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Terrorists Probably Too Hungover for New Year's AttackJanuary 5, 2004 |
Riot police, being the pessimistic bastards they are, prepare for a celebratory riot in case terrorists drop the ball omeland Security experts are blaming probable excessive alcohol consumption among Al-Qaeda members for the lack of an earth-shattering, soul-crushing, make-you-wish-you-were-born-dead terrorist attack expected last week over the New Year's holiday. Despite the recent elevation of the nation's security level to code orange ("Citrus-Flavored Death"), the New Year was rung in without incident, excepting the usual rash of DUI fatalities and celebratory gunshot deaths that are customary for this time of year.
Despite the lack of festive atrocities, few can blame Western governments for a lack of preparation. Security was tighter than a duck's ass at New Year's celebrations all over the United States, with precautions taken to ensure that only revelers too drunk to carry out sophist...
omeland Security experts are blaming probable excessive alcohol consumption among Al-Qaeda members for the lack of an earth-shattering, soul-crushing, make-you-wish-you-were-born-dead terrorist attack expected last week over the New Year's holiday. Despite the recent elevation of the nation's security level to code orange ("Citrus-Flavored Death"), the New Year was rung in without incident, excepting the usual rash of DUI fatalities and celebratory gunshot deaths that are customary for this time of year.
Despite the lack of festive atrocities, few can blame Western governments for a lack of preparation. Security was tighter than a duck's ass at New Year's celebrations all over the United States, with precautions taken to ensure that only revelers too drunk to carry out sophisticated terrorist plots would be allowed to attend.
Security was especially tight-assed in Las Vegas, where field reports indicated security was also especially high and obnoxious. Thanks to FBI warnings that Al-Qaeda thinks Las Vegas is "tacky," security considerations for Fox's annual "America's Party" televised concert and shmoozeapalooza at the Venetian Resort Hotel/Casino bordered on the Orwellian. In an especially innovative precaution, Fox held a fake New Year's Eve celebration on Dec 30th, complete with a diversion concert to draw out terrorists unfamiliar with American traditions and the "Thirty days hath September" rule. Unfortunately, this security measure failed due to a lack of starpower so blatant even foreign nationals unfamiliar with western culture noticed. The faux-bash, headlined by 80's holdovers Dexy's Midnight Runners, failed to elicit the terrorist onslaught hoped for by Homeland Security heads and music fans everywhere.
"It wouldn't have been that hard to fool these guys into thinking it was a real New Year's countdown party," bitched reveler Danny Postum. "Hootie and the Blowfish probably would have been good enough, or the Pretenders. I'm just pissed I bought tickets to the wrong fucking concert."
"What is with this bullshit?" asked Aman Halazi of Jordan. "We get better bands than this in Jordan. I could pull a better concert out of my dick-hole."
Due to the unconvincing ruse, many of the bands and celebrities scheduled to appear at the actual New Year's celebration sent celebrity impersonators and sound-alike bands in their stead, a move that might have proved controversial if anyone had noticed. Metallica, Ashanti and Paris Hilton could not be reached for comment, but all seemed pissed that their impersonators had all parlayed their appearances into lucrative recording and television deals.
Meanwhile, aviation officials for British Airways have cancelled all flights between London and Washington D.C. since New Year's Eve amidst credible threats of a plane-based attack on the American capitol. Frustrated travelers, however, have been calling for evidence of the threat and proof that the pilots aren't just too hungover to fly.
"The threat against Britith.. British Airwings is real and evident," announced FBI spokesman Walter Hammel, wincing from a post-New Year's hangover. "Several names on the passenger manifolds for recent flights have match… oh Jesus… uh, matched those of gnome terrorists." Hammel quickly excused himself as he sprinted in the direction of the men's room.
While the names in question turned out to belong to an elderly Chinese woman, a six-year-old boy and a chain of donut shops, British defense analyst Paul Bever insisted the threat was real.
"Oh yeah, totallyabigdealok…" slurred Bever, reeking vividly of rum.
"Oh Jesus," moaned a remorseful Hammel, passing through the room in a daze. "I just took a shit they're going to write folk songs about. Get out of my way."
