 | 
 May 30, 2005 |
Michigan City, IN Shaki Meadows Johnson requested to be painted, lest a photograph steal his soul before the state of Indiana got their chance
"Who would want a killer's liver?" asked prison warden Brad Foulke. "Yuck. The last thing we need is some horror movie bullshit where an evil liver turns this girl into an unstoppable killing machine. No thanks."
After hearing that the state of Indiana had offered to buy Johnson's sister a dinner of liver and onions as a symbolic way to apologize for wasting the one inside her brother, fans of morbid humor were di...
he state if Indiana executed convicted murderer Gregory Scott Johnson last week, continuing the state's long-standing tradition of executing men with three names, despite the condemned's requests that he be allowed to donate his liver to his ailing sister before the execution. Gov. Mitch Daniels denied Johnson's request on the grounds that it was creepy.
"Who would want a killer's liver?" asked prison warden Brad Foulke. "Yuck. The last thing we need is some horror movie bullshit where an evil liver turns this girl into an unstoppable killing machine. No thanks."
After hearing that the state of Indiana had offered to buy Johnson's sister a dinner of liver and onions as a symbolic way to apologize for wasting the one inside her brother, fans of morbid humor were disappointed to learn that Johnson was executed by lethal injection, rather than by some cooking-related method.
"It would be kind of funny if he'd been electrocuted," explained Indiana Pacers fan Brett Amrow. "Because then they could have served his liver all cooked up with onions and stuff. I'm not sure if he'd have to eat the onions first or have them surgically implanted or what, I don't know how the science of it works. I mean, yeah, I know that's gross, but you ever try eating liver without onions? Yuck."
The controversy surrounding Johnson's execution has touched off a national debate over whether or not condemned prisoners should be harvested for organs to save the law-abiding. Johnson, convicted in 1985 of stomping an old lady to death, burning down her house, and eating her cat's food, was the rare case of an inmate volunteering to offer up his lousy guts to save another human being, though skeptics have suggested it was just the beginning of Johnson's plan for a piece-by-piece escape from prison.
"The state of Indiana issued me a mandate to kill Gregory Scott Johnson for what he done, and that means every last piece of him," explained Indiana governor Mitch Daniels. "I'm not to leave no part alive, not a liver, not a little pinky finger, to survive a man who's done such things. That just wouldn't be fair to his victim or the victim's family if Gregory's liver lived on in his sister, saving her life and mocking their tragedy forever. And that's one slippery slope to go down, because where do you draw the line? What about a killer's brain? I'm sure somebody could use that somewhere. And that would be totally wrong, an evil brain turning some good person bad. Or even put in a jar, eviling up a lab somewhere until the technology came along to mount that jar on a cyborg body that couldn't be stopped even with bullets. Now I don't know many things, but what I do know is that unstoppable killer cyborgs is not what the people of Indiana were hoping for when they elected Mitch Daniels to office. Not most of 'em, anyway."
Though many doctors have suggested that Johnson's organ would have been useless to his sister anyway, since his was a 44DD size liver a her original just a petit B-cup, the larger question prison officials are asking is if it's ever right to give a condemned prisoner what they want, or if that defeats the entire purpose of punishing them. This question has grown in recent years with the rise of "reverse psychology" stays of execution for condemned prisoners who claimed they wanted to die, forcing states not to kill them out of a fear of appearing to coddle prisoners. Similar efforts by prisoners begging to never, ever be let out of prison have not yet had measurable effect. the commune news is tough on crime but soft on dirt, which is why our detergents never seem to sell at all. Ramon Nootles is the commune's resident ladykiller, a charge that has never been proven in either meaning of the term, but we're still dusting the office for fingerprints.
 |  May 30, 2005 |
The president, on his way to the graduation at the U.S. Naval Academy, stopped to commend a legion of loyal ice cream men.
