|  | 
Three Dead, Nineteen Wounded After Girls Gone Wild April 28, 2003 |
Hi-tech computers and slutty re-enactment actresses re-create eyewitness accounts of the gone wild incident that resulted in tragedy.
Initial charges of improper conduct and endangering public safety have been brought against Joe Francis, producer of the Girls Gone Wild video series and six of his crewmembers, who were identified by witnesses as being present at the scene and attempting to capture all the hot action on tape.
“We believe Mr. Francis did have an instrumental part in spurring these hot college co-eds to mob violence,” said Miami-Dade Sheriff Gustav Klimpt. “We are ex...
ragedy struck a beautiful Miami beach Saturday when a top-lifting riot ended in the death of three and the wounding of at least nineteen. Police had yet to piece together the incident based on witness accounts, but it is believed the girls were incited to riot by college-age males and a video camera crew. Initial charges of improper conduct and endangering public safety have been brought against Joe Francis, producer of the Girls Gone Wild video series and six of his crewmembers, who were identified by witnesses as being present at the scene and attempting to capture all the hot action on tape. “We believe Mr. Francis did have an instrumental part in spurring these hot college co-eds to mob violence,” said Miami-Dade Sheriff Gustav Klimpt. “We are examining the tapes repeatedly to determine exactly what happened. Even the hot action back in their hotel rooms. We have no further comment at this time.” The popular video tape series features real college girls doing things you wouldn’t believe, frequently including nudity and gratuitous girl-on-girl inappropriate touching. Several of the videos also feature extreme violence as girls are persuaded by shouting crowds and thrown beer bottles to lash out at other women for the amusement of onlookers. A common occurrence is two young co-eds pushed into a crowd circle where, fueled by Peppermint Schnopps and other alcoholic beverages, they attack each other with claws and teeth until only one is left standing. This time, however, the violence escalated until the streets of Spring Break (Whoo) filled with blood. “It was, like, a total nightmare,” described Darrel “D-Train” Walters, who traveled down from Dartmouth for vacation. “There was this whole line of sorority sisters, and they were takin’ it all off and we were shoutin’ ‘em on, then they started pushing each other—and some were kissin’. Man that was hot—and then the nails came out and I couldn’t see ‘cause there was so much skin and hair and blood.” Others were quick to blame the Kappa-Alphas, but it was apparent once the rioting had begun other girls were ignited into a stripping-killing frenzy. “The last thing I remember,” said a dude who would only identify himself as “Mike from Georgia, Go Dawgs,” “was Dan and Geronimo sprinkling Rolling Rocks over this one chick to slow her down, then we totally got blindsided by these twins. Dan probably lost an eye and I ain’t even seen Geronimo since. Nobody will tell me nothing. Dude, if you see a fat guy with an ‘Official Titty Inspector’ T-shirt, you gotta tell me. I just need closure.” Officials believe the report of three dead to be accurate. One is an unidentified college-age male decapitated with a string of beads and the other were two co-eds going wild, who had to be put down. The number of wounded reported continues to rise. Though this is the largest girls-gone-wild-related catastrophe on American soil, it is not the first. Two years ago a man was killed when a group of hot rioting girls going wild dragged him by the beads off a balcony. The total wounded reached 11, but both incidents fall short of the toll of 22 dead and 46 wounded last year in Cancun. the commune news has not gone wild, we just thought wearing a loincloth would be a nice change of pace. Boner Cunningham is our teen correspondent, tackling tough teen issues, and weak teens.
 |  Tree Bark Face Turns Out to Be Likeness of Jesus Lookalike Vance Waxman
Boston husband challenges legality of no-sex marriages
Condoleezza Rice refuses to answer Iraq question, takes the physical challenge
The sign doesn't say anything about no pants, fascists
|
Appeals Court Rules Hilton Legitimately Too Pretty to Survive Prison Climatologists Cross Legs Uncomfortably at Mention of Bangkok Conference Merck: �Crazy-Ass Brazil Giving AIDS Drugs to People With No Money� Poison Probe Reveals 90% of Packaged Foods Actually Dog Food |
| |
| 
 December 22, 2003
The Night Before Testimony'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the...
º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Death
º more columns
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the cops.
They arrived with guns blazing and clubs swinging free
unaware of the danger, but hey, they're N.Y.P.D.
Old Rok spilled his guts in a new record time
and begged for protection from the dear FBI.
They wasted no time, and hauled Rok away
to meet with J. Edgar or whoever runs it today
With the dirt Rok had on Yogi, Mario, and all,
the state prisons will soon be packed wall to wall.
Rok gets probation and time served—how cool!
"It's the way we reward you for being a stool."
And with those kind words the agent disappeared in the night
for survivalists in Montana waited to pick a fight,
For Rok and Felchyana, they planned the best Christmas yet
though they were as far from civilization as you could now get,
"But we'll enjoy the grim situation, no matter what 'tis,
or wherever the hell this 'Fargo' place is."
