| Loves That Woman ';
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$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
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$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
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$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
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$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
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Paparazzi Buried With Anna Nicole SmithMarch 5, 2007 |
Nassau, Bahamas Junior Bacon A slightly more lively Anna Nicole Smith in the days before her demise, followed by her disciples and their primitive image-capturing devices.
"I’ve got a feeling this story is only going to get bigger after this," said photographer Ray Snable, still clicking away on his camera with fresh photos of the body as pallbearers nailed a large ...
merica’s trailer park inhabitants mourned between talk shows and soap operas Saturday as the world’s public-access Marilyn Monroe was buried in the Bahamas. The modest celebrity and super-tabloid magnet was finally laid to rest after a month of court battles and life-draining media coverage following her February 8 death from over-exposure. Laid next to her son following his September 2006 death from a drug overdose, Smith’s burial was most notable for a judge’s order that allowed several members of the tabloid media and freelance photographers to be interred with the body.
"I’ve got a feeling this story is only going to get bigger after this," said photographer Ray Snable, still clicking away on his camera with fresh photos of the body as pallbearers nailed a large lid on the 125-man coffin containing the deceased starlet and her new entourage.
"The unusual burial situation came about from an order handed down by vaudeville’s own Judge Larry Seidlin when he released the Smith body and its bosom baggage for a burial in the sunny Bahamas. Judge Seidlin decreed that "America has a vested interest in following the continuing drama of the Anna Nicole Smith story."
"Now more than ever," said Broadway Seidlin, "as the country faces one tumor of dull-ass presidential election coverage and weak competition on American Idol, the people want and need the security of a sassy, beautiful corpse of no particular claim to fame and her everyday trials. Reruns are simply not enough."
The court ruling allowed 124 members of the medias, including freelance photographers, to join the Smith remains in their underground adventure with a specified promise of keeping the public up to date on how the story continued to unfold. Will Smith learn to cope with the loss of her son? Will she tell the real identity of her baby’s father? Will she continue to live the sedentary lifestyle all of America witnessed on her too-short-lived The Anna Nicole Show? Judge Seidlin promised just because the body ceased to breathe it doesn’t mean Americans will stop caring about the drama.
After burial of the notably large coffin, the muffled screams of the more timid members of the burial coverage crew were drowned out by the sobbing of people who felt a bizarre kinship with the former Playboy playmate and grave-robbing skeleton widow, as well as the appropriately vacant song stylings of country music superstar Joe Nichols. Slash, of the band Guns ’N’ Roses, was also in attendance, because what else could he have been expected to be doing.
Despite objections from some human rights advocates, Entertainment Tonight segment producer Lynn Hoddbody argued those reporters and photographers buried alive with the corpse of the peroxide blonde model were the lucky ones.
"This is probably the single most important media event of the century, and I can say without fear of contradiction Anna Nicole Smith will be the most tragic figure in history," Hoddbody said. "Who wouldn’t gladly sacrifice themselves to be there when O.J. Simpson slashed the shit out of his wife and that guy, to witness that world-shaking event in progress and have a slim chance of telling us just what happened? In this case, we can all truly say we should envy the dead."
Which begs the question—first O.J., now Anna Nicole: Is there a curse on all the stars of The Naked Gun 33 1/3: The Final Insult? Will George Kennedy survive? the commune news would have bet dollars to donuts Carmen Electra’s wild Dennis Rodman-marrying ways would have laid her low long before Anna Nicole Smith. Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown has been cashing in all his ghost junk bonds for a phantom fortune, hoping to woo the newly dead Anna Nicole spirit away from that nutso Howard Hughes.
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Newsweek Slammed for Not Using That One Picture of Michele Bachmann Where She Doesn't Look Crazy
Less attractive woman kicked out of bed for eating crackers
Italian journalist rescued by elite force of plumbers wielding hammers
Arafat sharing room with whining methadone patient
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Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80 he world sighed a mournful “Oh” upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.
The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nation’s capitol. Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title. Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs’ takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact. “Willie gave it a hell of an effort,” praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. “Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadn’t come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game.” Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay |
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 July 21, 1999
10-10-SELLOUTI'm thinking about getting into the stand-up comedy business. I don't consider myself to be all that funny really... well maybe wearing a fruit-covered headdress and some canastas to the premiere of "Lambada: The Forbidden Dance" was pretty funny, but more on point I don't have a serious interest in stand-up comedy. But it does seem to be the lucritive pathway to success as a celebrity endorser of phone company services. Which is my real dream, when you get down to brass tacks that look like they're gold until you get down and really look at them close. I want to be the guy on television who's telling you to press a bunch of numbers on your phone so you'll save big. I don't care what the numbers are, you can make them up if you want. Go ahead. I'm not claiming to be an artist here. I just want to tell people what to do.
