 | 
Saddam Hussein's Dog ShotAugust 4, 2003 |
U.S. soldiers take turns posing in front of the “blown to shit” doghouse
“Now more than ever all Iraqis can know that the former regime is gone and will not be coming back,” President Bush said, modifying slightly a sales pitch from a commercial for Dodge trucks he’d heard that morning.
“A dog that had helped oppress the Iraqi people for years has been put down, and pu...
.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 Hussein’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 dictator’s prime pooch. “Now more than ever all Iraqis can know that the former regime is gone and will not be coming back,” President Bush said, modifying slightly a sales pitch from a commercial for Dodge trucks he’d heard that morning. “A dog that had helped oppress the Iraqi people for years has been put down, and put down with extreme prejudice,” 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 Hussein’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 Hussein’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 Hussein’s sons in the bedroom of a house and dispatched everything short of a tactical nuclear strike to “apprehend” 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 “safe houses” Ralphie was known to have in the area, was hit with several Tomahawk cruise missiles and “blown completely to shit” 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 commune’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. “It 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.” In the interest of hilarious irony, it is this reporter’s hope that al-Majid’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 don’t fantasize about taking three-hour lunches and getting plowed on the commune’s expense account. Not us. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the commune’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 StudiesResearch participants frequently pains in the ass August 4, 2003 |
Scientists feign lab work to avoid dealing with test subject pricks waiting in the other room
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 wit...
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 subjects—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 Change for a SinglePeople are always trying to set me up. And I'm not just talking about all the backstabbers planting evidence or hiding their plastic baggies in my pockets when the cops show up. I speak of the dating life.
It's like I literally have some huge sign around my neck that says, "I want you to fix me up with a numbnuts!" Figuratively speaking. Everyone and their sister knows someone and their brother that I would "just love." But this past week was the worst. It seemed like everyone I knew all conspired at once to send me out through a gauntlet of bad dates. I don't need to tell you it was a lot of fun, if your idea of fun is having Captain Hook as your gynecologist.
First was my sister, proving once again she's the dull blade in the family toolbox. The guy was some law...
º Last Column: Sci-Fi Star is Rising
º more columns
People are always trying to set me up. And I'm not just talking about all the backstabbers planting evidence or hiding their plastic baggies in my pockets when the cops show up. I speak of the dating life.
It's like I literally have some huge sign around my neck that says, "I want you to fix me up with a numbnuts!" Figuratively speaking. Everyone and their sister knows someone and their brother that I would "just love." But this past week was the worst. It seemed like everyone I knew all conspired at once to send me out through a gauntlet of bad dates. I don't need to tell you it was a lot of fun, if your idea of fun is having Captain Hook as your gynecologist.
First was my sister, proving once again she's the dull blade in the family toolbox. The guy was some lawyer from her law firm, and *yawn* what a bore he was. All he could talk about was money. He told me he made a lot as a lawyer, like I even asked, but he really didn't need any of it since his family invented the cases they use for CDs and made like a trillion dollars in the 80s. I tried to make conversation, and asked if he owned any CDs. He said he owned three music studios and two music review magazines and people were always sending him free CDs. Like I needed to know all that. I just was wondering if he could make me a copy of that "Safety Dance" song. So I ditched him when he went to the bathroom, and thankfully haven't seen him since.
If it's even possible, mom always does even worse. The guy she set me up with didn't even really show up to dinner, but in fairness, he is in maximum security. The letter he sent was real nice, a bit awkward, since he didn't know my name and just called me "that chick on the outside." From what I gathered, mom wrote to him after seeing him on CNN and she thought we'd hit it off. At least I didn't have to sneak out of the restaurant. I wish somebody had shown up to the place, though, besides that courier. That dildo wouldn't even stay for a drink.
If you thought I was tired of this already, you're more than right. But still everybody's persisting. Ramon Nootles here at the commune set me up on a date and when I show up, it's him again. I told him I've had it up to here with him, and gestured to a body part. That only seemed to make him more excited. So you can guess I didn't even get to sit down on that date.
Toot, my little brother, he's got a good heart, but his friends are all screwed up. He must have scheduled the date over a bad cell phone connection or something since the restaurant turned out to be some motel room and three bald guys showed up at the same time. Talk about miscommunication. Even with 3-1 odds they were real downers. They only wanted to talk about religion and surrendering my soul to the Leader of Glorious Light. They had some interesting pamphlets, though, and of course the Leader is both divine and righteous and will lead us to the cherished afterlife in the path of heaven. But none of this gets me out of being set up with spazzes, obviously.
Leave it to dad to put a big fat sore point on the end of the week. He talks up his candidate for blind date all week and I actually look forward to meeting this guy. He's fun, he watches TV all the time just like me, he despises books, he's a crack sniper, he's a crack addict, recovering, and thinks women should be called girls. Sounds like a dreamboat, huh? Well, dad also forgot to mention he's my Uncle Luke. Dad gets confused a lot. Everyone else remembers you can't date blood relatives, at least not north of the Mason-Dixon line, so we just had a quick dinner and parted on good terms, until the next bail-out.
Advice to anyone who wants to set me up on blind date: Don't. Or if you absolutely have to, just remember I'm really busy and have been working a lot lately. I'm a hot property again, so really put some backbone into it. Now that I'm having a comeback dating uncles and Ramon Nootles is out. Period. º Last Column: Sci-Fi Star is Risingº more columns | 
|
| |
Quote of the Day“Freedom is a fragile thing, and must be protected; however, it is nowhere near as fragile as my aunt's vase, so it seems a fair exchange to lock you in your room for two weeks, you little hooligan.”
-MomFortune 500 CookieMore fruit, dammit!—more fruit, I say! Time to give up the blackmail scheme; there's no getting blood from a stone. Flush once for yes, twice for no. You'll bury all your old grudges this week, and grandpa—sorry, I suppose we could have let you know in a nicer way. Bad dog goes horrible dog this weekend.
Try again later.Worst Arguments Used Against Right-to-Die Advocates| 1. | Can't learn to play fiddle when you're dead | | 2. | My personal religion goes against it, ergo, you should do what I say | | 3. | Star Wars III looks like it's going to redeem the series | | 4. | Probably no afterlife, just a harrowing void of darkness and stillness for eternity | | 5. | Got a really good feeling things are gonna turn around for you, man | |
|   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 right… 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! En… 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...
Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's right… 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! En… 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.    |
