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Police Seeking Hard-Boiled Cop to End Sniper's SpreeExperienced investigator could end madness of "Oswald's Ghost" October 14, 2002 |
Fredericksburg, Virginia Junior Bacon The raincoats keep the cops from getting wet. sniper operating in the region of outer-Washington, D.C. continues his random assault on citizens, adding more to his bodycount which includes a cross-section of the entire community with no apparent connection to each other. Nine have been victims of the sniper, seven of those have not survived. As the crimes continue to escalate, investigators are desperately seeking a brilliant-but-self-destructive hard-boiled cop to end the nightmare.
"At this point," said FBI liaison on the case Match Tidwell, "we are sorting through a list of D.C.-area-based detectives with personality issues who can unite the search for the sniper and make the case personal. Preferably someone who drinks a lot to forget the past case, say, a sniper shooting he failed to prevent 5-10 years ago. We are ...
sniper operating in the region of outer-Washington, D.C. continues his random assault on citizens, adding more to his bodycount which includes a cross-section of the entire community with no apparent connection to each other. Nine have been victims of the sniper, seven of those have not survived. As the crimes continue to escalate, investigators are desperately seeking a brilliant-but-self-destructive hard-boiled cop to end the nightmare.
"At this point," said FBI liaison on the case Match Tidwell, "we are sorting through a list of D.C.-area-based detectives with personality issues who can unite the search for the sniper and make the case personal. Preferably someone who drinks a lot to forget the past case, say, a sniper shooting he failed to prevent 5-10 years ago. We are examining former cops and 'washed-up' investigators especially."
When asked what they were doing about the sniper, Tidwell rolled his eyes and said, "Were you not listening?"
Speculation that the new lead investigator, when chosen, would have a partner could not be made by the department at this time.
"There's always a possibility," said some cop in a general's outfit standing next to Tidwell, "say, a grizzled old veteran. I would personally prefer to assign a green young recruit straight out of the academy, someone who's still hung up on the rules and would make for a nice by-the-book personality to off-set the lead investigator's self-destructive behavior. But we're playing this by ear. It's always possible the cop chosen will insist he work alone—it's personal."
No names on the short list of officers or former investigators were given.
The plan is the latest to quickly resolve the string of attacks by the unknown sniper, dubbed by the media, or perhaps just this reporter, as "Oswald's Ghost." The necessity for a different kind of cop was realized Monday when police found a "Death" tarot card with the message to cops saying, "Dear policeman, I am God" scribed on it. At this point the investigating force of city and county police, state troopers, and FBI realized they are more than likely dealing with a very cliché-killer personality type, and to offset the awful TV-mentality violence they needed a cop to match his wits.
Brock Johnson, an expert on cinematic crime investigations and salad bars at the University of Ratsass, Maryland, painted a vivid picture of the man, the cop, sought by the police.
"What they need right now is someone who can take a cursory look at the crime scene and determine how the victims are connected," Johnson said. "Something like, 'Christ! Why didn't we notice it before? They're all wearing Members' Only jackets!' Not that, of course, that's stupid, but you get what I'm saying. There must be a common link that we're missing if the cliché—what did you call him? 'Oswald's Ghost'? That's good, he'll love that. I'd call him the Turd Burglar, but that's just me."
The police's choice to find a new, more cynical and emotionally-burdened investigator was a correct one in Johnson's opinion.
"You're not going to catch this guy with good old-fashioned police work and canvassing the area. He's apparently got a score to settle, let's say his father sexually abused him or his overbearing mother had an anal fixation and used to administer suppositories, something real fucked-up to explain his behavior. This new investigator the police are seeking, let's call him Coyote for now—he should be haunted by the failure to save someone in the past, preferably by another sniper. If he can have a personal history with the suspect, that would be fantastic, but we're not counting on it. Mostly, we want a big finish to the case where, shortly before catching the perpetrator, Coyote smacks a hand on the desk and stands up with the deadly utterance, 'Shit! There's two of them. We're looking for a pair of snipers.' That would completely rock."
Rock indeed. What a glorious day for news! the commune news has a button-down mind, like Bob Newhart, but most of the buttons have popped off already and we have yet to sew them back on. Ramon Nootles is a commune correspondent and can't get enough of your love—that goes for all of you ladies.
| 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. 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 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.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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October 14, 2002 A Prank Call From the Fatesthe commune's Omar Bricks has become well acquainted with the shit end of the stick Some guys have all the luck. Others just get a mouth full of boot heel and bloody tooth shards on a cold October morning. I heard a song about that once.
I'll give you three guesses which category Omar Bricks falls in this week, ladies and gentlemen. And the first two don't count since if you guess wrong I get to rap on your knuckles with a ruler. Something like that, it's an old saying from the bible.
But I'm not kidding, this has been a week for the record books. Assuming somebody somewhere keeps records on bad shit that happens to good people. And I think that's a fair assumption, since if there's some geek out there keeping a log of every time Spock scratches his ass on Star Trek, and I know there is because I lost a Frisbee in his yard one time, then a...
