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Arafat Leaves Compound with New Suit, $100 BillPalestinian prisoner optimistic about new start after doing time May 13, 2002 |
The West Bank, Palestine Junior Bacon Arafat flashes gang sign picked up in "the joint" rison—the school of hard knocks and hard anal penetration. They say once you go in, you never come back the same. And Yasser Arafat knows that's true.
Arafat spent more than a month in confinement by the Israelis, what he calls "the hole," trapped in his office like every American middle manager's nightmare. It had been called "the hole" since three years previous, actually. Arafat, held trapped by the Israelis for his alleged connection to terrorism throughout Israel, became a martyr for his people's cause while inside, much like Nelson Mandela, had Mandela previously been the leader of a terrorist organization.
"They accuse me of terrorism?" said Arafat from within his compound a month ago, while under siege. "I spit on their donkeys and slap their turtles' ...
rison—the school of hard knocks and hard anal penetration. They say once you go in, you never come back the same. And Yasser Arafat knows that's true.
Arafat spent more than a month in confinement by the Israelis, what he calls "the hole," trapped in his office like every American middle manager's nightmare. It had been called "the hole" since three years previous, actually. Arafat, held trapped by the Israelis for his alleged connection to terrorism throughout Israel, became a martyr for his people's cause while inside, much like Nelson Mandela, had Mandela previously been the leader of a terrorist organization.
"They accuse me of terrorism?" said Arafat from within his compound a month ago, while under siege. "I spit on their donkeys and slap their turtles' asses with shame. They are the terrorists. Tormenters, monsters… Nazis, fascists! Okay, maybe Nazis didn't make much sense. I just want to be hurtful."
But once you're on the inside, your political ideologies only get you so far. Arafat had to find a way to keep from going crazy on the inside. Crazier. He turned to the library and the weight room.
"It was important to expand my mind, to change myself while I'm in there so I would not make the same mistakes when I get out," said the buff, newly re-educated political figure. "I built up my biceps and triceps, I put on ten pounds of nothing but muscle and finally lost this accursed neck waddle. What? Oh. It's still there?
"While inside I worked out my mind as well, doing squats with my cerebellum and clean-and-jerking my grey matter. I studied my case exhaustively and taught myself law. I was going to represent myself, if needed be, and I was going to be a free man again."
Under the political boos of the rest of the world, and an overwhelming scarceness of actual evidence, Israel reversed its decision against Arafat little more than a month later and declared him a free man. He was given a new pressed suit, a $100 bill for his work in the laundryroom, and emerged from his compound a free man. He then turned and went back inside since that's where he lives.
It was more than a little frightening doing hard time for Arafat, he said upon his release. The violence of prison keeps you from ever really letting your guard down. He had been sexually assaulted three times and brutally beaten twice before he started fraternizing with certain anti-Semitic groups on the inside, just for survival. As soon as he was a free man again, and returned to his compound, he fired all those responsible for the beating and raping.
But the Palestinian leader promised not to let the experience change him.
"In some ways you can never be the same," he said, bench pressing 200 lbs. in his office Saturday. "But you try to remember who you were and pursue that once you lose your stripes. I'm dedicated to a Palestinian free state and that's what I went up the river for. I'll continue to fight for that. I may be different, but I'm only hardened in my resolve. And possibly more violent. The blood will run like chocolate in Willy Wonka's factory." the commune news is Tom - vocals/guitar, Chris - guitar/vocals, P-Fart - drums, and Steve - bass. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the commune's foreign correspondent, meaning he's both foreign and a correspondent, at least that's what we assume.
| Flaming Poop Bag Attacks Continue to Baffle CopsTerrorism centered around crotchety neighborhood curmudgeons May 13, 2002 |
Amarillo, TX Snapper McGee The Amarillo bomb squad suits up for hazardous bag duty flaming poop bag similar to 17 others found in four states was discovered on a rural doorstep outside Amarillo, Texas, the FBI said Tuesday.
