Sales of HerpEase STD Treatment Skyrocket

December 20, 2004

New York City

Algor brochure

Finally, beautiful people will no longer be afraid to gobble down STD drugs like they were circus peanuts

he pharmaceutical niche player Algor released startling fourth-quarter projections this week, a reversal of fortunes many in financial circles attribute to the company renaming many of its medications for the treatment of sexually transmitted diseases. Realizing that social embarrassment may play a part in the afflicted avoiding treatment for their cursed states, Algor saw fourth-quarter sales of their best selling herpes treatment ClearVue skyrocket after the drug was changed from its longstanding name of HerpEase.

Finally bending to pressure from marketing experts, Algor has begun renaming its other not-quite-popular-enough drugs under the now commonplace industry practice of drug names that have nothing to do with a condition or its treatment. By the beginning of 2005, the company hopes to offer a complete line of attractively-named treatments for the unfortunately STDed.

GonorRid, the company's industry-standard drug for the treatment of puss-laden malcontents suffering from gonorrhea, will be shipped to pharmacies under its new label of SmoothOperator beginning in January.

A similar fate awaits the company's pride and joy, Crabex, Algor's floundering treatment for pubic lice. After months of focus group testing, Algor has recently decided to rename the drug PartyZone.

Last but not least is SyphiLess, the company's breakthrough treatment for syphilis sufferers. Though Algor has yet to make an official announcement on the renaming of this drug, early leaked reports indicate that the drug will be called either Blissex or PissFree in 2005.

But will Algor's new approach be a success? To answer that question, we went straight to STD sufferers for the real dirt.

"Oh yeah, I'd definitely buy more if it was named something like Smurfies or something, that would definitely boost sales," according to porn impresario Tori Anus, a frequent Crabex user. "Then I'd stop getting those dirty looks from the dried up old bags at the Wal-Mart pharmacy. They'd just think I'd been fucking Smurfs or something."

Determined to dig deeper into the beans of the story, this reporter conducted further research among the loose women of 1-900-HOT-DATE, likely to be experts on the treatment of cock-borne illness. In addition to providing hours or stimulating conversation, Misty and Chakra also provided great advice about writing off the cost of the toll call as a business expense.

"Algor definitely has a hot idea on their hands there," insisted Misty, a buxom brunette with smoldering green eyes. "You're getting me hot just talking about it."

"Hot and naughty," agreed Chakra, a Thai-Scottish delight who insisted on conducting the telephone interview in the nude.

No doubt the executives at Algor have done similar research, since it's loads more fun than the alternative of company execs experimentally contracting STDs themselves to see if they feel embarrassed about getting treatment. So the New Year looks to be a happy one for Algor shareholders, who haven't heard news this good since the company changed its name from Cock Rot Ltd. in 1999, amid reports that investors were too embarrassed to purchase their stock.

the commune news is a staunch believer in safe sex, which is one reason why this seat belt just ain't coming off, honey. Truman Prudy is the commune's expert on public shame and the midnight train to Georgia, which is a lot to fit on a business card. Office pervert Ramon Nootles could not be reached for comment on this story, as he was at the doctor getting a pap smear.

Anywhere: Respected leader of one religious group assassinated by opposition fanatic

Attention-hungry China still whining about typhoon victims

Florida announces waiting list for hurricanes

Economy on the way to recovery, absolute for real no joking this time

March 18, 2002

At Least Your Last Name's Not Fagerbakke

º Last Column: Way to Cock Up My Birthday Party, Grandpa
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Over the course of my life, any time I've had a gripe about the way things were going or if I had things that I thought were unfair, my mom was always there to remind me that there are people out there who have it worse off than me. No matter what your problem is, there's always some poor S.O.B. out there whose wretched existence made yours look like a complimentary trip to a Bangkok whorehouse.

My mom's the undisputed master of this line of reasoning. No matter what happened when I was growing up, she always had some reason why I should be happy about it. Any time I took the guys to meet Mr. Bike Frame after riding my Huffy into a gopher hole or a curb or something, while I was on the ground in the fetal position, writhing in pain, she always reminded me that at least I didn't have spinal meningitis. I'm not kidding! Needless to say, that's not the kind of thing a guy wants to hear when he's just had his family jewels knocked back into his earlobes, so I spent a large portion of my childhood years sucking on a bar of Ivory soap.

