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Mission Accomplished: U.S. Forces Find Hussein's Embarrassing Home VideosJune 9, 2003 |
Baghdad, Iraq Archive Photo Uday Hussein during his embarrassing "Sgt. Pepper" phase ush administration officials are calling the war on Iraq and "unqualified success" today after the announcement that US forces have found scores of embarrassing home videos shot by Saddam Hussein's son Uday, amidst the rubble of a once-fabulous liberated palace.
"We've said all along that the Husseins were in possession of these videotapes," stated press secretary Ari Fleischer, who's supposed to be retiring but won't go away. "There have been doubters and detractors who questioned our presence in Iraq, but on this day vindication is ours."
After a confused silence and brief mumbling from among the assembled press corps, a closeted reporter for another news organization asked the question this reporter would have asked eventually.
"So does this mean y...
ush administration officials are calling the war on Iraq and "unqualified success" today after the announcement that US forces have found scores of embarrassing home videos shot by Saddam Hussein's son Uday, amidst the rubble of a once-fabulous liberated palace.
"We've said all along that the Husseins were in possession of these videotapes," stated press secretary Ari Fleischer, who's supposed to be retiring but won't go away. "There have been doubters and detractors who questioned our presence in Iraq, but on this day vindication is ours."
After a confused silence and brief mumbling from among the assembled press corps, a closeted reporter for another news organization asked the question this reporter would have asked eventually.
"So does this mean you're discontinuing the search for weapons of mass destruction?"
"Weapons of ma- Son, you've been watching too many comic book movies. We've set up a nice little playroom for liberals out there in the hall, with a ball pit and everything, so why don't you just take your little fantasies out there and let the grown-ups talk. Our actions in Iraq have always been about finding these videotapes and proving to the world that the Husseins are real class-A jerks. Now, I can understand how there might have been some confusion, as WMD is Iraqi for VCR," said Fleischer, pausing to see if anyone bought that.
The tapes in question offer a meticulously detailed look into the life of a dictator's son, documenting nearly everything Uday did between purchasing the camera and skipping town for an undisclosed location with his arms full of gold bars and porno magazines as the US forces advanced on Baghdad. While it is questionable if acquiring the tapes justified the deaths of thousands, few can argue the supremely embarrassing nature of the tapes themselves, a prime example of what happens when you give an absolute moron absolute power.
Several of the tapes cover Hussein's last few birthday parties, which were all tainted by bloodshed and Uday shooting down piñatas and piñata-hanging servants with an assault rifle. The most tender moments from these celebrations show Uday strapping his servants into giant human-hamster wheels and rolling them off a cliff, in homage to the 1982 Richard Pryor hit The Toy.
Too many tapes document Uday's triumphant recovery from one of Saddam's yearly attempts on his life, which left him paralyzed in one leg and forced to pee sitting down. And don't you know we feel that pain, sister. Most find the endless hours of physical therapy sessions backed by the Gloria Gaylor tune "I Will Survive" painful and debilitating to watch, but Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times argued that they were "inspiring and raw. One of the ten best home videos of the year." Which is more proof than we really needed that a couple years ago somebody replaced Roger Ebert with Rex Reed in a really-fat suit.
Other videotapes from the collection are not so highly-acclaimed, including the hilarious "I'm Too Sexy" tape, which has been making the rounds on the Internet this week. The infamous tape features Uday Hussein miming the 1991 Right Said Fred hit while stripping seductively in front of the camera, revealing more body hair than a water bison and what Larry King has called his "24-pack abs." Girl, you mean but you the truth!
Most of the publicity has been focused on the tapes of Uday's infamous palace sex orgies, which turned out to be more disappointing than the sequel to The Wizard of Oz. If you call Uday swapping spit with a couple of drunken and entirely homely Iraqi girls hot, let me tell you you've been watching too much CNN, sugar.
Most disturbing of all the discoveries were Uday's collection of pre-recorded videocassettes, which included a terrifying selection of really lame American films. Among the horrors revealed were Green Card, Bounce, Only the Lonely and the complete Sandra Bullock catalog. Let's just hope man-child here had access to a local Blockbuster or some kind of Iraqi Netflix or something, because damn!