º Last Column: Sub-Transportational Carsick Blues º more columns
Some guys have all the luck. Others just get a mouth full of boot heel and bloody tooth shards on a cold October morning. I heard a song about that once.
I'll give you three guesses which category Omar Bricks falls in this week, ladies and gentlemen. And the first two don't count since if you guess wrong I get to rap on your knuckles with a ruler. Something like that, it's an old saying from the bible.
But I'm not kidding, this has been a week for the record books. Assuming somebody somewhere keeps records on bad shit that happens to good people. And I think that's a fair assumption, since if there's some geek out there keeping a log of every time Spock scratches his ass on Star Trek, and I know there is because I lost a Frisbee in his yard one time, then anything's got to be fair game.
Make no mistake about it, this has been a four-alarm, hide the virgins, call out the National Guard variety of bad week. If two more things go wrong I'm going to hit up the president for some of that disaster relief cash you're always hearing about. It doesn't seem like there have been any massive floods or boat show fires lately, so I think he can spare the dough. Hell, if he could walk a few blocks in my Reeboks I think he'd fetch the big novelty check for me personally. If you've ever had your tits kicked in by the fates, you know what I'm talking about here.
Everybody knows about my well-publicized car troubles and my citywide taxi ban. For most people, the parade of tears would end there, but for Omar Bricks they're just getting the marching band and sweater-wearing elephants out of cold storage.
I come home Friday night to find out that Foghat got into a can of Cream of Broccoli soup that I didn't even know was still in the pantry. It must have been left over from when I was selling those bottles of Turd Bird Ale, my homebrew bathtub beer, at the Fair a few years ago. There was a food drive for the homeless going on across the street, and I admit that I got into some bartering with the hobos by the end of the night. I didn't want to have to carry any heavy shit back to my car when the Fair was over and I thought some of those canned goods might come in handy if we ever got around to nuking the Russians or whatever.
Little did I know that Foghat is part Cream of Broccoli hound, and he went straight-on ape when I brought that crap home. I gave him a bowl just to get him to stop bouncing off the furniture and peeing everywhere, and sweet flaming Christ was that a mistake. If you can't imagine what happened next, give your own dog some foul-smelling cream-based soup some time. Just make sure you've got the carpet-cleaning place on speed dial.
Well, it turns out that just not giving Foghat the soup again wasn't enough, because that idiot dog figured out how to work the can opener and it was like déjà vu all over again. After the second episode I thought I'd purged the house of any trace of Cream of Broccoli soup, but Friday night I was rudely educated otherwise. Let's just end that tangent by saying that if anybody wants a couch that can blister paint at a distance of ten yards, you're welcome to come drag it off my lawn.
You don't even want to know half the rest of the heinous shit I've got going on right now. Yet another ludicrous paternity suit (like I've ever even been to Canada), the mouse I've got living in my refrigerator, the little six-year-old kid who's stealing my mail, and the list goes on and on. I'm starting to think it's some kind of conspiracy, though I haven't had time yet to work out exactly what the logistics of the whole thing might be. I'm biking over to Red Bagel's place later in the week to try and figure the whole thing out over a few beers; we'll see what comes of that.
All I know is I get the feeling like somebody's fingering Omar Bricks' asshole, and it ain't Omar Bricks. Somebody's got some explaining to do.
Bricks Out. º Last Column: Sub-Transportational Carsick Bluesº more columns |
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Milestones1954: November 11 is changed from Armistice Day to Veteran's Day to honor veterans of all wars, and mostly to prevent huge national embarrassment as Americans repeatedly fail to pronounce "armistice" correctly.Now HiringPlay Director. Experienced Broadway/Off-Broadway veteran sought to bring life to boring old commune Thanksgiving production without mentioning syphilis and genocide. A good show will guarantee you a spot directing our multi-denominational Hanukkah-Ramadan-Christmas Kwanzaganza.Least-Popular Halloween Handouts1. | Jesus Tarts | 2. | Sock full of pennies | 3. | Shnuckers; like Snickers, but filled with delicious Shmucker's jam | 4. | Asked to open bag, close eyes; smart-ass farts into sack | 5. | Everlasting Never-Ending Irradiated Gobstopper | |
| Hollywood Not Optioning Nebraska Bank RobberyBY roland mcshyster 10/14/2002 Come quick, America, you've got to see this. Okay, well, maybe not, but the quicker we get to the movie reviews the quicker Roland McShyster can get back to the high-powered binoculars he picked up for a dollar at a yard sale. These things are great, who knew there was so much going on outside? If you don't already have a pair, I'd highly recommend them. Actually, they're probably pretty expensive, but if you ever find a freshly divorced woman selling all of her ex's stuff for a dollar at a yard sale then I say go for it. I also picked up this incredible sword… I mean, what am I going to do with a sword, right? But at the same time, a sword for a dollar? Don't tell me you'd pass that up. Plus, it looks pretty sharp on the wall and cuts french bread like you wouldn't believe.
