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Liver Patient Rejects Donor Organ as "Unsatisfactory"Finicky terminal patient waiting for something better September 2, 2002 |
Indianapolis, IN Little Billy Cundiff For the commune Artistic representation so you know what a liver looks like
"I don't think it's out of line to say this liver is unsatisfactory," Quelode told her doctors and EMTs who had brought the liver in an emergency helicopter from Illinois.
"See?" Quelode said, pointing out thin, veiny fissures in the organ as they presented it to her, per her request. "Not a top of the line model, to say the least. It's not bite marks or anything, but as far as I'm concerned it's not far from it. I'll pass."
Quelode's doctors assured the woman the surface scarring or blemishes were just cosmetic defects, but Quelode said if they didn't bother the ...
wo hours after being promised a liver from a recently-deceased organ donor, terminal liver patient Marcy Quelode refused to accept the liver, declaring that it did not meet her standards.
"I don't think it's out of line to say this liver is unsatisfactory," Quelode told her doctors and EMTs who had brought the liver in an emergency helicopter from Illinois.
"See?" Quelode said, pointing out thin, veiny fissures in the organ as they presented it to her, per her request. "Not a top of the line model, to say the least. It's not bite marks or anything, but as far as I'm concerned it's not far from it. I'll pass."
Quelode's doctors assured the woman the surface scarring or blemishes were just cosmetic defects, but Quelode said if they didn't bother the doctors then they could have it, but she wanted a better one.
"I know you're trying to save my life, and I appreciate it and all," the ill patient told transplant surgeons, "but if I let you talk me into it right now, I'm just going to wake up and regret it tomorrow. I've been through this before—well, not this. I was never happy with my breast augmentation surgery, though."
Earlier this year Quelode was diagnosed with Primary Biliary Cirrhosis, some kind of liver disease. Without a liver transplant, it is highly probable the disease will continue to shut down her liver until she dies from liver failure. However, the immediacy of the situation, according to Quelode, is no reason to accept substandard donor organs.
"Despite the warnings of doctors and the rolling of eyes while saying, 'Oh-kay!' I believe that I can do better. All my life I have taken 'good enough' when I deserved much better. This liver is surely 'good enough'—the donation was a kind gesture by a man with a wonderful heart. Unfortunately, I need a liver and he apparently kept shoddy maintenance on that."
Her condition worsening, Quelode was put back on the waiting list for a new liver, with the hand-penciled footnote "Grade B or Better Only." Doctors, exasperated and annoyed, tossed the refused liver back in the medical cooler bowing and adding, "Certainly, your majesty. Watch us jump to it. Jesus."
Immediately the doctors and EMTs left the room and waited a couple of minutes just outside, then went back in, but Quelode recognized the cooler and told them she wanted a brand new liver, no more shenanigans. More frustrated, doctors exited again and had Quelode returned to the list.
"We gave the liver to some guy in Iowa," said transplant surgeon Yurgen Pose. "He was doing fine with it for hours, then some big-mouth on the operating team mentioned the lady rejecting it, now he's all on the phone with us everyday asking what's wrong with it. What a pain in the ass. Why did I become a doctor? I could have been a NASCAR driver. I guarantee you Jeff Gordon doesn't have to listen to shit like this all day."
As Quelode's serum bilirubin levels continue to rise, edging her closer to the end, she asks to be included in everyone's prayers and hopes that everyone will fill out their organ donor cards, especially non-drinkers who exercise but infrequently engaged in rough contact sports. the commune news can sympathize with anyone unfairly rejected. We're here for you. Bludney Plud himself is known as "King Rejection" around the office, as well as his neighborhood and even places he has yet to visit.
 | Rock Band Bush Forgotten in Record TimeBritish grunge act proves ground-breakingly disposable September 2, 2002 |
New York, NY Courtesy Tiger Beat Magazine Last one into the cultural black hole is a rotten egg
Bush rose to fame behind the success of their 1994 album Sixteen Stone, which sold over 15 million copies worldwide and settled hundreds of bets over how long it would take alternative rock to turn into Def Leppard. Bristling under the weight of overwhelmingly poor reviews and tired of not being taken seriously by anyone over the age of fourteen, Bush donned indie producer Steve Albini like a credibility hat for the release ...
neaking up on an enduring place in music history like an albino in a snowstorm, the platinum-selling English grunge band Bush has dropped completely from public memory in record time, a study found Tuesday. Previous record holders The Escape Club could not be reached for comment, as nobody could remember who was in the band or what they looked like.
Bush rose to fame behind the success of their 1994 album Sixteen Stone, which sold over 15 million copies worldwide and settled hundreds of bets over how long it would take alternative rock to turn into Def Leppard. Bristling under the weight of overwhelmingly poor reviews and tired of not being taken seriously by anyone over the age of fourteen, Bush donned indie producer Steve Albini like a credibility hat for the release of their second album, 1996's Razorblade Suitcase. Despite sporting an title that Spinal Tap thought was artsy, the album was another critical failure, sending the band into a deep prettyboy funk. They returned in 1999 with The Science of Things, an attempt to succeed where U2 had failed, by half-heartedly aping popular trends in techno music and alienating every last one of their fans.
