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 Dictator Vows Mole-Person Revenge December 22, 2003 |
U.S. administrator L. Paul Bremer, showing off his special-edition Iraqi Dictators Gone Wild DVD. On-screen is Hussein, who inexplicably used his one post-arrest telephone call to schedule a dentist’s appointment   After cornering Hussein in his underground lair outside his hometown of Tikrit, U.S. forces convinced the deposed Iraqi strongman to surrender under threat of being “bwasted” with shotgun rounds until such a time as he would be seen to comically spurt water from several bodily holes while drinking. At first Hussein resisted, but after a hose was run into the hole and his lair began to fill up with water, the “Butcher of Baghdad” relented. A wisecracking Hussein was pu...
fter receiving credibly non-giggling tips that the fugitive Iraqi leader was organizing a legion of mole-person insurgents to perform attacks on occupying U.S. forces, American soldiers successfully completed a raid last Saturday that netted them the biggest turd in the entire Iraqi punch bowl: Saddam Hussein. After cornering Hussein in his underground lair outside his hometown of Tikrit, U.S. forces convinced the deposed Iraqi strongman to surrender under threat of being “bwasted” with shotgun rounds until such a time as he would be seen to comically spurt water from several bodily holes while drinking. At first Hussein resisted, but after a hose was run into the hole and his lair began to fill up with water, the “Butcher of Baghdad” relented. A wisecracking Hussein was pulled from the hole by his voluminous whisker hairs, a seemingly cruel technique that Iraq experts nonetheless praised as the proper method for preventing injury to the former dictator. Hussein very nearly escaped shortly after his capture, after convincing his captors that the last thing in the world he wanted was to be thrown back into the dark, scary hole, anything but the hole. U.S. soldiers were about to return Hussein to his hole to teach him a lesson when a ranking officer familiar with the story of “Br’er Rabbit” stepped in and foiled the ousted president’s clever ruse. U.S. forces and the Iraqi public were shocked by Hussein’s unkempt appearance, described by some as “a dead bum having a bad hair day.” Many were expecting the imposing figure usually seen in pictures, a nattily dressed man in green fatigues with matching hat, worn characteristically at a rakish angle that seemed to say “Mustache rides: $5.” Soldiers charged with hunting down Hussein nearly passed the former president by, mistaking him for a hobo intent on making them feel guilty about their profitable imperialist ways. Saddam’s identity was confirmed, however, after the fugitive leader drew attention to himself by shouting “Rise! Rise my children and blindly stamp out thine enemies! Get up you lazy mole bastards!” before disappearing into his rustic underground retreat. Fears that Saddam was masterminding the Iraqi resistance from exile were sort of confirmed after the dictator’s capture, when it was discovered that Hussein had trained several moles to do parlor tricks during his time underground. Intelligence experts warn that, given more time, Saddam might have been able to train the rodents to slightly annoy occupation forces and nibble on U.S.-backed crops. At first, the Iraqi public was slow to believe that Hussein had actually been captured, signaling an end to their long national nightmare. But once Saddam started rambling on about the mole people, even the harshest skeptics had to admit the right man had been captured. A large number of Iraqis disappointed by Hussein’s boring surrender and lack of evil heroics have suggested that the muttering, dazed dictator was drugged by the CIA and his capture staged to sap insurgent morale, but those who knew the man suggest this is highly unlikely, unless Hussein had been gassed regularly since the early 1960’s. Questioned about possible CIA interference during his interrogation, a rambling Hussein was overheard to explain that he never minded being called “The Butcher of Baghdad” because it reminded him of his favorite musical, “The Barber of Seville.”
the commune news will never be flushed from our underground lair, though possibly only because no one is looking for us that we know of. Ivan Nacutchacokov nearly won a bet by avoiding injury and embarrassment during this entire assignment, only to be apprehended for smiling at the airport and cavity-searched for seventeen hours under suspicion of smuggling missing Iraqi cultural treasures.
 | Santa Claus Vetoing All Requests for Paris Hilton VideoDecember 22, 2003 |
Christmastown, North Pole AP Claus and Hilton (inset), two names on seemingly everyone’s lips this time of year
The video in question features the 22-year-old hotel heiress engaging in several coal-worthy sex acts with then boyfriend Rick Solomon. While readily available for illegal download on the Internet, many had hoped for a handsomely packaged VHS or DVD copy they could proudly display in their movie collection this Christmas, a wish that Claus will be unable to fulfill for multiple reasons.
“Even if I approved of the content, I can’t even get my hands on the thing,” explained Santa. “They don’t offer broadband access at the North Pole, ...
espite its popularity on Christmas wish lists the world over, Santa Claus called the commune offices this week to announce regretfully that he would not be fulfilling any requests for the Paris Hilton sex video this year.