"The future of the military will be more streamlined," said the president, gripping the podium in his usual macho fashion, as he addressed the graduating student body. "The war of the future will have different demands on our country. Fewer domestic bases will be required, since the majority of our defense will involve keeping all countries we conqu...
he president outlined a plan for America's military future on Friday, speaking at commencement at the U.S. Naval Academy. Bush used the old "good news/bad news" ploy to reveal the facts: the United States will be reducing the number of military bases on American soil, but the president hopes to counter that loss in military might by establishing bases on foreign soil, including new bases in Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and others.
"The future of the military will be more streamlined," said the president, gripping the podium in his usual macho fashion, as he addressed the graduating student body. "The war of the future will have different demands on our country. Fewer domestic bases will be required, since the majority of our defense will involve keeping all countries we conquer in line."
An aide then whispered something in the president's ear, at which point Bush amended himself: "Did I say conquer? I meant liberate. Lot o' countries left to liberate, that's for sure."
Bush's speech came on the heels of a commencement for 976 graduates of the U.S. Naval Academy, all part of the outdated military we'll be getting away from the next few years.
"We will need a strong invasion force, no doubt about it," continued Bush. "And once those countries are occupied—and they will be occupied, no doubt, since we've got the largest military force on earth—there will be new demands on our fighting men and women. F'rinstance, who here knows how to strip-mine natural resources? Not a lot of you fossils, I bet."
Indeed, the fossils had no clue, which is why, according to the president, we'll have to adapt to the changing needs of the new American Empire.
"Gone are the days of the public relations departments, the good will ambassadors, and those large bodies of infantrymen who have traditionally been a pivotal part of wars. The War on Terror requires button-pushers and cool radio-controlled bombers, and a healthy load of transport convoys. And plenty of political figures we can put into power, not to mention the large built-in law enforcement groups, but that's hardly anything you need to know."
Members of the press, new enough to this to be naĂŻve, asked the president if countries that should be operating independent from the U.S. military in months to come will welcome a permanent American military presence. The president only nodded and half-affirmed the question was asked, a clear indication that we have enough military might to assure we will always be welcome.
"And there's no limit to how much we can expand into overseas markets," said Bush, kiping a phrase from his old college business buddies. "Syria's not exactly been quiet. Iran's all acting up. There's plenty of places out there that still need to be sorted—North Korea, and tons of little countries in the former Soviet Union and all. The one place we don't need troops is where we got the most of 'em—the U.S.A. herself. Any way you slice it, the American military's got a big future. It's just not on our soil."
The fossils then broke a long-standing tradition, and instead of throwing their hats up in the air, hurled them at the guest speaker. the commune news plans on opening another office, downstairs, in the current offices of Crochet! magazine, but that's only if they don't turn the air conditioning in this place back on soon. Lil Duncan is happy to see all those soldiers off to the next war; form a line, boys.
| Oliver Stone arrested for drug possession, knowing too much Women have advanced enough to drive around in circles AskJeeves.com to know more shit by 30% Jackson case may lead to conviction, say hopeful Internet gamblers |
|
|
| 
 May 30, 2005 Abducted by BeatniksGood people, I have had one of those experiences that only happens to other people. I have been abducted! And not by aliens, as you might first suspect, and even hope. I was abducted by beatniks!
It starts like any other story of abduction. I found my car stalled, by myself out on a rural road, away from the bright lights of the city—even the stars themselves seemed dim that far out. I tried to start my car once again and only got that whiny "enh-enh" sound going. Immediately, I got out and began walking, naturally fearing a UFO would show up and give me a super-suit to fight crime with. I don't have that kind of time, bossy Neptunians. But something more incredible happened!
Beatniks, tooling around in their convertible jalopy, motored alongside me like somet...
º Last Column: Marry All the Way
º more columns
Good people, I have had one of those experiences that only happens to other people. I have been abducted! And not by aliens, as you might first suspect, and even hope. I was abducted by beatniks!
It starts like any other story of abduction. I found my car stalled, by myself out on a rural road, away from the bright lights of the city—even the stars themselves seemed dim that far out. I tried to start my car once again and only got that whiny "enh-enh" sound going. Immediately, I got out and began walking, naturally fearing a UFO would show up and give me a super-suit to fight crime with. I don't have that kind of time, bossy Neptunians. But something more incredible happened!
