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Scientists Discover Massive Burrito at Center of GalaxyOctober 28, 2002 |
Marquette, Michigan Imagining Dept. The space burrito, if of the breakfast variety, could decide the "chicken vs. the egg" debate forever. Unless there’s a massive space chicken someplace.
"I was staying late in the lab one night, after everybody else had gone home," stated the lab’s head astronomer, Bruce Coltrane. "And I was getting pretty tired and hungry so I was about to shut off the telescopes and get some late-night BBQ when I caught sight of something on the screen that didn’t seem quite right."
"At first I thought somebody must’ve taped another one of those pictures cut out of a Maxim to the screen, since the guys are pretty funny ...
stronomers at Michigan’s Northern Peninsula Basalt College went public today with observations made near the cloudy heart of the Milky Way Galaxy, which have indicated with near certainty the existence of a massive central space burrito, a theoretical Mexican entrée that had previously eluded detection.
"I was staying late in the lab one night, after everybody else had gone home," stated the lab’s head astronomer, Bruce Coltrane. "And I was getting pretty tired and hungry so I was about to shut off the telescopes and get some late-night BBQ when I caught sight of something on the screen that didn’t seem quite right."
"At first I thought somebody must’ve taped another one of those pictures cut out of a Maxim to the screen, since the guys are pretty funny about that kind of stuff. I could tell you stories about the time we thought we found Carmen Electra orbiting Chiron. What a crazy week! But this time, when I checked closer, it couldn’t be denied. We were dealing with the genuine article here. I caught my breath, looked closer, and fuck a duck, man! That thing’s a giant burrito!"
"And then I laughed, ’cause, man, what a crazy thing to say! Shiiit."
"Bruce is the man. If he said he saw a gigantic burrito 500 times the size of the sun out in the middle of the Milky Way, then that’s good enough for me," said fellow astronomer and goatee advocate Mark Fitch. "Sign me up for the Burrito Cult or whatever the deal’s going to be now. I’ll put on the velcro sneakers and drink the blue Kool-Aid when the burrito swings by the earth to pick up the true believers. Fuck it, man, whatever."
Since having its state funding cut in 1994, Northern Peninsula Basalt College’s astronomy program has led the nation in startling astronomical discoveries. Among those include Animal Planet, Orion’s Tits and the St. Bernard of Delta 7.
When asked what he thinks of the astronomy community’s opinion of the Northern Peninsula Basalt astronomy department, Fitch was philsophical. "Eh, fuck ’em. What do they know, with their giant telescopes and their fancy degrees and all that noise? Without street smarts, all that shit is useless anyway."
"As far as I know, this is the first time someone’s found anything like this," offered Coltrane. "I mean, they’ve probably found Mexican food out in space before, but this big? Tacquitos, maybe. And what if they found one like a million years ago, before anybody knew what a burrito was? What would they call it? A space tube? And back then they didn’t have big-assed telescopes like we’ve got now. They might have mistaken it for a Chimichanga. Maybe? Make that probably."
"It might be difficult for the layman to understand how such a thing could exist. But trust me when I say that the universe is full of all kinds of strange and mysterious shwag," continued Coltrane, backed by a poster of Copernicus smoking the moon in a water bong.
Fitch and Coltrane were wary of careless speculation, but both agreed that a manned mission to explore the burrito was practically inevitable.
"Who knows what mysteries could be wrapped up in that tortilla?" pondered Coltrane. "Like, how many layers has that thing got? And does it have guacamole? I hate guacamole. But who made it, and why haven’t they eaten it yet? That’s one to blow your mind. But even just on the practical level, we’ve got to get some guys up there. We’re talking beans the size of foreign cars. Poor people could live in those things, and then eat their houses."
Fitch agreed, as he licked his lips and distractedly eyed the heavens. the commune news works hard for the money, so we sure hope you don’t consider that a complete blowjob. Ramon Nootles is every mother’s worst nightmare, and one very unlucky girl’s Mystery Date.
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 July 4, 2005
Second DraftedI have started the next phase of my writing career: The Second Draft.
