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Gilbert Gottfried Cloned in Stem Cell Mishap June 10, 2002 |
Dual Gottfrieds two too many?
The study proved that laboratory-engineered tissues created from heart, skeletal and renal cells cloned from cows, then transplanted back into the animals, could develop into both functional tissues and a live clone of the 45 year-old comedian turned actor who sometimes does voice w...
cow implanted with cells taken from a cloned bovine embryo didn’t reject the tissue, scientists report, though the cow did give birth to a full-grown clone of comedian Gilbert Gottfried seven hours later. While still far from human use, experts say the bovine advance demonstrates the potential for much-debated therapeutic cloning to correct many of the common ills that affect humans, while the unexpected side effect demonstrates the terrifying danger of screwing with Mother Nature’s cookbook. The study proved that laboratory-engineered tissues created from heart, skeletal and renal cells cloned from cows, then transplanted back into the animals, could develop into both functional tissues and a live clone of the 45 year-old comedian turned actor who sometimes does voice work for cartoons. “While more work needs to be done, this demonstrates the potential use of this technology,” said Dr. Lorenzo Mead, director of tissue engineering at Children’s Hospital Boston. When asked about the unexpected Gottfried clone side effect, Dr. Mead bit his lower lip and stared at the floor in a non-committal fashion. Cloning technology is controversial and opposed by many, including President Bush and Pope John Paul II, because it involves creating and destroying embryos and requires more than a high-school level understanding of science to comprehend. “Thousands of Americans die every day from diseases that could be cured using stem cells,” Mead said while the clone of Gilbert Gottfried mimicked him in a high-pitched singsong voice. Stopping repeatedly to ask the Gottfried clone not to touch the equipment, Mead demonstrated how the nucleus from a cow egg was removed and replaced with a skin cell from another cow, which developed into a healthy embryo. Dr. Mead told the commune that the embryo did not, however, have “big, sexy udders” as was claimed by the Gottfried clone. Hours after the study’s results were reported to the media, the original Gilbert Gottfried arrived at the research labs brandishing a large rubber crucifix and demanded to meet his clone. Researchers felt obligated to comply, but soon regretted their decision as Gottfried and his clone began yelling loudly in stereo and eventually were kicked out of the building for playing ping-pong with a cow’s eye. Asked if he was shocked by the inadvertent creation of the Gottfried clone, fellow researcher Dr. Cameron Angelos disagreed. “Not really. We accidentally created a clone of Tom Sizemore last week. I think he’s still working back in the stock room somewhere… Yo, Tom-o! I think he went home. Anyway, we’re still not sure if we’re getting contaminated DNA samples or if this is a warning from God. Though after we had both of the Gottfrieds in here earlier I started leaning toward the ‘Warning from God’ theory.” “Cloning is a spectacular and beautiful thing,” said Dr. Mead, while thumbing through job listings in the paper. the commune news is strong enough for a man, but has not yet been approved for testing on the fairer sex. Truman Prudy was recently discovered under a couch in the commune offices, where he’d apparently been living in fear since witnessing Ted Ted’s vicious de-jamming of the old fax machine a year ago.
 | 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.
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 June 10, 2002 The Gimp Has Claimed Quentin Tarantinothe commune's Red Bagel poses a medievel question to your ass O Director, Where Art Thou?
That's what semi-intelligent critics who love making minor alterations to famous titles or phrases should be asking. Nobody else seems curious as to what's happened to two-hit wonder Quentin Tarantino. The writer/director defined '90s pop-culture referencing in film with his fantastic works Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. He also did Jackie Brown.
And then what happened, I ask? Like many others I actually have no clue, just extremely curious. The title "The Gimp Has Claimed Quentin Tarantino" is just a creative way of referencing his previous work and posing the topic, I actually don't know.
It does make you think, though. Alright, stop now.
Chances are something happened to Tarantino during t...
º Last Column: The MCP Has Abducted My Office Manager
º more columns
O Director, Where Art Thou? That's what semi-intelligent critics who love making minor alterations to famous titles or phrases should be asking. Nobody else seems curious as to what's happened to two-hit wonder Quentin Tarantino. The writer/director defined '90s pop-culture referencing in film with his fantastic works Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. He also did Jackie Brown. And then what happened, I ask? Like many others I actually have no clue, just extremely curious. The title "The Gimp Has Claimed Quentin Tarantino" is just a creative way of referencing his previous work and posing the topic, I actually don't know. It does make you think, though. Alright, stop now. Chances are something happened to Tarantino during the making of Jackie Brown, the making of his last unreleased feature, or one of his infamous verbal battles with Spike Lee. With all the guns and swords and backroom raping that goes on in a Tarantino film, it's entirely possible something awful destroyed him before his next film could be released. This must have happened sometime around 1997. Unless it perhaps happened earlier…? How do we know for sure Quentin Tarantino made Jackie Brown? In fact, how do we know for sure Tarantino did anything after Pulp Fiction? When he accepted the Oscar at the Academy Awards ceremony that year he seemed a little suspect to me. Not to mention all through that From Dusk Till Dawn film. I surmise maybe Tarantino never made it to either one of those events. Now's the part where you smugly doubt me, saying that Tarantino has been seeing numerous places since Pulp Fiction debuted. Listen, toad, I don't need to be reminded of facts I have exhaustively researched. Take that tone with me again you'll be reading this column with your eyes in your ass. Don't make me try to figure out that physical nightmare, just shut up already. Alright, I'm calmer now. The truth is, in theory, Quentin Tarantino, the talented writer/director, has been replaced with a lookalike. You might suspect an android replacement—I did at first, but the animations of most human beings are beyond current android technology, especially for the nervous manic animations of Tarantino. Delve into your collective sitcom psyche and ask yourself, if it's not a robot, not a future or past self (trust me on this one), and not another Tarantino from another universe, what is it? If you said "twin brother," you're right on the money. If you said "mask," please, you're wasting my time and yours with your bizarre fantasies. I'd bet dollars to dildos Quentin Tarantino's less popular, less talented brother has imprisoned or eliminated his brother and is parading around as him. This other brother—let's assume his name is Quincy since parents always name identical twins with an alliterative name—lacks the technical film knowledge Tarantino himself, a former video store clerk, possesses, and therefore had ground to a halt any filmmaking Tarantino was in the midst of. He's riding around on Tarantino's kick-ass coattails, hobnobbing at all the parties and rubbing celebrity elbows and squawking like a chicken while his brother remains missing. Tarantino has become the victim in his own crime-drama, tied to a chair, ball-gagged, while some smarmy redneck hollers to bring out the gimp. We must find him and free him before the gimp is brought out. And when I say "we" I mean "you."ame way—a little painful at first, not without some mis-steps, but ultimately for the better of everyone. º Last Column: The MCP Has Abducted My Office Managerº more columns | 
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Milestones1988: Future commune staff photographer Junior Bacon takes a photo that shocks the nation, until experts determine that the Sasquatch-looking thing in the picture is actually future commune editor Red Bagel.Now HiringExperienced Spelunker. Needed to find a way into Ned Nedmiller's office and see if there's anyone still alive in there. Ability to speak Dutch a plus.Top-Selling Pamphlet Books| 1. | Women Who Are Happy with Their Weight | | 2. | The Reagan Memoirs | | 3. | The Joy of British Cooking | | 4. | A Complete Guide to Montana's Gay Bars | | 5. | The Tao of Vince Lombardi | |
|   U.S. Government Continues Strategy of Releasing Horrific Truth Bit by Bit 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.   |
