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 August 29, 2005 |
Virginia Beach, VA Junior Bacon Chávez: "What the fuck?"
Robertson: "Yeeep."
"These violent religious fanatics cannot be tolerated," Robertson explained, ducking under a salvo of gunfire from supporters of this point of view. "And so God has told me he must be murdered."
"What the fuck?" responded Chávez, when reached in Cuba for his reaction.
In a later interview Chávez theorized that Robertson must be thinking of a different Hugo Chávez, since i...
at Robertson, the American founder of the Christian Coalition who in the past has called for the bombing of the state department and the assassinations of Kim Jong Il and Saddam Hussein, announced this week that the democratically-elected president of Venezuela, Hugo Chávez, must be assassinated because of his potential to spread Marxism and Muslim extremism across South America.
"These violent religious fanatics cannot be tolerated," Robertson explained, ducking under a salvo of gunfire from supporters of this point of view. "And so God has told me he must be murdered."
"What the fuck?" responded Chávez, when reached in Cuba for his reaction.
In a later interview Chávez theorized that Robertson must be thinking of a different Hugo Chávez, since it he and his entire country are either Roman Catholic or Protestant, and Chávez is a very common name.
"I know for a man like Robertson, the entire non-white world must be very confusing," offered Chávez charitably.
After a week of being shit on by the press, and nearly killed in daily assassination attempts, Robertson announced that the world must have misunderstood his comments, or taken them out of context or something.
"When I said 'the United States of America should assassinate Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez,' some people unfortunately misinterpreted this comment to mean I thought the man should be taken out by American covert-ops assassins or something crazy like that," Robertson explained. "This couldn't be further from the truth. Anyone who was really watching The 700 Club that day knows what I really meant: that Jesus loves everybody. End of story."
When confronted with video of the show, Robertson changed his tune, begrudgingly revealing that the episode in question was filmed on the The 700 Club's annual "opposite day."
"You got me! The cat's out of the bag," admitted Robertson. "We were going to have a big contest for viewers and award all kinds of great faith-based prizes for the viewer who could figure out which of our shows had been on opposite day, but not any more. You blew it! Good job, dingus!"
However, this was not the first time Robertson has denied his own remarks in the face of damning VHS evidence.
Last year Robertson claimed that President Bush told him before the invasion of Iraq that there would be no casualties, but that Jesus thought it was going to be messy. This came a few years after the reverend claimed that God allowed 9/11 to happen because the American government allowed abortion and pornography, and because people stopped buying Pat Boone records.
In 2003 came Robertson's infamous 21-day "prayer offensive," when Robertson took a break from being his normal offensive self to beg God to kill three members of the Supreme Court so they could be replaced with justices who would re-criminalize sodomy, thereby ending homosexuality forever.
At the age of five, Robertson organized a kitchen-table meeting to call for the head of his own mother, for the crime of naming him Marion Gordon Robertson, and thereby necessitating the use of a gender-neutral nickname like "Pat" so as to avoid being traded for cigarettes in elementary school. Robertson would later regret not taking on a more masculine fake name, like Bruce, Lance or Barry. the commune news has always wanted to take an anti-assassination stance, but we must admit that's so hard to spell we usually just vote to kill the fuckers. Ivana Folger-Balzac is always the first name we think of when we think "assassination," regardless of whether we're looking for a shooter or a victim.
 |  August 29, 2005 |
Already many scientists are beginning to ask: "Could Tyler have once sustained life?"
The discovery was originally made by the Spitzer Science Center, where a kid can be a dork, but was quickly verified by observatories all over the world, which frankly had little else to do. While the debate lingered on as to whether the object was a planet or just some shit stuck on the glass, the majority of the scientific community came together over the weekend to agree on the object's planet status. Attention q...
he whole world, or at least a very small percentage of us into geeky astronomy stuff, was floored by the discovery recently of an object that may well be a new planet. If anyone's still paying attention, they might be happy to know scientists have at last agreed the object is a planet, and furthermore, the scientific community has agreed on a name: "Tyler."
