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Iraq Withdrawal Bill Threatened With White House VitoApril 2, 2007 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon President Bush visits Congress for last-minute negotiations before the Iraq withdrawal bill Thursday; burly pal "White House Vito" Pantusi brings out his "negotiators" for the visit.
Presidential advisor and former CEO of the Dallas Quik-Dry Cement Company Vito Pantusi has been working closely with Bush on a compromise that will make all involved parties happy, a White House inside source says, particularly the President Bush party.
"Mr. Pantusi plans on visiting House and Senate Democrats personally with some associates to convince them the...
otes along party lines heralded the passing of Congress' new military budget, which would allow $122 billion in funding with the stipulation that all troops be removed from Iraq by the deadline of March 31, 2008. It was a critical blow to the G.O.P. and the president, who did not concede defeat but instead promised the bill, if it passes the House, would have to face the merciless wall of "White House Vito." Presidential advisor and former CEO of the Dallas Quik-Dry Cement Company Vito Pantusi has been working closely with Bush on a compromise that will make all involved parties happy, a White House inside source says, particularly the President Bush party. "Mr. Pantusi plans on visiting House and Senate Democrats personally with some associates to convince them they've voted improperly," said our source. "His associates are sporting enthusiasts, as anyone can tell by their baseball bats, and Mr. Pantusi is sure he can teach certain Congressmen all about fair play." Acquitted on three different charges of influencing a congressional vote with a large tank of piranha fish, "White House Vito" has been an associate of the president since their days together in the Texas business community, and the president has brought in Pantusi as an advisor in hard negotiations in the past. In 2005, with an end-of-year deadline fast approaching, Pantusi assisted in advising the president in negotiating the Andean Free Trade agreement. "The White House would like to consider this matter resolved-like," Pantusi said in a follow-up news conference, cracking his knuckles audibly for the press in one of his rare public appearances. Other involved parties declined comment, and quickly shrunk from reporters who approached them too fast with microphones. Speculation has already begun as to what role Mr. Pantusi and his special "commission o' negotiatin' muscle" might play in opposition to the deadline bill. Representatives of the negotiating commission, including White House Vito standing ominously in the background, fielded a few quick questions from reporters on Friday. "In, uh, response to the question, ah, from the ravishing lady from The Washington Post with the killer rack," replied Pantusi associate Johnny Lips, "the president is, uh, looking for an amicable solution to the, er, Iraq budgetary disagreement. The president would, uh, prefer to leave the decisions on, um, monetary needs and appropriate troop presence to the, er, military personnel in charge of that there decision." Pantuis himself only responded to one question, when a reporter from CNN asked if the president had any doubts about pursuing a war the public increasingly opposes. To which White House Vito answered by throwing his cigar at the trembling reporter and shouting over the microphone, "You want me to come down there and show you some fucking opposition? You like that, tough guy? I should smack your fucking glasses off, numbnuts." If the White House chooses to pass the bill, the new budget requires Bush to start bringing troops home from Iraq and Afghanistan within 120 days. If negotiations go roughly with Vito Pantusi, 120 days is also the average length of hospital stay expected for congressmen who have enjoyed a difficult compromise with Bush's advisor. The Democratic majority in the Senate, however, warned that they would not be scared by White House intimidation. "It's the president's right to respond with Vito to any legislation he disagrees with," said Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, "but Congress is not without its own powers. If the president tries to force through his own Iraq budget through the Senate after rejecting ours, we're always willing to respond with Philly Buster." The Senator gestured to a husky Samoan page standing behind the speaking Democrats, scratching his goatee and nodding his head ominously. the commune news is glad we're not in politics, but we still have to face the scrutiny of "Line Item Vito," the guy at the supermarket who counts up our goods and tells us to get the fuck out of the express lane. Correspondent Ramrod Hurley is no stranger to cement shoes, although he finds concrete flip-flops more enjoyable for summer.
 |  March 26, 2007 |
London, England Junior Bacon The British warship HMS Cornwall, shown here surrendering to an Iranian on a bicycle.
“A proud era in the history of Great Britain comes to an end today,” announced Blair, Prime Minister since 1997 and secret Transformers collector even longer. “We had a good run of it, I’d say,” a proudly defiant Blair mused. “But you don’t muck about when you’re dealing with the Iranian Navy. I have my kids to consider.”