Hussein had been known to torture Iraqi athletes who performed poorly in the Olympics, which is the only possible explanation for his ownership of three copies of the golden retriever sports flick Air Bud. Beyond the fact that he was working on boning up his resume of mad despot quirks, of course.
Apparently the Husseins didn't have time to pack up or destroy the incriminating tapes before fleeing the country, choosing unwisely to focus instead on plundering Iraq's gold and riches. Boys, all that loot may buy you happiness, but you can never buy back your dignity honey. Believe me I've tried. the commune news had a pretty respectable staff video collection until Bludney Pludd ordered that damned How to Make Balloon Animals tape series. Stigmata Spent is the commune's in-house expert on everything that goes on down there and is more man that you'll ever be, and more woman than you'll ever have. We're not touching that with a ten-foot anything.
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Khadafy invites Bush to visit Libya—come alone
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Conservative Woman Found 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 legal work and previous appointments by Texas governor George W. Bush, no relation to the current president. Though she lacks any bench experience, discounting bus stops, Miers is a respected lawyer, despite being personal attorney to the president and the White House counsel. Fox Disappointed by Desperate Alien Prison Escape Ratings he new television season barely underway, Fox executives are already lamenting the low ratings for their most calculated new show of the season, Desperate Alien Prison Escape. “We don’t understand it,” lamented stunned network executive Roger Bacon. “This show capitalized on every hot trend currently on TV. We even had swearing. It should have been the biggest hit of all time. Fuck.” Fox’s latest ratings hopeful follows the travails of Juk, a member of a secret alien invasion conspiracy who intentionally gets arrested for sleeping with a bored suburban housewife in order to help his cousin escape from jail, using a detailed map he had tattooed on his scrotum, which due to his alien anatomy is located where a human being’s eyelids would be. Congress Lobbied for More Material to Complete Brando Memorial Impotent Landslide in China Kills Only Micro-Fraction of Glorious Population |
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 October 29, 2001
The Boy No Bigger Than a Claritin PillOnce upon a time there was a happy couple who could not, you know, have a kid. They went to doctor after doctor until they found one who told them he could help her get pregnant, but neither the husband nor wife were happy with his suggestion and she slapped him curtly. A magical fairy appeared to them one night when they had downed a quart of Vermouth each and made them a promise.
"I can give you a son," the fairy said, "but he will be a small boy. Though smallish in stature, however, he will have the biggest heart you have ever seen."
The couple profusely thanked the fairy and gave her a generous gratuity. Sure enough, within a month the wife was pregnant.
When their son was born, months later, they were surprised as hell when the boy was no bigger than a Claritin pill. The father said something to the effect of, "Jesus, I know she said he'd be small, but I thought she meant Dudley Moore small, not Tom & Jerry small…"
The boy was very loving, but his parents neglected him. They were not cruel people, it was just so easy to forget about the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill. He slept in a matchbox, he drove a Matchbox, and trying to shop for him, well, forget it.
One day the fat evil landlord came to the old house and told the couple that they could not keep their son in the house, it defied some sort of anarchist zoning rule of the time and they would have to move or kick him out. It was...
º Last Column: The Cobbler's Son º more columns
Once upon a time there was a happy couple who could not, you know, have a kid. They went to doctor after doctor until they found one who told them he could help her get pregnant, but neither the husband nor wife were happy with his suggestion and she slapped him curtly. A magical fairy appeared to them one night when they had downed a quart of Vermouth each and made them a promise.
"I can give you a son," the fairy said, "but he will be a small boy. Though smallish in stature, however, he will have the biggest heart you have ever seen."
The couple profusely thanked the fairy and gave her a generous gratuity. Sure enough, within a month the wife was pregnant.
When their son was born, months later, they were surprised as hell when the boy was no bigger than a Claritin pill. The father said something to the effect of, "Jesus, I know she said he'd be small, but I thought she meant Dudley Moore small, not Tom & Jerry small…"
The boy was very loving, but his parents neglected him. They were not cruel people, it was just so easy to forget about the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill. He slept in a matchbox, he drove a Matchbox, and trying to shop for him, well, forget it.
