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 State still looking for sex fiends in all the wrong places January 20, 2003 |
Sacramento, California Junior Bacon A suspect arrested for a sex crime is handcuffed to a chair... and probably likes it; one of the few captured with the use of the "free molesting" coupon, pictured below.
It was a disappointment for state government, who has faced ridicule since January 7, 2003 for its admission that it lost 33,000 sex offenders from its registry. The registry was created in response to Megan's Law, legislation requiring convicted sex offenders to register their addresses with the state, manipulatively named after a murdered sexual assault victim.
"The coupon was not real, let me stress that," said California Department of Public Relations VP Millie Scheiner. "Damn truth-in-advertising laws required we put that note in all ads promoting the 'am...
he first attempt to locate 33,000 missing sex offenders in California failed when there was no response to a highly-publicized offer of a phony coupon good for "one free molestation and/or sexual assault."
It was a disappointment for state government, who has faced ridicule since January 7, 2003 for its admission that it lost 33,000 sex offenders from its registry. The registry was created in response to Megan's Law, legislation requiring convicted sex offenders to register their addresses with the state, manipulatively named after a murdered sexual assault victim.
"The coupon was not real, let me stress that," said California Department of Public Relations VP Millie Scheiner. "Damn truth-in-advertising laws required we put that note in all ads promoting the 'amnesty coupon,' but we made it really small and put it in the fine print. Who reads that? Well, apparently sex offenders are wise shoppers."
Part of the annoyance at the failure is that the state will now be forced to pursue more expensive searches to find the missing sex offenders. Budget analysts have suggested that it could cost the state at least $20 million to find the sex offenders and register them once again. To stave that cost, other proposals are already flowing in.
"A major step in reducing the cost of the search is to eliminate places you won't find sex offenders," said Geoff Jermaine, founder and president of PervSearch, an independent company formed with hope of winning a state contract to find the missing sex offenders. "For instance, it's pretty safe to assume we won't search police stations. We know they're not in prisons either, so that cuts down on a lot of search areas. How much of California can there be?"
The second step, according to Jermaine, is to actively seek places that might provide a good hiding place for sex offenders, like Georgia and Catholic churches.
"Our first step will be to check stadiums, large open fields, mid-size towns and army bases, anywhere that could house 33,000 people—that's a large number of perverts to go walking down Hollywood Boulevard in the daytime," said Jermaine. "But more than likely we'll have to consider the possibility that they've all split up by now. It's a damn shame. That's going to make the search a lot harder."
The state government hasn't ruled out hiring an independent contractor to locate and register the missing sex offenders, but they are still considering all options at this point. Governor's office insiders have leaked a number of possible methods of finding the sex offenders, including putting their faces on the side of milk cartons with messages such as, "Have you seen me? I'm a rapist. Please call 1-800-SEX-PERV." Early success with the milk carton search method could lead to T-shirts with similar messages, and might even catch on as a fad with cynical high schoolers and twentysomethings.
Still other solutions are on the drawing board. America's Most Wanted star John Walsh said he has approached the state government with a proposal for a weekend marathon on Fox where they show pictures of the missing offenders, present computer representations of what they might look like with old-time mustaches and glasses, and take calls from anonymous informers.
"I think it could be really great, for California and for Fox," said Walsh. "We could have a huge total board behind me and periodically I tell them to show me the total, and the roll up the numbers. We could continue right through Sunday night and I bet you we get at least 25,000 of them back. With the help of viewers like you."
Recovering the sex offenders would be the first step for California in recovering from its humiliation. According to insiders, Gov. Gray Davis has received countless prank calls from national senators, representatives, and other governors asking if he left the sex offenders in his other pants pockets, or saying they have seen the 33,000 missing ex-convicts at the local Safeway. the commune news has to officialy register as a sex machine wherever we go—and tonight we'd like to be at your place to register, baby. Raoul Dunkin is quite a card, and a number of the staff would like to put him in the spokes of their bicycle wheels to see if he makes noise.
 | 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."
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 January 20, 2003 The Myth of TornadoesThe first tornado, or "dizzy wind," was reported in ancient Sumer in 4914 B.C.. The Sumerian king returned home from an afternoon pillage one day to find his castle in total disarray, with royal garments strewn everywhere and the court musicians stuck up in a tree. He called upon the court scientists, who declared it the work of an ungodly natural phenomena caused by God's drunken uncle Blitzen. Later it was discovered that the king's ex-wife had been over that day and had caused the whole thing as usual, so the king had the court scientists tarred, feathered and cooked in a terrible big pot pie. And while he was at it he had the royal ex-wife beheaded again, since it apparently didn't take the first time.
