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 November 1, 2004 |
President-Elect Al Gore reacts in good-natured WTF disbelief when informed by Airhead the Good-News Lady and assorted supporters that he will be the next U.S. president
Though Gore has not been a frontrunner in most of the supposedly-reputable national polls heading into the election’s final week, a highly scientific sampling of unregistered voters within a two-block radius of the commune offices has confirmed the reports of future correspondent Future Bob, who recently contacted the commune from the year 2006 with the news that Gore is president and that pop music had gotten really, really shitty. Also: buy stock in flavored condoms now.
Th...
sing state of the art poll-tracking technology, the commune has been able to predict this year’s presidential election winner two days early with a probably 98.77439% accuracy, and the result may shock or disinterest you. That’s right; Al Gore will be our nation’s 44th president.
Though Gore has not been a frontrunner in most of the supposedly-reputable national polls heading into the election’s final week, a highly scientific sampling of unregistered voters within a two-block radius of the commune offices has confirmed the reports of future correspondent Future Bob, who recently contacted the commune from the year 2006 with the news that Gore is president and that pop music had gotten really, really shitty. Also: buy stock in flavored condoms now.
Though it is unclear as of yet whether the Gore win will be the result of an unexpected groundswell of support in the election’s final days, or the emergence of thousands of 2000 absentee ballots from Post Office limbo hell, one thing is unmistakably clear. More on that later.
Perhaps even more surprising than the Gore win was the news that both presidential incumbent George W. Bush and Democratic challenger John Kerry finished well out of the money in the general election, trailing such surprise write-in candidates as The Rebel Billionaire, J.R. Ewing, and “that black guy from 24.” Also receiving strong shows of support were Candidate Zero from the NetZero Internet Service commercials, baseball commissioner Bud Selig, and the soothing, dignified voice of actor James Earl Jones.
Though the point may be moot due to the tenth-place showing of Jones’ voice, it is unclear whether the entire personage of James Earl Jones would have been inaugurated had the actor’s voice won, or if Jones would have had to stay out of sight while his voice was electronically matched, Wizard of Oz-style, to a projected image of either Darth Vader, the dad lion from The Lion King, or some kind of CGI morph of the two.
The revolutionary new poll, devised by the commune’s in-house expert expert Griswald Dreck using the latest Polish technology, also revealed some surprising news about America’s political affiliations. Long-though to be a nation composed almost equally of Democrats and Republicans, this latest poll shows a surprising 74% of citizens who list their party as “Yes!” Another 10% belong to the hard-line “Fuck Yeah!” Party, with a small but vocal minority standing behind their “Not Since We Had Kids” Party affiliation. Also of concern to the current establishment are the upstart “Where?” and “Can I Bring My Brother Dave?” Parties, which appeared to grow in size exponentially between our 10am and 4pm polls.
The demographic splits were even more surprising, with over 80% of likely white trash voters believing that gun control means using both hands. And in a minor note, a surprising 82% of Americans believe Gore is our current president, and are happy enough with the job he’s done to vote for a second term.
In other political news, 65% of likely voters expressed their strong opinion that commune reporter Lil Duncan belongs in the “Hot” category, while teen correspondent Boner Cunningham led the “Not” voting with a skyscraping 92%. Though disheartened by the news, Cunningham informed the commune that he hopes to do better in the upcoming 2008 election, by which time he expects his mustache to have fully grown in. the commune news has been accused of making premature calls on elections in the past, but we still stand behind our claim that Steve Toner was jobbed out of his rightful place as our student body president in 1989. Lil Duncan is the commune’s White House correspondent, a title we would have defined more specifically if we’d known she was going to buy a white house just so she could telecommute on a bullshit technicality.
 | Republicans Organize "Poor People Rock!" FestivalNovember 1, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Dan Fathead Blueblood industrialist H.P. Cravenborg thrills the crowd of destitute onlookers with his impressive wealthiness
The inaugural festival was a star-studded day-long event which featured such poor people favorites as country superstar Toby Keith, Hip-Hop malcontents Deaf Niggaz, get-quick-rich guru Denny Cochran, radio shock jock Gray Baytor, and the hippie-bashing conceptual comedy troupe The Haight Mongers. Several of the country’s leading wealthy Republicans also spoke at the event, where festival-goers were let in free of charge after signing a waiver agreeing to be tested en mass...
esponding to years of baseless accusations that the GOP panders to the rich and disgustingly privileged, Republican leaders organized the first-ever “Poor People Rock!” festival this week to celebrate the decrepit and ramp up GOP support in the final week leading up to November’s crucial elections.
