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Harry Belafonte: Colin Powell a "Tallyman, Tally Me Bananas"October 14, 2002 |
Hollywood, CA Whit Pistol/AP Powell, who upon hearing comments was all like, "Who, me?" And Belafonte (inset) is all like, "Yeah, you, who you think I'm talking about?" he radio waves have become a hotbed of political gaffs and slander lately, demeaning the nature of civil discussion and making it impossible to hear "Safety Dance" like you could before. The latest was discovered by this reporter when he woke up at the house of a friend, possibly of the other sex, and heard famed singer Harry Belafonte continuing his attack on Secretary of State Colin Powell.
Powell, who had been referred to by Belafonte only Wednesday on a San Diego radio show as a "house slave" for the Bush administration, was attacked again in a musical tirade in which the Desert Storm veteran was likened to a "tallyman," always come to tally Belafonte's bananas.
Despite the racially-infused charges and slander involved, Powell apparently didn't feel the accu...
he radio waves have become a hotbed of political gaffs and slander lately, demeaning the nature of civil discussion and making it impossible to hear "Safety Dance" like you could before. The latest was discovered by this reporter when he woke up at the house of a friend, possibly of the other sex, and heard famed singer Harry Belafonte continuing his attack on Secretary of State Colin Powell.
Powell, who had been referred to by Belafonte only Wednesday on a San Diego radio show as a "house slave" for the Bush administration, was attacked again in a musical tirade in which the Desert Storm veteran was likened to a "tallyman," always come to tally Belafonte's bananas.
Despite the racially-infused charges and slander involved, Powell apparently didn't feel the accusations were personal attacks. State Department spokesperson Richard Boucher, when told of Belafonte's remarks by this reporter, responded, "I think you misunderstand entirely."
Again, this reporter repeated the statements, providing claps and trying to hit the same notes as Belafonte in his radio assault. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, and straw hat apparently did not capture the mood for the spokesperson either.
"It's possible that those remarks have been completely taken out of context," Boucher said. "Who do you work for again?"
Upon being escorted out of the building by burly dark-suited men, this reporter could not get his sunglasses and straw hat back, and is considering lodging a complaint.
Despite the relaxed reception at the State Department, who are undoubtedly hoping the inflammatory remarks will go away quietly, Belafonte's charges are serious. Possibly the most cutting remark was Belafonte's comparison of Powell to a black tarantula hiding in the banana bunches as he lifted six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch into the boat.
Local DJ and the coolest guy this reporter knows Vic Sandwich had insightful comments on the nature of the political discussion.
"Obviously, if Belafonte feels that Powell is being unfair in his tallying of the bananas, he's going to be pretty upset with him and lobby some unfair charges," Sandwich said, sitting in a big chair. "Was it fair to call Powell a black spider in the Bush administration? Maybe not. But when you're talking banana-pricing politics, people pull no punches."
When given the suggestion that Belafonte might be speaking figuratively, Sandwich made a raspberry.
"Don't be so naĂŻve, Boner. Calling Powell a house slave might be a metaphor, but we're talking real banana boats and 8-foot bunches here. My question is, if Powell is such a good guy and a man of the people, why won't he let Belafonte go home? Daylight come already, and I'm sure he's got shit to do."
In a related note of slander, this reporter was severely maligned when showing the first draft of this story around the commune offices.
"It's the worst thing I've ever seen and you're going to get us sued," slandered bookwormish reporter Ramrod Hurley. "And if you leave my name in the story like that, you're going to regret it. I know where you park your car and your desk is unguarded most of the day." the commune news regrets any misunderstanding when we referred to President Bush as a douchebag—we simply meant the president's intention is to clean up sensitive areas of the world. Honestly. Boner Cunningham, on the other hand, thinks Bush is a real piece of shit.
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Iraq blah blah blah Suicide blah blah blah Dead Big Whup: Whale Swims Across the English Channel Heather Graham’s Career Found Dead in Apartment Polish Roof Falls in Following “Drinks Are on the House” Debacle |
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 June 9, 2003
Big BeeBoris does not like the out of doors. Boris mother say for to go outside and play with stray dogs, but Boris doesn't not like such things. Outside is big, and with many temperatures. Plus, outside there is always big bee to tease and chase Boris all the times, not to leave Boris alone. Even to follow Boris to America. How does bee do this? Does not know. Maybe to hide in box or in nose of sleeping person. Big bee is sneaking like this.
