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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
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.
"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 Wedding Bell BoozeI had game Saturday, good people. An old fashioned wedding, right out of the books. If the book was The Nightmare Before Christmas, or something by Roald Dahl maybe.
It was quite a shock to find Felchyana drunk on the worst imitation Russian vodka I've ever seen. On the day of our wedding! Actually, it was the day after our wedding was supposed to be, since I had been too inebriated to remember the date then, but you understand my meaning. It was quite disturbing. Lil Duncan had to walk her around the room and give her coffee, while Ivana Folger-Balzac shouted at her like a drill instructor; though since she does that for everyone I'm not sure if it was supposed to help. I was so depressed riding Boris Utzov around the room like a horse was the only thing that would ch...
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I had game Saturday, good people. An old fashioned wedding, right out of the books. If the book was The Nightmare Before Christmas, or something by Roald Dahl maybe.
It was quite a shock to find Felchyana drunk on the worst imitation Russian vodka I've ever seen. On the day of our wedding! Actually, it was the day after our wedding was supposed to be, since I had been too inebriated to remember the date then, but you understand my meaning. It was quite disturbing. Lil Duncan had to walk her around the room and give her coffee, while Ivana Folger-Balzac shouted at her like a drill instructor; though since she does that for everyone I'm not sure if it was supposed to help. I was so depressed riding Boris Utzov around the room like a horse was the only thing that would cheer me up. I'm about to marry one of his nation's people, so that makes us like family. Then again, who knows where he comes from? They don't speak the Queen's English there, that's all I know.
Despite all that horror beforehand, it was a charming ceremony. Red Bagel walked me down the aisle, though the preacher certainly didn't approve, but he's Episcopalian and I don't approve of that, so we're even. Felchyana had to come down the aisle riding Lil piggyback, which was quite embarrassing for me and arousing for some of our guests.
It may seem strange, but I had a hard time deciding on who my best man would be. It was between Camembert and Lee for quite a long time, but I could never completely make a choice. Eventually I decided to select Lee carrying Camembert as my best man. Which worked out nice, although now Lee's back is out, possibly for good. But I say it was worth it.
We wrote our own vows, which were quite moving, if I may say so. Felchyana's vows were unintelligible in our original language, the way Boris read them they sounded like excuses on why she couldn't get married in very broken English. So I had to translate them, and then they finally sounded right. I promised to love, honor, and cherish her, and she promised to delegate all responsibilities outside the kitchen to me, the less known about it the better. The preacher then told me I could kiss the bride, at which point I punched him out—no one needs to see that kind of smut show, I don't care what kind of kicks he gets out of it. Then Lil picked her up and carried her out of the church to my car, which is a two-seater I bought second-hand from a go-cart place.
At this point it would be customary to drive off into the sunset. Would that we could! The battery was dead on the stupid thing and nobody brought any D-cells to the wedding. Which is just as well, we were only going to drive to her apartment and honeymoon ourselves into a coma. Who needs that?
Instead, as is more customary in the working world, Lil Duncan carried us both home to our place and I caught a ride from her back to the office. After all that, Lil demanded a week's vacation to go to physical rehabilitation, but I wasn't lucky enough to have that sort of vacation at my disposal. I had to jump in head-first, which smashed my desk, and get to work trying to pay for this gigantor-style wedding.
Despite the intrusion of reality and the deep debt I've run into, and my wife's never-ending crying after the ceremony, it feels good to be a married man again. I've closed one chapter to my life, nearly a thousand pages in, and start another one today. This will hopefully be the exciting chapter with all the explicit nudity and gunfights. º Last Column: The Last Nights of a Free Manº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“If you're not a liberal when you're 25, you have no heart. If you're not a conservative by the time you're 35, you have no inheritance. Die already, Uncle Franco… just… die.”
-Winthrop ShurikenFortune 500 CookieWho's the man? More specifically, who's the man who shattered your kneecap with a club and took you out of the competition? Now would be a good time to switch to NetFlix from your previous practice of watching the movie on the video store display TVs. Keep your eye on the sparrow. Lucky jeans: Levi, Bugle Boy, Lee, and Auel.
Try again later.Women Other Than Christina Ricci We Want Chained to Our Radiator| 1. | Original Wednesday Addams, Lisa Loring | | 2. | Landlady—You spend the night there and tell me it's heating just fine | | 3. | Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen (still count as one) | | 4. | Diana Rigg, circa 1968; or now, what the hell | | 5. | Anybody but that hippie chick protesting for radiator rights I got now | |
|   Pat Robertson Asks Viewers to Pray for 50-Foot Robot BY roland mcshyster 7/21/2003 Glad you finally came around, America, welcome back to Entertainment Police. What have we got for you this week? Well, before we get to that, you ever notice how I always refer to the column by "this week" when we all damn well know it only runs once every two weeks? I'm sure you were wondering about that, unless you just take everything you read at face value and figured your brain was probably freaking out every other week and giving you a dĂ©jĂ vu of the previous week's column on a rhythmic schedule, which is pretty bizarre but people believe in Scientology, too. But anyway, yeah I know it only runs every two weeks, I'm not trying to fool anybody there. That's as often at the commune publishes, which is fine since they still pay us every week. Though come to think of it, paying us only...
