Tiger Woods Thinks He's A Goddamned Writer Now

Big golf guy, insufferable jerk puts out new book

February 4, 2002

Pebble Beach, NC

Courtesy Warner Books

Woods brings to literature what Taco brought to music

olf pro and sports celebrity Tiger Woods, unable to confine himself to every fucking T.V. commercial on the air and sporting event there is, has recently written and published a book, obviously thinking himself a writer now.

Woods, who has no proven talent with words or prose, is the "author" of How I Play Golf, an instructional guide on the overrated game he's famous for playing published by Warner Books at the unrealistic retail price of $34.95.

The book, which is surely hard to drudge through and a perfect gift for people who like shitty reading material, is called by some critics an energetic and enthusiastic guide to golf beginners as well as an insightful study of Woods' own passion for the game. However, the book is actually lame-ass.

Afghanistan to Host 2006 Winter Olympics

IOC claims decision not politically influenced

February 4, 2002

Brussels, Belgium

Vel Shnapper

Afghanistan begins training hopeful Olympiads

he International Olympics Committee announced Friday that the site of the 2006 Winter Olympics has already been chosen, and it will be Kabul, Afghanistan.

The Committee denies claims that political influence played a part in its decisions, but would not deny the possibility all Committee members were bribed handsomely.

British Prime Minister Tony Blair suggested it would be a major boon to the Afghanistan economy, as well as the spirits of its people.

"With this to look forward to, who wouldn't be excited and proud to rally behind its flag?" stated Blair. "In 2006 the world will turn its eyes toward Afghanistan, again, and this time it will be a good thing."

Afghanistan is a poor country in Asia with a population of approximately 21,900. Critics have suggested that Afghanistan is in no position to host the Winter Olympics of 2006, with a long history of civil turmoil, a weak economy that could not successfully sustain the expense of the Olympics, and lacking virtually any snow throughout the year.

"Once again the International Olympics Committee has stuck its foot in its collective mouth," said Marvin Kappel of the IOC watchdog group Oly-OxenFree. "They have allowed their decisions to be biased again for whatever reasons and are allowing a country without the proper requirements to host the Winter Olympics. Afghanistan currently has no sports teams and no ice rinks. I don't believe IOC claims they'll have a 50,000-seat stadium built by 2006. You don't make that kind of money selling goat cheese, barring some unforeseeable rise in the market value of goat cheese before 2006."

According to commune Research Editor Griswald Dreck, Afghanistan is a country rich in culture and heritage. They have had many imports and exports in their many, many years as a country. The Russians once tried to invade Afghanistan and were unable to. The Russians have also previously tried to invade America, most notably in the movie Red Dawn. In closing, Afghanistan is a culture rich in heritage and culture.

The recently elected president of the International Olympics Committee Jacques Rogge was questioned by the commune in regards to the feasibility of Afghanistan hosting the Winter Olympics, but he angrily cursed us in French and threw a glass of wine into our faces.

Afghanistan interim leader Hamid Karzai spoke well of the decision.

"The IOC has done a great thing for this country and its people, and given us hope that we will move forward into the next century without delay," said Karzai. "We are excited to host the next Winter Olympics and will not engage in pointless arguments about snow and what constitutes proper accommodations. If they can make it snow on Jimmy Stewart in Pottersville, we can make this plentiful substance in Afghanistan as well."

the commune news takes all it wants but eats all it takes. Ivan Nacutchacokov says it can't get any better than this, and he's suicidal over that fact.

February 12, 2002

Home for the Horrordays

the commune's Clarissa Coleman has holiday memories repressed

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Dorothy said there's no place like home, but I would say that wartime Yugoslavia can't be all that different. No, dudes, I'm not a homebody. My thoughts don't turn to charming holiday gatherings around the fire with the ones I love since it usually involves a lot of alcohol and the fire involves the firecrackers someone tried to light by cooking them in the oven.