The video in question features the 22-year-old hotel heiress engaging in several coal-worthy sex acts with then boyfriend Rick Solomon. While readily available for illegal download on the Internet, many had hoped for a handsomely packaged VHS or DVD copy they could proudly display in their movie collection this Christmas, a wish that Claus will be unable to fulfill for multiple reasons.
“Even if I approved of the content, I can’t even get my hands on the thing,” explained Santa. “They don’t offer broadband access at the North Pole, I’m still using this infernal dial-up connection. I can’t even download MP3s of the latest Christmas carols, it’s hopeless. Though from what I hear of today’s music, Santa may not be missing too much on that front, ho ho.”
Off the record, Santa expressed his concerns that hearing some godawful dance hit about Christina Aguilera getting fucked under the Christmas tree might shake his already strained Christmas spirit. Additionally, Claus wished to get the word out on several other hotly anticipated items he won’t be able to cram under Christmas trees this December 25th.
“The Gilligan’s Island DVD—that’s not even out yet. Just because I can breed magical flying livestock doesn’t mean I can time-travel here, kids. Have your parents check the street dates for these things before you send Santa your list next year, please,” the jolly fat man requested.
“Also, I’m not doing color picture phones this year,” Santa apologized. “My distributor in Korea said he could get me the parts but then he hit some kind snag with the displays and let Santa down big time. He can expect a big, dusty hunk of coal in his stocking this year, don’t worry. Though I sincerely doubt he’ll even notice, since most of those Asian countries don’t know Christmas from a crab cake. I stopped going to Singapore last year because everybody thought Santa was some kind of clown and they all wanted me to blow up balloon animals. Not that Santa minds getting a few fortune cookies on Christmas Eve, those can be a nice change of pace that go down surprisingly well with milk.”
Unfortunately, the Orient has not been alone in letting Santa down in recent years.
“Truth be told, some parts of Canada are even questionable these days,” St. Nick griped. “Last year I plopped down a chimney in Winnipeg and half the kids thought I was one of the X-Men, they wouldn’t shut up about wanting to see me extend my claws or shoot fireballs out of my armpits. None of those little children seemed too impressed with the old candy-cane behind-the-ear trick, either. I’m half inclined to skip Canada this year and see how much Christmas cheer their precious Wolverine brings them in my stead, the ungrateful little comic book geeks.”
Santa stresses that while full of good cheer and the Christmas spirit, most of his elves possess a third-grade education at best, and simply do not have the skills necessary to work with complex electronics.
“I thought it was bad back in 2001 when I had to have my elves dig up a bunch of old waffle irons and slap George Foreman decals on them,” Santa explained. “But now it’s just gone completely out of hand. Nobody wants a painted nutcracker anymore. Now it’s all Playstation 2 this and DVD burner that. I’ve had to farm most of my production work out to the Far East, and though small and well-behaved, I doubt those people are what most children envision when they think of Santa’s workforce.”
The resultant layoffs have hit the Christmas elf community hard, leading to rising levels of depression and substance abuse, aided in no small part by the North Pole’s harsh climate and the poor genetic tolerance for alcohol inherent in the Christmas elf population.
Due to rising tech expenses and soft sales of Santa-themed merchandise, Santa’s profit margins are razor-thin this year, children. Nice boys and girls can show their love for Santa by requesting less-demanding toys this Christmas season.
“Who wouldn’t love a little wooden toy train? That’s a classic. Those are pretty cheap to make, and we’ve got tons left over from the elf rehab workshops. Or how about a wooden dolly with a painted face? That’s pretty nice. And blocks. Kids used to have loads of fun with blocks,” Santa said, sighing distractedly.
Claus also wanted to stress with parents the importance of not arming their homes with high-tech burglar alarms and other security systems impervious to Christmas magic.
“Santa Claus doesn’t like to break a window, but he does what he has to do to deliver the magic of Christmas,” warned Santa in a stern tone. the commune news has been accused several times of ruining the magic of Christmas, but stands by its record of thirty-four charges with nary a conviction. Bludney Pludd celebrated his third straight year as winner of the “Hey Biff!” award for the nation’s most gullible journalist in 2003, and word is he’s a snipe hunt away from being the odds-on favorite to repeat again in 2004.
| Mark Buckles Some Sort of Cockwad 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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 December 8, 2003 Fuck the Metric Systemthe commune's Griswald Dreck weighs and measures in The year was 1976, and communist cold war spies had infiltrated the U.S. government. Their mission? To convert America's God-fearing system of Imperial weights and measures to a devious red contraption known at the metric system. Did they succeed? What the fuck's the metric system? Think for a second and I believe you'll realize those two questions cancel each other out.
