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 April 4, 2005 |
Messier, Idaho Sloe Lorenzo Alleged disaster perpetrator Bert Woodland, who includes among his array of cruel pranks an all-kazoo version of “Stairway to Heaven.”
Identified by a spiteful member of the police department as Messier Elementary sixth-grader Bert Woodland, the boy has perpetrated another spree of April Fool’s jokes this past Friday, unleashing more terror on a town that had hoped it had seen the last of unfunny, “just plain mean” practical jokes. Two of Friday’s five harshest April Fool’s incidents have already been traced back to Woodland, and police believe they will eventually tie all ...
or a third year in a row, a young Messier, Idaho, boy has continued to miss the point entirely concerning his April Fool’s Day pranks. The boy’s jests are described as “cruel and malicious” by Messier police and have resulted in the wrongful arrest of six individuals and the hospitalization of two with severe injuries.
Identified by a spiteful member of the police department as Messier Elementary sixth-grader Bert Woodland, the boy has perpetrated another spree of April Fool’s jokes this past Friday, unleashing more terror on a town that had hoped it had seen the last of unfunny, “just plain mean” practical jokes. Two of Friday’s five harshest April Fool’s incidents have already been traced back to Woodland, and police believe they will eventually tie all of the crimes back to the little prick.
Among the more destructive of Friday’s pranks was the non-lethal firing of a handgun within a hospital emergency room, greasing the ladder of a local fire engine (resulting in the injury of a fireman at the scene of a blaze), and the mailing of a cowheart to the parents or a girl who had been missing for five months. Even the townspeople of Messier, Idaho, who claim to have really warped senses of humor agree there’s funny and then there’s just abusing people.
Police had similar run-ins with Woodland’s unfunny assaults on the innocent on two previous April Fool’s Days, the most severe incident being last year’s burying alive of Woodland’s brother, Cory. While the parents refused to press charges against their own son, it did raise police awareness that the prankster’s sense of humor was not getting better and earned him the universal designation of “sick fuck” from everyone in Messier.
“That little shit put a rattlesnake in my mailbox,” said elderly neighbor Huntz Vohlman. “Not a plastic one, a live rattlesnake. If I hadn’t heard the sound it would have caught me when it lunged out to bite. I’m telling you, that’s not normal. I haven’t been out of my house on the first of April for the last two years.”
Vohlman’s fear was generally shared by everyone in Messier. Principal of Messier Elementary Arlene Fredericks cancelled school when all the teachers threatened not to come on the dreaded “A-Day,” petrified by Woodland’s potential destruction.
Substitute teacher Martin Kohl: “Last year I showed up and didn’t even know it was April Fool’s. But I found out soon enough. The kid tossed a quarter stick of dynamite at me—not a firecracker, you hear, but a real partial stick of dynamite. The doctors couldn’t even reattach my right index finger. When’s someone going to explain humor to this kid?”
University of Idaho Child Psychologist Will Raymond studied Woodland last year following his second April Fool’s arrest.
“Young Bert has obviously misinterpreted the spirit of the holiday,” said Raymond. “In modern times, April the first is a day when we all try to lighten up a bit, stop taking ourselves so seriously, and make a game out of embarrassing our friends and neighbors—those we’re fond of. Instead, Bert uses it as an excuse to lash out with his insidious wit and damage others, either emotionally or physically, or sometimes both. He is, I believe, a purely anti-social personality with just enough a sense of morality to need an excuse—like April Fool’s Day—to ignite his malicious behavior. At first I believed he had a rich history of emotional abuse which he concealed with his terror. Later on I found out he was just an asshole.”
Raymond declined an invitation to study the boy again, since after last year’s visit Woodland posted his image on a website for registered sex offenders; Raymond also suspects the boy’s the reason he’s been getting amorous letters from the Idaho State Men’s Penitentiary. the commune news celebrated April Fool’s Day the way we always have: Raising our eyebrows and offering a sort of bored smile when someone makes an idiotic joke and tells us the date. Bludney Pludd is our favorite April Fool, all year ‘round.
 |  March 28, 2005 |
Santa Barbara, CA Santa Barbara D.A. The bloody glove in question, although neither side has ruled out the glove’s connection to the nasty Pepsi commercial incident from way back.
