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Bush Narrowly Escapes Near-Ethnic EncounterPresident resting comfortably among white people once again April 1, 2002 |
Washington, DC Ansel Evans File Photo: President Bush attempts ethnic greeting.
Alfredo Garcia, a lawyer of Hispanic descent, attempted to embrace the president in a gesture of greeting Wednesday afternoon before he was wrestled to the ground by secret service agents who intervened. A visibly shaken President Bush was then rushed into a limousine and transported away from the scene.
Garcia is being held and debriefed by the secret service. His wife, Marta Garcia, claims her husband is a lifelong Republican and campaign contributor who just wanted to hug the president, despite all warnings to keep his hands at his side and away from Bush as he passed through the area.
"We're not ce...
resident George W. Bush was protected from physical contact with a member of a minority group thanks to the efforts of the secret service Wednesday.
Alfredo Garcia, a lawyer of Hispanic descent, attempted to embrace the president in a gesture of greeting Wednesday afternoon before he was wrestled to the ground by secret service agents who intervened. A visibly shaken President Bush was then rushed into a limousine and transported away from the scene.
Garcia is being held and debriefed by the secret service. His wife, Marta Garcia, claims her husband is a lifelong Republican and campaign contributor who just wanted to hug the president, despite all warnings to keep his hands at his side and away from Bush as he passed through the area.
"We're not certain Mr. Garcia intended the president any harm," said secret service commander Dick Gautier. "It's entirely possible it was a misunderstanding or severe breach of protocol. What's important is that the president is still sheltered from contact with ethnic people."
Many in the Republican party are asking how this could happen? How could the secret service allow such an obvious Hispanic get so close to the president to nearly embrace him?
"Obviously we'll be reviewing the case to see if anyone here dropped the ball," Gautier said. "He was a very American-looking man, dressed nicely, a campaign contributor and Republican party supporter. I don't think anyone expected him to be ethnic in any way. Clearly we have to instruct our agents to be more observant in the future."
President Bush has released no official statement at this time, though he is reportedly resting comfortably and watching "The Lawrence Welk Show" reruns to forget the incident. the commune news can't wait around all day for you to get your shit together. Lil Duncan has a pair of legs that won't quit, though her ass does take breaks every ten minutes.
 | Academy Fucks Up commune Oscar Pool Something AwfulHistoric year of self-congratulation throws prognosticators a curve April 1, 2002 |
Hollywood, CA Junior Bacon Denzel & Halle: Thanks for the heads-up, Hollywood
A move trumpeted as ground-breaking and courageous by Academy publicists and people trying to sell newspapers nation-wide, the Academy was deftly able to both punish Russell Crowe for acting like an asshole (and for doing an action movie in 2000, making them look bad for giving him his 1999 The Insider Oscar that year), and open the door to give Tom Hanks another Oscar the next year there's an outstanding black actor in a leading role. Unless, of course, Robert DeNiro or Sean Penn get really sick and the Ac...
roving once and for all that you don't have to be white to win a token acting award, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences kissed it's own ass Sunday by awarding the Best Actor and Best Actress Oscars to known black people Denzel Washington and Halle Berry.
A move trumpeted as ground-breaking and courageous by Academy publicists and people trying to sell newspapers nation-wide, the Academy was deftly able to both punish Russell Crowe for acting like an asshole (and for doing an action movie in 2000, making them look bad for giving him his 1999 The Insider Oscar that year), and open the door to give Tom Hanks another Oscar the next year there's an outstanding black actor in a leading role. Unless, of course, Robert DeNiro or Sean Penn get really sick and the Academy has to hurry up and give them more awards before they die.
Washington received his Best Actor Oscar for his work in Malcolm X, which inconveniently came out ten years ago, in 1992, the year they gave Al Pacino the Best Actor Oscar for his work in The Godfather Part II, which came out in 1974. In 1974 the Best Actor Oscar went to Art Carney, because he likes puppies.
But the Academy is nothing if it's not just, at least on a 20-year scale, and the rest of the deserving 1974 field would get their kudos in time. Dustin Hoffman would go on to win his 1974 Lenny Oscar in 1979, while Jack Nicholson had to wait until 1983 to win his 1974 Oscar for Chinatown.
The developments in this year's awards have changed everything for black actors, and by that I mean Denzel and Morgan Freeman, who both now have a chance to be nominated again. Reaction on the street has been unanimous, with Americans from all walks of life joining together to say: "That's cool. But Training Day? I guess, whatever."
