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Bush intelligence manipulated by administration June 9, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper Mcgee While visiting the Middle East, Bush attempts to explain to local government which one he went to war with and which one he plans war with in the near future. ources inside the Pentagon are now saying that señor capitan Bush easily confuses Iraq and Iran, and though he vehemently hates both countries, meant to go to war with one while appeasing the other with placating words. The trouble is, Bush may have gone to war with the wrong one.
Confirming the reports is recent retired general "Meat" Callaghan, who left his position as a war advisor shortly before the invasion of Iraq began.
"It was the intention early on that Bush meant to go to war with Iran, and all documents were signed to that effect," said Callaghan Friday, at a local café where this reporter had to buy his soup. "Though the country formed even less a discernible threat than Iraq, the president claimed they had weapons of ass destruction and needed to ...
ources inside the Pentagon are now saying that señor capitan Bush easily confuses Iraq and Iran, and though he vehemently hates both countries, meant to go to war with one while appeasing the other with placating words. The trouble is, Bush may have gone to war with the wrong one.
Confirming the reports is recent retired general "Meat" Callaghan, who left his position as a war advisor shortly before the invasion of Iraq began.
"It was the intention early on that Bush meant to go to war with Iran, and all documents were signed to that effect," said Callaghan Friday, at a local café where this reporter had to buy his soup. "Though the country formed even less a discernible threat than Iraq, the president claimed they had weapons of ass destruction and needed to bombardmentalized. We frankly thought there was some sort of intelligence problem—the president wasn't getting the right intelligence to his brain. But he insisted there was no mistake, and thought the newspaper headlines reading 'Iranis Ran From Iran' would be funny enough to make him crap his pants."
No one is naming names, but sources suggest that those in the chain of command below Bush rewrote orders under his name to make Iraq the intended target. A quote attributed to Dick Cheney, addressing Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, sums up the alleged view of other Bush administration officials:
"I'm tired of him going to war with every country just because he thinks the name is funny. I tried to explain the complicated politics of the Taliban and the possibility they were aiding Al-Qaeda and all he could come up with was 'Afghanstand sounds like a place where they sell blankets.' Or when the Syrian ambassador came to negotiate the Iraqi invasion with us and he kept saying, 'You Syrious?'"
Sources allege that Cheney and company did not fabricate presidential orders, merely "fixed" them. Retired Gen. Callaghan described the situation: "The president is good-natured and sincere enough in wanting to go to war, he just sometimes gets confused by all the dozens of names and funny-sounding words he gets all day. He just knows good countries and bad countries, coalitions and axis of evils—remembering real big issues and gray areas and such is hard. He knows one of those countries has the real bad leader who tried to kill his dad, and that's the one he meant to go to war with. A good administration knows how to do what the president means rather than what he says."
Answering the allegations in a press conference, outgoing White House spokesperson Ari Fleischer, clearly showing signs of weariness toward the end of his run, told something resembling the truth.
"The White House cannot confirm such reports without closer study, but yeah, it's probably true. You know the man won't go down as the sharpest president in history, I don't think I'm rattling any expectations to say that much. All these reports about the Bush administration manipulating intelligence in the Iraqi war have it backwards—the administration understandably had to manipulate the Bush intelligence. You don't want to see this guy try to do long division, you can actually see the brain cells committing hari kari."
Most reporters, including this one, was so dumbstruck by the forthright revelations we couldn't think of any follow-up questions. the commune news is proud as a peacock, but usually ridiculed like a cock pea. Raoul Dunkin is filling in for White House correspondent Lil Duncan (no relation), who is on vacation and seeking to get a part in The Real Cancun 2.
| Sports Pundits Wax Epically Over Sosa's Corked BatPossible cheating incident fuels passionate scenery-chewing June 9, 2003 |
Chicago, Illinois Whit Pistol The "bat cracking heard 'round the news room," launching hour after aural hour of blithering repetitive "insights" on the future and past of baseball. he fallout from Tuesday night's corked bat incident involving Sammy Sosa has been fast and harsh. When the Cubs player was found to have taken a corked bat into the game, he was ejected from the game; Friday the Major League Baseball Commission handed down an eight-game suspension to the home-run hitter, who in 1998 was neck-in-neck with Mark McGwire to set a new home-run record. But the more unbearable fallout is continuing with no break in sight: Sports columnists and reporters and their never-ending assessment of the situation.