“There’s no use crying over spilt milk,” agreed British Secretary of State for Defence Desmond Henry Browne (BSSDDHB). “It’s been fun, I must admit, being the top dog on the internationa...
n a move that surprised few familiar with the terrible wrath of the legendary Iranian Navy, British Prime Minister Tony Blair announced today that his country would be surrendering to Iran rather than facing almost certain destruction.
“A proud era in the history of Great Britain comes to an end today,” announced Blair, Prime Minister since 1997 and secret Transformers collector even longer. “We had a good run of it, I’d say,” a proudly defiant Blair mused. “But you don’t muck about when you’re dealing with the Iranian Navy. I have my kids to consider.”
“There’s no use crying over spilt milk,” agreed British Secretary of State for Defence Desmond Henry Browne (BSSDDHB). “It’s been fun, I must admit, being the top dog on the international scene. Or perhaps second-to-top dog, after America… or maybe third after Germany. I don’t have recent figures in front of me. But the point is, every dog has his day, and we all knew our day had to come to an end some day. At the hands of the Iranian Navy? How else?”
Iran’s Navy, a fearsome juggernaut of nautical supremacy, has terrorized the seas since the 1200s, when Iran began conquering coastal lands at will and making pirates eat their own hats. With coastal access to the crucial Arabian and Caspian Seas, the land mass of Iran was ideally located for maritime dominance. Even geographical limitations such as a lack of access to the Pacific Ocean were laughed at by the Iranian Navy, infamous world-wide for carrying their huge warships by hand overland when doing so would be more impressive than simply sailing around the Cape of Good Hope or even around small islands.
Massive blockades of Iranian warships crippled the world economy numerous times in the 1500s, with the entire Spanish Armada going to their deaths in a futile attempt to import much-needed Spanish rice in defiance of Iran’s wishes. The Iranian people, though poorer than a record executive on land, have nevertheless lorded over the seas for generations, with an iron fist and a wooden bottom. Because an iron bottom would sink like nobody’s business.
This latest development came to a head when 15 British sailors were captured by the Iranian Navy while conducting a routine search of a cargo ship carrying fuses and detonators in Iraqi territorial waters.
“We had just finished inspecting and signing off on the Iraqi freighter,” explained naval officer Roger Phillip, communicating through a photograph released by the Iranian Navy via holes ripped in his sweater forming the message in Morse code. “When suddenly the very sun was blotted out by an armada of fearsome warships, and we knew our own doom had engulfed us.”
Though the unconditional surrender of a world power over a small naval skirmish over 3,000 miles away is unusual, few consider Britain’s move premature, given the unbelievable hurt the Iranian Navy could rain down on the U.K. should they get their dander up.
A few foolhardy souls have suggested a death-before-dishonor approach, unwilling to bow down to their Iranian masters so quickly.
“I think we could take ‘em,” grumbled brave sausage peeler Roscoe Euclid of Saxby, loading supplies into an inflatable dingy moments before going to his certain death.
Final plans have not been announced as to what Britain’s new Iranian overlords plan to do with the country, though early indications point to a bonanza of beheadings. the commune news wishes not to offend the magnificent Iranian Navy with our article, and hereby place full responsibility for its publication on the shoulders of foreign reporter Ivan Nacutchacokov. Ivan Nacutchacokov is currently hiding in the commune’s umbrella closet, nervously clutching a wooden tennis racquet.
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 April 2, 2007 Rain, Rain, Go Straight to HellThings have been gloomier than usual here at the commune offices, as Flatbush, New Jersey goes through another rain-drenched March. Some have always admired rain, looked into the gloomy darkness overhead and the water fluttering down from the sky and seen it as some kind of cleansing of the earth, a washing-away of the dust and grime coating the planet and the nourishing of its lush green life. I say that's horseshit. Rain is nothing but the entire population of a city, state, or country being thrown into the swimming pool a teaspoon full at a time.
God's laughing at us when it rains. That's right—I accept the Judeo-Christian concept of God, and sometimes He's a right asshole. If He's so perfect, couldn't he find a more productive way of doing whatever rain has to do? Why mak...
