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NASA Photographs Infuriate Shut-Ins, Conspiracy GeeksAugust 5, 2002 |
Tempe, AZ Courtesy Of Nasa Clear photo of "The Face" underlines need for Martian pooper-scooper law
NASA claims this is because there never was a face, stupid, only a trick of light and shadow fueled by desperate weirdoes who haven't worked in years. Fans of the face contend that it was only the lack of "night-vision" imagery that failed to expose the Sphinxlike visage they have come to know and love. NASA responded ...
ew infrared images from NASA's Mars Odyssey orbiter featuring the long-debated formation known as the "Face on Mars" have sent shockwaves through the shut-in and conspiracy geek communities. Anxious and unbathed web surfers who expected the infrared pictures to provide new revelations about the features voiced their disappointment, saying the new images are bullshit because they don't show any kind of recognizable face at all, just a couple of bumps in the dirt.
NASA claims this is because there never was a face, stupid, only a trick of light and shadow fueled by desperate weirdoes who haven't worked in years. Fans of the face contend that it was only the lack of "night-vision" imagery that failed to expose the Sphinxlike visage they have come to know and love. NASA responded with a patronizing smile and a hand gesture indicating "okaaay."
The debate over the Face has simmered for the last twenty-five years, since NASA's Viking orbiters transmitted pictures of the Cydonia region that appeared to show a half-shadowed, helmeted face staring up from the planet's surface like some kind of cross between Kermit the Frog and Han Solo. Since then, additional formations have been identified as the "Alien Conspiracy Pyramid," "the Mounds of Xena" and so forth — and fans of the Face have argued that the formations showed evidence of a vast Martian civilization populated by breathtaking huge-breasted women incapable of resisting the charms of virginal 30 year-old earth men.
In the past five years, sharper imagery from NASA's Mars Global Surveyor orbiter popped a big-ol' hole in that over-inflated fantasy balloon, confirming the mainstream view that the Face and the other formations were nothing more than a whole lot of wind-eroded dirt, much like everything else on Mars. But die-hard fans of the Face refused to give up hope, disregarding the newer photos as hoaxes and propaganda, and confusing everyone in their apartment buildings by going as "The Face" for Halloween.
The new Mars Odyssey images are unique in that they were taken using infrared light, unlike the visible light used for the Viking and Global Surveyor images of Cydonias. This allowed for day or night photography unhindered by shadows. Many fans of the Face, however, took issue with NASA's methodology.
"We got gypped," griped Thomas Reinhold of Jackson, Miss. "They totally lead us to believe they were going to be doing some nighttime infrared imagery, not just daytime. What if the face only comes out at night? Didn't think of that, did you, NASA?"
"He said what?" questioned Tony Rice, a member of the Arizona State University imaging team that worked with NASA on the project. "Jesus. Thanks to AOL, every kind of mook can get on the net now."
The Arizona State imaging research team denied any unique features belonging to the mesas that make up the Face. "What do we have to do, draw you people a map?" Rice questioned. "Oh, wait, that's right. We already did that. Morons."
No stranger to being called morons, the Face fans press on with their hunt for the truth.
"Those white-coated government lackeys over at NASA can conspiratize all they want, but we know the truth," boasted Elmer Noonan of Vine Grove, KY. "We've seen the pictures. The first picture, anyway. All the other ones after that were bullshit. A total governmental cover-up, straight out of the handbook. If it hadn't been for that Libertarian dude working at NASA back in '76, we never would have got to see that original image of the face. I bet those NASA guys have been kicking themselves every day since they released that thing. Ha. Jerks."
"We're putting new stuff out there every day for the public to look at," Rice said while playing with a hole in the bottom of his shoe. "I don't know what their problem is. Oh, right. The conspiracy. I almost forgot. Well, you're going to have to excuse me while I conspire to drive my shitty little Tercel over to Arby's and eat a roast beef sandwich for lunch." the commune news needs a hero: he's got to be strong and he's got to be fast and he's got to know where and how to dispose of an incredibly obese dead body. Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown has been spending a lot more time haunting the commune offices lately, ever since he tired of his gig chasing a buffalo through Kevin Costner's nightmares.