"What a shame," said Denver Post Sports Editor Thad Griswald. "This guy, he's a player. He's a good player, and before this there was no doubt he was a Hall of Famer. Now, even if he goes into the Hall of Fame, there's going to be an asterisk by his...
he fallout from Tuesday night's corked bat incident involving Sammy Sosa has been fast and harsh. When the Cubs player was found to have taken a corked bat into the game, he was ejected from the game; Friday the Major League Baseball Commission handed down an eight-game suspension to the home-run hitter, who in 1998 was neck-in-neck with Mark McGwire to set a new home-run record. But the more unbearable fallout is continuing with no break in sight: Sports columnists and reporters and their never-ending assessment of the situation.
"What a shame," said Denver Post Sports Editor Thad Griswald. "This guy, he's a player. He's a good player, and before this there was no doubt he was a Hall of Famer. Now, even if he goes into the Hall of Fame, there's going to be an asterisk by his name. The next time he hits a homer… nobody may say anything, but everybody's going to wonder."
Statements very much to the same effect and with equally melodramatic tones have echoed throughout the week. Sosa's intention to cheat, or his innocence of the charge, have given the fading sport's many pundits an opportunity to talk with misguided passion about something other than salary caps and free agency.
ESPN 2 late-night commentator Art Biederbeck: "The sad thing is that at this point it doesn't matter if Sammy meant to cheat or not. He will always be remembered for this as much as his race with McGwire for the record—did he or didn't he? It will always accompany the name of Sammy Sosa. He may not even make the Hall of Fame now. And if he does, mark my words, folks, there will be an asterisk there."
Mortals everywhere who had been only vaguely following the sport of baseball as national interest in the sport wanes for more clock-oriented, fast-paced sports like football and basketball, now find themselves driven away from even catching box scores out of fear they'll catch another diatribe about Sosa and his mystery bat.
"It's criminal that everyone leaps to conclusions about Sammy Sosa's entire career on the basis of one bat," complained D.C.-area WRBI sportscaster Cory Alvin. "They checked 76 of his bats, all in perfect condition, but this one is going to haunt him. Out there, someone's always going to wonder if every homerun in his career was from an illegal bat. And that's the real tragedy of all this."
As the story snowballs, with Sosa planning to appeal his 8-game suspension next week, no end is in sight to the over-dramatization of the story. Sports shows on network and basic cable, as well as 24-hour sports channels, are expected to roll out sports authorities one after the other, including broadcasters, former Hall of Famers, and current players to deliver the same basic positions over and over again, rather than conclude Major League Baseball will make a decision and allow it to stand as the official position. The best hope for relief from the continual coverage of the story is the death of a Major League player, like Reggie Jackson or something, especially from a horrible disease or even murder.
"It's a real problem with sports commentators," said baseball fan and author Max J. Hartley. "Nothing new has been said about the sport in at least 20 years, maybe more, and a lot of these guys aren't well versed on other issues, so a lot of passion gets channeled into these seeming non-issues. But what they don't realize when they go on television all hangdog or write a real melancholy column with this Sosa bat story, it's going to stick in people's craw. They may make a good observation down the road, something really original about the state of baseball's popularity or the real free agency problem, but people will always think of this in the back of their minds, this pretentious posturing about an incident that was in all likelihood an accident, or at worst an attempt by a player past his prime to cheat a few runs. It will dog them for their careers. If they ever get a shot at the Sports Broadcasters Hall of Fame, even if they get in, there will be an asterisk by their names." the commune news is not guilty of corking its bat, but we do like to bat a cork around the room on occasion. Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown is our resident baseball expert as well as our expert on all-things afterlife.
