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Monkeypox Great Name for a Movie, Say Health Officials Health officials looking forward to gripping sick-rodent thriller June 23, 2003 |
Madison, WI Big Book o' Rats, Random House A Gambian pouch rat, the perfect gift for your least-favorite child
“I’d expect it to be in theaters by late this summer, if some TV movie doesn’t snatch up the name first,” explained CDC head Sumner Alimony. “Actually, it would have been perfect for that Outbreak movie with Kevin Spacey and those sick monkeys a few years back, too bad they can’t go back in time and rename that one. True, we’re mainly dealing with sick prairie dogs right now, but monkeys are way more marketable, plus then you don’t have to explain why your sick prairie dog movie is called Mon...
onkeypox, the African virus spreading through the Midwestern U.S. by way of human contact with infected pet prairie dogs, would make a bitchin’ name for a new movie, announced health officials today when asked if there were any new developments in the outbreak. “I’d expect it to be in theaters by late this summer, if some TV movie doesn’t snatch up the name first,” explained CDC head Sumner Alimony. “Actually, it would have been perfect for that Outbreak movie with Kevin Spacey and those sick monkeys a few years back, too bad they can’t go back in time and rename that one. True, we’re mainly dealing with sick prairie dogs right now, but monkeys are way more marketable, plus then you don’t have to explain why your sick prairie dog movie is called Monkeypox. People would probably think Prairiedogpox was a foreign film or something boring like that. And prairie dogs aren’t really monkey-level scary, unless you get the camera really super close to their faces.” Twelve human cases of monkeypox have been reported nationwide so far, with 53 more pending testing: 25 in Indiana, 17 in Wisconsin and 11 in Illinois. One additional case was suspected in New Jersey, but turned out to be a false alarm after a Papa John’s pizza delivery driver called in sick with the complaint that “Dude, I’m sick as shit. I got Monkeyballs.” According to the Centers for Disease Control, the driver later turned out to have a combination of a hangover and athlete’s foot unrelated to the exotic pet scare. Undisclosed federal rat-disease-tracing techniques have sourced the outbreak back to infected prairie dogs sold by Phil's Pocket Pets of Villa Park, Illinois, a small exotic pets dealer who has been inundated with faxed Polaroids of infected genital lesions marked with messages like “Thanks a lot, asshole,” ever since the outbreak began. According to Phil of pocket pet fame, the prairie dogs were infected by a Gambian giant rat, also known as a Gambian pouch rat, also known as an African Holy Shit rat, also known as a What the Cock is That Under the Sink rat. The outbreak has renewed debate over lax restrictions governing the importation of exotic pets in recent years, and onto which of the lowest social rungs their owners desperately cling. Besides prairie dogs and numerous varieties of unsavory international rats, owners of other ridiculous exotic pets such as the Polynesian Scum Shrew, the Tasmanian Screaming Hedgehog, the European Couch Mouse and poodles have been fighting for their right to purchase, grow bored with, and then discard trendy non-domesticated animals. New fears have arisen in recent days over monkeypox being transmitted from humans to other humans (as happens daily in Africa and other monkey-fucking cultures) and not just between infected prairie dogs and humans who don’t have the common sense not to stick their finger in a prairie dog’s mouth. “Man, you gotta be sick already to fuck a prairie dog, I don’t care what anybody says,” stated a nearby teenager claiming to speak for the CDC. Government health officials have recommended smallpox shots for all people exposed to the monkeypox virus, thinking that using the vaccine for a similarly-named ailment sounds about as good as anything. Other officials have recommended not sticking your dick in holes in the ground, though it was unclear whether or not they represented the federal government’s official stance on hole-dicking. the commune news once dated a girl who owned a ferret, and there was definitely something wrong with that chick. Ivana Folger-Balzac came back from this assignment unhindered by any bizarre hamster diseases, but the staff is confident that an upcoming story on North Korean nukes will be the end of either her or the North Koreans.
