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Conservatives Want Reagan's Pasty White Ass on $10 BillJune 14, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Treasury Department This mock-up of the proposed bill should end all future debate about whether or not money is the root of all evil
"The time has come to honor this great, great American," wheezed congressional peckerwood Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, uncomfortably choking back either bland white-boy tears or some kind of grossly over-sated ...
he public fellatio of former president Ronald Reagan's dead body reached a fever pitch this week when a consortium of white-as-the-the-Klan conservatives launched a plan to have the dead man's grim visage stamped on the U.S. $10 bill. Though the actual image on the bill would likely be of the former president while he was still alive, the group has not yet determined whether or not the likeness will be one of the nostalgic collectable-plate paintings depicting Reagan devouring the poor that are commonly found in the china hutches of Republican households across America.
"The time has come to honor this great, great American," wheezed congressional peckerwood Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, uncomfortably choking back either bland white-boy tears or some kind of grossly over-sated flatulent belch. "He was like a father to me, or at least I wish he had been. Ronniiiie! Ronniiiiie!"
"Reagan would have been a cool dad," drooled local fanboy Ralph Huxley. "I mean, his own kids didn't think so, but what the hell do they know? They're probably Democrats or something. Reagan should've tossed them in the commie box with all the other pinkos back when he had the chance."
Meanwhile, Alexander Hamilton fans have staged protests in opposition to the plan, which would displace their $10 man from the popular currency note. These qualms come in spite of conservative promises that a new coin, the 2.3-cent "Hammy," would be minted to house the first Secretary of the Treasury's downgraded image. Irate callers swamped phone lines for the D.C.-area Alexander Hamilton fan call-in show Ham Radio to vent about what they considered to be an insulting proposal, roughly akin to being honored with one's face on the seldom-used twelve-and-a-half-cent stamp. Family members of the late Sonny Bono, current resident of the twelve-and-a-halfer's facial slot, could not be reached for comment. Not that we really tried all that hard.
If Hamilton's fans are successful in defending the object of their affection's place on the $10 bill, Reagan supporters (known alternately as "Reaganites," "Reaganauts," and "loud, self-important assholes" depending on whom you ask) have made it clear they will take the fight to other, less-protected faced currencies, starting with the dime. Should FDR's zombielike followers prove too tough a scrum for the Reaganinnies, the group's next choice is rumored to be the highly popular Chuck E. Cheese five-point token. Early accounts are unclear about whether Reagan would appear alone on the brassy gaming token, or in some kind of die-cut rendition of the former president locking the chain's rodent mascot in a playful bear hug or a bracing death-struggle for big rat supremacy.
Conservatives less enamored by shitty pizza and skeeball hope the game of commemorative musical chairs won't get that far, setting their hopes on at least landing the dime. Analysts suggest that it would be far easier to subvert the will of the people in the area of coinage, since changing a paper bill requires majority votes in both houses of Congress, while changes to coins only have to receive a vague, dismissive wave from the generally apathetic Treasury Secretary. In addition, conservatives feel that few liberals are likely to notice a change to the nation's coinage, since only children look at coins closely, and most are likely to mistake Reagan for one of the McDonaldland gang.
Supporters with an eye for compromise have sought to quell the controversy by suggesting that Reagan's face should instead grace the $1,000 bill, since few non-conservatives ever see those anyway.
This latest campaign reminds many of an ongoing effort during the 1990's to have Reagan's face added to Mount Rushmore, a battle that was eventually scrapped after it was discovered that the former president was afraid of heights. the commune news doesn't much care whose face is on our money, as long as it's not that goddamned Charmin bear. That bastard should be satisfied with haunting our nightmares and the occasional highly-disturbing sexual fantasy. Shabozz Wertham is the blackest man ever to work at the commune, except for that time Ivan Nacutchacokov returned from covering a story about the bomb squad looking like Al Jolson.
 | Unique Reality Series to Be Cast Without AssholesMay 31, 2004 |
Los Angeles, CA 2NICE PRODUCTIONS (Left-Right) Karl, Yorgi, Sven, and Bjorn, along with Katrin, in an early publicity shot for Okay House, before she was cut from the cast for excessive sarcasm.