Beatniks, tooling around in their convertible jalopy, motored alongside me like something out of a Ginsberg dream. They chatted me up and asked me if I wanted a ride. Of course, I never take a ride with beatniks, like mama Finger always said. But they wouldn't take no for an answer. I found myself soon bound and gagged, tossed into the back of the jalopy like a sack of potatoes.
I couldn't imagine what they wanted with me. For a short time, I even imagined they were aliens disguised as beatniks, in order to draw slightly less attention to themselves—but that made no sense. I invited them to probe me, and though one of them mulled it over for a long time, none of them took me up on it. They instead seemed to concentrate on writing poems about me, asking me what my bag was, and then reading said poetry to me while they charged me a lot for a simple cup of coffee. No mistake; these were beatniks.
Why me? No one can say. But they did say—apparently I'm one major-domo angry cat. Or, as Pie-Daddy said, "Yo, normally we ain't down with the anger thing. Some bad-mood Charlie starts his mantra on us, we all like, 'Chill, Franklin.' But your rage, man, it's like a thing of pure beauty. That kind of rage glows forever, like a firepit in a down-and-out steel mill that burns in hopes of one day…" And at this point I stopped listening. What he clearly said, as far as I can tell, is that my anger is better than everyone else's. The rest was superfluous.
I figured I would stick around with them, for just a short while, and give back something to the artistic community—especially since we've tried to remain good friends, the community and I, ever since that truce we signed back in 1971. If I can take a few hours out of my busy schedule and inspire a whole new generation of beatniks, it's the least I can do. But no more than a few hours, I told them, because I have shit that isn't going to do itself, frankly.
But these cats (check me out; I'm catching on already!) weren't content to just let me sit around and be a muse. They kept asking me questions, like how I grew up, what my relationship with my mother was like, and what made me so damned disappointed with life that I had to go around in a constant rage. I could only tell them I'm just lucky, I guess. But they still pressed me. Answer this, answer that! Only they had actual questions instead of "this" and "that," which actually aren't. I got bored of all that fast. I have angry columns to write and X-M radio distributors to boycott, I can't waste all of my time answering questions. Sitting around not answering questions, much less of a drain on my time. The questions had to go.
We couldn't come to an amicable agreement, the beatniks and I, so I crafted an elaborate escape plan. I carved an exact duplicate of myself out of soap (the nose was particularly hard to get right) and then, once I had it all tucked into my bed, announced I was going to the local grocery store to get enough soap to do models of them as well. It worked brilliantly, and I, of course, never returned.
I feel a little bad, abandoning a life as inspiration to the poets of tomorrow. But Rok Finger's always been a doer, good people. Not a doee. Nor a doe—ignore any type-O's suggesting that. º Last Column: Marry All the Wayº more columns | 
|
| |
Quote of the Day“There ain't no cure for the summertime blues. Or HIV. Boy, AIDS, that must suck. This has been a Public Service Announcement from Eddie Cochran.”
-Eddie CochranFortune 500 CookieLook to the stars for guidance: preferably someone who's been in a big movie in the last five years. You will go to the bathroom this week. Don't be fooled by your lack of progress in life: things can still get much worse. This week's lucky gelatin desserts: Jell-O Jigglers, Jell-O Epileptics, Limp Hicks, Greased Piggie Bites, Spineless Weasels, Slime Dogs.
Try again later.Least Popular Baby
Names, 2005| 1. | Katrina | | 2. | Gigli | | 3. | Scott Peterson | | 4. | The King of Pop | | 5. | Skullfuck | |
|   Motherfucker Arrested for Swearing BY roland mcshyster 5/30/2005 G'day, America, we're phoning in this week's edition of Entertainment Police from an Aussie state of mind, and by that I mean I'm stuck in an airport in Austria. Word to the wise: don't accept an invitation to the Greater Chinese Film Festival, because there ain't one. It's all a clever white slavery ring that was apparently looking to get its hooks into one of Omar Bricks' neighbors, but lucky for her Omar's been collecting the neighborhood's mail as part of an experimental attempt to teach dogs to deliver mail, as a way to make his a two-income household without the downsides of getting married or going gay.