So with prospects all brighter, things turned out great in the end
except for poor Camembert, sentenced from five to ten. º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Deathº more columns
| 
|  February 3, 2003
Yuppies Driving Douches"I've got the keys to the kingdom, if the kingdom is a '73 Dodge Dart."
I'd like to get a motorcycle but I'm just not the "motorcycle type." At least that's what the guy at the motorcycle shop told me. He said if he saw me riding around on a motorcycle him and his friends would personally see to it I got my ass kicked. So that was enough to put me off motorcycles. Maybe if I hear he's moved or something I'll look at getting one again. One of those ninja motorcycles, but I can't remember what they're called.
I've been a proud Dodge Dart owner since 1995. I've owned the car 25 years, but I just figured it was time to be proud of it around '95. It wasn't going to change anything to pretend I didn't own it when it was parked out front and all the yelling and shouting of obscenities toward it only worked in reverse and people were sure it was mine.
It's cool, though, because sometimes I find things in between the seats when I go looking. I found a Playboy issue with a Jimmy Carter interview with all the good parts edited out. There was a pro-union button which means maybe that guy who sold it to me was telling me the truth about Jimmy Hoffa owning the car before. Or maybe the guy said the car was so dirty Jimmy Hoffa was probably inside somewhere. It was something to do with Jimmy Hoffa, or Jimmy Walker. Whichever was on Good Times.
Have you ever gotten your dick stuck in a car's exhaust pipe? Me neither, of course, but...
º Last Column: Duck's Ass
º more columns
"I've got the keys to the kingdom, if the kingdom is a '73 Dodge Dart."
I'd like to get a motorcycle but I'm just not the "motorcycle type." At least that's what the guy at the motorcycle shop told me. He said if he saw me riding around on a motorcycle him and his friends would personally see to it I got my ass kicked. So that was enough to put me off motorcycles. Maybe if I hear he's moved or something I'll look at getting one again. One of those ninja motorcycles, but I can't remember what they're called.
I've been a proud Dodge Dart owner since 1995. I've owned the car 25 years, but I just figured it was time to be proud of it around '95. It wasn't going to change anything to pretend I didn't own it when it was parked out front and all the yelling and shouting of obscenities toward it only worked in reverse and people were sure it was mine.
It's cool, though, because sometimes I find things in between the seats when I go looking. I found a Playboy issue with a Jimmy Carter interview with all the good parts edited out. There was a pro-union button which means maybe that guy who sold it to me was telling me the truth about Jimmy Hoffa owning the car before. Or maybe the guy said the car was so dirty Jimmy Hoffa was probably inside somewhere. It was something to do with Jimmy Hoffa, or Jimmy Walker. Whichever was on Good Times.
Have you ever gotten your dick stuck in a car's exhaust pipe? Me neither, of course, but it would be funny to see. I don't think it will ever happen, not as long as they keep making these modern cars with huge exhaust pipes.
If I were to ever sell the Dart, I don't know what I'd like to get. Everybody's getting these SUVs, but I don't want to get a car I have to spell out everytime I'm telling the guy at the impound lot which one I came to pick up. It sounds dumb, but at first I thought they were Spanish cars by the way they're pronounced. I wonder if there is a word in Spanish that sounds like SUV. It would be funny if the Mexicans thought all these yuppies were talking about driving douches to work or something.
I suppose I don't care what kind of car I got as long it had power steering and doors. The doors especially would be a necessary 'cause I hate the way I keep flying out of the Dodge whenever I make sharp turns. The cops tell me I should wear my seatbelt and I tell them I don't live in Afghanistan, Joe Friday.
Did you know there's a homepage for Dodge Darts? It's at www.dodgedart.org. This is why it's so hard to find porn on the internet—the place is glutted with useless crap. º Last Column: Duck's Assº more columns
|
| |
Quote of the Day“Be always on the phone, so that when the devil calls, he will get your voicemail.”
-St. JerryFortune 500 CookieJust because you don't like the message, don't waste your time killing the messenger. John of Lancaster already took care of that for you 500 years ago. New scientific breakthroughs now make it possible to wash your hair while it's still attached to your head: no more tedious cutting and re-attaching with naval knots. Try to remember: Chex are for breakfast, checks are for paying bills. You will mix those up again this week. This week's lucky dogs: Lassie's offspring still living off residuals, all Irish breeds, and the two-legged one-balled variety.
Try again later.Top Easter Memories| 1. | Stuffing all those eggs up the bunny's ass. For the children. | | 2. | Knee-deep in Peeps. | | 3. | Kicked out of church for eating wooden Jesus. Thought it was chocolate. | | 4. | I'll be damned, family really can tell ham from Spam. | | 5. | Boil the eggs next year. Sweet Jesus, boil the motherloving eggs. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 9/29/2003 Welcome back to me, America! Roland McShyster here, after the hiatus to end all hiatuses… hiati… hiya-hyacinth… uh, all multiples of hiatus! I'm back and on the attack, feeling refreshed after six weeks of boxin' and detoxin', as the saying goes. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my good friend Orson Welch for filling my incredibly snazzy shoes while I was out, I'm sure he did a fine job and should I ever have a reason to read the columns he did while I was gone, that'll just confirm it. Keep your eyes peeled, we may just be bringing that young go-getter back for a guest spot the next time I go on vacation or lose the will to live. From the looks of my office he certainly generated more than his share of reader correspondence and acid-filled mail bombs. Kinda makes me feel...