The discovery was originally made by the Spitzer Science Center, where a kid can be a dork, but was quickly verified by observatories all over the world, which frankly had little else to do. While the debate lingered on as to whether the object was a planet or just some shit stuck on the glass, the majority of the scientific community came together over the weekend to agree on the object's planet status. Attention quickly turned to naming it, with many renowned scientists claiming they had called dibs on the next planet long, long ago.
"Frankly, we haven't had a planet to name in a few centuries," said Astronomer and amateur astrologist Benton Leatherbelt. "That name-hog Galileo took up a lot of them. Mostly all the planet-namers went the Greek god angle, with Mars and Mercury and Neptune and what. But to name a planet something like that nowadays would be a waste, not to mention anachronistic. Plus, we're out of the best Greek god names. Unless they want to go with Hercules. I could see planet Hercules."
Many professional astronomers agreed, except for that "Hercules" bullshit. Super-hot U Ignorant professor of astronomy Bubbles Corkran:
"It's taken years of hard sky-looking, but finally we have a ninth or tenth planet. I can never remember which," said Bubbles, laughing intoxicatingly. "And I, for one, want to see a name that matches that little cutie. It was me who suggested 'Tyler,' because I wanted something that represents our modern age and to show that today's astromonists have their eyes to the future. Plus, I love Aerosmith. Who doesn't love Aerosmith?"
Professor Corkran's choice received much support among horny astronomers, but wasn't without challenges. Other top contenders were "Jacob," "Joshua," "Dylan," or "Abigail" if it turned out to be a rare female planet. Some were notably upset with the choice of name for the new planet, like Arizona State astronomy professor Wilson Bernardi.
"Naming the greatest scientific discovery of this new century 'Tyler' was unbelievably short-sighted and irresponsible. We had a burden upon us to apply a proper label to this new celestial body, and could have taken the proper amount of time to consider all potential choices. 'Isis' would have been a possibility… all I'm saying is, 'Tyler' seems like a very temporary and forgettable name. And I know you're going to hear stories, but this is not just because people didn't choose the name I proposed: Planet Faggot."
The debate continued into the first week after the planet's naming, but others among the world's astronomers called for a healing of the rift.
"We've all spent too much time and effort on the relatively unimportant process of naming this fantastic new discovery," smirked Lawana Kirk, professor of astronomy at the University of Colorado. "It's time to settle down with the name and concentrate on more important aspects: Who will be the first to conquer this new planet? I've already got my things packed, and I've begun construction on the world's fastest rocket to get me there before all you other carpetbaggers. Anyone want to call 'shotgun' on the window seat?" the commune news has known about the tenth planet for a long time, but we were under the impression it was already named the Planet of Funk. Speaking of funk, let's stay a fair distance away from Bludney Pludd today, okay?
| New Orleans to hurricane Katrina: "Show us your tits!" Multiple back-to-school sales piss on last two weeks of summer vacation Earth spins faster at its core, says scientist out of his ass Israeli suicide bomb had been talking about death a lot lately |
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 August 29, 2005 The End of an ErrorI'm officially announcing my retirement.
No joke, you didn't read wrong. I'm giving up on acting once and for all. I'm done with it. Kaput. Out. If you can't see me, I'm making the signal of "safe at home" like an umpire does, because it also looks like the "I'm done" signal I have in my head. Because I'm done with acting.
This is not anything out of the blue for me, really, although some of you fans may think it is. I've just been beat down too damn long to get up and do it again. You've taught me my lesson, cold hard world, and this time I'm taking it to heart. Me and the stage are done. Same with me and the TV and film camera.
I got fired from Ho's! for one. The comic book convention came up the same week as I was shooting some new footage for ...