FBI agent Harry Nuxombelt in Omaha, Neb., said a note was scribbled on the bag in grease pencil. Investigators had not yet inspected the note, Nuxombelt said, because it smelled strongly of burnt shit and was incredibly nasty.
"It's another poop bag. It looks similar to the others," he said. "Upon our initial inspection, it appears it would be from the same source."
It wasn't certain whether the bag, which was stomped on, hit with a broom and kicked off the porch, was filled with human or animal excrement.
"We haven't made any comparisons yet, but everything else, including the bag itself, looks sim...
flaming poop bag similar to 17 others found in four states was discovered on a rural doorstep outside Amarillo, Texas, the FBI said Tuesday.
FBI agent Harry Nuxombelt in Omaha, Neb., said a note was scribbled on the bag in grease pencil. Investigators had not yet inspected the note, Nuxombelt said, because it smelled strongly of burnt shit and was incredibly nasty.
"It's another poop bag. It looks similar to the others," he said. "Upon our initial inspection, it appears it would be from the same source."
It wasn't certain whether the bag, which was stomped on, hit with a broom and kicked off the porch, was filled with human or animal excrement.
"We haven't made any comparisons yet, but everything else, including the bag itself, looks similar in nature," he said.
Amarillo is about 400 miles southeast from Salida, Colo., where one of the flaming poop bags was found Monday.
The Colorado bag was set aflame on a residential porch and may have been left by the same person or people who left them on doorsteps in Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska, said FBI agent Mike Bautrom.
"The logical concern here, given that this shit candle is consistent with the others, is 'Is the tip of the shitberg?"'
A second flaming poop bag was found later, also in Colorado, but officials said it did not appear to fit the characteristics of the other scat satchels.
Investigators told the commune News' Ramon Nootles that they hoped the bagger was intentionally making the devices less shit-filled, having received the national attention that a note accompanying the earlier bags said was the bagger's goal.
Still, "we have a rather disturbing pattern where the subjects are moving west rather quickly," Bautrom said. "We're looking for someone who is mobile. This sick bastard is like some kind of poop bag Santa Claus and we've got to stop him before he gets to my house."
After hearing his doorbell ring, a resident found the bag on fire on his porch in the small mountain community of Salida, 100 miles southwest of Denver. A hasty stomping to put out the flames revealed the bag's shitty contents.
The area was blocked off while police short-straw units inspected the porch. The FBI confirmed in a statement that it was a real poop bag, not a hoax.
Authorities described the bag for commune affiliate Rocky Mountain Elementary Gazette in Denver as a brown paper lunch sack 10 inches high, filled with some of the nastiest, call-in-sick scat anyone had ever seen. It was accompanied by a charred piece of paper, but it was not revealed whether the paper was a note similar to the scorched, unreadable but presumably anti-government letters found with the other bags.
The poop bag scare began last Friday when six people had perfectly good shoes and slippers ruined by flaming poop-filled bags in Illinois and Iowa, creating new fears about domestic terrorism striking the heartland. The poop bags were accompanied by what could have been anti-government notes, had the text not been besmirched beyond readability.
The poop bag discovery in Colorado now has authorities looking for geographical patterns.
The bags in Iowa and Illinois were found in locations that form a large, uneven ring about 70 miles in diameter. The Nebraska bag sites form a large ring of about 90 miles across. Both rings together are seen by some to form a crude representation of large buttocks, with Omaha falling into its customary role of "the asshole of the country." Also, if you draw lines connecting each of the sites to every other site, it forms a bitchin Spirograph picture that looks like some kind of psychedelic owl.
Bautrom said the fact that the other devices were found in clusters makes authorities fear that more bags may be delivered in Colorado. Homeowners near Salida have been told not to stomp on any suspicious flaming bags unless they are certain of the source.
By the end of the weekend, eight bags were found in Illinois and Iowa, and seven were discovered in rural areas of Nebraska.
The 16th flaming bag was found Monday in rural Nebraska on the porch of someone who had been away for the weekend, authorities said. The bag had apparently burnt itself out, though none would come close enough to the charred, stomach-turning mess to investigate further. No one cared to comment on whether it was accompanied by the same "anti-government" note found with the other bags.