 | Bush Adds Segway Scooters to "Axis of Evil"June 23, 2003 |
Kennebunkport, ME Assad the Unseen President Bush taking a digger that had nothing to do with his “Axising” of the Segway Human Transporter The list has taken on a broader tone in recent months, as the roll call of the president’s “Axis” enemies has been expanded to include the environment, ice cream headaches, the city of Toronto, STDs, gay bikers, ABC’s primetime l...
pon returning from his weekend vacation in Kennebunkport, Maine on Tuesday President Bush announced that the Segway Human Transporter, a motorized scooter popular among newsmagazines and eccentric billionaires, had been added to the “Axis of Evil” over the weekend. The “Axis of Evil,” a list of rogue nations designated by Bush in 2002 for future “liberation back to the stone age,” originally consisted of Iran, North Korea and Iraq. Cuba, Libya and Syria were later added to the list after an underattended Bush birthday celebration in July. The list has taken on a broader tone in recent months, as the roll call of the president’s “Axis” enemies has been expanded to include the environment, ice cream headaches, the city of Toronto, STDs, gay bikers, ABC’s primetime lineup, cold sores, childproof Advil and Blue Oyster Cult. This seemingly neurotic daily expansion of the list has led to the ironic cultural trend of “Axising” disliked pop-culture fads or unpopular coworkers in wiseass circles nationwide. “Britney Spears? She’s so ‘Axis’ right now,” gossiped clubgoer Ryan Barnes. “She’s worse than North Korea, talk about stockpiling weapons of mass deSUCKtion! Ha ha. Oh, and piercing. I’m so fucking sick of piercing.” Much speculation has surrounded the timing of Bush’s “Axising” of the Segway Human Transporter, which took place concurrent with grainy home video footage hitting the Internet that showed Bush falling off a Segway like a big retarded ape last weekend in Maine. While the Bush administration has denied any link between the two events, the public remains skeptical. “Did you see that shit?” gasped college sophomore Dennis Porter. “That was tha bomb, I almost shit when that gimp wanged his nuts on that gay-ass scooter thing! Who does he think he is, Devo?” The Segway Human Transporter was unveiled in December of 2001 after a full year of speculation and claims that Dean Kamen’s mysterious new invention would change the world forever. Once unveiled, the transporter was met with embarrassed silence from an American public that had thought it was going to be a hovercar or android man or something incredible like that. “Thanks to the Segway’s four internal gyroscopes, it’s nearly impossible to fall off of the transporter,” explained inventor Kamen. “We used to just say it was impossible, but then we discovered that if you get a blind guy drunk enough, and have him try to ride it down some stairs, sometimes they can manage. And now, well, the president thing of course.” In his speech, Bush vowed to embargo any possible shipments of Segway scooters destined for North Korea, keeping the dangerous fad toy from falling into the hands of Kim Jong Il’s bizarre regime. The president, however, did not take this opportunity to explain what use the North Koreans would have for an expensive goofy scooter that looks like George Jetson’s lawnmower.
the commune news thought those razor scooters were going to change the way we lived forever, so we’re not about to be fooled twice concerning the revolutionary power of scootering. Lil Duncan has yet to have a president fall off of her mid-ride, but the term is still young.
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 February 16, 2004 Long Live Omar Bricks!Thankfully for you, the eager readers, nobody blew up any giant mammals on the international scene this week and we can finally get down to the nitty gritty dirt band on Omar Bricks' adventures through the afterlife. For those of you interested in the full sensory experience, I'd recommend putting Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" on infinite repeat while you read the column. If you read it at the correct rate of speed I think you'll find things syncing up in some pretty mind-blowing ways. If you're a slow reader or retarded or something, I can't promise it won't make you dizzy or colossally sick, so sync at your own risk here people.
Longtime Bricks fans, or newer fans with the cajones to dig deep into the archives, will no doubt remember back in 2002 when the Bricksmobile went all
º Last Column: Blow Whole
º more columns
Thankfully for you, the eager readers, nobody blew up any giant mammals on the international scene this week and we can finally get down to the nitty gritty dirt band on Omar Bricks' adventures through the afterlife. For those of you interested in the full sensory experience, I'd recommend putting Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" on infinite repeat while you read the column. If you read it at the correct rate of speed I think you'll find things syncing up in some pretty mind-blowing ways. If you're a slow reader or retarded or something, I can't promise it won't make you dizzy or colossally sick, so sync at your own risk here people.
