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Stupid Pakistan Won't Let Us Chase Stupid Terrorists into Their Stupid BordersWhole stupid country just exceedingly stupid January 6, 2003 |
Mushareif, Pakistan Snapper McGee Yeah, that's a great military outfit, dipshit. No one wants your stupid borders anyway.
Information Minister Sheikh Rashid "Queerbait" Ahmed lied through his crooked teeth and told reporters that Pakistan never gave the U.S. consent to pursue suspected terrorists and Taliban mooks into their country's borders from neighboring Afghanistan. This is complete bullshit, according to virtually everybody.
The bald-faced lie follows a December 29 incident when a lousy terrorist shot an American soldier near the Pakistani-Afghanani border. We dropped bombs on the suspected asshole and the big Pakistan babies whined that one of them fell in their country. Like they could even t...
he retarded government of Pakistan revealed their true terrorist-loving colors Saturday when they Indian-gave permission to the United States to chase terrorists within their borders.
Information Minister Sheikh Rashid "Queerbait" Ahmed lied through his crooked teeth and told reporters that Pakistan never gave the U.S. consent to pursue suspected terrorists and Taliban mooks into their country's borders from neighboring Afghanistan. This is complete bullshit, according to virtually everybody.
The bald-faced lie follows a December 29 incident when a lousy terrorist shot an American soldier near the Pakistani-Afghanani border. We dropped bombs on the suspected asshole and the big Pakistan babies whined that one of them fell in their country. Like they could even tell one bomb apart from the thousands of home-made ones just lying about.
The policy of "hot pursuit" has been in place since March of 2002, when the United States government issued the order that terrorists could be chased across the Pakistani-Afghanattistani border if a reasonable suspicion existed. According to the Pentagon, the hot pursuit policy was agreed on by Pakistan and the United States.
The policy was hotly disputed by dumbass Pakistani muslims, who hate us and everything we do no matter what, and now the government has stated that it never approved the U.S. policy of hot pursuit. What dicks, according to inside sources.
Hot pursuit is an extremely important policy to the stabilization of Afghanistan, the elimination of terrorists within the borders of ally countries, and the War on Terror, according to Pentagon strategist General Wembley Admission.
"It is imperative that our boys have the complete and unquestioning support of Pakistan and its military," stated Admission. "No country benefits from the continued presence of terrorists. Pakistan would be doing a service to its people and itself by allowing our soldiers access to their country in pursuits. But don't take my word for it… ask my friend here."
Admission then slowly, inspiringly looked over his shoulder to a large waving flag hanging outside his window. There was not a dry eye in the room, sources said.
"Hot pursuit" expert Roscoe P. Coltrane of Hazzard Country could not be reached for a quote, but has been quoted elsewhere in reference to the policy, saying, "Coo' coo'! Hot pursuit! Let's go, Flash!"
When prank-called for a response, the Pakistani Ministry of Information repeatedly asked who we were and who we worked for. The name "Heywood Jablomie" was not accepted and the giggling gave us away before we could reach anyone for a quote. the commune news has been known to pursue suspected enemies into the offices of downstairs neighbor Crochet! magazine in pursuant with our "Screw Crochet! magazine" policy. Foreign correspondent Ivan Nacutchacokov wired us this story from Pakistan, but fiercely patriotic Ted Ted thought it needed "more punch."
 |  January 6, 2003 |
commune offices COMMUNE ART DEPT. Some of the newsmakers that helped make 2002 exactly 365 days long.
Yes, as we reach the beginning of a brand new news year, we look back on 2002 with more than a slight Elvis sneer of derision, like a party guest finally leaving with a heavy hangover and leaving our sofa and rug stained with vomit. 2002 may go down in the history books as, “The Year of ‘…Anyway…’”
Like a half-assed sitcom following Friends and preceding ER, much of 2002 felt squashed in-between two major news periods. Following hot on the heels of the events of Sept. 11th and the bombing of Afghanistan that heralded the War on Terror, things settled down into a dreary boredom in 2002 as Americans waited for big news events that still have yet to come&#...
