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 July 11, 2005 |
London, Jolly Olde England Junior Bacon London commuter and mylar balloon enthusiast Roary Tubbs wonders aloud why the subway’s so bloody late today
“Oh yes, it was quite a mess,” explained commuter Harold Alburn, who was aboard one of the bombed subway trains and only survived due to being caked in a human cocoon formed by the flaming remains of his fellow passengers. “That rail line’s going to be down for weeks, you have to assume.”
“This is to be expected of the British,” explained psychologist/ historian hybrid Dennis Mugrew. “I mean, what did you expect? Wild, hyperbolic shows of emotion? These people didn’t even have their...
ith their famously stoic façade put to the ultimate test, Londoners came through with flying colors this week, failing to register the slightest emotion in the face of stunning terror attacks on the city’s mass transit system that left 50 dead and over 700 wounded. “Oh yes, it was quite a mess,” explained commuter Harold Alburn, who was aboard one of the bombed subway trains and only survived due to being caked in a human cocoon formed by the flaming remains of his fellow passengers. “That rail line’s going to be down for weeks, you have to assume.” “This is to be expected of the British,” explained psychologist/ historian hybrid Dennis Mugrew. “I mean, what did you expect? Wild, hyperbolic shows of emotion? These people didn’t even have their pulses raised by WWII. Even when London itself was being bombed in 1940, people were still going out to the pubs and leading their lives as if there weren’t giant bomb craters in the street, and acting as if the pub itself was not on fire. Frankly, I don’t think total thermonuclear annihilation would have much of an effect on the English disposition.” “Yes yes, bloody terrible,” mumbled carpet-layer Damon Brink semi-intelligibly, hoisting his customary 7am pint. “This resolute façade of dour, dutiful melancholy has served the English well through eons of adversity and truly shitty weather,” explained England expert and grinder-sandwich-eating champion Maxwell Tuft. “It’s like American optimism or weird Japanese cartoon sex fetishes. You don’t mess with success.” “It’s a bloody shame about those people,” sighed stockbroker Theodore McCartney, who lost his entire family in the blasts. “You certainly feel for their loved ones. But, you know, life must go on.” “Nope, sorry, I’m afraid I’ve had my humanity bred out of me, perhaps eons ago,” explained tailor Nigel Ruffalo when asked about the attacks, with an upper lip so stiff he could be mistaken for a duck. Authorities believe the attacks to be the work of a terrorist cell with the inappropriately-hilarious name of “The Secret Organization of al-Qaeda in Europe,” which, as the name describes, is thought to be both secret and organized, and reportedly allows only cell members into its tree fort. The British have saved their strongest displays of emotion for these alleged terrorists. “That’s just not playing cricket,” complained Londoner Angie Lowell, the most enraged person in all of England. “Them bad sorts ought to be put to for what they done, had a real talking-to, you know. Can’t have this sort of thing going on, mucking about on the trains when we’ve got places to be.” Meanwhile, the reporting of this story was complicated by confusion over interview subjects who claimed to have been on the tube at the time of the attacks, which this American reporter assumed to mean the television, leading to a mistaken belief that everyone in England gets to be on TV. This reporter’s intense jealousy, however, soon abated as soon as he learned that “the tube” is a quaint British euphemism for the toilet. the commune news sends their deepest condolences to everyone who suffered through last week’s terrible tragedy, by which we mean of course the season finale of Dancing with the Stars. Ivan Nacutchacokov was disappointed by the lack of visceral tragedy and worldwide attention existing in the commune offices upon his return from London to report this story, and we were equally disappointed to have him back.
 |  July 11, 2005 |
Ketcham, NJ National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration A satellite photo of the menacing storm.
"He's back," stammered the fearful, doddering old fool. "He's back and he's come to finish off the job he started on my flower bed! And then I'm next!"
