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 September 12, 2005 |
New Orleans, LA Junior Bacon Actor Sean Penn bravely rescues himself from the New Orleans disaster
“We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.”
The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaki...
isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: We’re serious; you really need to leave now.
“We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.”
The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans’ stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation.
“We had this one crazy old lady who wouldn’t leave without her million cats, so we had to drown all her cats in the back yard,” anecdotalized Pvt. Jeremy Pankin, animal lover. “I mean, that is, all her cats drown in the back yard. Yeah.”
According to officials, 95% of the people now remaining in New Orleans qualify as celebrities, with the jury still out on John Stamos and a few others. Most are reportedly taking turns rescuing each other from various perilous locations around the sunken city.
“Thassa haw nyaom flawn dawg,” drawled local plumber Cornell Hughes, possibly speaking about the celebrity situation in New Orleans. “Shaw golla farn myaw.”
Oscar-winning actor Sean Penn, 45, has drawn the most attention after arriving last week with his entourage in a boat that immediately sank, despite frantic efforts at beer-cup bailing. Reports are unclear as to whether Penn was here to help the locals, or if he was rehearsing for his role in an upcoming Woody Allen comedy.
“When you see people in trouble on TV, as a celebrity you can’t just stand idly by,” explained singer Harry Connick Jr., who like every other jazz musician, claims to be from New Orleans. “That’s why I’ve been here for the last few days, walking around and telling people I’m Harry Connick Jr.”
Other celebrities either rescued or ejected from the city by the National Guard this week include Fab Morvan, formerly of Milli Vanilli, rapper Flavor Flav, the Dixie Chicks, Leonard Nimoy, radio personality Dr. Phil, the Oak Ridge Boys, Paul Reubens, Sista Souljah, writer Stephen King, the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir, tennis pro Ivan Lendl, Sting, actor Mickey Rourke, and three members of the alt-fluff quartet the Cardigans.
R&B singer Macy Gray wisely decided to give the highly toxic and in all likelihood instantly carcinogenic city a wide berth, instead volunteering to hand out t-shirts and condoms to refugees at the Astrodome in Houston.
“You kiddin’ me?” questioned Gray when asked about her decision. “That place is like the Chernobyl Water Park. I wouldn’t even drive past that state with the windows down. I already got curly hair, you know?”
Meanwhile, Fox crews have been on hand in New Orleans all week to film a new reality show based on the celebrities’ and locals’ exciting efforts to sneak back into the watery grave that used to be their city. According to network officials, I Forgot Something! will premiere on Fox later this fall. The commune news has never been one to back down from a fight or heed good advice, which is why we intend to keep commune reporter Ivan Nacutchacokov in New Orleans for as long as Ivanly possible, no matter the cost. To him, that is, it’s not costing us anything. That reminds us, we’re not sending any more money for “expenses,” Ivan. It’s about time you learned to loot like a big boy.
 |  September 12, 2005 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee A refugee, or reporter undercover, trolls the abandoned streets outside the Superdome, bearing witness to the potentially career-devastating damage in New Orleans.
Damage to the agency's character hasn't been fully assessed, but early estimates predict anywhere from one to five careers may be permanently injured or even extinguished. Early signs of the disaster's effects came when the White House reversed its original "FEMA good" ...
EMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, proved itself unprepared for the post-hurricane situation in Louisiana, and now will have to prepare itself for an even more deadly assault on its reputation. The publicity disaster follows reports in The Washington Post and other media outlets that FEMA fem and director Michael Brown may be less than qualified for the position he holds. Federal agency historians are describing it as possibly the worst media-related catastrophe to ever strike the organization. Damage to the agency's character hasn't been fully assessed, but early estimates predict anywhere from one to five careers may be permanently injured or even extinguished. Early signs of the disaster's effects came when the White House reversed its original "FEMA good" public statements for the more critical "FEMA can do better" statements of recent days. The fallout comes from public outrage over the slowness and inefficiency of relief efforts in the wake of the hurricane Katrina disaster and the extent of destruction from floods in the Louisiana area. As the outcry increased, media outlets investigating FEMA Director Michael Brown uncovered sources who say the director may have misrepresented his qualifications or been misrepresented by people in the administration. Some are accusing the administration and Brown's supporters of making him the director because of his work on the Bush campaign, rather than his experience with disaster relief—not that the Bush campaign was unofficially a disaster, but such a designation doesn't put it on par with the flooding of New Orleans. Last week, the president commended the FEMA director with a resounding and dignified, "Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job." Quite a contrast to the administration's more recent admission the relief efforts were going abysmally slow, and Thursday's remark by the president, "Brownie, get your shit together. Quit dragging ass and get 'r' done or we're gonna shitcan you." But some are asking, given the degree to which Brown's resume may have been misrepresented, if the FEMA director shouldn't be shitcanned already. With the poor relief efforts attracting media attention and adding lead to the president's always-precarious approval rating, Brown was removed from his on-site duties in the relief efforts. Such an action may precipitate Brown's stepping down from his position to make way for some other Bush crony with slightly more experience. Reports surfaced this week that 5 of 8 top FEMA officials, including Brown, had little or no previous disaster relief experience, and at least 3 played vital roles in the Bush 2000 election campaign. Director Brown himself cited only one disaster-related job, allegedly overseeing disaster relief efforts in Edmond, Oklahoma, but sources now say the job was closer to "administrative assistant" or "intern," or in the common parlance, "little bitch" to the real boss. If Brown is asked to stepped down from his role at FEMA, some are already anticipating a quick appointment by the president for his old supporter. Insiders at the White House are talking about the possibility of a Federal Emergency Public Relations Agency (the less-interesting acronym FEPRA), who will need someone to run it with the kind of publicity disaster experience only this most recent crisis can provide. the commune news has successfully limited its own disaster experience to weasel infestations, monkey invasions, and bad hair days. Correspondent Raoul Dunkin is flooded with sarcasm, but that's not quite the disaster we had in mind.
|  R.C. Car Enthusiasts Angered by Latest Mars Mission Snub  Aides Urge Bush to Stop Referring to Iraqi Majority as "Shits"  Cheney Vows to Stay Course: Will Shoot Hunting Partner Again  Sheryl Crow Takes Cancer in Lance Armstrong Split |
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 January 16, 2006 Eat Shit, New Year'sNew Year's: the holiday, the spectacle, and the brand of adult diapers, can all kiss Omar Bricks' cherry red ass. That's not a threat—it's a promise. Actually, come to think of it, it's an invitation, but that doesn't sound nearly as menacing. But call it whatever you will, the word is out that Omar Bricks wants all things New Year's to choke hard on a turd, now and forever.
Before you start assuming that Omar Bricks is just jumping on the recently fashionable "New Year's Eats Old Pussy" bandwagon, check the record. I've never been a fan of the holiday, and I stand behind my record dating back to the third grade, when thanks to poor legal advice I stayed up all night on New Year's Eve in a confused attempt to see if Santa Claus was real, and instead got the drop on so many dru...
