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 February 28, 2005 |
Medina, Washingto Shaki Meadows An artist’s concept of just how hard this thing might blow
The enigmatic uberdork Gates first attempted to purchase the art installation earlier this month, after seeing it on USA Today and screaming “I want those things!” to the various electronic henchmen whirring about his family’s high-tech Medina, Washington home. But despite being t...
rap-art lovers of New York have had their chicken salad shat upon this week with the news that their beloved The Gates of Central Park, a conceptual-art project by French artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude consisting of 7,500 orange gates strewn throughout the famous park, may be in jeopardy. A lawsuit filed by Microsoft headcheese Bill Gates over copyright issues would have the famous art-things torn down from their current location in the park, then re-erected on Gates’ front lawn.
The enigmatic uberdork Gates first attempted to purchase the art installation earlier this month, after seeing it on USA Today and screaming “I want those things!” to the various electronic henchmen whirring about his family’s high-tech Medina, Washington home. But despite being the world’s richest man, and crying like a little girl during the negotiations, Gates was unable to sway the money-hating French.
At first, Gates reacted to the snub by ordering Microsoft engineers to build a replica of The Gates on his lawn. Unfortunately, several of the gates crashed during construction, killing three itinerant laborers. Gates then turned to his current lawsuit, which he hopes to win in the name of the nameless Mexicans killed in that frustrating tragedy.
Surprising all and completely wrecking the commune betting pool, the rismurfulously wealthy Gates granted this reporter access to his heavily fortified Redmond home, which is rumored to hover five inches above the ground at all times to cut down on worm noise, for an exclusive interview.
“Art should be enjoyed by all,” explained Gates from deep within his lair, perched atop the earth’s crust. “And I hardly ever get a chance to go to New York.”
Gates also gave this lucky reporter a tour of this cutting edge techno-hovel, which is completely computer automated with voice activated controls for temperature, ambient music, and air ionification. In addition, the entire house goes apeshit when you say the day’s secret word: “Ziggy Stardust.”
The home is also ringed by a miniature monorail system which delivers food and other essentials to the hard-working frabjillionaire. Looking like a cross between the mechanical rabbit at a dog racing track and the trolley in Mr. Rogers’ house, Gates explained how the monorail system works while he reprogrammed the house’s secret word, due to this reporter’s inability to construct a sentence that didn’t include “Ziggy Stardust” and the resultant epileptic fit suffered by Gates’ dog, Bytes.
The installation of The Gates on the Gates’ front lawn would replace a small placard currently located near the home’s main entrance, which reads “The Gates.”
“It’ll be a bit more high-concept, for sure,” explained Gates, turning a dial to remedy a smell that this reporter certainly didn’t deal. “And I always hated that damned placard.”
The thrust of Gates’ lawsuit lies on The Gates’ visual similarity to the heavily-copyrighted Windows logo, which is some kind of weird little flag thing made of plastic-colored nacho chips. This week’s opening arguments also touched upon the obvious plagiarism involved when the French artists named their epic art installation after the computing pioneer. Gates, whose name is a registered trademark in 397 countries worldwide, has thus far been unsuccessful in applying the same protection in several English-speaking nations, including the United States, where the word also means “a thing to keep in the dog.”
This case is thought to be a slam dunk, however, since Gates has already promised to help the judge install a wireless network router on his Windows PC, a task thought to be otherwise impossible.
When faced with similar challenges to the Gates brand in the past, the Microsoft founder has often struck back with his wallet, including his 1999 purchase of Rodin’s massive portal sculpture The Gates of Hell from the Musée Rodin in Paris. The Gates of Hell currently serve as a thoroughfare between Gates’ home office and bedroom.