Longtime Bricks fans, or newer fans with the cajones to dig deep into the archives, will no doubt remember back in 2002 when the Bricksmobile went all Casino on me and engulfed half of my neighborhood in flames, blowing yours truly into my neighbor Dale's azaleas. Thanks to the intense charring within the blast radius, some cocky son of a bitch from the fire department decided nobody could have lived through the explosion, and after I loudly agreed the police took that as gospel and Omar Bricks was legally dead. At the time I thought it would just be a funny lark and a cool way to mess with pizza delivery guys, but it turned out to be a real godsend when all my neighbors tried to sue the recently-departed Omar Bricks for fucking up their houses. Wouldn't you know it was their shitty luck that Omar's twin cousin from Cuba who was watching the house indefinitely hadn't inherited any of the vast Bricks fortune.
This was all fine and dandy for months until all my appearance of hard work at the commune finally paid off in the form of a company car, which turned out to be a cop magnet even when Red Bagel wasn't driving it. I hadn't been behind the wheel more than three minutes when a cop pulled me over while I was taking a short cut through the park and told me my license had expired. I guess that's one of the down-sides of being legally dead that they don't tell you about when you're bluffing the fire department. There should be a law, but what are you going to do?
The next day I go down to the DMV to perform the seemingly-simple task of proving I'm still alive so I won't have to walk out in the cold every time I want to go down to the DQ for a scoop. I figured this would be fairly easy, considering that me even showing up at the DMV proves to all but the biggest of idiots that I am, in fact, alive. Being the stand-up supporter of democracy that I am, I decided to make things even easier on the powers that be by standing up on the counter at the DMV, holding up my death certificate, and announcing "Omar Bricks is Dead, Long Live Omar Bricks!" to the huddled masses assembled on the DMV killing floor. Most of the idiots there didn't know what the hell was going on, though one dude did clap for a while. I figured my point had been made, and I was on my way to go home and ring in the new Omar Bricks with a toast of Miller High Life when some closeted DMV dude stopped me at the door and told me I'd have to wait in line like all the others shmoes slouching their way toward the guillotine.
I guess I wasn't the only one there who had been mistaken for dead, though from the looks of most of those guys I should've guessed it. So I wait in line like a peasant, hoping the chick up front will spot me in line, remember me from my column or a police line-up somewhere and wave me away like "Dude, you're obviously alive! Get the fuck out of here!" and I'll be all thumbs-up and ass out the door. Well, any of you who've ever been to the DMV know that kind of magic just doesn't go down, and I was in that line for three fuckin' days. You may think I'm exaggerating that figure somewhat for hilarious effect, but I'm shitting you not, three days. Every time I got out of line to take a piss I was stuck at the back again, if I'd known that was going to be the case I wouldn't have loaded up on Hawaiian Punch and pop rocks on the way over, that shit makes you piss like a Hawaiian grandma or something, every ten minutes like a goddamned glockenspiel.
At some point on day three, weak bladders got the best of all the dorks in front of me in line and I finally won a round of DMV Survivor. I grooved my way up to the counter and laid the smooth on the three-headed DMV beast manning that station, who reached deep into her bag of pain and pulled out some bullshit about how I had to go to the city courthouse and get my death certificate revoked and blah blah blah before I could even talk about getting my license renewed. I briefly considered cracking open a big can of profanity on the whole scene, but a cooler part of my head prevailed and I seamlessly transitioned to Plan B.
You'd be surprised how far a good Scarface accent and a black market birth certificate can get you these days. It was enough to get Omar Bricks' mysterious "Coovan" cousin a driver's license, anyway. So remember Polio fans, if you see me behind the wheel of a car or you're talking to the highway patrol, remember one simple slogan: Omar Bricks is Dead, Long Live Navarro Bricks!