The inaugural festival was a star-studded day-long event which featured such poor people favorites as country superstar Toby Keith, Hip-Hop malcontents Deaf Niggaz, get-quick-rich guru Denny Cochran, radio shock jock Gray Baytor, and the hippie-bashing conceptual comedy troupe The Haight Mongers. Several of the country’s leading wealthy Republicans also spoke at the event, where festival-goers were let in free of charge after signing a waiver agreeing to be tested en mass for the effects of a new military-grade neurotoxin.
“I don’t know where this idea started that Republicans hate the poor, but it’s utter hogwash,” led off the event’s Master of Ceremonies, industrialist H.P. Cravenborg. “After all, who gave all you people jobs? Speaking of which; you, in the third row! I though you called in sick today? Get back to work!”
The day’s full slate of entertainers thrilled the crowd with bright, shiny visions of the good life surely waiting right around the corner for anyone willing to get off his lazy ass and stop being so poor. The massive throngs of stone-broke revelers went apeshit when speaker Denny Cochran informed them that they, too, could one day be one of the wealthy elite, with former neighbors and friends working in their factories for cutthroat wages. Similar messages were echoed by several of the day’s speakers.
“It’s time to stop blaming the Republicans for all your problems, poor America, and get yourself a slice of that big-old pie!” shouted former liberal activist Ron Somkins, who because a Republican activist after robust sales of his third book, “Fuck the System,” brought the author unexpected riches. Somkins’ latest book, “Re-evaluating the System,” is due in bookstores this winter.
Old money Republican speakers, perhaps less comfortable with the thought of the greasy poor clogging up the shower drains of their pristine social clubs, instead juiced the crowd with paeans to the many advantages to destitute living.
“You guys really don’t know how lucky you’ve got it,” Cravenborg moaned to the crowd while getting a continual back massage from a large Austrian man. “All this money’s more trouble than it’s worth, I tell you. Better to—ooh that feels good! Better to live the simple life, like you good people!”
After the event, envious members of the elite went out of their way to share their fondness for America’s 36 million poor and the refreshingly simple lives they lead.
“Me, personally, I love the indigent,” gushed a gracious Rupert Murdoch, media titan. “Hell, I’d be poor myself if I weren’t so goddamned wealthy.”
“Poor is definitely the way to go,” raved fashion mogul Chinsay Weintraub. “Poor is so in this year. It’s the new black.”
“I’ve always liked poor people, I think they’re quaint,” chimed in portly financier Gordon Stacks, smoking a cigar wrapped in $100 bills.
When asked how the day’s festivities might affect his voting preference in Tuesday’s presidential election, local fry cook and father of four Dan Henkle echoed the sentiments of the assembled wretched masses.
“Hey, fuck poor people!” the commune news has always subscribed to the notion that one who is rich of spirit can never truly be poor, unless they don’t have any money. Ted Ted is the commune’s resident enraged Republican correspondent, a position that has earned him the contempt of the rest of the staff and a half-off discount at Denny’s.
| Arafat sharing room with whining methadone patient Enron lawsuit settled for 3,000,000 ohms of free energy Red Sox outcurse Yankees to win World Series Money-starved NASA developing hurricane-powered shuttle |
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 November 1, 2004 Absentee Ballots"If I had a dollar for every time I got a blow-job, I'd probably have the best job in the world."
Everybody remember to get out and vote on Tuesday. If you don't vote, you can't complain. At least not to the president himself. If fact, if you do vote, they still won't let you complain to him. They just escort you out and taser you in the alley out back. And don't try telling them you pay the president's taxes, that shit don't work more than once or twice.