Come quick, America, you've got to see this. Okay, well, maybe not, but the quicker we get to the movie reviews the quicker Roland McShyster can get back to the high-powered binoculars he picked up for a dollar at a yard sale. These things are great, who knew there was so much going on outside? If you don't already have a pair, I'd highly recommend them. Actually, they're probably pretty expensive, but if you ever find a freshly divorced woman selling all of her ex's stuff for a dollar at a yard sale then I say go for it. I also picked up this incredible sword… I mean, what am I going to do with a sword, right? But at the same time, a sword for a dollar? Don't tell me you'd pass that up. Plus, it looks pretty sharp on the wall and cuts french bread like you wouldn't believe.
Okay, let's get to the movies before the aerobics class down the street lets out, deal? On to the movies!
In Theaters
Abandon Katie Holmes
Wasn't this a video game first? I seem to remember something like that, one of those wish-fulfillment first-person PC games, like you ditch Katie Holmes while on a hiking trip in Yosemite and some nature freak cuts her head off and blames it on a talking field mouse. A strange game, but undeniably fun. The movie is okay, though I think they could have come up with some more interesting scenarios than leaving Katie at the mall or the hair salon. I know they were trying not to just duplicate the levels from the game, but Death Valley and Heritage, USA still would have been fun to see.
Brown Sugar
Technological advances have certainly improved the quality of our lives over the last several years, doing away with tedious non-electronic pets and allowing us to have phone sex while we drive. But sometimes you really have to wonder about the downside to all of this progress, especially when it only takes them about two days to turn a cell phone commercial into a feature film. They must have been getting some promising Nelson scores from that commercial where Ving Rhames steals the little girl's milk, because before we could turn around to see who's got their hands in our pockets they've brought it to the big screen. Yeah, I know it's cute when little kids who used to play doctor are still friends as adults and they end up getting naked and playing "slutty stewardess and domineering airline pilot" or whatever, but please. If they were going to make a whole movie out of a dumb commercial they at least could have done the one with Donald Trump and that big Wendy's muppet, now that could have been a fun buddy cop picture.
My Big Fat Geek Website
Am I the only one our there who wishes independent films would just go away? Sure, it's great to have fresh ideas bleeding into the mix from the fringes of our culture, but honest to God, usually there's a good reason these guys aren't as well known as Spielberg or the guy who directed Goonies. This gem, which some 28 year-old Kinko's employee wiped on his sleeve and decided to keep, illustrates my point perfectly. It's too long, it has more inside jokes than a conversation with Charlie Manson, and it commits the fatal flaw of assuming anybody gives a hot goddamn about some sci-fi obsessed film nerd who works at a copy shop. There's a reason you're not popular in real life, guy, and it isn't the lack of major studio backing.
The Trainspotter
Buckle up your seat belt, loosely, and slouch your way through a two-hour adventure with the world's first heroin-addicted action hero. It's no well-kept secret that Hollywood has been swinging from the heels this year, trying to breathe new life into the tired action movie genre with startling new innovations, like replacing semi-charismatic fifty year-old meatheads with semi-charismatic twenty year-old meatheads in the starring roles. But a few studios are going even further balls-out over the top, taking a blind-assed stab at substituting an even more motley assortment of wannabe heroes for the ripped Neanderthals of years gone by. Some, like Ben Damon's dentist in The Bourne Dentist, work in a quirky kind of way, while others fall flat on their ill-conceived asses. Which end does The Trainspotter come out of? Try to picture an 84-pound pasty white guy girl-slapping a heavily tattooed Rastafarian bouncer in any kind of convincing way and you tell me.
White Oldtimer
It turns out that Eddie Murphy isn't the only fading 80's star who can strap on a couple tons of latex make-up and play a hilarious old person. Did anybody expect that Michelle Pfeiffer would be the next to machete her way through that path in the Hollywood jungle? No chance, and I give her serious points for seizing the element of surprise. The movie itself is a freeze-dried hunk of alien scat, with a twice-baked plot revolving around one of the girls from B*Witched running around and asking a hound dog and a bulldozer if they're her mother, but Pfeiffer is hilarious as the gassy old curmudgeon who gives the girl advice in her dreams and pulls his own finger. Hopefully for the sequel they'll trim the fat and just have Pfeiffer play several more funny old people.
Well, that's what they're calling a column these days folks. Pretty scary eh? If you want to file a complaint with the Surgeon General or whoever, I wouldn't hold it against you. But when you think about it, really it's all relative like reverse-inflation. Columns aren't what they used to be, sure, but have you turned on the radio lately? Good Goofy Christ, what happened to music? Compared to that kick in the nuts, this column is practically the Bible. So, you know, it's healthy to keep that in mind. If Western Civilization is on a fast track to decline, at least here at the commune we're taking the stairs. Catch up with you again in a few weeks, America! |