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New EPA head "strongly leaning" toward pro-environment stance
 Turkey to Block Offensive Websites; commune Offers Pre-Emptive "Fuck You"
Cost for MasterCard to recover from devastating security hacking: priceless
Gold, shotguns, ammunition, fallout shelters all make strong showings
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‘Black Friday’ Sales Slow; Black People Blamed he nation’s African-American community had to bear another injustice over the weekend as it was revealed the sales on their own personal super-saving shopping event, “Black Friday,” were moderate at best. Undoubtedly, the responsibility for the lower-than-projected sales will fall squarely on the shoulders of the black community. “Sales were not as high as initially expected,” announced economical tool and white person spokesperson Neil Van Hurst of Columbia University’s School of Business. “This is owed mostly to continuing downward spending trends in recent holiday seasons.” And its all the fault of black people, Van Hurst all but said. Child Left Behind recent round of standardized DMAS testing in America’s elementary schools has revealed that in spite of President Bush’s ambitious “No Child Left Behind” education policy, at least one American child has been left way the fuck behind. “I don’t like schoolin’,” explained eight-year-old Topeka, Kansas boy Rodney Camaro, exhibiting numerous symptoms of left-behindedness, including messy, uncombed hair, untied shoelaces, a poor vocabulary and a fondness for pro wrestling. Camaro was brought to the attention of education officials earlier this week when test results revealed that someone had actually scored a zero on last month’s DMAS, a feat previously thought mathematically impossible. Who’s the Black Pit That Killed a Night Club Prick? Elevator Shaft — Damn Right Apple iPhone to Contain Real Fruit Filling |
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 December 23, 2002
Everyone's Half-Assing the Christmas SpiritNot to shit on everyone's Christmas spirit, but it just seems like no one is making an effort anymore. All year long I look forward to gathering up the toys and, quite frankly, busting my balls to get all the stuff to everyone and there doesn't seem to be much reciprocation on everyone else's part.
I'm not going to name names, but let's just talk about what some people are leaving under the tree. It used to be cookies and milk, and boy, does that ever get boring after the thousandth house, but at least they were homemade cookies and milk. These days I'm lucky if I can get some half-broken Oreos and a juicebox. I'm not saying the kids are to blame, they're probably the reason I get the Oreos, but somebody out there is just not giving a damn anymore.
You know what I want for Christmas? Well, since you ask, a big fat plate of babyback ribs sitting under the tree would be nice. Just one house, you know, not everywhere. I realize it's more of a hassle than you're used to, but at least in neighborhoods can't you get together and work something out? These cookies are going to give me a heart attack, it's really too much sugar. I have a family history of diabetes, you know. What I basically need is something high-carb 'cause I lose a lot of energy moving from house to house with a finger aside my nose. That burns calories.
And all you construction workers out there, you've got to start making the roofs a little flatter. I can't handle those...
º Last Column: If I Were a Carpenter I Would Build You a Home Out of My Heart
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Not to shit on everyone's Christmas spirit, but it just seems like no one is making an effort anymore. All year long I look forward to gathering up the toys and, quite frankly, busting my balls to get all the stuff to everyone and there doesn't seem to be much reciprocation on everyone else's part.
I'm not going to name names, but let's just talk about what some people are leaving under the tree. It used to be cookies and milk, and boy, does that ever get boring after the thousandth house, but at least they were homemade cookies and milk. These days I'm lucky if I can get some half-broken Oreos and a juicebox. I'm not saying the kids are to blame, they're probably the reason I get the Oreos, but somebody out there is just not giving a damn anymore.
You know what I want for Christmas? Well, since you ask, a big fat plate of babyback ribs sitting under the tree would be nice. Just one house, you know, not everywhere. I realize it's more of a hassle than you're used to, but at least in neighborhoods can't you get together and work something out? These cookies are going to give me a heart attack, it's really too much sugar. I have a family history of diabetes, you know. What I basically need is something high-carb 'cause I lose a lot of energy moving from house to house with a finger aside my nose. That burns calories.
And all you construction workers out there, you've got to start making the roofs a little flatter. I can't handle those 45-degree angles anymore. Or just build a deck or something. I'm not worried about the lack of chimneys and the locked doors and security systems—they haven't built a house that can keep me out. But you build a house with a pointed roof and then put satellite dishes and all sorts of shit up there, you're just begging me to skip your house.
While we're on the subject of making my life just a tad easier… kids: Get into something a little easier on St. Nick, will you? Those goddamn Playstation 2s and video games by the ton are not only impossible to make, but they're starting to seriously do some damage to the ol' back. It would be a real crying shame if some of you got into sports again, just asked for a football or a baseball glove or sneakers or something—hardly any of you are in great shape, you know. It wouldn't kill you to go outdoors once in a while.
