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Shock and Awe: Bagel Sweeps "Yitmotties" for Umpteenth YearAmazing win of all 'You the Man' awards stuns no one December 22, 2003 |
edia bitch and shameless self-promoter Red Bagel surprised retards everywhere with a "shock and awe" sweep of his own commune awards, the "You the Man of the Year" things. Even my own surprised ass could not be reached for comment, it was that unexpected.
In addition to his regular "Yitmotty," which already had his name engraved on it before the voting started, Bagel swept all the extended bullshit categories and ended up taking home several of the awards, although all others were smaller, like if you got them in a Happy Meal or something. Those other categories included "Conspiracy Cracking," "Website Publishing," "Brave Adventurer," "Girl Beddin'," and every other thing Bagel thinks he does reasonably well except farting the Macarena song.
"It was a great hono...
edia bitch and shameless self-promoter Red Bagel surprised retards everywhere with a "shock and awe" sweep of his own commune awards, the "You the Man of the Year" things. Even my own surprised ass could not be reached for comment, it was that unexpected.
In addition to his regular "Yitmotty," which already had his name engraved on it before the voting started, Bagel swept all the extended bullshit categories and ended up taking home several of the awards, although all others were smaller, like if you got them in a Happy Meal or something. Those other categories included "Conspiracy Cracking," "Website Publishing," "Brave Adventurer," "Girl Beddin'," and every other thing Bagel thinks he does reasonably well except farting the Macarena song.
"It was a great honor, and a privilege, to be recognized in so many different areas," Bagel might have said, had I interviewed him. "Lord knows a man is only as good as his staff, and anyone can tell you I'm no good. It's lucky I took this thing home without somehow impaling on it or winding up in an emergency room with it shoved half up my ass.
"In conclusion, I am a blithering idiot."
Quite an impressive list of nominees were submitted by commune staff members this year, including George W. Bush, Saddam Hussein, Legalos the Elf, Rush Limbaugh, Michael Jackson, Great White, Jared the Subway Queer, Roy Horn, Arnold Schwarzenfelder, and Howard Dean. From the confidential vote tallying sheet, lifted from Bagel's office while he was off taking a dump, we can see Bagel voted for no one other than himself for any category. Big shockeraroo there.
"I don't know, Ted, is it just me? Has there never been a worse boss in the history of the world?" said an inside source at the commune. "The guy is just apeshit crazy and I think it's time someone did something about it. If we were in Nam or a Nam movie, we'd have fragged him years ago. Either way, I can't believe I'm still working here. Let's face it: Log any time at the commune—you know this—and you might as well put 'Unhireable' on the top of your resume. This entire office is like riding a Slip 'N' Slide to hell."
In response, I assured him, "At least you don't have to write the friggin' 'Yitmotty' shit again this year, Raoul Dunkin."
Among Bagel's other accomplishments in 2003, he exposed the conspiracy behind 64-bit processors, Kim Jong Il, the Columbia disaster, and SARS. Not stopping there, Bagel also printed extremely humiliating information about his staff, including a drag queen site featuring once-beloved commune reporter Ted Ted. Not that Bagel or anybody else has a spot-clean record and has never done anything at all embarrassing in their past, and a little heads up would have been nice so all friends outside of the commune could have been warned and shit. But thank you, Red Bagel, for fucking up so many lives with so few words. Imagine what the esteemed commune Editor could have done if he hadn't been gone for half the year on some pseudo-homosexual frolic with missing-and-assumed-dead columnist Sampson L. Hartwig.
"Yeah," added Ted Ted, "you the fuckin' man." the commune news is not the man, but an incredible simulation. Ted Ted is the commune office correspondent and his legs might have atrophied in all the recent months of not moving much, but he still has those adorable wings.
 |  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.
| 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 22, 2003 Gift of the MergerMy balls are jingling with the hopes of enterprise, readers. Christmas time is the time for expansion! You know what that means—merger. Merger, merger, merger!
Of course, I realize I don't have any money, which is to say none of the business' private money, and even on my own considerable wealth I may lack the necessary fundage to merge with another business. Or another successful business at least, heh, which is to say a successful business since the commune is generally considered a complete failure. But that is only as you base the financial prospects as a mark of success. I think the commune contributes immeasurably to society even if it doesn't turn a dime of profit, so that's only a partial failure in my book.