But she never faltered. Your dog got hit by a car? That's a piece of cake compared to having cystic fibrosis. Pulled a 300 on the SATs? That'd make your day if you had hooks for hands. I don't know where she got half that shit. Every once in a while I'd catch her blatantly making something up, like the time in Jr. High when I got kicked in the nuts by a mule and she told me it was better than having Herkemer's Syndrome. I asked her what the hell that was and she just muttered something vague about having your bones itch and said I didn't want to know the details.

To be perfectly honest, I never really appreciated my mother's philosophy when I was growing up; actually I thought she was sick in the head. But now that I'm older I'm really starting to understand where she was coming from. It's taken me a long time to find my purpose in life, but now I think I've really found it. I'm here to remind people that no matter what kind of foul shit is going down in their own lives, hey, at least their last name isn't Fagerbakke.

You don't even have to know a thing about be, beyond my name, to know that I didn't have an easy time of it growing up. All my life, I've been like some kind of nickname magnet. You can try to surprise me with something new, but I'd advise you to save your breath, I promise I've heard them all: Froggerhockey, Fan-of-Balki, Faggotbacon, Fag-bot, Fuckerbacker, Fingerbecky, Shag-her-buddy, Fizzledick, Dr. Lousy Lay, Sir Fucksafreshman, Tommy Hatesajew, Dildo on Wheels, The Cunnilinguist, Tom the Racist Wonder, Tommy Comesponge, Mr. Nazi-cock, Tommy Two-Minutes, Tommy Knockmeup, The Back-door Bandit, Tom Thumbs-a-stranger, Tommy Inchwormâ€¦ the list goes on and on. I'm sure I'm forgetting some good ones, too, you can email my mom if you want the complete list.

The point is, I got stuck with the Spruce Goose of bad last names. And for a long time I thought that was a curse, you know? But now I realize it's a blessing. Just like how Superman got super-powers and used them to help out humanity when it got in a pinch, Tom Fagerbakke got a super-shitty last name and he's going to use it to raise humanity's spirits. No matter who's pissing on your parade or what kind of crap life is trying to pull, all you have to do is stop and reflect on the fact that your last name isn't Fagerbakke, and that kind of puts it all in perspective. Sure, maybe your wife left you for your boss and your mom joined a cult and your son just got into Weird Al Yankovic, but you know, at least you're still doing pretty good in the last name department. So maybe everything isn't as bad as it seems, right? Feel better?

No need to thank me, it's the work I was born to do.

º Last Column: Way to Cock Up My Birthday Party, Grandpa
º more columns

June 10, 2002

Toudle-Lou & Toudle-Lee

In your travels, should you find
some oddball children, pay no mind.
But if you do, and you have learned
that they love candy recently turned,
it behooves you to flee at once.
And don't come back
that way for months.
For you have wandered
to a land forgotten,
where the children like
their candy rotten.
And this might not sound so terribly bad,
perhaps only slightly, or only a tad.
But I assure you, once I've filled you in,
you too will avoid these rotten children!

Avoid like the plague or like measles or beets.
Avoid them like odd-colored stains on your sheets.
Avoid them like murder and dandruff and stink.
Avoid them like things moving under the sink.
For this is the behavior I would strongly advise
unless you'd like a sandwich of mustard and lies.
You think I'm kidding? You think this is a joke?
Brother, I'm as serious as a mouthful of New Coke!

Their loyalty's shifty, their morals are loose.
They'd eat the heart out of a chocolate moose.
Their bedtime is no time their naptime is "GO!" time,
And they have never once heard of "The Answer Is No!" time.
They wipe their hands everywhere and belch like fat chickens
and after they're done, the buffet is slim pickins.
They'll throw a wild tantrum just to pass an afternoon
and then hide your car keys on the back of...

º Last Column: The Land of Rotten Children
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Quote of the Day

“It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that's completely impossible by the laws of physics and laughable to every sane person.”

-Mark Twaint

Fortune 500 Cookie

This is the week you finally snap. All those years spent strengthening your middle finger and thumb are really going to pay off big-time, playa. Try keeping your dehydrated mashed potato flakes and your dandruff collection in different-colored boxes this week, just in case that last date ever comes back. Oh, that autobiography you wrote in l33t? Yeah dude, nobody can read that shit. This week's lucky porn cameos: Jenna Jameson in the pilot of that awesome new Hoarders spin-off, Whoreders, Big Bird in Larry Bird: Big Bird, The Ghost of John Holmes in everything else you watch because you burnt that shit into your plasma, dumbass, and â€¦wait, Ron Jeremy in your wedding video? WTF?

Try again later.

