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 May 30, 2005 |
The president, on his way to the graduation at the U.S. Naval Academy, stopped to commend a legion of loyal ice cream men.
"The future of the military will be more streamlined," said the president, gripping the podium in his usual macho fashion, as he addressed the graduating student body. "The war of the future will have different demands on our country. Fewer domestic bases will be required, since the majority of our defense will involve keeping all countries we conqu...
he president outlined a plan for America's military future on Friday, speaking at commencement at the U.S. Naval Academy. Bush used the old "good news/bad news" ploy to reveal the facts: the United States will be reducing the number of military bases on American soil, but the president hopes to counter that loss in military might by establishing bases on foreign soil, including new bases in Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and others.
"The future of the military will be more streamlined," said the president, gripping the podium in his usual macho fashion, as he addressed the graduating student body. "The war of the future will have different demands on our country. Fewer domestic bases will be required, since the majority of our defense will involve keeping all countries we conquer in line."
An aide then whispered something in the president's ear, at which point Bush amended himself: "Did I say conquer? I meant liberate. Lot o' countries left to liberate, that's for sure."
Bush's speech came on the heels of a commencement for 976 graduates of the U.S. Naval Academy, all part of the outdated military we'll be getting away from the next few years.
"We will need a strong invasion force, no doubt about it," continued Bush. "And once those countries are occupied—and they will be occupied, no doubt, since we've got the largest military force on earth—there will be new demands on our fighting men and women. F'rinstance, who here knows how to strip-mine natural resources? Not a lot of you fossils, I bet."
Indeed, the fossils had no clue, which is why, according to the president, we'll have to adapt to the changing needs of the new American Empire.
"Gone are the days of the public relations departments, the good will ambassadors, and those large bodies of infantrymen who have traditionally been a pivotal part of wars. The War on Terror requires button-pushers and cool radio-controlled bombers, and a healthy load of transport convoys. And plenty of political figures we can put into power, not to mention the large built-in law enforcement groups, but that's hardly anything you need to know."
Members of the press, new enough to this to be naĂŻve, asked the president if countries that should be operating independent from the U.S. military in months to come will welcome a permanent American military presence. The president only nodded and half-affirmed the question was asked, a clear indication that we have enough military might to assure we will always be welcome.
"And there's no limit to how much we can expand into overseas markets," said Bush, kiping a phrase from his old college business buddies. "Syria's not exactly been quiet. Iran's all acting up. There's plenty of places out there that still need to be sorted—North Korea, and tons of little countries in the former Soviet Union and all. The one place we don't need troops is where we got the most of 'em—the U.S.A. herself. Any way you slice it, the American military's got a big future. It's just not on our soil."
The fossils then broke a long-standing tradition, and instead of throwing their hats up in the air, hurled them at the guest speaker. the commune news plans on opening another office, downstairs, in the current offices of Crochet! magazine, but that's only if they don't turn the air conditioning in this place back on soon. Lil Duncan is happy to see all those soldiers off to the next war; form a line, boys.
 |  May 30, 2005 |
An artist’s conception of Smokel’s arrest, in which the artist took the liberty of suggesting Smokel was arrested by TWA pilots
“This motherfucker was guilty as shit,” explained officer Turk Winchel, who witnessed the crime. “I heard that asshole go off on his tirade like a cock-teasing bitch with her credit card taken away, with my own fucking ears. There were fucking kids around and everything....
olite society was rocked this week when a Kansas man was arrested for unleashing a five-minute tirade of profanity after the clumsy fucker fell out of canoe in a public park, sparking a nationwide controversy over foul language. According to shocked bystanders, recent immigrant dickhead Lataf Smokel shouted “whoops!” “shucks!” and other similar salty words after displaying his canoeptitude, running afoul of a little-known and controversial Kansas state statute outlawing indecent public speech.
“This motherfucker was guilty as shit,” explained officer Turk Winchel, who witnessed the crime. “I heard that asshole go off on his tirade like a cock-teasing bitch with her credit card taken away, with my own fucking ears. There were fucking kids around and everything. Un-fuckingbelievable.”
The event reminds many of the Michigan conviction of Timothy Boomer in 1998, who swore up a storm like Yosemite Sam on swearing pills after a similar canoe mishap on the Rifle River, only to have his conviction overturned by the ACLU after the fucking judge pussied out.
While many legal groups consider such laws to be total bullshit, local citizens have made it clear they’re fucking sick of inconsiderate motherfuckers exposing their children to irresponsible language in public places, and have shown their support for throwing the goddamned book at the homos.
“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s cocksuckers who don’t know how to watch their goddamned mouths in front of children,” explained Rote resident Archdeacon Mavis Plum, over tea. “The world’s not your own personal playground, shithead. And just because some cunt shit you out of her man-trap when you were a baby doesn’t mean you’re entitled to fuck up our children, dickface.”
“Some slut farting you out of her cooch doesn’t make you God’s own miracle, dickwad,” added Reverend Alan Thornburg, in reiteration.
Even normal people were in agreement.