But I don't have to worry about money around...
º Last Column: A Third Sniper is Still on the Loose
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My balls are jingling with the hopes of enterprise, readers. Christmas time is the time for expansion! You know what that means—merger. Merger, merger, merger!
Of course, I realize I don't have any money, which is to say none of the business' private money, and even on my own considerable wealth I may lack the necessary fundage to merge with another business. Or another successful business at least, heh, which is to say a successful business since the commune is generally considered a complete failure. But that is only as you base the financial prospects as a mark of success. I think the commune contributes immeasurably to society even if it doesn't turn a dime of profit, so that's only a partial failure in my book.
But I don't have to worry about money around this, the most "wonderful" time of the year. That's right, bitch—it's Christmas! Hot frozen egg nog on a stick! Say a little Christmas prayer for me!
How could you not love Christmas? People give you things for free and you don't even have to have incriminating pictures of them. It's the bomb, yuletide bomb. My biggest respect, or at least false respect, is held for that big rube of Christmas crackers, Santa Claus! Yow! Line me up for a free gift, sir, thank you very much.
Now everybody knows there's not really a Santa, hopefully you're all old enough you don't need a conspiratologist to tell you so. No, not a real Santa, but it's a proven fact someone else has probably proved that the post office takes all those letters to Santa and delivers them to the richest 1% of the nation. Yahoo! That's how all the presents get under the tree.
And I, for one, am not planning on being left out. You may have seen on the news ten years ago when a mysterious stranger purchased the world's biggest stocking for a record auction price—guess who. And "Santa" is legally obligated to fill every bare inch of the thing, so that was well worth the investment after two or three Christmases. Five, if you're a big financial details sort of asshole, but I don't care what Gay or anyone else says, it is not "a big fat smelly sock you went into hock to buy." It is a pure gold magnet. And unlike the one I bought from that prospector, this one actually works.
But a freakishly large stocking bought from the man with the world's largest foot is only part of my plan for world domination (the friendly kind, I mean). My next plan is a big whopping merger. To guarantee that's what I'm getting this Christmas, I spent all my time writing Christmas letters to Santa ever since the end of Thanksgiving. Which is to say I've paid the commune staff overtime and freed many reporters from their reporting obligations to handwrite letters to Santa since we all know they have machines that prove you photocopied, and that pisses them off. I'm getting a merger, that's for damn sure.
Microsoft, Wal-Mart, News Corp., I'm not too picky. And don't think I'm too greedy either. If I was I'd be asking for a complete hostile takeover, mine of theirs, and that's not what I want. I just want a friendly merger. I want our two brands to be compatible, forced compatibility if necessary, and for our brand loyalties to extend to the other's customers. I want Wal-Mart shopped everywhere reading the commune by this time next year, and hopefully by the same date commune fans will be shopping at Wal-Mart instead of simply living there.
The nation's wealthiest men can certainly spare that, considering I've been such a good boy. Besides, I'm technically in the top 2% of the nation's wealthiest people, so I'm sure with a little hedging they would like to have some new blood on their stodgy old list. But either way I'm dead set on getting that merger, if for no other reasons than it will shut my brother Gay up about the company never turning a profit. So by the start of next year, look for the wealthiest commune yet! Or should I say the Amazon.commune? º Last Column: A Third Sniper is Still on the Looseº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“'Tis a far, far better thing I do today than I have ever done… in fact, where I'm from, I'm kind of known as an asshole.”
-Cute Little DickensFortune 500 CookieRemember to clean your ears—a friend of ours died from not doing that, no shit. What time is it? Half-past beer-thirty. Always never forget to quit being scared to not ask questions.
Try again later.Top Samuel Berger Excuses for Hiding Documents in Pants| 1. | Was hoping only hot babes had clearance to read pages. | | 2. | In early stages of making a nest for baby starlings. | | 3. | Not everybody can afford a snazzy briefcase, Rockefeller. | | 4. | Trying to conceive children; needed to keep the boys warm. | | 5. | Classify this, motherfucker. | |
|   Santa Claus Vetoing All Requests for Paris Hilton Video 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.   |