I'm sure you're asking yourself right now, "Well Omar, if they've already got George Carlin, what in the world do they need you for?". Good question. It seems to me I'll have to carve my own niche. Surely there's other phone company services that need advertising. I think I'll be the guy who tells you that if you pick up the phone and you don't get a dial tone, press the hang-up switch a bunch of times fast. The next step is to hit the receiver on the outside of the phone booth. See? I know this stuff. I watch movies.
I think I can make a career out of this, maybe even spin it off into a sitcom. Like what about those times you pick...
º Last Column: Porno Broke My VCR
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I'm thinking about getting into the stand-up comedy business. I don't consider myself to be all that funny really... well maybe wearing a fruit-covered headdress and some canastas to the premiere of "Lambada: The Forbidden Dance" was pretty funny, but more on point I don't have a serious interest in stand-up comedy. But it does seem to be the lucritive pathway to success as a celebrity endorser of phone company services. Which is my real dream, when you get down to brass tacks that look like they're gold until you get down and really look at them close. I want to be the guy on television who's telling you to press a bunch of numbers on your phone so you'll save big. I don't care what the numbers are, you can make them up if you want. Go ahead. I'm not claiming to be an artist here. I just want to tell people what to do.
I'm sure you're asking yourself right now, "Well Omar, if they've already got George Carlin, what in the world do they need you for?". Good question. It seems to me I'll have to carve my own niche. Surely there's other phone company services that need advertising. I think I'll be the guy who tells you that if you pick up the phone and you don't get a dial tone, press the hang-up switch a bunch of times fast. The next step is to hit the receiver on the outside of the phone booth. See? I know this stuff. I watch movies.
I think I can make a career out of this, maybe even spin it off into a sitcom. Like what about those times you pick up the phone and there's somebody already on the line, WHEN IT NEVER EVEN RANG? Isn't that freaky? How do they do that? I think we could do a whole season on that. I'm thinking about having Don Ameche as my sidekick. I've always thought he was serious sidekick material.
Besides, the industry has already done too many adds on calling collect. It's tired, so formula. The people want something fresh. I think we could go high-tech... like a series of spots on phone taps. They're more common than you think. Sometimes I'm talking on the phone and I'll hear it in the backgroud, just this clicking sound. Click click. Who's tapping my phone? I'm not saying I'm any kind of expert on phone taps here, but if they were going to make a sound, I think that would be it. Click click. Tap tap. Y'know? We could do an animated spot with Barney Rubble as my straight man. Like in those old commercials you used to see. "BARNEY! You wiretapped my phone!". And then I could chase him around in a costume or something. I think that would make people want to call more long distance.
That gets me to thinking about commercials in general. Why is it that you never see the people you trust endorsing products? When's the last time Chris Rock called anybody collect? I don't think so. We need more credible sources, the people want to know. Like what does President Clinton take when he gets Herpies Symplex B? That's a hell of an endorsement. What does Kenny Rogers know about chicken? I want to eat at Domingo Pavoratti's Roasters. That tub looks like he knows his chicken. Jerry Seinfeld for American Express? What does he care if it has a high annual rate? He's probably just tired of getting papercuts from handling so much cash. Put Kato Kaelin up there on the screen. Put his hide-a-bed sleepin' mug on an American Express card and I'll think about it.
Until next time, I'm Omar Bricks. º Last Column: Porno Broke My VCRº more columns
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|  February 18, 2002
I Fear the Olsen Twins Are Space PilgrimsI do not wish to set a precedent for presenting unfounded conspiracy theories to the American public. I have stringent guidelines for material I accept and in turn present to you, and if I have no evidence I deem concrete, say pictures, documents, or someone has mentioned it to me at a night club, I file it away upstairs (in the attic) until something solid presents itself. However, my fears cannot stay quieted. I have begun to theorize the Olsen Twins are space pilgrims.
The cuddly Olsen Twins from ABC's Full House and countless straight-to-video productions? The same, conspiracy buffs.
The wide-eyed, thin-smiled pre-pubescent clones may seem innocent enough, especially to the young or retarded. But the more innocent the doily the more insidious the teapot lurking underneath, or so my mad grandmother used to say.
