Study Shows Test Subjects Real Pricks About Studies

Research participants frequently pains in the ass

August 4, 2003

Macon, GA

Snapper Mcgee

Scientists feign lab work to avoid dealing with test subject pricks waiting in the other room

recent scientific study released Wednesday surprised the research world with the evidence that test subjects as a group are frequently unapologetic dicks about being involved in scientific studies.

Conclusions were drawn based on the results of observations of 200 various test subjects at the University of Macon at Macon Georgia. The test pool was narrowed down into groups of 20, with further separation to divide the 20 into two groups of ten, control and actual test subjects. Then varieties of tests in the vein of usual scientific studies conducted at large, well-funded universities were conducted on the test groups while the control groups were allowed to go home and do whatever they wanted. At the end of a three-month long test period interviews and surveys were taken with all participants and conclusions drawn from the results.

The dominant results among those who participated in test groups were frequent findings of "irritable" or "highly irritable," with occasional high occurrences of "extremely angry" and one or two cases of "violent". Researchers, all of whom had engaged in voluminous tests with subjects on other matters, say findings fit their expectations.

A variety of tests common in scientific research were used. In one test, for instance, participants were subjected to hours of violent television for hours at a time to see if it caused violent feelings in the subjectsâ€”it did. In another test, viewers were exposed to looping trailers of Jennifer Lopez theatrical films. This also caused violent feelings among test subjects.

In other tests conducted for the study, subjects were left in rooms with two-way mirrors for ten hours to be observed, to see if this caused irritability. In other tests, the mirror was turned the other way and test subjects allowed to observe the researchers talking about them in the safety of their observation room. This likewise caused irritability. In fact, as results show, there were virtually no conducted tests which did not cause irritability in subjects. The conclusion was vital in proving the case of the University of Macon research team that test subjects are real assholes.

"Before the findings were made public," said research team leader Cal Edwards, "we would talk amongst ourselves about how our day with the participants went. It was easy to postulate hypotheses about whether the test subject was a dick or just being a dick because of the particular test we were running on him. Now we know once and for all they're all just dicks, no matter what test you're running."

Edwards' proof lies heavily in the fact those in the control groups were perfectly friendly when the researchers showed up at their door and asked them their moods. In 80% of all control group cases, subjects described their day as "fine." Of the remaining 20%, subjects frequently described their day as "Enh" or "Could be better," or asked what the researcher was doing at their home.

"Of course," continued Edwards, "knowing they're pricks is only the beginning. It's important to find out why they're pricks when you experiment on them, too. What is it about being removed from normal society, trapped in sterile laboratory facilities, and observed by people who don't tell you anything that makes them pricks? That will require years of further research. Though after the results of this one, I can tell you I'm thinking about getting out of the game altogether. Who needs this kind of bullshit?"

the commune news has never been the subject of experiments, though we have to confess a fifteen minute lost-time phenomenon last week possibly attributable to alien abduction. Ramrod Hurley could stand lose a little time himself, not to mention a few pounds.

America Remembers Bob Hope

August 4, 2003

Toluca Lake, CA

Archive Photo

Hope, seen here doing whatever it is he did when he was young

€œWhite guy, right? Kinda chubby?â€

Americans from all walks of life fondly remembered American institution Bob Hope following his death this week, even if many couldnâ€™t remember what he was famous for. But few could deny that whatever he did, he was the best.

â€œI think he was in movies, maybe,â€ eulogized housewife Linda Blades of Old Creek, Montana. â€œOr maybe comedy. Possibly comedy movies.â€

â€œOne thing nobody can dispute is that he was a legend in golf. Or at least legendary for liking golf,â€ clarified podiatrist Carson Cree of Ohio. â€œI actually donâ€™t know if he was any good, but Iâ€™m pretty sure he did golf, or was at least photographed holding a golf club some time. Or maybe it was tennis.â€

â€œBob Hope was really ...

Yale bombed, Harvard too drunk to walk home

Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around

August 4, 2003

Volume 48

º Last Column: Volume 47
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Dear commune:

the communeâ€™s coverage of the war in Bosnia has been nothing short of commendable. Objective? No. But objectivity is a quality far overvalued in our current society. A steaming dog turd on the side of the road is objective. But not the commune. Prompt? Not really, but promptitude is unquestionably in the eye of the beholder. Compared to the newspapers of early colonial America, printed manually on handset printing presses only once a month at best, the commune is truly a gleaming pillar of prompt reporting. Factual? I say with admiration in my typing voice that the commune has never let the facts get in the way of cleaving swiftly to the heart of a story and exposing it, still beating, for the publicâ€™s disgusted perusal. Bravo, commune. If but there were only a million other news sites like thee, for then the commune could be called one in a million.

Sincerely,

Rodery Hollenbeck
Steinburgen, RI

Dear Rodery:

Thank you kindly for your letter, and we apologize greatly for the serious delay in its publication. It seems that office gaywad Raoul Dunkin penned a half-assed Successory quote on the back of your letter and has been carrying it around with him for years, both for inspiration and in hopes of getting it made into a poster, superimposed over a soft-focus photo of geese in flight. Rest assured that he spent some serious time in the communeâ€™s solitary closet for that stunt, one hour for every commune-bashing letter weâ€™ve had to run since we received your delightful correspondence. So thank you. Oh, and if it wouldnâ€™t be much trouble, could your possibly provide verifiable proof of your existence? Some heartless cynics around the office think that just because your letter came to us on Red Bagelâ€™s personalized stationary that it was some clever ruse by Bagel to boost staff morale, kind of like that stripper he hired to work in the mailroom. Thanks. Oh, and by the way: "Wherever you go, thereâ€™s a goat." Thatâ€™s the Successory Dunkin wrote on your letter. Raoul wanted us to pass it on to you and we obliged, only because it makes him look like even more of an asshole.

the commune

Editorâ€™s Note: the commune is not responsible for the way your girlfriend cut her hair. Saying she looks like a hick was a simple statement of fact, and hardly warranted your childish response. We can only hope that the unfortunate person who one day informs you of your status as a big, dumb redneck is as fleet of foot as the commune.

