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Nokia BLADE a Painful Tech HitAugust 23, 2004 |
The Nokia BLADE, the first mass market cell phone to offer ear-piercing functionality
“We think the BLADE will be a hit with consumers who are tired of carrying a cell phone and a big, bulky knife everywhere they go,” explained Nokia spokesperson Dalton Hughes. “Or also with people who are sick of having to switch hands to go between talking and cutting tasks.”
“This phone is da bomb!” gushed teen Roger Salmong, bleeding profusely from the ear. “When I’m not hollering with my homies, I can cut shit!”
In spite of a generall...
arents’ groups and otologists alike are up in arms over Nokia’s latest entry into the increasingly cutthroat cell phone market, the Nokia BLADE, an innovative new cell-phone/pocket knife combination that offers users with limited pocket space the best of both gadgets in one sleek package.
“We think the BLADE will be a hit with consumers who are tired of carrying a cell phone and a big, bulky knife everywhere they go,” explained Nokia spokesperson Dalton Hughes. “Or also with people who are sick of having to switch hands to go between talking and cutting tasks.”
“This phone is da bomb!” gushed teen Roger Salmong, bleeding profusely from the ear. “When I’m not hollering with my homies, I can cut shit!”
In spite of a generally positive reaction among consumers, the new phone has raised the ire of parents’ groups who had a hard enough time getting their kids off the phone for family time even before it became a handy cutting implement.
“I thought it was hard to keep Stacey from bringing her cell phone to the dinner table before,” lamented housewife Greta Thomas. “But now she says she needs it to cut her pork chops. What do you say to that?”
Otologists, or “ear doctors” to the unwashed masses, also take issue with the new phone, citing a sharp spike in the rate of ear contusions being reported in hospital emergency rooms since the phone’s release last month.
“It really is a serious problem,” explained a bashful Dr. Dennis Loham, sporting a large white bandage covering his left ear. “You think you’d have to be stupid to forget to retract the phone’s folding blade before trying to take an incoming call, but it really is easy to space out on it. In my office alone, we’ve seen—hold on, I have to take this. Hel—oh sweet fucking Jesus, not again!”
The rise of multipurpose phones in recent years has concerned parents nationwide to varying degrees, having a large impact on concerned parents, yet hardly any at all on alcoholics or other individuals who give less than a shit about their children. For concerned parents, however, the thought of their children carrying a telephone, web browser, video game console, digital camera, personal data organizer and MP3 player around in their pockets has unsettling ramifications. Some even remained concerned after the commune explained that all of these functionalities were packed into a single small cell phone, not a large assortment of bulky devices likely to damage a child’s expensive church slacks. Others needed an explanation of what an MP3 was, or wanted to know if their phone at home could take pictures.
The small handful of parents who understand both the technology and its ramifications share concerns about giving children and teens unsupervised access to the Internet, violent video games, or scary futuristic Herbie Hancock music via their cell phones. Now that a sharp, ridged blade has been added to their list of concerns, many parents are considering drastic measures. The most appealing of these involves sending their children to military school, where they’ll at least learn to handle a knife/phone, and will stop carving “FART” into the banister out in the hallway.
The Nokia BLADE retails for $149 and is available in blood-masking red, surgical silver and camouflage. the commune news is always on the cutting edge of breaking news, a fact we like to bring up whenever it forms a half-assed pun based on story content. Truman Prudy is the commune’s prodigal reporter, back from a recent kidnapping and the general uninvestigated assumption that he was dead. the commune news would welcome Prudy back, but he’ll probably have disappeared again by the time anyone reads this, so nevermind.
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Grief-stricken Bush Sr. throws self out of plane
 OH MY GOD SNOW
Amazing new cell phone shows respect for moviegoers
 Mohammed Confesses to 9/11 Attacks, "Falling Down A Lot" During Interrogations |
Lost Scout Earns Coveted “Distract the National Media” Badge House Democrats Uneasy During Rare Trip Outside Big Ratings Prompts ABC to Seek More Dancing Handicapped Shows Strychnine Dog Food: Where Can You Buy It? |
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 April 29, 2002
Sing a Song of EcnepxisEver since we heard Eddie Albert scream out "Dutch Whores!" at the beginning of TV's Green Acres, we've all been curious about hidden messages in popular songs. From the suburban teen getting a much needed self-esteem boost from Ozzy Ozborne's Suicide Solution to the congressman who desperately needs to figure out the lyrics to Louie, Louie before a press conference, nobody wants to be the last kid on the block to know what a song really means. But it's not always easy, between forgetful vocalists garbling their lyrics and clever rockers mixing backward paeans to Satan into their love songs.
