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$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0328/';
$dunkintitle='Highway to Hell';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0822/';
$fingertitle='To Hell With This Desk';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hooper’s Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0704/';
$police='2005/0822/';
$polio='2005/0822/';
$poliotitle='WEASELS-B-GON';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='For the Last Time Deidrebane, Those Aren’t the Feds';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
Nude Olympics Draw Big RatingsAugust 23, 2004 |
Athens, Greece Whit Pistol Olympic soccer players bang the balls around. Yeeowch! m-mmm! Sweet thing, the ratings turned upside down on the Olympic Games from Athens this week, when the IOC voted on new rules allowing contenders to compete nude. It bolstered a flabby start to the Olympics for NBC, and turned the games into a ratings giant as the week went on.
Upon seeing the dry audience response to the Athens games, NBC petitioned the committee for nude competition, anything to pull the crashing Olympics out of the fire. IOC President Jimmy Goldstein approved the decision right away.
"Now it's just like olden times," said Goldstein, straightening his thin tie. "Way back when, the Greeks used to do it nude. Hell, they did everything nude. Which is why I like the Greeks. But now the Olympics is finally the way it was always meant to be. Bare-a...
m-mmm! Sweet thing, the ratings turned upside down on the Olympic Games from Athens this week, when the IOC voted on new rules allowing contenders to compete nude. It bolstered a flabby start to the Olympics for NBC, and turned the games into a ratings giant as the week went on.
Upon seeing the dry audience response to the Athens games, NBC petitioned the committee for nude competition, anything to pull the crashing Olympics out of the fire. IOC President Jimmy Goldstein approved the decision right away.
"Now it's just like olden times," said Goldstein, straightening his thin tie. "Way back when, the Greeks used to do it nude. Hell, they did everything nude. Which is why I like the Greeks. But now the Olympics is finally the way it was always meant to be. Bare-ass naked."
Some Olympians were quick to reproach the decision, especially the chubby Eastern European weightlifters, but most came around for a shot at winning the much-sought Olympic gold. NBC has continued showing the Games, much to the chargin of the FCC, with the charge that the human body is a beautiful thing. Still, the Games have been shown on a five-minute delay, so that censors can blur or edit out anything that really, really isn't a beautiful thing. The network has already taken the liberty with such events as Olympic wrestling, when hairy German Gustav Werner pinned oily Italian Antonio DiScuza around his sweaty lower body.
"Sure, you get a little bored watching something like archery or sailing," said Pinewood, Minnesota Olympic viewer Sally Nedhurst, "and the shot put made me laugh until I was sick. But if you think I'm going to miss one minute of the swimming or gymnastics, you're out of your mind!"
Indeed the gymnastics, always a highlight of the games, were a ratings powerhouse for NBC. The network received record ratings as American Paul Gilbert executed a beautiful dismount to take the gold, and uneven parallel bars favorite on the Chinese team Hong-Chu Xy eliminated himself with a misfire that resulted in severe testicular damage when he banged the bar unexpectedly. Slow-motion clips of the tragedy were available, but no men at the network could bring themselves to air it.
It hasn't been all gold for the Americans, though, as 100-meter runner Isaac "Chubby" Walker was disqualified for living up to his namesake during the track and field event. It's also been a disappointing year for the American basketball "Dream Team," who seem particularly impressive every time they take the court, but find themselves limited in their dunking ability without the use of protective cups.
Conversely, it was a good year for the Brazilian women's softball team, who came from behind to bounce, bob, and claw their way up to the top ranks in the sport. In addition to winning the gold in the event, they've all also been romantically linked to Colin Farrell following their rise to stardom.
