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May 23, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol A classic filibuster on the Senate floor, though judging by the awkward stance, a drinking contest also took place the night before. ith the specter of the president's extreme right-wing judge appointments approaching, congressional Republicans, led by Bill "Not First" Frist, are seeking to eliminate the long-standing tradition of the filibuster. However, Senate Democrats are reluctant to give up their one means of making the president deal with their side, so Republicans are offering a juicier prize—exchanging the filibuster for a "last man standing" drinking contest.
The filibuster, sometimes described as a congressional loophole, has long been used as a negotiation tactic by the minority party in the Senate to stall controversial votes and force compromises to the table. The drinking contest, a long-time college and unemployment staple, has traditionally been used to test the mettle of men and women a...
ith the specter of the president's extreme right-wing judge appointments approaching, congressional Republicans, led by Bill "Not First" Frist, are seeking to eliminate the long-standing tradition of the filibuster. However, Senate Democrats are reluctant to give up their one means of making the president deal with their side, so Republicans are offering a juicier prize—exchanging the filibuster for a "last man standing" drinking contest.
The filibuster, sometimes described as a congressional loophole, has long been used as a negotiation tactic by the minority party in the Senate to stall controversial votes and force compromises to the table. The drinking contest, a long-time college and unemployment staple, has traditionally been used to test the mettle of men and women and their bladder, pitting the will of the individual, minority or majority, against an opponent and several shots of potent liquor.
"The filibuster is unfair to the majority in the Senate and the American people," said Frist, smirking just a little as he made the comment. "The Republican majority has played the system like a filthy piano to get into prominent positions, to hold majority in all the prominent positions, and it's totally unfair this danged silly filibuster now stands in the way of us guiding the country the way the American people want it. And to those who say the fundamentalist extreme Christian right are the ones guiding us—what, you're saying they aren't people?"
The filibuster is a ploy in which a member of the Senate stalls a congressional vote through technical procedure, refusing to yield the floor until opponents pledge to amend bills that reach the Senate floor or, in the case of judicial nominees, bargain on the terms of nominees or forcing the majority party to nominate more moderate judges. For more information on filibusters, visit your local library, where you can rent Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and fast-forward to the final scene.
Frist claims a drinking contest is a better way to solve congressional disagreements—representatives of both parties, the best drinkers chosen from among a fine stock of drinking men, can tequila-shot their way to a decision both sides will adhere to, in a much shorter period of time than the usual filibuster, which can take many hours, and in rare turns, even days.
"Standing around all night, talking? Reading from law books, the Constitution, or even Where the Wild Things Grow?" At this Frist shook a finger and sighed. "That's hardly a competition of wills for real men. When I really want to show who's more resolved and dedicated to his beliefs, I like to down several shots of Southern Comfort and wobble around the Senate floor. I guarantee I can hold my own against any Democrat in congress right now. The Democrats are going to have to elect Nick Nolte or Robert Downey Jr. to give me a serious run for my money."
While Nolte and Downey refused to comment on their futures in politics, the Senate minority leaders were more vocal.
"It is simply ridiculous, not to mention irresponsible, to legitimize drinking as a way to solve decisions," said Sen. Edward Kennedy (D., Massachussetts). "And if Frist really thinks he can outdrink me, he knows where my office is. I'll give him a five-shot headstart. Bring it on, lightweight." the commune news would trade just about anything to get rid of our office filibuster, by which we mean Elmore Sacks wandering around talking loudly about the weird smell in our office. Washington correspondent Lil Duncan is our own little "fill-'er-buster," no matter how she begs us to stop talking about her sex life.
 |  Mohammed Confesses to 9/11 Attacks, "Falling Down A Lot" During Interrogations Hotmail retires pope2002@hotmail.com account with highest honors
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Turkey to Block Offensive Websites; commune Offers Pre-Emptive “Fuck You” Obama to Change Spelling of Name to oBAMa for Maximum Impact Oasis, Killers Combine Forces to Ruin Sgt. Pepper’s for Everyone Global Warming Poses Threat to National Parks, Says WWF’s “Machoman” Savage |
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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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|  September 30, 2002
You've Got to be Shitting Me: The Story of the SundialEver since the beginning of time, man has wondered at a way to know exactly what time it is. "Is it even really the beginning of time?" he wondered. What if it was the end of time, or the middle? No point in plowing the field today if it's going to be the end of time. But you probably shouldn't party too hard if it's just the beginning, since that's a long time to spend hung over. And, come to think of it, what time of the day is it? I could be late for the orgy.
In medieval times, it was believed that one could tell time by throwing rocks at a calf. If the calf was unaffected by being hit with the rocks, it was nighttime. If the calf became agitated, it was noted that the time was daytime. If the calf was hit in the head and died instantly, it was exactly noon, and time for sandwiches.