Meanwhile in America, the FBI sent out a bizarre bulletin on Christmas Eve, warning police departments nationwide to be on the lookout for any potential terrorists carrying almanacs, fact-filled books that could conceivably be used in planning terrorist attacks.
"The FBI cautions you to be on the lookout for suspicious characters seen in possession of almanacs, maps, Cliff's Notes or volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica," the statement read. "We also advise you to detain anyone asking for directions."
"Look, let's not get carried away here. They're not saying you should shoot to kill the first time you see somebody with an almanac," explained terrorism expert and terrible dancer Ted Heyman, in response to America's collectively arched eyebrow. "A wing-shot should be plenty to put any fact-seeking terrorist out of commission until well after the holidays." the commune news partied like it was 1999 this New Year's: we tried to impeach the president and crossed our fingers that another useless celebrity would fly his plane into the ocean like a big retard. Ivana Folger-Balzac rang in the new year in her customary fashion: calling everyone she knows to remind them they're now officially one year closer to death.
| January 5, 2004 |
Some of the famous survivors who helped make 2003 a little more hellish. t was a year for change, where nothing happened. A time for war and for peace, filled with endless casualties in both. The president dressed up like a fighter pilot. A year where we lost both Johnny Cash and Bob Hope, and probably a lot of others that don’t come to mind. And, of course, the tragedy of nothing happening to those global icons we all wished dead.
Yes, despite the deaths of dozens, maybe hundreds of celebrities from all kinds of careers, nothing can make up for the heartbreak of the world’s smarmiest celebrities surviving another year.
The American public took the good with the bad, and even the fact we finally buried lifelong conservative, segregationist, and private-life hypocrite Strom Thurmond could not make up for the fact backroom dealm...
t was a year for change, where nothing happened. A time for war and for peace, filled with endless casualties in both. The president dressed up like a fighter pilot. A year where we lost both Johnny Cash and Bob Hope, and probably a lot of others that don’t come to mind. And, of course, the tragedy of nothing happening to those global icons we all wished dead.
Yes, despite the deaths of dozens, maybe hundreds of celebrities from all kinds of careers, nothing can make up for the heartbreak of the world’s smarmiest celebrities surviving another year.
The American public took the good with the bad, and even the fact we finally buried lifelong conservative, segregationist, and private-life hypocrite Strom Thurmond could not make up for the fact backroom dealmaking Vice President Dick Cheney is still kicking around the White House. Representative Bill Janklow lost his seat after killing a farmer in his district who may have even voted for him, but left behind to do his ill will is gay-bashing Senator Rick Santorum, not hit and killed by any motorist anywhere.
Meanwhile, all Americans everywhere recall with solemnity when all nine Democratic candidates for president in 2004, sniping each other continuously in debates for the nomination, were not struck by a meteor and instantly killed in a freak accident imaginary statisticians described as “one in a ka-billion.”
Politicians were not the only ones to defy a dose of cosmic justice. Country music pig-yeller Toby Keith won the hearts of the ignorant everywhere with his simple home-style songs of hatred, and tragedy never struck when later this year, while at a concert, Keith grabbed a microphone and fried every blood cell in his redneck white trash body. His chance for death will be sorely missed.
The world of rock also experienced some major lack of losses: Members of Nickelback, Train, Sevendust, Limp Bizkit, Godsmack, Staind, Linkin Park, Audioslave, and Creed stunned the rock world by avoiding drug overdoses, alcohol poisoning, mob- or gang-related deaths, terminal diseases, and crashing one-engine planes to continue making music. While the pop charts suffered from the survival of teen pop agents like Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Hilary Duff, and even ancient crumpet Madonna.
But possibly the biggest misfortune in the entertainment history could be the surprise double-murder that never happened of so-called “Bennifer” media sensations Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck. The two are set to follow-up box office flop Gigli with Jersey Girl and other film vehicles for the pair, now unstoppable in the wake of their not dying.