º Last Column: The Red Badge of Adulthood
º more columns
New Year's: the holiday, the spectacle, and the brand of adult diapers, can all kiss Omar Bricks' cherry red ass. That's not a threat—it's a promise. Actually, come to think of it, it's an invitation, but that doesn't sound nearly as menacing. But call it whatever you will, the word is out that Omar Bricks wants all things New Year's to choke hard on a turd, now and forever. Before you start assuming that Omar Bricks is just jumping on the recently fashionable "New Year's Eats Old Pussy" bandwagon, check the record. I've never been a fan of the holiday, and I stand behind my record dating back to the third grade, when thanks to poor legal advice I stayed up all night on New Year's Eve in a confused attempt to see if Santa Claus was real, and instead got the drop on so many drunks in bulge-ridden leisure suits that to this day I still involuntarily beat children whenever I smell polyester. I've only had one good New Year's ever, and that was the year I forgot it was New Year's and spent the night locked in a canning plant, getting sick on mangoes. This year had its own flavor of suck since I was under the mistaken legal impression that the statute of limitations for all 2005 crimes runs out at midnight on December 31st, so I'd spent the whole night running around and settling scores, dealing out hasty justice like my immune ass was about to turn into a pumpkin. I also set free all the dogs in the neighborhood, mainly because I've always wanted to see a shitload of dogs running together like in the old Chuck Wagon commercials. I had to rush and do a half-ass job of setting a parade float on fire just to get home in time to watch the Times Square countdown, a yearly tradition for lazy, television-watching sons of bitches everywhere. Now, no one needs a call from CNN to catch the breaking news that New Year's television sucks big wet titty. Any time they schedule over two hours of air time for a ten-second event, you know there's going to be more crappy filler than a case of Winky's, those off-brand Twinkie knock-offs Foghat always wants every year for Christmas. About four seconds after the ball drops, they unleash an endless cavalcade of morons strategically positioned around Times Square, standing around saying shit like "There sure are a lot of people here… yep…" I haven't seen that many uncomfortable silences on TV since they gave that narcoleptic Chevy Chase his own late-night show. After the depressing spectacle of listening to Dick Clark drunk his way through the ball-dropping countdown, I was in heavy need to distraction, so I went quick to the pantry for the case of Safeway beer I'd been saving all year for the occasion. Two minutes after the drop was over, Dick was still on stuck on twenty-seven, and I was really glad I'd saved the beer. It was a sad, sad state of affairs, ladies and gentlemen, and I spilled an entire case of beer on the couch. Some would say that's what I get for opening all the cans at once, but you save time your way, I'll save it mine. I just wish I'd noticed that the beer was spilling sooner, since the couch swelled up so much it pitched me onto Foghat's loveseat, and I accidentally touched way more dog underbelly than I care to admit. Now Foghat won't even look me in the eye, which makes going to his room to use the Super Nintendo especially uncomfortable. That's right about when the neighborhood mob showed up to get their mailboxes back, which I'd been driving around collecting all night so I could open up my own Mailboxes ETC and hook up some sweet business tax breaks for 2006. I had to take a break from juicing my couch to talk the mob out of setting my neighbor Hamms on fire, because he had about 400 mailboxes lined up in his front yard like some kind of surreal drive-in theater (I didn't want to fuck up my grass). It all ended okay though, since I was able to convince the mob that the mailbox caper was exactly the kind of thing my other neighbor Mitch would do, and he wasn't home, so I had everybody over to my place to help suck the beer out of my couch. Which may sound like a great time, yeah, but actually it was kind of weird. So screw New Year's. Bricks out. º Last Column: The Red Badge of Adulthoodº more columns | 
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Milestones1999: Rok Finger's highly offensive rendition of "White Christmas" marks the end of the commune's yearly Christmas parties, and the birth of the Parents Against Rok Finger Coalition (PARF).Now HiringRubik. Crazy puzzle-making hermit needed to devise a way to keep staff out of Red Bagel's mini-fridge. Knowledge of trap doors and spinning blades a plus.Top Amish Profanities| 1. | God look upon that hammer with a distainful eye! | | 2. | Shnnniiggrrleeeppf! | | 3. | I wouldn't mind raising 35 slightly inbred children with that woman. | | 4. | May your beard itch. | | 5. | Cock-Fucking Bitch of a Basket! | |
|   Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band BY roland mcshyster 11/28/2005 Gutentang, Americana. Everybody’s favorite Roland McShyster is here, wheeling and dealing out the movie reviews like you so lustily desire. We’re going to try something new this week: brushing our teeth with dish soap. Though I guess that "we" really depends on whether or not you’re one of the people who had that same idea this week. If so, good luck! I hear it gets a lot better after you get your gag reflex under control. Me, personally, I’m starting to think I picked a lousy week to start brushing my teeth.