The ancient Sumerians are thought by many to be the first culture on the planet to take timekeeping seriously, but this is doubted by many who knew them. The Sumerians were famous bullshitters, and they also claimed to have invented the elevator, the toaster oven and rock 'n roll. Conversations with ancient Sumerians are said to have been infuriating affairs, since they constantly interrupted with comments like "Yep, invented that" and "No way, we had that a long time ago. Seriously, like a million years ago. You guys are just getting that now?" The Sumerians were eventually killed off by the Egyptians, who didn't know what time it was but knew how to kick a lot of...
º Last Column: Pop Goes the Wiesel º more columns
Ever since the beginning of time, man has wondered at a way to know exactly what time it is. "Is it even really the beginning of time?" he wondered. What if it was the end of time, or the middle? No point in plowing the field today if it's going to be the end of time. But you probably shouldn't party too hard if it's just the beginning, since that's a long time to spend hung over. And, come to think of it, what time of the day is it? I could be late for the orgy.
In medieval times, it was believed that one could tell time by throwing rocks at a calf. If the calf was unaffected by being hit with the rocks, it was nighttime. If the calf became agitated, it was noted that the time was daytime. If the calf was hit in the head and died instantly, it was exactly noon, and time for sandwiches.
The ancient Sumerians are thought by many to be the first culture on the planet to take timekeeping seriously, but this is doubted by many who knew them. The Sumerians were famous bullshitters, and they also claimed to have invented the elevator, the toaster oven and rock 'n roll. Conversations with ancient Sumerians are said to have been infuriating affairs, since they constantly interrupted with comments like "Yep, invented that" and "No way, we had that a long time ago. Seriously, like a million years ago. You guys are just getting that now?" The Sumerians were eventually killed off by the Egyptians, who didn't know what time it was but knew how to kick a lot of ass.
When they ran out of ass to kick, the Egyptians grew bored and became obsessed with making sure their breakfast wasn't late. This was no simple task since nobody ever had any idea what time it was, so when they wanted to know they had to ask the king, who made up a number in a confident-sounding voice. Eventually the king got tired of people asking all the time and he ordered the Egyptian scientists to build some kind of magic device to tell the time while he was taking his naps.
As was their solution to everything, the Egyptian scientists built a pyramid. This didn't do them any good at all. But when the pyramid collapsed due to faulty rock stacking, they noticed that the pile of rubble cast a different shadow depending on the time of day. The scientists quickly put this discovery to use, hiding in the shadow and popping out to scare the holy shit out of any villagers who happened to wander by.
After several years of this routine, a scientist named Obel-Ra noticed that every time they scared a certain villager on his way to get water from the river, the scientists always found themselves crouching in the shadow next to the same urine stain in the sand left over from the Great Supa-Scare of 3551 B.C. While pondering the relevance of this information, Obel-Ra missed his cue and the villager went unscared for the first time in several years. Obel-Ra was promptly kicked off the scaring team and ostracized from the Egyptian scientific community.
Ostracism, while bad for your social life and your skin, does tend to afford one plenty of time to ponder scientific insights. And if it weren't for Obel-Ra's banishment, we might still be wondering today when to take our two o'clock break. Luckily for us, Obel-Ra used his time alone to ponder his discovery and develop a timekeeping device he called the Obelisk. Egyptian for "Obel's Man-Handle," the Obelisk was a tall, four-sided tapered monument that Obel-Ra advertised as "actual size, ladies." During the daytime, the Obelisk would cast a shadow over a set of lines on the ground, which would indicate the hour of the day. And at night, what do you care what time it is? You're drunk. Go home and go to bed.
Though the Obelisk made Obel-Ra famous and revolutionized Egyptian life, it was not without its flaws. For example, during the winter, when the sun's arc through the sky kept closer to the horizon, it was always four o'clock. Rather than doubt the almighty Obelisk, most Egyptians just changed their working hours to 7am-3:30pm during the winter, which meant they were always just getting off work and never had to do anything they didn't want to do.
Obel-Ra, however, was keenly aware of the problem, and he spent the next years slaving away in an attempt to develop a better timekeeper. After 20 years he finally perfected the sundial: a small, portable device that used a style pointed at the north celestial pole to cast a shadow which accurately told the time year-round. However, when Obel-Ra was on his way to show his new invention to the King, a scientist hopped out from behind a pile of rubble and startled Obel-Ra so badly that he dropped the sundial, which was destroyed. Obel-Ra was again ostracized after beating the man to death with his own leg, and he kept his inventions to himself after that.
Eventually somebody else figured out how to make a sundial, and people pretended like it worked for hundreds of years until the first wristwatch was fished out of a Chinaman's ass in 1841, changing timekeeping history forever. º Last Column: Pop Goes the Wieselº more columns
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Quote of the Day“If you love someone, set them free. If they do not return, then you were stupid for following my advice.”