I would say my family's strange, but that's everybody's family. My family is homicidally manic-deppressiveâ€”there, that at least sounds more original. Seriously, my family is always happy when I come back to Bellmont for Christmas, but catch any of them on the right day and they're happy when the mail shows up. They're fundamentally unhealthy enablers of every drug habit you could name and they derive pleasure from each other's pain. Which is all fine, since that's how I am, but it's real dangerous to put us all in the same place.

First, there's my dad, Fozzy Colemanâ€”dad somewhere got the impression that he was black, and even more odd, that he's Ike Turner. Dad rules the house with an iron thumb, an iron thumb being some gardening device he got for Christmas 20 years ago that spreads mulch. My favorite holiday memory of dad was that year we converted to Judaism. Mom made soggy cornbread and accidentally poisoned the turkey gravy with make-up remover, and when dad found out he was so pissed he threw the menorah like a trident and it stuck in the wall. The bright side was that it worked so well we use it to hang the Christmas stockings still.

Then there's my mom, who's great when she's sober, if you can be there during that time from 8 to 8:15 a.m. When she gets drunk she says all the things normal moms only think, like, "I had plenty of chances to drown you, Clarissa," and, "By my calculations, you still owe us about $359,000â€”oh, what, you thought the room and board were free rides?" My mom's name is Bunny, but dad always calls her Bunny Coleman like it's one word. Like, "Bunnycoleman, who ate all my fucking French toast?" Or, "Get my bath ready, Bunnycoleman."

It's hard to complain about my brother and sister, they're not really to blame for anythingâ€”between having my parents for their parents and having my shadow to live in all their lives, it's amazing they aren't screwed up.

My brother, Randy, doesn't let us call him Randy anymore since he joined that cult in the compound next door to mom and dad. At least he didn't have to go far to get brainwashed. He prefers to be called Toot now, and he's actually pretty nice, the nicest one of the bunch. He curls up in a ball and chants whenever mom and dad fight now, he tells them they have bad Chaka Khan or something, some kind of karma rip-off the cult made up, and the worst thing he does is steal from mom and dad to give to the cult so they can build that glass temple of theirs. Which is all fine by me, I never take more than $20 home when I go anyway.

My sister's a bit more peculiar. She never had the looks or talent to be an actress like me, so she was driven into this weird-ass obsession with grades and scholarships and stuff. She went to Harvard like that Good Will Hunting guy and majored in lawyering. Now she works for the ACLU and writes books on feminism in her spare time, really spaced-out shit. She doesn't come home too often, actually, but she sends self-help books and fruit baskets.

I guess, more than anything, this time of year is about forgetting your family is clinically sociopathic and learning to keep your temper in check long enough to sit down for a single Christmas dinner. To gather around the tree, open up crappy presents, and pretend you like at least one of the things. To sleep in your old room and act like you don't hear your dad getting nasty with your mom, shouting, "Take me to town, Bunnycoleman!" in the room right next door. But at least when you hear that, you know it's just another ten minutes until everyone gathers in the living room around the kitchen fire and opens their presents. And that's as much family as anybody gets these days.

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Quote of the Day

“Do unto others how you would do unto somebody who you knew for sure would do the same stuff back to you that you did to them, only in reverse. On second thoughtâ€¦ just be nice, okay asshole?”

-Beazus Frist, CPA

Fortune 500 Cookie

Nobody likes a smartassâ€¦ wait a minute, everybody loves a smartass. It's you they don't like. In an effort to make your personality more rounded and appealing, try learning the Tibetan Touch of Death this week. Remember, God made it hard to get your tongue into your own ass for a good reason. This week's lucky prescriptions: Cockgromax, Deuglycontin, Halitosinex, Slopecia, Lilpenihance, Fucoft.

Try again later.

What Was That Guy Screaming?

1.	Four fewer years! Four fewer years!
2.	"Don't Worry, Be Happy" Bobby McFerrin, 1988
3.	I think I'd notice if my hearing aid battery had died, you crusty old bitch!
4.	Rectum? I nearly destroyed his anus!
5.	I have difficulty modulating my voice!

'Millions Watching Robots Battle to Death' Actually Boring

BY roland mcshyster

2/4/2002

Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a...