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Father of H-bomb Dead at 95 September 15, 2003 |
Teller, of the huge fucking eyebrows, says “goodbye,” jailhouse-visit style
“That guy said ‘Hell’ more than any man alive,” remembered son Arthur Teller. “And we’ll miss him.”
Outspoken and influential in matters of national defense, Teller enjoyed a long career in pushing for bigger and badder ways to blow the United States’ enemies into a mist of lukewarm spittle. In 1939, Teller encouraged Albert Einstein to inform President Roosevelt of the “awesome fucking power” of nuclear fission. Teller thought the splitting of an atom’s nucleus could be tapped to create a weapon that would “make our dickless enemies wish they’d been bo...
oted American physicist Edward Teller, known as the “father of the H-bomb” and the “swearingest man alive,” died Tuesday of acute pulmonary pneumonia. He was 95 fucking years old. “That guy said ‘Hell’ more than any man alive,” remembered son Arthur Teller. “And we’ll miss him.” Outspoken and influential in matters of national defense, Teller enjoyed a long career in pushing for bigger and badder ways to blow the United States’ enemies into a mist of lukewarm spittle. In 1939, Teller encouraged Albert Einstein to inform President Roosevelt of the “awesome fucking power” of nuclear fission. Teller thought the splitting of an atom’s nucleus could be tapped to create a weapon that would “make our dickless enemies wish they’d been born dead.” Soon after the atom bomb was envisioned, it became clear that nuclear fusion, not fission, was a quicker path to realizing Teller’s vision of a “real fucking ass-wiping, holy shit tit-ripping weapon of ball-waxing mass destruction.” Teller quickly took to the idea. “Yeah… fuck yeah! We’ll blow their asses out through their teeth, the commie fuckers!” Teller enthused. Teller’s enthusiasm and foul-mouthed pursuit of such a bomb – he called it the “Motherfucker” – won him the title “father of the H-bomb,” a term he thought was “fucking stupid.” The first one-megaton hydrogen bomb was exploded in 1952, blowing the living shit out of a stretch of desert in northern Nevada. “Gotcha, cocksuckers!” Teller was heard to scream in a westerly direction when reached with word of the successful test. According to family sources, Teller died in Stanford, California last Tuesday, in a “shitty little room” that “smelled like horse piss,” tended by “frigid dyke nurses” intent on stealing his “goddamned meds” and devouring his “motherloving soul.” “Hell’s bells, I don’t know what the hell they were thinking when they invaded that fuckin’ hellhole,” were Teller’s last words, dropping his trademark H-bomb several times in reference to the Vietnam War. “We’re gonna kick the runny shit out of those brown bastards like it was a fuckin’ sport, Jack.” Teller’s dark worldview was thought by some to be caused by his experiences with the communist revolution in his native Hungary in 1919, in concert with the rise of Nazism in his adopted home of Germany in the 1930’s. “Nazis? Fuckin’ pricks,” Teller once said of the Nazis, fucking pricks. Biographers have marveled at Teller’s apparent knack for living through the shitty side of history, though many who knew him argue that he would have turned out the same either way. In one of his last recorded interviews in 2001, Teller seemed to lend support to President George W. Bush’s plans to once again pursue the “Star Wars” Strategic Defense Initiative, an improbable missile defense system of space-based lasers, when he responded to the reporter’s question with an affirmative “Goddamn!” But those close to Teller stress that this was also the same way the late scientist answered the phone, so that conclusion might have been premature. the commune news is all for peace through mutually-assured destruction, but it does make for a boring-assed game of Risk, we have to say. Boner Cunningham is just a fucking lousy reporter, and might we stress we wrote that even before seeing the swearing-based theme of this story.
 |  Critics slam latest uninspired release September 15, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Al-jolsenzeera The recently released bin Laden video only contained familiar footage, including bin Laden's trademark "Obi-Wan Pimp Walk".
The tape, slammed by critics as a "greatest hits collection of the usual dreck," featured an undated cameo by terrorist favorite Osama bin Laden and a lot of voicing over by Al-Qaeda's number two shit Ayman al-Zawahri. The video exhibited a friendlier sort of Al-Qaeda, with no direct threats to the U.S. "infidels" but promising that current battles were only the beginning and "the true epic has not begun," proving to all that the tape was at least recent enough to cop from the new Matrix sequel.
The only footage of Osama bin Laden showed th...
n Al-Qaeda video airing on Al-Jazeera Wednesday not only failed to impress virtually everyone, it also failed to thank President George W. Bush for all his subversive efforts to help rebuild the terrorist organization.