º Last Column: Second Drafted
º more columns
I'm officially announcing my retirement. No joke, you didn't read wrong. I'm giving up on acting once and for all. I'm done with it. Kaput. Out. If you can't see me, I'm making the signal of "safe at home" like an umpire does, because it also looks like the "I'm done" signal I have in my head. Because I'm done with acting. This is not anything out of the blue for me, really, although some of you fans may think it is. I've just been beat down too damn long to get up and do it again. You've taught me my lesson, cold hard world, and this time I'm taking it to heart. Me and the stage are done. Same with me and the TV and film camera. I got fired from Ho's! for one. The comic book convention came up the same week as I was shooting some new footage for the summer replacement episodes, which will be replacing the episodes they decided we couldn't show because they're not at all suitable for public viewing. But anyway, I made a promise to all my faithful nerd fans at the convention that I would be there, and I already spent all the personal appearance money. That was a good sundae, though. Nuts and all the fucking trimmings. Yum. But to sum it up, I cut and run and left them to fill in all the A.D.R. or whatever themselves. So they just cut my character, I guess that saved them money or something, and shot around me. They also told me, in the phone message, that I was the least funny ho on the show, but I think that was just to kick while I'm down. I'm at least funnier than the old ho. I don't need that kind of humiliation, you know. It finally occurred to me, while I was slipping into my counterfeit Metallichick outfit to go out and sign some old comic books at the convention: I'm bigger than that. I'll let you in on a little secret: Ho's! was a crappy show. Nothing against David Faustino—genius in a bottle, you ask me. But the show itself is garbage, and all of us could do better. Not much better, but still better. So I say it's luck disguised as broke-ass misfortune that I got canned from the show. And I'm giving up acting, once and for all, because I'm tired of taking degrading jobs just for the money and slightly improved Q-rating I get from it. There's lots I can do. My time at the commune has proved that. I can writer a column, sometimes more than one a month. I can write a screenplay, no matter what my screenwriting teacher says to her mom on the phone when she thinks I'm not listening. And I can model—it doesn't even take any acting talent to do that. All you have to do is stand real still, holding a broadsword. And you don't even have to stand all that still with these modern cameras. The point is, I need acting like I need a hole in the head. And not the breathing holes. I mean bad holes. This isn't like when I retired at 16, either, or retired again at 17. And I'll be the first to admit that retirement at 19 was completely misconceived—I still had shitloads to say. But retirement at 26 is the right decision. I've done it all, been everywhere and everything, and I've exhausted every original thought I ever had. And that was a short list to begin with. Don't worry, though. I may be broken-down and defeated as an actress, but that doesn't mean I haven't got loads of people who still need bitching out. The actress may be dead, but the columnist strives on and on. Against injustice, and for a reasonable weekly check. º Last Column: Second Draftedº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“Don't stop eating out tomorrow. Don't stop, the fries will soon be here. The food'll be better than before. Breakfast is gone, breakfast is gone.”
-Fleetwood MacDonaldsFortune 500 CookieDon't give up on your search for unconditional love this week: it's keeping the rest of us amused. Try finding a breakfast cereal that doesn't contain quite so much garlic. You will be arrested for taking off your pants this week, and assaulted by the stranger you take them off of. This week's lucky way- underground dance moves: The Drunken Swordfish, The Statue, Degenerative Disc Failure, The Herpe, Clap Your Thighs Say Ouch, The Go Home Alone, The I'm Getting My Ass Kicked This Ain't a Dance Move Please For the Love of God Help Me.
Try again later.Least-Watched Holiday Specials| 1. | A Bush Family Christmas | | 2. | I'm Dreaming of a White Krishna | | 3. | VH1 Behind the Music: That Guy Who Sang Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer | | 4. | Christopher Walken in a Winter Wonderland | | 5. | Gerald Ford Reads "Twas the Night Before…" Oh Shit | |
|   Peter Jennings: "He Read the News" BY roland mcshyster 8/29/2005
Holy Toledo, America. I've never been to the place, but it sounds like quite the religious Mecca. What religion? I have no idea, but if it's Ohio, it's probably Shriners. That just seems to fit. Anyway, we're back and black after a wonderful vacation from the grind of viewing and reviewing. Are you all ready for the return of The Entertainment Police? Neither are we. Tough noodles.
