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American Planning Sequel to Hit Black Hawk DownFebruary 4, 2002 |
Washington, DC Junior Bacon Real-life political disaster makes for kick-ass blockbuster oosted by good numbers at the box office and positive reviews from film critics and the Bush administration, the White House and Congress have already begun planning a sequel to the hit film Black Hawk Down.
"The characters, the firefights, everything was so realistic," said President Bush, after a screening at the White House. "The only thing was I wanted to see a clearer victory for American soldiers. I'm sure audiences felt the same way. And by gum, I love to give the American people what they want."
Black Hawk Down is based on factual events experienced by troops in Mogadishu, Somalia in 1993. A spiral of events following a botched military operation and the loss of a MH-60 Black Hawk helicopter led to the death of 18 American soldiers in battle ...
oosted by good numbers at the box office and positive reviews from film critics and the Bush administration, the White House and Congress have already begun planning a sequel to the hit film Black Hawk Down.
"The characters, the firefights, everything was so realistic," said President Bush, after a screening at the White House. "The only thing was I wanted to see a clearer victory for American soldiers. I'm sure audiences felt the same way. And by gum, I love to give the American people what they want."
Black Hawk Down is based on factual events experienced by troops in Mogadishu, Somalia in 1993. A spiral of events following a botched military operation and the loss of a MH-60 Black Hawk helicopter led to the death of 18 American soldiers in battle against groups of armed Somalis. The incident was a major setback for the Clinton administration and led to weakening public approval for the operation in Somalia.
Now, however, the Bush administration is highly driven by the powerful Ridley Scott film to put a happy ending on the story.
"It'll be ten years since the first movie happened next year," said president Bush, "and I say that's a great ol' time for a return to Somalia. We can call it Black Hawk Down 2: No Surrender. Ain't that somethin'?"
Trent Lott, Majority Leader of the Senate and fellow fan of Black Hawk Down, agreed. "Bill Clinton can't write a great war movie, I'll tell you that much. A sex and intrigue film starring Michael Douglas, I'll give him that one—let him work on Basic Instinct 2. But with a Republican in office, now's the time for a big fat winning sequel to Black Hawk Down. And this time it won't be so depressing!"
Bush has reportedly been trying to round up the original soldiers from the 1993 Somalia incident, but since few of them are still in the military, he isn't optimistic about the same characters returning for victory.
"More than likely it'll be all new guys," said Bush, drawing up plans to ship spare soldiers from Pakistan and Afghanistan to Somalia as soon as possible, "but we're going to do it right this time. Big, photogenic guys that look like Sylvester Stallone or Bruce Willis or something. And of course a wizened old general that could be played perfectly by Chuck Heston. Ooh! I could even play myself maybe in the movie going to support all the troops and all that."
Though Mohamed Farrah Aidid died in 1996, the Bush administration is optimistic another villain, perhaps even more dastardly, has taken his place. According to reports from the long-troubled Somalia, the situation could not be better for increasing military presence.
Before the release of the much-anticipated sequel, Bush is hoping to finish the current project he's working on in Afghanistan, which will hopefully make it to the silver screen later the commune news doesn't want to make a federal case out of it, but we've been caught counterfeiting. Lil Duncan has an unnatural, deep-seated fear of emoticons, to which we say >;op
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Pink Floyd reunite for One Last Fucking Dime tour
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At Least One Team in SuperBowl ‘Really Came to Play’ War on Terror Finally Focused on Real Threats 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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 March 16, 2001
This is High-Grade StuffAs my readers know, I believe strongly in charity—one look at my wife will tell you that. She holds the demeanor and loving look of a woman who's weathered many a charity event at her husband's side. So most Rokophiles are well aware of "Rok Finger's Kids," a charity that helps out comatose orphans or bed-bound sons and daughters of parents who just don't give a damn.
These are some of the sweetest kids you'll ever meet, the ones who are awake. Many act like nothing's wrong and are just glad to be alive, truly they wouldn't even know they were miserable recipients of God's wrath if Rok wasn't there to tell them.