The IOC will benefit from America's favorable response to the nude Olympics as well, since the network has promised in advance to split revenue from a DVD release of the Olympic games, as well as a separate release, tentatively titled: "The Olympics: Too Hot for Primetime." the commune news believes the Olympics brings out the best in people, and now we've finally been proven right about something. Boner Cunningham, teen correspondent, likes to do everything he can in the nude, and several things nobody will let him.
 |  Bush's MySpace Page Traffic Way Down 1996 Olympic bombing pinned on Rudolph the Redneck Hatemonger
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Japanese Nikkei commits seppuku after closing in dishonor
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Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80 he world sighed a mournful “Oh” upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.
The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nation’s capitol. Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title. Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs’ takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact. “Willie gave it a hell of an effort,” praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. “Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadn’t come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game.” Conditions at Walter Reed Upgraded to “Nightmarishly Clive Barker-esque” Unveiling of First Black Disney Character Raises Some Concerns |
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 January 21, 2002
The Man in the Baloney SuitThere once was a man
in a baloney suit,
Who danced on the
street corner all day.
He'd dance a jig
when the mood struck him
And then repeat it
without much delay.
Oh what a sight, with all his might
He'd spring and he'd spritz all around.
And he'd make fantastical robot sounds
Whenever his feet touched the ground.
The children all loved to dance with him
As he'd twirl and he'd beep and he'd toot.
And they'd snack the day away merrily,
On the pieces that fell from his suit.
Oh what a lark, staying out 'til dark
Watching the baloney man dance.
As our parents, from windows watched carefully
To make sure that he stayed in his pants.
The neighborhood dogs loved baloney man,
Even more so than the kids.
They'd yip and they'd yap and their paws went rap-rap
On the street while they did what they did.
Oh how they schemed, in gray-toned dreams,
That suit would be theirs to eat.
But that spry dancing man was too fast for them,
And they just nipped at the soles of his feet.
I asked my father one afternoon
Where the man got his suit made of meat.
My father told me "Baloney's not meat,
What it is I'd rather not say.
Don't eat it, don't smell it, don't even try to spell it,
Don't use it to patch up your tire.
While you're at it, stay away from that baloney man.

º Last Column: Rosey Red-Ass º more columns
There once was a man
in a baloney suit,
Who danced on the
street corner all day.
He'd dance a jig
when the mood struck him
And then repeat it
without much delay.
Oh what a sight, with all his might
He'd spring and he'd spritz all around.
And he'd make fantastical robot sounds
Whenever his feet touched the ground.
The children all loved to dance with him
As he'd twirl and he'd beep and he'd toot.
And they'd snack the day away merrily,
On the pieces that fell from his suit.
Oh what a lark, staying out 'til dark
Watching the baloney man dance.
As our parents, from windows watched carefully
To make sure that he stayed in his pants.
The neighborhood dogs loved baloney man,
Even more so than the kids.
They'd yip and they'd yap and their paws went rap-rap
On the street while they did what they did.
Oh how they schemed, in gray-toned dreams,
That suit would be theirs to eat.
But that spry dancing man was too fast for them,
And they just nipped at the soles of his feet.
I asked my father one afternoon
Where the man got his suit made of meat.
My father told me "Baloney's not meat,
What it is I'd rather not say.
Don't eat it, don't smell it, don't even try to spell it,
Don't use it to patch up your tire.
While you're at it, stay away from that baloney man.
Of him, I'm beginning to tire."
From that day on I was cast aside,
No more joyous dancing for me.
I'd watch and weep from my windowsill,
While the other kids squealed with glee.
Oh what a way to spend your days,
But now I'm older and I don't even care.