The reaction at the commune offices was much more passionate, as no one had counted on this being the Academy's year to pat itself on the back. As a result, the commune's annual Oscars office pool was won by Lil Duncan, who hadn't seen any of the nominated films and filled out her ballot with some help from an issue of People magazine. Ivan Nacutchacokov had the most to be upset about, as he had spent weeks developing a complex algorithm to determine the winners, but had left out the variable that among the front-runners, the blandest film always wins.
When Ron Howard was announced as the winner of the Best Director Oscar, Nacutchacokov laughed at first, then realized it wasn't a gag announcement and stormed off in a huff, requiring him to be tasered by security personnel. No one was entirely sure the tasering was completely necessary, but they weren't taking any chances since Ted Ted had thrown our original television set out the window in a rage during the ceremony's opening title sequence, and our TV set budget had been badly depleted during Australia's poor showing at the winter Olympics last month. the commune news. Great. Just fucking great. Red Bagel is the commune's aider and abeditor, and wants everyone to know he's seen Showgirls more times than any man alive.
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 April 1, 2002 Swimming in a Lake of Lungsthe commune's Stu Umbrage responds to reader emails he found in other columnists' wastebaskets There are three tricks you never want to teach a dog, and one of them is to explode. I'll let that sink in before I get to the other two.
Here's a question for all you full-fledged (have you ever seen someone half-fledged? I'm telling you, make sure you've already eaten) students out there, the explorers in the mountains of knowledge, the Camrys in the parking lot of wisdom, I know that you can answer this question for me: If Magellan was so goddamned great, how come everyone calls it margarine? Chew on that while your jerky is drying.
Interesting, eh? But should you feel compelled to weep with fascination, remember: tears are high in salt content and can stain some delicate fabrics, it's better to weep over a saltwater aquarium or a very bland soup.
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There are three tricks you never want to teach a dog, and one of them is to explode. I'll let that sink in before I get to the other two.
Here's a question for all you full-fledged (have you ever seen someone half-fledged? I'm telling you, make sure you've already eaten) students out there, the explorers in the mountains of knowledge, the Camrys in the parking lot of wisdom, I know that you can answer this question for me: If Magellan was so goddamned great, how come everyone calls it margarine? Chew on that while your jerky is drying.
Interesting, eh? But should you feel compelled to weep with fascination, remember: tears are high in salt content and can stain some delicate fabrics, it's better to weep over a saltwater aquarium or a very bland soup.
Keeping in line with an ancient tradition it was not until now convenient for me to follow, we're going to be incorporating some reader emails into the column. Check your shorts. In regards to the email I received from Ethel Barngraves of Elkin, TN about the proposed barn dance and love-in, I have this response:
"Well sheeeeeit, I haven't been me to no barn dance in some helluva dang long acre! Whassat? Acre's um measure-ah land distance fur purposes of ownership, notta way to tell time? Well shit my britches and call me-ah teen idol, I never did trust them porpoises. Gal-dang, damn near bit my granny on that one! A hu-yep! I'd feel steeee-yoopid if I weren't asa pig drunk asa pill-bug in a Kentuckian's bathtub, I tell you that! Barn dancin' an romancin, I'm up fer that boonwaddle! Besta make myself representable, gunna go comb my hat! BARN DANCE! -heart explodes-"
So, as is obvious to see, it's a good thing you didn't mention barn dancing.
Waaaaait a minute.... -brain falls apart like a sloppy joe-
We never looked at MC Scat Cat quite the same after we learned that "scat" is another word for "shit". Not to mention Scatman Crowthers. Ick.
In other news, thanks to Chuck Rooster of New Turk, MA for the informative lesson on scat and other vocab words for the week. Turns out it also means "leave at once." Now that I know this, I think I'm going to go reclaim that copy of Scattergories that I returned to Toys-R-Us in a huff yesterday, and take back what I said about the manager's daughter. If only you could take back a kick in the kidneys, this would be an easier life.
-convulses, bangs head on counter-
Woah, just got another email. The barn dance has been revoked! -collects manwich-like brain material, puts it back on bun- Riot in the streets children! Let the gutters clog up good with the blood of those who know not the beauty of the Electric Cousin or the Incest Slide! Barn dancing shall live on!
Seriously, though, pigs sound like midget laughter when you try to cram one down a functional modern toilet.
Oh wait, that wasn't serious at all. Let me check in my bag. Oh, okay, here we go... -riiiip- aw, crap. Okay, you're only gonna get half a thought here because the other half got caught in the zipper. And it might smell a little like Open Pit. Them's the breaks. º Last Column: Camp with Me, Only Separatelyº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“A little bad taste is like a dash of paprika. A lot of bad taste, like a grinder full of cayenne pepper. And doing that annoying Cajun guy impression while doing anything—well, that's just beyond bad taste.”
