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Someone Wanted to Hear Jennifer Love-Hewitt Sing AgainMysterious "fans" must have demanded new album October 14, 2002 |
Flatbush, New Jersey Snapper McGee/AP Love-Hewitt's CD, featuring brazen upper-back nudity and presumably unremarkable music.
The album, cock-teasingly titled Barenaked, the one-word spelling somehow making it more musical, contains tracks presumably sung by Jennifer Love-Hewitt and possibly even written, co-written, or just bought by the actress for the purpose of singing on the album. The release is the latest in a series of maddening superstar actor vanity albums by the likes of John Travolta, Telly Savalas, Joe Pesci, Sebastian Cabot, and Joey Lawrence, and the notorious William Shatner release T...
he world continues to surprise reporter Ted Ted in what he thinks he knows. Surprise event of the week occurred last Tuesday when actress and breast-delivery system Jennifer Love-Hewitt released another album that was demanded somewhere, at some time, by somebody completely unknown to Ted Ted.
The album, cock-teasingly titled Barenaked, the one-word spelling somehow making it more musical, contains tracks presumably sung by Jennifer Love-Hewitt and possibly even written, co-written, or just bought by the actress for the purpose of singing on the album. The release is the latest in a series of maddening superstar actor vanity albums by the likes of John Travolta, Telly Savalas, Joe Pesci, Sebastian Cabot, and Joey Lawrence, and the notorious William Shatner release The Transformed Man, which is actually really funny and should immediately be listened to for its covers of "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."
Love-Hewitt, however, who sings normally and really has nothing outstanding from Britney Spears except her brunette hair, should not be listened to. There's always the possibility that something exceptional is being recorded on Love-Hewitt's CDs that could surprise everyone and make her a huge cult hit, but it is seriously in doubt, and Ted Ted, for one, is not going to risk listening to one to be the one to find out. All likelihood points to major sucking.
The new album release, discovered during a routine search for topless actresses, may be called Barenaked but even the cover fails to live up to that. The chance that the album is nothing more than Love-Hewitt describing herself naked in vivid detail is very low, but ought to inspire a few dozen sales out there at least among her alleged fans.
Love-Hewitt's latest movie, The Tuxedo, with Jackie Chan, looks putrid, even for a Jackie Chan film. Love-Hewitt has made a career out of awful teen-age movies like I Know What You Did Last Summer and the brilliantly-named I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, which is possibly a sequel. The two best reasons to see the films—Love-Hewitt's breasts—can likely be obtained online from the thousands of fansites for the actress run by fans of her breasts, though who is buying her music is still unknown.
Claims that Ted Ted should "get over it" or "let it go," made by office wank Ramon Nootles, were immediately invalidated by the fact that Nootles is not a music fan and has standards so low he himself might own every Jennifer Love-Hewitt album ever released, and even some unreleased singles or EPs or recorded concert audio, who knows. Calls to prove he doesn't own a Jennifer Love-Hewitt CD have remained unanswered.
Love-Hewitt, apparently a well-selling star in Japan, proves once again Ted Ted's theory the Japanese will buy anything as a joke. The Japanese sense of humor, though wickedly ironic, is still a negative factor in as much as it encourages the release of Jennifer Love-Hewitt albums here in the states as well, as do the people who go to see poor-quality movies like The Tuxedo.
In its entirety, the release of the album and the continuation of Love-Hewitt's popularity at least serve as evidence in Ted Ted's belief that society's standards, even as low as they have been in the past, continue to erode hideously. More on this as it develops. the commune news is just a squirrel trying to get a nut, a'ight? Ted Ted is the commune's hotheaded office correspondent who may not deliver real news, but he sure is adorable when he gets enraged—which happens frequently.
 | Hollywood Not Optioning Nebraska Bank RobberyGory daylight heist won't play well in middle America September 30, 2002 |
Norfolk, Nebraska Snapper McGee Lead Detective Vernon McCain investigates crime scene while accidentally locked in bank by slow deputy.
The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.
Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't...
oney, the verdict is in and Hollywood is saying a resounding "Mmm-Mnnt!" to a Nebraska bank robbery in which five were killed and three were left scared out they ever-lovin' minds by three hold-up men.
The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.
Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't wait for Hollywood to put this on your local theater screen.
"Frankly, most of it plays great," said Universal Vice-Vice President Armio Durkness, "the daring daylight robbery, the guns and the explosions and the Black Hawk helicopter—God, I'm wet over the Black Hawk helicopter. But the shooting of four bank people? And the customer? Bad move, guys. Makes us less sympathetic to your character. We're passing for now."
