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Bush Declares Environment Part of 'Axis of Evil'Villainous 'Mother Nature' a threat to domestic tranquility November 25, 2002 |
Washington, DC Whit Pistol Environment-siding traitors, either wearing masks or genetically misbread to look like Bush, make a lot of hooplah to support terrorism.
"It's like some villain out of that new James Bond movie, which opens tomorrow," said Bush at a meeting with oil lobbyists and business friends Thursday. "The environment is threatening the safety of America and our way of life by taking from us what is ours. The reason oil and gas is so expensive—doesn't that just make ya mean mad?—is all because th...
n his brashest act against ecological ideologies yet, President Bush declared the environment to be part of the "axis of evil" that includes Iraq, Iran, and North Korea. The environment, said Bush, in a speech written for him by a college buddy he hired, has conspired to deprive America of its much-needed fossil fuels and energy with blatant threats to "cut off" the availability of these fuels and deprive the world of oxygen.
"It's like some villain out of that new James Bond movie, which opens tomorrow," said Bush at a meeting with oil lobbyists and business friends Thursday. "The environment is threatening the safety of America and our way of life by taking from us what is ours. The reason oil and gas is so expensive—doesn't that just make ya mean mad?—is all because the environment has decided to hold out for better treatment and reduced emissions and stuff. I say we stand up and tell them where we stand!"
Afterwards, in response to reporters' questions if he was out of his mind, Bush stated: "I am in full possession of all my facilities, and I want to keep it that way. We must act now to crush the evil regime of the environment. All these threats to America, from earthquakes to hurricanes, it's all the environment's fault. I will not allow this assault on Homeland Security TM to continue by 'Mother Nature' and her axis of evil buddies."
The White House has stated its opposition to the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, signed by environment-friendly former president Bill Clinton. The Kyoto Protocol is an international treaty in which the United States pledged, with other countries, to reduce dangerous greenhouse gas emissions by seven percent in an effort to help the environment. Bush's assertion is that the Kyoto Protocol will be a threat to the recovery of the economy, which thrives much better when businesses run rampant and unchecked, left to police themselves in areas of deadly emissions. Bush elaborated Thursday that to obey the Kyoto Protocol is to play right into nature's diabolical plan to extort America.
"It is high time," said Bush, then pausing to laugh as he realized he said "high," "that America stop coddling terrorists like the environment. They're our emissions and we can make them if we want. And it's high time Mother Nature stopped holding back on the fossil fuels—we all know you got more. You know what we call someone who dishes out a little bit o' goodies and then stops all of a sudden? A tease, that's what."
The environment, according to Bush aides, has caused America to curb its business such as automobile manufacturing, logging and textile manufacturing, and nuclear arms production. The environment is also believed responsible for mudslides, tornadoes and tropical storms, earthquakes, and other "natural disasters," and the White House is warning it that the heat will only go up until the environment ceases its actions.
America's demands: Unlimited fossil fuels, quicker replacement of oxygen, warmer climate in the winter and colder climate in the summer, and as many trees as we can chop down and turn into furniture.
"We're through jumping through your hoops, environment," said an angry Bush, addressing the sky. "Get rid of all this terror, and the way this whole city stinks. If you don't, we have no alternanative but to consult the U.N.—" Bush and a few buddies laughed in each other's directions. "…and take action against this direct threat to our safety. Remember, we know where you keep your rainforests." the commune news is not a friend to the environment, as that weird smell emanating from Rok Finger should tell anyone. Lil Duncan is a sex machine, only this one doesn't rip your member off like that faulty Thai pump we bought—yeeouch!
 | Michael Jackson Cannibalizes Baby Bizarre video footage vindicates crepehangers November 25, 2002 |
Berlin, Germany Image Courtesy DIE STATION Jackson revealing the surprise entrée
“It just sickens me when I close my eyes and think about it,” sighed small-town cop Bufus Randall, who answers questions 24 hours a day and is like a procrastinating reporter’s wet dream. “Just picturing that monster, slurping the baby’s entrails like spaghetti, munching his bones like peppermint sticks and li...