Nothing could hide the shock of Jackson and his attorneys as Santa Barbara County District Attorney Tom Sneddon held up a plastic bag containing a sequined left-hand glove so much like the famous right one long worn by the pop icon. The article of clothing, according to the District Attorney’s office, was found o...
he Michael Jackson trial escalated to the seventh level of hooplah Friday as prosecutors introduced into evidence a bloody sequined gloved that had not been previously revealed publicly. The defense requested a recess, to which the witty judge replied that no one had been good enough to deserve recess, but they would take a brief break. It gave the Jackson defense, led by attorney and Warhol knock-off Thomas Mesereau, a chance to recover from the five-fingered blow. Nothing could hide the shock of Jackson and his attorneys as Santa Barbara County District Attorney Tom Sneddon held up a plastic bag containing a sequined left-hand glove so much like the famous right one long worn by the pop icon. The article of clothing, according to the District Attorney’s office, was found on the Neverland Ranch around the famed Ringo Starr cabana, which is halfway between the Neverland Hard Rock Café and the velociraptor compound. Sneddon claimed that, though the owner of the DNA had not yet been identified, scientists who all dressed snappy could verify it was human blood and did not belong to Jackson. Mesereau’s first tactic, thought by many Monday morning counselors to be a real fumble, was to claim the defense had not had proper time to examine the accessory because in a poorly-Xeroxed evidence list it appeared to be “love,” which they all thought intangible and beyond examination. The judge thought this was funny, but not funny enough to grant a full recess to the defense. Mesereau then challenged the validity of the DNA findings, when he found out Sneddon had carried the bloody glove back to the lab himself, rolled up in a pile of his sweat socks in the trunk of his car. “For all any of us know, that blood could well belong to Bubbles the monkey,” said Mesereau, evoking a horrified gasp out of the entire court. “But… probably not. And really, there’s absolutely no proof that it belongs to my client. You’ve never seen a picture of him wearing two sequined gloves, have you?” The prosecution admitted the best it could produce was a picture of Jackson wearing two Bruno Magli shoes on his hands, but no such luck with the glove. The Santa Barbara County District Attorney’s Office did catch a break later, however, when returning to court after lunch, Jackson picked up the plastic-bagged bloody glove and said very loudly, “Hey! I’ve been wondering where I left this.” Defense counsel argued in the afternoon that one bloody glove doesn’t prove anyone’s a murderer and it certainly isn’t grounds for child molestation charges, and promised the court it would call an expert next week who would testify Hollywood tough guy Steve McQueen had an entire room in his house devoted to bloody gloves. Mesereau also suggested that Jackson’s glove could be explained by an elaborate underground Fight Club, but would say nothing further about it since rules one and three prevented him from talking on the subject. The prosecution concluded for the day by introducing more evidence of mysterious behavior at Neverland Ranch, including a pornographic magazine which had the fingerprints of the accusing child on one page, and several pages containing the fingerprints of District Attorney Sneddon. Then, just for laughs, the prosecution showed some of its other Neverland findings, such as a small Portugese man who spoke no English and had been putting on Jackson’s shoes for him for twenty years, and footage from a small hidden security camera in Jackson’s underwear. the commune news says if the sucker can’t rhyme, he should do the time. Boner Cunningham is our most beloved correspondent ever, if you count self-love.
| North Korea: Thousands of communist birds laid up in nests with flu T-Rex found with primitive bathroom tissue stuck to foot Kevin Bacon comes to aid of town that banned raves Kyrgyz president found in Gilmore Girls chatroom |
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 April 4, 2005 Cordially Requesting Your RestraintI've always thought there should be some kind of intermediate step that comes before a restraining order. Because after all, "order" does sound pretty bossy. And Americans don't like being ordered around any more than we like paying for music or a legitimate cable TV connection. So I have no idea why we're still stuck with these old bullshit English laws. Our country should have something like an official Restraining Request, like "Stay the hell away from your ex-wife, if you don't mind." That'd be way more to my liking.
Unfortunately, many of our nation's lawmakers aren't regular My Friend Polio readers, so I'm stuck dealing with the restraining order my new neighbor Hamms slapped on my tender ass last week. Can you believe this shit? I swear to God, the cops catch you...