When the Renaissance came along and slept on the world's couch longer...
º Last Column: The History of Fast Food
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The first tornado, or "dizzy wind," was reported in ancient Sumer in 4914 B.C.. The Sumerian king returned home from an afternoon pillage one day to find his castle in total disarray, with royal garments strewn everywhere and the court musicians stuck up in a tree. He called upon the court scientists, who declared it the work of an ungodly natural phenomena caused by God's drunken uncle Blitzen. Later it was discovered that the king's ex-wife had been over that day and had caused the whole thing as usual, so the king had the court scientists tarred, feathered and cooked in a terrible big pot pie. And while he was at it he had the royal ex-wife beheaded again, since it apparently didn't take the first time.
When the Renaissance came along and slept on the world's couch longer than anyone would have liked, all sorts of half-assed thinkers came out of the woodwork to declare that they had the answers to all of nature's mysteries, like why sticks are pointy and why a dropped donut always falls in poop. For a while it was funny, but before too long people were longing for the Dark Ages again, when you could be ostracized, killed and buggered (in that order) for talking about anything other than how nice the weather was.
But unfortunately for fans of involuntary necrophilia, the Renaissance eventually led to the modern age, with its own host of superstitions and scientific old wives' tales. Modern scientists explained that twisters were actually caused when high-powered attorneys ran into the front of low-pressure salesmen, resulting in a fun party game with a spinner. People never really believed that, but the spinner was so much fun that few saw fit to question the philosophy behind it.
To this day, a goodly proportion of the superstitious masses still believe in the tornado, this mythical "wind beast" that can pick up an entire trailer park at once and deposit it in a better part of town with no warning, even if they're just about to say who gets to marry the millionaire. Wild-eyed true believers tell fantastic tales of tornadoes that can blow a piece of straw through an oak tree or even drag a needle through Tipper Gore's ass.
Hollywood has done much to play into the public's ignorant fears, creating computer-generated tornadoes so real you'd swear they really were the bane of hayseeds from Kansas to Oklahoma. The Helen Hunt drama Twister won many a convert to the cult of the tornado, even though the film's credits spell out exactly who was responsible for the digital sleight-of-hand in large font. Many remember seeing the foam-rubber tornado in 1939's The Wizard of Oz as a child and have simply always assumed they were real. Others should know better, but there is little hope in arguing with someone who has a deep-seated need to believe in tornadoes.
Sadder still are the so-called tornado victims, who grab for headlines with vivid tales of the twister that took their truck, their house and their hometown. A sparse few have any kind of hard evidence, beyond some twisted wreckage and a town-shaped hole in the ground. Tornado hoaxes such as these have proliferated in recent years, as a deep need for contact with the supernatural has pushed many desperate people to the edge. A hilarious few claim to have been "taken" by the twister, up into its spinning winds, presumably to a magical land of merry-go-rounds, spinning tops and ice skaters twirling around perpetually like Lazy Susans.
Eventually there will come an enlightened age when we are free from such inane superstitions, but unfortunately it's not likely to happen until our alien creators come back and anal probe us into being smart. º Last Column: The History of Fast Foodº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“To sleep, perchance to dream. As long as I do not dream of being pursued by that creepy Duracell robot family, for that shit was truly too much for a soul to endure.”
-Robert ShakenspearFortune 500 CookieDo not take the road less traveled, 'cause the toll is complete bullshit. If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you? Your mother will finally find out this week. Two brutal assaults is a coincidence, three is a lack of self-control. Expect to be broken hearted this week, as the writing on the bathroom wall foretold. Lucky numbers all make a sum of 9.
Try again later.Top 5 Michael Jackson Trial Revelations| 1. | Sleeping with children in your bed only huge moral quaqmire—not illegal | | 2. | Elephant Man bones were delicious | | 3. | "Thriller" song autobiographical | | 4. | Body almost 78% artificial ingredients | | 5. | Jackson himself a delusional product of being raised in the spotlight; middle name Joseph | |
|   2002: The Year in Review BY albert forrest hyne 1/20/2003 The Tell-Tale Cell PhoneTRUE! I am shitting bricks like some kind of gigantic house-building robot, but does that make me crazy? Fuck you if you say I'm crazy! Fuck you and all of your crazy-saying friends! Fuck you right in the antelope! Yeah, I'm crazy like the bionic man was crazy. I can see through walls, motherfucker! You come and get some of this, I'll hear your eyelashes rub together when you reach for the car door! I'll drop a safe on your ass, and I'm not talking about some little file folder box with a lock on it, I mean one of those huge goddamned gun safes you could fit a Samoan in! Still think I'm crazy? Step a little to the left, motherfucker!