002 was a banner year for news. As long as the banner said, “BO-RING!” Yes, as we reach the beginning of a brand new news year, we look back on 2002 with more than a slight Elvis sneer of derision, like a party guest finally leaving with a heavy hangover and leaving our sofa and rug stained with vomit. 2002 may go down in the history books as, “The Year of ‘…Anyway…’” Like a half-assed sitcom following Friends and preceding ER, much of 2002 felt squashed in-between two major news periods. Following hot on the heels of the events of Sept. 11 th and the bombing of Afghanistan that heralded the War on Terror, things settled down into a dreary boredom in 2002 as Americans waited for big news events that still have yet to come—the bombing of Iraq, a resolution to the North Korea situation, and any evidence Osama bin Laden is alive or dead. All original and fascinating news is being greedily reserved by the newsmakers, as if they’re holding out for a news sweeps week. Early 2002 was host to the Winter Olympics, the globally-conceded most boring of all Olympics, in the globally-conceded most boring state in the union, Utah. Thank whatever you call a God for the much-covered flap when ice-skating Canadians David Pelletier and Jamie Salé were robbed of their rightful gold medal by a sly-footed French judge, or your only memories of it would be a gaggle of fruitcakes slapping a puck with a stick in the atrocity called “curling.” Much of the early news year was limited to the images of Enron’s senior staff shrugging before a Senate sub-committee with a less-than-convincing “I dunno,” followed by footage of a shrapnel-filled site in downtown Israel as the violence that made the Middle East famous escalated to ludicrous heights, until an all-out assault on Yassir Arafat’s bunker broke the boredom very briefly. There was also Ray Brent Marsh, the Georgia crematorium owner who tossed the bodies in the lake and passed the savings on to you. Thanks to Marsh, along with multiple kidslaughter defendant Andrea Yates and the hockey dad who loved local sports a bit too much, the first few months of 2002 news were occasionally livened up by local heroes. An historical Oscar win for Best Actor and Best Actress by African-Americans Denzel Washington and Halle Berry helped draw attention away from the fact the Hollywood community now considers Opie the Best Director in its midst. Even the biggest celebrity murderer of the year was only former Little Rascal Robert Blake, leaving Court-TV to wait patiently for the shoplifting trial of Winona Ryder. Summer gave everyone a little hope for a brighter news year when nine miners faced certain doom, trapped in a mine shaft, and no one was happier when they were retrieved alive and healthy. Then the week ended and everyone went back to bitching about terrorism and the tumbling stock market. As the rate of insane presidential utterances concerning Iraq increased, Americans hit the peak of the news year when a series of sniper attacks across America finally put an end to superfluous Elvis coverage. However, it wasn’t enough to save a pisser as a news year, and after the sniper suspects were arrested America quieted once again. Republicans received a boost from a record low-voter turnout off-year election and Trent Lott’s ill-conceived pro-segregationist remarks embarrassed the Bush administration, something that is truly hard to do. News pundits have a great case for 21 st century to be the most boring yet, but the commune news is quick to remind everyone 1901-1910 was a pretty crappy decade for news and the 20 th century didn’t heat up until the sinking of the Titanic and World War I. We can make this one even better, just keep working at it. the commune news ushers in a brand new year, flashlight in hand, and making sure there’s no kids ducked behind the seats. Ramrod Hurley is the commune Acting Editor and, we must say, quite an Acting Ass, too.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 January 6, 2003 Who's Up for a Little Old School Rap?There's nothing I love more than entertaining—and there's nothing more entertaining than rap music. Not that modern nonsense with the f-word used over and over again, and calling ladies female dogs. I'm talking about true rap.
Old school rap.
So let's break it down now, shall we? Get this place all funky.
The important thing to remember is that rap is all about confidence and style. And I've got truckloads of style, folks. And confidence? Nobody's got more! I'm glad to be here and to break it down, old school! I can do it all—adaption of much-loved rhymes you're all familiar with, some of my own self-penned raps to beats pumped out by my rap collaborator DJ John Waterhouse, or even some freestyling. Just give me a subject matter, say, m...