The first known instance of a backwards message in a pop song is widely agreed to be Johnny Kidd and the Pirates' 1960 hit Shakin' All Over, which contained the phrase "Listen you tit, the tape's gone in backways" playing in reverse during the chorus.
But it was the Beatles who were the King Tut of hidden backwards lyrics, and they pulled off their ultimate coup in 1968, when they released The White Album, which was actually an entire Laurence Welk album played backwards. The world might never have been the wiser if it weren't for some meddling acid casualties who somehow managed to play the record backwards after dropping the record player into their bathtub in an attempt to hear what the album would sound like to fish.
But regardless, the word got out and before long drug people with serious welfare connections...
º Last Column: Where for Art Thou, Jimmy Hoffa?
º more columns
Ever since we heard Eddie Albert scream out "Dutch Whores!" at the beginning of TV's Green Acres, we've all been curious about hidden messages in popular songs. From the suburban teen getting a much needed self-esteem boost from Ozzy Ozborne's Suicide Solution to the congressman who desperately needs to figure out the lyrics to Louie, Louie before a press conference, nobody wants to be the last kid on the block to know what a song really means. But it's not always easy, between forgetful vocalists garbling their lyrics and clever rockers mixing backward paeans to Satan into their love songs.
The first known instance of a backwards message in a pop song is widely agreed to be Johnny Kidd and the Pirates' 1960 hit Shakin' All Over, which contained the phrase "Listen you tit, the tape's gone in backways" playing in reverse during the chorus.
But it was the Beatles who were the King Tut of hidden backwards lyrics, and they pulled off their ultimate coup in 1968, when they released The White Album, which was actually an entire Laurence Welk album played backwards. The world might never have been the wiser if it weren't for some meddling acid casualties who somehow managed to play the record backwards after dropping the record player into their bathtub in an attempt to hear what the album would sound like to fish.
But regardless, the word got out and before long drug people with serious welfare connections were rigging up elaborate backwards-playing record players by mounting one record player upside-down above another normal record player, then using the second player's needle to listen to a record spinning upside-down on the first.
For reasons unknown this led to a brief resurgence of popularity for the Dave Clark Five, but the main effect was that years of backwards-recording shenanigans were finally exposed. An evangelist from Ohio discovered that when he played the theme song from the TV show Mr. Ed backwards, the lyrics sang as "The source is Satan," and the theme song from the children's cartoon Scoobie Doo hid the back-masked message "Give your dog a doobie too." That same evangelist later discovered that when you play disco music backwards, nobody ever comes to your parties again, and backwards Slim Whitman is more than enough to get you evicted from your apartment building. He was later arrested during an album-burning ceremony when his supporters shot a horse wearing a baseball cap that said Mr. Ed.
Scandal raged for the next twenty years as religious figures from terminally boring states discovered further examples of back-masking tomfoolery. Sales of Queen's dance hit Another One Bites the Dust more than tripled after word got out that the chorus played as "It's fun to smoke marijuana" when run backwards, and there was a brief national shortage of chocolate chip cookies. Religious leaders single-handedly fueled sales of several Pink Floyd albums in the seventies, and were thanked individually in the liner notes for most of Judas Priest's 1980's releases. By the mid-eighties, it became tough to sell a heavy metal album without help from some kind of back-masking scandal, and some innovative groups had their records pressed backwards to minimize damage to their fans' turntables. By the late 80's, record companies were major campaign contributors for all representatives from southern states who advocated boycotts of their satanic recording artists.
The holy grail of all backwards Satan-possessed pop songs, however, has always been Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven. Fans have known for years that the song only really makes sense when you play it backwards, at which point the lyrics come together as:
A horse is a horse
Of course of course
And no one can talk to a horse
Of course
That is, of course
Unless the horse
Is the famous Mister Ed!
