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 June 28, 2004 |
Baghdad, Iraq Assad the Unseen Von Poppel attempts to lead the crowd in a chant of "Hey! Ho!" moments before the figs began flying
When confronte...
ust days before the scheduled transfer of power to Iraqi officials, the U.S. occupation suffered another major blow when radical Shiite head cleric and suspected U.S. puppet Boner Von Poppel was killed during a community uprising in Baghdad. The elderly fig farmers who stoned Von Poppel to death with unripe figs believed the Shiite religious leader has been installed by the United States to manipulate the local population and retain U.S. control of the region beyond the date of Iraqi sovereignty. While the U.S. denies claims that Von Poppel had been inserted into Iraq by the CIA to advance U.S. interests, local residents never completely accepted the cleric as one of their own, due in part to his B-boy style of dress and lack of facility with the Iraqi language.
When confronted with these suspicions Saturday in Baghdad, Von Poppel confused the gathered crowd and sealed his fate.
"Yo yo yo, lissen up, cuz I got somethin to say. This be straight from the heart, y'all," Von Poppel told the crowd, pressing 'play' on a nearby boombox for accompaniment before launching into a bizarre marionette dance. "I got no strings, to hold me down, to make me fret, to make me frown! I've got no strings, so I have fun, I'm not tied up to anyone! I got no strings, so you can see, there are no strings on me!"
Shortly after the completion of the song and dance number, Von Poppel was pummeled to death with figs.
While U.S. officials expressed shock at the violence of the uprising, many Iraqis were more surprised Von Poppel had lived as long as he did.
"I almost killed him last week," admitted Baghdad shopkeeper Hashim Ababneh. "There was just something not right about that boy."
Other locals expressed similar sentiments, pointing out that it was unusual for Shiite religious leaders to be completely ignorant as to the particulars of Islam, or to dress like an extra in a Jay-Z video.
"Yo, Iraqis, we gots to increase the peace and respect the police, you know what I'm sayin'?" Von Poppel was quoted as sayin' during a sermon last fall. "The U.S. is the best so don't mess with the rest, y'all."
Experts believe Von Poppel's complete lack of understanding of Iraqi culture or the Muslim religion may have sealed his fate. Earlier this year the cleric had created a stir by appearing on the holy day of Mawlid al-Nabi eating a pulled pork sandwich and talking with his mouth full. When the gathered crowd of Iraqis drew Von Poppel's attention to this grievous misstep in Muslim etiquette, the cleric answered "Yo yo yo, you gotta check yourself before you wreck yourself, Iraqis. We gotta increase the peace, Cochise. You know what I'm sayin'?"
In spite of widespread skepticism among Iraqi citizens, the U.S. has steadfastly denied any attempts to manipulate Muslim religious life, and was happy to announce the rise of Iraqi's newest anti-U.S. radical Shiite cleric Nihad al-Pacino over the weekend. the commune news can't handle the truth, but we're surprisingly resilient after a punch to the abdomen. commune foreign correspondent Ivan Nacutchacokov is hunted for sport throughout the Middle East, and his repeated claims that it's actually wabbit season have done little to change this.
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 August 9, 2004
Camembert in LoveThings could not be worse, even if I had a head made of cheese in the middle of Amsterdam. Or a head made of pot, if you believe those rumors about our European neighbors. Camembert has fallen in love, making him even more intolerable than usual.
Wait, for as they say, it gets worse. You remember my friend Girl Elvis, who set me up with prescription drugs not long ago, and whose real name escapes my memory? Yes, she's the culprit. Damn her and her sexy manly-yet-feminine sneer, and jaw-dropping rendition of "Suspicious Minds."
As good as her word, she dropped by our Flatbush residence a mere three weeks ago in search of a place to lay her head, expecting I would simply open up my doors because I had made such a promise two weeks before. Audacity aside, I decided to make good on my word, because she looks very strong under those sequined sleeves. I had no idea my life would be turned upside down, and not in a "cute illegitimate kid moves into swinging bachelor apartment" sitcom way.
