Saddam Hussein's Dog Shot

August 4, 2003

Mosul, Iraq

Ansel Evans

U.S. soldiers take turns posing in front of the â€œblown to shitâ€ doghouse

.S. soldiers sifted through the rubble of a doghouse on the outskirts of Mosul Saturday, celebrating the successful completion of a daring raid that ended with the death of Saddam Husseinâ€™s infamous poodle, Ralphie. Early reports indicate the soldiers were tipped off by an opportunistic local merchant intent on collecting the $5 million reward offered by the U.S. government for information leading to the death or capture of the former dictatorâ€™s prime pooch.

â€œNow more than ever all Iraqis can know that the former regime is gone and will not be coming back,â€ President Bush said, modifying slightly a sales pitch from a commercial for Dodge trucks heâ€™d heard that morning.

â€œA dog that had helped oppress the Iraqi people for years has been put down, and put down with extreme prejudice,â€ Bush continued, possibly referencing Apocalypse Now by way of Old Yeller.

A public outcry followed when Bush made similar statements after the deaths of Saddam Husseinâ€™s sons Odai and Qusai last week, proclaiming the regime to be history despite the fact that Saddam himself was still at large and U.S. forces were coming under attack on a daily basis. But Bush assured reporters that with the death of Husseinâ€™s poodle, the regime really was totally gone now. Even more so than before. Bush added that Saddam himself was powerless without his bumbling pervert sons or canine best friend. Unless, of course, Saddam is captured or killed, in which case he would be revealed as an all-powerful monster capable of shooting laser beams out of his eyes.

This latest raid was an even more impressive show of force than the last, when U.S. soldiers cornered Husseinâ€™s sons in the bedroom of a house and dispatched everything short of a tactical nuclear strike to â€œapprehendâ€ the two men and a teenage boy, who were reportedly armed with two handguns, several rocks and a bad attitude. The doghouse in question, one of several â€œsafe housesâ€ Ralphie was known to have in the area, was hit with several Tomahawk cruise missiles and â€œblown completely to shitâ€ according to military personnel. Army officials said it was too early to comment on whether or not photos of the dead poodle would be distributed to the Iraqi public as proof of his demise, since this would depend on how much of Ralphie they could successfully scrape off of a nearby tree.

Despite the optimism of the Bush administration, however, Saddam Hussein remains at large. Local rumors have Saddam disguised as everything from a very ugly woman to a butcher, baker or candlestick maker. One highly slurred report insisted the former dictator was inexplicably disguised as American diva Aretha Franklin, which would be hilarious. But for the communeâ€™s money, this reporter says Hussein is probably roaming the countryside dressed as Osama Bin Laden, all the better to elude U.S. forces.

The local merchant who offered the tip, Kamal al-Majid, gave one quote before he was taken into protective custody and most likely transferred to the Witness Relocation Program in America.

â€œIt was my decision that the people of Mosul had harbored this dog long enough. He stood in the way of the creation of a new Iraq at the hands of our generous pig-dog American infidel friends. Also, he shit on my sidewalk this morning and that I cannot abide! So now he must go to his great reward in the land where all bitches are in heat.â€

In the interest of hilarious irony, it is this reporterâ€™s hope that al-Majidâ€™s new life in America somehow involves running a pet store or being involved in veterinary care in the field of loose bowels, if such a thing exists.

In related news Sunday, marines castrated a Shetland pony thought to be loyal to the regime.

the commune news would like to make it clear that we plan to continue fighting the good fight, even if Red Bagel is ever taken into alien (or other) custody. We definitely donâ€™t fantasize about taking three-hour lunches and getting plowed on the communeâ€™s expense account. Not us. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the communeâ€™s very remorseful foreign correspondent after discovering this week that he never signed up for frequent-flyer miles.

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.

Yale bombed, Harvard too drunk to walk home

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

August 4, 2003

Kids, Meet Your New Mom

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Austin; Cheryl; Pennyâ€¦ it's time to meet your new mom.

I know you kids don't take to change very well. And I wish like hell there was a more comforting way to introduce her to you than through my column, which I sincerely doubt most of you even read. But you're all spread out over the country and this is the most affordable way to do it, time- and money-wise.

Philip; Cassie; Archie; Vickiâ€¦ I'm talking to you, too. Don't think I've forgotten. I may not have been the greatest dad to all of you, and if I've misspelled your names in any fashion, please forgive that minor indiscretions. After all, if it weren't for minor indiscretions, most of you wouldn't even be here! But I kid your promiscuous mothers.

Back to the subject. Felchyana may be different than all of you, and her country is full of heartless atheists who dwell in poverty, but that doesn't make her any different than any other step-moms I've brought home, even the one-night variety. And Felchyana will be here for quite a while, since we've paid out the apartment lease through the month. She also speaks a funny language and loves baking cakes, so if you kids want any delicious birthday surprises, you'd better be on your best behavior. Don't think I don't mean you, Ronnie.

Felicia; Kim; Dambo; Manray! I hope you're paying attention. You never did come around to Arvelyn all that much. I know she may have been a deceitful, hateful bitch who tried to kill me. A hideous bottom-feeding creature who sucked all will to live and joy out of my life. Butâ€”what was the question? Forget it. I just want you kids to give Felchyana a chance. She means more to me than anything in the world. Even you kids.

Pablo! Juanita! Federico! Hablo inglÃ©s, kids? Treat your new mom with respect, that's all I'm trying to say. I have never taken marriage lightly, except for maybe the monogamy part. But when I enter into a marriage, it's like a contract. Like doing business with someone. You have to trust them, and I trust Felchyana more than anyone knows. There's simple explanations why I don't give her a key to the apartment and lock her inside when I leave. I just don't need to explain myself to you kids. When was the last time you even came around to see me, your own father? I'm not talking to you, Hugo. I know you're in the iron lung still. Get better soon, kiddo!

Bah. Look at me, getting angry for little or no reason. That isn't like me. But when I say I want things to better between us, I mean all of us. That includes Felchyana as well as you. I also include all of you in that declaration, even those of you I've disowned in a furor over the years. So Slim; Buaana; Jefferson Davis; Lindetta; Moby; Sheena; Opinion; Dandy; Carl; Carl, Jr.; Mannixâ€”welcome back into my life kids. Let bygones be bygones. Except for you, Abraham. You can never be forgiven, for reasons you know all too well.

Ah. Caroline; Fanta; The Goochâ€¦ this weight has finally been lifted. I never tried to hide how I felt about Felchyana, but I may not have let you know just how serious I feel about her until now. Especially since some of you I haven't spoken to in 40 years or more (By the way, how is the new hip, Soma?). But I'm starting a new part of my life, and I feel like a young man. Practically 55 again! Which reminds me, happy 55th birthday, Rambo.

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Quote of the Day

“Impartiality is a pompous name for indifference, which is an elegant name for Cletus, my inbred asscrack of a neighbor about whom I am far from indifferent.”

-CK Festerchild

Fortune 500 Cookie

You wir find gleat rove in an ord flend. That's not an accented translation; you just have a really weird fortune this week. It's time to face the facts, or at least the facts of life: even if you manage to get that face you drew on your hand pregnant, it's just going to be one more mouth to feed. This week's lucky ringtones: Hangin' Tough, Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm, Two Princes, Kokomo.

Try again later.

Top Frustrating Wi-Fi Dead Spots

1.	Flower bed outside ex-wife's bedroom window
2.	Antarctica. Most of it.
3.	Men's room at the zoo
4.	Twilight Zone
5.	Raging Waters: the whole goddamned theme park

America Remembers Bob Hope

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.