No Simon Cowels, no Donald Trumps, not even a Richard Hatch in sight, according to co-producer Bobbacrane Wilson. It's part of a risky plan to boost sagging reality ratings for those shows which haven't caught on with the public yet; while series like The Apprentice have made major waves, and American Idol holds strong, other reality series like The Restaurant have proven that reality series don't always strike gold every time out. The new "assholeless" series in development will gi...
hiteywood producers took a bold step in reality programming last Friday when they revealed, as part of the ABC fall schedule, one of their so-called "reality" series would be entirely asshole-free, cast only with likable personalities so unpopular in usual reality programming.
No Simon Cowels, no Donald Trumps, not even a Richard Hatch in sight, according to co-producer Bobbacrane Wilson. It's part of a risky plan to boost sagging reality ratings for those shows which haven't caught on with the public yet; while series like The Apprentice have made major waves, and American Idol holds strong, other reality series like The Restaurant have proven that reality series don't always strike gold every time out. The new "assholeless" series in development will give people bored with regular reality shows a chance to see something different.
"It's not a brand new idea," admitted co-producer of the show Harry Spalding. "Frankly, Hollywood has been trying to create a reality series without assholes since their initial burst in popularity in the early '90s, such as COPS. But once The Real World hit big, people gave up. It became apparent, at least for the time, America would much rather tune in each week and marvel at real assholes."
His partner Wilson agreed: "The big problem in creating a prick-free reality show is nobody could ever seem to do it. It became Hollywood's Gregorian knot. People tried to do reality shows based on churches and found them full of judgmental fire-and-brimstone knobs who wouldn't stop preaching. A reality show about school teachers reminded viewers of why they were in such a hurry to graduate. Someone even did a pilot about people who worked for the Salvation Army—you'd never believe what self-righteous dicks are running that place. It's enough to turn someone Republican."
Many attempts at doing reality shows in small towns, according to Wilson, failed to leave any positive impressions when every good-natured resident was outnumbered by trash-talking rednecks and closet KKK members. But this time, Spalding suggests, by returning to reality programming roots, their show has succeeded in its intent.
The show, Okay House, features six roommates, four of them from Sweden, who live together in a room paid for by the network and forced to resolve their conflicts in a polite, friendly fashion. A bonus incentive of $25,000 to whoever can keep from saying something unkind about other housemates has raised the likelihood of getting a show without jackasses.
An early version of the pilot was available for press review. In the series, the six roommates—Sven, Yorgi, Karl, Jake, Albert, and Bjorn—get into an amicable disagreement over whose turn it is to wash the dishes, as well as a polite war of words over what they can watch on TV. Of the cast, Karl, Sven, and Bjorn are non-English-speaking employees of an electrical cooperative in Sweden who were brought over by the network, Yorgi an Americanized Swedish citizen who was friends with the three in his home country, Jake is a Bible camp youth counselor from Ferngate, North Carolina, and Albert an 85-year-old man who seldom speaks.
While the producers and network claim to have high expectations for "the world's nicest reality show," critics have been less kind. Matt Roush of TV Guide called it "Paint Drying: The Series" and The New York Times predicted it would be the quickest cancellation in TV history.
According to CNN's Jeff Hinkley: "If I hear one more Swedish accent saying, 'I guess we'll agree to disagree,' I'm going to blow a hole through my TV." the commune news is not in the habit of promoting television programs, but we found the story to be very relevant to the popular issue of filling dead news slots. Shabozz Wertham is one more way in which we keep our staff from being asshole-free.
| Iraq perfectly quiet all week New Apple Power Mac G5 to boost user feelings of superiority 20% Grief-stricken Bush Sr. throws self out of plane WWII Memorial finally recognizes how cool war is |
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 June 14, 2004 I Too Need Elvis MedicineKeep me in your prayers, good people, because Rok Finger is sick as a dog. Not a healthy dog, either, but a dog with mange, or some kind of dog disease. I don't have mange, at least to my knowledge, though my back hair has been falling out lately. No, I have the more human kind of sickness nobody has a name for, some bizarre kind of illness leaving me covered with spots as if some sort of chicken had made pock marks all over me. Also, they itch like a bastard. And not a comfortable bastard either. All I know is I need Elvis medicine.
