 | 
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 |
|
|
| 
 August 4, 2003 Intergalactic Train Mouth"There's nothing like riding the rails, although that in itself is not an endorsement."
You'd be surprised how far $50 and a sack full of wetnaps can get you. Or maybe you wouldn't, if you'd say not very far. It's true. Not very far.
That's the first thing I learned during my history of riding the rails. I spent my college years, 20 through 20 ½, living my life as a hobo. I shared my stories with fellow vagabonds, dined on whatever I could find, and went wherever my whim took me. I usually didn't get too far before my whim was busted by a cop and thrown in a holding cell on a charge of vagrancy. I suppose I was pretty easy to catch with my stomach always yodeling. I didn't find much for dining.
You meet interesting people when you live the lon...
º Last Column: Dyslexic Monks
º more columns
"There's nothing like riding the rails, although that in itself is not an endorsement."
You'd be surprised how far $50 and a sack full of wetnaps can get you. Or maybe you wouldn't, if you'd say not very far. It's true. Not very far.
That's the first thing I learned during my history of riding the rails. I spent my college years, 20 through 20 ½, living my life as a hobo. I shared my stories with fellow vagabonds, dined on whatever I could find, and went wherever my whim took me. I usually didn't get too far before my whim was busted by a cop and thrown in a holding cell on a charge of vagrancy. I suppose I was pretty easy to catch with my stomach always yodeling. I didn't find much for dining.
You meet interesting people when you live the lonesome life of a hobo. Some of them will do sex things to you for money, but I wasn't having none of that. Those people want money. One of the guys I met was Randy Railroad. But that was just his name when he was doing sex things to you. I forget what his normal name was. It wasn't as cool as Randy Railroad, I'll tell you that.
He once told me, "Scrotum,"—that was my railroad nickname—"my dad said if you aren't handsome, at least you should be handy." Then he stole my knapsack. But he was right, if I understand it correct. Some people can get by on their looks or dumb luck, other people have to get by on their skills. This is why I work at the commune.
It's funny how trains used to be the quickest way to get from one place to another. Then planes literarily swoop down and snatch that right out of the trains' mouths. It just goes to show you, everyone who's good at something: Someday we'll invent something else that goes faster. Or if I'm mixing my metaphors, whatever would be the best way out of that. And I'll make myself a rum and coke while I'm mixing.
You don't see too many hobos these days. Or maybe you do, but I'm missing out on those secret inner circle hobo meetings. As near as I can see it, there are two possible reasons why there are so few hobos anymore: One thing, maybe the economy has gotten good enough to make hoboing a bad choice, with the added possibility that industrial areas or opportunities have sprung up so close together all over America there's no need for real travel to find ways to support yourself. Or two, of course, intergalactic bounty hunters are hunting them for their scalps.
I suppose it's possible all the hobos are hopping planes instead of trains, just like paying travelers. But you've got to be a goddamn fast hobo to do that. I say if you can run fast enough to hop a plane maybe you don't need the ride at all. What could Seattle offer you that would be worth going there? You need to go to a big college like the kind you see in movies and become a ringer for the track team. Like Shaq in Blue Chips, but for track.
Now I'm worried. I'm going to have to find a friend to go out with me and time the max speed a hobo can achieve. With shoes and without. º Last Column: Dyslexic Monksº more columns | 
|
| |
Quote of the Day“Ask not what your country can do for you; cuz trust me, you ain't gonna get shit that way.”
-John Fitzpatrick KentuckyFortune 500 CookieOrganization is the key to surviving life's travails. Try sorting your problems large to small, then run like hell. Nobody can stand your face, voice or odor, but on the upside, everyone likes your car. This week's lucky ways to die: hanging plus drowning, three-year diarrhea, shop 'til you drop, the summertime blues.