Apparently our fearsome threesome have a Master's degree in domestic terrorism, but a big fat failing grade in media savvy.
"Man, it could have been great," said MGM Studio Exec Dandelion Waters. "Three buddy bank robbers in the western United States decide to pull off that one big heist and the evil, corrupt governor—metaphorically speaking, of course—wants to bring them down so he can get re-elected. Sends out every cop in the state, even a super high-tech Airwolf-style chopper. Then they had to go and ruin it by blowing away people. Nobody wants to see that on their news and they definitely don't want to pay to see it at the theater."
Three men were arrested in a town about 76 miles away, but it could not be certain if the men were the ones they were seeking or just a couple of boy-toys doing an honest day's work. If the latter is true, this reporter needs to investigate personally.
The action and romantic notion of robbing a bank in modern America, minus the bring-me-down of the murders involved, is a dangling piece of candy that Hollywood may not resist entirely. Although reaction is slow and moviemakers aren't jumping on the wagon just yet, there is talk that maybe the story can be salvaged, with some Hollywood-sized adjustments.
"If they can make a big scarefest like the O.J. Simpson stuff into a movie, we can certainly work enough magic with the more ample material we have here," said Mike Oliphant, a stubble-faced producer at Miramax who smells like he works out often. "We dump the murders right out, that's a given—do a little more background on the characters, maybe make them three childhood friends doing it all for the memory of a friend who died too soon. You know, cancer, AIDS, that West Nile stuff is big right now. I'm starting to like it. Kind of a 'our last big shot to take the brass ring.' It's do-able."
The real story is being sought by many moviemakers right now, but only to see if there's any usable gold nuggets within. If not, Tinsel Town is famous for making their own brand of gold dust.
"If people wanted reality, they'd watch the news," said Dreamworks consultant John Dorfenfoof. "Or maybe not the news. Definitely not Fox News. But they'd watch something. Not movies." the commune news is so touched by your compliments we're turning a bright shade of red—big fat commie red. Stigmata Spent is back after what we are referring to as a long vacation in Bangkok. That's right, a vacation. Don't think about it anymore.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 October 14, 2002 Lee Gets a GEDthe commune's Rok Finger meets all minimum requirements It's good to have things back to normal here, and please don't laugh when I say that like everyone else does. It just comes off as passive-aggressive.
We've all been a little shaken up by Lee's massive head trauma and following period of insanity where he thought himself a beloved children's book author, but things are settling down again since we held him down and held an "intervention of fists" as I like to call it. Lee soon came back to his senses, except for the minor oddity that he wants to get his GED now.
I told him he was fine as is, though in complete honesty jumping on the treadmill a few hours every week wouldn't kill him—now Camembert, hoo boy, that would kill him, yessir. Lee, however, has no interest in exercise, or hygiene, I'd guess, but does h...
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It's good to have things back to normal here, and please don't laugh when I say that like everyone else does. It just comes off as passive-aggressive.
We've all been a little shaken up by Lee's massive head trauma and following period of insanity where he thought himself a beloved children's book author, but things are settling down again since we held him down and held an "intervention of fists" as I like to call it. Lee soon came back to his senses, except for the minor oddity that he wants to get his GED now.
I told him he was fine as is, though in complete honesty jumping on the treadmill a few hours every week wouldn't kill him—now Camembert, hoo boy, that would kill him, yessir. Lee, however, has no interest in exercise, or hygiene, I'd guess, but does have an overwhelming desire to complete his formal education.
As near as I can figure, Lee dropped out in the fourth grade over accusations of retardism. It was a hard thing to deal with for a boy of his age, 15, and there was apparently nothing to back up such accusations, but kids and certain teachers and the janitorial staff can be cruel, as the expression grows. If I had been thought beneath my intellect, to my face, it certainly would have stifled my ambition to complete school. But not Lee! Well, yes, Lee, for a long time, anyway. But not forever!
Apparently this GED thing is the equivalent of a paper saying you finished high school, except I don't know why anyone would go to high school in the first place if you could just do this. A lot of 8th graders I know would be jumping through hoops, like my Oscar party festivities, if they knew this was possible Four years of degradation and clique infighting and learning your place at the bottom of the social hierarchy can be prevented with a test a monkey could pass (I've held independent studies) and only a few are taking advantage of it? Without saying anything offensive, there would be fewer Columbines if this idea were promoted better. That's all I'm impulsively stating as fact.