Who knew Elvis even had medicine? As foolish as it might sound, I didn't know until recently. Sure, I had heard rumors and gossip the king had been involved in drugs, but I always believed they were talking about the kind of illegal prescription ...
º Last Column: Here Comes the Humdrum
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Keep me in your prayers, good people, because Rok Finger is sick as a dog. Not a healthy dog, either, but a dog with mange, or some kind of dog disease. I don't have mange, at least to my knowledge, though my back hair has been falling out lately. No, I have the more human kind of sickness nobody has a name for, some bizarre kind of illness leaving me covered with spots as if some sort of chicken had made pock marks all over me. Also, they itch like a bastard. And not a comfortable bastard either. All I know is I need Elvis medicine.
Who knew Elvis even had medicine? As foolish as it might sound, I didn't know until recently. Sure, I had heard rumors and gossip the king had been involved in drugs, but I always believed they were talking about the kind of illegal prescription drugs. Naturally, this turns me around 180 degrees on Elvis. I now think the man is a genius, and if he is a genius, it stands to reason he made pretty good medicine in his spare time. Quite a noble gesture on his part, too, if you ask me. If I were making millions and doing comeback concerts in Hawaii and designing my own sequined jumpsuits, you can bet your boots I wouldn't be spending my available off-hours making better medications for the indigent.
Since I was ill this week, I didn't bother going to the commune. I called and told them I was feeling under the weather, and at my height, it's not hard to do. A little good-natured self-ribbing. But the commune was very understanding, and told me not to come back until I was feeling better, or not at all. A little good-natured ribbing of me on their part, which I didn't appreciate. But I had the week to myself, to get over this sickness. So I began watching that Lord of the Rings movie I like so much, where the short men outwit and humiliate the tall people. Quite a good film, they should consider doing a sequel to it at some point.
And good people, here was my solution all the time! When the valiant little fellow gets stabbed by the grim reapers, he's all in a state, far worse than myself. The gargantuan hippie attends to his wound, but cannot fix it, so he calls on the daughter of Aerosmith, the girl who rides the horse, and he tells her he needs Elvis medicine.
Of course, I was intrigued. The rock star offspring scooped up the proud little man and carried him off to Gracieland immediately. Suddenly the movie made sense. They kept referring to the giant hippie as the heir of the king, but I thought they meant a king of England or something, not the King. It certainly puts the movie in a new light.
Now, I'm no idiot. I know Elvis is dead. But that doesn't mean his heirs or someone else isn't living the high life at Gracieland right now, sitting on piles and piles of Elvis medicine they're hoarding all to themselves. Or maybe they hand it out to tourists, as a good-will gesture and Elvis' last request. I could picture the man, clear as day: "Now, uh, lookee here, baby… I gotta go on, it's my time now, but you gotta look after these people. Medicine for everybody. Do me proud."
What a man.
Well, Elvis, you can certainly do me some good. In fact, after I finish this column, I'm going to Gracieland, Gracieland, Rumney, New Hampshire. Or perhaps this time it's the one in Memphis. If so, then Memphis, New Hampshire, here I come! I've got the urge for a little Kingly medication. º Last Column: Here Comes the Humdrumº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“Fight back, men! It's not the size of the boat, it's the motion of the ocean!”
-Capt. William Thomas Turner of the LusitaniaFortune 500 CookieLooks like your lawyers have kept those topless photos out of the magazine; that and the fact you're 89 years old. Tonight, conquer life's mystery: Find out what that Alpo tastes like. Today is great week to give the gift of peanut brittle. Shaved or unshaved? Your dogs will love you either way. Today's lucky charms: Pink hearts, blue moons, green clovers, virtually any of them.
Try again later.Top 5 Saddam Hussein Defenses| 1. | Play ol' Islamic Jihad card | | 2. | Cast suspicion on Burt Reynolds, give jury reasonable doubt | | 3. | Surprise witnesses: Several Kurds he didn't condemn to death | | 4. | Present several bags of children's letters he received | | 5. | Comical "I have good news—I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance" gag defense | |
|   China to Become Technological Island BY roland mcshyster 6/14/2004 Whabang! And as simple as that we're back, America, for more of the movie review taste adults have grown to tolerate. It's grrrrrrrrr-decent! I'm your host, captain, and father figure Roland McShyster, here once again to brave the torrent of flops and crocks Hollywood keeps flinging at us unthinkingly, like a blind man cleaning out his garage. Who knows when we might find a diamond in the proverbial rough? That's not a rhetorical question, if you know the answer please write in because I'm getting really tired of waiting. On to the reviews!