Try again later.Top Surprising Oscar Snubs| 1. | Yentle 2: Yentler | | 2. | The Berenstain Bears Don't Care | | 3. | The Diary of Al Franken | | 4. | assBUSHhole: An Empire in Decline | | 5. | Jamie Foxx in Socks | |
|   Pat Robertson Asks Viewers to Pray for 50-Foot Robot BY v.d. whistling 8/4/2003 Harvey Potluck and the Sophomore SlumpUpon entering his second year in Hogwash Military Academy and Magic Technical School, Harvey was very relieved to be returned to this place, which had been the source of much pride and happiness during his first best-selling year.
It was peculiar to think he had nearly not made it at all. A mysterious spell and night of binge drinking of hard liquor had caused him to miss his cab ride back to the Academy. The shame of it all! Dimpleturd would not look kindly at all on a second-year wizard being tardy for his first day returned, particularly one who had thus far proven the hero of a quite enjoyable story, such as Harvey Potluck. But fortune was Harvey's this day, as his friend Phil Stalley pulled up alongside his window to offer him a ride. But Harvey was on the second floor of h...
Upon entering his second year in Hogwash Military Academy and Magic Technical School, Harvey was very relieved to be returned to this place, which had been the source of much pride and happiness during his first best-selling year. It was peculiar to think he had nearly not made it at all. A mysterious spell and night of binge drinking of hard liquor had caused him to miss his cab ride back to the Academy. The shame of it all! Dimpleturd would not look kindly at all on a second-year wizard being tardy for his first day returned, particularly one who had thus far proven the hero of a quite enjoyable story, such as Harvey Potluck. But fortune was Harvey's this day, as his friend Phil Stalley pulled up alongside his window to offer him a ride. But Harvey was on the second floor of his flat! Did I forget to mention the bike was a floating magic bike? Don't wet yourself with excitement. Immediately the bike transmogrified into a flying ostrich to avoid a lawsuit from Steven Spielberg, and Harvey climbed aboard. The two were quickly off, bound for Hogwash! It was a dangerous and entertaining trip here condensed for time, but once they crash-landed safely, Harvey and Phil again made acquaintance with their prize chum from last year, Persephone Debutante. Persephone was invaluable the previous book when she aided Harvey and Phil against the evil trick professor Kreskin and defeated the magic handbag and non-matching shoes. In excitement she wrapped her arms around Harvey, bringing him to the floor and pinning him in record time. Phil was down and tied in less than seven seconds, a personal best. Once she had greeted the two, her manner cooled considerably, so that she might maintain her distant uppity bitch persona. "I worried you might not return," she said, trying to hide her joy. Phil farted warmly. "It was merely a matter of making the journey," said Harvey with a smile. "It was a curious thing, though. How is it I should sleep all night and not wake up at the designated time. The alarm clock should have woke me up." "Curious, indeed," muttered Persephone, at which point a monkey chased by a yellow-behatted man crossed the school grounds unnoticed. "Is it simply a curious happening, based on hours of liquor consumption and misunderstanding alarm clock directions? Or is it something more?" "You don't mean… St. Donswort!" questioned Phil. All were quite surprised when Gorgeous Gorge lunged immediately into this book. "Quiet! No one must ever say that name here!" whispered the giant sex dumpling. Gorge was a welcome sight to the youngsters, and his breasts were starting to grow in nicely with the recent estrogen injections. "Hogwash may be full of mighty and valiant wizards, but it is also a nesting place for the evil sort. As evidenced by your last adventure here." "Do you think it possible, Gorge?" asked Harvey. "Could Saint—that is, the unspeakable ultimate villain wizard… do you think he could be afoot once again?" Gorge considered the question, straightening his bra strap. "I hate to think it, Harvey. But where the great evil is concerned, one must never be quick to dismiss such thoughts." Gorge could tell the children were inflamed with worry by the suggestion. He smiled brightly. "But forget about all that! You kids have yet to be properly welcomed back. I know what! Let's go down to the local pub and you can watch me pick up sailors." With tremendous joy they bounced along after the mischievous sex dumpling.   |
