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Conservative Woman FoundOctober 10, 2005
Washington D.C.
Ansel Evans
At the request of reporters, rare conservative female Harriet Miers bowls the crowd over with her "President Fish-Face" impression. The president is clearly worried the joke is aimed at him.
T
he White House, always on the search for rare species of human beings or close approximations, unearthed an impressive find last week: A female conservative. Defying usual stereotypes, the so-called "right-wing woman" is apparently not a career politician or from the deep rural South. In fact, she's completed higher education and appears to be not at all an idiot of any sort—though field-testing leaves the possibility open. And, perhaps most startling of all, the administration found the rare species in the most unlikeliest of places—within its own ranks.

The alleged female Republican is Harriet Miers, White House attorney and personal lawyer to the Bush clan for years. Born and raised in Dallas, a small state in the country of Texas, Miers earned several accolades for her ...Read more...


Sudan peace plan calls for Led Zeppelin song about Darfur

Tree farmers plagued by "mad log" disease

Megaupload's Kim Dotcom Tapped to Run North Korea

At Least One
Team in SuperBowl 'Really Came to Play'



May 13, 2002

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JESUS: Son of God or Animated Talking Dog? Today's Discussion

Grape. Fuckin'. Nuts.

That's what my mornings are reduced to these days, ladies and gentlemen. A bowl full of rock-hard gravel that's supposed to help me live to 120. Have you ever even seen a 120 year-old? Sweet Bubble-Yum Jesus, I saw a guy who was 118 once and I thought he'd come to tell me about Christmas Past, I almost shit my pants. He looked like he'd died three times already but kept coming back for the buffet. So I'm really starting to wonder at the wisdom of choking down this mole-food.

And yet now I find myself more in the mood for some kind of gooey sugar treat in the shape of a rabbit or bird. How fickle these desires, that tear my soul asunder.

-RIIIIING-

That's right kids! You've found today's magic vocab word, "asunder"! Congratulations!

-drunks cheer-

Now, for the grand prize, can you use today's word in a complete sentence? Let's see:

"Uh, yeah. Here we go: Man, if she gotta assunder that miniskirt, I'll give you TWENTY bucks for an hour!"

-DINGDINGADING-

That's it! Congratulations, you're now the proud owner of "EAT IT!", the board game that makes cleaning out the refrigerator FUN! If you can't name its atomic weight, you're gonna EAT IT!

Ah, what a precarious, flighty thing this day is, like a little bird lofted on the wing, a little, gentle bird, so small and downy, so delicate and...Read more...


º Last Column: Ninety Seconds in Hell
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November 24, 2003

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I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

I find myself shocked and disappointed with all of the commune staff. No—more disappointed than shocked, with a hint of disgust. So much so I can't even address them, you, in person. I'm hoping to express myself and my disillusionment adequately in my usual space for ranting against outsiders. Oh! Disillusionment! I forgot I was disillusioned in addition to the disappointment, shock, and mild disgust I feel.

You would think my good, if somewhat comical, name would be enough after all these years of employing you ilk of questionable backgrounds. I stood by you when you needed me most. Everyone called many of you unhirable, and I proved them wrong. Though, true, they ultimately had the last laugh. When editors and website employers were treating you like something they scraped off their shoe, and not in a good way, I took you in and allowed you to spread your wings and soar. Except for Omar Bricks, who took the metaphor quite literally with that batsuit. But you know what I mean.

It's true, when we negotiated the contract to prevent you striking back in July, I made quite a few promises. It's also true I cannot keep all those promises now—for good reason. It's a matter of public record since I accidentally published a private diary page my brother Gay is in a legal fight to take over the commune. Fighting these allegations has cost a lot of money, money I don't have or don't want to personally spend. I have had to dip into the commune secret...Read more...


º Last Column: Save the Super-Accelerator
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Milestones
1985: Ramrod Hurley flim-flams his way into the studio for the recording of We Are the World. Though his subversive lyrics go unsung, Hurley's taser-induced squeal can be heard two minutes into the track, a sound previously attributed to Cyndi Lauper.
Now Hiring
Conductor. General musical duties as expected: bossing around, waving arms, taking care of stick. Also needed to close gap in circuit between air conditioning unit and power main. Seeking an electric personality who loves going barefoot. Lack of close relatives or body hair a plus.
Top New Year's Resolutions
1.Quit being such an asshole
2.Exercise every day. Every Arbor Day.
3.Kill them all
4.Lose 20 pounds to limey con artist
5.Quit smoking halibut
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

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

View Past Columns
BY Newman Kaputnick
9/29/2003
So Cold Blooded
Virgil Knotts was born at thirteen years old in Orange Valley, Montana. Being born so old, he was noticeably bigger than the other boys, and always felt like an outcast. Friends and classmates would describe Knotts as a ìquiet boy, a loner who kept to himself a lot.î Knotts would then sneak up on the classmates and kick the crap out of them for talking about him.


KnottsĂ­ predilection for sudden, unyielding violence and his fondness for comic books made him a natural companion for Ornery Wilpott. Wilpott was the son of a military family, a battalion of 24 men who mistakenly adopted the child when they accidentally filled out the wrong papers to return a gift. Wilpott moved around quite a bit growing up and never made many friends until reaching Orange Valley. Knotts...Read more...

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