The tape, slammed by critics as a "greatest hits collection of the usual dreck," featured an undated cameo by terrorist favorite Osama bin Laden and a lot of voicing over by Al-Qaeda's number two shit Ayman al-Zawahri. The video exhibited a friendlier sort of Al-Qaeda, with no direct threats to the U.S. "infidels" but promising that current battles were only the beginning and "the true epic has not begun," proving to all that the tape was at least recent enough to cop from the new Matrix sequel.
The only footage of Osama bin Laden showed the Al-Qaeda figurehead appearing older, but could not be pegged for a date. The world's number one prick was shown frolicking around with henchman al-Zawahri along the mountainside like a homosexual Captain and Tennille.
Though reference was made to the Iraq war, it may have been to one of several Iraq wars in which "agents of America" invaded the country. Neither was thanks given to American president George Bush for raising Al-Qaeda popularity to unimagined heights in Iraq by bombing that country into a primitive agricultural state. The death of thousands of Iraqis and the devastation of the country's infrastructure have done more to raise recruitment for the terrorist group than any post- or pre-Sept. 11 attacks.
Some, like this reporter, would suggest that Al-Qaeda and the Bush presidency have been mutually beneficial to each other, especially given the intention by bin Laden to invoke a harsh U.S. response to help the Arab world rally behind him. But the increasing power of terrorism hasn't just been beneficial to bin Laden and associates, but also to the administration, which still rates high approval numbers when it comes to defense and being tough on terrorism.
When questioned on the veracity of the recent bin Laden video, the president asked for a definition of veracity. Then, gesturing toward the footage of bin Laden and al-Zawahri, Bush stated, "The beard looks real to me."
"Having released tons of audio recordings in the years since 2001, Osama bin Laden risks market saturation," said VH-1 video producer Deanne Holcomb, who was contacted in an effort to fill out the story. "That may have been a consideration in only appearing as a cameo in this recent release by al-Zawahri. Personally, I would have gone in another direction, maybe Missy Elliot, but bin Laden is really popular with the Al-Jazeera demographics. Beyoncé maybe. Beyoncé is huge right now. But as I was saying, having such a small part for bin Laden does raise questions about the Al-Qaeda leader, such as if he's out of practice, or gotten fat. He could be dead, I suppose, there were a lot of bombs dropped in attempts to kill him. Kid Rock! Now that might have really sold it."
President Bush fired back in a speech to the ten American people watching the Sept. 7 televised address. Though failing to mention the weapons of mass destruction supposedly hoarded by Saddam Hussein or a projected date for troops to return from Iraq, the president did assure everyone that terrorism was still alive and thriving and nobody can let their guard down for ten seconds. And by the way, they need $87 billion more dollars, if you can spare it. the commune news, now with more cushion for the pushin'. Raoul Dunkin is a reporter of some kind on our staff and a major influence on the invention of birth control.
| Everyone kind of a little relieved Bob Hope finally dead 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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 September 15, 2003 Killer ColemanBefore you hear it from anyone else, I killed like six cats this week. Three of them I hit all at once, but still, that's pretty unusual.
I didn't kill any of them on purpose, but try convincing everyone else of that. I can't really blame anyone. If the police picked up a serial killer and he said the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, I probably wouldn't believe him. But then again, I don't know why I'd have access to a newly-arrested serial killer at all. Forget it. No more analogies for me.
I hit the first cat on the way to work Monday. I was late for a few photographs for that comic book I'm on the cover of, Metallichick. And this ain't even a talking gig, it's not like they couldn't find some hot skank hanging out on the stoop and get her to fil...
º Last Column: Crammed in the Closet
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Before you hear it from anyone else, I killed like six cats this week. Three of them I hit all at once, but still, that's pretty unusual.
I didn't kill any of them on purpose, but try convincing everyone else of that. I can't really blame anyone. If the police picked up a serial killer and he said the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, I probably wouldn't believe him. But then again, I don't know why I'd have access to a newly-arrested serial killer at all. Forget it. No more analogies for me.
I hit the first cat on the way to work Monday. I was late for a few photographs for that comic book I'm on the cover of, Metallichick. And this ain't even a talking gig, it's not like they couldn't find some hot skank hanging out on the stoop and get her to fill in. That's how they discovered Marlena Dietrich, my mom said. So I'm driving extra fast and this cat totally leaps out in front of me. The cat is probably dead and these kids are crying nearby, so I feel like an ass for even stopping. So I pick up the cat and tell the kids I'm taking it to the Vet. So they'll shut up. Then I went to the shoot.
