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Cocky Shit-Heel Wins LotteryTotal dick walks away with $25 million Powerball prize May 27, 2002 |
Atlanta, Georgia Ansel Evans Lottery spokesperson Merle Fiber (left) verifies claim of McGurney, humongous wanker (right)
McGurney, a 27-year-old former assistant manager for a major video retailer, currently "between things," checked the paper Monday morning to find out he had matched all winning numbers and the elusive Powerball to claim the jackpot. With no sense of humility, McGurney admits it was his first (and now only) lottery ticket.
The winning prize of $25 million will be paid out over 25 years, approximately $1 million before taxes each year, to supplement McGurney's income. The high school graduate bragged that, after taxes, a friend figured out for ...
urther proof the world is just plain unfair occurred last Monday when Atlanta, Georgia-based asshole Brian McGurney matched all winning numbers and the Powerball in the Powerball lottery game to win the $25 million jackpot.
McGurney, a 27-year-old former assistant manager for a major video retailer, currently "between things," checked the paper Monday morning to find out he had matched all winning numbers and the elusive Powerball to claim the jackpot. With no sense of humility, McGurney admits it was his first (and now only) lottery ticket.
The winning prize of $25 million will be paid out over 25 years, approximately $1 million before taxes each year, to supplement McGurney's income. The high school graduate bragged that, after taxes, a friend figured out for him he'd be taking home about $750,000.
McGurney refreshingly admitted that the money would change him greatly.
"Yeah, sure, I'm not going to let the money change me—you think I'm going to tool around in a '92 Ford Tempo with a million bucks a year coming at me? Forget it. I'm going to get something expensive and obnoxious. Like a Rolls Royce or a monster truck."
The big win comes at a great time for McGurney, whose ten-year high school reunion is the first week of June in a couple weeks.
"At first I wasn't going to go," said McGurney, "but now, you bet your sweet ass I'm going to be there. I thought I might wear an expensive tuxedo, but now I'm leaning toward just wearing an expensive jogging suit. You know? It says, 'I have the money, but you're not important enough to wear a tux for.'"
The little toad is also not forgetting the most important people in his life, like his parents.
"Mom and dad have hit on hard times lately, with dad losing his job and all," McGurney said. "But I'm going to surprise them by buying back their house from the bank. That'll be a kick in the ass, me being their landlord! Ha! I'm sure my rent will be reasonable, based on their income and such, like they did for me when I lived with those pricks.
"I'm also going to pay off my girlfriend's car," continued McGurney. "That ought to settle up things between us for that money I borrowed for that big stock venture. Then I'll have a clear conscience when I kick her to the curb. I want to make a clean break before I start hooking up with all the supermodels and shit who'll be scoping me now."
McGurney had no immediate plans to start a savings account, though he did have an excellent idea to put five pounds of fish into a safe deposit box, remarking how "they've been asking for a major prank after bouncing six of my checks."
For all his faults, McGurney's friends still think he's a deserving winner.
"It's about time," said long-time friend Tim Blanch. "Brian's been through a few tough years since high school, and those jerks at the video store should have given him a break when he needed it. Now that he's finally hit his stride, you can count on him to remember his friends who are down like he once was."
Blanch added, "That's good stuff you can use, right? Make sure the pissant reads it, if he can even read. What a fucking knob." the commune news will self-destruct in 30 seconds. Ramon Nootles is a commune correspondent and international love ambassador.
 | U.S. Government Continues Strategy of Releasing Horrific Truth Bit by BitPolicy of leaking alarming information slowly still working May 27, 2002 |
An alien autopsy, not yet confirmed as the horrible truth by the government
First the American public was allowed to learn a memo circulating through the White House may have been an early alert to president Bush about the Sept. 11th disasters. A grumbling American public pretended to be surprised and outraged, lining themselves up for the seemingly superfluous revelation later in the week that populated U.S. Navy ships were the subjects of germ warfare testing in the 1960s.
White House spokesman Ari Fleischer responded Friday with a firm, "Yeah. So?"
The covert operation, called SHAD (or ...
he U.S. Government is maintaining its winning streak of leaking disturbing information to the public over decades, as this week two extreme dealbreakers came to public attention and the public once again answered with a resounding "enh."
First the American public was allowed to learn a memo circulating through the White House may have been an early alert to president Bush about the Sept. 11th disasters. A grumbling American public pretended to be surprised and outraged, lining themselves up for the seemingly superfluous revelation later in the week that populated U.S. Navy ships were the subjects of germ warfare testing in the 1960s.
White House spokesman Ari Fleischer responded Friday with a firm, "Yeah. So?"