No stranger to appropriating popular art for his own uses, Gates drew criticism in 1999 for using the 1977 David Bowie classic “Heroes” to promote some kind of Windows bullshit in a television commercial. Though some were equally critical of Bowie for selling out, most were understanding when it was revealed that the Microsoft honcho had persuaded Bowie by offering to rid his PC of the nefarious Michelangelo virus. the commune news is no stranger to huge public art installations, but we still don’t think anything Christo has done can compare to the Red Fire Hydrants exhibit on display in many major cities nationwide. Boner Cunningham has a teenager’s eye for art: that is, if you can see tits, he’ll keep an eye on it.
 |  February 21, 2005 |
Cutrow, NC Courtesy Scarsby family Scarsby, seen here inadvertently placing in the 1988 Boston Marathon
As hardly a newspaper-reading soul in the country could have missed, Buford was lost for over 45 minutes last August, after wandering off and climbing inside a hollow tree, where he was later found, terrified and smelling of owl. Family members blame the resultant “media circus” on poor communication between Buford-finding family members and the newspaper-calling members of the Scarsby clan.
Scarsby, born in 1886, has live...
his week marks the 119th birthday of Buford “Old Man” Scarsby, the world’s oldest living human and recipient of the 2004 Marco Polo Award for getting lost in a famous way. Despite many spirited attempts on his part to disappear however, the famously lost Scarsby remains found at his family home in Cutrow, North Carolina this week.
As hardly a newspaper-reading soul in the country could have missed, Buford was lost for over 45 minutes last August, after wandering off and climbing inside a hollow tree, where he was later found, terrified and smelling of owl. Family members blame the resultant “media circus” on poor communication between Buford-finding family members and the newspaper-calling members of the Scarsby clan.
Scarsby, born in 1886, has lived a rich and varied life, none of which he remembers. The one fact of which he is sure, however, is that he was born in 1886, thanks to a faded daguerreotype photograph of a newborn Scarsby wrapped in that day’s newspaper in lieu of the expensive blankets or towels of the day. This compelling evidence convinced world standards-bearing organizations to verify Buford’s claimed age, despite the fact no birth records can be found due to no one being sure of the man’s real name.
Family members began calling Scarsby “Buford” in the 1980’s, following the lead of Scarsby’s then-98 year-old wife Emma, who thought she was talking to Buford Cubbins, a local pharmacist. Since his great-grandchildren grew up calling him “Buford,” Scarsby’s real first name is thought to have been lost to the ages. Scarsby himself believes he forgot his name around 1982.
“Lemon time,” explained Scarsby, clutching a packet of powdered lemonade.
Though certainly the most famous, last year’s incident was hardly a first for Buford, who has been wandering off and becoming lost on a regular basis since his early 80’s. In one notable incident in 1992, while on a walk Buford climbed into the back of a mail truck and fell asleep on a sack of letters. Buford was returned to his family later that day, thanks to a return address sewn into his trousers after a similar incident with UPS in 1989.
Some advocates for the elderly have decried Scarsby’s fame, arguing that the media’s handling of his frequent confused forays into lostedness only serve to foster stereotypes about the aged. Relatives, however, claim that Buford’s ways have nothing to do with his age, citing as example the seven years he spent wandering around lost behind enemy lines in Germany during and after WWI.
Buford’s great-grandchildren, who now care for and corral the remarkably aged man, had hoped that Scarsby’s longtime wife and sometimes companion Emma might reveal her husband’s true name on her deathbed in 1993. Emma Scarsby, however, had different plans, leaving the world instead with her immortal last words, “cartoon pussy.”
Though certainly happy that the old man is staying in sight these days, Scarsby’s great-grandson Lewford Scarsby remains guardedly optimistic about the future.
“There’s no way we can keep an eye on him 24-7,” explained Lewford. “But we’ve gotten pretty good at learning this old guy’s tricks and keeping him reigned in. Ain’t that right, Buford?