As we look back on 2003, with all its many losses, the names continue to form on our list of the wished-dead. Anna Nicole Smith, Carrot Top, Paris Hilton, any of the Bachelors or, for that matter, all reality TV celebrities everywhere, and that smug morning anchor on CNN. We remember the year, and mourn quietly, but not for too long. 2004 is starting before our eyes, full of potential car accidents, street crime, and even the threat of terrorism any of our least favorite public figures can be unfortunately placed right in the middle of. Godspeed in 2004. the commune news is sincerely hoping no one is wishing us dead right now—but just in case you are—ha ha! You wasted a wish, sucker. Red Bagel the commune’s fearless editor can judge a man’s hat size just by putting a hat on his head.
| Detroit rolls out "Come, Survive Detroit" campaign California hacker convention hacked by jocks loaded with Coors Saudi Arabian royal impersonator pardons self New Pete Rose book admits to doing what we already knew he did |
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January 12, 2004 More Fads: The 1930'sFads have existed from the beginning of time. From the original fad of the dinosaurs, through the first Christian who nervously fingered his WWJD lapel pin right before he was fed to the lions, fads have been a simple fact of life for eons. So it should come as no surprise that there were even fads during America's own ancient times, the 1930's. Just because people talked funny and everything was in black and white doesn't mean those somber times were free of people getting overly excited about stupid trends.
Perhaps the most bizarre fad of the 1930's was the practice of goldfish swallowing. The origins of this fad are unclear, though a hilarious story about a goldfish owner eating an insanely hot tamale the same day his home's water was turned off, leading him to accidentally...
º Last Column: Imperial Weights and Measures º more columns
Fads have existed from the beginning of time. From the original fad of the dinosaurs, through the first Christian who nervously fingered his WWJD lapel pin right before he was fed to the lions, fads have been a simple fact of life for eons. So it should come as no surprise that there were even fads during America's own ancient times, the 1930's. Just because people talked funny and everything was in black and white doesn't mean those somber times were free of people getting overly excited about stupid trends.
Perhaps the most bizarre fad of the 1930's was the practice of goldfish swallowing. The origins of this fad are unclear, though a hilarious story about a goldfish owner eating an insanely hot tamale the same day his home's water was turned off, leading him to accidentally swallow his own pet goldfish while gulping down the contents of its bowl, has persevered over the years. True, or just funny? We may never know, but the exact same thing happened to my cousin and I wouldn't rush to credit him with being the first person to do anything.
In 1939 Dickie Lunds set the modern-day record by swallowing three hundred goldfish, after which a tapeworm the size of Doris Day was coaxed out of his large intestine with promises of a film career. Though like most aspiring starlets arriving in Hollywood, the tapeworm was then unceremoniously hit upside the head with an oar and sold to the rich as an exotic house pet. Lunds' short-lived fame then quickly deflated, since without the tapeworm puffing him up he had so much excess skin he looked like a giant scrotal flap. And no matter how many cut-rate children's pets you can cram down your disgusting throat, that's just not something the chicks dig. Unless you're Hugh Hefner, it wouldn't surprise me if that nasty old guy experiences full-body erections that cause him to grow to eight feet tall.
Lunds would later set the record for eating the most antacids after attempting to set the record for iguanas eaten in 1944, and would die alone in 1953 while trying to eat more hermit crabs than Lyle Downey of Hershberg, Kansas, who had spent three weeks accidentally locked inside of a pet store that had gone out of business. Even though he would end up as only a footnote in the history of lousy children's pet eating, Lunds has to be admired for his resolve and "never get a clue" attitude.
The most impressive fad of the 1930's had to be the dance marathon. Every Saturday night, couples would pit themselves against each other in this iron-willed test of resolve and lack of healthy perspective. In this bizarre ritual, dozens of men and women would dance to the death for weeks on end inside high school gymnasiums, the last couple standing crowned the king and queen of the killing floor. All the while, a dance "moderator," perched inside a lifeguard's tower with a rifle, eliminated contestants who clearly had lost the will to dance. Eventually this fad died off when people realized there were easier ways to get a door prize.
Though by this time they've probably eclipsed the statute of limitations on what can be considered a fad, drive-in theaters deserve a mention for their sublime tackiness. The first drive-in theater was opened by Delmar Hughes in his back yard in 1935, when he charged his neighbors admission to park on his lawn and watch footage of Delmar's wife having sex with a polo team projected onto his garage door. Never was the popular saying truer, that revenge is the mother of invention.
