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Doritos Reveals New Human Tracking Chips New snack technology could end crime, hunger, privacy July 21, 2003 |
The new Trakos chips, shown in Ranch Attack and Hellapeño flavors orrowing a page from every cautionary future tale ever written and 60% of all science fiction films to date, the Frito-Lay Corporation today unveiled Trakos, a new line of Doritos brand “human tracking chips” designed to thwart kidnappings and various other ugly crimes in four delicious varieties.
The new chips, offered in Ranch Attack, Hellapeño, Nacho Bacon, and Four Course Meal flavors, use cutting edge technology to embed edible microchips into the snack food. These microchips can then be tracked by satellite and hand-held scanning devices worldwide, providing a huge aid in missing-persons cases involving recent snack chip consumption. The high-tech snacks are being offered in response to recent public demands for improved homeland security and a snack food that tast...
orrowing a page from every cautionary future tale ever written and 60% of all science fiction films to date, the Frito-Lay Corporation today unveiled Trakos, a new line of Doritos brand “human tracking chips” designed to thwart kidnappings and various other ugly crimes in four delicious varieties. The new chips, offered in Ranch Attack, Hellapeño, Nacho Bacon, and Four Course Meal flavors, use cutting edge technology to embed edible microchips into the snack food. These microchips can then be tracked by satellite and hand-held scanning devices worldwide, providing a huge aid in missing-persons cases involving recent snack chip consumption. The high-tech snacks are being offered in response to recent public demands for improved homeland security and a snack food that tastes like nacho-flavored bacon. “The public has been resistant to this tracking technology for years, but now we’ve made it delicious,” explained Doritos head Ken Abenly. “People may balk at the idea of being implanted with a tracking device, but we think the time has come to put those outmoded fears to rest,” said Abenly. “The threat of an embarrassing public death at the hands of some crazed terrorist or your cheating husband is just too great these days. Criminals may still resist the concept of being tracked through microchips floating around in their bile, but we’re confident we’ve made these chips delicious enough to overcome any objections.” Chip-hating privacy advocates have protested the trend, citing fears of a Big Brotherly government agency using the American public’s weakness for tasty snack foods to create a vast surveillance network, leading inevitably to political oppression and embarrassing high-water jumpsuits for all. “The rest of our chips have been known for years to be major contributors to obesity, heart disease and stroke, yet that hasn’t stopped anyone from pounding the things like they were going out of style,” continued Abenly. “So we don’t foresee privacy concerns being a major deterrent. After all, which would you rather have: A tiny, painless microtransmitter in your gullet, or a spaghetti tangle of gross heart tubes coming out of your chest? Yuck. Sounds like a no-brainer to me. Plus we made sure they taste like nacho-flavored bacon, which the people seem to love.” Despite protests, the technology appears to be a likely hit. Plans are already in the works for several other tracking foods, including Grandma Come Home pitted prunes from Sunkist and Ralson Purina’s upcoming Trackin’ Wagon dog food to aid in the search for missing pets. Sadly, the technology has not yet advanced to the point of aiding in the search for pets or loved ones who are already missing, though unsubstantiated reports have Hershey Foods working on a time-traveling chocolate bar that might allow consumers to go back in time and feed tracking foods to their currently missing pets before they disappear. Dim-witted focus groups have also drawn attention to the need for intelligence regarding what kinds of snack foods car keys might enjoy, so that they can be fed tracking snacks and never be lost again. the commune news could never approve of such wide-scale governmental tracking technology, but for a ride in a Hummer we’d give up Anne Frank. Ramon Nootles isn’t a big fan of chips, but he’s easy enough to find if you just follow the scent of cheap perfume.
| Penalty of Something Horrible imposed on naysayers July 21, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee The President makes his mean face in an effort to dissuade Congress from bringing up unpleasant matters of intelligence, or lack thereof. n a staunch memo from the White House, written on the president's customized Wild Thornberrys stationary with the head "From the Desk of George II," the president issued a decree confirming the controversy over intelligence errors was at an end.