In Theaters Now:
The Chronicles of Ritter
It's unusual that Hollywood makes us wait nine long months after the funeral before memorializing a marginal TV star with a shoddily mad...
Whabang! And as simple as that we're back, America, for more of the movie review taste adults have grown to tolerate. It's grrrrrrrrr-decent! I'm your host, captain, and father figure Roland McShyster, here once again to brave the torrent of flops and crocks Hollywood keeps flinging at us unthinkingly, like a blind man cleaning out his garage. Who knows when we might find a diamond in the proverbial rough? That's not a rhetorical question, if you know the answer please write in because I'm getting really tired of waiting. On to the reviews!
In Theaters Now:
The Chronicles of Ritter
It's unusual that Hollywood makes us wait nine long months after the funeral before memorializing a marginal TV star with a shoddily made biography picture, but such was the fate of John B. Ritter, late of Hooterman and Clifford the Big Commie Dog. In a brilliant ploy to distract us from the tardiness of their response, they've stunt-cast racially ambiguous meathead Vin Diesel in the starring role, a move that has paralyzed the bowels of filmgoers nationwide. Though I'd normally be tearing into Hollywood for this stunning show of hubris, this particular insult to audience intelligence is unintentionally hilarious and I loved it. I particularly enjoyed the scene where Ritter is recording the Three's Company theme song with Suzanne Sommers (played brilliantly by Suzanne Sommers in a fat suit), since Diesel's singing voice sounds like Henry Kissinger on Valium. If there's anyone intelligent left in Hollywood they'll sign Diesel to do a whole series of similar films, playing historical greats ranging from Albert Einstein to Mother Theresa, because that would be funnier than a sick dog on an airplane.
Garfield
When I first heard this project was in development deep within the bowels of 20th Century Fox, beneath the earth's crust where only the damned do dwell, my first thought was this: Only Bill Murray stands a chance of making the former president exciting, and they'd better not cast that fat guy from The Drew Carrey Show. Thankfully they followed my advice, and did it one better. I wasn't watching this film for more than fifteen minutes before my keen eye realized, "Holy shit! They CGI-ed him? Brilliant!" The bane of all previous Garfield flicks has been the failure of actors to accurately capture the sublime fatassedness of James Garfield, the colossal ennui that made the man move like he was wading through wet cement. Garfield was concerned with only two things during his four years as President of the United States: sleeping in and getting his meals on time. Don't ever let anybody tell you that being president isn't a cush job. While some have argued that the CGI wizards at Fox went over the top in committing the former president to pixels, I was impressed that they got his orange stripes right and bravely refused to bow to revisionist historians who claim the head of state didn't have a tail. Sure he didn't. Sleep tight, girls.
Susan Powter and the Prisoner of Azkican
Raise your hand if you didn't think spiky-haired fitness smurf Susan Powter had some poor schmuck tied up in her basement somewhere, kept handy for beatings and pep-talks depending on the swing of her manic-depressive pendulum. That's a hunk of news that should shock exactly no one. Anybody who saw her screaming "Stop the insanity!" on her infomercial years back knew she was talking to people the rest of us couldn't see. We didn't know, however, who the poor bastard was strapped to her radiator with surgical ties; his face caked in garish New Orleans whore makeup and a shameful giant piss-stain on the front of his flowery dress. Sure, we all had our candidates. I figured it was either Joe Piscopo or Caspar Weinberger. Those guys had to go somewhere. Turns out I was wrong, and Warner Bros. is betting you'll cough up $9 to see who it was. I'm thinking they're wrong about that one, since I just told you it was Bronson Pinchot.
And with a bang and a zip and a whiff of Nair, that's it! We're done for this installment of America's third favorite horse racing weekly, which is quite a bragging point around here since I've never even mentioned horses in this column. God bless the search engines. And for those of you hearing this column read aloud on late night Cuban radio, "¡coma la mierda!" I'm not sure what that means, but it's probably something.   |