Bush drew massive ire from music critics and hipsters on both continents for their 2000 release We're Nirvana, then promptly dropped off the face of the planet when the record-buying public lost its taste for generic bands copying good bands and developed a passion for homogeneously generic bands and rich white teens pretending to be angry and black.
Tuesday's report included a poll of over 3,000 households, none of whom could recall the grunge quartet in any meaningful fashion. Polls of the commune staff and random yokels on the street provided similar results.
Professional man-on-the-street Rodney Brown came the closest to remembering the band with his comment "What was their big song? Crazy Train?"
Others were not so lucky. commune reporter Lil Duncan feigned memory of the band with her claim to have toured with Bush as a groupie in the mid-90's, but her stories of wild debauchery and pharmaceutical excess quickly revealed the band in question to actually have been Scottish uberdorks The Proclaimers.
Other staff members confused the band with similarly forgotten, yet not completely eclipsed pop acts such as The Crash Test Dummies, Fun Lovin' Criminals and Frente.
"I got it. They were the ones with the two drummers, and the guitar player would always get naked for the last song," convenience store clerk Rasham Levin nodded with barrel-scraping conviction.
Whoever the members of Bush were could not be reached for comment as of press time. the commune news will be more than happy to rock the Casbah, just as soon as we can find somebody reliable-looking to ask for directions. Ramon Nootles is no longer afraid, and wants you to know that he eats big, syrup-soaked slices of french toast like you for breakfast.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 September 2, 2002 Sweet Punch"In my early military days, we had a green recruit in our battalion we called 'Sweet Punch.' The name may sound silly, but I guarantee you Sweet Punch was no laughing matter.
There was nothing Sweet Punch wasn't scared of. Or is that a double-negative? He wasn't ever scared, that's my intended remark.
Sweet Punch would call the drill sergeant a fish-masturbator to his face, something we only said behind his back, or dreamed about late at night. The drill sergeant would give him 2,000,000,000 push-ups as punishment and sat to watch him do them all. The drill sergeant would then get tired around 20 push-ups and wander off, leaving Sweet Punch to hang out with us for a while drinking until we all went to bed. To sleep, I mean, in separate beds.
In war wa...
º Last Column: Tornado
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"In my early military days, we had a green recruit in our battalion we called 'Sweet Punch.' The name may sound silly, but I guarantee you Sweet Punch was no laughing matter.
There was nothing Sweet Punch wasn't scared of. Or is that a double-negative? He wasn't ever scared, that's my intended remark.
Sweet Punch would call the drill sergeant a fish-masturbator to his face, something we only said behind his back, or dreamed about late at night. The drill sergeant would give him 2,000,000,000 push-ups as punishment and sat to watch him do them all. The drill sergeant would then get tired around 20 push-ups and wander off, leaving Sweet Punch to hang out with us for a while drinking until we all went to bed. To sleep, I mean, in separate beds.
In war was no different. I worked for the armed forces newspaper Stars N Stripes, gardening section, and would often cover Sweet Punch's amazing exploits in World War II, and later World War III, later known as the Korean Mistake.
Sweet Punch would walk into a mindfield, hit a mine, and come out laughing on the other side, usually through the hysterical euphoria of losing most of his limbs in an explosion. He would storm German machine guns and chew the bullets, spitting them out like tobacco. Tobacco filled with blood and face meat. He ran right up to Mussolini one time and socked him right between his fascist eyes. At least he thought it was Mussolini, it turned out to be that exact same drill sergeant, strangely enough, and he made him do 30 push-ups before getting bored and wandering off.
Actually, to be completely truthful, Sweet Punch, the first one, was killed the minute we stepped off the boat, the victim of a well-placed Nazi street pothole. After that we just called every green recruit we didn't know the name of Sweet Punch. It sure made us feel better." º Last Column: Tornadoº more columns | 
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Milestones1969: Red Bagel finds true calling when he stumbles on to faked moon landing being filmed in his local neighborhood YMCA.Now HiringRing-Bearer. Seeking meek carrier of unholy evil, pure of heart and with will to accomplish impossible deed. Three references and two years of experience necessary, start at minimum wage.Best John Travolta Comeback Films| 1. | Pulp Fiction (1994) | | 2. | Look Who's Talking (1989) | | 3. | Blow Out (1981) | | 4. | Staying Alive (1983) | | 5. | Welcome Back, Sweat Hogs (2003) | |
|   Americans to Commemorate Sept. 11th by Bitching About Minor Inconveniences BY roland mcshyster 9/2/2002 What a shitty prom date we've got this week, America. I'm not kidding folks, there isn't dick coming out in the next fortnight. And it looks like I'm the one left holding the dead broad's head when the music has stopped, because I've still got to write about it either way. At least we can get some Ask Roland rolling here to keep the kids off the streets:
Q. Hey Roland, when they set some dude on fire in the movie, how does he keep from going all blind and shit? I mean, I know they've got him in some kind of special flame-retarded suit so he doesn't get his biscuits burned or nothing, but it's still got to be pretty bright to be on fire like that, don't you think? I don't know about you, but I'd be wishing for some Oakleys or something if I was ever on fire like t...