"Let it ring forth from the Oval Office, loyal Americans," the memo stated, all i's dotted with smiley faces, "that the alleged problem with intelligence has been resolved. We shall not address these topics again under penalty of whatever we can do to you."
The stern warning stems from revelations that Bush used unconfirmed reports of Saddam Hussein attempting to buy uranium in Africa in a Jan. 28 State of the Union address. The report later proved a forgery, and not even a good forgery, forgery critics have reviewed. Th...
n a staunch memo from the White House, written on the president's customized Wild Thornberrys stationary with the head "From the Desk of George II," the president issued a decree confirming the controversy over intelligence errors was at an end.
"Let it ring forth from the Oval Office, loyal Americans," the memo stated, all i's dotted with smiley faces, "that the alleged problem with intelligence has been resolved. We shall not address these topics again under penalty of whatever we can do to you."
The stern warning stems from revelations that Bush used unconfirmed reports of Saddam Hussein attempting to buy uranium in Africa in a Jan. 28 State of the Union address. The report later proved a forgery, and not even a good forgery, forgery critics have reviewed. The misstatement is the first public proof of inaccuracy in Iraq intelligence claims against the president, if you exclude the obvious lack of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq at all. Critics of the president—you know, non-Republicans—were quick to attack the false claim in the wake of recent information.
"Mr. President, for the American people, I ask you, Where are these weapons of mass destruction?" accused Democratic presidential nominee Dennis Kucinich in a fund-raiser only he attended.
White House officials were caught off guard by the public story revealing the inaccuracy of the uranium claim, and pointed to the CIA as the culprit. In their estimation, the CIA is responsible for verifying every statement the president is to say before he says it, or make it true in the aftermath once he has said it. CIA Director George Tenet, as captain of the rotting ship, took full responsibility for the error. According to other CIA insiders, Tenet had previously made White House speechwriters remove an Oct. 7 reference to the same forged documents until it could be verified, but failed to intercede on the president's behalf in January.
The backlash came in a form of public outcry about the legitimacy of intelligence collected by the CIA, and a frustrated Bush responded by saying he retained faith in Tenet, who was responsible for his false declarations, and that American intelligence was in good hands, describing it as "darn good." Political pundits were on the offensive again however, noticing that Bush stopped short of calling the intelligence "the bee's knees" or "rootin' tootin'."
The presidential decree, the first of its kind, was released Saturday, following a failed attempt the week before to urge the nation into silence by calling the matter "closed." The decree, while not a Constitutionally-viable change in public policy and holding no legal ramifications for the disobedient, could be the first in a series of presidential changes in lawmaking to enforce the will of the president over his subjects. Which is how Bush sometimes refers to his constituents.
White House mouthpiece and new meat Scott McClellan defended what some considered a presidential overstepping of duties.
"His will is divine and not for us to question," said McClellan Saturday. "He is merciful and wise. Your opinions to him are like the gnats buzzing around the head of the large and noble wildebeest of the Serengeti plain."
It could be neither confirmed nor denied at press time whether wildebeests roamed the Serengeti. the commune news is issuing a decree, a Bachelor's of Science, to all our reporters and their high journalistic standards. White House correspondent Lil Duncan's own high standards apparently don't keep her from dating smelly men with mustaches, judging by what she brought into the office last week.
| 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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July 21, 2003 Saddam Hussein: Dead or Alive 3While your average American gives no thought to the complicated world of politics, concerned more with trivialities such as "Will my job survive the year?" and "How can I afford to keep my family medically insured?" the think-tankers in the upper echelons of the U.S. government are asking only one question: "Is Saddam Hussein alive, and if so, where is he?" Yes, if you check, that's technically only one question, hence the single question mark.
The short answer is: No. But wait! Before you think I've become boring in my old age, I haven't cracked your brain with the baseball bat of conspiracy yet, and I assure you there is more to the Saddam Hussein story than you've considered before. And always more than they're telling you.