From what I can gather, this GED test is just a series of questions about history and simple math and a lot of English, the language of England and abroad countries. If you come within a certain margin of correctness or make threatening eye contact with the test administrator, you pass. How easy! Not for me, perhaps, but for anyone who knows trivial details of information that American high school students know. Still, I guess if a test is too arbitrary and demands more than you're willing to give, you can always do it the old-fashioned way: Show up in classes once in a while in an American public school and create havoc until the apathetic teacher passes you to get you out of the educational system. I believe the president himself relied on this manner to get his degree.
Still, it's good for me that I started work so long ago my resume is long, and therefore difficult for employers to read. They skim the most recent job history and never noticed I only dabbled in professional schooling. I am smart, way smart, like Camembert tells me when I seek affirmation from him, but I lack the precise papers that declare it so. Who knows? Maybe I'll go back for my GED some day, when my self-worth has sunk so low I feel I need another person to validate my existence with a rubber stamp. Either that or I'll get a rubber stamp for Camembert.
Until then, Rok Finger gets by on street smarts: I know what street I live on, what street you take to get to the commune office, what street goes to Arvelyn's house for my nightly peeping, and what streets are known as "sidewalks" and can't be driven on. Some lessons in life you learn the hard way. º Last Column: I Do Not Like Green Eggs and Hamº more columns | 
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Milestones1983: Night Ranger releases seminal hit Sister Christian, inspiring the unfortunate tone-deaf singalong by Ivan Nacutchacokov that resulted in his lifetime Greyhound bus ban.Now HiringCowboy Bebop. Not really sure what this is, to be honest, but Red Bagel telegrammed to demand we hire one. Two if they come in a matched set. So there you go.Top Iraqi Gratitude Slogans| 1. | I love America and dying! | | 2. | USA! Broil in hell, USA! | | 3. | All the beautiful shooting! | | 4. | God Bless This Rubble | | 5. | Sweet, legless liberation! | |
|   Hippies Busted! 600 Weirdoes, Peaceniks Arrested for Blowing Minds of the Establishment BY wyatt chomski 10/14/2002 The Lover of BonerbrookeThe sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up agains...
The sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up against the horizon, burning a deeper red, darker and darker, seeming to pulse as it sought refuge from the barren sky in one blissful, sinful, erotically inevitable plunge below. Finally, with a sigh whispered on the breeze, the earth surrendered and allowed the sun to penetrate its horizon, thrusting its fiery, molten love into the earth's ample back hills.
Wiping an errant fleck of ham skin from her bottom lip, Chaska lathered her porcelain hands and splashed the bracingly cold water on her taut, naked body. Running her hands over her impossibly sensuous figure, both elegant and voluptuous, yet surprisingly athletic all at once, she gazed longingly into the mirror, awaiting her lover's touch like a Saint Bernard waiting for a rawhide bone to come out of the pet store bag.
Alas, it was a touch that could never come, since Lance had perished all those long months ago, defending her honor against a street vendor who had insisted on exact change. Still in mourning, Chaska pulled on the lacey, semi-transparent panties she had worn throughout her bereavement and marveled one last time at her awe-inspiring body, which she'd always enjoyed without ever working out but had never let go to her head. She slipped into a slinky, backless evening gown that she liked to wear when she was lamenting a lost love, for the comforting way it hugged her curves and cradled her breasts like a sterling serving platter, as she prepared for another night of remembering Lance.
Just then, there was a noise at the door, and Chaska twirled around to discover Bane Ratham, the white-hot multimillionaire hunk that everyone knew really ran things behind the scenes in Bonerbrooke, standing in the open doorway. His shirt torn in an erotic fashion and his taut, beefy man-tits heaving, it was obvious he had run straight from town on foot, possibly not stopping to open Chaska's front gate.
"Chaska," Bane panted, out of breath in a manly, erotic fashion, not like a wheezing asthmatic. "It struck me while I was out working up a manly sweat, mentoring orphaned Chinese boys, that I couldn't bear to live another second of my life without you. I came here as fast as I could. Sorry about your gate."
Chaska melted inside and instantly swooned from the overwhelming eroticness of it all, but instead of falling, she found herself cradled in Bane's bulging arms, like a pair of boobs in an evening gown. "Quench my burning fire, Chaska," Bane pleaded, his smoky gray eyes fixed on Chaska's soul like snipers of love. Chaska nodded a dazed nod and reached for her diaphragm before Bane gently stopped her hand.
"But first, I want you to marry me," Bane whispered, gesturing to a shirtless, rock-hard, desperately hot priest standing in the doorway, his white collar cutting repressively into his bulging, well-tanned neck. "This is my brother Dave, he's a priest."
Chaska drank in the priest with a long, taboo gaze. She glanced back up into Bane's smoldering eyes and smiled.
"Hello Dave," Chaska cooed, with a twinkle in her eye.   |