ichael Jackson was caught on video like a red-handed bandit man Tuesday, salaciously nibbling on his youngest son’s toe in full view of the German media. Jackson, who was staying in a Berlin hotel while visiting that country for a Save Dem Childrens benefit, waved to the cameras and flashed a “kissy-peace” hand gesture to his fans before he closed the blinds and proceeded to partake in what can only be speculated as an orgy of underage cannibalism. “It just sickens me when I close my eyes and think about it,” sighed small-town cop Bufus Randall, who answers questions 24 hours a day and is like a procrastinating reporter’s wet dream. “Just picturing that monster, slurping the baby’s entrails like spaghetti, munching his bones like peppermint sticks and licking the baby’s empty hide clean like a goddamned dinner plate. God. I think I’m gonna be sick.” Professional housewife Mandy St. Clair echoed Randall’s concerns. “It’s like it makes you, I don’t know. Want. Want to do something to make that thing different. You know? Different so he’s not eating those babies. Because that’s just wrong, even if the babies want to be eaten. Because how could you really know? They might smile and wave their arms around like they want to be eaten, but it might just be because they’re remembering something nice from when they’re in the womb. Or they might have gas, sometimes babies smile who have gas. So you shouldn’t just eat them.” Jackson’s fans were quick to defend the troubled star, who recently sort of testified in his own defense in a courtward lawsuit. “Even if Michael did eat that baby, he only did it for the fans. That’s how much he cares,” explained Kyoko Matsui, a screaming Tokyo fan of Jackson’s appearances on cereal boxes in her home country. “People were yelling, ‘We want to meet the baby!’ and I guess since it was so noisy, Michael probably thought they were saying ‘We want you to eat the baby!’ It was just a tragic misunderstanding.” But noted sports psychologist Dr. Mandra Jimsack was wary of letting Jackson off the hook so easily. “Fans yell out all kinds of crazy requests to stars, that doesn’t mean they have to follow them. It’s the star’s job to set boundaries and know where to draw the line. Signing some autographs or flashing your tits out the sunroof of a limo? That’s being a good star. Jerking off in a men’s room at the park or shooting a rival recording artist in the testicles? That’s just going too far. And also, lighting a fart on fire at the Golden Globes? That’s very bad, Mr. Sandler. Very bad.” Activist groups rallied within minutes of the tape airing on the German news, calling for whatever kind of social services Germany might have to step in and take Jackson’s remaining children away before dinnertime. Lawyers for German’s Die Station news network were also preparing a lawsuit against the singer. According to sources, Jackson caused two of the station’s cameramen to fall out of an evergreen tree near the hotel when he refused to leave his blinds open, forcing them to attempt filming through a small opening in the bathroom window. Hours later, Jackson appeared at a puppet museum with the live toddler in tow, setting off ripples of speculation through the “thought he ate the baby” community. Randall, however, was not so quick to forgive and forget. “Jesus Christ, how many of those things has he got? Well, I guess we can add human cloning to the list of charges. Fuckin’ fruit.” the commune news may have fallen off the wagon and into the frying pan, but we’re pretty sure this next leap will put us in the clear. Boner Cunningham has always been a big Michael Jackson fan, but he still thinks Purple Rain was overrated.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 November 25, 2002 Let There Be Lightthe commune's Omar Bricks is building a Mystery Machine The solution to The Great Omar Bricks Transportation Dilemma of 2002 came to me in a dream last Friday night. In the dream I was running away from this big car-wash monster thing, some kind of snuffleupagus made from those shaggy spinner things that wash the cars.
It wasn't really chasing me; more like sliding slowly down a hill. But I was running in place on those damned metal rollers like always, so the carwash was gaining, minute by minute. I don't know why I didn't just hop off the stupid rollers, but it was a dream thing so that solution didn't occur to me then any more than having sex with the Easter Bunny does to you right now. Before you read that.
In front of me there was a window, and on the other side of the window there was another me, some kin...
º Last Column: Silly Attorneys, Tricks is for Bricks
º more columns
The solution to The Great Omar Bricks Transportation Dilemma of 2002 came to me in a dream last Friday night. In the dream I was running away from this big car-wash monster thing, some kind of snuffleupagus made from those shaggy spinner things that wash the cars.
It wasn't really chasing me; more like sliding slowly down a hill. But I was running in place on those damned metal rollers like always, so the carwash was gaining, minute by minute. I don't know why I didn't just hop off the stupid rollers, but it was a dream thing so that solution didn't occur to me then any more than having sex with the Easter Bunny does to you right now. Before you read that.
In front of me there was a window, and on the other side of the window there was another me, some kind of good-looking son of a bitch Omar Bricks clone who was just sitting there, building a car out of pizza boxes. Now, at the time I was pissed that I was handed the shit end of the stick on which Omar I got to be in the dream, but then I killed the monster by having sex with that girl from the BMW commercial, so it all ended pretty good.