“What kind of dickless honkeys would talk like that in front of our kids?” asked Maybel Cummings, a local PTA leader. “Talk about your real sacks of monkey shit.”
While many journalists reporting the story found Smokel’s language too fucking objectionable to print, since the commune only officially exists in the Cayman Islands this reporter is free to hint at the true extent of their offensive nature. Beyond such merely-scandalous epithets such as “golly,” “hoo-boy” and “Heavens to Betsy,” Smokel was also quoted as dropping several pants-shitting unmentionables. The most unpublishable of the man’s crimes against decency is spelled like “shit” and rhymes with “hoot,” if you catch our inference. Irresponsible rumor also points to the word “eff-hockey stick-eye-pee” being heard, though spontaneously blocked from the memories of several present in a subconscious act of self-defense.
Some anonymously supportive locals have suggested that Smokel may just be unfamiliar with American customs, since wherever he’s from, words like “he*k” and “d*rn” may be perfectly acceptable language in mixed company. But most Rote residents find that pretty fucking unlikely. the commune news has always supported the First Amendment, or at least the part that gives us the right to throw eggs. Ivana Folger-Balzac was considered a natural to cover this story, given her steely nature in the face of depravity she has witnessed or caused, but we have noticed the bitch has had a dirty mouth since she’s been back.
| Multiple back-to-school sales piss on last two weeks of summer vacation Earth spins faster at its core, says scientist out of his ass Israeli suicide bomb had been talking about death a lot lately Northwest balks at union strike; watch out for falling planes |
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 September 12, 2005 Strictly for the Inner CircleSorry, kind readers, but I haven't the time to waste writing for you this week. I have managed to get back on track with the Biggest Conspiracy in the World (BCW, for you conspiracy fans) after losing my foot in the door so tragically this time. I speak metaphorically, of course, and my literal foot suffers nothing more than a dangly, unclipped toenail and a stark and pungent odor. But why am I wasting time like an unaccredited Dr. Scholl's? I have to catch up with all my new contacts, and my column is the quickest and safest way to do. But just in case someone is actually reading it, I'll do everything in the agreed-upon code for all my compatriots.
To the kind and stealthy Mr. Humphrey: It's all set for Tampon, right around Fluff-fifteen. Check the code book I gave you on how...
º Last Column: Taking Back the commune
º more columns
Sorry, kind readers, but I haven't the time to waste writing for you this week. I have managed to get back on track with the Biggest Conspiracy in the World (BCW, for you conspiracy fans) after losing my foot in the door so tragically this time. I speak metaphorically, of course, and my literal foot suffers nothing more than a dangly, unclipped toenail and a stark and pungent odor. But why am I wasting time like an unaccredited Dr. Scholl's? I have to catch up with all my new contacts, and my column is the quickest and safest way to do. But just in case someone is actually reading it, I'll do everything in the agreed-upon code for all my compatriots. To the kind and stealthy Mr. Humphrey: It's all set for Tampon, right around Fluff-fifteen. Check the code book I gave you on how to translate those times. But I was lucky to get it set up, so don't go showing up at 4:30 or too early at 4:10. Thursdays are always hell in doctor's offices anyway. Oh, that's right, I forgot to tell you where it is! It's at Pigeon Michaels' office. Remember? Pigeon Michaels, the Ear, Nose and Throat Pigeon? For Willie and Sanchez: I'll be there at midnight tonight, in the agreed-upon location. And I'll have my bass with me. That's not code. I will be bringing my bass, since my band is rehearsing shortly before the meeting. Turnip, or Mrs. Turnip: Make sure you have the Glockenspiel properly lubricated. I don't want another rash on my sensitive parts because you didn't do it right. Anthrog Baker, Esquire: The Cake did not rise. Repeat, the Cake did not rise. Cancel the party. Shaolin Henry: We're turning away all guests that don't know the Piper. If the Piper hasn't been paid, kick their ass to the curb. Forget them. Don't let them in if they got their hand stamped last night. It's a new night, a new Piper to be paid. Ronald McDonald and the Hamburgler: The paddies are hot. Don't touch them. I'm not responsible for what happens if you grab the paddies. Mrs. Turnip: I forgot to ask, can you show me how to bake a proper Cake? Ours didn't rise. It really sucks, because we had to cancel our party and everything. Fantasia Martin: If you must, you must. But watch out if the dog is outside. He's sitting in the water dish. Dickless and Assmunch: In regards to last week's queries, no, you can't have your nicknames changed. It serves you right for taking a smoke break while we were assigning names. Pedro: The border is wide open and fully unguarded. Come home, and come home quick. Bundles, a.k.a. Monsignor Bundles: Study the Rubicon. We have a schedule to keep, and every day those Chocolate Chips don't come in we lose another 5 million Cancers. Og the Hog: Call me sometime. Remember me? This is Red Bagel, from Kappa Delta. We need to catch up sometime. Franco and my Publisher Harold Mortensen: The book is finish and ready to be published. That's code for you, Franco. Normal talk for you, Harry. Omar Bricks: Get your dead fish out of my office. This is not code, but I can't stand the wait anymore. I've measured it and you're not anywhere near the world's record, even for clear water pond catches. Blanche: See what you can do about getting me a cell phone. I can't keep in touch with any of the gang. I've had to resort to using my column to keep up the conspiracy messages. Everyone else: Bugger off. I'll have more to say to you next time. º Last Column: Taking Back the communeº more columns | 
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Milestones2002: Poet Violet Tiara turns 16 and is a little disappointed by her gift of a Saturn when she had been hoping for a hammock of moonbeams or a tumor full of love.Now HiringDirector of Office Security. Traditional ideas of increasing manpower and investigating odd events not necessary. Must be able to design colorful charts and randomly pick levels of security intensity.