One day the fat evil landlord came to the old house and told the couple that they could not keep their son in the house, it defied some sort of anarchist zoning rule of the time and they would have to move or kick him out. It was unbelievable to the couple, who did not want to lose their son or their house, the house even more so.
Before they had a chance to make a decision, though, the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill jumped down the throat of the fat landlord with a toothpick in hand and began to wreak havoc on his gastro-intestinal track. The boy carved his way through the fat man's stomach, up though his lungs, and severed all the cords to his heart, though by that time the sheer pain of it all had killed the fat bastard.
Eventually the parents of the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill carved open the landlord's chest and retrieved their son, and by damn, sure enough, between his teensy hands he had the biggest heart any of them had ever seen. They were much appreciative, and more than a little terrified. º Last Column: The Cobbler's Sonº more columns
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|  January 7, 2002
I Was Real Funny Before Everybody Got Politically CorrectEveryone I know is funny. Or at least they think they're funny. And I can understand that, 'cause I used to be real funny, too. And then everyone went and got so "politically correct" on me. Now I can't get a butt to crack a smile. It probably started back in high school. I was a senior and about to graduate when all of a sudden people stopped laughing at my "plantation slave" character voice I did. It was real funny, too. I'd stick my lips out and say, "Yessuh, boss, suh!" whenever anybody asked me for anything. I'd be in class and the teacher would call on me and I'd do that and nobody would laugh, not one person. My dad and his buddies always cracked up when I did that, now nothing. One guy sort of cracked a smile and then went straight-faced again when no one else did. My teacher later said, "You know, that's very offensive." She told me no one talks like that and so it's offensive and I have to admit it's probably true because I never met a plantation slave. I think they ablemished slavery back in the '60s or something. Well, that was fine, a gifted comedian like me has quite an arsenal of material to draw from. But then, one by one, all my great gags were taken from me. My first week in college (okay, my only week in college) I got a lot of angry stares and boos whenever an Asian student would come into the room and I'd do my little "dunna dunna dun dun DUN dun dun" Chinese music. Sometimes an Asian would answer a question the...
º Last Column: I Don't Believe in Santa Claus Anymore º more columns
Everyone I know is funny. Or at least they think they're funny. And I can understand that, 'cause I used to be real funny, too. And then everyone went and got so "politically correct" on me. Now I can't get a butt to crack a smile. It probably started back in high school. I was a senior and about to graduate when all of a sudden people stopped laughing at my "plantation slave" character voice I did. It was real funny, too. I'd stick my lips out and say, "Yessuh, boss, suh!" whenever anybody asked me for anything. I'd be in class and the teacher would call on me and I'd do that and nobody would laugh, not one person. My dad and his buddies always cracked up when I did that, now nothing. One guy sort of cracked a smile and then went straight-faced again when no one else did. My teacher later said, "You know, that's very offensive." She told me no one talks like that and so it's offensive and I have to admit it's probably true because I never met a plantation slave. I think they ablemished slavery back in the '60s or something. Well, that was fine, a gifted comedian like me has quite an arsenal of material to draw from. But then, one by one, all my great gags were taken from me. My first week in college (okay, my only week in college) I got a lot of angry stares and boos whenever an Asian student would come into the room and I'd do my little "dunna dunna dun dun DUN dun dun" Chinese music. Sometimes an Asian would answer a question the teacher asked and say thank you and I'd squint and say, "Sank you velly much-ah!" Once again, nothing. One guy even called me something I won't repeat, since I don't like to work "blue." All of this is crazy enough, but next thing I know, I can't even have fun at a baseball game. My favorite team, the Braves, are really kicking some butt against the other team and I start my war whooping yell and my "HI-yuh HI-yuh HI-yuh" dance and all the fans would shout me down. Well, all the fans of the other team would. I guess it's not so bad, at least all my friends and family still think I'm hilarious, but it's just not the same. I knew things were bad when I went to the public library and a guy came in with a pink shirt. I started to sashay up and down the aisles, lisping loudly and making cat noises. Nothing, nada. The librarian asked me to leave, I mean, but nothing like laughter. It's like now white people don't have anything to laugh about. Before you know it you probably won't even be able to make fun of women, Arabs, and rednecks. I guess I was born at the wrong time to be a big comedian. Everything's going to hell in society. Hell, even Jesse Helms is retiring now. º Last Column: I Don't Believe in Santa Claus Anymoreº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Be always on the phone, so that when the devil calls, he will get your voicemail.”