Well, the cat's dead by the time I get out, and my car stinks like some kind of "Tell-Tale Dead Cat" movie. I'm really pissed off, but it was probably dead before I even got the Metallichick breasts to stay on. Probably. But now I feel all bad and crap.
I go and buy the kids a new cat at this what-do-you-call-it place. Pet store. And the guy tells me this is the best cat they got, it's a coleco, and the little shit begins throwing up all over the car when I take it out of park. So I put it in the trunk, just for the ride over. The car already smells like dead cat, I'm not going to have puddles of cat vomit on the floorboards, too.
I had to drive around the neighborhood about 30 minutes before I saw the kids playing on a basketball court. I tell them I got a surprise in my trunk, and I do—a dead cat. Those little bastards screamed until I thought the police would show up. If I had to guess, it either died from the heat or that choking thing, ass-fix something. But I tell them he's going to be alright, that I'll rush him to the emergency room. Then son of a bitch if I don't hit three more cats just standing out in the middle of the street, like they're forming some kind of feline chain of protest against me. I didn't even see the pricks.
I decided to cut my losses and not go back to that neighborhood—those kids had to learn about death sometime anyway. That still didn't stop my cat-killing karma because one of those fuckers is screaming out my window all night Thursday. So I'm starting to freak out because when I'm in a normal state of mind I know cats can't really talk to each other, no matter how many good movies are based on that idea, but I'm all wound up about cat killing and think he's calling together an army to attack me.
It's all too fresh in my mind and I don't want to talk about it, but like I told the cops, it really was supposed to be a warning shot. I never fired the gun before outside of the target range and I swear I've never hit anything with the first try. I figured aiming dead at him was the best way to make sure I didn't hit him. Once in a lifetime shot, like one of the police guys said.
If you're one of those PETA people, please stop calling me—I get it. I'm an asshole. My mother's a cat-lover and she'd agree with you. I promise if you all stop throwing pig's blood or whatever it is at me on the streets and spray-painting my car I'll make a donation to some kind of cat-saving group of yours. Just lay off. º Last Column: Crammed in the Closetº more columns | 
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Milestones1990: Red Bagel's dark vision of the future presented in lecture form at a local college predicts a war in Iraq, though he incorrectly predicts the date as 2002. Unless… well, we'll wait and see, won't we?Now HiringBartender. Mix all variety of drinks, serve beers with a quick smile and friendly expression. Listening a must, flipping bottles and spinning like in Cocktail a plus. Must know when to cut off Ramrod Hurley—immediately—and when to cut off Red Bagel—never, if you like your job.Least Successful David Bowie Incarnations| 1. | Wacky Far-Out Space Nut | | 2. | Lithe, Quirky, Effeminate Heterosexual | | 3. | Gold-Suited Game Show Host Mutt Smalley | | 4. | Evil Twin Brother Donald Bowie | | 5. | Lou Bega | |
|   Arafat Accepts Blaine Challenge BY orson welch 9/15/2003 Hello commune readers, and welcome to mile three of the Orson Welch movie-review marathon. Can we make it to the finish line? Nobody knows, and even fewer care, but still we trek bravely onward. Not even the howls of derisive mockery, nor the constant flood of hateful emails can get us down. Nor being refused entry to the commune's main offices for not "feeling like a nut" and then returning to our mother's car to find it literally wallpapered with parking tickets, as if parking on top of the median is on par with a serious act of terrorism. Nay, commune readers, we shant be dissuaded, so stop trying to dissuade us… meaning yourselves… okay, meaning me. Quit fucking with me. I'm just trying to do my job here, and your precious idiot-savant Roland McShyster isn't back yet, so just step...
Hello commune readers, and welcome to mile three of the Orson Welch movie-review marathon. Can we make it to the finish line? Nobody knows, and even fewer care, but still we trek bravely onward. Not even the howls of derisive mockery, nor the constant flood of hateful emails can get us down. Nor being refused entry to the commune's main offices for not "feeling like a nut" and then returning to our mother's car to find it literally wallpapered with parking tickets, as if parking on top of the median is on par with a serious act of terrorism. Nay, commune readers, we shant be dissuaded, so stop trying to dissuade us… meaning yourselves… okay, meaning me. Quit fucking with me. I'm just trying to do my job here, and your precious idiot-savant Roland McShyster isn't back yet, so just step off my jock and let's be civil about this, okay? Great. Now for the movies.
