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Bush Wishes Everyone Liked Tool As Much As He DoesPresident's favorite band not enjoyed by friends like he enjoys them July 22, 2002 |
Washington, DC Ansel Evans George Bush, rockin' leader of the free world resident Bush stated Sunday that he wished everyone was into Tool as much as he is. Though he did not name names, the president implied everyone surrounding him, from his wife Laura Bush to Secretary of State Colin Powell, did not enjoy the hard rock band on the same level he does.
"I mean, they 'like' Tool and all," stated the president, "but it's just not the same. They like Tool like they won't turn them off if they're on the radio or something. I like Tool like I want to put in the CD and jam, you know, to sing along to all the songs, even the ones most people don't know. I know all their albums and who played on each song by heart. Nobody I know likes Tool like that, nobody."
Attorney General John Ashcroft confirmed the president's feelings.
"To...
resident Bush stated Sunday that he wished everyone was into Tool as much as he is. Though he did not name names, the president implied everyone surrounding him, from his wife Laura Bush to Secretary of State Colin Powell, did not enjoy the hard rock band on the same level he does.
"I mean, they 'like' Tool and all," stated the president, "but it's just not the same. They like Tool like they won't turn them off if they're on the radio or something. I like Tool like I want to put in the CD and jam, you know, to sing along to all the songs, even the ones most people don't know. I know all their albums and who played on each song by heart. Nobody I know likes Tool like that, nobody."
Attorney General John Ashcroft confirmed the president's feelings.
"Tool's not bad, I'm not saying that. It's just… I don't know, I'm not into it at all, really. Not too hard for me or nothing, I don't think, I just prefer other kinds of stuff. If I want to listen to something heavy I usually go for Rammstein or stuff like that. Most of the time I just listen to Creed. I like Creed and nobody around here does. You don't see me flipping out and whining about it."
The president, a reported Tool fan since his days as Governor of Texas when the band released Aenima, has tried since then to get everybody into Tool, from South African president Nelson Mandella to his daughters.
"Bar's into that really gay new country and Jenna just likes Jimmy Buffett. I swear, I don't know whose kids they are, but they didn't get that from me," said the president.
Unable to share his love for the band with surrounding friends, family members, and staff, the president has turned to Tool message boards and chat rooms, where his login name is usually Prisonsex2000.
"This guy the other day wouldn't shut up about 'Sober,' like it's their best song ever and, man, it was just so clear this guy was a newbie. Me and the other fans at toolbox.com were just all straight-faced, like, 'Yeah, man, that's sure 'nuff it!' I mean, don't get me wrong, 'Sober' kicks ass, no one will say it doesn't, but no one who's a Tool fan needs to be told that, right?"
Tool has been instrumental in Bush's life since he discovered them as Governor of Texas. He even credits his decision to run for president because of his love for hard rock music, stating to several press groups in 1992 that America could do better than a Fleetwood Mac fan as president. the commune news needs 30 cc's of demoral, stat, nurse! Lil Duncan makes an impressive turkey drawing with just a few crayons and an outline of her own hand.
| Afghan President Steps in for Vice-PresidentNew president sought after confusing transfer of power July 8, 2002 |
Kabul, Afghanistan Snapper McGee Former Afghan President, now Vice-President Hamid Karzai (left, pictured with his Uncle Junior) plays a solemn funeral march on a water bottle. ollowing the assassination of Afghan Vice-President Abdul Qadir by armed terrorists Saturday, Afghan President Hamid Karzai immediately took over the role of Vice-President within a few short hours of the incident.
"As of this time, I am now second in command of the country of Afghanistan," Karzai said to a small gathering of reporters in the presidential bunker.
When pressed by western and Middle Eastern reporters alike on the logic of stepping down to fill a position below you, Karzai did not respond. He ended the press conference when persistent inquiries as to who is now the president of Afghanistan came up. Reporters were shuffled from the bunker by burly guards, one of whom we swear used to work at Studio 54.
The late Qadir was an important p...
ollowing the assassination of Afghan Vice-President Abdul Qadir by armed terrorists Saturday, Afghan President Hamid Karzai immediately took over the role of Vice-President within a few short hours of the incident.
"As of this time, I am now second in command of the country of Afghanistan," Karzai said to a small gathering of reporters in the presidential bunker.
When pressed by western and Middle Eastern reporters alike on the logic of stepping down to fill a position below you, Karzai did not respond. He ended the press conference when persistent inquiries as to who is now the president of Afghanistan came up. Reporters were shuffled from the bunker by burly guards, one of whom we swear used to work at Studio 54.
