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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 You: Tall, Gorgeous Blonde. Me: Abusive Drunken Bigotthe commune's Dooley Finster seeks single white co-dependent I usually don't do this kind of thing. Usually I meet women through my work as a kickboxer or at family reunions. Don't get the wrong idea, I mean my brothers date some kick-ass girls and they all want a piece of Dooley Finster, I would never date a woman who was related by blood unless she was a cousin or something 'cause I ain't having no fucked-up Rain Man kids. But I saw you at the traffic accident and felt something cosmic between us.
You felt it, too, didn't you? You were studying me pretty close while I was doing that breathalizer test. I caught a look at your fine ass and I thought I was going to pass out, and it wasn't from the .13 blood alcohol level.
I was putting on a big show just for you, darling, once I knew you were in the audience. If you hadn't...
º Last Column: At Least Your Last Name's Not Fagerbakke
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I usually don't do this kind of thing. Usually I meet women through my work as a kickboxer or at family reunions. Don't get the wrong idea, I mean my brothers date some kick-ass girls and they all want a piece of Dooley Finster, I would never date a woman who was related by blood unless she was a cousin or something 'cause I ain't having no fucked-up Rain Man kids. But I saw you at the traffic accident and felt something cosmic between us.
You felt it, too, didn't you? You were studying me pretty close while I was doing that breathalizer test. I caught a look at your fine ass and I thought I was going to pass out, and it wasn't from the .13 blood alcohol level.
I was putting on a big show just for you, darling, once I knew you were in the audience. If you hadn't been there, maybe I wouldn't have called those cops pussies and kicked out the window of the patrol car. Hell, they liked to never get the cuffs on me, I was floating like I was on fucking air or something. All because of you.
Don't pretend you weren't flirting with me, too, flipping your hair back, adjusting your blouse. I don't have the subtlety you do, maybe, the best I could manage was to punch my whining girlfriend in the lip and expose myself to the crowd. I could have just winked or something, you probably would have known. But I got the feeling you knew it was just for you, babe.
My racist remarks caught that black cop off guard, I could tell, and maybe you as well. But that's not who I am. I talk a good game, but that's only who I am when I'm out in public and running a good buzz. There's a lot of times I feel vulnerable and fragile, like when the black cop was hitting me in the ribs with his baton. I want to share that side of me with you.
So anyway, I suppose you know what I'm getting at. You were the tall, gorgeous blonde in the crowd. I was the abusive foul-mouthed bigot being wrestled to the ground and hog-tied with plastic binders. If I hadn't been carted away and charged with D.U.I., assault and battery and attacking a police officer I would have asked for your number, or maybe to go out and get coffee sometime. If you're reading this, call the commune or e-mail them or something and they'll put me in touch with you. I can't wait to get your number!
I hope you're ready for the most special date of your life. I'd like to take your hand in mine and walk through the street, just getting lost in the shards of broken glass from where my car hit that cop cruiser. Maybe take you out to dinner at the nicest bar in town, provided you can cover me until my lottery ticket pays off. I'll bring along my laundry, we'll make a day out of it. º Last Column: At Least Your Last Name's Not Fagerbakkeº more columns | 
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Milestones1962: Modesto-area commune publishes first newsletter on hand-recycled paper with pressed soybean inks, detailing member birthdays and a potluck sign-up. commune lawyers from the year 2015 sue retroactively for eventual copyright infringement, winning custody of 74 cots and a large clay poop trough.Now HiringShaman. Duties to include spells, incantations, curing minor STDs, opening bridge to the dreamtime, relieving crushing boredom of modern life, answering general tax questions and serving as an occasional drug connection. Knoweldge of dentistry a plus.Hottest Christmas Toy Fads| 1. | Dolly Pees N' Downloads | | 2. | PEZac Anti-Depressant Candies | | 3. | Bloodbung IV for Gamecube | | 4. | Golidie2k2 Robotic Goldfish | | 5. | Virtual Bike Training Wheels Disc | | 6. | West Nile Elmo | | 7. | FunFree Learn-o-station | | 8. | Britney Spears' Diaphragm Madness | | 9. | Bob the Builder with Catcall Voice Chip | | 10. | Collect or Die Trading Card "Game" | |
|   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.   |