Drive-in theaters grew in popularity amongst people who were afraid to leave their cars for nearly fifty years, providing generations of Americans with warm memories of half-seen movies watched in pantomime form because dad didn't pay good money to not be able to listen to his smooth jazz station when he was in the car. If lip-reading were a real science and not just a bluff used by conmen to bilk the FBI and make deaf people feel inadequate, it would have got its start at the drive-in.
As you may have noticed, the big fads of the 1930's were decidedly low-budget affairs thanks to the Great Depression. But they were memorable in their creativity, and certianly worthy of a chapter in You Look Like an Asshole, my upcoming book. Speaking of which, it's starting to look like eight chapters isn't going to be nearly enough, so I need each and every one of you out there to put your heart into creating fads that will define the current decade, and fast. I don't care what; wear an oil filter for a hat or something, paint your dog. Just make sure it catches on in the next few weeks. Thanks. º Last Column: Imperial Weights and Measuresº more columns |
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Quote of the Day“A man cannot serve two masters. Unless they are both kung fu masters, in which case he'd better do his damned best. At least until they kill each other in a spectacular bloody finale.”
-Rod GoddFortune 500 CookieFine, the stars won't kill you with cancer like they previously promised… big baby. Time to face facts: Those laser discs you socked away are never going to go up in value. Sorry, girlfriend, no visit from the stork for you, but you will get a postcard from a half-crazed seagull. Lucky Sean Penn films: Hurly Burly, Dead Man Walking, I Am Sam, and Supreme Blow-Jobs XXVI.
Try again later.Top 5 News-Filler Stories1. | Idaho Kitten Says Swear Word | 2. | Exercise May Be Good for You | 3. | People Pay Top Dollar for Name-Brand Shoes | 4. | Movies Really Suck Lately | 5. | Little-Known Website the commune Offends Lone Nut | |
| New Year's Resolutions Already BrokenBY winston c. mars 1/12/2004 I Bought This MemoryI bought this memory at Walgreens,
it was discounted heavily.
With it implanted I settled back
to enjoy my reverie.
But to my dismay I soon realized
why this memory had been spurned.
It was of eating a stale club sandwich
whose mayonnaise had turned!
I took it right back for a refund,
but the Chinese clerk he protested.
He asked for proof, by way of receipt
for the memory I'd injested.
I searched my pockets to no avail.
I checked again, but again failed!
Nowhere was it to be found.
I scanned the scene,
and checked in-between
my sneaker and the ground.
But it was gone.
Goodbye, so long!
Sayonara, it turned to vapors.
Somehow some...
I bought this memory at Walgreens,
it was discounted heavily.
With it implanted I settled back
to enjoy my reverie.
But to my dismay I soon realized
why this memory had been spurned.
It was of eating a stale club sandwich
whose mayonnaise had turned!
I took it right back for a refund,
but the Chinese clerk he protested.
He asked for proof, by way of receipt
for the memory I'd injested.
I searched my pockets to no avail.
I checked again, but again failed!
Nowhere was it to be found.
I scanned the scene,
and checked in-between
my sneaker and the ground.
But it was gone.
Goodbye, so long!
Sayonara, it turned to vapors.
Somehow somewhere,
vanished into the air.
"I'll see you in the funny papers."
I tried my best
to prove in jest
that I was the one who had bought it.
"Aha!" I voiced,
"The rye bread was slightly moist,
like someone had coughed on it."
"And the pickles, they stank
like something quite rank
and the ham—the ham was like rubber.
The turkey was raw
and the cheese was so blah,
like crusty, stretched-thin whale blubber."
But the clerk didn't buy it,
wouldn't even try it.
He just smiled and shook his head "No."
Without the receipt
I could have shit to eat
and he wouldn't mind it at all if I'd go.
As I stormed out into the rain
the image haunted my brain:
That clerk's grin hung in breathless fixation.
It was clear I'd been played—
the memory cleverly overlaid
over my memory of the receipt's location!
Damn you, Walgreens. You can keep your lousy four dollars. |