Best-Selling Video Games

1.	Grand Theft Ottoman
2.	The Al Qaeda Flight Simulator
3.	Rockabilly Jeopardy
4.	Jerry Seinfeld's X-Treme Game About Nothing
5.	Final Fantasy XI: Judy and Audrey Landers

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

9/30/2002

Happy Birthday, America!

Yeah, I know it's a little late, but some crackhead stole my Dayplanner, so what can you do? We've got eight different kinds of fun coming your way from Entertainment Policeland today, so I hope you're ready. No, that's not a scientific figure and it probably wouldn't stand up to academic scrutiny, but goddammit, we're here to have fun. Leave your nit-picky bummer vibe at the door. We're doing what we can here to get through these Dark Ages of Autumn movie entertainment, and we need your oppressive lab coat act like Traci Lords needs a milk mustache. So let's all get with the program here. On to the movies!

In Theaters

Moonlight Miles

Remember back when Dustin Hoffman was in good movies all the time? It seemed like he just wandered from set to set, dropping in to add a few lines to whatever movies looked good. No? Honestly, neither do I, but people tell me it happened. The last thing I liked him in was Hook, that basketball movie with Tommy Davidson, but it wasn't that long ago that he was winning Best Retard Oscars left and right and people said his name louder than they do now. I only found out he was in this movie because his sister was sitting behind me in the theater and she wouldn't shut up about it. Anyway, this movie is fine as entertainment if you're really in the mood to see something about a guy working two jobs at once, which I suppose is a mood people get in sometimes. I thought it was kind of slow myself. They tried to spice it up a bit with some Elton John tunes, but none of them were the Crocodile Hunter song, so I can't say how well that worked. If you ask me, I think Hoffman needs to spice up his own career a bit, maybe by playing a superhero or something. I'm sure there's got to be at least a few of those left, like The Wriggler or Captain Pants or something like that he could sink his teeth into.

Red Dragon

Some people keep on pumping even when the tit done come up dry, and now we can officially add our friends at the Silence of the Lambs franchise to that list. Sure, I think Hannibal Lecter opening up a Chinese restaurant is a clever twist for a new film in this face-eating British Royalty saga, but in case anyone fell asleep before the end of the last one, or crapped out while they were reading the book, he got his hand cut off at the end. And if there's one rule of thumb that every restaurant guide and Fodor's book has in common, it's don't eat at an Asian restaurant where the cook only has one hand. Hell, I don't think Hannibal could even eat Asian food, since you need one hand to work the chopsticks and the other hand to push food onto the chopsticks, otherwise those things are worthless.

Sweet Homo Alabama

See, now this is great. I always have a gay old time every time I travel to the South, since that's just the way they swing it down there. It's not my way, but I'm not about to be the one to suggest we do things Chicago-style when I'm visiting Rome, if you know what I mean. I'm not sure what exactly Chicago-style is, maybe deep dish or something, but the point is that it's not very gay. Unlike the South, which is as homo till the cows come home. And you know, it's about time somebody made a movie about the big gay pool party that the South really is. You might get a different idea watching the news and from books and whatever, but then you get down there and Holy Homo Moses. If you can't get your crops dusted in the South then brother, it just ain't happening. This film does a good job capturing the verve and the sass of the South, though I think they scaled back on the drag queens a bit to make it more palatable for uptight Northern audiences.

The Tuxedo

It's a formula that has worked in the James Bond movies for eons: if the suit is nice enough, it doesn't really matter what boob actor you stick in it for the "motor home cart-wheeling off the cliff oops your fly is open perfect ten swan dive into a glass of French spring water" scene. That suit has been the star of Bond pictures for generations, and somebody finally caught on and spun it off into its own franchise. This time they've blanched spastic Chinese superstar Jackie Chan into the penguin suit, and his brand of "move really fast and pretend it's karate" antics translate well to this rubber-stamped genre. Chan fans will all be satisfied, as the 14 year-olds and the repressed Asian men in the audience get to see some almost-exposed breasts, Jackie falls down a ladder a few times and he uses a nerf ball to beat up a guy who looks kind of like Jet Li. Moviegoers looking for more plot, however, might be somewhat disappointed to find that the film's dialogue is made up entirely of fight noises, like "Ha! Huah! Sho! Nananana! Oooow!"

That's what we've got for you this week, America. Keep coming back next week and you might win a prize or something! I don't know, I'm not in charge of the prizes. It sounds like fun though, maybe we could give away a drug boat or a plate of nachos, something to spice up the week. I'll ask around, there might be some office chairs we're not using or a fax machine that's not chained down. You never know, you could be a winner and nobody bothered to tell you. I'll get back to you on that one.