And Rok isn't in this for the trendiness or ego-trip, though both are very nice; Rokwell T. Finger is here to help. In the past I've tried Labor Day and Memorial Day Telethons, but I really don't stay up past 6 p.m. that often, so those haven't been very successful. But every New Year's Eve I hold a telethon in their honor down at the Wild Pussy Cat Club and, though it's untelevised, all donations go to the kids, bless their bedsored little hearts.
But all that money is not enough, the kids still need new things. Like sheets, pillows, some need medicine or something, not sure of the details, I just know they're needy. So that's why Rok is introducing these high-grade cookies, the sale of which will benefit the kids immensely. Though Lord knows they could never eat any of them, they'd start choking or something, bless their...
º Last Column: Rok Finger: Independent Film Star º more columns
As my readers know, I believe strongly in charity—one look at my wife will tell you that. She holds the demeanor and loving look of a woman who's weathered many a charity event at her husband's side. So most Rokophiles are well aware of "Rok Finger's Kids," a charity that helps out comatose orphans or bed-bound sons and daughters of parents who just don't give a damn.
These are some of the sweetest kids you'll ever meet, the ones who are awake. Many act like nothing's wrong and are just glad to be alive, truly they wouldn't even know they were miserable recipients of God's wrath if Rok wasn't there to tell them.
And Rok isn't in this for the trendiness or ego-trip, though both are very nice; Rokwell T. Finger is here to help. In the past I've tried Labor Day and Memorial Day Telethons, but I really don't stay up past 6 p.m. that often, so those haven't been very successful. But every New Year's Eve I hold a telethon in their honor down at the Wild Pussy Cat Club and, though it's untelevised, all donations go to the kids, bless their bedsored little hearts.
But all that money is not enough, the kids still need new things. Like sheets, pillows, some need medicine or something, not sure of the details, I just know they're needy. So that's why Rok is introducing these high-grade cookies, the sale of which will benefit the kids immensely. Though Lord knows they could never eat any of them, they'd start choking or something, bless their little reclined souls.
Each box is $20, but for that price, kids will get new socks and reading lights or something. The comatose kids will get something, not sure what, but I'm willing to bet those nurses who wipe them and role them over and empty their piss jugs, they don't work for free, you know? Twenty dollars will go a long way to help with that. If I ever find a place to buy everything cheaper than Target, maybe some corporations join in with the charity (wink, wink) we'll be helping more and more kids faster than you can say "huge tax write-off and free publicity" (wink, wink).
But it won't feel like charity, no sir. These are high-grade cookies, I assure you. With names like "Super Chunkolate Chip," "Strips O' Chocolate Heaven," "Chocolotta Paradise," "Pecandides," "Raisin Canes," "Stupendos," "Mintos," "Peanut Butter Jesuses," and "ButtCookiers," how can you think of NOT enjoying the hell out of them? They're so scrumptious and good these bastards melt in your mouth before you open the box. I'm not kidding you, I've tried them, they're good. One Pecandide nearly put me in a sugar coma, they're rich and packed with deliciousosity.
I guarantee you one taste of any of those cookies, the next Girl Scout who comes to your door, you'll dry heave in her face. They're that damn good. You'll get so addicted you'd kill your mother for a box. And it all goes to help the kids, so how can you refuse? You can't! Don't try it! Just give into temptation and buy a bunch!
I must stress these cookies are sold in BOXES, I cannot sell cookies individually. I suggest all you moochers out there who are too cheap to spring for a whole box all go into together and pool your money or something.