Instantly Camembert took a shine to her. Perhaps it was that alluring pompadour, or her bassy way of introducing herself when she walks into a room: "Hey, ladies and gentlemen, I'm an impersonator of Elvis Presley." They have to say that now, for legal reasons, she informed me. What man could resist her? Me, that's who. The homoerotic undertones alone have kept me up at nights. But not Camembert, apparently he's exceedingly secure in his sexuality, or some...
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Things could not be worse, even if I had a head made of cheese in the middle of Amsterdam. Or a head made of pot, if you believe those rumors about our European neighbors. Camembert has fallen in love, making him even more intolerable than usual.
Wait, for as they say, it gets worse. You remember my friend Girl Elvis, who set me up with prescription drugs not long ago, and whose real name escapes my memory? Yes, she's the culprit. Damn her and her sexy manly-yet-feminine sneer, and jaw-dropping rendition of "Suspicious Minds."
As good as her word, she dropped by our Flatbush residence a mere three weeks ago in search of a place to lay her head, expecting I would simply open up my doors because I had made such a promise two weeks before. Audacity aside, I decided to make good on my word, because she looks very strong under those sequined sleeves. I had no idea my life would be turned upside down, and not in a "cute illegitimate kid moves into swinging bachelor apartment" sitcom way.
Instantly Camembert took a shine to her. Perhaps it was that alluring pompadour, or her bassy way of introducing herself when she walks into a room: "Hey, ladies and gentlemen, I'm an impersonator of Elvis Presley." They have to say that now, for legal reasons, she informed me. What man could resist her? Me, that's who. The homoerotic undertones alone have kept me up at nights. But not Camembert, apparently he's exceedingly secure in his sexuality, or some nonsense.
"What do you think of Loretta?" he asked me over breakfast one morning. I launched into an angry diatribe about Loretta Lynn, so-called "Coal Miner's Daughter," before I remembered it was the birth name of Girl Elvis. I then told him exactly what I think of her, that my opinion was strong in no certain direction. "I think she's snazzy," he said.
Disgruntled noise here. He used to think I was snazzy. Or even if he didn't, it was easier to imagine he did when he didn't talk so much. I preferred Camembert when he used to come home quietly from wherever it is he goes and wheels himself into his room, to stay there until I wake him up in the middle of the night to go duck hunting, or whatever escapade has captured my imagination as of late. Now, there's no guarantee he will even be in his room when I want to surprise him! He may be sitting on the couch with his new girlfriend, watching Blue Hawaii. I will not have it. Happiness should not go on under my roof if I'm not getting a slice of it.
Still, I cannot simply kick Girl Elvis out. Again, she looks very strong. I should try to find a way to foil their romance before it begins. I have talked to her about it, and she assures me her intentions are honorable. Or actually, she said, "Camembert… is that the guy who sleeps on the floor in the hallway?" At which point I correct her, no, that's Eugene, I found him in the attic when I bought the house. She insists Camembert or, "that poor little wheelchair kid," is not her type. I think it's all a ruse to further confuse me, and I will not have whatever it is she's making me have.
It's a sad day for Rok Finger when the world doesn't revolve entirely around him and his ever-widening circles. I will command Camembert's full attention once again, or die trying. Or someone might die, at any rate. º Last Column: Lost Vegasº more columns
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|  February 14, 2005
Losing in LoveMy life was a horribly small, dark, petty place, let me tell you. I was a shell of a man—worse than a shell, I was a magic shell, hardened by the cold ice cream of the world, and quite delicious, filled with nuts. I forgot what I was saying. Oh, yeah—my life was pointless and full of tragedy. That was before I met Melinda. And after I met Melinda, too.
Melinda was my girlfriend. What a day that was. Everyone said she was just using me to make her boyfriend nauseous, but I don't believe them. She was pretty mad when she said it, too, so I don't believe her either. I met her, both of them, actually, when I was working as a safety bar for an amusement park roller coaster. It was tough, but I got to ride for free all the time. Now who's the jerk, Mr. Big and Mighty Safety Inspector? I didn't see you ride one of the rides while you were closing the place down.