Go right to the source
And ask the horse
He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse
He's always on a steady course
Talk to Mister Ed!
People yakkity-yak a streak
And waste your time of day
But Mister Ed will never speak
Unless he has something to say!
Oh, a horse is a horse
Of course, of course
And this one'll talk 'til his voice is hoarse
You never heard of a talking horse?
Well, listen to this:
". . . I am Mister Ed!"
So you can all stop sending me emails asking what the hell a wuzzle is doing in a hedgerow, okay? º Last Column: Where for Art Thou, Jimmy Hoffa?º more columns
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|  December 23, 2002
Volume 32Dear commune:
I'm always fascinated by cultures different from our own. It's nice to know that some things are universal—like smiles. Everyone smiles, in every place on the earth! Isn't that cool?
Another thing is Santa Claus. Sure, we don't call him by the same name everywhere, but everyone believes in some version of Santa Claus, right? Which is why I'm writing to you. Can you tell me more about all the various versions of Santa Claus out there? It sounds exciting! Thanks!
Nat McCauley
Whitewash, Washington
Dear Nat:
Judging by the fact your letter's written in crayon you're either a child or mentally handicapped, or just a full-grown man who makes very poor shopping choices. Either way, we think it best not to feed your delusions about "Santa Claus."
It is so typical of Clausians to assume everybody everywhere believes in Santa Claus and the power of his gift-giving. If you are a child, we cannot blame you, but it's time you knew that Santa Claus is only one theory of how the gifts get under the tree, and not even the oldest.
In some African cultures, popular theory is that Black Monday, a large death-dealing African tribesman with a sackful of gifts, sneaks in through the chimney (or under the door, if your home doesn't have a chimney) in the night, unsheathes a machete and deals death to the wicked white families. Their possessions are reclaimed and distributed to...
º Last Column: Volume 31
º more columns
Dear commune: I'm always fascinated by cultures different from our own. It's nice to know that some things are universal—like smiles. Everyone smiles, in every place on the earth! Isn't that cool? Another thing is Santa Claus. Sure, we don't call him by the same name everywhere, but everyone believes in some version of Santa Claus, right? Which is why I'm writing to you. Can you tell me more about all the various versions of Santa Claus out there? It sounds exciting! Thanks! Nat McCauley
Whitewash, WashingtonDear Nat:
Judging by the fact your letter's written in crayon you're either a child or mentally handicapped, or just a full-grown man who makes very poor shopping choices. Either way, we think it best not to feed your delusions about "Santa Claus."
It is so typical of Clausians to assume everybody everywhere believes in Santa Claus and the power of his gift-giving. If you are a child, we cannot blame you, but it's time you knew that Santa Claus is only one theory of how the gifts get under the tree, and not even the oldest.
In some African cultures, popular theory is that Black Monday, a large death-dealing African tribesman with a sackful of gifts, sneaks in through the chimney (or under the door, if your home doesn't have a chimney) in the night, unsheathes a machete and deals death to the wicked white families. Their possessions are reclaimed and distributed to the African people, and that's how the gifts get under the tree.
In Japan, "Santa" is actually a 50-foot robot that transforms into a walkman and leaves itself under the tree. Fortunately, once one robot has completed its mission, other robots construct themselves for delivery to other children around the world.
As for ourselves, sometimes we're Santagnostics and don't know what we believe. But usually we rely on the idea that "Santa Claus," as you call him, is just pure energy that divides itself among us all, and that by closing our eyes and collectively picturing sugar plums dancing and other Christmas things, we can generate gifts under the tree without buying them. This hasn't happened yet, but it's usually from a lack of good will and Christmas cheer and therefore does not constitute a lack of existence of this energy.