The metric system failed because the American people spoke in one voice, clear and proud, when they said "Wha? Hey, fuck the metric system!"
The system was developed in the late 1500's, after writer Simon Stevin skylarked that it would be trippy if you could divide everything by ten. Thomas Jefferson read Stevin's book while in college and the author's stoned musings inspired him to propose a deci...
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The year was 1976, and communist cold war spies had infiltrated the U.S. government. Their mission? To convert America's God-fearing system of Imperial weights and measures to a devious red contraption known at the metric system. Did they succeed? What the fuck's the metric system? Think for a second and I believe you'll realize those two questions cancel each other out. The metric system failed because the American people spoke in one voice, clear and proud, when they said "Wha? Hey, fuck the metric system!" The system was developed in the late 1500's, after writer Simon Stevin skylarked that it would be trippy if you could divide everything by ten. Thomas Jefferson read Stevin's book while in college and the author's stoned musings inspired him to propose a decimal currency system for the U.S. in 1792, the first of its kind. France then converted to the metric system in 1795, which effectively ended the U.S. conversion to metric units. After the French started doing it, metric just didn't seem cool any more. In 1812 Napoleon suspended use of the metric system in France, because he didn't like the thought of only being a meter and a half tall. It was reinstated in 1840 after Napoleon fell from power and his enemies loved the idea of him being remembered as that short. Over the years the definition of the meter has changed several times. Jefferson thought it should be one ten millionth the length from the earth's equator to the North Pole, which made everybody nod and say that sounded like a good idea. Several years later they thought about it and realized they had absolutely no way of knowing how long that was, and that Jefferson must have been fucking with them. And sure enough he had already split town with his secretary and all of the money from their metric-conversion coffers. France had been working from the assumption that Jefferson knew what he was talking about, so when they got word of his jape France had to redefine the meter. Somebody found a stick he liked while walking in the woods that afternoon and this became the new definition of the meter, which stood for over a hundred years. In 1960, the meter was redefined by scientists as "1 650 763.73 wavelengths in vacuum of the radiation corresponding to the transition between levels 2p10 and 5d5 of the krypton 86 atom," a gag definition proposed by one of Jefferson's descendants and taken as gospel truth by lazy scientists who didn't want to figure that crap out. Finally in 1980 the current definition was set, where you hold your arms about yea far apart and that's a meter. Except in Canada, where it's the length traveled by light in a vacuum during one 299,792,458th of a second. Canadian scientists are always hot-dogging like that. Congress passed the Metric Conversion Act of 1975 a year late in 1976, which stipulated that it would probably be a good idea to switch to the metric system some time. No target dates were set, and over the next seven years America made a half-assed effort at going metric, changing roadsides haphazardly and scaring schoolchildren into thinking they'd have to relearn all the stuff they'd just learned about footstools and midgets being called "pint-sized." This continued until 1982, when President Ronald Reagan signed the Fuck the Metric System bill into law, which disbanded the U.S. Metric Board and ran its members out of town on a rail. In the twenty-one years since, the metric system has slowly crept up on Americans, seeping into our daily lives like the smell of your next-door neighbor's Jacuzzi, sneaking ludicrous numbers and little symbols onto cereal boxes and shampoo bottles in the dead of night. The American people have steadfastly refused its advances, wary of falling victim to the metric conspiracy the way every other country on the face of the earth has, excepting those strongholds of enlightenment, Liberia and Myanmar. Some mock Americans for our slavish dedication to a system of weights and measures few understand or can calculate, blinded by their own anal need to know things like how many feet are in a mile or cups in a gallon. But if they want to go all metric and live someplace where it's only 32 degrees in the summer, let 'em freeze their metric asses off. 30 degrees in July? Fuck that, that's cold. You can have your Celsius scale. º Last Column: You Got Ice in My Greenland! You Got Green in My Iceland!º more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas! Except near Houston, Dallas or Fort Worth. Talk about your smog. Jesus, this song's gonna need another verse.”
-Clement B. DoogleFortune 500 CookieMama said there'd be days like this, but the bitch lied. The success or failure of this coming week hinges on your proper understanding of the word "gonad," so take our advice and go buy a dictionary now, Skippy. Order lots of Chinese food this week, but don't pick it up. This week's lucky accidents: back-flip off ladder onto hardwood floor, lip caught on drain while bathtub's full, wearing flammable jumpsuit to Great White concert, 15 car pile-up.