We've been raffling off the leftover mail here at the commune's offices to raise money for sick kids who are faking cancer, so I ended up with the film festival invite, t...
G'day, America, we're phoning in this week's edition of Entertainment Police from an Aussie state of mind, and by that I mean I'm stuck in an airport in Austria. Word to the wise: don't accept an invitation to the Greater Chinese Film Festival, because there ain't one. It's all a clever white slavery ring that was apparently looking to get its hooks into one of Omar Bricks' neighbors, but lucky for her Omar's been collecting the neighborhood's mail as part of an experimental attempt to teach dogs to deliver mail, as a way to make his a two-income household without the downsides of getting married or going gay. We've been raffling off the leftover mail here at the commune's offices to raise money for sick kids who are faking cancer, so I ended up with the film festival invite, to the great disappointment of my would-be Chinese captors, believe me. There's a three-to-one male-female ratio over there, so they were happy to see me show up to that sausage-fest like I was a turkey baster full of the bird flu. But enough about my airline-gone-out-business limbo. Thanks to the magic of Wifi, I'm here as usual to offer another weekly glance at the magic of Hollywood, your portal to disinterest. In Theaters Now:Cinderella ManFinally, that Aussie meathead whose name I can't remember is a big enough star to make the film he's been dreaming about since he was a child: a serious dramatic retelling of the Cinderella legend with a man cross-dressing as a woman in the title role. Sure, we've all had that idea before, but who thought they could really pull it off? Only this guy, whatever his name is. Don't tell me, I swear it's on the tip of my tongue. Anyway, the resulting film is surreal as a Tupperware party at David Lynch's house, with the hairy and deep-voiced Cinderella going to great lengths to hide his manliness from his wicked stepsisters, his fairy godmother, several unperceptive mice, and the charming prince from the ball who's going around town trying to see whose foot fits into Cinderella's size-13 glass slipper. The results will jerk tears and several other body parts. The Gaylords of DogtownFinally somebody is giving the Weird Al treatment to that awful Nichole Kidman movie Dogtown, which itself was a cheap knockoff of Cats, except with more-loveable dogs played by unlovable big Hollywood stars. As anyone who actually saw Dogtown could tell you, what that movie needed was a whole lot more skateboarding, and this parody doesn't disappoint. But the real masterstroke was casting the entire movie only with real dogs, who, to a dog, easily trounce the performances of their human imitators in Dogtown. Watching real dogs skateboard is also pretty hilarious, especially if they're being pulled behind Jeeps and Ferraris and things and they put them in funny crash helmets and sunglasses. The Longest TurdHollywood's been going through a serious toilet-humor streak lately, which I can only think is a result of the "Go Young!" philosophy that has left us with a median age of thirteen for Hollywood studio execs. This mentality suits Adam Sandler just fine, however, and he's back from a recent detour into unfunny roles with this decidedly no-brow tale of a prison shitting contest and a little guy who could lay cable like nobody's business. Sandler really sinks his teeth into the role, if you can read that figure of speech without conjuring some disgusting mental image of Happy Gilmore biting a turd, and shines as the virtuoso ass-dropper. Burt Reynolds isn't nearly as funny in his cameo, but hey, fuck you, he's Burt Reynolds. MadagastroNever before has $90 million bought so little at the Hollywood rummage sale as in the case of this computer-animated film about a crazy scientist with the shits. Ben Stiller is back in his usual role as a lion with itchy balls, and other famous people use cartoon animal totems to spout the kind of hateful anti-diarrhea rhetoric that would get them blacklisted if it came out of their non-animated mouths. I think I heard Will Smith in there somewhere, and of course Bela Lugosi. As for the animation itself, it looks like a Special Ed class's homage to South Park, but I mean that in the nicest way possible for not hurting the feelings of retards. And that's all that we've got the time or life force to review this week, friends and neighbors, but be sure to check back in another two when we'll have an in-depth look at the amoeba and finally answer the hot-button question "Microscopes: real magic or phony bullshit?"   |