What a shitty prom date we've got this week, America. I'm not kidding folks, there isn't dick coming out in the next fortnight. And it looks like I'm the one left holding the dead broad's head when the music has stopped, because I've still got to write about it either way. At least we can get some Ask Roland rolling here to keep the kids off the streets:
Q. Hey Roland, when they set some dude on fire in the movie, how does he keep from going all blind and shit? I mean, I know they've got him in some kind of special flame-retarded suit so he doesn't get his biscuits burned or nothing, but it's still got to be pretty bright to be on fire like that, don't you think? I don't know about you, but I'd be wishing for some Oakleys or something if I was ever on fire like that.
Marc Blanst, Toronto, ON
A.Good question, Marc. Actually, it's not, but I'm required by our insurance company to say that. Since when do they have the Internet in Canada? I hope you didn't have to break into the US embassy to send that. I don't know about the sunglasses, I always just figured those guys kept their eyes closed when they were on fire, since they're usually just stumbling around and flailing their arms like I would be if my eyes were closed. It's not like you see a lot of people typing or doing needlepoint while they're on fire in the movies.
Q. Roland, what do you think of the latest Sight and Sound Magazine critics poll of the greatest movies ever? Don't you think it's just intellectual snobbery that inspired them to not include a single film since 1980? What about Tootsie? What a bunch of needledicks. I wish they would get the cancer and die.
Linda Desantis, Port Richey, FL
A. You're exactly right, Linda, except the part about Tootsie. Let's not get carried away here. While most of the last 20 years have been crap, I challenge anyone out there to watch a film made before 1972. You just can't do it. And if you can, your friends and family should end their suffering now and have you committed for being clinically boring.
All right, I guess we'd best get the movies out of the way. Hold your breath kids, it's a long tunnel.
In Theaters
City by the Sea
Did anybody else hear that Robert DeNiro died about three years ago? Nobody told me anything about it, but it must be true since someone apparently has gone to the trouble of digging him up from his grave to star in this turkey. He actually does pretty well for a guy who's animated only by a car battery that's alligator-clipped to his anus, but no amount of pancake make-up can cover up the fact that his nose falls off about twenty minutes into the film. To be fair, it's one of the best zombie-puppet performances since Chris Farley starred in Wagons West six months after he died, but it's still not enough to salvage this soggy epic. To be honest, I'm not sure what kind of script approval a dead DeNiro rates these days, but you still like to think he'd find some way to turn down a script who's central conceit involves one fogey's frantic race to counsel his son, who's embarrassed to come home because he walked through some wet cement and ruined his new Reeboks. Been there, done that, Hollywood.
fear dot com
Well, at least there is one small thing to get excited about this week. Dorf is back! And if this isn't proof of the law of supply and demand, I don't know what is. Middle-aged idiots the world over have been crowing for years for a funny little perverted midget to come and teach them how to use the Internet, and Dorf has finally answered. No surprise there. Though I am a little shocked at the decision to release this special interest video as a big-budget feature film, I guess they're anticipating some pretty high demand. And that's understandable; there are a lot of overpaid simpletons out there who would probably stick the mouse up their asses in search of a kinky thrill if they were left alone with the computer unsupervised for long enough. So what the hell, you know? Slap an intimidating title on the thing, throw in a few oil-tanker explosions and a bazooka fight and you've got some slack-jawed popcorn fun all over your pants before you know it. Incidentally, Dorf dazzles on screen as always, showing unprecedented acting range and impressively nimble physical comedy for a guy who always looks like his feet are nailed to the floor.
Swimfan
Wisely changing the film's title from the evocative but easily-confused Shitfit, those faceless Hollywood bigwigs are at it again, trying to sell us on another warmed over "girls are insane" cautionary tale of a film. Hip to the fact that cramming yet another gooey giblet into America's already stuffed gut often leads to abdominal pain and unsightly gas, the filmmakers have tried to spice things up a bit by tying the whole thing into the mesmerizing new world of the Internet. This is nothing new, as a fevered desire to cash in on the popularity of the Internet has resulted in several Internet-themed film titles lately, from AOL's 40 Days and 40 Nights to Big Fat Logon and the gay porn epic Manhandle. Lame as the effort is, still, that girl from the Traffic video is convincing as every frat boy's worst nightmare, and her balls-out performance will ensure that Americans stay afraid of women and their emotions until at least next year, when Reese Witherspoon will play a heavily-tattooed extreme sports star who goes lovenuts on Brendan Fraser and kills his pet rabbit with a somersaulting speed boat.
Well, that's it, America. I told you it was grim. And the scary thing is that the fall has just begun. You might want to brush up on your eavesdropping or buy a puppy or something until the real movies get back from vacation in November. Just a thought. As for me, I'll be in the theaters as always, taking one for the team. You can't miss Roland McS, he's the one in the back row with the hari kari sword across his lap. Until then America, keep 'em hangin.   |