Oh, and you know what really pisses me off? All those kitschy adults who think it's so funny to write a Christmas list to Santa with their friends. Some group of half-baked intellectuals or cutesy-ass yuppies hang out at Starbucks for a half-hour penning some dumb-ass request for Gap clothes and S.U.V.s and you think it's so funny. Well, you know what? I'm legally obligated to answer all of those letters in some fashion. Yeah, the price-capping laws make it so I don't have to bring you the S.U.V. or anything, but what really pisses me off is that you're wasting my time when you're going to go out and buy the S.U.V. anyway. I have serious business to tend to, real kids who need real Christmas shit, I don't need your jerk-off Christmas lists cluttering up the naughty/nice ratio.
Whew. Sorry. Just bugs me, a lot.
It's not so bad, I guess. Despite everything, all the complaints, I realize I got a pretty good job. I spend about four months driving the elf workforce in the toy production, but they can basically run that themselves, then I bust my ass (and I really do bust my ass) one night a year, which basically leaves me with about eight months to just chill, do nothin'. And for that work I'm celebrated by children everywhere, more than their parents, who do at least half the work I get credit for. Yep, in some ways, it's the sweetest of gigs. Merry Christmas, everyone. º Last Column: If I Were a Carpenter I Would Build You a Home Out of My Heartº more columns
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|  March 4, 2002
Fishing"Old men have their fishing stories, and Sampson L. Hartwig is no exception. The best fishing story is when I was nigh 25, I went fishing with my college buddy Meadows.
Meadows was an expert fisherman, raised in a fisherman family. His father was a fisherman, his father's father was a fisherman, his father's father's father sold lingerie in Times Square, but the father of that father's father's father was a fisherman as well, so on.
I had all the lures money could buy, and some I could only trade sexual favors for. Meadows had only a pack of gum. He chewed a piece, shaped the A.B.C. gum into a somewhat fish-like shape, and wrapped the silver wrapper around it. It looked sort of like a fish, I was even tempted to bite it myself. Meadows put it on a hook and tossed it into the water.
'That's all the bait you're using?' I asked him. He smiled slyly, tilted his hat down over his eyes, and nodded. I began using my high-tech lures, one after the other, and all through the day Meadows only used the gum-and-wrapper lures he made himself.
Well, by the time the day was over it was quite a surprise. I had a cooler full of 33 fish, all various sizes large and small, while Meadows' cooler was full of empty beer cans and vomit. I later found out Meadows was considered quite the loser by his family of...
º Last Column: History
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"Old men have their fishing stories, and Sampson L. Hartwig is no exception. The best fishing story is when I was nigh 25, I went fishing with my college buddy Meadows.
Meadows was an expert fisherman, raised in a fisherman family. His father was a fisherman, his father's father was a fisherman, his father's father's father sold lingerie in Times Square, but the father of that father's father's father was a fisherman as well, so on.
I had all the lures money could buy, and some I could only trade sexual favors for. Meadows had only a pack of gum. He chewed a piece, shaped the A.B.C. gum into a somewhat fish-like shape, and wrapped the silver wrapper around it. It looked sort of like a fish, I was even tempted to bite it myself. Meadows put it on a hook and tossed it into the water.
'That's all the bait you're using?' I asked him. He smiled slyly, tilted his hat down over his eyes, and nodded. I began using my high-tech lures, one after the other, and all through the day Meadows only used the gum-and-wrapper lures he made himself.
Well, by the time the day was over it was quite a surprise. I had a cooler full of 33 fish, all various sizes large and small, while Meadows' cooler was full of empty beer cans and vomit. I later found out Meadows was considered quite the loser by his family of fishermen." º Last Column: Historyº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Fortune is a fickle bitch. No, wait… I'm thinking of my wife. That's right, my wife's the fickle bitch. Fortune is some transcendentalist concept.”
-Martoon RomeoFortune 500 CookieQuick, put these shoes on—walk around in them to get comfortable, if you need to. This week, fasten your seatbelt for the ride of your life. Straight over the goddamn cliff and everything. Sure, when you say a dog talks to you, everybody believes you, but make it a rhesus monkey and all of a sudden you're "crazy." Now here's Trip with the sports.
Try again later.Top 5 Reasons You Won't Have to Kick Around the commune For Anymore| 1. | It’s expensive to run state of the art website and Dippin’ Dots franchise at the same time | | 2. | You assholes simply refused to spell our name appropriately in lowercase letters | | 3. | All of this was for date with girl at Blockbuster; she don’t work there no more | | 4. | Less writing and online publishing leaves more time to hang out at coffee shop writing thinly veiled autobiographic novel | | 5. | You never loved us | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/17/2003 Howdy, America, and greetings from the land of prepaid calling cards. What could be more convenient than dialing eight thousand digits before making a long distance call? Nothing could! So why don't we all run out and buy an MCI prepaid calling card today? What's that? Well, you do whatever the hell you want; I'm buying a prepaid calling card. When your phone bill comes in the mail and you've got to drive around all night trying to find a place to buy stamps to mail it back in, we'll see who's laughing. Asshole.