After I woke up, it dawned on me. With money a little tight in the Bricks household since the out-of-court settlement, why flush away even more precious green paying some overpriced beerbellies up in Detroit to build a car for me when I could build it myself? I've seen some of those guys and believe me, it can't be that hard.
One thing led to another and I decided to set up a production area for Bricks Motors in my garage. Now you might have thought that since the Bricks garage didn't have the Bricksmobile in it any more, it was just sitting there empty. But it was not. I don't know how, but shit piles up in there like assfat on an Eskimo. So I spent most of the day dragging junk out to the curb, including a dozen kiddie pools that had some kind of weird residue built up in them and half a parade float that I somehow ended up with. It wasn't the most fun I've ever had on a Saturday, but it was nice to finally pull the flush-handle on that hellish garage mess.
But the problem was that by the time I got all of that shit cleaned out of the garage, it was dark and I couldn't see a damned thing to draw in chalk on the floor where the car should go. Those Detroit auto-building slobs might be fat and stupid, but they had one thing Omar Bricks didn't: lights and shit.
Now, at first I was reluctant to just run out and buy some lights, figuring I might be able to build some torches or something to light the garage, like in the old days. But after some problems with the rafters not being fireproof, I decided that you can't build a car without spending a little money. Even Henry Ford probably had to buy some tools and lunch and whatever.
I went down to the store and found a floodlight that was perfect for the garage, plus it had a little devil on the package. Can't go wrong there. But the cheap cocksuckers didn't include a power cord, and they wanted me to shell out an extra fifteen bucks for an adapter. Well, in Omar Bricks' book, that's like tipping a stewardess: Strictly for assholes who are trying to show off. I had an adapter somewhere at home that I'd bought at a garage sale a few years back, and I was pretty sure it still worked. So those rip-off artists at Sears went home fifteen dollars poorer that day.
I'm sure you're all crawling up your own asses in anticipation of what happened next. Well, sorry to crap on your commode compadres, but it's gonna to have to wait until next column. I'm not gonna snow you on this one, I have to piss like Montezuma's Revenge. And since the commune shitter's backed up like a fat man's colon, this entails a waterlogged Bricks jog over to the Popeye's up the street in a hurry. While I'm there I plan on getting into some popcorn chicken, and you can kiss my ass if you think I'm going to hike all the way back here after a full meal.
So consider it suspense, or whatever floats your boat.
Bricks out. º Last Column: Silly Attorneys, Tricks is for Bricksº more columns | 
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Milestones1985: Ramrod Hurley flim-flams his way into the studio for the recording of We Are the World. Though his subversive lyrics go unsung, Hurley's taser-induced squeal can be heard two minutes into the track, a sound previously attributed to Cyndi Lauper.Now HiringConductor. General musical duties as expected: bossing around, waving arms, taking care of stick. Also needed to close gap in circuit between air conditioning unit and power main. Seeking an electric personality who loves going barefoot. Lack of close relatives or body hair a plus. Worst-Selling Wireless Devices| 1. | Sir Flush-a-Lot | | 2. | The SpayMaster | | 3. | "Look Ma, No Hands" Harpoon Gift Set | | 4. | Salad Euthanizer | | 5. | The Mysterious Ouijigenie | |
|   Steven Seagal's Life Like Bad Steven Seagal Movie BY roland mcshyster 11/25/2002 Hello Yellow, America! Step right up for another dose of Entertainment Police love, and just see if you don't come away with a lump in your throat or breast. Like our forefathers and foremothers before us, pointing their forefingers in a vague gesture of thanks, we're here to give thanks that the holiday movie season is finally upon us. Just as the pilgrims gave thanks that they wouldn't have to sit through any more Indian "coming of age" tales or movies about animal spirits walking around and shitting everywhere, we give our thanks that the big budget movies are finally here. The food industry may try to convince you that you're happy this Thanksgiving because you're eating dried out turkey with your hideous in-laws, but we all know better than that. That smile on your face can be directl...
Hello Yellow, America! Step right up for another dose of Entertainment Police love, and just see if you don't come away with a lump in your throat or breast. Like our forefathers and foremothers before us, pointing their forefingers in a vague gesture of thanks, we're here to give thanks that the holiday movie season is finally upon us. Just as the pilgrims gave thanks that they wouldn't have to sit through any more Indian "coming of age" tales or movies about animal spirits walking around and shitting everywhere, we give our thanks that the big budget movies are finally here. The food industry may try to convince you that you're happy this Thanksgiving because you're eating dried out turkey with your hideous in-laws, but we all know better than that. That smile on your face can be directly traced back to seeing Stephen Segal kick that guy's ass with a Christmas tree. So without further delay, let's get to the late November movie releases.