Buford? Aw, shit.” the commune news lovingly respects the oldest and wisest members of our community, though we would respect them more if they’d kick off already and quit sucking up or social security dollars. Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown remains unimpressed by Buford’s accomplishments, having been born himself a full ten years before Scarsby. That staying alive part, though, the old fart might be onto something there.
| Beware email scams signed "Homeland Security King" FDA: Celebrex has incredibly effective lobby Phone porn: Can you hear me now? Police crack IRA "money-loindering" scheme |
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 February 21, 2005 Prophecy is the Son of a Bitch of InventionsLong has the world grown fat like a diabetic tick off the fruits of my invention. Strike that, "fruit" sounds a pinch too gay. The meats of my invention. And make that plural, as "inventions," because they have been legion.
In retrospect, part of my problem was likely never patenting any of my skylarks, under the mistaken assumption that nobody would buy anything that I myself wouldn't pay for. Cell phones, gossip magazines, and underarm deodorant have all proven me wrong on that count. Let this be my Achilles heel no more, however. My next vacation is going to be enjoyed from a pup tent right outside the doors of the U.S. patent office.
"What the hell," you're likely cursing to yourself, unless reading this column from the holy confines of a sacred church or dayc...
º Last Column: Homer VanSlyke's Twelve Days of Christmas
º more columns
Long has the world grown fat like a diabetic tick off the fruits of my invention. Strike that, "fruit" sounds a pinch too gay. The meats of my invention. And make that plural, as "inventions," because they have been legion.
In retrospect, part of my problem was likely never patenting any of my skylarks, under the mistaken assumption that nobody would buy anything that I myself wouldn't pay for. Cell phones, gossip magazines, and underarm deodorant have all proven me wrong on that count. Let this be my Achilles heel no more, however. My next vacation is going to be enjoyed from a pup tent right outside the doors of the U.S. patent office.
"What the hell," you're likely cursing to yourself, unless reading this column from the holy confines of a sacred church or daycare center, "are you talking about, VanSlyke?" A fair question, rudely put. So I'll cut, slowly mind you, like wet cardboard was my tool rather than a razor blade, to the chase. If you've enjoyed anything in the last thirty years, chances are I invented it. There. Put that in your pipe and blow bubbles.
The original Game Boy? VanSlykeBoy is more like it, though that sounds a bit like a mascot for pickles. But when the original Nintendo was so popular back in the 1980's, I was the one who spoke up at the barber shop and said they should make a portable one of those, with a screen on the front and a hatch on back to slip the game inside, so that children could play their electrified games while working in the salt mines, rather than wasting valuable labor resources at home in front of the TV. To which my fellow barbershop patrons enthusiastically replied: "What's Nintendo?"
Nevermind, they made one without me. Even if my mental version was better, with a color screen and a hatch for snacks. Shame on me for not developing a massive Japanese consumer electronics company to market my product back when I had the idea.
Tablet PCs? Those, too, should bear the mark of the "V." This one I admit I invented by mistake, after taking home a flat-screen monitor from my doctor's office and realizing to my keen disappointment that it didn't do anything when not connected to a computer box of some sort. Bah to that. A truly useful screen would recognize my handwriting, connect wirelessly to the Internet, and show me the results of the Florida State beauty pageant. Like a pad of paper. Only without me having to draw the beauty pageant contestants or guess what might be on the Internet. Again, industry beat me to the punch on this one, but I did still earn the distinction of selling the world's first "tablet PC," to a half-retarded kid down the street. Thankfully he never asked what the cable trailing off the back was for. Grounding, son. Grounding.
These are just two examples among the thousands I could site, if this column were a thousand times longer and instantly downloadable by neural cortex. So, I'm sure you're wondering, what can we expect next from Sony and JVC, after they steal the idea from Homer VanSlyke? Glad you asked: it's Movie theater goggles. That's right Baxter, an opportunity to enjoy the movies and cop a cool futuristic look without leaving the money-saving safety of your own home. You simply strap on the goggles and the attached ear-implants, set the virtual screen size, toggle on or off the know-it-all loudmouth sitting behind you, set the cell phone ringer volume and frequency, and kick back to enjoy the latest Hollywood DVD. Or, if movies are distributed in crystal-gel modules like they should be by then, just pop a mod and prepare to have your eyes blown off.