º Last Column: I Don't Cotton to Spandex
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Things have been gloomier than usual here at the commune offices, as Flatbush, New Jersey goes through another rain-drenched March. Some have always admired rain, looked into the gloomy darkness overhead and the water fluttering down from the sky and seen it as some kind of cleansing of the earth, a washing-away of the dust and grime coating the planet and the nourishing of its lush green life. I say that's horseshit. Rain is nothing but the entire population of a city, state, or country being thrown into the swimming pool a teaspoon full at a time. God's laughing at us when it rains. That's right—I accept the Judeo-Christian concept of God, and sometimes He's a right asshole. If He's so perfect, couldn't he find a more productive way of doing whatever rain has to do? Why make plants that grow in the middle of a landlocked mass need water at all? It makes less sense than a movie starring Adam Sandler as a romantic lead. God's capable of making spiders, who reproduce with hundreds of offspring and spin elaborate webs to feed themselves, but the best he could do to get water around to all the soil is just to drop it out of the sky. I'm surprised He stopped there. Why not just have chicken wings plunge from the clouds whenever people need feeding? Hold your mouths open like turkeys staring at the sky, spit out the bones, there's no need to even take lunch. It's better than getting soaking wet through some ill-conceived water delivery system. Imagine the scenario, good people: You've put on your best work suit, combed your hair into a stylish pompadour that's a magnet for the ladies, and you strut out the door early in the morning. Then some obstinate little shit pelts you with a condom full of mineral water. I suppose you addle-minded hippies would look up at him and blather on about the inherent beauty of getting pranked by a little preteen bastard. You'd write songs about water balloons and lovers would curl up next to the fire telling each other they sure like the smell in the air after you get socked in the face with a swishy prophylactic. To hell with that. You've been punked, nature-lover. I'm not sure why I alone have this special insight, that rain is nothing but an amateur April Fool's joke. Perhaps standing at 3-foot-eight-inches and being particularly vulnerable to floods and watery basements makes me warier of water falling from the sky than most people. I don't accept all of the Bible as a literal interpretation, but I do believe there was a flood. I admit, I skipped around through parts of it, but I think I have the general gist—40 days and nights of rain (yeah, God, real funny), build a monstrous boat, take two of each animal. I'm not sure the wisdom of that, taking a couple of dinosaurs that are bound to eat the rest of the animals, instead of taking your hundred or so best friends. But I'm not concerned with that, I only want to keep a close eye on rain in case it gets the wise idea to do the same thing again. I haven't exactly kept up with my boat-making skill, and if I were hard-pressed to start collecting animals right now, I would only be able to find a couple of diferent breeds of dogs and a cockatiel. However, let's make one thing clear: I will not hear a word against snow. Snow is the antithesis of rain—it's light and flickering instead of pelting and obstinate; it's pure and charming, instead of cruel and clothes-ruining. Plus, it sticks together and makes snow men. Anything that allows itself to be shaped by men into mock people cannot be bad. You just try and make a rainman, see where that will get you—a watery retarded man who counts matchsticks easily. Yeah, that was a great idea. º Last Column: I Don't Cotton to Spandexº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that's completely impossible by the laws of physics and laughable to every sane person.”
-Mark TwaintFortune 500 CookieThis is the week you finally snap. All those years spent strengthening your middle finger and thumb are really going to pay off big-time, playa. Try keeping your dehydrated mashed potato flakes and your dandruff collection in different-colored boxes this week, just in case that last date ever comes back. Oh, that autobiography you wrote in l33t? Yeah dude, nobody can read that shit. This week's lucky porn cameos: Jenna Jameson in the pilot of that awesome new Hoarders spin-off, Whoreders, Big Bird in Larry Bird: Big Bird, The Ghost of John Holmes in everything else you watch because you burnt that shit into your plasma, dumbass, and …wait, Ron Jeremy in your wedding video? WTF?
Try again later.Top 5 Reasons There's No Way That Asshole Can Win the Republican Nomination| 1. | Too crazy/not crazy enough/not the right kind of crazy | | 2. | Makes swing voters shit blood at the sound of his/her name | | 3. | Once snorted cocaine off the belly of an underage Thai hooker who believes in big government | | 4. | Has been photographed not trying to kill Obama with their bare hands | | 5. | Can read | |
|   Democrats Call For Ousting of Gonzales BY roland mcshyster 4/2/2007 Buenos Greetos, America! Do you know what time it is? No, I’m serious, somebody replaced my wall clock with half a live chicken and I have no idea what time it is. Come to think of it, I hope to hell that’s a whole live chicken with only the front half sticking out of the wall, because it’s going to freak me out all to hell if it turns out half a chicken is somehow staying alive on my wall. And have you ever had a clock you had to feed? I don’t recommend it. Anyway, forget that I asked, now that I think about it, by the time any of you read this and get back to me, it’ll be an entirely different time and I probably won’t even care then. Let’s just compromise and say it’s Entertainment Police time. Deal? Sweet.