Welcome back to me, America! Roland McShyster here, after the hiatus to end all hiatuses… hiati… hiya-hyacinth… uh, all multiples of hiatus! I'm back and on the attack, feeling refreshed after six weeks of boxin' and detoxin', as the saying goes. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my good friend Orson Welch for filling my incredibly snazzy shoes while I was out, I'm sure he did a fine job and should I ever have a reason to read the columns he did while I was gone, that'll just confirm it. Keep your eyes peeled, we may just be bringing that young go-getter back for a guest spot the next time I go on vacation or lose the will to live. From the looks of my office he certainly generated more than his share of reader correspondence and acid-filled mail bombs. Kinda makes me feel like that guy Robin Williams played on Good Morning America to tell you the truth, and I thank you for that. Back by popular demand! But enough with the self-congratulatory bullshit, what say we get on to the movies?
In Theaters
Duplex
Somewhere out in Hollywood there's a giant magic 8-ball that's spitting out movie concepts, and I think they've forgotten how to shake the thing. In Duplex, a modern-day cross between Panic Room and Phone Booth, an engaged couple agrees to live inside a hollowed-out Xerox machine for one month as part of a radio station stunt, and the winner gets to keep the Xerox machine. Ben Stiller and Drew Barrymore star as a couple who dreams of a brighter future where they won't have to go down to Kinkos every time they need to copy a tax form or ransom note. The result is like My Dinner with Andre minus Andre the Giant's witty banter, and saying the movie makes you never want to live inside a copy machine with another person for a month is putting it mildly. There is a lot of potential for groundbreaking B.O. humor in the premise, but in a film where even the sex scenes are implausible, you have to take the whole thing with a big enough grain of salt to choke a salt donkey.
Out of Time
Now here we go with a prime example of the Hollywood's latest trend du jour: adapting popular albums into movies. So far the results of this experimental genre have been mixed at best, and any genre that was inaugurated by 1972's sterilizingly bad Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band has a lot of apologizing to do right out of the gate. But after the disappointing R.E.M./Neil Young joint project Monster's Ball in 2001, I'm surprised to say this film actually does justice to the hit R.E.M. album from 1991. My favorite chapter in the story is "Losing My Religion," where Denzel Washington plays a priest trying to figure out what to do with this naked guy who got shot by an arrow. What does it mean? Nobody knows, but it's funny because Denzel swears a lot.
School of Rock
When I heard that Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson was making his move to become a mainstream movie star, my first thought was: "Good luck, Jack Black couldn't even make that guy likeable!" Well, as usual, Hollywood set out to prove me wrong, and also as usual, Hollywood dropped the bong again. Don't get me wrong, Black is his usual spunky self as the math geek genius who is paid by the Rock's parents to tutor him with extreme prejudice, so that the Rock can get his G.E.D. and take over the family's fat rendering business. But it would take Marlon Brando to convince an audience that this meathead could pass a pregnancy test, let alone calculus, and this credibility gap exposes the film for what it really is: XXX without the action, skanks, guns or snappy grunted banter.
Shit Creek Manor
One word of advice to the unobservant: If you're going to buy somebody's creepy old haunted house and fix it up by candlelight at night, just don't. But if you decide to do it anyway, at least make sure it doesn't have some ironic name like Shit Creek Manor, because when the shit starts going down and you're running for your life from killer furniture or whatever, the irony is really going to piss you off, trust me. Second piece of advice for the film's producers: if the audience at the test screening is yelling "You gonna die, bitch!" when your heroine is in trouble and they boo when she gets out with only an involuntary hysterectomy, you just might have a turkey on your hands.
Wonderland
Val Kilmer is hilarious as the Mad Hatter in this, the lucky 10,000th adaptation of the Lewis Carroll classic. I don't know if they won a deluxe shopping spree or anything for being the 10,000th crew to make Carroll's book into a movie, but I hope they did. Lisa Kudrow was born to play Alice, a ditzy hippie chick from the Bay Area who follows a giant rat down a storm sewer and then has to play croquet with this scary-assed sewer clown. Great to see they finally got the facts right and played this one so close to the book, unlike the animated Disney version that sugar-coated Carroll's dark vision. Look out for Christina Applegate in a spot-on cameo as the sexy Cheshire Cat, and Cheech Marin chews up the screen as the burnout caterpillar who keeps insisting that "Alice isn't here, man!"
And that's the that that was this week, America. Hope you enjoyed it and would slap down a debutante to get more, because that's what we'll be doing next issue. See you then!   |