That means I finished the script, wrote it all the way through, and now someone has to rewrite it. Don't worry for me, it's not going to be me who rewrites it. I just had to find someone who wants to write it again for me, take out all the spelling errors and give the people who aren't me believable dialogue and stuff. That's what all the rewrites I've ever seen have involved, taking a script that's not so good and making it work as a movie.
I already found someone, even though I have to pay him. But I'm paying him 60% of whatever the script sells for, so it's not like it's real money. You may have heard of him—but probably not. It's office scourge Ramrod Hurley. He has a lot of free time, since no one likes him, and I assume he writes pretty well because he works here and the commune has standards and shit. It's not like they give everyone a job writing here, only the ones who write good. Plus, as I said, he works in percentages, which is basically like imaginary money.
I haven't even told you how the script turned out, have I? It's pretty sweet, if I can say so myself. It's all about a world-famous actress who witnesses a murder, then she has to go into hiding, disguising herself as an even more famous actress, this one has different color hair. So she hooks up with this wicked lead singer of a punk band/talk show host who helps her escape the guy trying to...
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I have started the next phase of my writing career: The Second Draft.
That means I finished the script, wrote it all the way through, and now someone has to rewrite it. Don't worry for me, it's not going to be me who rewrites it. I just had to find someone who wants to write it again for me, take out all the spelling errors and give the people who aren't me believable dialogue and stuff. That's what all the rewrites I've ever seen have involved, taking a script that's not so good and making it work as a movie.
I already found someone, even though I have to pay him. But I'm paying him 60% of whatever the script sells for, so it's not like it's real money. You may have heard of him—but probably not. It's office scourge Ramrod Hurley. He has a lot of free time, since no one likes him, and I assume he writes pretty well because he works here and the commune has standards and shit. It's not like they give everyone a job writing here, only the ones who write good. Plus, as I said, he works in percentages, which is basically like imaginary money.
I haven't even told you how the script turned out, have I? It's pretty sweet, if I can say so myself. It's all about a world-famous actress who witnesses a murder, then she has to go into hiding, disguising herself as an even more famous actress, this one has different color hair. So she hooks up with this wicked lead singer of a punk band/talk show host who helps her escape the guy trying to kill her, because she witnessed the murder, remember? Well, first she and rock star/talk show guy escape all these times she's almost killed, then they catch the guy. Set a trap, Scooby-Doo style, and get the guy all wrapped up in mummy bandages.
So I finished this "draft," as they call it in screenwriting class. But Nancy says I should always rewrite a script after the first draft, since a first draft is never perfect. Mine is, I told her, and she told me to stop interrupting her while she's teaching. Every script needs a second draft, she said, and then she wrote it on the board in color chalk, so we had to take it seriously. I figure I go to Hollywood and try to sell this script, if they ask me I did a second draft, I could always lie and say yes. But what if they can tell I'm lying? Better not risk it, so I figure I'd just get the second draft done. Damned if I'm going to do it myself, though, which is why I brought Ramrod in as a co-writer.
I guess it's going okay. I gave it to him a week ago, haven't seen him much since. I called him yesterday and he says it's going well. He changed a few things, like made the main character an aging dentist and took out the plot about witnessing the murder, instead made it this story of this dentist trying to find his wife who's been kidnapped by international diamond thieves. But it's basically the same thing I wrote, he said, but he did punctuate it and capitalize all the names, and wrote it on the computer instead of in a sketch book.
I can tell already we're going to have to sort shit out, Ramrod and I. I only did this bullshit because I need a really big comeback movie. How can I have a comeback movie if I'm not the big star of the movie I wrote? I certainly didn't do this because I wanted all the glory and recognition of writing for Hollywood. That's like saying I wanted the sweet reward of being kicked down a flight of stairs. He probably thinks I'm going to play the wife of the dentist, but I got other ideas—I can play a dentist. I know all about teeth, and I have a good smile. Well, I have a good smile.
I hope they don't give me a Best Screenwriter award. That thing nearly killed Damon's career. And I haven't seen Joe Esterhaz act in forever. º Last Column: Top 29º more columns
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|  April 15, 2002
Win A Dream Date With CamembertLiving with Camembert is like renting a room with a large bucket full of sadsack. What a crybaby! All he ever does is sit and mope, or sit and cry, or sit and do anything else. I forgive the sitting, him being in the wheelchair, but the depression has got to go. You don't live with Rok "Big Buzzin' Smile" Finger and wear a frown all the time. My middle name is Fun, the part that isn't "Big Buzzin' Smile," that's more of a self-proclaimed nickname.
