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Harry Belafonte: Colin Powell a "Tallyman, Tally Me Bananas"Calypso singer continues degradation of war hero in musical rant October 14, 2002 |
Hollywood, CA Whit Pistol/AP Powell, who upon hearing comments was all like, "Who, me?" And Belafonte (inset) is all like, "Yeah, you, who you think I'm talking about?"
Powell, who had been referred to by Belafonte only Wednesday on a San Diego radio show as a "house slave" for the Bush administration, was attacked again in a musical tirade in which the Desert Storm veteran was likened to a "tallyman," always come to tally Belafonte's bananas.
Despite the racially-infused charges and slander involved, Powell apparently didn't feel the accu...
he radio waves have become a hotbed of political gaffs and slander lately, demeaning the nature of civil discussion and making it impossible to hear "Safety Dance" like you could before. The latest was discovered by this reporter when he woke up at the house of a friend, possibly of the other sex, and heard famed singer Harry Belafonte continuing his attack on Secretary of State Colin Powell.
Powell, who had been referred to by Belafonte only Wednesday on a San Diego radio show as a "house slave" for the Bush administration, was attacked again in a musical tirade in which the Desert Storm veteran was likened to a "tallyman," always come to tally Belafonte's bananas.
Despite the racially-infused charges and slander involved, Powell apparently didn't feel the accusations were personal attacks. State Department spokesperson Richard Boucher, when told of Belafonte's remarks by this reporter, responded, "I think you misunderstand entirely."
Again, this reporter repeated the statements, providing claps and trying to hit the same notes as Belafonte in his radio assault. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, and straw hat apparently did not capture the mood for the spokesperson either.
"It's possible that those remarks have been completely taken out of context," Boucher said. "Who do you work for again?"
Upon being escorted out of the building by burly dark-suited men, this reporter could not get his sunglasses and straw hat back, and is considering lodging a complaint.
Despite the relaxed reception at the State Department, who are undoubtedly hoping the inflammatory remarks will go away quietly, Belafonte's charges are serious. Possibly the most cutting remark was Belafonte's comparison of Powell to a black tarantula hiding in the banana bunches as he lifted six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch into the boat.
Local DJ and the coolest guy this reporter knows Vic Sandwich had insightful comments on the nature of the political discussion.
"Obviously, if Belafonte feels that Powell is being unfair in his tallying of the bananas, he's going to be pretty upset with him and lobby some unfair charges," Sandwich said, sitting in a big chair. "Was it fair to call Powell a black spider in the Bush administration? Maybe not. But when you're talking banana-pricing politics, people pull no punches."
When given the suggestion that Belafonte might be speaking figuratively, Sandwich made a raspberry.
"Don't be so naĂŻve, Boner. Calling Powell a house slave might be a metaphor, but we're talking real banana boats and 8-foot bunches here. My question is, if Powell is such a good guy and a man of the people, why won't he let Belafonte go home? Daylight come already, and I'm sure he's got shit to do."
In a related note of slander, this reporter was severely maligned when showing the first draft of this story around the commune offices.
"It's the worst thing I've ever seen and you're going to get us sued," slandered bookwormish reporter Ramrod Hurley. "And if you leave my name in the story like that, you're going to regret it. I know where you park your car and your desk is unguarded most of the day." the commune news regrets any misunderstanding when we referred to President Bush as a douchebag—we simply meant the president's intention is to clean up sensitive areas of the world. Honestly. Boner Cunningham, on the other hand, thinks Bush is a real piece of shit.
 | 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.
"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.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 October 14, 2002 The Dating Game: Ages 10 and Upthe commune's Stu Umbrage needs to see two forms of ID before he accompanies you on the Wacky Weasel Water Ride There's just no way you can help what happened with the women in the end. I mean, when you think about it, once we started demanding that everybody should look like ten year-old girls with abnormally accelerated breast development, it was only a matter of time before people would start hacking out their ribs and having botulism injected into their faces and eating seaweed. Looking back now, it seems so stupid, but each step in the progression was perfectly logical. Though that's not much comfort, because we're up shit creek now since you can't kiss a girl without having mad cow disease squirt in your eye or having her rib cage collapse and you have to spend your whole first date operating the gore suction tube for the shorthanded doctors in the emergency room.
