste time and money filling your car with shitty oil you're going to regret 3,000 miles down the road? Do the homework now and you won't have to pay some grease monkey rip-off wages to siphon out your shitty oil and spit it in a bucket a few months from now.
There's a whole industry that preys on this kind of short-sighted thinking. Lightning Lube, The Oil Slick, Carp. That last one has some letters missing from the sign, I'm not about to guess what the full name is supposed to be. Because if it turns out to be Carpenis or something great like that I'm going to be embarrassed that I've been calling it Carpals all along. And then there's The Change, which I thought was a clinic for pre-op transsexuals until I went in there to buy Ramrod Hurley a birthday present last year and they tried to lube my chassis.
But Omar Bricks isn't fooled, at least not by the oil-change places that aren't named like sexual reassignment chop shops. I'm not about to waste my hard-earned cash swapping out perfectly good oil, so I buy the good stuff up front. From Wal-Mart, I'm not sure what the brand is called. It's got a bunny on it.
And this all worked fine and good for years until last week, when I had to take the Bricksmobile IV into the shop because it was belching flames again and this was getting me written up for a ticket every time I'd...
º Last Column: Omarelief
º more columns
Omar Bricks has never believed in oil changes. I've always been one to say "Get it right the first time, jackass." Why waste time and money filling your car with shitty oil you're going to regret 3,000 miles down the road? Do the homework now and you won't have to pay some grease monkey rip-off wages to siphon out your shitty oil and spit it in a bucket a few months from now. There's a whole industry that preys on this kind of short-sighted thinking. Lightning Lube, The Oil Slick, Carp. That last one has some letters missing from the sign, I'm not about to guess what the full name is supposed to be. Because if it turns out to be Carpenis or something great like that I'm going to be embarrassed that I've been calling it Carpals all along. And then there's The Change, which I thought was a clinic for pre-op transsexuals until I went in there to buy Ramrod Hurley a birthday present last year and they tried to lube my chassis. But Omar Bricks isn't fooled, at least not by the oil-change places that aren't named like sexual reassignment chop shops. I'm not about to waste my hard-earned cash swapping out perfectly good oil, so I buy the good stuff up front. From Wal-Mart, I'm not sure what the brand is called. It's got a bunny on it. And this all worked fine and good for years until last week, when I had to take the Bricksmobile IV into the shop because it was belching flames again and this was getting me written up for a ticket every time I'd drive past an elementary school and some kids would coincidentally catch on fire. The cops never had a shred of proof, of course, but if you're a lazy cop and you've got some dude driving an unpainted foreign car with a flamethrower for a tailpipe through the same neighborhood where you've got kids on fire, it doesn't take long to figure out who to pin the frame on. So I took the Bricksmobile IV down to Ricky's, one of the only shops in town I trust, after the only other place I trust, Bill's, burnt to the ground in a freak accident while I was idling outside the day before. Quervo, the guy who owns Ricky's, dropped the bomb and told me I'd been putting Nestle's Qwik in my engine instead of oil, and as a result the whole thing was fucked, in a delicious-smelling kind of way. Turns out I'd never owned a car long enough for the disadvantages of using chocolate syrup to lubricate your engine parts to become evident; I'd always managed to blow the car up or drive it into a swimming pool before the chocolate folly caught up with me. So, although it went against everything I believe in, I told him to go ahead and change the oil just this once. Put in the good stuff, you know, but don't break the bank. Anything with an animal on the bottle was cool. At first I thought Quervo might give me some shit about asking him to work on some weird-ass Panamanian brand of car with license plates from an ATV, but he was cool about it. Or at least he seemed cool, he talked a lot but it's not like I speak Spanish. That reminds me, I really need to find an English-speaking auto shop some time soon. Preferably one built with a lot of asbestos. Bricks out. º Last Column: Omareliefº more columns
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Milestones1978: Griswald Dreck's landmark third grade report "George Washington: Star of the Negro Leagues" creates a fervor in the classroom, leading to the firing of third grade teacher Anais Brockmiller and a thorough review of the state's history textbooks.Now HiringEunuch. No job really, just sit around and answer questions about what it's like to be a eunuch. Maybe take a blow to the groin to no effect every once in a while to impress office visitors and guests. Talking in a Mickey Mouse voice might be kinda funny too.Top Eric Rudolph Hiding Places| 1. | Rabbit's house. | | 2. | Worked at an Arby's for a while. | | 3. | Inside Laura Bush's vagina. | | 4. | Star of an ABC sitcom. | | 5. | North Carolina. Nobody ever looks there. | |
|   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.   |