Old George Wilson, a Ketcham, New Jersey resident of 60+ years, claims the storm to be the reincarnation of a dead neighbor boy who has carried a talent for mischief into his reincarnated...
ortals fled in terror from the Gulf Coast, fearing the rising wrath of Hurricane Dennis. The dangerous storm had already inflicted severe damage on Cuba, then grew in strength to a category 4 storm, which is apparently a meaner storm than what it had been before. But the real threat may lie in a small garden in New Jersey, where corporeal being Mr. Wilson assured reporters the "menace" was after nothing else but his rose garden.
"He's back," stammered the fearful, doddering old fool. "He's back and he's come to finish off the job he started on my flower bed! And then I'm next!"
Old George Wilson, a Ketcham, New Jersey resident of 60+ years, claims the storm to be the reincarnation of a dead neighbor boy who has carried a talent for mischief into his reincarnated hurricane form. Wilson warned the local media, but when they failed to listen, brought his story to the commune, the world's most gullible news source.
"That Dennis has only one goal in mind," warned Wilson. "He wants to destroy my roses and drive me out of my mind!" When it was pointed out that those were actually two goals, old man Wilson pulled out a chunk of his own hair and screeched.
Indeed the hurricane has destroyed several gardens and virtually everything else it touched in Cuba, and has turned to engage the Gulf Coast of the United States. Though the New Jersey rose garden in question is several hundred miles out of the hurricane's current direction, Wilson assures all it is the hurricane's ultimate target.
Some of Wilson's story was easily verified, including the existence of a young boy named Dennis Mitchell who lived next door to Wilson in the 1950s. Though the boy mysteriously disappeared several years ago and his body was never found, Wilson claims the hurricane now bombarding the United States and terrorizing himself out of a feud the ghost carried into his new existence.
"That little monster says he just wants to play," groaned the old man, "then he makes noise and sets off fireworks and wreaks havoc on everything. He had to go, don't you understand? He had to! I just… I needed peace and quiet. That's all I wanted… a little peace and quiet!"
Though there didn't seem to be any doubt to the possibility of a young troublemaker being reincarnated as a category 4 hurricane, some further explanation seemed necessary: Why trash Cuba as he did? Why not simply come back as a tornado in New Jersey, or a gopher, or any number of creatures cable of destroying a garden quickly and efficiently?
"I'm not sure why he came back as a hurricane," admitted Wilson. "But I can guess why he attacked Cuba. That Mitchell boy always hated the Commies. He planned on growing up to fight them in World War III. He… he always made me be the Reds. He forced me to play soldiers with him," sobbed the old man.
Contacted for further comment, Wilson's wife contradicted the man's version of the story, painting a picture of an old fussbucket and a charming young man who just wanted to be friends.
"Oh, I thought he was a perfect little gentleman," said Mrs. Wilson. "The problem with my George is, he's just grumpy. He's half out of his mind sometimes, you know. And if that hurricane does destroy that rose garden of ours… oh, well. Tropical winds will be tropical winds." the commune news has never known of a little boy to be reincarnated as a hurricane, but we have suspected that bum that keeps shitting on our lawn might have been a large orange dog we knew in another life. If Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown is ever reincarnated, we'll be pissed at losing the only reporter who works for free.
| Cruise portfolios remain strong, in spite of shaky economy Ring tones changed again on personal Cruise cell phone Iranian election results: 0 ballots for Cruise Trump buys land from Trump; Trump screwed in deal |
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 July 18, 2005 Tom Cruise Loves That Woman!Excerpts from the blog of movie enthusiast/Spineless Magazine reviewer Joel Dickman
Who doesn't love Tom Cruise? The Chinese, maybe, and while I wouldn't put it past them, I can't see how anyone doesn't love ol' Tom! Except Brooke Shields. And psychiatrists. And have you seen how Rosie turned on him?!? MEE-OWWW!
But the rest of the world still loves him. Including yours truly—the queen! I've heard it through an unnamed internet website that Tom got to meet with the queen personally the last time he was in England
º Last Column: I Think This New Stacked Show's Gonna Be a Giant Tit!