The covert operation, called SHAD (or Shipboard Hazard and Defense) among the hip Pentagon insiders, involved spraying toxic chemicals onto U.S. Navy ships to test the effects of germ warfare combat on troops in battle. Chemicals used included sarin, VX, and staphylococcal enterotoxin Type B, a viral strain guaranteed to "totally fuck up any soldier's weekend," according to one foul-mouthed Washington source.
Once again, the SHAD operation took place from 1964-1968, during the peak of the Vietnam war, not during the Gulf War of the early 1990s. Those chemical tests and their long-term damages are still classified information and aren't due to be released for at least another twenty years.
The revelation continues the U.S. government policy of allowing four or more White House administrations to pass before alarming truths about military and government experiments on people are told to the public. Particularly conducive to the release of alarming information is the mood of the country towards the current administration and how slow a news week it is. Information in danger of distracting the public from real issues, like Congressional sex scandals or anti-terrorist rhetoric, is often sat upon until a later release is available.
"We apologize to the American people, the soldiers, and the families that experienced any pain or damages due to the… well, you know where this is going," said Pentagon spokesman Gnute Harmschell, letting the press release fall against the carpet. "I will now take any pertinent questions about Chandra Leavy's remains, the Pakistan-India troubles, the War on Terror—trademark that—or the Catholic priests scandal. Hell, how about Star Wars or Spider-Man? Box office records are busting left and right, people."
On a sad, related note, The X-Files ended its 9-year run on Fox Sunday. During its time on the air the show entertained millions, made stars of David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, started a film franchise guaranteed to make Fox money in the future, and softened America's reaction to the shadowy operations of its own government. Nerve gas testing and ignored terrorist intelligence information are welcome substitutes as long as there's no hard proof of extra-terrestrial bodies in Hangar 18. the commune news wants to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, but they all sound like lyrics to N'Sync songs. Lil Duncan is the commune's Washington correspondent and enjoys a good washing on occasion.
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 May 27, 2002 Adventures in Dogsittingthe commune's Omar Bricks has yet to find a worthy canine poker adversary My neighbor Mitch is away on a trip, and while he's out I've been watching his dogs, Benedict and Arnold. To tell you the truth, I didn't really want to, but he took care of Foghat while I was detained in Mexico a few years back, so I can't rightly tell him to jump up an elephant's ass the one time he asks me to do him a favor while he's in having his colon removed.
These dogs are a flaming, hemorrhoidal pain in the ass.
Benedict is, according to Mitch, an Australian Cattle Prod. I'm not sure if that's completely accurate. Nobody knows what the hell Arnold is, but he looks like what you'd end up with if you stapled bat ears onto a gigantic caterpillar. He's like a walking sausage with radar. Appropriately enough, he makes high-pitched squeaking sounds like a rubbe...
º Last Column: Prohibition Here We Come
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My neighbor Mitch is away on a trip, and while he's out I've been watching his dogs, Benedict and Arnold. To tell you the truth, I didn't really want to, but he took care of Foghat while I was detained in Mexico a few years back, so I can't rightly tell him to jump up an elephant's ass the one time he asks me to do him a favor while he's in having his colon removed.
These dogs are a flaming, hemorrhoidal pain in the ass.
Benedict is, according to Mitch, an Australian Cattle Prod. I'm not sure if that's completely accurate. Nobody knows what the hell Arnold is, but he looks like what you'd end up with if you stapled bat ears onto a gigantic caterpillar. He's like a walking sausage with radar. Appropriately enough, he makes high-pitched squeaking sounds like a rubber pork chop every time anything happens. And I mean anything: car doors slamming outside, bacon grease catching on fire in the kitchen, the refrigerator turning on, foreign war, it doesn't matter.
I don't know what kind of social life Mitch has got, but I get the impression he doesn't exactly spend his spare time wolfing down speedballs in the Viper room. These dogs demand more attention than a live hand grenade. They watch your every move as if you might, at any moment, explode like a piñata and rain doggie treats all over the room. It's especially unnerving when you're in the bathroom.
I think Mitch may shower with these dogs. I'm not kidding, I'm pretty sure he takes them everywhere he goes. I heard he got kicked out of Disneyland last year after Benedict threw up on the Matterhorn. And I don't mean the structure itself; that dog was buckled into a bobsled and screaming down the mountain at fifty miles an hour when it happened. Mitch came home with a black eye that I can only assume had something to do with the people riding in the sled behind him and Benedict. They certainly look pissed off in the picture on the refrigerator. Omar Bricks is not a violent man, but I have to admit I'd be strapping on my Jackie Chan shoes if I were ever hit with fifty mile-an-hour dog vomit.