Meanwhile, we're here taking a look at the best Hollywood has to offer. But before you say anything too harsh, remember that Hollywood has had a drinking problem for a while now and it's doing the best it can. So let's take a look at what they heaved behind our...
Howdy, America, and greetings from the land of prepaid calling cards. What could be more convenient than dialing eight thousand digits before making a long distance call? Nothing could! So why don't we all run out and buy an MCI prepaid calling card today? What's that? Well, you do whatever the hell you want; I'm buying a prepaid calling card. When your phone bill comes in the mail and you've got to drive around all night trying to find a place to buy stamps to mail it back in, we'll see who's laughing. Asshole.
Meanwhile, we're here taking a look at the best Hollywood has to offer. But before you say anything too harsh, remember that Hollywood has had a drinking problem for a while now and it's doing the best it can. So let's take a look at what they heaved behind our azaleas this week:
In Theaters
Cherdevil
The big hoopla this week is obviously about the release of this highly-anticipated comic book geek-out that fans have been waiting for since before they had a favorite brand of pimple cream. The concept is simple enough: Ben "Silver Spoons" Affleck plays a man who's a drag-queening Cher impersonator by day, camel-toed spandex superhero by night. Actually, I think drag queens mostly operate at night, too, so maybe it's the other way around: superhero by day, Cher look-alike by night. This poses an obvious problem, since most criminals operate by night as well, I guess because they're either sleeping or running Fortune 500 companies during the day. So while Affleck's out believing in life after love on the club scene all night, old ladies are getting mugged left and right and somebody's stealing all the dirt from under New York City or whatever. And during the day, all there is to do is catch tax cheats and people that jaywalk and don't tip parking valets. So everybody basically hates the guy, plus his spandex get-up leaves far too little to the imagination, so the parents' groups and gay pride gangs are all after his ass all the time. Luckily he has the fabulous club life to escape to at night, where he's a star and he doesn't have to listen to people complain about how he's the only superhero who doesn't validate parking.
How to Lose a Gut in 10 Days
Another film in the growing trend of weight-loss and diet movies that are becoming increasingly popular these days. While I can't argue against the fact that the market is there, since Americans are so fat the Rocky Mountains keep getting taller every year, I'm not sure how many more of these movies I can sit through. After the early successes of such films as The Dead Zone Diet and You've Got to Fight For Your Right to Eat Right For Your Blood Type, Hollywood has really gone hog wild with a shitty stream of knock-offs: The Schwarzenegger All-Beef Diet, My Big Fat Gross Ass, Steven Seagal Kicks the Shit Out of Carbohydrates andThe Eat Like Ringo Starr in Caveman Diet. This one is more of the same. Matthew McConaughey does a good job acting fat, and then acting not-fat, but I still think he'll lose out on the fat/not-fat Oscar to Rush Limbaugh, who's been making acting fat look effortless for years.
The Jungle Book 2
The gut-wrenching sequel to Upton Sinclair's tell-all book about the meatpacking industry in Chicago is a surprise release from Disney this year. One would think the public outcry after the first film (a harrowing montage of loveable bears, tigers and baboobs being processed into bologna sandwiches) would have scared the company off. Or at least would have convinced them to sell-out on the sequel, making it all about singing roast beefs and the happy times at the meatpacking plant. But you've got to hand it to that giant mouse; he's gone straight for the jugular again with another melee of carnage that'll turn your stool pink. You have to wonder about the product tie-in deals for this movie, though, are kids really going to be clamoring for the McBaloo burger once they realize they're chewing on some loveable singing bear's ass? And as good as the film is, the title really is pretty unforgivably heavy-handed. I hate when they have to beat us over the head with the fact that a movie is adapted from a book, but I guess it's only fair since nobody reads anymore. I hear watching movies that are inspired by books counts for college credits these days, which I think is an improvement on the old system.
Well, that's all they gave us to work with this time around, unless they snuck another teen slasher movie by while nobody was manning the store. We'll be back in two more weeks, just as long as Hollywood keeps pumping out the movies the way Shakey's turns out the pizza: hot 'n nasty.    |