-Dirty ParkbenchFortune 500 CookieIn the annals of history, there has always been one man who laughs uncontrollably whenever someone says "annals"—that's your legacy. Turn up the heat this week, 'cause that fucking turkey has been in the oven since Saturday. If you can't beat them, join them, and show them what real losers they are for accepting you into the group. Lucky bastards this week are Tom Monroe, Pete Gelbart, Judy Simon, and that son you're pretty sure is living in Winnipeg now.
Try again later.John McCain's Most Ill-Conceived Jokes| 1. | Trick "Good for One Free House-Cleaning" coupon he gives to homeless that looks like $100 bill | | 2. | Open letter to Crocodile Hunter widow Terri Irwin inviting her to spend the night with a "real man" | | 3. | "I fully and unequivocably support the rights of homosexuals. Nah, just kidding. That shit makes me throw up." | | 4. | Wearing hole-filled NASA sweatshirt to press conference Saturday | | 5. | Big "I have cancer" gag in 2000 election | |
|   Irony Bites President Bush in the Ass BY christopher poppins 4/1/2002 The Necklace Comes From the OceanGruff lumberjack Tug Denton was chopping wood on a Friday afternoon. It was cold in the northwest, where he worked as a lumberjack. Tonight he would likely curl up by the fire with his dog and read a book, or a dirty magazine. It was a lonely life, but he had his dog and the fire and the book and/or magazine.
That was before urbanite Mitzi Calligan walked into his life.
It was that Friday afternoon she did, so it wasn't much before. She drove up in her smart urban Toyota onto Denton's logging property. She looked very unfamiliar with the outdoors, which made Tug grin on his manly face.
"Are you Tug Denton?" she asked, to which he agreed. "I've been hoping to find you. I found this."
"This" she was referring to was an object in her hand. S...
Gruff lumberjack Tug Denton was chopping wood on a Friday afternoon. It was cold in the northwest, where he worked as a lumberjack. Tonight he would likely curl up by the fire with his dog and read a book, or a dirty magazine. It was a lonely life, but he had his dog and the fire and the book and/or magazine.
That was before urbanite Mitzi Calligan walked into his life.
It was that Friday afternoon she did, so it wasn't much before. She drove up in her smart urban Toyota onto Denton's logging property. She looked very unfamiliar with the outdoors, which made Tug grin on his manly face.
"Are you Tug Denton?" she asked, to which he agreed. "I've been hoping to find you. I found this."
"This" she was referring to was an object in her hand. Said object was a gold necklace, shinily polished and sparkling. The center of the necklace was a heart-shaped locket.
Tug turned egg-white when he saw it, the color of Mitzi's bathroom walls. "That's… that's Clara's necklace," he said darkly.
"I… I found it."
"What… what?"
"I… I found it," said Mitzi. "It was in a fish. Apparently I bought a fish after work one night—I'm in advertising and it's a tough career field for a woman—and inside I found this necklace. It makes for a great anecdote, don't you think?"
"That's my wife's necklace!" growled Tug, tearing it forcefully out of her hand.
There was a long silence. For better effect, wait a moment before reading further.
"I'm sorry."
"You killed her?"
"No, I'm just sorry for offending you."
Tug was weeping softly to himself, but it doesn't make him any less of a man. "It's alright. I thank you for returning the necklace."
"Can I ask what happened?" Mitzi asked cautiously.
"Go ahead."
"What happened?"
"My wife… she… she died," said Tug, staring off into the distance as if seeing his wife's face superimposed over the scene, which would likely be what it would look like if we made it into a movie. "It was dark one night. We were out whale hunting—it was our favorite pastime, the two of us. She was sleepwalking and fell overboard. I never saw her again, not even the body."
"Then, the fish that I ate…?"
"Yes," Tug completed the sentence, "he must have eaten her."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I ate him," said Mitzi, smiling compassionately. "It was a little on the ripe side, but I finished it."
"Thanks," said Tug, walking back to the house with the necklace in hand. "You've done a lot to help me confront her death."
"Is that all?" said Mitzi. "I'm a little tired from the drive and hungry. I was hoping you could fix me dinner on your old wood stove or something."
"No!" snapped Tug. "Sorry. No. Although there is an undeniable attraction between us, I'm afraid it's too soon after the discovery of my wife's necklace and my dealing with the fact she's never coming back to begin thinking about eating dinner with you."
Tug slammed the door to his cabin, at which point the whole thing collapsed. Mitzi wiped a tear from her eye and snot from her nose, returning to her car. That poor Tug Denton.   |
