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August 29, 2005 |
West Bank, Israel Whit Pistol An old-fashioned Palestinian weather vane points north, to what may now be Tehran West. sraeli Prime Minister Ariel "Olive Branch" Sharon announced last Wednesday that the disputed Gaza Strip had been returned to Muslims at long last, marking the end of a 38-year call by Middle Eastern countries that the Jewish nation leave the settlement to its Islamic inhabitants. However, Islamic critics complained the Gaza Strip had not actually been released by the occupying Israeli forces, but merely re-zoned so the Strip itself now lay within the Egyptian borders. Sharon balked at such claims, because balking is second-nature to him. "For years they demand Israel return their stupid little piece of land, well, it’s done," said Sharon, spitting to punctuate his point. "Israeli congress has re-zoned and now all of area is Israel. Why are so many Muslims occup...
sraeli Prime Minister Ariel "Olive Branch" Sharon announced last Wednesday that the disputed Gaza Strip had been returned to Muslims at long last, marking the end of a 38-year call by Middle Eastern countries that the Jewish nation leave the settlement to its Islamic inhabitants. However, Islamic critics complained the Gaza Strip had not actually been released by the occupying Israeli forces, but merely re-zoned so the Strip itself now lay within the Egyptian borders. Sharon balked at such claims, because balking is second-nature to him. "For years they demand Israel return their stupid little piece of land, well, it’s done," said Sharon, spitting to punctuate his point. "Israeli congress has re-zoned and now all of area is Israel. Why are so many Muslims occupying Israeli land? Have they not gotten the memo? But you won’t see us stoning them or setting off bombs in their cafés. Had they any cafés. We merely ask them to leave. Promptly. Within twenty-four hours, or face arrest and devastating loitering charges." Even standard Israel supporter the United States has had a little trouble digesting this latest crafty maneuvering from its World Council ally. U.S. officials have called for a more appropriate fulfillment of the pledge to leave the Gaza Strip, stating that while re-zoning is an effective way to keep minority votes under control in domestic situations, it is unacceptable for solving international land disputes. The re-zoning itself appears to be a response to earlier criticisms that the original disembarkation from the Gaza Strip failed to meet expectations from Israel’s promise, as the country annexed additional land for its own borders to build a demarcation wall around Maaleh Adumim, inside the West Bank, effectively stealing a portion of that area in the name of tightening security. Some of the few sane Middle East analysts left fear the drastic measure by Israel could inspire combative Arabic states to strike back with their own internal ordinances to diminish the effects of the Gaza re-zoning and Israel’s seizure of the West Bank. "Sharon may have opened the door to a new style of war between Israel and the Arabic states," said Professor Udi Al-Batang of Cairo University. "The bombings and military strikes may take a back seat to re-mapping and re-districting. Not that this won’t lead to bombings and military strikes of their own. But justifying what you’re doing with the internal laws of your own country cannot build a lasting peace. People outside your own borders will be outraged, and that outrage will inspire more violence. And I know what I’m talking about. I’m tempted to buy myself a machine gun because I went to bed in Cairo and woke up in the poverty-stricken Gaza Strip this morning. Thank you, Mr. Sharon." Many leaders in the Arabic communities warned Sharon he must comply with the years-old promise to end occupation of the real Gaza Strip. But most likely, Sharon didn’t understand because it was all in the Arabs’ own languages. "If Israel wants to build a 100-foot wall to defend ourselves, we certainly have that right," pledged Sharon. "If we want to control the borders of our country, for security’s sake, and move them wherever and whenever we feel like it, we certainly have that right. Clearly the best way to maintain piece in a region long torn by strife is to build more fences and take all the land we need. Finally… we are safe." Although this reporter rushed to get this story out sooner, its delivery was delayed along the way by the fact that after standing in the middle of Jerusalem one minute, he found himself a minute later standing in New Mesopotamia, by order of the Syrian Rezoning Congress. Whoopsy-doo. the commune news wouldn’t mind redistricting that sweet little area across the street—providing that’s a hot tub we’re seeing with our binoculars, and not actually the broken septic tank someone told us it was. Ivan Nacutchacokov has yet to make it back from New Baghdad or wherever the hell it was he ended up after all that instant traveling.
| August 29, 2005 |
Virginia Beach, VA Junior Bacon Chávez: "What the fuck?" Robertson: "Yeeep." 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 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.
| Rap mogul Suge Knight shot while Robert Blake out in car getting gun 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 |
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August 29, 2005 For the Last Time Deidrebane, Those Aren't the FedsDeidrebane, Deidrebane, Deidrebane. My sweet, dear paranoid Deidrebane. I don't know through which orifice crawled in these latest musings that torture your fevered imagination, but I assure you, beyond the wispiest shadow of a doubt, that the Feds are most certainly not on to us.