Get Rick or Die Tryin’
Run, leap, and ass-scoot your way to the theater now while you can still catch this harrowing inner-city tale of rapper 50-Cents (played by rapper Eminem in stunning blackface) trying to pick up his brother Rick from th...
Gutentang, Americana. Everybody’s favorite Roland McShyster is here, wheeling and dealing out the movie reviews like you so lustily desire. We’re going to try something new this week: brushing our teeth with dish soap. Though I guess that "we" really depends on whether or not you’re one of the people who had that same idea this week. If so, good luck! I hear it gets a lot better after you get your gag reflex under control. Me, personally, I’m starting to think I picked a lousy week to start brushing my teeth.
Get Rick or Die Tryin’
Run, leap, and ass-scoot your way to the theater now while you can still catch this harrowing inner-city tale of rapper 50-Cents (played by rapper Eminem in stunning blackface) trying to pick up his brother Rick from the mall but there’s no parking. Auntie Em’s (an excellent nickname I’ve just now coined) refreshingly acting-free performance gives the film its central nuts, but the true star is that mall parking lot, which is really big and really, really full of cars. I don’t know if they had to use the CGI team from Antz in Pantz or if they just filmed all of Southern California from space, but they definitely got a lot of cars into that lot. Look for the next ride at Universal Studios to play off this thrill-monster, with two gripping hours of the dude driving around, trying to find a place to park the tram.
Jarhead
Leave it to George Lucas to fuck us all in the ass. Sorry, I’ve just always wanted to start a movie review with that sentence. But this time it really applies, as Lucas has finally shat the inevitable and dreaded Jar-Jar Binks spin-off movie into our laps, allowing the big G to remain safely ensconced within his Star Wars universe for the foreseeable future. Get ready to hate the next several spin-offs in the works, including "Han’s Having a Baby," "Wedge Anilles’ Last Stand," "Jabba Gets a Job," and "Droid Annoyed" scheduled every four years from now until the merciful end of the world.
Legend of Gonzo
At first I thought Antonio Banderas was a questionable answer to the question of "Who should play Gonzo, Antonio Bandearas or what?" But then I saw the original Mask of Gonzo. That movie was so long that I forgot the question for nearly three years, and by then I had forgotten the movie so I wasn’t at all sure if Banderas had done a good Gonzo job or not and I didn’t much care because I had discovered Dippin’ Dots, this space age super-frozen ice cream that you can only get at the mall or the place where they froze Walt Disney’s head. Now I have to ask the question again, because I’m sure there are a lot of great actors out there with huge noses and/or purple felt skin who would have been naturals for the role. Not that Banderas did a bad job, he just did a terrible job. My wait for a great Gonzo movie continues.
Shopgirl
You’ve got to admit, Steve Martin took a huge risk in directing a movie spin-off of Tool Time from Home Improvement and in casting Claire Danes as the bimbo. It could have turned out to be a giant disaster, and it did. Sadly for all involved in the watching, Martin’s leap of faith sailed just five inches to the left of genius, where it landed squarely in regrettable. Merely starting over completely from scratch could have made all the difference, though, so keep your eyes out for Martin’s next harebrained idea: it could be a winner.
The Whether Man
Nicholas "Pileggi" Cage is greatific in this, the finest movie that will ever be made about a guy who can’t make up his mind about anything. I know that’s a big statement, encompassing all future events in the existence of mankind and all, but I’m that confident no one is reading this column. Cage employs both of his acting modes "SURPRISED" and "BEFUDDLED" in this role, which should earn him either an Oscar or a Husker, the customary award for going both ways. As for the film itself, the plot wasn’t so memorable that I retained it in my brain in any way, but every time the sky was shown in this movie, it was uniformly blue and beautiful, which is more than I can say about any film made before 1930.
So that’s the agony and the ecstasy, America, but excuse me if I sound a bitter bit when I say the X ran out long before it got down to my row. Here’s hoping you’re doing the high life, not doing life high, and until next week and maybe even then, I’m Roland McShyster.   |
