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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 Something Wicker This Way ComesHey folks, and welcome back for another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, taped live before a recently-alive studio audience. We're here talking to celebrity housewife Susan Lutwidge, this year's recipient of the Lutwidge Family Prize for Drama.
SU: Good to have you here, Susan.
SL: Good to have been had here, Stu.
SU: So, is it true what I've been hearing about your recent plastic surgery?
SL: Well, if you've been hearing the truth it is.
SU: Good point.
SL: But yeah, I recently went in for Botox treatment, since my face was starting to look like Ed Asner's couch.
SU: I was going to say something.
SL: Good of you. But t...
º Last Column: New Mexico Sucks
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Hey folks, and welcome back for another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, taped live before a recently-alive studio audience. We're here talking to celebrity housewife Susan Lutwidge, this year's recipient of the Lutwidge Family Prize for Drama.
SU: Good to have you here, Susan.
SL: Good to have been had here, Stu.
SU: So, is it true what I've been hearing about your recent plastic surgery?
SL: Well, if you've been hearing the truth it is.
SU: Good point.
SL: But yeah, I recently went in for Botox treatment, since my face was starting to look like Ed Asner's couch.
SU: I was going to say something.
SL: Good of you. But the thing is, when I got there I found out that Botox is extremely expensive. Go figure. Really makes you wonder about all those Vietnam vets who were paralyzed for free. So anyway, instead the doctor turned me on to Reebox treatment, which is where they inject your face with space-age sneaker rubber.
SU: It looks great.
SL: Thanks, Stu, I feel great. And it's comforting to know that the next time I fall while jogging, my face is going to bounce off the pavement like a superball.
SU: Talk about "saving face"!
SL: No shit.
SU: Okay Sue, we're low on time here so I'm afraid we're going to have to skip straight to the bonus round. Your question, for a chance to win all the tea in Denmark: Who is the tallest man ever to win the Noble Prize?
SL: Uh, Nelson Mandela? Dude's black, right?
SU: No, I'm sorry, the correct answer is Steve "The Stork" Goodgee, who won the Noble for Frisbee Golf in 1997. You may have been thinking of the lesser-known Nobel Peace Prize, which is awarded every year for outstanding achievement in the field of keeping the peace. The Noble awards those who keep it real in the face of being spanked in the nuts by a flying projectile. Thanks for playing.
We'll be right back after this commercial break.
Hey there Ricky, sorry to hear your dad got arrested again.
Yeah, my life sucks. This is the worst family vacation ever.
Come on, look at the bright side. Maybe your dad didn't do it.
Yeah, but they caught him with her jammies and everything.
You're probably right. Hey, wanna play doctor?
Holy Jehovah, we're back! And now it's time to check in with Hank Spankman and Johan Sebastian Crackersnatch, RoaG's own professional conversationalists:
HS: So, Johan, I hear you bought a bike recently.
JSC: That's a balled-in-the-face lie.
HS: Well you know what they say, there's a crayon of truth in every lie.
JSC: I always heard it was a train of vermouth in every life.
HS: That makes me very thirsty.
JSC: Me too, but I can't eat that much cheese.
HS: Chee—You know the thing about you? You're exactly like a cross between Bob Dylan and Bob Denver.
JSC: Well, you're like a cross between Bob Hope and a vacuum cleaner.
HS: I think I vacuum cleaner than you.
JSC: I vacuum naked.
HS: Do you always remember to wash behind your gears?
JSC: So we're back to the bike thing again? Okay, I'll admit it. The bike bought me.
I'm afraid that's all the time we've got this week folks, and I'm also afraid of spiders. We'll go into that some other time.
—closing theme, AKA "Can't Hug the Love Bug" by Styx—º Last Column: New Mexico Sucksº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“We'll meet again. You might say that's impossible, since people can only meet once, but they haven't factored in my patented time machine and early-onset Alzheimer's.”
-Capt. Don Spacegain, Year 3054Fortune 500 CookieNow's the perfect time to launch your alternative news website. Thursday's haul proves your friend's theory that the Halloween is really the only lucrative time for trick-or-treating. For your information, he's going to shoot his old woman down 'cause he caught her messing 'round with some other man; you don't need to know everything. Lucky son of a bitch.
Try again later.Top 5 Reasons You Won't Have to Kick Around the commune For Anymore| 1. | It’s expensive to run state of the art website and Dippin’ Dots franchise at the same time | | 2. | You assholes simply refused to spell our name appropriately in lowercase letters | | 3. | All of this was for date with girl at Blockbuster; she don’t work there no more | | 4. | Less writing and online publishing leaves more time to hang out at coffee shop writing thinly veiled autobiographic novel | | 5. | You never loved us | |
|   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.   |