No, my Deidrebane, not The Fuzz either. Not the pigs, the rookers, Johnny Law, The Man, or the Blue Meanies. None of them, Deidrebane. Not one. The flower delivery man yesterday? Just delivering flowers. No secret camera in his oversized belt-buckle, my dear. I think the young man was just from Texas. I understand that kind of thing is a point of pride down there. I don't know, my dear, perhaps he won a rodeo. Or some kind of pro wrestling title. Regardless, he was not initiating a sophisticated elec...
º Last Column: Don't Be Absurd My Dear, That's Obviously Not My Shit º more columns
Deidrebane, Deidrebane, Deidrebane. My sweet, dear paranoid Deidrebane. I don't know through which orifice crawled in these latest musings that torture your fevered imagination, but I assure you, beyond the wispiest shadow of a doubt, that the Feds are most certainly not on to us.
No, my Deidrebane, not The Fuzz either. Not the pigs, the rookers, Johnny Law, The Man, or the Blue Meanies. None of them, Deidrebane. Not one. The flower delivery man yesterday? Just delivering flowers. No secret camera in his oversized belt-buckle, my dear. I think the young man was just from Texas. I understand that kind of thing is a point of pride down there. I don't know, my dear, perhaps he won a rodeo. Or some kind of pro wrestling title. Regardless, he was not initiating a sophisticated electronic scan of our home's interior, for the purpose of compiling a detailed 3-D holographic model of our home to aid the S.W.A.T. team or armed DEA agents in a raid of our mansion. No, not the ATF either. And I don't think the CTU is a real organization, my dear.
Yes, my dearest Deidrebane, that really was the cable guy. And I don't know why he had that cast on his arm. Perhaps he fell out of a tree. Yes they do, adults fall out of trees all the time. Remember when I fell out of that Sequoia on our vacation last year? I did not think I could fly, Deidrebane, I thought we'd already dispelled that ugly rumor. Fine, I suppose you've never woken up hungry for an owl-egg omelet. Lucky you, my dear.
And no, Deidrebane, it is not possible to bug a toilet. I don't even know where you got that idea. And even if you could, why would you want to? Yes, I suppose it would be an impressive engineering feat. That still doesn't answer my question. I don't think the Federal government does things like that just to prove that they can. Look, I can't stop you from using our neighbor's restroom, but I can't guarantee they're going to be thrilled about the idea. Ever since I ran over the Chunderbuns' doghouse, those people have had a serious case of the holier-than-thous. Yes, Deidrebane, I realize it was full of dogs at the time. I don't remember shouting anything about how the wood was barking. That sounds exactly like the kind of thing you would make up after a few cocktails.
Have you been watching the movies again? I suspect you have, you always get like this after one of your movie nights. Remember back when you saw E.T. and became convinced there was an alien locked in our pantry? I don't think our son ever really recovered from that broom attack, my dear. And he was practically diabetic after you'd pushed all those Reese's pieces underneath the door. No, I don't remember his name either. I think he played tennis. Perhaps shuffleboard. He definitely did something outdoors. Might have been a fireman.
And no, I don't think it's a good idea to get rid of my drug stash in case the feds come bursting through the windows in rappelling equipment, firing German shepherds in from the lawn by catapult. Do you have any idea what that would entail, my dear? I suspect that part of this house may have been constructed from illegal narcotics; I can't vouch for my state of mind at the time that I was drawing up the plans. That reminds me; if the house ever catches on fire, stay away from the upstairs bathroom. I don't think a single human being was ever meant to smoke an entire bathtub made from tar heroin.