-St. JerryFortune 500 CookieJust because you don't like the message, don't waste your time killing the messenger. John of Lancaster already took care of that for you 500 years ago. New scientific breakthroughs now make it possible to wash your hair while it's still attached to your head: no more tedious cutting and re-attaching with naval knots. Try to remember: Chex are for breakfast, checks are for paying bills. You will mix those up again this week. This week's lucky dogs: Lassie's offspring still living off residuals, all Irish breeds, and the two-legged one-balled variety.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Vito Wants His Money Back Yesterday | | 2. | Trust: 10 Lies to Get It | | 3. | Donate Money to Help Us Burn Sugar Ray's Guitar | | 4. | Underwear Your Dog Can Wear | | 5. | Uncle Macho's Harbor-Fresh Ice | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Wyatt Chomski 10/14/2002 The Lover of BonerbrookeThe sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up...
The sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up against the horizon, burning a deeper red, darker and darker, seeming to pulse as it sought refuge from the barren sky in one blissful, sinful, erotically inevitable plunge below. Finally, with a sigh whispered on the breeze, the earth surrendered and allowed the sun to penetrate its horizon, thrusting its fiery, molten love into the earth's ample back hills.
Wiping an errant fleck of ham skin from her bottom lip, Chaska lathered her porcelain hands and splashed the bracingly cold water on her taut, naked body. Running her hands over her impossibly sensuous figure, both elegant and voluptuous, yet surprisingly athletic all at once, she gazed longingly into the mirror, awaiting her lover's touch like a Saint Bernard waiting for a rawhide bone to come out of the pet store bag.
Alas, it was a touch that could never come, since Lance had perished all those long months ago, defending her honor against a street vendor who had insisted on exact change. Still in mourning, Chaska pulled on the lacey, semi-transparent panties she had worn throughout her bereavement and marveled one last time at her awe-inspiring body, which she'd always enjoyed without ever working out but had never let go to her head. She slipped into a slinky, backless evening gown that she liked to wear when she was lamenting a lost love, for the comforting way it hugged her curves and cradled her breasts like a sterling serving platter, as she prepared for another night of remembering Lance.
Just then, there was a noise at the door, and Chaska twirled around to discover Bane Ratham, the white-hot multimillionaire hunk that everyone knew really ran things behind the scenes in Bonerbrooke, standing in the open doorway. His shirt torn in an erotic fashion and his taut, beefy man-tits heaving, it was obvious he had run straight from town on foot, possibly not stopping to open Chaska's front gate.
"Chaska," Bane panted, out of breath in a manly, erotic fashion, not like a wheezing asthmatic. "It struck me while I was out working up a manly sweat, mentoring orphaned Chinese boys, that I couldn't bear to live another second of my life without you. I came here as fast as I could. Sorry about your gate."
Chaska melted inside and instantly swooned from the overwhelming eroticness of it all, but instead of falling, she found herself cradled in Bane's bulging arms, like a pair of boobs in an evening gown. "Quench my burning fire, Chaska," Bane pleaded, his smoky gray eyes fixed on Chaska's soul like snipers of love. Chaska nodded a dazed nod and reached for her diaphragm before Bane gently stopped her hand.
"But first, I want you to marry me," Bane whispered, gesturing to a shirtless, rock-hard, desperately hot priest standing in the doorway, his white collar cutting repressively into his bulging, well-tanned neck. "This is my brother Dave, he's a priest."
Chaska drank in the priest with a long, taboo gaze. She glanced back up into Bane's smoldering eyes and smiled.
"Hello Dave," Chaska cooed, with a twinkle in her eye.   |