Thankfully I don't think any consumer electronics giants read the commune, because I've got my prototype almost finished. It's just a beta model, mind you, in real-world application the big-screen TV welded to the goggles would likely cause serious neck trauma to the wearer. But once I get rid of all these stupid tubes and wires, the whole thing should really come together beautifully. º Last Column: Homer VanSlyke's Twelve Days of Christmasº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“The day destroys the night, the night divides the day, carry the four, times the weekend, round up from seven, and: Presto! 14. Not sure what that means, I'll get back to you next album.”
-Gin OrbisonFortune 500 CookieMonkeys and live electrical wire are a bad combo for you this week. Try combing your hair with a rake—hey, maybe those jokers were right. You will quit smoking this week, and upgrade to the syringe. Don't take any shit from the crippled, elderly, or the extremely weak: pretty much anybody you can get your girlfriend to beat up. This week's lucky burritos: Refried Revenge, Chock-Full- O-Olives, The Grand Mal, Nuthin-But-Sour- Cream, El Sleeping Bag, Someone Beaned My Ass Tonight.
Try again later.Top Shocking New Barry Bonds Allegations| 1. | Extra 45 pounds of muscle added in 1998 not actually from special "Reverse-Atkins Crazy Carboholics" diet | | 2. | Injected Flubber into testicles, just for hell of it | | 3. | Paunchy, long-haired trainer "Camaro Dan" not actual fitness expert | | 4. | Dosed with Nyquil—during daylight hours! | | 5. | Bonds' bats made from genetically-modified maple trees | | 6. | Therapeutic skin grafts actually beef grafts | | 7. | Bonds-endorsed "Human Growth Flakes" cereal not safe for children | | 8. | Bonds didn't actually write "Surfin' Safari" | | 9. | Tasmanian Devil hormone injections not a court-ordered road rage treatment | | 10. | Friends, relatives refer to Bonds as "Skippy" | |
|   African Coup Privatized BY roland mcshyster 2/21/2005 Grab your nuts and yank, America, it's Oscars time! What some have called "the most wonderful time of the year" in a mistaken interpretation of Christmas songs is finally upon us. The glitz, the glamour, and the total disrespect for artistic achievement are about to wash over us in one big, self-congratulating wave. Who's got their boogieboards ready? Well get on down to the beach you morons, because it's not that kind of wave. As for the rest of us, what we need even more than a shower and plastic surgery is a comprehensive look at this year's nominees in all the major categories you're not likely to miss while you're pissing or heating up nachos during the awards show. So on that note, this!
BEST PICTURE
The Alligator
Grab your nuts and yank, America, it's Oscars time! What some have called "the most wonderful time of the year" in a mistaken interpretation of Christmas songs is finally upon us. The glitz, the glamour, and the total disrespect for artistic achievement are about to wash over us in one big, self-congratulating wave. Who's got their boogieboards ready? Well get on down to the beach you morons, because it's not that kind of wave. As for the rest of us, what we need even more than a shower and plastic surgery is a comprehensive look at this year's nominees in all the major categories you're not likely to miss while you're pissing or heating up nachos during the awards show. So on that note, this! BEST PICTUREThe Alligator-read EP review-Considered by many to be the Oscar front-runner due to the Academy's love of those polo shirts with the little alligator on them. But some wonder if the film's attachment to the award-repellant director Martin Scorsese might spell its doom, since Scorsese could slap his name on Citizen Kane and get it booed at Cannes. Regardless, the Academy does love this film, as evidenced by the gang of palookas they nominated up against it. For that reason, look for Alligator to take home the gold Sunday night, and for director Martin Scorsese to ride up to the podium on a giant crepe-paper alligator being carried by Chinese people. You heard it here first. Finding NevermindDepp is terrific as usual as Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain in this lighthearted probing into the world of creativity and magic, following Cobain as he struggles to find the inspiration that would eventually lead to the landmark album Nevermind. Could a narcissistic, drug-addled bitch serve as his ultimate muse? Do you believe in magic? A long shot to win the statue, but a sure bet to win your heart or other vital organs. Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-Clint Eastwood has proven that he's got the rest of Hollywood running scared after scoring an Oscar nomination for taking this million-dollar shit. That's what a perfect record in gunfights and a reputation as a mean son of a bitch will earn you: major, serious Academy ass-kissing. Well enjoy it while you can, Clint old boy, because I still think you stink. And be advised that I'll be wearing a cast-iron stove like a vest until I'm certain you won't be coming after me for that last remark, bub. Ray-read EP review-Call me a dick if you must, or if you were going to already, but I just don't think Man Ray deserves his own biopic. I don't care if he drove a bunch of nails through an iron or glued teeth on a toothbrush, that kind of modern art just doesn't do it for me. Sitting through the movie was like ironing my tongue with the iron that had all the nails sticking out of it, if you know what I'm talking about. Best Picture? Yeah, Ray made some cool pictures. But I don't think that's what the award is supposed to mean. SidewaysPay attention, America. The Academy's running a "question and answer" joke theme in the nominations this year, which you'd all be in the dark about if I hadn't secured my own copy of the questions. Here's the first one: "How should you cram it?" BEST DIRECTORMartin Scorsese, The Alligator-read EP review-Sure, his past body of work has received about as much Oscars love as the cinematic portfolio of Bob Denver, but regardless, Scorsese keeps trying to make a film the Academy will love. Many expected him to quit after his masterpiece Alien Vs. Predator was snubbed last year, but this is a man with no quit in him, regardless of gene therapy attempts to cure his defect. I say he takes home the golden oldie on Sunday, and then uses it to bludgeon Kevin Costner into a merciful retirement. Clint Eastwood, Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-Bite it, Clinty. I've got your Oscar right here, and a rubber band gun aimed at the door if you're ready for the startling of a lifetime. Taylor Thomas Hackford, Ray-read EP review-I knew that kid from Home Improvement was eventually going to pop up somewhere, I only expected it to be the six o'clock news. After seeing his movie, I kind of wish it had been. Alexander Pain, SidewaysA deep vein of Academy humor this year continues with this question-and-answer nomination about pro-wrestling fixture Alexander Pain, that big Russian guy with the meat cleaver. The question, if you're wondering, was "Who showed up on your blind date last week, and how'd you fit out the bathroom window?" Mike Leigh, Likes ItLame, lame academy joke based on the legendary cereal commercial. Get some new writers guys, and I don't mean those SNL bums who tail you around everywhere. BEST ACTORDon Knotts, Hotel Rwanda-read EP review-Nominating Don Knotts for anything is kosher in my book: I love that guy. But painting him up in black face and having him star as the black guy from Traffic in a movie about the Eagles is either a historic stroke of genius or just really confusing. I've decided to split the difference and call it confusius. Johnny Depp, Finding NevermindDepp should win the Oscar for bringing humanity to a man who became famous for screaming about mulattoes, but unfortunately he'll likely run into the Academy's usual heroin suicide grunge rocker biases. Look for Depp to take home the less-coveted "First Loser" statue of the guy with his head up his own ass. Leonardo DiCaprio, The Alligator-read EP review-Finally, Leo the Greek finds his stride as an impetuous fashion designer who wants the whole world to have his alligator logo on their titties. Always seeming too young, or two alienish in his roles in the past, here Leo lets his inner egomaniac loose, and the results don't stink. Will that be enough to win him the statuesque knick-knack? Nobody cares. Clint Eastwood, Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-I'm starting to think that putting Clint Eastwood on the nominations board was a mistake on the Academy's part. I mean, have a little modesty Clint. What's the matter man, did you get so tired of raising your hand that you couldn't nominate your cinematography or