It is my theory that the Olsen Twins in fact started out as one baby, born to an American woman impregnated with alien DNA during an abduction—this is not news, of course, the whole alien abduction/impregnated with alien DNA is so old school conspiracy theory it's fairly boring. The interesting aspect here, and I've been looking into this, is that the baby quickly acclimated superhuman intelligence and formed a scheme with its mother where she profits from its salary while the alien baby infiltrated American consciousness at its most cultish level—television. Of course, the trend is to hire twins to play one...
º Last Column: Chuck E. Cheese is Using Child Labor to Cook Pizza
º more columns
I do not wish to set a precedent for presenting unfounded conspiracy theories to the American public. I have stringent guidelines for material I accept and in turn present to you, and if I have no evidence I deem concrete, say pictures, documents, or someone has mentioned it to me at a night club, I file it away upstairs (in the attic) until something solid presents itself. However, my fears cannot stay quieted. I have begun to theorize the Olsen Twins are space pilgrims.
The cuddly Olsen Twins from ABC's Full House and countless straight-to-video productions? The same, conspiracy buffs.
The wide-eyed, thin-smiled pre-pubescent clones may seem innocent enough, especially to the young or retarded. But the more innocent the doily the more insidious the teapot lurking underneath, or so my mad grandmother used to say.
It is my theory that the Olsen Twins in fact started out as one baby, born to an American woman impregnated with alien DNA during an abduction—this is not news, of course, the whole alien abduction/impregnated with alien DNA is so old school conspiracy theory it's fairly boring. The interesting aspect here, and I've been looking into this, is that the baby quickly acclimated superhuman intelligence and formed a scheme with its mother where she profits from its salary while the alien baby infiltrated American consciousness at its most cultish level—television. Of course, the trend is to hire twins to play one character on television, mostly for children but this also works well for any show starring Pamela Anderson. At that point the baby split itself into two separate beings, which explains why no one can tell them apart.
The story from there is an easy and predictable one. Aliens grow up, aliens work inhuman hours producing sub-par CDs, movies, and dolls. Aliens develop a loyal following of kids too young to comprehend the danger they pose.
I label this "phase one." It only gets worse from here.
I will gather evidence and shatter the blockade that holds the conspiracy in. I have nothing to go on right now but sheer gusto and a distrust of the creepy aliens, but I've had feelings like this before and trusted them, the most notable when I uncovered the downfall of laserdiscs.
What's next on the agenda of these twisted aliens, if unhindered? Colonization, that's what. Duh, that's always what aliens come to other planets for. In fact, I would say as soon as the hideous space pilgrims achieve a higher popularity they will initiate "phase two." The only thing that has delayed phase two thus far is poor production values and flimsy plotlines.
"Phase two" will find the alien organic matter splitting and multiplying once again, this time into millions if not thousands, or billions, and might take up to three months. But by the time we have realized the abuse of nature going on, we will be trapped in the claw of alien pilgrims.
Then begins "phase three," which is kind of iffy, I'm not really sure which way that could go. They'll surely suck our planet dry of resources, that's a given. Whether it's slave labor or food for us I'm not sure, I'm sort of hopeful for the food angle, at least you assume it'll be quicker. But there's no real way to tell until phase two starts rolling. It's even possible alien technology has a way of turning carbon-based lifeforms into fuel for their space craft, that would be awesome.
Which is to say, I hope it doesn't get that far. But we must be wary. This battle is far from over. It hasn't even yet begun. Most people don't even believe there's a battle. I'll have to look into it more. º Last Column: Chuck E. Cheese is Using Child Labor to Cook Pizzaº more columns
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Quote of the Day“No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the people; except, of course, for those people who keep giving Tony Danza a TV series.”
-H.M. LincolnFortune 500 CookieOur deepest condolences for your loss—but cheer up, there will be another Powerball lottery before you know it. Taco Bell wasn't fucking with you about that protection money, as you'll find out this week. You were right: you should have weighted that body down better. Lucky feathers this week: Condor, goose, anything Elton John wore in the '70s.
Try again later.Top Worst Opening Lines to Novels| 1. | It was the best of times, no question about it. | | 2. | Call me Crenshaw, Ishmael's brother. | | 3. | I had been up for three days doing coke, paranoid they were going to catch me after I sunk the company with my idiotic business practices; then, my fa | | 4. | I have only eaten three people in my life—this is that story. | | 5. | So I said to my friend Charlie, "Hey, I'm going to write a novel where nothing at all happens," so welcome to it. | |
|   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!    |