No my dear, when the S.W.A.T. team comes, they won't ring the doorbell, and they won't be disguised as gardeners or insurance salesmen or ninjas. I don't think they have a budget commensurate to those Mission Impossible films you love so. Okay, they might have a battering ram. Would that make you happy? I swear, Deidrebane, you're starting to alarm the children. Send them outside to play with the gardeners before you give these children a complex. Yes, my dear, the gardeners have always had walkie-talkies. I swear, Deidrebane, sometimes you're like the Joan of Arc of paranoia. º Last Column: Don't Be Absurd My Dear, That's Obviously Not My Shitº more columns |
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Milestones1992: Lil Duncan's alternative band Fuck Off is signed to a major label, on the condition they replace Lil and change their name to The Cranberries.Now HiringGenie. Duties include magically delivering gifts of high monetary and social value on demand. Must have own lamp or bottle, no backtalk. Evil "wish becomes curse"-type genies need not apply.Top T.V. Shows1. | Friends, NBC | 2. | New Friends, NBC | 3. | Wilma & Non-Threatening Abstinent Gay Man, NBC | 4. | Black Friends, UPN | 5. | Star Truck: Interstate, UPN | |
| Scientists Agree to Name New Planet "Tyler"BY red bagel 8/29/2005 A Fistful of Tannenbaum, Chapter 16: King of England and Everything Editor’s Note: Jed Foster was expurgated back through time by the world’s biggest bomb even as he tried to disarm it. Foster, a well-read scholar and a machine in the sack, landed in the time of King Arthur. After talking his way out of witch-burning and befriending a knight of the round table, Foster has just met the guy whose time it is—King Arthur himself.
Chapter 16: King of England and Everything
"Rise, good sir," said King Arthur to Jed Foster, who had slipped and fallen on his well-sculpted ass. "Your humility is most welcome."
Jed stood and dusted himself off. "Don’t mistake me, your majesty," said Jed. "While I respect the way you have everybody in your pocket, I don’t recognize the authority of some self-...
Editor’s Note: Jed Foster was expurgated back through time by the world’s biggest bomb even as he tried to disarm it. Foster, a well-read scholar and a machine in the sack, landed in the time of King Arthur. After talking his way out of witch-burning and befriending a knight of the round table, Foster has just met the guy whose time it is—King Arthur himself.
Chapter 16: King of England and Everything
"Rise, good sir," said King Arthur to Jed Foster, who had slipped and fallen on his well-sculpted ass. "Your humility is most welcome."
Jed stood and dusted himself off. "Don’t mistake me, your majesty," said Jed. "While I respect the way you have everybody in your pocket, I don’t recognize the authority of some self-appointed rich jackass who claims to have blue blood running through his veins. I merely tripped. Of course, I mean no offense, your majesty."
"No problem," said Arthur. "I get that all the time. Good Sir Punkrock here tells me you are a time-traveler from the future."
"Indeed I am," said Jed, because he liked to say pretentious things. "I understand if you are more than a little stunned by such a claim."
"Not at all. We get time-travelers here all the time." said the King. "After all, it’s the time of King-frickin’-Arthur. Everybody wants to get a piece of the King. Am I right, boys, or am I right?"
The entire court agreed, with the stately and shining knights of the roundtable appearing quite bored with their assent. Maybe, Jed thought, they are actually extremely familiar with time-travelers. It makes sense, if you believe Mark Twain and a hundred thousand bad sci-fi shows.
"I assume you’ll want the standard time-traveler treatment?" asked the King. He offered Jed a room to stay in and a place as counselor to the court, which had been vacated when their most recent time-traveler had accidentally erased his own existence from the timestream, not that anybody remembered that. I’m just telling you so you’ll know. So don’t start asking me how the position even existed, because I’m doing you the favor here.
The following day, the King invited Jed to choose the most nubile and slutty maiden in all of the kingdom to be his own, except for the 25-35 maidens the King already reserved for his own. Which made it a pretty short list of truly pretty maidens, yes, but it was still a pretty nice thing to offer. Jed had an elaborate pageant, complete with talent show and birthday suit competition, swimsuits having yet to be invented, and narrows his selection down to three choices.
It was then, as Jed was ready to crown Miss Yankshirefarthing as his own Foster’s Choice Maiden of the Year, that he noticed a quiet, beautiful girl standing in the back of the king’s court.
"Who is that?" Jed asked Miss Yankshirefarthing, who promptly informed him it was the king’s daughter Penny, and asked him to get on with the damn crowning already. "Princess Penny," thought Jed, saying it aloud unnecessarily. "What a pretty Penny indeed!"
It was a most inappropriate thing to say before pledging your love to another woman for the rest of your time-travel stay, and don’t think the King didn’t notice.
"That improper little shit," said the King to a nearby maiden fellating him. "Does he know how rude it is to remark on the beauty of the King’s daughter while the King is receiving head before the court?"
And right then, unbeknownst to Jed, because the King had wisdom enough to whisper, the King plotted Jed’s downfall.
Next Chapter: King’s Conspiracy |