º Last Column: My New Neighbor May Well Be a Vampire
º more columns
I've always thought there should be some kind of intermediate step that comes before a restraining order. Because after all, "order" does sound pretty bossy. And Americans don't like being ordered around any more than we like paying for music or a legitimate cable TV connection. So I have no idea why we're still stuck with these old bullshit English laws. Our country should have something like an official Restraining Request, like "Stay the hell away from your ex-wife, if you don't mind." That'd be way more to my liking.
Unfortunately, many of our nation's lawmakers aren't regular My Friend Polio readers, so I'm stuck dealing with the restraining order my new neighbor Hamms slapped on my tender ass last week. Can you believe this shit? I swear to God, the cops catch you naked in your neighbor's basement in the middle of the night, the carpet saturated in cherry Jell-o to create a room-sized Slip 'n Slide, and you might as well not even have a trial. I've always thought being caught naked doing anything puts you at an automatic legal disadvantage, and now I have the proof.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have brought over that giant boom box, since the thudding bass from that Mexican polka music is undoubtedly what brought the attention of the law and woke Hamms up in the first place. But like they say, hindsight's on 20/20, and that bitch Barbara Walters asks some mean questions.
So now I have to stay 100 yards away from my neighbor at all times, which really bites the bits since it means I can't go in my den at all, since it's too close to his house. I've been sending Foghat to fetch things I need from that side of the house, since the plaintiff foolishly forgot to include my dog in the suit, but his oversight is my gain. The real pain in the ass is that I had to drop four grand to have hidden cameras installed all over Hamms' house just to comply with the ruling, to make sure where I am in my house and where he is in his are at least 100 yards apart at all times. Next thing you know I'll be hearing from Hamms' lawyers about the Neighbors Gone Wild hidden-camera DVDs I've been selling on the Internet. Sometimes you can't win for losing.
Not that I'm sweating the whole restraining order thing, since this is probably the wimpiest one I've ever had tossed in my lap. One time I couldn't go into Kentucky Fried Chicken for an entire year, that was a real bitch. Especially since I'd been running a home-based business off their pay phone, and we'd already had some problems about KFC and I not seeing eye to eye on what their "business hours" should be, which led to the restraining order in the first place. Well, that and the whole thing about letting 400 live chickens loose in their men's room.
I have to admit though, I've always wanted to file a restraining order against somebody. Doesn't matter who, I just I think it would be hilarious to chase someone around town knowing that I've got the power of the law on my side, should they ever let the chase get too close and breach the invisible 100 yard barrier. And if you brought along a video camera, I bet you could make some mad cash selling a DVD of that shit on the Internet. Restraining Order 2: Run, Yuppie, Run.
But so far Hamms doesn't seem like the fun type at all, I think he sincerely wants me to stay out of his house. I've tried to reason with the guy that I've got so much of my shit over there we should just trade houses, but I don't think he was too impressed by the offer after he saw Foghat's treasure room, where the dog brings all the stuff he's found around the neighborhood over the years.
But I think he'll come around once he realizes that a restraining order just means Foghat's going to be over at his house twice as often now, running errands for me and searching the house for cream of asparagus soup on his own dime. Hamms can say what he wants about Omar Bricks, but at least I never barfed on his collection of antique pillowcases after eating a case of canned cat food.
I give this restraining order thing about two weeks. Bricks out. º Last Column: My New Neighbor May Well Be a Vampireº more columns | 
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Milestones1996: Red Bagel fires entire commune staff during "Crazy Bagel's Everything Must Go Liquidation Madness" phase of the commune's August Sale-abration. Analysts praise Bagel for ridding his staff of junkies and losers, who he promptly replaces with the current batch of junkies and losers.Now HiringBloodhound. Needed to track down former commune staffer Smilin' Jack Costello, who disappeared in May, still owing $8 to the office petty cash fund. Smart dog needed who is not fooled by turbans or overly distracted by running foxes. Generous wages to be paid in beef kidneys. Top Outstanding commune Petty Cash Debts| 1. | Raoul Dunkin
$974.25 in mental anguish | | 2. | Smilin' Jack Costello
$8, plus interest | | 3. | Ned Nedmiller
1/8th of a cent | | 4. | Mazie the Chicken
1 half cup of scratch | | 5. | You Know Who You Are
1 human gall bladder | |
|   Blake Prosecutor to Jury: Fuck You BY roland mcshyster 4/4/2005 El Vita Loca, commune readers! Whatever that means, it's time for some more Entertainment Police fun. And nobody needs a translator to know what that means! Unless they've never heard of Entertainment Police before. But even then a translator wouldn't help, they'd need somebody more along the lines of those guys that do the recap at the beginning of TV shows, like "Last week, on Entertainment Police…" Hmm. I wonder if there's a market for that? I've got a pretty good speaking voice, according to the telemarketers who keep trying to sign me up for some scam broadcasting college. And I think I've got a better-than-average grasp on what happened last week on Entertainment Police. Unless it was one of Welch's columns, I still need to get around to reading those. Right after I finish cleaning...