It's a terrible ...
º Last Column: Spare Me the Summer Love
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There's just no way you can help what happened with the women in the end. I mean, when you think about it, once we started demanding that everybody should look like ten year-old girls with abnormally accelerated breast development, it was only a matter of time before people would start hacking out their ribs and having botulism injected into their faces and eating seaweed. Looking back now, it seems so stupid, but each step in the progression was perfectly logical. Though that's not much comfort, because we're up shit creek now since you can't kiss a girl without having mad cow disease squirt in your eye or having her rib cage collapse and you have to spend your whole first date operating the gore suction tube for the shorthanded doctors in the emergency room.
It's a terrible state of affairs, but really we only have ourselves to blame. In retrospect we probably should have thought it all through better, but nobody realized that when we decided that human beings are unattractive, it would lead to having to take our dates to restaurants where they only serve garnish and you have to spend half of your paycheck on breath mints so that your date's breath doesn't smell like barfed up parsley all night.
Nobody was smart enough to figure out how far this would all reach and what a pain in the ass it would become, like not being able to use your microwave to heat up a burrito because the micro-radiation might cause your date's saline breast implants to deform from across the room. Some might damn the torpedoes and heat up that jalapeno colon sled regardless, but I've got no kind of smile on my face when I talk about what it's like to have a date's boob-sack go while you're at the movie and you have to sacrifice the soda you just spent seven bucks on because you need the cup to catch the stream of salt water that's spurting out of her nipple and pissing off the people sitting three rows ahead of you.
But, we're stupid, so we did it anyway. And it's only getting worse, since now all the 14 year-old girls out there have realized that all the women in the world are just trying to look like them, so they've started dressing like extras in a Warrant video. And with all of the plastic surgery shenanigans going on now you can't tell how old anybody is, it's a crapshoot as to whether your date might qualify for the senior's discount or the kids-half-off deal. For that reason it's best not to even try to go to a theme park until you've seen somebody's birth certificate, since you might end up having to buy them all kinds of toys and shit and not even get any sex out of the deal.
All of this makes a "getting to know you" conversation even more perilous, since when you ask what somebody does for a living, they might say "lawyer" or they might say "mostly babysitting and chores," there's no way to know ahead of time. But, you know, it's the terrible world we created because we couldn't handle it when Marilyn Monroe put on ten pounds and her ass got wider than Jack Lemmon's. I'm not saying we don't deserve what we got, we certainly do, I just wish Jesus or somebody had come down and said "Blessed are the fat women" or something to straighten us out before we got carried away.
But, you know, he didn't, he was obviously busy appearing in a taco out in Guam or some place, and here we are. No longer worried about sexually transmitted diseases, but harboring a fear of getting a surprise crick in our neck from carrying somebody's bookbag. Witty dinner conversation has been replaced by clever historical trivia to try and suavely gauge if your date is a hot 25 year-old who's fashionable enough to look like she's 14, or a hot 14 year-old who saved up her babysitting money to buy those jeans that look like the ass is all worn out.
Thanks a bunch, Jesus. º Last Column: Spare Me the Summer Loveº more columns | 
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Milestones1921: Underground rumor begins that Lil Duncan, to be born in 50 years, will like the kinky stuff.Now HiringDeaf Mute. Duties include standing around, accepting blame for assorted office mishaps, and listening to Ramrod Hurley's stories about the one time he went fishing. Antidepressant prescription a plus.Most Popular US Flag-themed Paraphernalia| 1. | Child-Sized Thong Bikini Bottoms | | 2. | Ol' Glory Toilet Brush | | 3. | Rastafarian Hat | | 4. | Browning Zenophobe 12 Guage Shotgun | | 5. | Stars 'n Stripes Edition Volvo | |
|   Someone Wanted to Hear Jennifer Love-Hewitt Sing Again BY 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!    |