-Bachard RichmanFortune 500 CookieDon't blame anyone else for your own problems, blame EVERYONE else. Try a new deodorant this week, your friends agree the theoretical kind hasn't been cutting it. You will meet a small armadillo that will teach you arithmetic, but few will buy that story at the trial. This week's lucky karate moves: The Iron Ostrich, Yun-Wi's Forceful Throat Massage, Western Ballsack Slap, and The Forbidden Tongue Stomp of Zi-Zi Tohp.
Try again later.John McCain's Most Ill-Conceived Jokes| 1. | Trick "Good for One Free House-Cleaning" coupon he gives to homeless that looks like $100 bill | | 2. | Open letter to Crocodile Hunter widow Terri Irwin inviting her to spend the night with a "real man" | | 3. | "I fully and unequivocably support the rights of homosexuals. Nah, just kidding. That shit makes me throw up." | | 4. | Wearing hole-filled NASA sweatshirt to press conference Saturday | | 5. | Big "I have cancer" gag in 2000 election | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Peyton Hofschwitz 6/23/2003 D.M.Z."Your problem, Private Crunch," yelled the sergeant, "is that you think war is glory. That war is a game. Well, I've got news for you, and it's going to tickle you right down to your big fat cockles—war is hellish!"
Private Benji Hammond Krunk was not, however, surprised by the bold declaration by the screaming sergeant. He knew war was… hellish. He had not signed up for Viet Nam with any delusions about what he was getting into. He couldn't say why he signed up at all, which is to say he did not know.
Sgt. Vice insisted on yelling at all his new recruits the same way. He was the commanding officer now that everybody over him had been killed off by snipers, late-night machine gun fire, and occasional bear attacks. Vice was not really unlikable, despite what...
"Your problem, Private Crunch," yelled the sergeant, "is that you think war is glory. That war is a game. Well, I've got news for you, and it's going to tickle you right down to your big fat cockles—war is hellish!"
Private Benji Hammond Krunk was not, however, surprised by the bold declaration by the screaming sergeant. He knew war was… hellish. He had not signed up for Viet Nam with any delusions about what he was getting into. He couldn't say why he signed up at all, which is to say he did not know.
Sgt. Vice insisted on yelling at all his new recruits the same way. He was the commanding officer now that everybody over him had been killed off by snipers, late-night machine gun fire, and occasional bear attacks. Vice was not really unlikable, despite what the introductory statement he made might imply; he was merely a man under severe stress, a man who had seen it all, a man who got a weird kick out of taking people's names and making goofy nicknames out of them that sounded somewhat similar, as he did for Pvt. Krunk, whom he had newly-dubbed Private Crunch.
Just the night before Krunk and the sergeant had lost all the members of their platoon in a freak water accident and were the only two left to hold the base until reinforcements arrived. Despite being all by themselves, Sgt. Vice could show no affection for his only subservient soldier. Showing affection for anyone in a country where people were killed right before your eyes or died in bizarre accidents out of nowhere was not a good idea. You had to build a shell over yourself, like chemically-treated chocolate syrup that turned hard on ice cream.
Things grew grimmer as the hours went on. Vice knew the V.C. could show up at any minute, armed to the teeth and pointy hats and looking to capture more territory for their communist government. It wasn't a pretty thought, like his mother-in-law in short-shorts. But Vice had to face the reality that he and Krunk were all that stood between the North Vietnamese and a pivotal territory gain.
He decided to keep Krunk's mind off the potential threat with conversation.
"So," started Vice, "have you ever died for your country before?"
"No, sir, but I'm prepared to do so if necessary."
It wasn't an easy task; the boy's mind wouldn't let go of the danger, and it kept drawing Vice's attention back to it.
"Don't worry, son. We'll get out of this alright," assured Vice, patting Krunk on the shoulder. "So, son… you got a girl back home? A mother? A dad, burial arrangements, anything?"
Krunk turned pale white, which can cause freckling if you're out in the sun too long. "You think the V.C. will come before back-up gets here?" he asked.
Vice shrugged. "Jeez, don't you have anything happier to talk about? Murder, mayhem? Say… you like to go fishing? Ever had napalm dropped on you by your own troops?"
"We've got to get out of here soon, sergeant," Krunk said, cradling his gun. "I don't think I can stand too much more of this."
Yep, the boy was close to cracking. Vice was worried about losing him. On the brighter side, if Krunk did give in to the madness and Vice had to kill him, his skull would make a perfect bowl to gather rainwater with. Fresh rainwater, all he could drink, with no one else to have to split it with—
Hush! thought Vice to himself, quietly. What was that sound in the bush? He shot Krunk to keep him quiet and steeled himself for a gunfight.   |