The letter left with the bags referred to the bagger as "I," not "we," FBI Special Agent Jimmy Bonger told the commune's Ramon Nootles in a nearby strip club. "We believe it's a person who has tried to communicate with the government in the past, gave up after about eight hours in the phone queue, has issues that are unresolved and we are continuing to work on that. Same thing happened with the UNAbomber," he said.
In Omaha, Neb., FBI Agent Harry Nuxombelt said the construction of the poop bags also supported the theory that a single party was behind the baggings. Though by that he didn't mean a party like where you have friends over to drink punch and play records, though that's an intriguing possibility. Get-togethers revolving around animal waste are not uncommon in Nebraska, but Nuxombelt was referring instead to a single person constructing the bags. Though by that he didn't mean to exclude the possibility that the bagger could be married. Anyhow, all were made with the same materials, except for slight variations in the corn content of the poop itself, he said, refusing to elaborate.
"There is no question that these were planted by the same person or persons, though there are clearly multiple shitters," Holmquist said.
The grease-pencil-scribbled letter, the text of which was posted on the FBI's Web site, indicated that the bagging campaign would continue. FBI officials said they considered the baggings to be "domestic terrorism," and that any snickers or jokes made about this would also be considered "domestic terrorism."
"If the {illegible, possibly either "government" or "grannypants"} controls what you want to do they control what you can {"donut"}," it reads in part. "... I'm {something} your {"action figure"} in the only way I can. More {"info" or "afro"} is on its way. More 'attention {"graham crackers"}' are on the way. Ding-dong." the commune News thinks You Dropped a Bomb on Me is a perfectly acceptable song to play in a continual loop with the speakers facing the floor, and the staff of Crochet! magazine downstairs should lighten the fuck up. Ramon Nootles would like it to be known that any claims as to his being a monkey's uncle had better be backed up with solid DNA evidence.
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May 13, 2002 Lindsay Wagner Wants Me Deadhe commune's Clarissa Coleman has a six million dollar problem Before you say I'm paranoid, or a skank, like some have said before, hear me out. It's a crazy story, but it's true. Scarily true. Lindsay Wagner is trying to kill me.
That's right, the Bionic Woman herself. If you think I'm delusional you've obviously never been woken up at four in the morning by the pound of glass breaking with a bionic shatter. This is what happened to me yesterday.
I was just minding my own business—I don't know what the hell else you expect me to be doing at four in the morning with Shenanigan's closed. I was resting peacefully after turning in early at 2 when I heard a window shattering, slow-motion like. I jumped out of bed and yelled I had herpes, I was nervous and figured the intruder would know I didn't have a gun. But by the time I co...
º Last Column: ome, Come to Jamaica! º more columns
Before you say I'm paranoid, or a skank, like some have said before, hear me out. It's a crazy story, but it's true. Scarily true. Lindsay Wagner is trying to kill me.
That's right, the Bionic Woman herself. If you think I'm delusional you've obviously never been woken up at four in the morning by the pound of glass breaking with a bionic shatter. This is what happened to me yesterday.
I was just minding my own business—I don't know what the hell else you expect me to be doing at four in the morning with Shenanigan's closed. I was resting peacefully after turning in early at 2 when I heard a window shattering, slow-motion like. I jumped out of bed and yelled I had herpes, I was nervous and figured the intruder would know I didn't have a gun. But by the time I could make a bomb from baking powder to defend myself, the assailant was gone. Bionically gone!
At the time I didn't put two and two together, but eventually I did, and came up with six.
Lindsay Wagner has been a Hollywood staple or some kind of paper binding instrument since the 70s, and sunken into the entertainment trenches little by little over the years in order to avoid the infomercial truck stop on the way to oblivion. She's been fortunate, finding success on the Lifetime channel doing movies for a female audience with indiscriminate tastes. Wagner alone was the unchallenged Lifetime diseased abused murderer mother star for years. Until now.