All those kids grew up and got ass cancer,
And that baloney man was ate by a bear. º Last Column: Rosey Red-Assº more columns
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|  July 16, 2001
When's God Gonna Quit Bustin' My Balls?I'm not a bad guy, I go to church, I pay my taxes, so what I wanna know is: Hey, when's God gonna stop bustin' my balls? I swear, I get home from work and my belt sander throws a gear, my wife wants me to take her to see Ricky Martin, and my son, dat little tree yeah old fairy climbed inside a spare tire in the back yard and he won't come out for nothin'. "Hey-oh, ay, those're my balls you're tramplin on up there, big guy! They're the ones that are all blue and swollen from bein' stepped on too much, ya big bum...". Not that I got a thing against God, mind you. Me and the big guy go way back to the third grade when I went to ask Wendy Fischer out onna date and when I sat down in the next seat over from her, some sick sonnofabitch had pissed the chair, I swear to Christ almighty, he was bustin my tiny, hairless balls even back then. I had to sit in dat chair straight through lunch and for the rest of the day until all the others kids had gone home so nobody could see that my trousers was as wet as Tony Danza's back in a raquetball match. That's some serious stuff for a kid, too, let me tell you that. As an adult, you piss yourself and you can play it off, like "Woah! That Lowenbrau snuck up on me! I ain't been this drunk since da eighth grade graduation!" and that kinda thing. As a kid though, it's taken more as a sign that you ain't never mastered your bladder control and the cheetahs is gonna thin you out from the herd, boy. One thing...
º Last Column: Rosey Red-Ass º more columns
I'm not a bad guy, I go to church, I pay my taxes, so what I wanna know is: Hey, when's God gonna stop bustin' my balls? I swear, I get home from work and my belt sander throws a gear, my wife wants me to take her to see Ricky Martin, and my son, dat little tree yeah old fairy climbed inside a spare tire in the back yard and he won't come out for nothin'. "Hey-oh, ay, those're my balls you're tramplin on up there, big guy! They're the ones that are all blue and swollen from bein' stepped on too much, ya big bum...". Not that I got a thing against God, mind you. Me and the big guy go way back to the third grade when I went to ask Wendy Fischer out onna date and when I sat down in the next seat over from her, some sick sonnofabitch had pissed the chair, I swear to Christ almighty, he was bustin my tiny, hairless balls even back then. I had to sit in dat chair straight through lunch and for the rest of the day until all the others kids had gone home so nobody could see that my trousers was as wet as Tony Danza's back in a raquetball match. That's some serious stuff for a kid, too, let me tell you that. As an adult, you piss yourself and you can play it off, like "Woah! That Lowenbrau snuck up on me! I ain't been this drunk since da eighth grade graduation!" and that kinda thing. As a kid though, it's taken more as a sign that you ain't never mastered your bladder control and the cheetahs is gonna thin you out from the herd, boy. One thing I gotta hand it to God, that guy's one hard-workin SOB! He ain't laid off bustin my balls for 34 years, and just when I think he's takin a break, my collie upchucks a canna Manwich onto my new Camaro's suede seats. You couldn't WRITE better ball-bustin' than that. Even when I was inna prime a my life, eighteen yeahs old, God was there with a bicycle seat and a faulty retaining bolt. Me and Marie, we was goin' steady, and lemmie tell you we was goin' at it. We would have sex at the drop of a hat, and believe you me there was a lotta hat-droppin goin on back den. But we was safe about it, y'know? A Carbone don't ever go into battle unarmed, if you know what I mean when I say that. I always make sure Marie used a rubber, and so I figure we ain't got nuthin to worry about, right? Wrong. Turns out the dumb broad was eatin' the damn things, one of her girlfriends said somethin about oral contraceptives and she got all confused. Next thing we know, bang-bang, we got little Ant'ny taggin along and whenever Marie's got gas it's like a little kid's birthday party around here. Now I ain't sayin I don't love Marie, and know dat I'm just talkin here just to talk so lemmie talk, but that woman's got about as much sense as a two-legged gopher tap-dancin in a microwave. Or two mountain goats screwin' on the Eiffel Tower, I dunno, somethin like that. Point is she's dumb as shit. We understand each other heah? Good, 'cause nows I can go on about God and my balls and stuff. God continued to