The late Qadir was an important part of the rebuilding of Afghanistan's government. The veteran Pashtun warlord was believed a stabilizing influence and supporter of U.S. action in the country, and with him gone, that stability is now in question. With Karzai unintentionally demoting himself to a secondary position, it may be up to the U.S. to call upon a new president and then responsibility placed on the people of Afghanistan to "elect" them in a fair election, like the kind that put George W. Bush in office.
With the future of Afghanistan again under pressure, advice is coming in from strange circles.
"This never should have happened, and measures should be instituted to prevent it from happening again," said CEO of WorldCom Inc. John Sidgmore. "I may not know assassinations and domestic terrorism, but I know power structures and fire coming up from below. You never want to have just one person beneath you on a pyramid. I suggest at least three, maybe up to ten Vice Presidents to create that solid second floor. That way if things start crumbling underneath you from the bottom up, you've at least got a few more bodies in the way before you hit the ground."
The president was also reached for his obligatory quote.
"It's a sad day for the Afghanistanian people," said the president, then nodding to affirm what he had said. "That guy they lost was a valued member of our foreign department. It's a sad day for his family and the people who liked him, of which I understand there are many. The people who don't like him are having a happy day, but their happy day will turn into a sad day when we catch up with them. And that will be a happy day for us."
When questioned about Karzai's decision to step in for the fallen Vice President, Bush's resolve was tempered and cautious. "It's a very brave step, although we will wait and see if it was good or not. I have a vice president. I know that I would be terrified if something happened to him, and with his heart running like a '69 Impala, that possibility is always lurking in the shadows." the commune news sends its liver out to the people of Afghanistan, its heart still not yet returned from San Francisco. Ivan Nacutchacokov is a commune foreign correspondent and has been gathering dust with our lack of overseas reporting until lately.
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July 22, 2002 Shinto the PintoShinto the Pinto was the nicest car anyone could ever reasonably hope to meet. He drove at reasonable speeds, signaled for turns, and hardly ever ran down baby carriages on the sidewalk merely for sport. His interior smelled like a freshly unwrapped deodorant tree, and his seat covers were refreshingly free of diarrhea stains. But still, nobody liked Shinto.
The problem was, Japanese cars had a reputation for reliability. Everybody knew you could trust a Japanese car to get you from the pig roast to the methadone clinic with no problems whatsoever. No biplane noises coming from the engine, no carbon monoxide pouring through the air vents, and no busted-out seat springs stabbing you in the ass while you drive. Life was good in a Japanese car. Unfortunately for Shinto, all of th...
º Last Column: Leland Was a Flea º more columns
Shinto the Pinto was the nicest car anyone could ever reasonably hope to meet. He drove at reasonable speeds, signaled for turns, and hardly ever ran down baby carriages on the sidewalk merely for sport. His interior smelled like a freshly unwrapped deodorant tree, and his seat covers were refreshingly free of diarrhea stains. But still, nobody liked Shinto.
The problem was, Japanese cars had a reputation for reliability. Everybody knew you could trust a Japanese car to get you from the pig roast to the methadone clinic with no problems whatsoever. No biplane noises coming from the engine, no carbon monoxide pouring through the air vents, and no busted-out seat springs stabbing you in the ass while you drive. Life was good in a Japanese car. Unfortunately for Shinto, all of the other Japanese cars out there were Hondas and Toyotas and Nissans and they generally lived up to the stereotype, driving long hours without giving their owners a lick of trouble. Shinto was the only Japanese car anyone had ever heard of who also happened to be a Pinto, the gold standard for shitty, unreliable cars for years.
If he had been an American Pinto, nobody would have thought twice about the fact that he never ran for more than ten minutes without overheating, or the way his brakes squealed like pterodactyls whenever the pedal was touched. But everyone could tell from Shinto's accent that he was Japanese, and that's where things failed to add up.
Whenever his tires wobbled or his windshield wipers flew off in the rain, leaving the metal arms to drag across the windshield and dig grooves into the glass, people thought Shinto was just messing around or being lazy. Whenever he idled hard enough to make the cars next to him at traffic lights shake, people looked down their nose at Shinto and shook their heads. He was seen as an incredible fuck-up who couldn't do anything right, especially not being a proper Japanese car.
Kids from around the neighborhood would sneak up behind Shinto and bash his rear bumper with sledgehammers on an almost daily basis, none of them believing that Shinto really had as fragile and poorly-located gas tank as he claimed. People of all ages laughed and called him a hypochondriac when he pleaded with them to stop smashing into him from behind, claiming that even a moderate rear impact could result in his fuel tank rupturing and engulfing his entire body in a ball of flames, while his passengers would be trapped inside by his ineptly designed doors. "Suuuure Shinto," they'd say, rolling their eyes and twirling their fingers in the crazy motion around their ears.