In Theaters Now:
The Brothel Grimm
That weird cartoon witch's dog is back, and he's running a whorehouse. Sure, it's been done before, but this time legendary director Terry Gilmore of Gilmore Girls fame is at the helm, and he knows how to weird shit up like a pro. From Time Midgets to What's Eating Gilbert's Grapes?, Gilmore has proven ti...
Holy Toledo, America. I've never been to the place, but it sounds like quite the religious Mecca. What religion? I have no idea, but if it's Ohio, it's probably Shriners. That just seems to fit. Anyway, we're back and black after a wonderful vacation from the grind of viewing and reviewing. Are you all ready for the return of The Entertainment Police? Neither are we. Tough noodles. In Theaters Now:The Brothel GrimmThat weird cartoon witch's dog is back, and he's running a whorehouse. Sure, it's been done before, but this time legendary director Terry Gilmore of Gilmore Girls fame is at the helm, and he knows how to weird shit up like a pro. From Time Midgets to What's Eating Gilbert's Grapes?, Gilmore has proven time and time again that he can spin gold into hay or blonde hair or however that Rapunzel alchemy shit is supposed to work. The scariest thing this time around was that I couldn't tell if this movie was animated or claymated or CGI or if it was made by those creepy-ass Duracell people from that Christmas Train movie. I suppose some people would find that ambiguity magical, but I have to admit it creeped the hair right off my ass and I spent most of the movie in the john. The Dukes of GazzaraBen Gazzara is back and hick as ever in this remake of his popular 70's show about Gazzara and his legendary contempt for royalty. Sure, Ben's a lot older now, but with age comes wisdom (occasionally) and in Gazzara's case, it just makes the wisecracks crankier and that much more funny. The supporting cast leaves a little bit to be desired though, since country music upstart Johnny Knoxville and that other guy don't have much to do, plus Jessica Simpson's ass suit springs a leak about ten minutes in and by the end of the film her cutoffs are looking pretty saggy. Which pretty much negates her reason for being in the film, and begs the question of whether or not J-Lo's ass had other engagements, or if there was a falling star sitting on it at the time of this film's production. The 4-Year-Old VirginSex comedies don't get any more offensive than this raunchy chronicle of a preschooler dealing with the intense social pressure to get laid. Some deep inner part of me was pained by the very concept of the film, but then I realized I was just hungry. After a box of nachos I was able to do my duty (not like that, I took care of that during The Brothel Grimm) and enjoy what Hollywood was crapping into my lap. Offensive or not, there are plenty of great jokes in the film about naptime and getting together over a couple of juice boxes, that kind of thing. But whoever penned the bit about giving 4-year-olds Viagra, could you raise your hand so I'll know to stand clear when the lightning strikes? Thanks. Wedding CrushersHere we go again with another weird Transformers rip-off about lonely killing machines who hate to see people getting married. Vince Ray Vaughn and sports magnate Owen Wilson star as the titular bots, and breathe some much needed life and levity into a script that has more emotional baggage than the Samsonite heirs. Though as with almost any comedy released these days, I missed most of the film while I was wondering what in the hell is up with Owen Wilson's nose. Seriously. If you know, send an email. And that's that-a-tat-tat, America. Hope you're finding a reason to breathe these days, if not, well then you probably can't read this anyway. Unless they've got the Internet in hell. Do you think they have in Internet in hell? Probably, but I bet it's over a really crappy slow dial-up connection, and they've got some kind of virus that inserts disturbing transvestite porn into everything. I guess that's why nobody wants to go there. That, and I hear it's full of the kind of people who forward mass emails. Yech. Until next time, I'm Roland McShyster.   |