Bricks out. º Last Column: Blow Wholeº more columns | 
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Milestones1975: Bludney Pludd is born. He didn't make a big deal about it at the time and we're certainly not going to change that tradition now.Now HiringKnife-Thrower. Should be capable of agile manipulation of melee weapons for entertaining stage spectacle, including throwing blades at volunteer Bludney Pludd. No references required, but we will insist on counting fingers.Most-Favored Rok Finger Insults| 1. | Your tie is particularly thin | | 2. | Your wife likes having sex | | 3. | Your smell? I didn't want to tell you, but it's not especially pleasing | | 4. | What kind of name is "Gore"? | | 5. | We could be mistaken for twins | |
|   Somebody Accidentally Downloaded Orrin Hatch MP3  BY red bagel 2/2/2004 A Fistful of Tannenbaum Chapter 2: Sierra MistEditor's Note: Yeah, like this has been edited. Last time, The thinly-veiled Bagel character Jed Foster met his old acquaintance of some fashion Hans "Two-Bit" Reilly and made an allusion to a coupon for a free backrub. A gun was involved, some macho slogans, and off they went.
By the beginning of the second chapter, Foster and Reilly had found their way to the Sierra mountain range in whatever country it's in. The climb was rigorous and difficult, for Reilly. Perhaps a little bit for Foster as well, but not so much as for Reilly.
"You've made me remember what I liked so much about kicking back in my palatial estate and receiving fellatio from one of the many twentysomething girls in my employee," said Foster with a huff. "Everything."
"Tha...
Editor's Note: Yeah, like this has been edited. Last time, The thinly-veiled Bagel character Jed Foster met his old acquaintance of some fashion Hans "Two-Bit" Reilly and made an allusion to a coupon for a free backrub. A gun was involved, some macho slogans, and off they went.
By the beginning of the second chapter, Foster and Reilly had found their way to the Sierra mountain range in whatever country it's in. The climb was rigorous and difficult, for Reilly. Perhaps a little bit for Foster as well, but not so much as for Reilly.
"You've made me remember what I liked so much about kicking back in my palatial estate and receiving fellatio from one of the many twentysomething girls in my employee," said Foster with a huff. "Everything."
"That's not the Jed Foster I remember," said Reilly, wearing a smile. The Jed Foster he was thinking of had been a car wash attendant in Ojai, California, a black fellow with a magnificent gold cane and a mustache. But this Jed Foster was who he needed to climb the mountain range—to get to the lockbox.
"I thought I'd seen the last of that lockbox twenty years ago," said Foster, picking up the train of thought from the narrative. "Back then I was a young man. Younger."
"That was when you made the promise to Audreybell, as previously mentioned," said Reilly.
Foster thought of Audreybell in descriptive detail. Her bright, teeth-filled smile. Her magnetic green eyes, the orange-tinted hair hanging about her head in long folds. Those monster titties. Her voice was sweet, like a saw ripping through wood, calling his name with love: "Jed! Jed, dear! Pour that tequila down my throat so I don't have to tilt my head forward. I fear I might vomit again."
Sweet, sassy Audreybell. How he cursed her name and memory, those full lips and scratchy beard stubble. How she had made him promise, on her deathbed, after he accidentally mortally wounded her: "The lockbox, Jed. Don't ever forget the birdcage."
"The what? Birdcage?"
"Sorry. I meant to say lockbox."
And he never had. Forgotten, that is. Or did one time, for a very short time, in 1986 during a fabulous hand of cards, but he remembered right after he lost his shirt. How in the name of all that's holy could a straight flush beat a pair of aces—nothing's higher than aces.
"Jed! Watch out!" screamed Reilly in sheer terror.
Foster barely had time to duck Reilly's swung pick axe.
"Just keeping you on your toes," the son of a bitch said. "There's infinite dangers ahead, so many you can count them on two hands. Don't think they left that lockbox unguarded."
The government's most dangerous men. Twelve of them, each more dangerous than the last, unless they were put in order of height or something. Jed took a deep breath and scaled the final cliff.
"There, we've climbed the highest mountain in the entire range," grumbled Jed. "Whew. One heck of an afternoon."
But he didn't get to complain much longer. For ahead of him, in the distance, was a small cabin. Unoccupied, maybe; booby-trapped, definitely. And home to the lockbox.
Next Chapter: Danger Cabin!   |