º more columns
Excerpts from the blog of movie enthusiast/Spineless Magazine reviewer Joel DickmanWho doesn't love Tom Cruise? The Chinese, maybe, and while I wouldn't put it past them, I can't see how anyone doesn't love ol' Tom! Except Brooke Shields. And psychiatrists. And have you seen how Rosie turned on him?!? MEE-OWWW! But the rest of the world still loves him. Including yours truly—the queen! I've heard it through an unnamed internet website that Tom got to meet with the queen personally the last time he was in England! She's got so much drag over there, they call her the "drag queen." Betcha didn't know that! It was a secret meeting, but my source swears it happened! After all these years, Tom is still on top! His movie War of the Worlds made millions of dollars—maybe billions! But Tom couldn't have done it alone. Who couldn't use a little help from billion-dollar director Steven Spielberg?!? That's right, the man who made E.T. and Oskar Schindler household names! But what everybody wants to know is: Is Tom really, truly in love with hotactress Katie Holmes? Turns out he is!!! Tom told Oprah Winfrey himself that he, and I quote, " loves this woman!" The woman he was referring to was Katie Holmes! Let the cynics think the worst, but you heard it from Tom's mouth itself—it's for real! Katie Holmes: What a hottie!!! Sure, she may have a kinda weird face, but she's got a body to die for!! Remember when she talked about her breasts on that Dawson's Creek show?!? TSSSSSSSSS! (Sizzle sound). I couldn't be happier she's found true love at last with a star worthy of her hottitude! She used to be with big zero Chris Klein, the Keanu Reeves lookalike from America Pie; but instead of making the natural jump to Tom Cruise lookalike Peter Facinelli, she went for the big Cruise himself! Not only a hot body, but business smart, too! Matt Lauer: What is with that guy? His star is on the drop these days, you can bet, after getting all mouthy with Tom-Tom on his daytime fad Today show about Ritalin. Hey, Matt, are you a doctor? I didn't think so. Leave the medical advice to celebrities who are more prepared to talk about such stuff. Tom's read the lit(erature). You haven't! Brooke Shields: Someone needs to get off the anti-depressants!!! Take advice from one celebrity to another—your career's gone nowhere! It used to be you could get your baby pictures in Playboy or get a clever sitcom on NBC—now the best you can do is write a book. Or put your name on it, sometimes you can't tell with some celebrities. Give up on the psychiatry and get with the Scientology! Ritalin's shitalin! Ditch the pseudoscience mumbo jumbo and find yourself a not new religion. You'll be back in the spotlight in no time! The Future: What's next for Tom Cruise? Nobody knows! Except Hollywood! But is it possible there's a Mission: Impossible III on the horizon? Sounds… possible! º Last Column: I Think This New Stacked Show's Gonna Be a Giant Tit!º more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“Upon being stopped by the Customs Officer during my trip to America, he asked: 'Have you anything to declare?' I burst forward, telling him, 'Only my genius!' I was promptly beaten to a piteous pulp and subjected to a humiliating search. Needless to say, they found my weed.”
-Wildman Oscar DaviesFortune 500 CookieBy next week you will not believe what passes for a blowjob these days. Guess how many quarters I have in my left pocket and I will be quite surprised. I said don't cauliflower last week? I did? That doesn't sound like something I'd say. Remember, trust no one. Including me. If you believe that, you're a fool.