All times Boris is thinking of way to get rid of big bee. Man tells that bird is what chases and bothers bees, so this is what Boris buy. But when Boris open cage for bird to get and eat bee, bird fly away like big pains in ass. That is when Boris thinking it is good to tie string around neck of bird. But is too late for this good idea now.
Whenever Louis say for Boris should go out of doors, Boris does open door and yell "Oh shit! Is bee!" and close door loud before big bee can invade inside apartment. Louis doesn't not see bee, but is because bee is sneaking. Him likes to hide behind tree or in car when persons is looking, so bee can pop out for scare of Boris. Such is way big bee is mean.
Louis tell of dog Skippy from when Louis is child. Skippy is dog which loves to eat bees. Him runs outside when door is open and sound is like snapping noise as Skippy tries to eat bees out of the air. Sometimes Skippy only bite air, but sometimes Skippy bite bees. Yes! This is sounding good for Boris.

º Last Column: In Matrix is Boris º more columns
Boris does not like the out of doors. Boris mother say for to go outside and play with stray dogs, but Boris doesn't not like such things. Outside is big, and with many temperatures. Plus, outside there is always big bee to tease and chase Boris all the times, not to leave Boris alone. Even to follow Boris to America. How does bee do this? Does not know. Maybe to hide in box or in nose of sleeping person. Big bee is sneaking like this.
All times Boris is thinking of way to get rid of big bee. Man tells that bird is what chases and bothers bees, so this is what Boris buy. But when Boris open cage for bird to get and eat bee, bird fly away like big pains in ass. That is when Boris thinking it is good to tie string around neck of bird. But is too late for this good idea now.
Whenever Louis say for Boris should go out of doors, Boris does open door and yell "Oh shit! Is bee!" and close door loud before big bee can invade inside apartment. Louis doesn't not see bee, but is because bee is sneaking. Him likes to hide behind tree or in car when persons is looking, so bee can pop out for scare of Boris. Such is way big bee is mean.
Louis tell of dog Skippy from when Louis is child. Skippy is dog which loves to eat bees. Him runs outside when door is open and sound is like snapping noise as Skippy tries to eat bees out of the air. Sometimes Skippy only bite air, but sometimes Skippy bite bees. Yes! This is sounding good for Boris.
This is part which interest Boris. Bee eating dog is like Christmas presents for Boris, given from God of all Dogs. This is Big Dog thing with wings, like dragon with hairs. Is good thing.
But, oh bummer, Skippy is dead. Him get old and dead like dog does. But good news is Boris is so sad about no Skippy dog who eats bees that Louis go and get Boris dog named "Similar to Skippy." Is long name, but fits dog.
Louis does not get dog for Boris at pet stores, like what the chumps does. No way says Jose, who is friend of Louis. Louis does find dog tied to parking meter in front of restaurants. This is way for persons to say "Hello! Is free dog for you!"
So now Boris has dog for to eat bees. But, is funny because Similar to Skippy is also afraid of big bee also like Boris, so him stay inside all times with Boris. Is funny ending, or as Louis say, "Goddammit!" º Last Column: In Matrix is Borisº more columns
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|  November 11, 2002
Greetings from GracielandGreetings, commune readers. Rok Finger here, typing greetings to you from beautiful Rumney, New Hampshire. Feel free to register your surprise, disgust, or firearms—whichever is appropriate. It's understandable that based on comments made previously in this column by both yours truly and myself, one might have reasonably expected these words to be coming at you from sunny Memphis, Tennessee. And I'm just skylarking about the sunny part. For as my more astute readers may have guessed—I never went to Tennessee at all.