In order to get Camembert out on the town and living the high life like yours truly, I'm presenting the first-ever-of-its-kind Rok Finger contest. This is not like my previous event, "Help Find the Boston Strangler," that was more of a police hunt. This is a real-deal contest. The winner, and there can be only one, wins an actual dream date with Camembert.
"What do I get out of this?" you may ask. Well, if you're a man, nothing, forget it, you're disqualified by reason of chromosomes, Camembert doesn't swing that way. And if he does swing that way, I'm not going to help raise his batting average. This applies only to 100% true blue females and anyone convincing enough to fool me.
When I say "Win A Dream Date With Camembert!" I do mean "dream date." And I mean Camembert, this is not one of those novelty contests where some celebrity Mel Gibson steps in to take the young lady out. I've got to get Camembert out of the apartment a night or two of the week or I'm going to kill him.
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Living with Camembert is like renting a room with a large bucket full of sadsack. What a crybaby! All he ever does is sit and mope, or sit and cry, or sit and do anything else. I forgive the sitting, him being in the wheelchair, but the depression has got to go. You don't live with Rok "Big Buzzin' Smile" Finger and wear a frown all the time. My middle name is Fun, the part that isn't "Big Buzzin' Smile," that's more of a self-proclaimed nickname.
In order to get Camembert out on the town and living the high life like yours truly, I'm presenting the first-ever-of-its-kind Rok Finger contest. This is not like my previous event, "Help Find the Boston Strangler," that was more of a police hunt. This is a real-deal contest. The winner, and there can be only one, wins an actual dream date with Camembert.
"What do I get out of this?" you may ask. Well, if you're a man, nothing, forget it, you're disqualified by reason of chromosomes, Camembert doesn't swing that way. And if he does swing that way, I'm not going to help raise his batting average. This applies only to 100% true blue females and anyone convincing enough to fool me.
When I say "Win A Dream Date With Camembert!" I do mean "dream date." And I mean Camembert, this is not one of those novelty contests where some celebrity Mel Gibson steps in to take the young lady out. I've got to get Camembert out of the apartment a night or two of the week or I'm going to kill him.
And by that I mean, what a charming young man! You've never met a gentleman like Camembert because they simply do not exist. You're talking the kind of charming prince like in fairy tales. Ladies, for the first time date a man without worry that he could at any time physically assault you or force you to have sex with him. Camembert would be lucky to kiss you without fainting. He's interested in your mind, and wants to know if he can have it when you're done with it. Camembert is no sex fiend, the very thought of sex makes him giggle and vomit, usually concurrently.
I suggest you run to your desk and take out your best stationery (no, the other one) and fill out two or three pages detailing why you should go out with Camembert. Please include a photo or two, if you can't fit in one, and let Camembert know why you're the stand-out cow in the herd. Please refrain from using foul language, it makes him cry. Yes, this is your chance to enter Rok Finger history and get a free dinner at Captain D's.
Don't worry, ladies, there's no losers here, except Camembert. Anyone who enters the contest will receive some sort of gift from Rok Finger as a thanks for trying. Now, I have neither the time nor budget to take every runner-up out to dinner myself, but I'll see to it you at least get oral sex or some form of make-up prize. That's the Rok Finger personal guarantee, and I guarantee that.
Please send all entries to the commune offices immediately with "ATTENTION: Oral Sex by Rok Finger" on the envelopes. Be warned, I understand the mail is pretty turbulent this time of year, especially for the overweight or unattractive, I can't assure every entry will reach us.
However, let's not forget why we're doing this: Camembert. Out of the house. Before I kill him. Thanks for entering, you'll be glad you did. º Last Column: The Rok Coupleº more columns
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Quote of the Day“May those who love us, love us, and those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts, and if he doesn't turn their hearts, may he fuck them up so I'll know not to trust cripples.”