Try again later.Top Ways to Leave Your Lover| 1. | Join Al-Qaeda | | 2. | Quit Al-Qaeda | | 3. | Mail self to Shanghai (unless from Shanghai) | | 4. | Singing Dump-o-Gram | | 5. | Blaze of Glory/Blaze of Lies | |
|   Bush Plans to Send Troops to Moon by 2018 BY roland mcshyster 12/22/2003 Ho ho ho, America, there are prostitutes all over the place here at the commune offices and this can only mean one thing: It's the holiday season. Yessir, nothing brings out the holiday spirit more than the commune's Beds for Hookers program, now it its third year of keeping whores warm and full of holiday cheer. You can thank noted philanthropist Red Bagel for that one, if you're a hooker with Internet access. However, the ladies of the night aren't the only ones getting into the spirit, as I have to admit I've enjoyed my share of assorted nuts roasting on an open flame and Jack Frost chewing on my balls this week. So though it's been said many times and many ways: Happy Hanukah, commune world!
In Theaters
Cold Mounta...
Ho ho ho, America, there are prostitutes all over the place here at the commune offices and this can only mean one thing: It's the holiday season. Yessir, nothing brings out the holiday spirit more than the commune's Beds for Hookers program, now it its third year of keeping whores warm and full of holiday cheer. You can thank noted philanthropist Red Bagel for that one, if you're a hooker with Internet access. However, the ladies of the night aren't the only ones getting into the spirit, as I have to admit I've enjoyed my share of assorted nuts roasting on an open flame and Jack Frost chewing on my balls this week. So though it's been said many times and many ways: Happy Hanukah, commune world!
In Theaters
Cold Mountain
Jude Law stars as a Civil War soldier who is left for dead by his compatriots after he comes down with a bitter case of the sniffles, only to blow his nose on the odds and heroically ride a train home to see his wife Nicole Kidman, who is crippled by her fear of the 1800's. The casting director struck a coup by landing Nicole Kidman for the role of Nicole Kidman, saving audiences from the mind-bending confusion of having to remember that someone fatter than Nicole Kidman is actually Nicole Kidman for about two hours, within the fantastical world of the film's reality. Renee Zellweger is endearingly puffy as ever in her role as Kidman's supporting actress, though her character's name isn't Zellweger because that would cause a confusing plot hole, since her dad is Donald Sutherland and she's not married. Whatever, the movie was slow.
House of the Sandy Frog
Jennifer Connelly is an alcoholic former Mouseketeer and Ben Kingsley plays the retired baseball mascot horning in on her turf in this by-the-book adaptation of the Twain classic. The point of the Twain story was that when you're an alcoholic it's easy to get confused and forget whether somebody's a retired baseball mascot horning in on your turf or a horny retiree-balling Turk basking in mace, but in the film adaptation such nuances are lost and it becomes about a girl with big boobs shooting an Uzi. Thankfully.
Mona Lisa Simile
After deciding that the title Julia Roberts is Ugly Like the Mona Lisa probably wasn't going to cause any fire code violations with people trampling over each other to get into the theater, the cats with the big wigs on at Columbia decided to rechristen this dingy with a moniker that would appeal to the highly profitable faux-intellectual chick flick set. Thus the highbrow name, which is unfortunately destined to confuse moviegoers who toked their way through High School English. To recap, a simile is a figure of speech using like or as to compare two unlike things (for example, "Julia Roberts looks like a reindeer.") This is not to be confused with a metaphor (as in Kafka's thriller Metaphormosis), which is when an analogy is drawn by literally substituting one idea for another (as in "Julia Roberts has those weird alien lips that ate my dog."). Unfortunately, this bit of semantic nuance is the most interesting thing about the film, which could have been accurately but less-profitably titled This Movie Sucks Like a Beijing Hooker.
Monster
Charlize Theron headlines the role she was born to play in this adaptation of Stephen King's harrowing short story, the tale of a strange creature who looks just like Ashley Judd but somehow isn't. Christina Ricci seeks to de-creepy her image by starring opposite the vaguely creepier Theron, hereby appearing comparatively normal within the film's world. And it works, sort of. It's a Stephen King adaptation, so of course there's some supernatural nonsense going on and shit glows, but primarily this is a film about what happens when your pod clone starts getting better film roles than you do.
Paycheck
Calling a spade a spade for once in its miserable history, Hollywood isn't even trying to fool you into thinking the actors had any personal investment in this project. You might be inclined to feel a bit of righteous indignation about that, until you hear that Ben Affleck has the starring role, and then it all becomes very understandable. Wasting good acting on a scene with Affleck is like getting dressed up to go watch kangaroo boxing. I'd tell you what the plot entails but if the actors themselves didn't bother to learn it I'm not about to do the heavy lifting for about one billionth of what they get paid. Screw that.
I'm afraid that's that, America. Though I wish this season could go on and on, I don't really mean that, it's just a romantic thing to say. The reality of that would likely be hellish. So let it go, America, turn the page and before you know it you'll be gorging yourself miserably on little chocolate bunnies and wondering what in the hell happened. Happy holidays.   |