Arnold will hump anything that's not moving: the couch, his bed, a box of crackers, Benedict. I've only looked directly at Arnold twice, and both times he was humping something. Now I just infer that he's in the room from the shallow panting noises. My biggest fear is that I'm going to look accidentally one time and see the lipstick in action. For a while I was worried about how I was going to explain the visible dick marks on the bathroom door to Mitch, but he's got to be used to this shit by now.
I decided to take the dogs for a walk the other day, since I was starting to feel bad about them being cooped up in their rooms all the time, with nothing but their record collections and board games to keep them entertained. Way to be the neighborhood hero, right? Wrong. Mr. Friendly Neighborhood Narc had a different idea. Did you know it's illegal to tie a dog's leash to your car and drive around the block? It's not like I was even going very fast. Somebody told me that's not "walking the dogs," but they looked like they were walking to me. Or running. Skiing, maybe. Whatever.
Since the neighborhood patrol had such a serious problem with the dogs getting any exercise, I had to resort to Plan B. I went to the pet store, bought a rabbit, and let it loose in the house. Shit if the dogs didn't love that! I don't know if I've ever seen a couple of dogs so happy. Arnold even humped the drapes. Granted, things got a little rowdy after I let the rabbit loose, but if Mitch isn't cool with a couple of broken lamps, a television on the floor or a cracked bathtub he shouldn't have got dogs in the first place. And if the guy can afford to have his colon taken out I'm sure he can afford to rent a steam cleaner, too.
Now I just need to come up with a way of explaining to Foghat why another dog wiped its nose on my pants. Bricks out. º Last Column: Prohibition Here We Comeº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, even more shame on you! Big fooler. Fool me three times… man, that brings back memories. Reminds me of when you made me drink that urine one time.”
-Vick-O MartiniFortune 500 CookieThat heart attack medicine may be making your penis smaller, so just for safety's sake, stop taking it altogether. Learn to play the guitar this week; it's just another good reason to carry out that plan to kidnap Dweezil Zappa. Remember, passing gas in an elevator is not only rude, it also slows down your arrival time by up to 2 seconds.
Try again later.5 Spin-Offs That Died in Production| 1. | Star Trek: Klingon Roommate | | 2. | Law & Order/C.S.I.: Shitloads of Corpses | | 3. | Enemies of Friends | | 4. | King of Queens' Fat Neighbor | | 5. | Wheel of Fortune: Vowels Only | |
|   World Cup to Destroy Japan BY roland mcshyster 5/27/2002 Hey there America, thanks for showing up for yet another dose of Entertainment Police magic. It looks like summer snuck up on us while we were passed out in the hammock, and that can only mean one thing: vaguely justified bikini features on Entertainment Tonight! Actually, that's a lie, summer probably means more than that to certain types of people, like the blind and sheepfuckers. And for the intents and purposes of this column it means summer blockbuster season! In case you've been out on the range a little bit too long, this is the time of year when Hollywood rolls out its big guns in an all-out war to gouge those greenbacks out of our tight little wallets. Who's got the biggest guns, besides that chick from The Skulls II? Roll your eyes over part one of our Summer Preview to fi...
Hey there America, thanks for showing up for yet another dose of Entertainment Police magic. It looks like summer snuck up on us while we were passed out in the hammock, and that can only mean one thing: vaguely justified bikini features on Entertainment Tonight! Actually, that's a lie, summer probably means more than that to certain types of people, like the blind and sheepfuckers. And for the intents and purposes of this column it means summer blockbuster season! In case you've been out on the range a little bit too long, this is the time of year when Hollywood rolls out its big guns in an all-out war to gouge those greenbacks out of our tight little wallets. Who's got the biggest guns, besides that chick from The Skulls II? Roll your eyes over part one of our Summer Preview to find out:
In Theaters
Bad Company
I suppose it was only a matter of time before we saw Steven Seagal ass-kicking his way through the hallways at Enron, but I was still surprised at how fast they turned this one out. They must have these scripts sitting around in Mad-lib form somewhere.
The Bourne Dentist
Matt Damon is Richard Bourne, a man who was born (get it?) to scrape plaque off of molars, but highly secretive government agents are out to stop him for reasons that only the screenwriter understands. Pretty good as far as dentist-thrillers go, and I liked Damon's Bond-like use of dental apparatus to get him out of tight jams. Kind of like Bond himself in It's Never Too Late to Die and Fancypants. The best thing about the movie, however, was the fact that they vetoed the original title at the last minute: Rinse, Spit or Die. Hallelujah. That would have been the worst title since James Bond in… Overkill.
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood
Talk about some divine Ya-Yas. This would qualify as must-see TV if it were on television and television showed knockers. Yeah.