º Last Column: Everyone's Half-Assing the Christmas Spirit
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There's nothing I love more than entertaining—and there's nothing more entertaining than rap music. Not that modern nonsense with the f-word used over and over again, and calling ladies female dogs. I'm talking about true rap.
Old school rap.
So let's break it down now, shall we? Get this place all funky.
The important thing to remember is that rap is all about confidence and style. And I've got truckloads of style, folks. And confidence? Nobody's got more! I'm glad to be here and to break it down, old school! I can do it all—adaption of much-loved rhymes you're all familiar with, some of my own self-penned raps to beats pumped out by my rap collaborator DJ John Waterhouse, or even some freestyling. Just give me a subject matter, say, my friends in high school, and I will bust a rap so grand you all will have to pick up your jaws off the floor. That's how amazed you'll be.
Like all rappers, I truly slay. Everybody has certain subjects where they mine rap gold, and mine is my shoes and my superior rap abilities. Check out these fly shoes—real old school Addidas, and they rock. There was a time when shoes weren't about extra flaps, lights, and Velcro straps. That's my shoes, just there for keeping my feet comfortable—and, of course, styling. My shoes are more than shoes. They're friends. And I have a number of raps dedicated to my friends.
It's not easy being a dope rhyme-ologist. Despite having lyrical superiority over everyone I meet, and putting down the wanna-bes, it doesn't mean I'm always successful with the ladies. That's right: I've been played. And I'm not ashamed to rap about it.
One time there was a honey that strung me, drew me in like a master of gravity, acting all shy when I tried to kiss her, then said I was making time with her sister. I denied it, decried it, but it was no use fightin'; she was treating me like a tool, played me for a straight-up fool. Peace out.
That's just one of my rhymes. They sound better than they read, trust that. When I submitted my proposal for a rap act at the Taj Mahal Casino in Vegas they were doubtful as well, but once I broke it all out they were convinced I was not a perpetrator. As I said, some of the Vegas audiences don't want a tired old Lawrence Welk or Andy Williams or anything. They need something a little spicier, and I have it with my classic old school rap.
Some people say when you rap you have to "dress down," but I say that's hooey. I dress the way I feel—and I feel good! People like to see a show where the entertainer's dressed up a little bit for them, and I give the people what they want. All I ask is to cut loose and have a little fun, and maybe wave their hands in the air.
Nobody is a one man band in the world of rap, unless you do it acapella. But I'm afraid I have a lot of help to make my beats, and I would like to take a moment to thank my number one beatmaster, my scientist of bass, the one and only DJ John Waterhouse. Much love to you, old chum.
This is not only my declaration of my love for rap, of course; it's an invitation to a night out on the town for some of the best old school rap your ears have ever been blessed with. If you're going to be in the beautiful city of Las Vegas anytime all during the month of January, please come out and treat yourself at the Taj Mahal Casino. Three shows a night and all-you-can eat shrimp, and that's the personal MC Vic Daniels guarantee. Thanks, I love every one of you! º Last Column: Everyone's Half-Assing the Christmas Spiritº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“When you wish upon a star… doesn't that burn like a motherfucker? Those things are basically like other suns. Me, I do all my wishing on the floor of my bedroom.”
-"Cricket-Bat" Nigel JiminyFortune 500 CookieYour future lies in Clearasil, now and forever. Having Carrot Top fill in for you at the anchor desk Tuesday might just end your career. Why is more than one sheep still called sheep? And why are they so damned affectionate? You're going to regret correcting Randy Savage's grammar before the week is done. Saturday: Fish or die.
Try again later.Unlikeliest Candidates for New Pope| 1. | Joe Piscopo (Hereby known as Joe Piscopope) | | 2. | Winner of three-man guitar contest between Steve Vai, Yngwie Malmsteen, and Joe Satriani | | 3. | Real Pope, once impostor is out of the way | | 4. | Pope's son Iggy Pope | | 5. | Jimmy Cutler, winner of 2002 American Pope reality show contest, waiting all this time for his big chance | |
|   Failed Experiment Produces Hideous Miniature Clone BY c.e.s. pool 1/6/2003 That Was School, This is the TheaterMy name's Horsebutt. That's a weird name, I know, but my parents was kinda weird. They named my oldest brother Pugsley and my other oldest brother Seltzer. I got two other brothers, one named Ipso-Facto and the last one named some unpronounceable grunting sound, but both of them's in jail for killing my parents.