The reason Saddam Hussein is no lon...
º Last Column: Roll On, Columbia º more columns
While your average American gives no thought to the complicated world of politics, concerned more with trivialities such as "Will my job survive the year?" and "How can I afford to keep my family medically insured?" the think-tankers in the upper echelons of the U.S. government are asking only one question: "Is Saddam Hussein alive, and if so, where is he?" Yes, if you check, that's technically only one question, hence the single question mark.
The short answer is: No. But wait! Before you think I've become boring in my old age, I haven't cracked your brain with the baseball bat of conspiracy yet, and I assure you there is more to the Saddam Hussein story than you've considered before. And always more than they're telling you.
The reason Saddam Hussein is no longer alive is that he was never alive. Saddam Hussein, was, is, and always has been nothing more than a computer program. Surprised? Good, I say. You don't think I hold off on telling you all this shit simply because it slipped my mind, do you? I get my jollies watching your jaw drop, friend.
Has anyone ever seen the movie Virtuosity? Of course not. Some would chalk this up to the film being predictable and fairly empty of any real enjoyment, but I say this underestimates the part played by the American government to make the movie go unseen. The film is a roundabout way to propose that many of our society's villains are nothing more than distracting computer creations, and it took a lot of government operatives countless hours to make the film so utterly forgettable as to slip through the box office cracks unnoticed. But there was good reason for all the time spent doing so.
If we open ourselves up to the possibility that one villain is really just a souped-up Atari made to look like Russell Crowe doing a decent American accent, where do we stop questioning everything? Consider this: Have you ever been in a room with Saddam Hussein, the actual man? I didn't think so. That should make it abundantly doubtful a real Saddam Hussein even exists.
Everyone knows Iraq was only targeted by the military for one reason, and that's oil; this is only up for debate by people who enjoy deceiving themselves about everything, such as the government has only altruistic motives, or J.A.G. is a really good show. In fact, whenever you hear a government official say they want to bring democracy to another country, it should automatically translate as they have natural resources vital to our economy and are holding out. Hence we decided to bring democracy to Iraq, in exchange for barrel upon barrel of yummy oil.
Of course, Iraq was a foreign culture and has virtually no strategic value, following that we have no enemy after the Soviet Union dismantled and had no strategy against no enemy. The original leaders of Iraq, looking pretty dopey and smiling all the time like they just squeezed out a silent fart, weren't much motivation for the American people to go to war. So the U.S. war machine created the Saddam Hussein computer program, based an old Abbot & Costello routine beloved by Sec. Jim Bakker. "Who's in charge of Egypt?" "Hussein." "I'm sayin', I want to know." Love that one.
But if you build a computer program too good, as any hack movie producer knows, it can develop its own intelligence and decide to take things over. Which is exactly what happened when we installed the Saddam Hussein program on Iraqi Amigas. Pretty soon we did have a Saddam Hussein threat to overthrow—our own. He even generated independently more pictures of George Bush's Uncle Herb in full Iraqi military guard and had him doing ridiculous Herb-like things, such as waving a shotgun around or reading threatening messages to the U.S. government in great big glasses from his underground bunker.
Keep in mind, I still think the Saddam Hussein program is a threat, and if one mainframe carrying the program survived the Baghdad bombing, the danger remains. But all of this could have been dealt with much quicker and efficiently by planting a virus in the Iraqi intranet, or installing Windows 2000 on one of the network computers. º Last Column: Roll On, Columbiaº more columns |
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Quote of the Day“If you love someone, set them free. If they do not return, then you were stupid for following my advice.”
-Bachard RichmanFortune 500 CookieDon't blame anyone else for your own problems, blame EVERYONE else. Try a new deodorant this week, your friends agree the theoretical kind hasn't been cutting it. You will meet a small armadillo that will teach you arithmetic, but few will buy that story at the trial. This week's lucky karate moves: The Iron Ostrich, Yun-Wi's Forceful Throat Massage, Western Ballsack Slap, and The Forbidden Tongue Stomp of Zi-Zi Tohp.