| Yale bombed, Harvard too drunk to walk home Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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June 9, 2003 Mornin' Ralph, Mornin' Samby the commune's Stan Abernathie Well, it seems as if another baseball season is well upon us, with the grotesquely overgrown boys of summer regaling us with their rawhide antics. This season has progressed like many others, with the Yankees and Braves keeping things safe for folks who only check the standings every couple of years, and the Mets playing a brand of baseball so ugly even the New Yorkers have noticed. I've been saying for years that trading for Mo Vaughn was a mistake, that team just hasn't been the same since he ate the middle infielders.
Last year the big controversy was steroids, when the apathetic public finally took notice after enough guys had their meat-laden arms rip out of the sockets mid-swing, drenching the field in a strange purplish blood that singed the grass. Ken Caminiti admitted...
º Last Column: Stick a Fork in the Whole Damn Team º more columns
Well, it seems as if another baseball season is well upon us, with the grotesquely overgrown boys of summer regaling us with their rawhide antics. This season has progressed like many others, with the Yankees and Braves keeping things safe for folks who only check the standings every couple of years, and the Mets playing a brand of baseball so ugly even the New Yorkers have noticed. I've been saying for years that trading for Mo Vaughn was a mistake, that team just hasn't been the same since he ate the middle infielders.
Last year the big controversy was steroids, when the apathetic public finally took notice after enough guys had their meat-laden arms rip out of the sockets mid-swing, drenching the field in a strange purplish blood that singed the grass. Ken Caminiti admitted to using steroids during his years as a player, which was just as shocking as Cheech and Chong dropping the bomb that they occasionally enjoyed a little toke of the reefer. Most steroid freaks only break a bat over their knee when they strike out, but Caminiti would break bats over his own throat when people pronounced his last name wrong. The league should have taken notice when he stopped wearing a cup and starting wearing a sports bra.
The big story this year is who in the hell did we send to play baseball in Detroit? I know the Red Wings are popular up there but I still say they have no business on the diamond. Get some real ballplayers up there, or at least some semi-coordinated beer-league softball guys you pulled out of a hat, like the Devil Rays did. There's just no way major league teams should be spotting each other runs or having their outfielders play on their knees to make things competitive. If the Tigers were a movie, they wouldn't be Major League, they'd be My Left Foot.
The feel-good story of the year so far is the Expos, who are doing well playing half of their games in a stadium in San Juan, whenever there aren't live chickens running across the field. Word is the locals have never heard of baseball, but turn out in droves to see the strange men wave sticks at each other. A concession is a concession, though, and Puerto Rican fans even got into the MLB spirit by hitting Carl Everett in the head with a radish last week. He wasn't even playing, I hear he was just in town for the world-class cockfighting. It's truly a strange world for the man who doesn't believe in dinosaurs.
People were even getting excited about the Royals this year, but that's only because everybody else in the league is on the disabled list. I don't know who let all these crybabies into the sport, but lately the MLB is like a dodgeball game at a fat camp.
Everybody's talking about Roger Clemens' 300th win, which is about as fun as watching an asshole win at cards. Not that I'm saying Clemens cheats, but if you were playing poker with some guy who suddenly hit you in the head with the five of diamonds, there'd be some eyebrows raised. I hear that as a token of gratitude the Yankees are going to trade him to Detroit for a Cadillac. Go Tigers.
I went to a Twins game last week and Torii Hunter caught a tee shirt they were trying to air-cannon into the stands, that guy's an asshole.
I'll keep you updated on my attempts to get on the Yankee payroll this season. I can still play a little left field, and it's not like they've ever heard the phrase "expense control." So wish me luck, and if you see Steinbrenner, tell him I go to bed every night at 7.