Hope this has illuminated the subject and you're no longer tied to the ridiculous idea of a man coming down your chimney to empty his sack rather than fill it. Merry whatever!
the commune
Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the lump of coal in your stocking. Perhaps you should have thought about that before sending us all those forwarded e-mails asking us to add our names to the bottom.º Last Column: Volume 31º more columns
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Milestones1999: Rok Finger's highly offensive rendition of "White Christmas" marks the end of the commune's yearly Christmas parties, and the birth of the Parents Against Rok Finger Coalition (PARF).Now HiringRubik. Crazy puzzle-making hermit needed to devise a way to keep staff out of Red Bagel's mini-fridge. Knowledge of trap doors and spinning blades a plus.Top Missing Work Excuses| 1. | Challenger Flashback | | 2. | Too Fucked Up on Meth | | 3. | It's Pretty Outside | | 4. | Thought it Was Nuked | | 5. | Didn't Really Miss It That Much | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 4/29/2002 Hey there, America the beautiful! Ready for another go at the bucking bronco that is this month's batch of new releases? I didn't think so. Thankfully for you I'm getting paid to write the column and deal with this crap so you can just sit back, relax, and feel the entertainment love. But before we get into all of that, how about a healthy dose of Ask Roland?
Q. Roland, what do you think of the resistance by American audiences to the obviously superior world of French cinema? Will American "film-goers" ever tire of the endless parade exploding buildings and anti-gravity bosoms and recognize the work of the true masters: Godard, Truffaut and Chabrol? Also, if you were doin' Elle Macpherson and Reese Witherspoon at the same time, who would you pour the hot fudge...
Hey there, America the beautiful! Ready for another go at the bucking bronco that is this month's batch of new releases? I didn't think so. Thankfully for you I'm getting paid to write the column and deal with this crap so you can just sit back, relax, and feel the entertainment love. But before we get into all of that, how about a healthy dose of Ask Roland?
Q. Roland, what do you think of the resistance by American audiences to the obviously superior world of French cinema? Will American "film-goers" ever tire of the endless parade exploding buildings and anti-gravity bosoms and recognize the work of the true masters: Godard, Truffaut and Chabrol? Also, if you were doin' Elle Macpherson and Reese Witherspoon at the same time, who would you pour the hot fudge all over first?
Steve Thomas, Winding Oaks, VA
A. That's a good question, Steve. And the answer is simple: Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Q. Are you as sick as I am of the reprehensible practice of studios doctoring film critics' reviews in order to market their movies? It seems that one can judge the quality of a film to a high degree of accuracy by averaging the number of words in the review quotes they flash during the television commercials. The better films tend to quote entire sentences from a review, while most of the obvious stinkbombs distill a review down to a single word that is taken out of context and could mean anything. A film critic can write that the latest teen toilet-fest is "An astounding display of poor acting, poor directing, and a script that may very well have been squeezed out of a tube," only to be quoted in the commercial as saying the film was "…ASTOUNDING!!"As a film critic yourself, how does it feel to have your work regularly manipulated into misleading sound-bites?
Ted Fanly, Beer Grove, KY
A. …EXPLOSIVE!! –Roland McShyster, the commune
And now for the reason you put up with all of the snide comments about your wardrobe, the movie reviews!
In Theaters
Murder by Numbnuts
Sandra Bullock is on the trail of Jude Law, an idiot who may have killed someone accidentally while cleaning a crossbow he found in the trash. Or is he really a diabolically crafty killer hiding behind the mask of a buffoon? Nope. He's the real McCoy, but Bullock still has her hands full trying to outguess a killer who's next move is always ten times stupider than what she'd thought he would do. The film is successful as a comedy-thriller that keeps you guessing and raises the interesting point: could a total dipwad be the perfect killer?
National Lampoon's Gene Wilder
Following in the footsteps of other National Lampoon classics like Animal House, Vacation and Airwolf, this rather formless comedy attempts to mine comedic gold from the everyday bumblings and fumblings of frizzy-haired funnyman Gene Wilder. A script would have been nice, as would have been some pants for Mr. Wilder himself, but I guess that was supposed to be the big joke, everyone reacting to him not wearing any pants. Whatever. I thought Airwolf was funnier.
The Scorpion King
Easily the most poorly-informed Jim Morrison biography picture to date, trumping even past disgraces like Jim Morrison and the Hell's Angels Save Christmas and Drrrruuuuuuggss Ayeeeaaaaaghh!!! for sheer grave-spinning velocity, a feat which many thought impossible. But, if you're twelve and are willing to believe that Morrison spent his free time freeing the slaves in Egypt and twirling a battle-axe around when he wasn't busy dropping a mork onstage, then I guess you can find some kicks here. Especially if you've got a thing for highly-detailed codpieces and mansweat.