Things just got worse and worse for Shinto, and eventually everyone started calling him "Shitbox" instead of Shinto. Everyone thought that was pretty funny, except of course for Shitbox. I mean Shinto. Then one day, a kid on a bike ran into Shinto from behind and he blew up in the biggest fireball anyone living had ever seen. There was a story about it in the paper and a picture of the kid's shoe stuck in a tree. Everyone learned an important lesson that day: that you can't judge a book by it's cover, or by its nationality. But you can judge a car by it's name and for the love of God, don't follow a Pinto too close or even bump into it with your shopping cart at the grocery store. Good lord, if that isn't a recipe to have your ass blown out through the soles of your shoes, then I don't know what is. º Last Column: Leland Was a Fleaº 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 | |
| Texans to Rain Clouds: Don't Mess with TexasBY red koopman 7/8/2002 The House Won't Let You OutThe sun dragged its lazy ass across the dewy morning grass. It was early in Popafohka Falls, the kind of early writers think everybody loves to hear described in tired old ways.
State Trooper Kemp DuhFarge drove up to the empty old Victorian House and stopped his car. It was a routine call, even if the house was supposed to be haunted, like all the kids in the neighborhood said, even that one kind of strange kid that seemed to be in touch with a dark indescribable force. But that kind of talk was for kids, and Kemp DuhFarge was a grown-up—a full-grown State Trooper with a gun and flashlight that were standard issue in this old fictional New England town.
Kemp knocked on the door, "shave and a haircut". He waited, but no one answered, so he naturally opened the d...
The sun dragged its lazy ass across the dewy morning grass. It was early in Popafohka Falls, the kind of early writers think everybody loves to hear described in tired old ways.
State Trooper Kemp DuhFarge drove up to the empty old Victorian House and stopped his car. It was a routine call, even if the house was supposed to be haunted, like all the kids in the neighborhood said, even that one kind of strange kid that seemed to be in touch with a dark indescribable force. But that kind of talk was for kids, and Kemp DuhFarge was a grown-up—a full-grown State Trooper with a gun and flashlight that were standard issue in this old fictional New England town.
Kemp knocked on the door, "shave and a haircut". He waited, but no one answered, so he naturally opened the door and went inside without being invited. "Hello?" he called out, hearing no response in return. "Hello?" he repeated, without any further response. "Hello!" he demanded, but no greeting was issued.
"This is Kemp DuhFarge of the State Police. I found a dead man without a head a mile down the road and came to see if anyone here saw anything or might have been involved in some fashion. It made a lot of sense, but now I feel a bit awkward seeing as how I don't even know who lives here and have yet to hear a response. Listen to me, acting all weird and justifying myself to you—who the hell do you think you are? I don't have to answer your questions. It's police business. So do you know something or not?"
But there was no answer.
Suddenly, the door swung open swiftly and the last thing Kemp saw before falling backwards was the shine of silver on a well-sharpened ax blade. Terror!
Kemp went to draw his gun, but he would have been dead had the ax blade been wielded by an otherworldly creature who wanted to murder him. Instead the ax was held by the smallish weird boy described a little earlier. Kemp realized there was no danger, and the author realized he had blown his horror load quickly and allowed himself another 40 pages of creeping suspense before the monster had to appear.
"Boy, what are you doing here?" asked Kemp, taking the ax from the boy.
"Leave quickly. They know you're here," the boy said in a soft, boyish voice.
"You scared the hell out of me," Kemp stated matter-of-factly. The boy appeared frightened and white, even for a white boy. "What's the matter with you? You look like you seen a ghost."
The boy said something cryptic to the effect that maybe he possibly had, though I'm not exactly sure how to phrase it.
"A ghost?" repeated Kemp. "What horseshit."
The door suddenly slammed shut and locked itself. The windows locked themselves and the glass became unbreakable through mystical means. Kemp the State Trooper drew a deep breath and asked aloud who was there, who else was in the house with him and the boy, stupidly neglecting the information about the ghost he had just been exposed to.
"It's no use now," said the boy, running up the stairs for unclear reasons. "They know you're here. You can't leave!"
Kemp chased the boy upstairs, wishing he had shot him when he jumped out with the ax like that guy in the department who killed the kid with the toy gun. But he had disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen and Kemp was here, alone, trapped in the inescapable house with something I haven't quite defined the nature of. |