º Last Column: Volume 47
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Quote of the Day

“The true measure of a man is four inches, four and a quarter. That's flaccid. No joke.”

-Samuel "Big" Johnson

Fortune 500 Cookie

Try to remember every dog has his day, and Tuesday, it's yours, Rags. Looks like you being selected as Oprah's Book of the Month wasn't the last bad thing that'll happen to you. You still haven't taken down the Christmas decorations? Son of a bitch.

Try again later.

Top 5 Ways Bush Could Raise Approval Rating

1.	Replace Hugh Jackman in next X-Men sequel
2.	Give out free abortion to pro-choicers on Roe v. Wade anniversary; for pro-lifers, kill convicted criminal
3.	Be seen everywhere with new wheelchair-bound friend
4.	Go on Leno, punch Tom Cruise right in sack
5.	Win war on terrorism, declare war on disagreement next

Missing Girl Big Fat Hoax

BY roland mcshyster

8/4/2003

Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's rightâ€¦ wait, what were we talking about? Movies! Blow 'em out your ass, America! I'm fuckin' sick of movies, this week we're going to review vegetables. Cucumbers! Radishes! Enâ€¦ Endives! Yeah!

Alright, smartass, I'm out of vegetables. Here's your goddamn movies:

In Theaters

American Wedding

A formerly hardass franchise has gone all Friends on us, ladies and gentlemen. Hollywood's obese felines are betting you'll slap down your hard-earned pesos to watch these dirtballs get hitched, and I say screw 'em! Screw 'em and their imported water. If I wanted to see somebody stick their dick in a wedding cake I would have gone to my cousin Dave's wedding last month. So let me be the first to add this movie to my list of things we're all boycotting: Pizza Hut, the boyscouts and this movie. Oh, and vegetables. Fuck vegetables. You heard it here first.

Fucking Friday

Jamie Lee Curtis and some anonymous tampon star in this triple-hashed remake of all those "Dad woke up with his teenage son's boner" movies from the 80's. Only now it's a mother and daughter sharing the misery, and it's not a onetime deal, but rather a once-a-week hassle that the family has come to know derisively as Fucking Friday. The expected faux-hilarity ensues, with daughter getting hot flashes and mom getting hot pants, blah blah blah. The bulk of the film consists of queasy sequences featuring mom being pawed by underage slobs with beer on their breath and daughter air-sickness bagging her way through routine, mechanical sex with dad, both of which I sincerely could have done without. Somebody actually found Mark Harmon buried in the wreck of the Lusitania and dug him up to co-star as the hot neighbor who may or may not have mind-switched with a two-year-old Latino boy. They must have figured Harmon had the necessary experience with catastrophes, but at least the first time around he probably got some decent seafood.

Gigli

With his latest picture, Ben Affleck proves he's whiter than any of us could have possibly imagined, despite his current marital status as a lemur clinging tenaciously to Jennifer Lopez's ass. Affleck plays Larry Gigli, a walking punchline whose constant references to "gettin' Gigli wit it" demonstrate that Affleck can't even appropriate faux-black culture from Will Smith, of all people. Thankfully, J-Lo sings a song on the soundtrack, so maximum camp value is achieved, allowing audiences to enjoy the film on an ironic level even if they like acting and music.

The Secret Lives of Dennis

Who out there among you didn't think it was too late for a Head of the Class spin-off movie? Okay, that's not many hands, but I'll assume that's because not many of you foresaw the possibility, or even recall the show from your cocaine-encrusted chest of 80's memories. For those of you that did think a spin-off was a good idea, wouldn't you have spun off a movie around rebel loner Eric or even geek chic Arvid? Okay, you guys with your hands still up are just fucking with me, go on home and quit busting my balls. As for the rest of you, were you really thinking of going to this movie? Good God man, don't you have some chores to do? Stay home and spellcheck your suicide note or something, for the love of all that is holy.

S.W.A.T.

The latest Playstation game to skip the Playstation and come straight to the theater is a loose (and I mean like the cousin that let you feel her up at the family reunion loose) sequel to the 1994 Stephen "Midget Golfer" Dorf flick S.F.W.. This is not to be confused with the Bridget "Anaconda" Fonda handjob S.W.F. (Super White Female) or the Three Stooges flick W.F.S. (Where the Fuck is Shep?). Since the original wasn't actually about anything, the producers had the leeway to build the sequel from the ground up, and to give the franchise a kick in the ass by making it a blaxploitation thrill ride. As with the original, the American public was deemed too square to be exposed to this film's title in its full glory (Some White-Ass Turkeys), but savvy filmgoers should know without being told that Samuel L. Jackson wouldn't get mixed up in another lame movie about the actual S.W.A.T. team, not after The Negotiator. Though he did still manage to walk into a door frame by not demanding that the screenwriter change his character's name from Hohmo, I can't help but think that's going to get more laughs than any of the actual jokes in the picture.

Alright, everybody out unless they want Bacardi on their pants! You got your movies, now leave Uncle Roland to drown his sorrows in a kiddie pool full of inexpensive rum. Check back in another two weeks, but if nobody answers when you knock then just dream up your own pithy comments for once. Lazy bastards.