Glad you finally came around, America, welcome back to Entertainment Police. What have we got for you this week? Well, before we get to that, you ever notice how I always refer to the column by "this week" when we all damn well know it only runs once every two weeks? I'm sure you were wondering about that, unless you just take everything you read at face value and figured your brain was probably freaking out every other week and giving you a déjà vu of the previous week's column on a rhythmic schedule, which is pretty bizarre but people believe in Scientology, too. But anyway, yeah I know it only runs every two weeks, I'm not trying to fool anybody there. That's as often at the commune publishes, which is fine since they still pay us every week. Though come to think of it, paying us only on new-issue weeks sounds like exactly the kind of crap Red Bagel would try to pull, so don't anybody read this column to him lest he gets any ideas from it. But the real reason I say "this week" is that there's just no good way to refer to this two-week period without sounding like a complete nerd. You start messing around with terms like bi-weekly and that just sounds too much like a lesbian magazine title to me. So unless you want me to start saying "this half-month" like some kind of bed-wetting science fiction geek, I recommend you just take a chill pill over the whole thing.
So anyway, back to the original question: What have we got for you this week? What are you, slow to catch on? Movie reviews, dumbass!
In Theaters
Bed Boys II
It's nice to live in an age when big action stars aren't afraid to acknowledge the homoerotic undertones of the typical buddy action picture by ceasing to beat around the bush (the pun wasn't intended but I'll take it) and just doing a gay action flick every once in a while. For the longest time people acted like this was some huge deal, like you couldn't have a couple of gay guys running around, shooting people and spouting catchphrases. Kudos to Will Smith and funnyman Laurence Fishburne for taking that bold step in style. True, this way neither of them can win the girl in the end, but it's a nice change of pace when the filmmakers don't have to staple a pair of boobs to a flimsy sketch of a character to give the heroes motivation. After all, what could be more crowd-pleasing than having the two leads go home together at the end, without having to watch some girl pretend like she can shoot a gun? Kudos and other snack products to you, Hollyweird.
Lara Croft Tomb Raider: Rock the Cradle of Love
Virtual sex bomb Angelina Jolie reprises her role from the popular Billy Joel video "Rock the Cradle of Love" in this feature-length shake of the moneymaker. Few thought she'd have much of a career after that video, unless Winger got really popular again, but she's done all right for herself. I guess it pays to be able to do a serviceable fake English accent; smart pinup girls should take note and work on that. Though that's kind of like saying fat Olympic divers shouldn't do the cannonball, probably doesn't come up much. This film another shameless example of the trend toward giving movies titles that are longer than Ron Jeremy's wang, but even at that it's still better than the original title: Lara Croft Who is the Tomb Raider Stars (and By Stars We Mean She Both Kicks and Shows Some Ass) in The Cradle of Love: A Rocking Titfest. The longer title might have brought more pasty teenagers into the theaters, but the trailer for this film (available now on DVD as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider) has the same effect without using all those words.
Seabiscuit
As anyone who's seen Caddyshack knows, a "seabiscuit" is when you take a shit in a swimming pool, which obviously makes this a very bizarre name for a movie. It's even more bizarre that Tobey Macguire is starring in this one, though the make-up people did a pretty great job of giving him a dorky red wig that does make him look like a seabiscuit. It takes a brave actor to wear something like that. Kind of reminds me of when George Clooney dressed up as a Latino pimp for that goofy Yo Brother, Where's the Party? movie. This movie isn't nearly as fun as that one, though, despite the hilariously inappropriate title. Personally I found it hard to follow, in part because I kept wandering out of the theater to see if there was anything better going on outside.
Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over
After all these years, Hollywood finally gave me an excuse to drag my old 3-D glasses out of the bedroom closet, dust them off and cart them gingerly out to the metroplex for the first time since Jaws 3-D sucked all over the big screen. These actually aren't even the glasses they gave me for that one, I have a free promotional pair from 7-11 from when they inexplicably showed Terms of Endearment in 3-D on Fox a few years back. It sucked, too, but it was fun to wear the glasses. Actually, all 3-D movies ever have sucked, including this one, but really they've always been thinly disguised excuses for people to get to wear the fun glasses. You can try to just wear them out and about town, but after about 20 minutes if you haven't walked into a bus yet you'll have a headache the size of Chinatown and your rods and cones will be all mixed up like they were a crazy breakfast cereal.
That's all they paid me to write this week, America, so you'll have to turn elsewhere to quench your passion for numerous letters strung together into pretty words, if this wasn't enough to keep your boat floating. Until next time, America: Get out!    |