Star Wars 2: Attack of the Blondes
Most people scoffed when they announced the title of the latest Star Wars film, but I for one was glad to hear that the series had finally got back to it's big-haired bimbo roots. The recent films had really been way too full of space muppets and little kids to be of any use to anyone other than kindergarteners and the heavily stoned. Any filmmaker worth his weight in salt knows that the future's greatest gift to us will be form-fitting spandex outfits, and here Lugosi finally gets it right.
On Video:
Band-its
Camouflaged as an ensemble comedy about life's little cuts and bruises, this clever indie scam is actually a product-placement smorgasbord for the adhesive bandage also-ran brand Band-its. This kind of thing is getting so common lately I wonder if Hollywood directors are ever going to turn the tables and start sneaking movies into commercials.
Life is in tha House
The producers would have you believe this is the feel-good urban movie of the year, which really isn't a crowded race since the only competition in that grouping has been Thug Parade and Stone Cole Baby Killaz, but it still manages to fail, unless for you "feeling good" involves retching while you chew up broken glass. Don't get me wrong here, it's not that I think every urban movie should be about drugs and mayhem, but no movie should be such a smarmy wad of platitudes that you spend the film's entire running time hoping for a drive-by. And I don't mean in the movie, I'm talking about in the theater.
The Man Who Wasn't There
It's long been inevitable that Guns 'N' Roses videos would eventually get so long and bloated that they'd have to be released theatrically as feature-length films, so the appearance of this picture didn't exactly surprise me. What I didn't realize was that to this day, Axl is still obsessing over rhythm guitarist Izzy Stradlin leaving the band, as he spends this entire film pondering if he somehow drove Izzy away, either through a lack of communication, halitosis or that one time he set Stradlin on fire. While the films psychoanalytical undertones allow for clever movie review titles like Welcome to the Jung-le, they film really isn't worth much beyond that.
Original Sink
Look folks, just because Bob Vila can act and Bob Vila can produce, and maybe he can swing a hammer pretty good too, that doesn't mean he can write or direct. It's the same mistake they made with Bob Ross, and I don't think anyone who saw Snow Falling on Cedars would ever take that chance again.
Television:
The Has-Beens (M-TV)
Who'd have thought the best mid-season show would be on a channel that once showed music videos? M-TV brings us the bold reality series where a "family" of has-beens are grouped together under one roof to see who can make the big comeback to television, while the losers are headed straight toward infomercial hell. Erik Estrada, Florence Henderson, Todd Bridges, and Soleil Moon Frye are a rich mix of fun and wisdom, proving again the old adage, "United we stand, divided we collect unemployment."
Ali McBeal
Instead of highlighting the new shows on the air, all of which should be gone by the time I finish this paragraph, I'm taking this spot to say adios to the unexpected underground hit with women 18-35 with severe emotional problems or developmental disabilities. Something about this trash-talking rail-thin female lawyer touched a nerve with the nation, and just won't quit touching it. But now, thankfully, it's about to rest in peace as the flavor of the month changes to talking babies and M-TV reality shows. Goodbye, show—I'm sure everybody who watched you will miss you.
Video Games:
FIFA World Cup Soccer (Sexbox)
Before you rush in thinking this is a great soccer game, you should be warned that "Fifa" is Scottish slang for "fairy". Accordingly, the game designers follow that spirit in making some of the goofiest, gayest-dressed soccer players this side of real soccer players. Whether you enjoy soccer or think it should be pantsed and
humiliated by real sports ought to determine what you think of this game. I'm indifferent since my Sexbox is broke and I can't play anything.
Chessmaster 5500 (PC)
From the people who brought you "Wine Taster 2002" and "Extreme Book Club" comes another venture trying to sucker the stuffed shirts and fancypantses of the world into the video game arena. Unfortunately, the game revolves not around real chess, but around trying to disguise the fact you're a champion chess player of your high school until you can get out at 3 o'clock, or else the bullies will run your underwear up a flag pole, with you in them.
And that's an Entertainment Police! No more, no less. It's a Zen kind of a thing, really,
like the sound of a stagehand getting the clap or a tree falling on James Woods. I'll let
you ponder that on into the afterlife, or at least until next month when we'll be back
like an ex-girlfriend boomerang. Until then!   |