Also, if you'd like to help sell these cookies on behalf of "Rok Finger's Kids," I'd love your help. I'm pretty much left to sell them alone, the kids aren't out chasing down leads or anything, I can guarantee you that. So please, come out and overindulge for charity. º Last Column: Rok Finger: Independent Film Starº more columns
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|  April 3, 2000
Your Kung Fu is WeakNo dice, no rice, don't think thrice—the conclusion is made, amigo. Your kung fu is weak. I hate to put the tip on the table before the entre is served, but I gots to clear the air. I'm tired of every time I want to head out to the pub or county fair or some backroom cockfight somewhere every joker and their mother wants to try their kung fu against mine. You think that's an exaggeration? I ain't shitting you to no degree, man, a lot of fucking son-mother team-ups out there, a surprising amount. And they all talk trash about the kung fu of Omar Bricks. Until I put their sorry asses on the straight and narrow. They find out quick (kick?) enough my kung fu is no fucking joke. Some people have stolen kung fu from ancient masters and stuff, but I assure you, commune buddies, I've done no such thing. It took me many years to develop my own kung fu independent of all these other styles, and let me tell you the real bitch is that most all of the animals are taken—that shit's fucked up. I tried one called "Anaconda" for a while, and it sounded awesome, but since a snake has no arms or legs I got my cheeks kicked many a time trying to fight with my head, tongue, and ass; I decided to pack away the Anaconda kung fu for something else. My next big venture was Hungry Brando kung fu, but I could never gain enough poundage to make it work well, although the theory is entirely feasible. Any fat guys out there want to trounce your opponent, give...
º Last Column: 10-10-SELLOUT º more columns
No dice, no rice, don't think thrice—the conclusion is made, amigo. Your kung fu is weak. I hate to put the tip on the table before the entre is served, but I gots to clear the air. I'm tired of every time I want to head out to the pub or county fair or some backroom cockfight somewhere every joker and their mother wants to try their kung fu against mine. You think that's an exaggeration? I ain't shitting you to no degree, man, a lot of fucking son-mother team-ups out there, a surprising amount. And they all talk trash about the kung fu of Omar Bricks. Until I put their sorry asses on the straight and narrow. They find out quick (kick?) enough my kung fu is no fucking joke. Some people have stolen kung fu from ancient masters and stuff, but I assure you, commune buddies, I've done no such thing. It took me many years to develop my own kung fu independent of all these other styles, and let me tell you the real bitch is that most all of the animals are taken—that shit's fucked up. I tried one called "Anaconda" for a while, and it sounded awesome, but since a snake has no arms or legs I got my cheeks kicked many a time trying to fight with my head, tongue, and ass; I decided to pack away the Anaconda kung fu for something else. My next big venture was Hungry Brando kung fu, but I could never gain enough poundage to make it work well, although the theory is entirely feasible. Any fat guys out there want to trounce your opponent, give me a ring sometime, I'll give you the lowdown. After that it was a one third-rate kung fu after another: Has-Been kung fu, Alley Cat kung fu, Wild Tree kung fu, Ricky Martin kung fu (the same as Has-Been kung fu, really, but just a few steps away), and Crunchberry kung fu. All were decent attempts—let's see you create a deadly form of martial arts from scratch! But then I stumbled upon the killer kung fu: Drunken In-Law kung fu. Key points in Drunken In-Law kung fu, as designed and copyrighted by Omar Bricks, you thieving prick dogs, are: Disable your opponent with unexpected passes at his spouse/girlfriend/love interest, barring that, a family pet or mom will do. Trip toward them and strike with unexpected strength. Your lack of balance is your friend as you can stand as quickly as you can fall. Give him a supreme tongue-lashing when he isn't expecting it. Never underestimate the value of pretending you've passed out, only to recover and attack them from behind. Create an uncomfortable fighting environment with uncalled for verbal attacks and vulgarity. Strike with wide swings, as if possessing blurred vision multiplying your enemies by two. Grilling utensils can be incorporated for full effects. Hopefully this will be good for a cease and decist to all the assholes out there who wish to challenge the Drunken In-Law kung fu of Omar Bricks. Your kung fu is weak. º Last Column: 10-10-SELLOUTº more columns
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Quote of the Day“A little bad taste is like a dash of paprika. A lot of bad taste, like a grinder full of cayenne pepper. And doing that annoying Cajun guy impression while doing anything—well, that's just beyond bad taste.”
-Dirty ParkbenchFortune 500 CookieIn the annals of history, there has always been one man who laughs uncontrollably whenever someone says "annals"—that's your legacy. Turn up the heat this week, 'cause that fucking turkey has been in the oven since Saturday. If you can't beat them, join them, and show them what real losers they are for accepting you into the group. Lucky bastards this week are Tom Monroe, Pete Gelbart, Judy Simon, and that son you're pretty sure is living in Winnipeg now.