bust my much-maligned balls trew most of the 1980's. Memorable events include da time da Anaheim Angels kicked my motherlovin ass for pukin' in their dugout, da tree months I spent in jail for exposing myself to a boyscout troop, and dat time I came home to da wrong house and ended up punching out a pony and givin' tree armed policemen wedgies after they say I ruin some little girl's birthday party. I spend the weekend in the can after that little caper, but thankfully I'd stuffed enough hot dogs down my shorts on the way out that I was eatin' like a king da whole time. But don't think that God's Carbone-ball-bustin' plans ended with the era of Regan and bolo ties and all that. Uh-uh. God kept his ping-pong paddle at the ready next to my family jewels for the whole of the new decade as well. Like the time I got caught in that pair of panty hoes with that wild boar, for instance. Or the time I was up on da roof, drunk as hell, tearin' off roof tiles with my golf cleats, and I'll be Goddamned if a stiff wind didn't pick right up and make me take a header off that roof and land on some little old lady who'd come by to sell Amway. For six hours I hadta listen to her bitchin' and moanin like "I think you broke my back! My ribs have perforated my lungs!" Jesus Christ, lady, do I look like a doctor to you? It took damn near forever for the paramedics to get there and a good four hours for them jaws of life to pull her on up outta da sidewalk. Dey almost had to drill under my foundation, the sonsa bitches. It's a rare time like that when God misses a chance to bust my balls further. He musta been off planning the Manwich thing. The 90's ball-busting that takes the cake though, has to be the time Marie ran outta them contraceptive sponges, and she thought onea them kitchen sink sponges with the green scrubber side would do the trick just as good. Did I mention that Marie's dumber than ten pounds of dirt? When it was all said an done she was pregnant with lil' Jimmy over there and I hadta wear them elasticy beach pants for two months. Jimmy! Get outta the oven, Jimmy! You're too old to play in da oven now, ya little hangnail ya. There're snakes in there, howya like that? Yeah, I thought so. I wondered all my life, when God's gonna stop breakin my balls. But ya know what? I'm tired of wonderin'. Vinnie Carbone's got a plan. See, I plan on bein extra special nice and good and all that shit my remainin' years of this life. So as I can get into heaven and all, that kinda thing. Then, when I meet God, you can bet I'm gonna give him one hell of a kick right in his hairy, omnipotent sack. I'm gonna strike a blow for the Vinnie Carbones of the world, and then I'm gonna say "Sorry God, but you was breakin' my balls, you was askin for it." And we gonna shake on it and go out for beer and pizza. It's gonna be nice. º Last Column: Rosey Red-Assº more columns
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Quote of the Day“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas! Except near Houston, Dallas or Fort Worth. Talk about your smog. Jesus, this song's gonna need another verse.”
-Clement B. DoogleFortune 500 CookieMama said there'd be days like this, but the bitch lied. The success or failure of this coming week hinges on your proper understanding of the word "gonad," so take our advice and go buy a dictionary now, Skippy. Order lots of Chinese food this week, but don't pick it up. This week's lucky accidents: back-flip off ladder onto hardwood floor, lip caught on drain while bathtub's full, wearing flammable jumpsuit to Great White concert, 15 car pile-up.
Try again later.Top commune New Year's Resolutions| 1. | Breakfast with Bagel | | 2. | Boris. Proper English. 'Nuff Said. | | 3. | Convince Ramrod Hurley that picture of Nelson Rockefeller has no religious significance | | 4. | One news story with a verified fact in it | | 5. | Finally finish off Ivan Nacutchacokov | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/1/2000 Hey troops, welcome back to Entertainment Police! Sorry for the gap in my columns, but apparently DUI stands for Don't Underestimate Interpol! Goodness me, well needless to say it's great to get back onto Yankee soil and back to the hunt for worthwhile Entertainment. A lot's happened since our last EP: the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the Peabody... and somebody told me Carmen Electra got married! Bless her heart. I asked around, but nobody seems to think Harry Connick Jr was the lucky guy... poor Harry. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It's useless to dwell on the disappointments and massive cocaine busts of our past though, so let's get on with the show!