Least Effective SARS Protective Efforts| 1. | Stop breathing | | 2. | Fire handgun blindly at coughs | | 3. | Smoking deceased SARS victims | | 4. | Wave hand, say "Don't go in Toronto! Whew!" | | 5. | Drinking imported Hong Kong bathwater | |
|   Narc Toddler Rats Out Pothead Parents BY roland mcshyster 8/29/2005
Holy Toledo, America. I've never been to the place, but it sounds like quite the religious Mecca. What religion? I have no idea, but if it's Ohio, it's probably Shriners. That just seems to fit. Anyway, we're back and black after a wonderful vacation from the grind of viewing and reviewing. Are you all ready for the return of The Entertainment Police? Neither are we. Tough noodles.
In Theaters Now:
The Brothel Grimm
That weird cartoon witch's dog is back, and he's running a whorehouse. Sure, it's been done before, but this time legendary director Terry Gilmore of Gilmore Girls fame is at the helm, and he knows how to weird shit up like a pro. From Time Midgets to What's Eating Gilbert's Grapes?, Gilmore has proven ti...
Holy Toledo, America. I've never been to the place, but it sounds like quite the religious Mecca. What religion? I have no idea, but if it's Ohio, it's probably Shriners. That just seems to fit. Anyway, we're back and black after a wonderful vacation from the grind of viewing and reviewing. Are you all ready for the return of The Entertainment Police? Neither are we. Tough noodles. In Theaters Now:The Brothel GrimmThat weird cartoon witch's dog is back, and he's running a whorehouse. Sure, it's been done before, but this time legendary director Terry Gilmore of Gilmore Girls fame is at the helm, and he knows how to weird shit up like a pro. From Time Midgets to What's Eating Gilbert's Grapes?, Gilmore has proven time and time again that he can spin gold into hay or blonde hair or however that Rapunzel alchemy shit is supposed to work. The scariest thing this time around was that I couldn't tell if this movie was animated or claymated or CGI or if it was made by those creepy-ass Duracell people from that Christmas Train movie. I suppose some people would find that ambiguity magical, but I have to admit it creeped the hair right off my ass and I spent most of the movie in the john. The Dukes of GazzaraBen Gazzara is back and hick as ever in this remake of his popular 70's show about Gazzara and his legendary contempt for royalty. Sure, Ben's a lot older now, but with age comes wisdom (occasionally) and in Gazzara's case, it just makes the wisecracks crankier and that much more funny. The supporting cast leaves a little bit to be desired though, since country music upstart Johnny Knoxville and that other guy don't have much to do, plus Jessica Simpson's ass suit springs a leak about ten minutes in and by the end of the film her cutoffs are looking pretty saggy. Which pretty much negates her reason for being in the film, and begs the question of whether or not J-Lo's ass had other engagements, or if there was a falling star sitting on it at the time of this film's production. The 4-Year-Old VirginSex comedies don't get any more offensive than this raunchy chronicle of a preschooler dealing with the intense social pressure to get laid. Some deep inner part of me was pained by the very concept of the film, but then I realized I was just hungry. After a box of nachos I was able to do my duty (not like that, I took care of that during The Brothel Grimm) and enjoy what Hollywood was crapping into my lap. Offensive or not, there are plenty of great jokes in the film about naptime and getting together over a couple of juice boxes, that kind of thing. But whoever penned the bit about giving 4-year-olds Viagra, could you raise your hand so I'll know to stand clear when the lightning strikes? Thanks. Wedding CrushersHere we go again with another weird Transformers rip-off about lonely killing machines who hate to see people getting married. Vince Ray Vaughn and sports magnate Owen Wilson star as the titular bots, and breathe some much needed life and levity into a script that has more emotional baggage than the Samsonite heirs. Though as with almost any comedy released these days, I missed most of the film while I was wondering what in the hell is up with Owen Wilson's nose. Seriously. If you know, send an email. And that's that-a-tat-tat, America. Hope you're finding a reason to breathe these days, if not, well then you probably can't read this anyway. Unless they've got the Internet in hell. Do you think they have in Internet in hell? Probably, but I bet it's over a really crappy slow dial-up connection, and they've got some kind of virus that inserts disturbing transvestite porn into everything. I guess that's why nobody wants to go there. That, and I hear it's full of the kind of people who forward mass emails. Yech. Until next time, I'm Roland McShyster.   |