I was saved from such an embarrassing misstep on my first-ever annual pilgrimage to Graceland by resident commune know-it-all Griswald Dreck, who informed me that the Graceland of Elvis Presley toilet overdose fame and the Graceland of Paul Simon dancing with Chevy Chase fame are not, in fact, the same place. Needless to say, this was news to Rokwell T. Finger, much like the fate of Old Yeller. Leave it to Griswald Dreck to puncture two balloons with one needle and a story about a glue factory.
According to Dreck, the Paul Simon album I was so eager to experience in real-life form was in fact originally titled Gracieland, a reference to the New Hampshire shrine built in memory of George Burns' late wife. But thanks to an irreputable typesetter with a financial interest in Elvis memorabilia, Simon's message was forever obfuscated.
Now Rok Finger is no fool, and he, meaning me, unwittingly lines the pockets of no...
º Last Column: Until I Return, Camembert is in Charge º more columns
Greetings, commune readers. Rok Finger here, typing greetings to you from beautiful Rumney, New Hampshire. Feel free to register your surprise, disgust, or firearms—whichever is appropriate. It's understandable that based on comments made previously in this column by both yours truly and myself, one might have reasonably expected these words to be coming at you from sunny Memphis, Tennessee. And I'm just skylarking about the sunny part. For as my more astute readers may have guessed—I never went to Tennessee at all.
I was saved from such an embarrassing misstep on my first-ever annual pilgrimage to Graceland by resident commune know-it-all Griswald Dreck, who informed me that the Graceland of Elvis Presley toilet overdose fame and the Graceland of Paul Simon dancing with Chevy Chase fame are not, in fact, the same place. Needless to say, this was news to Rokwell T. Finger, much like the fate of Old Yeller. Leave it to Griswald Dreck to puncture two balloons with one needle and a story about a glue factory.
According to Dreck, the Paul Simon album I was so eager to experience in real-life form was in fact originally titled Gracieland, a reference to the New Hampshire shrine built in memory of George Burns' late wife. But thanks to an irreputable typesetter with a financial interest in Elvis memorabilia, Simon's message was forever obfuscated.
Now Rok Finger is no fool, and he, meaning me, unwittingly lines the pockets of no man. Unless that man is running a chain letter scam. Rok Finger may not be a fool, but he's even less a fan of bad luck chain letter voodoo. Scary stuff. But thanks to Griswald Dreck, noble American, some Deep South huckster claimed one fewer victim this week. Dreck was even nice enough to take the then-useless plane ticket to Memphis off my hands for twenty dollars American. And before you could say late purchase ticket surcharge, I was on my way to New Hampshire.
In a word, readers, Gracieland is everything I could have hoped for, and did. There are truly angels in the architecture. And that line about the roly-poly little bat-faced girl? No longer an impenetrable mystery. Suffice it to say that George Burns' late wife was not an Amazonian supermodel. Far be it from Rok Finger to hold that against her, however, especially seeing as I have played the troll under the bridge in over 30 elementary school productions of The Brothers Grimm without need of expensive makeup effects or costuming.
Though I had secretly hoped to view the stuffed cadaver of Chevy Chase on this trip, I leave feeling fully satisfied and, for once in my oft-disappointing life, fully on the "inside" of an juicy morsel of popular culture. I haven't felt this hip since discovering the hidden soft drink advertisement in Donovan's hit song Mellow Yellow back in the 1960's.
And more importantly, as with any good vacation, I was able to completely forget about the outside world for a time. Not literally, mind you, I didn't buy a house or ask to start getting my mail here or anything asinine along those lines. But except for the time spent at the public library typing this column and a few calls home to check on Lee and Camembert that were apparently misrouted to the head trauma ward of a veterinary hospital, the last week has been about nothing but Rok Finger getting in touch with Rok Finger. Some would say that altogether too much Rok Finger-touching went on, and that is a distinct possibility, but the late night programming made available on motel TV was utterly beyond my control.