catering? Putz. Jamie Foxx, Ray-read EP review-Dammit man, when is Jamie Foxx going to get off his ass and play a real artist, like the magical light-wizard Thomas Kinkade? BEST SUPPORTING ACTORAlan Arkin, The Alligator-read EP review-Though I can't honestly say I remember him being in the movie, that's usually a good thing to say about an actor. That he blended in so seamlessly, sank so deeply into his role as to become invisible. Who can say what role he played? The lawyer? The hotel clerk? The potted palm tree? We may never know. And I think that’s genius. We’ll see if the Academy agrees. Thomas Haden Church, SidewaysThe Supporting Actor and Actress nominees are always a fertile ground for the Academy’s pun-ishing sense of humor when it comes to gag nominees. This one is one fourth of the question-and-answer gag, with the third question being “Who’d you boff this afternoon, and how was it?” Jamie Foxx, CollateralI’m sorry, but a movie about Ray Charles driving a cab in L.A. just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve driven in L.A., and this would frankly explain a lot of things, but Foxx blew it for me by looking at the road too much. If I go to a movie about a blind dude driving a taxi, I want to see him bobbing his head all around and smiling like Stevie Wonder on ecstasy. A classic case of misjudging your audience. Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby-read EP review-Oh no, I’ve seen Unforgiving, and I know you two shits are in cahoots. Nice try, Eastwood. Clive Owen, CloserIt’s truly rare to see an Oscar nomination for a performance in a music video, but here we’re talking about the most celebrated Nine Inch Nails video ever, Closer. And I think it’s commendable that Clive Owen is finally getting his due for playing that creepy pig head spinning on the table. I hope all the nausea and creeping feeling of dread is worth it now, Clive-o. BESTEST ACTRESSAnnette Being, Being Julia RobertsIn what was probably the biggest rip-off of the year, Hollywood decided to remake the quirky cult hit Bean John Malkovich with more star power and a catchier name. The result? Shit. The people in it? Shit. Next slide. Catalina Sandino Moreno, Maria Full of ShitThe cautionary children’s tale of the boy who cried wolf is given a facelift with this modern retelling, which I found enjoyablish for the hot Mexican women. Apparently the Academy also wants in those pants, and thinks a little golden statue might be just the trick. Incidentally, somebody spilled hot fudge on the rest of my Bestest Actress list, but they probably weren’t worth commenting on anyway. BESTEST SUPPORTING ACTRESSCate Blanches, The Alligator-read EP review-Ah, thank you Academy. You can always count on those Oscar nuts to save their best gag names for the Bestest Supporting Actress category. Rather than wasting valuable mental space remembering who played the best ex-girlfriend or hooker in some movie you barely even remember, the Academy showers us with some much-needed levity. Bravo. Laura Skinny, KinkyYou remember her, skinny chick in Kinky? I thought she pulled it off pretty well. Fact is, the actual actress is really 300 pounds. No joke. If that’s not what they made those Oscar statues for, then I’ve been following the wrong business. Virginia Slims, SidewaysA great punch line nomination, hilarious if you know that the set-up question is “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke, and how?” That part got mailed out to us reviewers in advance, it’s our inside joke but I hate to leave you guys in the dark on this kind of stuff. Sophie Okineedtogo, Hotel Rwanda-read EP review-Another classic gag name, obviously written by a Tonight Show reject with an impatient girlfriend named Sophie. I guess we can’t all work for our money. Natalie Portman, CloserI didn’t even realize that was her in the video until I heard this nomination, but I guess she was like seven at the time so she would have been hard to recognize inside the “crucified monkey” outfit. Brilliant work, even for a child. And that’s a motherfucking wrap, America. Excuse my uncharacteristically salty language, readers, I’m just that excited. Christmas comes early for movie fans this Sunday, or really late, I guess, depending on how you look at it. But I prefer the optimist’s view. The rest of you can die. But before you do, be sure to check back in two weeks for more Entertainment Policing fun!   |