Blades of Glory
Anyone want to...
Buenos Greetos, America! Do you know what time it is? No, I’m serious, somebody replaced my wall clock with half a live chicken and I have no idea what time it is. Come to think of it, I hope to hell that’s a whole live chicken with only the front half sticking out of the wall, because it’s going to freak me out all to hell if it turns out half a chicken is somehow staying alive on my wall. And have you ever had a clock you had to feed? I don’t recommend it. Anyway, forget that I asked, now that I think about it, by the time any of you read this and get back to me, it’ll be an entirely different time and I probably won’t even care then. Let’s just compromise and say it’s Entertainment Police time. Deal? Sweet.
Blades of Glory
Anyone want to write in and offer up a plausible explanation why it took the Hollywood bigwigs this long to finally bring a cinematic retelling of the amazing life of actor Ruben Blades to the big screen? The only rationale I can come up with involves a labyrinthine international conspiracy that would make Oliver Stone barf out his ass. But whatever the reason for the delay, the long wait was clearly worth it when you see the life of the genius behind Predator 2 and Disorganized Crime eat up the screen like it was a giant slice of bubble tape. If Hollywood makes a better biopic this year, well, good for them.
Honey, I Think I Love My Wife
Finally, Rick Moranis gets over his illogical fear of blackface and steps gracefully into the role he was born to play in American public life: The white guy who’s a really funny black guy in blackface. It seems like for years actors have been going the other way, Eddie Murphy hitting the makeup truck hard and playing the entire white cast on Entourage, and Martin Lawrence splashing on the whiteface to play a soulful white retard in Rain Man. Since when do only black men have a license to make us laugh by pretending to be a race they’re not? I want to see Chinese guys dressed up like they’re Australian and Cubans who can do a hilarious Samoan. Get on it, Hollywood.
Peter Pan’s Labyrinth
One of the most painful experiences from my childhood that still sticks with me today was seeing Disney’s Michael Jackson biopic Peter Pan in the theater and coming to realize, a sickly feeling rising up from my stomach as each minute passed, that they were going to leave out the part at the end of the book where Pan goes shithouse and chases the lost boys through the hedge maze with an axe. Why? It’s a painful lesson for a child to learn, about the compromises and cowardice of the adult world. Well, apparently I wasn’t the only one who felt this way, as brooding Spaniard Benecio Del Taco was scarred enough to wait until he grew up to set the record straight with this harrowing remake, true to the source material down to the last comma. Trust me, I counted. One word of warning for parents, however: You must bring your children to this film. I don’t care if you have to pull them out of school, permanently, you owe it to your children to tell them the story of Peter Pan, the whole story, the way it was meant to be told. All else pales in importance.
Rocky Balboa
Few thought soulful beefcake Sylvester Stallone would dare make yet another Rocky sequel after earning a lifetime of love and adulation from lingerie-clad weirdos for his genre-bending penultimate effort, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. But just like in the movie, Cobra doesn’t know when to quit, so he keeps churning these things out like an Amish dude who won’t accept that the town already has way more butter than it can use. But is it any good? If you’ve got a thing for watching old guys get beat up, but couldn’t score tickets to the latest Evander Hoylfield fight, then yeah, this one will probably scratch that itch. Fans of recognizable cinematic values would probably be better off hopping from theater to theater, watching the Coke commercials before all the main features instead. All in all the quality of the movie hardly matters, since lingerie-clad true believers will be driving midnight showings of this thing for decades to come regardless.
Well, America, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got time for this week. I’m not actually afraid, I mean, I won’t be sleeping with the bathroom light on tonight or anything. Actually that’s a pretty bizarre figure of speech when you really think about it. Weird. Anyway, join us again next time so as not to be left outside in the cold dark void of the unknowing. Until then, I’m Roland McShyster and you’re some other person out there.   |