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| Pat Robertson Asks Viewers to Pray for 50-Foot RobotBY nathan howser 7/21/2003 Hamilton CastlewaiteIt was a dreadful mess, washing up on an uncharted desert isle out in the middle of nowhere. But 'tis most usually the case with uncharted desert isles. You seldom find them just five miles west of San Francisco or anything, some earnest young go-getter having long-since charted it with gusto.
Such worries were no longer my concern. My frigate had capsized in the dreadful storm, and most of my crew were drowned. Some of them were even white men. A frightful experience, being near-drowned. My valiant crewmen even tried to save me, though they mistakenly dunked my head under the sea water numerous times in the effort. How you make the mistake is quite beyond me. But the strained feeling in my lungs aside, I did manage to cling to a piece of floating driftwood kept just for such oc...
It was a dreadful mess, washing up on an uncharted desert isle out in the middle of nowhere. But 'tis most usually the case with uncharted desert isles. You seldom find them just five miles west of San Francisco or anything, some earnest young go-getter having long-since charted it with gusto. Such worries were no longer my concern. My frigate had capsized in the dreadful storm, and most of my crew were drowned. Some of them were even white men. A frightful experience, being near-drowned. My valiant crewmen even tried to save me, though they mistakenly dunked my head under the sea water numerous times in the effort. How you make the mistake is quite beyond me. But the strained feeling in my lungs aside, I did manage to cling to a piece of floating driftwood kept just for such occasions. My safety was in doubt, however, until I reached the crystalline white coast of said isle. It was beautiful, I would have said at any other time, but the prospect of spending unpredictable days on this ball of sand did not make it appetizing. I might say the idea of washing up nearly any estimable place to be stranded for days on end did not appeal to me; then I considered washing up in a distillery or young girls' finishing school. The fantasies alone were enough to feed me the first day. I rose early the next day, with the sun beating on me like an Irish housewife. Before my eyes even fully opened my thoughts turned to breakfast, and the imagined picture of crisp crackling bacon and flaky yellow scrambled eggs made my stomach growl. I was then quite surprised to turn and find a large dark-skinned savage standing over me. "Yo, dude. Name's Pete. You hit breakers or something? Where's your boat?" The tribesman wore strange garb and his babbling dialect was entirely indecipherable. I tried frantic sign language to communicate, but it only appeared to frighten him. From his repeated utterances I could construct his friendly moniker for the white man was "Shitfarbranes"—which is how he referred to me. I calmed my actions and tried to reach him through friendly body language. Despite the lack of civility in his jungle nature, I found him noble and charming, in his own way. I dubbed him "Sandwich." As I mentioned, I was starving. Sandwich and I walked the beach for countless hours. Upward, far off from the water, he led me to a small, disheveled bungalow constructed of concrete and wood, and perhaps drywall, with fresh paint and a shingled roof. We crawled inside, him standing fully upright, and shared a happy drink, some canned bubbling liquid substance he had made and stored himself. It was caustic and hard to endure, but it was enough to keep my thirst quenched. After my relaxing morning, I set about to construct my own shelter like Sandwich's. I was not as fortunate in finding similar materials, but I managed a crude facsimile out of dead wood, mud, seashells, sand, and dog shit. When I was finished I decided it was easier to crash on Sandwich's floor, and he seemed agreeable to it. He warned me, in his crude broken English, that I had to be out by the weekend since his place was not a "flophouse," which I take is some sort of unpresentable cave. The savage was good company for those lonely first few days on the isle. The nights were hardest, for when the sea quieted and one could drown out the sounds of his own heartbeat and breath, you could hear the mighty monsters who lived just beyond the woods, high toward the mountain. Their beeps and honks made me terrified to the point I wished I had been as lucky as my crew, lying on the bottom of the sea. |