I don't know why I did it, okay? People do some fucked-up shit after snorting a pound of coke. I knew a guy once who tried to paint a house wit...
TRUE! I am shitting bricks like some kind of gigantic house-building robot, but does that make me crazy? Fuck you if you say I'm crazy! Fuck you and all of your crazy-saying friends! Fuck you right in the antelope! Yeah, I'm crazy like the bionic man was crazy. I can see through walls, motherfucker! You come and get some of this, I'll hear your eyelashes rub together when you reach for the car door! I'll drop a safe on your ass, and I'm not talking about some little file folder box with a lock on it, I mean one of those huge goddamned gun safes you could fit a Samoan in! Still think I'm crazy? Step a little to the left, motherfucker!
I don't know why I did it, okay? People do some fucked-up shit after snorting a pound of coke. I knew a guy once who tried to paint a house with his dick, I'm just sayin' it gives you some strange ideas. It's true, I never had a problem with Ernesto. He was always okay by me. But tonight he showed up and he had the ringer on his goddamned cell phone playing "Somewhere Out There" and that thing was ringing like every two SECONDS. At first I figured people would eventually stop calling him but then his bitch of a girlfriend kept calling every two minutes to see if he loved her yet and that thing drove me out of my mind like in a Ferrari.
Finally I got pissed and asked him why he didn't put the thing on vibrate before I had to club him to death with a jack handle, but he said he couldn't because he had a can of Red Bull in his pocket and he didn't want the thing to get shook up and jizz all over his new pants. This seemed fair enough, but still that phone was DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAZY and I asked him if he could change the ringer to something else, like something by the Baha Boys or Shaggy or whatever, anything really. But he was a prick and wouldn't change it so I had to club him to death with a jack handle.
Would you still think me crazy if I told you how cunningly I disposed of the body? If you looked in the dictionary to check and make sure cunningly was really a word, and it turned out it was, what would you think then? A madman would have attempted to dispose of the body in some crazy way, like shooting it out of a cannon or trying to inflate it with helium so it would float away. Or putting fake cardboard ears on the head and saying "My dog got hit by a car!" But not I, who is not mad. I buried that novelty-ringing fucker in the bathroom. And if anyone questions the uneven tile floor in there, I will tell them I have moles. The animal kind.
Just then there came a knock at the door, and it was Terrance and his brother Marcus. At first I told them to fuck off, because Marcus is the dick who never returned my Shirelles tape, but then I realized how that might look so I invited them in. We hung out for a while talking about thong underwears and that was cool, but Marcus was going on so long my ears started to ring. Then after a while I realized it wasn't my ears at all, there was a faint ringing sound in the air, impossible to locate or ignore. That's when it hit me. THE PHONE!
Terrance scrunched up his nose when he heard it too.
"Hey man, is Ernesto here? That sounds like his goddamned phone. I hate that fuckin' thing."
"No!" I told him. "And why are you asking such stupid fucking questions? Damn is you stupid. If Ernesto was here, why wouldn't he be out here with us? What, you think he's hiding in the bathroom or something? Shit. If Ernesto was here, I'd beat his ass to death with a jack handle, that's how not here he is."
I had covered my tracks deftly but still, the phone rang on. Again and AGAIN. That stupid bitch girlfriend! Couldn't she take a hint that he was dead? By now it was becoming impossible to ignore or deny it, Ernesto's annoying goddamn phone was in my apartment somewhere! At first I had Terrence and Marcus convinced that it was just me humming "Somewhere Out There," but then Marcus asked how come I could hum and drink beer at the same time, was I some kind of ventriloqueer or something?
SHIT!! They KNEW! My eyes darted around the room for something else to blame the ringing on as it grew louder and louder. In an instant it was deafening! My head was pounding as Terrence and Marcus laughed and talked about Barbershop. Were they fucking with me?? They had to know, and now they were fucking with me! Those pricks!
"Alright you cocksuckers!" I shouted. "I confess!"
The both looked at me with genuine puzzlement. Hmm.
"I, uh… haven't seen Barbershop yet."
"Well, shit dog," smiled Terrence. "Get your coat man, we goin'."   |