Try again later.How Did Rat Poison Get in Food for Dogs & Cats?| 1. | Particularly sly British mouse known only as Nigel | | 2. | Adult illiteracy: Secret shame of the pet food industry | | 3. | Turned back for one minute; Islamic fundamentalists cats & dogs go shithouse on production line | | 4. | Mislabeled bags were manufactured for special Ted Nugent brand of pet food | | 5. | One man determined to get the fucking dog to play dead already | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Davidson Estherhouse 3/18/2002 Lincoln & NapoleonLincoln sat at the end of the large banquet table of Napoleon's. It's a shame, he thought quietly, I could feed every hungry slave in the Union for the price of this fancy French table.
"You are quiet, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, his eyes barely peeking above the other end of the table. "Henri!" he shouted to his butler with a clap of his hands. "Fetch the phone books for my seat!"
"You need not do that, Henri," Lincoln said in his heavy, somber voice. "I won't be staying for dinner."
"I sense you do not like me very much, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, and he was right. Lincoln had only come for one thing—military expertise. Perhaps there was something he could find out from Napoleon, some secret to his success that would help end the...
Lincoln sat at the end of the large banquet table of Napoleon's. It's a shame, he thought quietly, I could feed every hungry slave in the Union for the price of this fancy French table.
"You are quiet, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, his eyes barely peeking above the other end of the table. "Henri!" he shouted to his butler with a clap of his hands. "Fetch the phone books for my seat!"
"You need not do that, Henri," Lincoln said in his heavy, somber voice. "I won't be staying for dinner."
"I sense you do not like me very much, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, and he was right. Lincoln had only come for one thing—military expertise. Perhaps there was something he could find out from Napoleon, some secret to his success that would help end the Civil War without more casualties.
"It's nothing personal, Mr. Napoleon. My feelings are of no consequence, even if they're right. I'm not here to make friends. I'm only here because perhaps there's something I can find out from you, a secret to your success that will help end the Civil War in America without more casualties."
"Maybe I can help you, in some way," said Napoleon. "Tell me more of this fantastic time machine, Monsieur Lincoln."
"Perhaps later," said Lincoln.
"Now!" demanded the short bastard. "I must know! I must have this secret to time travel! If it is in my hands I can conquer more than Europe, bon homme. I can conquer the Roman Empire itself!"
"You would misuse the technology, I'm afraid," said Lincoln. "Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon—don't you know no matter how many men you dominate you will never be tall?"
"Shut up!" screeched Napoleon, smashing away all the silverware in front of him. "You think you know what it means to be short? Bah! How tall are you? 6'9"?"
"I am a tall man, Mr. Napoleon. I am the tallest president the Union has ever seen, and perhaps ever will see. I was born in Kentucky as well. But my strength comes not from the stature of my body, but the height of my heart."
Napoleon's face boiled over with red. "Garcon! Seize him!"
The waiter grabbed Lincoln from behind, wrapped his smarmy French arms around the president's neck.
He's got me! Lincoln thought. It's fortunate I traveled into the future first and learned jujitsu.
Lincoln flipped the Frenchman over his shoulder, landing in brie cheese. Lincoln turned and darted for the door.
"We'll meet again, Napoleon!"
Before Lincoln could escape, the French army surrounded him.
"No, no, Monsieur Lincoln," said Napoleon, dusting himself off with the hand that wasn't tucked in his shirt. "You're not going anywhere." Lincoln was cornered. "Tell me of the time machine."
"No," said Lincoln gravely. "I promised the professor I wouldn't tell anybody the secret of time travel. Honest."
"Then you will die!" snapped Napoleon. "Garcon! Take him for torture!"
But before they could grab the 16th president, Lincoln reached up and grabbed the chandelier. He climbed up onto it and jumped over the French army. He leapt through the window and landed on a horse.
"Not today, Napoleon!" laughed the president, waving a hand good-bye. "Away, Planters!"
As the president rode off, Napoleon watched from a milk crate in front of the window.
"This Lincoln… he is my greatest enemy."   |