In Theaters
Adam Sandler's Eight Crazy Nuts
Eventually, gross-out humor in the movies had to go too far, alienating even the retarded adolescents and middle-aged pro wrestling fans who have made it a goldmine for studios and Tom Green over the last decade. It looks like Adam Sandler may be the one left holding the hot potato when that song stops, because his new film is so over-the-top it makes There's Something About Marty look like Dating the Mormon Way. This time around, Sandler plays an annoying, mealy-mouthed loser named Sadam Andler who has his mother's penny-pinching passion for Mexican pharmaceuticals to thank for the fertility pills that caused him to be born with eight testicles. Sandler milks those extra nuts for all the comedy they're worth, including a nauseating mix-up involving a blind man buying grapes at a produce stand, not to mention Andler's gut-wrenching hazing at the hands of the Chinese ping pong team. If you had to say something good about the film, I guess you'd point out that it's animated, which saves us from any disturbingly realistic nutsack textures. And that's more than enough reason for me to give thanks this year.
Diet Another Day
Bond's apparently getting a little chunky in the ass section these days, as was bound to happen eventually. It's tough to keep the pounds off after 40, even if you are a super-secret limey sex machine. Pierce Bronson squeezes his lumpy can into the penguin suit for one more go-around as he saves the world from rich idiots once again and tries to get into Chuck Berry's daughter's pants. I suppose it's about as good as the last 87 Bond films, but I have to admit it leaves stretch marks on the torso of believability at times. So you're telling me that the Ministry of Spy Shit can outfit 007 with a cell phone built into a tic-tac no problem, but they can't get their hands on some Fen-Phen for this guy? Please.
Extreme P.O.S.
Truth in advertising is a concept that rarely applies to movie titles, as evidenced by such famously misleading crocks as Babe and Naked Lunch. But every once in a while Hollywood spits out an appropriately named flick just to draw in the curious, like Knock Off or Senseless. Well, as Britney Spears would say: "Shit, They've Done It Again." Aiming at the same audience that tapes Mountain Dew commercials, the producers put together a cast of albino piercing models to snivel their way through an hour and a half of weakly justified snowboarding stunts and truly horrible music. Originally titled Duuude!, the producers eventually decided to hedge their bets by giving the film a heavily ironic title, figuring it might give them a shot at Sundance and betting that Generation Ysters wouldn't notice, anyway.
The Friday After Next Friday
Apparently the original title, Two Weeks From Now didn't make it clear enough that this was a sequel to Ice Cube's stinky horror flick I Still Know What You'll Do Next Friday, though you'd think that would be a good thing. If I were them, I'd call it Ain't No Way This is a Sequel to That Shitball, which might cause some translation problems when they release the film in Singapore, since I hear they eat shitballs there. Hey, when in Rome. In the long run, it probably doesn't matter what they call it, since it'll be on Beta in about two weeks. Every once in a while a movie does so poorly they skip the DVD and VHS releases all together and put it out straight to Betamax, figuring that the poor suckers with those types of VCRs will buy anything to try and recoup their entertainment investment. Usually they reserve that honor for Tim Allen movies, but I see them branching out in this case, trying to make inroads into the "found this thing in the dumpster" demographic.
Wes Craven Presents: They…
It's always sad when an artist dies in the middle of a project, leaving us to wonder what might have been had they not opted to crap out early and cheat us out of something that might have been great. Who knows what funny things John Belushi might have yelled, or how fat Jim Morrison might have got, had they not been taken from us so soon. Less compellingly, but more relevant to this review, who knows what horrormeister Wes Craven would have called his last film? He managed to finish the film but kicked off before he could finish naming it, leaving us to wonder what the proper title would have been. They're Invisible But Sound Scary As Hell? They Look Like Throw Rugs But They Eat Your Feet? They're Right Behind You, Dipwad!? The possibilities are endless, and the movie's no help because it's awful, but who knows how good it could have been with the right title?
And that's all she wrote, ladies and gender-neutrals. Check back next issue when we hit the sweet spot between Thanksgiving and Christmas and marvel at all the wonders scheduled for release within. By the way, for those of you have been asking, word is that word on the street is that Margaret Cho's Thanksafuckinglotgiving has been delayed once again, look for that to hit theaters in April.   |