We run with kind of a gang, me 'n' my brothers. All the other kids at school call us the Trogs—Pugsley, he's real smart, he says it stands for the Trotskyites in the Russian Revolution, they was devoted to true communism and the rights of the working class. But one of the Socks said "Trogs" was short for Trogolodytes, but he didn't tell me what kinda revolution they fought in.
The Socks, that's what we call the rich kids and their gang. Fancy-pantses, al...
My name's Horsebutt. That's a weird name, I know, but my parents was kinda weird. They named my oldest brother Pugsley and my other oldest brother Seltzer. I got two other brothers, one named Ipso-Facto and the last one named some unpronounceable grunting sound, but both of them's in jail for killing my parents.
We run with kind of a gang, me 'n' my brothers. All the other kids at school call us the Trogs—Pugsley, he's real smart, he says it stands for the Trotskyites in the Russian Revolution, they was devoted to true communism and the rights of the working class. But one of the Socks said "Trogs" was short for Trogolodytes, but he didn't tell me what kinda revolution they fought in.
The Socks, that's what we call the rich kids and their gang. Fancy-pantses, always strutting around in their high-water jeans, showing off their la-de-da socks to the world. I hate the Socks. Everybody in the Trogs hates the Socks. Except for Santo, he don't speak enough English to tell us what he hates. He just keeps going on about some Spanish thing called "la Cameron Diaz" and making humping motions.
I love my brothers, but most of the time they's working jobs and don't hang out with me. So I hang out with Massapequa and Steven. My best friend is Steven, 'cause he's kinda weird, like me and my family. His family named him Steven and then told him to pronounce it in one syllable. I can almost do it, but Steven stutters sometime so it's really hard to get him down to even three syllables on it.
Massapequa, he's a hard call. He grew up the poorest of all of us—his dad was the first guy to create an online site to compete with the brick-and-mortar stores, selling brick and mortar. He was also the first victim of the dot-com boom, back in 1994. He just shot himself last year with a borrowed gun after saving up for years to buy the bullet. He didn't kill himself, but he blew out real important parts of his brain and now he thinks Tom Green is the funniest guy on earth. It's pretty sad. Massapequa hates him and don't visit him at the asylum no more.
Things are going good for me, though, 'cause Pugsley said I was old enough for the rumble tonight. A rumble's real fun, where everyone gets together and fights each other until the last ones is standing. Pugsley said if we lived in the West Bank over in the Middle East we could rumble all the time, which would be sweet.
Pugsley and Seltzer were workin' the day before the afternoon before the rumble, so Steven and Massapequa and me was hanging out at the movie.
"This movie's gay," yelled Massapequa at the movie, and the audience shushed him. The movie was a re-release of The Boys in the Band, and me and Steven thought it was pretty good. Massapequa got all mad, though, and got up and told us, "I'm going for smoke. You gonna come with me or watch this gay-ass movie?"
We decided to go with Massapequa, though I wanted to see the rest of the movie. Out in the lobby was a pretty girl—she was dressed real fancy, with bright red socks. Massapequa saw me staring at her and he laughed.
"Hey, look, Se'en. Horsebutt's got the hots for a Socks!" Steven laughed, and stuttered. Then, Massapequa got real seriously intense and looked kinda like James Dean for a minute, and he said, "Don't even think about it, Horse. There ain't no Socks would go out with a Trog. She'd stab ya just as soon as look at ya."
I knew the girl from my school, though. Her name was Sponge, just like the song. She kinda seemed a little cold to everybody, but I knew it was just 'cause she was shy. We worked on a science project a few months ago and I knew she was nice when ya got to know her.
"Hi there, Sponge," I said, kinda smiling a little shy myself.
She stabbed me right in the neck with a nail file. I fell down, all bleeding and stuff. But I knew it was just 'cause her friends were there, and she really did like me.   |