El Vita Loca, commune readers! Whatever that means, it's time for some more Entertainment Police fun. And nobody needs a translator to know what that means! Unless they've never heard of Entertainment Police before. But even then a translator wouldn't help, they'd need somebody more along the lines of those guys that do the recap at the beginning of TV shows, like "Last week, on Entertainment Police…" Hmm. I wonder if there's a market for that? I've got a pretty good speaking voice, according to the telemarketers who keep trying to sign me up for some scam broadcasting college. And I think I've got a better-than-average grasp on what happened last week on Entertainment Police. Unless it was one of Welch's columns, I still need to get around to reading those. Right after I finish cleaning out my trunk and alphabetizing my frozen burrito collection, I swear.
In Theaters Now:
Beaver Pitch
The Farley Brothers have taken a lack of taste to a new, stratospheric level with their latest addition to their "Honk in Your Popcorn" genre of films, this time starring that charismatic "Gellin' like a Felon" guy from the Dr. Scholl's commercials as a life-long Red Sox fan who blows his brains out a week before they end up winning the World Series. Trust me; it plays funnier on the screen than it does on paper. The Farleys even recover nicely from the structural gaffe of having their main character apply the lead Q-tip within the first ten minutes of the film by making the rest of the movie about funny baseball stuff. The first feature film to drop the bombshell that most baseball players just want to get laid, Beaver Pitch strikes a nice balance between serious social commentary about sports' place in society and jokes about a guy accidentally gargling with a glass of David Ortiz's cum. Speaking of which, all the real-life baseball players are believable as real-life baseball players, the actors are believable as actors, and Drew Barrymore is likable as the beaver.
Booty Shop
Finally, Brit rock legends Queen have been allowed to make the movie that's been festering in their imaginations for years, about a whorehouse in Compton staffed by sassy black chicks with plenty of ass to go around. Ass, and hips, elbows, hamhocks, really all proportions are amply represented in these women. Don't ask me, I guess Queen just like 'em large. The film's story is really just a mosquito-net-thin excuse to string together a series of rousing musical numbers that justify having Queen hang around the whorehouse all the time as the house band, cracking wise in their impenetrable British accents. I don't have any idea what any of them said during any part of the film, but the way they said it was hilarious. Although the film doesn't feature nearly enough sex to please most fans of whorehouse pictures, it more than makes up for this shortcoming by featuring at least seven times more Brian May than the average entry in this genre.
Sim City
I don't know about you, but when I was sitting in front of my Atari 2600 console as a child, gamely destroying my carpel tunnels in the pursuit of a 999 score, never once did my mind stir up thoughts like "Man, I bet Breakout would make a great movie!" or "Gee whiz, wouldn't Tom Selleck be great as the lead in a filmed adaptation of Combat?" Mostly I was just thinking about how cool it would be to be able to shoot giant rubber bullets at other cars on the freeway. But the Hollywood producers of today were apparently dreaming far different dreams during their formative years, scheming to adapt even the most unlikely source material into stiff, unwatchable cinema. Such is the case with the newly released Sim City, a movie adaptation of the popular PC title where you run other people's lives and end up just sitting and staring at your computer, watching your virtual people sit and stare at their computers while they control the lives of a town of virtual electric Smurfs in the game's game-within-a-game, Smurftual Reality. As you can imagine, this all makes for thrilling cinema when you add Bruce Willis, Mauricio Del Toro in Smurface, and $100 million in special effects.
And that's all the movie madness we've got the time or interest for this week, America, but be sure to tune in next time when I'll have the full scoop on the rumor that's been going around about the Supreme Court ordering Pauley Shore's food tube to be removed. Until then!   |