In Theaters Now:
Being John Malkovich
Hey troops, welcome back to Entertainment Police! Sorry for the gap in my columns, but apparently DUI stands for Don't Underestimate Interpol! Goodness me, well needless to say it's great to get back onto Yankee soil and back to the hunt for worthwhile Entertainment. A lot's happened since our last EP: the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the Peabody... and somebody told me Carmen Electra got married! Bless her heart. I asked around, but nobody seems to think Harry Connick Jr was the lucky guy... poor Harry. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It's useless to dwell on the disappointments and massive cocaine busts of our past though, so let's get on with the show!
In Theaters Now:
Being John Malkovich
Daring use of the helmet cam demonstrates the multitude of possible ways people on the street can say "What the fuck is that on John Malkovich's head??".
Bicentennial Man
Robin Williams stars as a Tennessee-native traveling soap salesman who won't shut up about his state's 200th anniversary. A chilling portrait of state pride. Eventually he's killed in Harlem. Watch for the surprise ending.
Man on the Moon
Hearing Neil Armstrong's boozy rant about how he's the "Greatest goddamn thing to ever happen to this planet" is amusing for maybe the first ten minutes, but this documentary has long dry spells between the magical moments. Moments like when Armstrong demonstrates that he can still urinate without getting up out of his recliner, or when he shows how he can take his dentures out and watch them float around the room in zero gravity. It's touching though when he begins to cry and explains that the dentures only float when no-one's watching, and now he's got carpet fuzz on his teeth. The last twenty minutes of the film show Armstrong snoring in his recliner, a daring artistic move that challenges the way we think about on-screen napping.
My Dog Skips
A fierce argument for child-safe windows is made in this film about a schnauzer who tries to chase cars, from the back seat of his family's Suburban.
Sweet and Lowdown
A deadly terrorist who leaves packets of America's favorite coffee-sugar substitute as his calling card is blowing up all of Seattle's great coffeehouses? Who do you call when the odds are long and the stakes are this high? Wesley Snipes, motherfucker. Always bet on black, and hold the cream!
The Talented Mr Ripley
An exciting but altogether bullshit-packed biopic of the late Robert Ripley, collector of oddities and the human bizarre. Nunchucks in one hand, highball in the other, this film paints Ripley as one bad, kung-fu motherfucker who had a soft spot for little kids with brass rings around their necks and guys who could eat shopping carts. But when he trounces an entire school of expert ninjas using only his gargantuan member, one is left to wonder: Believe it... or Not?
Now on Video:
American Pie
The touching story of an alcoholic from Wisconsin who wants nothing more than to be a chef at Baker's Square, this documentary documents his struggles through at-home, Thanksgiving and bake sale pie-making attempts and leaves you hanging with the final question: Will he ever earn that poofy hat?
The Iron Giant
This rote sequel to The Giant Iron isn't nearly as scary and didn't once keep me up at night, wondering if I heard a mister button clicking out in the hall.
The Red Violin
Seeking to snatch the inanimate-object leading man kudos from Disney's Brave Little Toaster, this is one communist-sympathizing musical instrument that's going to tickle your animated fancy. When he teams up with The Fascist Bathtub and the Socialist Salad Shooter, you know the fun's not going to stop until the capitalist pigs are dead.
T with Mussolini
Look out, action fans! Fresh off his Oscar-winning turn in Life is Beautiful, Benito Mussolini is back and this time he's left the pacifism at home! Mussolini teams up with American acting institution Mr T for this high-octane tale of Harleys, shotguns, and shit blowing up all over the place.
Wild Wild West
Adam West is back as a hard drinking, hard-loving two-fisted bar-brawling motorcycle-racing crazy man in a film that practically blows out it's own intestines in an effort to introduce West as an action hero for the new generation. West's credibility in this role is marred slightly by his paunch, thinning hair and the Ben Gay tie-ins throughout the film. Also destined to miss it's mark is his questionable catch-phrase of "That was so dangerous, I think I need to change my adult diapers."   |