I return home a wiser Rok Finger, and one who now owns more George & Gracie refrigerator magnets than he knows what to do with. I hope Camembert likes magnets, because I've easily got all his birthdays and Christmases covered for the rest of his natural life. º Last Column: Until I Return, Camembert is in Chargeº more columns
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Milestones1931: Former commune columnist Sampson L. Hartwig forfeits another "Race Around the World" when it is discovered that he merely hid in a barn for three days, then took a taxi in from the opposite side of town, claiming victory.Now HiringCompulsive Ass-Kisser. Shameless suck-up needed to boost general staff morale and cut down on work days lost to crippling depression. Total lack of discernment required. Insane "Never met a man I didn't like" attitude a plus.Top Reasons for Quitting Your Job| 1. | Nobody likes my dancing | | 2. | Lunch hour five minutes too short | | 3. | Work keeps getting in way of Star Trek marathon | | 4. | Time clock too high to reach | | 5. | Sick of endless "get dressed, get undressed" grind | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Christopher Poppins 4/1/2002 The Necklace Comes From the OceanGruff lumberjack Tug Denton was chopping wood on a Friday afternoon. It was cold in the northwest, where he worked as a lumberjack. Tonight he would likely curl up by the fire with his dog and read a book, or a dirty magazine. It was a lonely life, but he had his dog and the fire and the book and/or magazine.
That was before urbanite Mitzi Calligan walked into his life.
It was that Friday afternoon she did, so it wasn't much before. She drove up in her smart urban Toyota onto Denton's logging property. She looked very unfamiliar with the outdoors, which made Tug grin on his manly face.
"Are you Tug Denton?" she asked, to which he agreed. "I've been hoping to find you. I found this."
"This" she was referring to was an object in her hand....
Gruff lumberjack Tug Denton was chopping wood on a Friday afternoon. It was cold in the northwest, where he worked as a lumberjack. Tonight he would likely curl up by the fire with his dog and read a book, or a dirty magazine. It was a lonely life, but he had his dog and the fire and the book and/or magazine.
That was before urbanite Mitzi Calligan walked into his life.
It was that Friday afternoon she did, so it wasn't much before. She drove up in her smart urban Toyota onto Denton's logging property. She looked very unfamiliar with the outdoors, which made Tug grin on his manly face.
"Are you Tug Denton?" she asked, to which he agreed. "I've been hoping to find you. I found this."
"This" she was referring to was an object in her hand. Said object was a gold necklace, shinily polished and sparkling. The center of the necklace was a heart-shaped locket.
Tug turned egg-white when he saw it, the color of Mitzi's bathroom walls. "That's… that's Clara's necklace," he said darkly.
"I… I found it."
"What… what?"
"I… I found it," said Mitzi. "It was in a fish. Apparently I bought a fish after work one night—I'm in advertising and it's a tough career field for a woman—and inside I found this necklace. It makes for a great anecdote, don't you think?"
"That's my wife's necklace!" growled Tug, tearing it forcefully out of her hand.
There was a long silence. For better effect, wait a moment before reading further.
"I'm sorry."
"You killed her?"
"No, I'm just sorry for offending you."
Tug was weeping softly to himself, but it doesn't make him any less of a man. "It's alright. I thank you for returning the necklace."
"Can I ask what happened?" Mitzi asked cautiously.
"Go ahead."
"What happened?"
"My wife… she… she died," said Tug, staring off into the distance as if seeing his wife's face superimposed over the scene, which would likely be what it would look like if we made it into a movie. "It was dark one night. We were out whale hunting—it was our favorite pastime, the two of us. She was sleepwalking and fell overboard. I never saw her again, not even the body."
"Then, the fish that I ate…?"
"Yes," Tug completed the sentence, "he must have eaten her."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I ate him," said Mitzi, smiling compassionately. "It was a little on the ripe side, but I finished it."
"Thanks," said Tug, walking back to the house with the necklace in hand. "You've done a lot to help me confront her death."
"Is that all?" said Mitzi. "I'm a little tired from the drive and hungry. I was hoping you could fix me dinner on your old wood stove or something."
"No!" snapped Tug. "Sorry. No. Although there is an undeniable attraction between us, I'm afraid it's too soon after the discovery of my wife's necklace and my dealing with the fact she's never coming back to begin thinking about eating dinner with you."
Tug slammed the door to his cabin, at which point the whole thing collapsed. Mitzi wiped a tear from her eye and snot from her nose, returning to her car. That poor Tug Denton.   |