Thanks. º Last Column: Stick a Fork in the Whole Damn Teamº more columns |
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Milestones1990: Red Bagel's dark vision of the future presented in lecture form at a local college predicts a war in Iraq, though he incorrectly predicts the date as 2002. Unless… well, we'll wait and see, won't we?Now HiringBartender. Mix all variety of drinks, serve beers with a quick smile and friendly expression. Listening a must, flipping bottles and spinning like in Cocktail a plus. Must know when to cut off Ramrod Hurley—immediately—and when to cut off Red Bagel—never, if you like your job.Least Successful David Bowie Incarnations1. | Wacky Far-Out Space Nut | 2. | Lithe, Quirky, Effeminate Heterosexual | 3. | Gold-Suited Game Show Host Mutt Smalley | 4. | Evil Twin Brother Donald Bowie | 5. | Lou Bega | |
| Mission Accomplished: U.S. Forces Find Hussein's Embarrassing Home VideosBY shamu wells d'froad 6/9/2003 Confederacy of Assholes"When you speak to me, Geech, do it with respect," I told him. Geech was an even larger asshole than myself, size-wise, but I was the asshole of greater intensity.
"Who put the bee in your beret today?" asked Geech. He lit a cigarette and began to puff on it, choking because he had lit the filter.
His question was not worth answering and I snubbed him, turning back to watch the screen. The film was truly awful, as all films are, the narrative structure being so blatantly obvious and the philosophy poor at best. However, Jim Carrey fell down in delightful ways so I forgave its flaws.
By the time it was over, Geech and I had concluded its ending far before it came. Despite cries that we should shut up or go fuck each other somewhere else, crude at worst...
"When you speak to me, Geech, do it with respect," I told him. Geech was an even larger asshole than myself, size-wise, but I was the asshole of greater intensity.
"Who put the bee in your beret today?" asked Geech. He lit a cigarette and began to puff on it, choking because he had lit the filter.
His question was not worth answering and I snubbed him, turning back to watch the screen. The film was truly awful, as all films are, the narrative structure being so blatantly obvious and the philosophy poor at best. However, Jim Carrey fell down in delightful ways so I forgave its flaws.
By the time it was over, Geech and I had concluded its ending far before it came. Despite cries that we should shut up or go fuck each other somewhere else, crude at worst, incorrect at best, we enjoyed the opportunity to converse over the film before it was over. And ruin a movie for someone else. We decided to leave and go get coffee at some place with terrible coffee.
In the parking lot, we were stopped by a steely-eyed man with a reddish face. A poor physique and mussed hair, an ugly man by an ugly man's standards.
"Hey, you dicks didn't have to talk all the way through the fucking movie."
"We're not dicks, we're assholes," said Geech.
"What's the difference?" the ugly man asked.
"A dick, in the metaphorical term, is someone being either thoughtless or purposefully insulting, ruining your good time for their fun," I told him. "An asshole, as we define it, is a new wave of philosophical thought that preaches our enjoyment first, above all else, even or especially at the expense of others."
"That sounds like the exact same thing!" the guy yelled, growing even angrier.
"It is," I said. "Remember, we're assholes."
The ugly guy calmed down quickly, going so far through anger as to reach some sort of intense fascination. "Tell me more."
"Fuck yourself," I said, tossing my cigarette and making it bounce off his forehead.
On the way home, running very fast with the man pursuing us, Geech seemed confused.
"I don't see why you didn't just tell him about our school of philosophy," he said.
"I didn't like his attitude. He was a little polite about all of it. Training him would be an all-day job."
"Still, it would be nice to have other followers to our school. Don't you agree?"
"Lick me, Geech."
He was right, in some ways. We had created the idea of assholism and assholistic thinking some three months ago, opened our school two weeks previous, and were not doing well financially. Many people were dissuaded when they saw our classrooms consisted of a two-bedroom apartment, and those who were still interested we turned away because they seemed to eager. Plus, our school criteria was extremely high, Geech didn't even qualify. I was the principal and sole faculty member of the new assholistic school, or Jake, as we called it. The idea of allowing someone else to join sounded appealing, even at the risk of lowering our standards.
Still, it's more fun to be the only member of a club than to have real friends. At least I think it would be. If I ever have friends I'll know for sure. |