-Old Irish Proverb, Jr.Fortune 500 CookieThat weird smell in the office: It's you, dude. Stay out of the sun this week at your doctor's request; he's tired of seeing you shirtless. This week's lucky prom dates: Mom's hot friend "Aunt" Chyniqua, Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig, a randomly selected pro wrestler, entire cast of Revenge of the Nerds, or six of the seven dwarves: Sneezy's got cancer.
Try again later.Worst-Selling Children's Books| 1. | Green Eggs and Bad Fish | | 2. | The Little Engine That Could But Just Plain Wouldn't | | 3. | Bi-Curious George and His Carribean Cruise | | 4. | Tales of an Armed Four Grade Nothing | | 5. | Where the Wild Things are Edited for Television | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 6/18/2007 Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since I’m focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldn’t have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I haven’t had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orson’s favorite movies of all time. What’s that? Movies I like? That’s correct. They are few, but they exist. Let’s see the “they” to which I’m referring.
The Great Muppet Caper
There has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood...
Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since I’m focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldn’t have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I haven’t had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orson’s favorite movies of all time. What’s that? Movies I like? That’s correct. They are few, but they exist. Let’s see the “they” to which I’m referring. The Great Muppet CaperThere has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood than to team up Charles Grodin with felt-headed puppets. Never. I challenge you to find one. Grodin is a daring jewel thief who attempts to manipulate Miss Piggy with a romantic relationship. Yes, you read that right. Simply for the tantalizing daydreams I’ve had about how Charles Grodin would get busy with a pig puppet, if that involves Frank Oz’s hand at all or not, this movie ranks very highly in my list. And like all Muppet movies, the human are not at all curious why these somewhat inarticulate animal puppets are welcomed rather than scorned by society, a great commentary on the generation gap of the 1960s and 1970s, though a bit dark for the taste of most. YojimboAkira Kurosawa’s samurai epic has been remade many times, but too many remakes miss the exceptional subtlety and style of Kurosawa. This movie is not as excellent as it is because it is a tightly-plotted story of a samurai in feudal Japan playing two greedy sides against each other; it’s brilliant because without telling us, Kurosawa has staged the timeless story of a collection of insane Japanese men who have taken up residence in the old west. When Sergio Leone remade this tale as A Fistful of Dollars, he unwittingly sapped all the brilliance out of it by staging it in the old west where it was originally set in Kurosawa’s version. The fact the main character has no name is a subtle testament to the fact everyone is completely out of their minds in this movie and that’s why they think they’re samurai. A searing and subversive indictment of everyone who goes to see a movie and expects the characters to be in full possession of their faculties. Toshiro Mifune was a god among actors with hyperactive attention deficit disorder. THX-1138Before George Lucas decided it was more fun to make money than cutting social commentary films, he made THX-1138, and we’re all the better for it. Contrary to Lucas’ opinion he was making a sharp attack on the drug-abusing rule-following fascism of pre-1960s culture, he was actually making a critical symphony that mocked white America’s subtle hatred of itself. Not only are very few of the actors in the movie black at all, but the lead actor, Robert Duvall, can only escape the dirty world of which he’s part and the dull silver automatons who enforce the law by crossing the longest expanse of pure white ever seen on screen. Fascinating. So only by running toward something even whiter can we at least be safe from our basic whiteness? No wonder people complained so loudly about the low-key racism in the Star Wars prequels. Lucas definitely has issues. Paris on FireThere is no better film alive than Paris on Fire. No, this has nothing to do with Hilton heiresses. Quite simply, Paris on Fire is the most damning fire safety film ever made in the French New Wave vein. The acting is excellent as Marie Chevalier plays “Woman Woken By Fire Alarm,” trying for the entire length of the film to find a way out of her burning house only to find fire behind every door. She tries each door several times, and while some audiences might find these repeated scenes fairly boring, they’re actually morons because it makes a pointed statement about the repetitive nature of trying to avoid burning to death in general. Paris on Fire makes the bold statement that, no matter how any of us might die, we are truly burning to death, slowly but surely, and we should probably enjoy it. Fucking genius. Is that all there is? Possibly. I know it’s not for me, as I have that research thing starting next week. I will miss these little chats we’ve had, but I suppose it’s all for naught, as we’re but burning to death slowly over along period of time. So enjoy.   |