In Theaters
Cabin Fever
According to the note Roland McShyster left on my windshield, Cabin Fever is "The taxi-cab industry's winningly botched attempt at creating a new cultural fad, making kids think it's cool to take a cab absolutely everywhere, even to cross the street to get a newspaper." Right. I can see why you people love this guy so much. Morons.
In actuality, Cabin Fever is a bastardized cross between The Blair Witch Project and 28 Days Later, two bastards who certainly didn't need to cross-breed. Look, any time a movie's selling point is "at least it didn't cost much to make," you know you're in trouble. See Robert Rodriguez, below.
Matchstick Men
So Ted Griffin wakes up one morning, and realizes "Oh shit, I wrote Ravenous!" Thank God nobody noticed. But just to be on the safe side, he hurries up and writes Best Laid Plans and Ocean's Eleven to cover his tracks. Good move. Keep 'em laughing about that Ted Nugent's shirt joke and nobody will bother to ask where exactly you came from. And now you can stop padding your resume by pointing out that your grandma was in Jazz Mad back in 1928. Bonus.
But then Ted finally breaks down and listens to his brother Nick's stupid idea for a movie called Matchbox Men about some little tiny guys who drive those die-cast toy cars, which he's been going on about for years. And in a moment of fraternal weakness, Ted actually agrees to co-write the movie with his brother, on the condition that they drop the stupid slot-car angle. Bad move. I mean, good that they dropped the slot cars, bad that they wrote the movie at all. How either of these guys is related to Ridley Scott is anybody's guess, but he must've got too comfortable thinking people had finally forgotten about Legend and he could safely squeak out another turd here. Look for all these guys to do some great work in the near future to try and cover up this burnt spot on the rug.
Once Upon a Time in Mexico
Here's an interesting question: How do you follow up a movie that's famous for being made on a shoestring budget of $7,000 you earned by selling your body to science? If you're Robert Rodriguez and the movie is 1992's El Mariachi, you spend another $7,000 on a mediocre sequel and save the rest of your Hollywood budget to secretly make a bizarre spy movie starring your neighbor's kids. Hollywood caught on, of course, and as punishment made Rodriguez direct The Faculty in 1998, even sneaking Bebe Neuwirth into the cast as a not-so-subtle "fuck you" to Rodriguez. The director got the last laugh however, when his spy movie hit a Teletubbied nerve and Spy Kids was a hit, spawning two sequels. And as the final cumshot in Hollywood's marmalade, Rodriguez has made another El Mariachi sequel, yet again for $7,000, and has spent the rest of the budget fixing up his house. Now I'm not saying you should go see the movie, but you've got to admire those balls.
Secondhand Lions
Okay, first off: Contrary to the message Roland McShyster has been leaving on various office voice mails, this picture is not a pathetic biopic of pathetic film critic Jeffrey Lyons. Though, admittedly, it would probably have been better if it were. Instead, it's a piece of hilarious shit that tries to pass off the anthropologically old Robert Duvall and Michael Caine as endearing elderly gay curmudgeons charged with raising a precocious young tyke played with Haley Joel Osment. Thanks to the combined age and lifeless performance of his co-stars, I think it's safe to say that Osment is, yet again, seeing dead people. About as likeable as someone else's anal cavity, Secondhand Lions will leave you wanting more, more reasons to live and for the love of God keep 'em coming fast.
Underworld
Here's a "chicken-or-the-egg?" riddle for you: Did the fact that Len Wiseman is engaged to Kate Beckinsale get the former prop-lackey his first real gig, writing and directing the bad rubber-werewolf opus Underworld? Or was it Wiseman's involvement that dragged actress Beckinsale into the project and Ike Turnered her into accepting the lead role? If the later is true, we can only imagine what Wiseman talks Beckinsale into in bed, good gravy! The formerly sort of respectable cockney chick-flick queen takes a running broad jump into poop with this ill-advised comic book romp, based on somebody's stoned idea of what a comic book about Halloween would be like. Cross The Matrix with Dark City and Bram Stoker's Dracula, then have somebody with a serious head injury try to tell you about all three of them at once, and you'll have something close to Underworld. Only that would be better since it probably wouldn't take two hours or cost eight bucks. The choice is yours.
That's all we've got to sink our fangs into this week, commune readers. Here's hoping you find something tangy to suck on until next issue's column. Until then, I'll be keeping my fingertips peeled bringing you the sad, sad best Hollywood has to offer. Take care!    |