Enough
Those Hollywood big-shots were apparently as fed up with all of this Jennifer Lopez bullshit as you and me, so they finally decided to lay the franchise to rest with one gonzo exploding-building, axe-in-the-skull, flaming-motor-home "the bitch ain't comin' back" finale. Very satisfying for those of us who thought they should have killed her off after The Wedding Planter.
Harvard Man
Sarah Michelle Gellar, the curvy bass player for heavy-metal sloths Slayer, dons the press-on mustache for some cross-dressing Just One of the Guys mayhem at America's favorite party school. Probably the best metal band date movie since Ministry's Sorority Girls.
The Importance of Being Ernest
Hell yeah. It's about time Hollywood laugh machine Ernest P. Worrel returned to the big screen, I was beginning to think he'd died or something. Some might argue that all of Ernest's movies are the same, and on the surface that may appear to be true. Boy meets girl, boy drops girl into a vat of raw sewage, boy falls off ladder and boy saves a bunch of little kids from some kind of snot-covered goblin.
But it's in the subtle undertones that the differences are found, and this soul-searching epic about a septic-tank scrubber who is mistaken for the president is clearly Ernest's strongest work to date.
Insomnia
Can't sleep? Then maybe you should move to Alaska or Norweg or some place like that. I hear it never gets dark there, so you can stay up all night cleaning your gun or whatever they do up there all night. Maybe watching polar bears tear into the soda machines, something. I'm not sure, I fell asleep during the movie.
Scooby, Don't!
Everyone's favorite cartoon leg-humping machine is back in his big-screen debut. Unless you've ever watched the cartoon on one of those huge projection televisions, that's admittedly a pretty big screen right there. But for the rest of us with shitty 10" Sanyo TV/VCR combos, this is our first chance to see Scooby humping the president's leg all larger than lifelike.
Spirit: Stallion of the Cinnamon
I almost choked on a licorice whip when I saw the trailer for this one. Could this be for real? I thought horse pictures died with The Black Stallion and Return of the Bride of the Black Stallion 2. And not only was this a horse picture, but an ANIMATED horse picture to boot. And not only an animated horse picture, but an animated horse picture with a name that sounded like the title of a Jewel song. Holy shit! This could be worse than Glitter! Thankfully for everyone implicated in the credits, this turned out to be another great Mel Brooks spoof, with a clever red salmon of a trailer that should trick more than a few ten year-old girls into paying to see a movie about debutants having sex with horses.
The Sumbitch on All Fours
Ben Affleck takes a turn for the wolf in this poorly-timed "Werewolf in the South" picture. Believe me, I'm as excited as the next guy about the prospect of seeing some nutfuck werewolf with poofed-up hair taking a bite out of some saggy good-old-boy behind, but in the current national climate, are we really ready to laugh about bloodthirsty man-wolves again? As Teen Wolf, Too, Wolf, and Airwolf all proved, a novel spin isn't always enough to keep the public coming back for more man-dog mayhem. Having Ben Affleck being torn from ass to appetite by berzerk werewolves, now that's an idea that could have drawn a crowd. Or perhaps a movie about the same.
Undercover Brother
If you've ever told a younger sibling so many monster stories that they were afraid to come out from under the covers at night, then snuck under their covers while they were sleeping, farted, and then left, this is the movie for you. You know who you are.
Windtalkers
Though some may lament the trend, with more and more movies being packed with fart jokes these days it was all but inevitable that someone would eventually make a movie that was all fart jokes. And who better to do it than John Woo, director of such foreign fart classics as Con Air and Hard Boiled Eggs? The film starts out by showing the members of the Windtalker family coming to grips with their exceptional flatulent skills in a hilarious montage. Carl Windtalker's accidental ass-blasted recital of Sweet Child O' Mine at a baseball game will separate the snobs from the slobs in the audience, but if you make the cut you should have a good time. It's hard not to smile at the family's internal communication through a rudimentary language of intestinal blurts, and uncle Frank's scented Moose call will delight audiences, though it may scare children under the age of four. Coincidentally, some guy sitting in front of me added to the realism by cutting one loose during the film, making for a full sensory movie experience. I'll never eat Jujubees again, but I can't say that it didn't add to the film. I'm a little worried about Taco Bell's plans for a Windtaco tie-in, since I don't want to be caught in one of those places the first time somebody needs to make a run for the border after downing a sack full of those things.
That's it for now, folks. Tune your browsers this way in a month's time to take a gander at the other half of the skinny on what'll be crawling up your local theater's ass and dying this summer. Until then, this has been Entertainment Police, and you've been reading.   |