That's right, I've recently thrown my feathered hat into the ring and called it macaroni. Clarissa Coleman has been storming the Lifetime auditions and making a lasting impression on the men who run that women's network. I'm so close to getting a lead role I can taste it, and it tastes like chicken.
I haven't received any official notice yet, but I think with these attempts on my life it's pretty clear someone feels threatened. That someone has to be Lindsay Wagner. Who else could get up to my window and smash it with the rock I found lying amongst the broken glass? I have no fire escape, which all my neighbors and firemen tell me will surely be my death in the event of a fire. But fire is the least of my problems right now, with no fire in my apartment. I'm more worried about the Bionic bitch murdering me in my sleep.
I parked my car illegally the other day and was on my way into the commune offices when I heard a familiar "sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh" sound like bionic jumping. At first I thought it was the man in the hockey mask and butcher knife getting out of the car parked next to mine, until I realized that was just commune reporter Ted Ted once again pushing the boundaries of the casual Friday policy. Apparently I had missed the Bionic Woman as she leapt out of sight, her plot to kill me foiled by Ted Ted's inappropriate office wear.
I suppose we'll see soon. I'm flying out to L.A. this weekend to audition for The Pursuit of Skinniness: The Carla Dupree Story. How bad does Lindsay Wagner fear the competition? Would she actually take out an entire planeload of people with her bionic abilities? I guess we'll find out.
If nothing else, I figure I've got a fantastic story to write for Lifetime for me to star in. It's a win-win-or-die situation. º Last Column: ome, Come to Jamaica!º more columns |
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Quote of the Day“the commune is back? All right! Wait, what the fuck is the commune? What? Now I’m going to kick your ass for getting me excited for nothing.”
-Ron TangleyFortune 500 CookieThis is the week everything changes for you. Yep, even those underwear. Go get a spatula. We all agree that your breasts are attractive, but usually a guy needs a follow-up act to really reel in the ladies. Try learning to play the lute this week, just carrying it around isn’t impressing anyone. This week’s lucky fuckers: Fucker G. Robinson (the world’s second-richest and seventh-most-unfortunately-named man), mother, Megan Fox’s boyfriend, and whoever’s sleeping with that hot girl on the Morton’s Salt container (oh get over it, she’s totally grown up by now).
Try again later.Top 5 Pre-Rapture Activities1. | Making fun of people who believe in the rapture | 2. | Borrowing money from people who believe in the rapture | 3. | Ironic Masturbation | 4. | Angry Birds | 5. | Monopoly: Rapture Edition, or prayer, whatever everybody’s up for | |
| Recession Slowed by Gains in Absurd CollectablesBY jay salinas 5/13/2002 Drink a Toast to the LiverConsider once
The lonely liver
Liver of a life deemed lower
By those organs hip and trendy
Who might be smaller or more bendy
Consider twice
The noble liver
Throbbing like a might river
Toiling in the depths and murky
When we drink too much Wild Turkey
Consider thrice
The liver proper
Filtering out those vodka poppers
The Benzadrine, horse tranquilizers
Of all the organs, you're the Kaiser
Consider thrice plus one
The liver's big day in the sun
Scooped up from where it's confined
Carefully with my guts aligned
A new liver, mine all mine!
Consider five times
The shitty liver
Life sustaining Indian-giver
Takes a lick and craps r...
Consider once
The lonely liver
Liver of a life deemed lower
By those organs hip and trendy
Who might be smaller or more bendy
Consider twice
The noble liver
Throbbing like a might river
Toiling in the depths and murky
When we drink too much Wild Turkey
Consider thrice
The liver proper
Filtering out those vodka poppers
The Benzadrine, horse tranquilizers
Of all the organs, you're the Kaiser
Consider thrice plus one
The liver's big day in the sun
Scooped up from where it's confined
Carefully with my guts aligned
A new liver, mine all mine!
Consider five times
The shitty liver
Life sustaining Indian-giver
Takes a lick and craps right out
Candy-assed, without a doubt
Consider six times, once again
This over-rated cream puff organ
Share with me a round or three
Have a drink in memory
Of the sixth new liver
That pussed out on me. |