But in them halogen days, when I first caught a sniff of Melinda's perfume, I knew she would one day be my girlfriend. And then break up with me later that day—trust me, I know my luck by now. Doesn't mean I give up on love. I fell for Melinda hard, right off the top of the roller coaster, and she was the only one who came to see if I was alright. When she had safely removed all the money and metallic items from my pockets, she called for an ambulance. But I got up and skipped out before that, I ain't paying for no ride when you can sneak into a tire well and ride free. Before I left, though,...
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My life was a horribly small, dark, petty place, let me tell you. I was a shell of a man—worse than a shell, I was a magic shell, hardened by the cold ice cream of the world, and quite delicious, filled with nuts. I forgot what I was saying. Oh, yeah—my life was pointless and full of tragedy. That was before I met Melinda. And after I met Melinda, too.
Melinda was my girlfriend. What a day that was. Everyone said she was just using me to make her boyfriend nauseous, but I don't believe them. She was pretty mad when she said it, too, so I don't believe her either. I met her, both of them, actually, when I was working as a safety bar for an amusement park roller coaster. It was tough, but I got to ride for free all the time. Now who's the jerk, Mr. Big and Mighty Safety Inspector? I didn't see you ride one of the rides while you were closing the place down.
But in them halogen days, when I first caught a sniff of Melinda's perfume, I knew she would one day be my girlfriend. And then break up with me later that day—trust me, I know my luck by now. Doesn't mean I give up on love. I fell for Melinda hard, right off the top of the roller coaster, and she was the only one who came to see if I was alright. When she had safely removed all the money and metallic items from my pockets, she called for an ambulance. But I got up and skipped out before that, I ain't paying for no ride when you can sneak into a tire well and ride free. Before I left, though, I let Melinda know I was keen on her with an obscene gesture, and told her I'd be around the fair—I had no place to live, so I had to keep walking so as not to get busted.
Fate intervened later because I was picking up shells at the fair's shooting range (not much pay, but it tightens your reflexes for being shot at) I saw her fighting with her boyfriend two stands down, at the ring toss. I took a break and decided to hang close by, hoping I could nuzzle up close to her and leave my scent—my flirting skills ain't all that, maybe, but you always can tell when I like a woman. Then she surprised me, because she grabbed me by the head and gave me a big kiss. It was a shock, believe you me. I'll always remember what she said—"If you're not serious about setting a date, then maybe I'll just marry any retard that comes along!" It cracked me up. I love it when someone says "retard."
But it was not to be. Her boyfriend apologized immediately and they went out to get shitfaced, at least that's what I overheard. Still, I'll always have the memories. And her purse. She didn't notice that. I didn't want the money, of course, just the souvenir of my fiery Parisian romance. At least I think it was Paris. It could have been Austin. All Texas looks alike after awhile.
Valentine's Day rules. One of these days I'm going to spend it with someone who willingly spends it with me. º Last Column: Rebirthedº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I have not yet begun to fight! When I have begun, it will look quite different. Fists will be flying about, and you will hear a high-pitched whistling sort of sound that will actually be a scream. In fact—I'll make a little hand gesture to let you know. When you see that, that will let you know I'm fighting.”
-John Paul Jones RingoFortune 500 CookieLove is a relative term, but even that nugget won't save your ass if you pork your cousin. Stay away from salty snacks this week, even if it means tunneling underground. Try wearing your watch on the other arm—maybe that's your problem. This week's lucky names: Alexia. Ephyn. Scatman. Toolio.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Shit for Brains: The United Negro College Fund's Worst Fundraiser Ever | | 2. | Classic Rock, or Beethoven's 10th Symphony, "Stairway to Heaven" | | 3. | Flattering "Big Dick" Bosco | | 4. | We Can Win a War on Terrorism and Other Favorite Folk Tales | | 5. | Butter or Margarine: America's Favorite Sweat Smell | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 4/28/2003 Leave it to Hollywood, just when you think nothing good is coming out, all of a sudden nothing good really doesn't come out. Hopefully you can find a beach ball or some dirty playing cards or something to keep you busy while you're in the theater because trust me, you won't be there for the movies. Let's take a look under the hood.
In Theaters
Anger Management
Is there any specific reason they give Adam Sandler a different name for every movie he's in? It must have something to do with keeping the writers happy, like they'd feel too constrained if they had to just give up the ghost and call his "character" Adam Sandler every time. It certainly doesn't help Sandler's fans, who are constantly...