I vote early. Really early. I fill out my absentee ballot as soon as I receive it in the mail. I'm a native of Mescalo, Puerto Rico, which is a Puerto Rican territory of the U.S. territory. But we still get a vote, so there, Dominican Republic. Since I don't live in Mescalo anymore, except on Thursdays, I ...
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"If I had a dollar for every time I got a blow-job, I'd probably have the best job in the world."
Everybody remember to get out and vote on Tuesday. If you don't vote, you can't complain. At least not to the president himself. If fact, if you do vote, they still won't let you complain to him. They just escort you out and taser you in the alley out back. And don't try telling them you pay the president's taxes, that shit don't work more than once or twice.
I vote early. Really early. I fill out my absentee ballot as soon as I receive it in the mail. I'm a native of Mescalo, Puerto Rico, which is a Puerto Rican territory of the U.S. territory. But we still get a vote, so there, Dominican Republic. Since I don't live in Mescalo anymore, except on Thursdays, I make sure to get my vote sent off early. I check the ballot, but I know there's a lot of trouble with reading the ballot, so I write the name of the candidate I want to win several times, on the inside and outside of the envelope. No way I'm voting for Buchanan again, even by accident.
The worst part about voting by absentee ballot is, you don't get one of those stickers. How the hell are people supposed to know you're a good citizen and you voted and you can make them feel like shit for not voting if you mail in your ballot? I deserve to be patronizing, too. So I made my own sticker, from the Chiquita banana sticker I snagged, but it was too small and hard to read. So I had it tattooed on my back. It's not perfect either, since I have to walk around with my shirt off, and the local cops keep telling me they warned me about doing that. Plus, it's only right once every few years.
Another thing I like about tattoos is, they're conversation starters. Instead of getting the name of a girl tattooed on you, which no one ever believes, I just put a strange word somewhere. I tattooed the word "dog" on my forehead one time, 'cause I have this really funny story about a dog biting my fellas while I was trying to test him for rabies once. No one ever asked me about the story, so I had the tattoo removed in a really expensive surgery. I'm thinking maybe next time I might try "dog bites balls" or something, that might make them curious enough to ask.
So what I'm saying is, it's important to vote. Our grandfathers and grandmothers fought and died on battlefields all over this country just so white men could have the right to vote. And then they gave in and let everyone else have it. Never forget their sacrifice, 'cause they're all dead now and can't ever come back, unless they're ghosts. Exercise your right to vote. It doesn't matter who you vote for as long as you vote—they don't even count those things anyway. The same dicks get into office no matter what. But vote, like I said, or the rest of us will make you feel bad.
Heh, heh. That reminds me about this dog story—ask me about it, I'll tell you next time. º Last Column: Supernatural Disasterº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“Yawn and the world yawns with you. Fart and you fart alone.”
-Dr. FilbertFortune 500 CookieStop taking it so personally when everyone tells you how ugly you are. At least you're getting noticed. That breakfast cereal you made out of Tic Tacs sure has helped your breath, but next week our crystal ball shows a diagnosis for cancer of the everything. They say dogs are a good judge of character, and even dogs don't like your screenplay. This week's lucky Tims: Tiny Tim, Spazzy Tim, Him Tim, Tim and Tim Again, Phantom Tim, Tim Saved in a Bottle.
Try again later.Most Misunderstood Nirvana Songs| 1. | Smells Like Clean Spearmint | | 2. | Race Me | | 3. | Come as You Barf | | 4. | Small Pathologies | | 5. | Harp-Shaped Fox | |
|   Sinclair Networks to Air More Anti-Kerry Films BY roland mcshyster 11/1/2004 Yoho, America. It hasn't exactly been a pirate's life for Roland McS lately, though I did get seasick the other day after taking a nap on a friend's waterbed. Okay, you caught me in a lie there; I didn't actually know the guy. But this isn't a column about my recent Goldilocks antics, though I'm sure many a pirate wandered into the wrong apartment (or boat) and slept in some stranger's bed until they were awoken by an insane Chicano woman waving a pool cue. No, I seem to remember this column having something to do with movie reviews, and taking the best and brightest Hollywood has to offer and exposing it to the harsh, shit-flinging light of day. That's what pays the bills, anyhow. Let's take another stab at that flabby Hollywood ass, shall we?