Try again later.Top Worst Opening Lines to Novels| 1. | It was the best of times, no question about it. | | 2. | Call me Crenshaw, Ishmael's brother. | | 3. | I had been up for three days doing coke, paranoid they were going to catch me after I sunk the company with my idiotic business practices; then, my fa | | 4. | I have only eaten three people in my life—this is that story. | | 5. | So I said to my friend Charlie, "Hey, I'm going to write a novel where nothing at all happens," so welcome to it. | |
|   Pfizer Blames Viagra Blindness on “Jerkin’ It” BY b. brown dullard 7/18/2005 ScieneticsSince the beginning of the dawn of time, science man has longed for the answer to the questions of the mind and the science of thinking. From the French peasant to the uppity French king, men of all walks of life, regardless of how much coin they pocket, have asked these questions: Who am I? Who is that guy? Why am I so unhappy? What is keeping me from the things I want? Why don’t I have a goddamn pot to piss in and Cheurvier, that cocky shit, he has that chapeau down on Napoleon Street?
At last, someone has created a science to answer those questions: Scienetics.
Scienetics isn’t some phony voodoo, like voodoo or psychiatry; Scienetics is a fully-copyrighted blueprint of how the mind works, or fails to work, and how we can kick our own minds in the ass or t...
Since the beginning of the dawn of time, science man has longed for the answer to the questions of the mind and the science of thinking. From the French peasant to the uppity French king, men of all walks of life, regardless of how much coin they pocket, have asked these questions: Who am I? Who is that guy? Why am I so unhappy? What is keeping me from the things I want? Why don’t I have a goddamn pot to piss in and Cheurvier, that cocky shit, he has that chapeau down on Napoleon Street?
At last, someone has created a science to answer those questions: Scienetics.
Scienetics isn’t some phony voodoo, like voodoo or psychiatry; Scienetics is a fully-copyrighted blueprint of how the mind works, or fails to work, and how we can kick our own minds in the ass or threaten to pinkslip them if they don’t get back to work. And best of all, Scienetics works.
How do I know Scienetics works? Because I do. I’ve been to every corner of this square earth and seen man in all his various degrees. I’ve slept under trees with the bushmen of the Calihari desert, under the thankless moon and the cold onslaught of desert winds. I’ve rested on the couch of presidents, from Eisenhower to Reagan, until I was politely asked to leave. I’ve shared beds with strange men from the suburbs—you name the type of person, I’ve probably had some sort of sleeping arrangement worked out with them. This is because I had no money for several years.
During these moneyless times, I’ve had opportunity to study mankind, and a lot of women, don’t mistake that. I’ve seen him at his peak and I’ve seen him lying in piss under a bus stop bench. I’ve heard stories of success and I’ve smelled the urine. But any fool can do this. What I’ve done is blueprinted the human brain, and some monkey brains, just for fun; I’ve seen what makes us succeed and what makes us fail. I’ve drawn intricate topographical maps and marked the expensive areas to live in, if we were brain cells. Why? Because it’s fun. And because it’s the science to making us the people we’ve always wanted to be.
Make no mistake, this is no $20 fly-by-night self-help method dispelled by enigmatic gurus with no background in science. Scienetics costs much more than that. Yet it’s worth every penny, because it works. I’ve taken complete idiots, morons, bellowing manchilds with no intelligence and no self-respect, and I gave them jobs working for my brother-in-law. I’ve turned around the weakest of minds, and shown them the way to what the Buddha would call "enlightenment." And I can call it that, too, because the Buddha never heard of copyrighting.
The secret right here, and this is the only secret I’m giving away before you buy the book, is one thing: the subactive mind. What is the subactive mind? Well, it’s copyrighted, that’s for damn sure. But it’s more than that. It’s also the instinctive, the sub-level reacting part of our personalities that harbors the nastiest and most petty part of ourselves. It’s that portion of our mind that works against us. Freud called it the subconscious, because he was a junkie moron. But where he got it wrong, I’ve got it right.
The best part of Scienetics is, no matter what you’re problem, we can cure you—unlike psychiatry. If you have an IQ of 70 or 145, or higher like mine, we can take you. If you have an uncle who sexually abused you, and who doesn’t, or a bad series of romantic relationships, we can take you. If you have a wallet full of $7 million or $7, we can take you.
And it’s tax-free.
For more of this insightful non-fiction, buy B. Brown Dullard’s book Scienetics.   |