Leave it to Hollywood, just when you think nothing good is coming out, all of a sudden nothing good really doesn't come out. Hopefully you can find a beach ball or some dirty playing cards or something to keep you busy while you're in the theater because trust me, you won't be there for the movies. Let's take a look under the hood.
In Theaters
Anger Management
Is there any specific reason they give Adam Sandler a different name for every movie he's in? It must have something to do with keeping the writers happy, like they'd feel too constrained if they had to just give up the ghost and call his "character" Adam Sandler every time. It certainly doesn't help Sandler's fans, who are constantly turning to each other during his movies and having conversations like:
"Wait a minute, why do they keep calling Adam Sandler 'Barry'?"
"I don't know dude, watch and find out."
This latest flick is more of the same, though Sandler may have finally met his match in always-acting-the-same virtuoso Jack Nicholson. Strangely enough, Nicholson's character in the film isn't named Jack either, so I guess he's still harboring the same delusions after all these years.
Thankfully Jack at least provides us visual clues so we know we're not watching Sophie's Choice, because in this movie he wears a different hat. I think more actors should try this; George Clooney could really expand his range if he'd put on a sombrero every once in a while.
As for the film itself, it's your standard "boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy leaves giant dildo formed out of cheetos on girl's doorstep at night" picture, spiced up by a little rhyming dialogue. You could do worse, especially if you think Jamie Kennedy is funny.
Bulletproof Monkey
Looks like that voodoo priestess I paid to keep Sean William Scott out of any more movies has failed me yet again. Here he plays the annoying little monkey of the title, who steals Chow Yun-Fat's Asian accent, making it tough for him to find work in any half-assed knockoffs of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The resulting film is sort of like a cross between Kangaroo Jack and having your girlfriend leave you for Bob Denver. It's better than Iron Monkey, the Beastie Boys' Brass Monkey and Pauley Shore's Ass Monkey, but that's kind of like saying getting kicked in the face is better than getting kicked in the taint.
Holes
Though they have probably the worst name ever for a teenage girl group (despite stiff competition from B*Witched and Gynotopia), Holes have always charmed with their angst-free songs about being young and spoiled. Was that enough to justify a feature-length film? Of course not, but nobody really believed the caning of the Spice Girls in Singapore was really going to be the deterrent that kept some soulless hack trying to pull this crap again. The supporting cast of John "Must've Had Sex with Some Kind of Goddess to Produce Angelina Jolie" Voight and Segourney "No Matter How You Spell My Name It Still Doesn't Look Right" Weaver keep the proceedings mildly respectable while Holes travels around the world trying to discover why some people are ugly. If this movie were a beverage, it would be a can full of air, but it's not like the target audience has ever heard of thinking.
House of 1000 Islands
Rob Zombie's obviously a big fan of salad dressing, and it shows in this reverent homage to many of the masters of the medium. Throughout the film you'll see people eating salads with blue cheese, Italian vinaigrette, honey mustard, all the big names. There's kind of a tacked-on horror angle to the picture where the guy running the restaurant is really making the dressing out of kidnapped cheerleaders and surplus members of boy bands, but I wouldn't get too wrapped up in that side of the film. If you like watching people eat salad, you'll like this movie.
Identity
Look, unless David Lynch in involved, I just don't accept "the Hamburgler did it" as the resolution to any film. Sorry. I was willing to let the film try again to get it right, but it just ended instead, so piss on this movie. Yeah, sure, I'll stare at John Cusack for two hours, because I'm in a good mood and I already bought a soda. I'll even buy Ray Liotta in a role where he doesn't have a coke problem, sure. But the whole strangers in a room/lights go out/a woman screams/lights go up and--somebody fucked the cat!--angle is just tired. Been done too many times, and it was done better the last time I played Clue. They should have blamed it all on the ghost of Abraham Lincoln. Nobody ever sees that one coming.
And that's all we've go to report as of right now. Word on the street is that there are several more crappy movies in production as… we… speak… so we'll have the latest on those as soon as they crap themselves into the theater. If you're like me, you hope to develop a drinking problem before then, to ease the pain. Best of luck to both of us. Bottoms up America!    |