In Theaters Now:
Yoho, America. It hasn't exactly been a pirate's life for Roland McS lately, though I did get seasick the other day after taking a nap on a friend's waterbed. Okay, you caught me in a lie there; I didn't actually know the guy. But this isn't a column about my recent Goldilocks antics, though I'm sure many a pirate wandered into the wrong apartment (or boat) and slept in some stranger's bed until they were awoken by an insane Chicano woman waving a pool cue. No, I seem to remember this column having something to do with movie reviews, and taking the best and brightest Hollywood has to offer and exposing it to the harsh, shit-flinging light of day. That's what pays the bills, anyhow. Let's take another stab at that flabby Hollywood ass, shall we?
In Theaters Now:
The Grunge
According to urban legend, when an Alterna-rocker dies in a fit of angst, his or her soul carries on to haunt the living in suspenseful and self-pityingly gothic ways. That's what I heard from the guy down at Kinko's, anyway, and apparently the suits down at Columbia Pictures talked to the same guy and decided to make a movie out of it. So leave it to Generation Y to clean up the lazy, ironic messes their older Generation X siblings left behind, as forever teen Sarah Michelle Gellar takes on The Grunge using nothing but her innate spunk and a spray bottle of spunk remover.
The film's mood and suspense were first-rate, since I didn't believe that Gellar would ever be able to get Layne Staley out of those drapes. Though I did have to question the film's inclusion of Blind Melon frontman Shannon Hoon, since that guy had about as much angst as the frothy head on a cappuccino. But I admit it did give them a decent excuse to bring that terrifying bee girl back from the grave. I don't know about you, but this is one film reviewer who won't be putting honey on his corn flakes for months.
Ralphie
Jude Law stars in this unlikely sequel to the much beloved 80's classic A Christmas Story, the harrowing tale of a school shooter's childhood years in a dysfunctional Midwestern family. Loved though the original film was, few were demanding a sequel, unless they were demanding it in a private, secret shame kind of way. I sure as hell never heard them. Jesus, you think you know people.
Regardless, they did make a sequel, this one taking place twenty years after the original, which follows an adult poon-hound Ralphie on his rounds through high society. Law's tender narration is a little grating this time around, since he's mostly talking about how much he wants to scrooge some dilettante, and frankly it's a little confusing at times since Law is all grown up now, so he and his mental narrator use the same voice. It might have been best to find a really old Jude Law sound-alike to do the voice-over narration, to reduce the confusion and possibly to add a touch of poetic perspective to the young Law's desperate ass fancy.
Teen America Womb Police
Those screwballs behind the R-rated antics of the Peanuts gang are at it again, only this time they're at something totally unrelated to what they did before, so it's not really "again." Sorry for the confusion. This time they're taking on the world of puppetry like a bee sting in the penis. Cashing in their two cents on America's hysterical reaction to the teen pregnancy epidemic, Teen America Womb Police finally gives Sly Stone and Peter Parker a chance to show the world what they think crappy marionettes say about the current state of our union.
If you're not a fan of the Morning After pill (or its generic equivalents, the Lost Weekend pill and the What the Fuck Happened? pill), let me warn you that you may come away offended. Also, if you happen to have a problem with violent gay sex with polar bears, you might want to leave shortly after the opening credits. And a note to my friends over at the Parent Alert movie ratings site: this is not the film to see with your fragile Catholic mother. As for me, Roland McShyster tends to fall into the Keep Your Laws Off My Body camp (unless we're talking about Jude Law, then I say Bring It On), so I wasn't nearly as offended as the little girl sitting to my right who threw up during the polar bear rape scene.
That's it, America. Fuck off, you've overstayed your welcome.   |
