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Washingon, D.C. Whit Pistol midst the controversy of insulting Danish cartoons and rioting Muslims throughout Europe and the Middle East, the U.S. has taken a firm stance against the editorial cartoon in question—not because it offends Islamic culture, but because it steals focus from the ever-popular anti-Americanism felt by Muslims worldwide. “We will not stand for this insult to the United States,” said White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan on Friday. “This administration has put far too much work into the Middle East to settle for second most-hated country in the western world.”
Added McClellan, “I mean… Afghanistan? Iraq? The threats and endless implications of war in Syria and Iran… if anyone is the biggest threat to Islam, it’s us.” Protests began following the publication of 12 cartoons portraying the prophet Mohammed in Denmark’s Jyllands-Posten, an act prohibited in Islamic religion, and the protests have turned into violent rioting in many instances, including setting fire to a Danish embassy. The riots have spread throughout Europe, following the re-publication of the offending cartoons in other countries. As Muslim aggression turns against Denmark and the other European Union countries, the U.S. began to show clear signs of fearing second best. “You think Denmark’s offensive?” President Bush said at a press conference on Thursday. “We put a Koran on the toilet, if you remember. Not us specifically, and we don’t condone that kind of thing—but that’s American handiwork for you. Let’s try to remember whose financial and military complexes you’ve suicide bombed. Ain’t we the Great Satan, folks?” Some scholars and media pundits, who make the real money in the field of academia, have suggested the cartoon controversy may be behind the administration’s recent attacks on suspected Al-Qaeda targets, as well as the president’s verbal gaff on Saturday. “You know what’s stupid? Long beards,” Bush said to a small group of White House visitors on Saturday. He added, “Oops,” in a less-than-convincing way. Psychologists and political scientists both have tried to explain the effects of the Danish cartoon and the Muslim response, but if any academic field has gained the most from this debacle, it’s the newly burgeoning area of politopsycho science. Happy to answer questions was the field’s premiere and only representative, Professor Norm Chauncey of Newark University. “Clearly the president, and to a certain extent the country and its administration itself, is dealing with a sudden loss of identity as the political landscape begins to change,” said Professor Chauncey, who was kind enough to buy the lattes. “As these times become more turbulent, and anti-American sentiment grows all around the world, particularly in the Middle East and Islamic cultures, we in the west have found comfort in the most reliable feature of modern life—anti-Americanism. Can you imagine how disoriented we would all be if the French stopped being pretentious overnight? What a confusing, frightening world that would be. It’s the same effect when the United States is no longer the first one to trample all over the nerves of Muslims. The Danes? If they’re going to start being insensitive to cultural differences, we might as well go the rest of the full mile and stop interfering in everyone’s world affairs. Let’s exactly how whacked out we can all be.” Chauncey lectured further on the subject, but since he wouldn’t throw in a biscotti, the commune doesn’t see much reason to print that as well. the commune news was deeply offended by a comic strip as well, when Ziggy burned that car thief’s balls on the truck’s exhaust pipe to get a confession—though, come to think of it, that could have been an episode of The Shield. commune Douchebag Raoul Dunkin tries to be sensitive to the feelings of everyone, earning him his nickname “commune Douchebag.”
| Muslims Protest Violent Cartoons by Fucking Shit Up Cheney Comrade Injured During Hunt for Bin Laden Stealers Wheel Win Super Bowl, Says Heavily Accented Man Colin Farrell Claims Responsibility for Groin Injury That Sidelined Kwan |
Muslims Protest Violent Cartoons by Fucking Shit Up Cheney Comrade Injured During Hunt for Bin Laden Stealers Wheel Win Super Bowl, Says Heavily Accented Man Colin Farrell Claims Responsibility for Groin Injury That Sidelined Kwan |
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Raters of the Lost ArcAdmit it: you’d kick your own mother in the cooch to find out what the hell is going on with ABC’s Lost, only your mother won’t let you anywhere near her after you slammed her head in that sliding glass door to find out who killed Laura Palmer. Have no fear, violent reader; the commune is here for you. If not to give out answers, then to at least share your confusion in a public forum. I’ve been asked to serve as the commune’s television expert this week, both because I haven’t written anything in a while (let he without slack cast the first stone) and nobody else here knows dick about TV. Commune answer hole Griswald Dreck refuses to watch television at all on the grounds of haughty condescension, which is similar to Orson Welch’s excuse that he hates everyone and without the confining effect of a movie theater audience is highly likely to physically attack the television. That leaves Roland McShyster and me, and I got the assignment after Roland asked somebody in the office if Fish Police won any Emmys this year.
º Last Column: A Series of Unfortunate Evans º more columns
So here we are, mightily confused and alone after last week’s stunning episode, when things finally turned ugly on headshot island, a place populated entirely by beautiful castaways and Hurley. Sawyer fucked everybody, which we were all waiting for, some of us more literally than others. And it looks like Charlie fucked the duck again, following up his previous week’s freak-out with the highly-effective reconciliatory strategy of total, apeshit betrayal. This guy makes such consistently shitty decisions, he should have a position in the Bush Administration. We had more topless Sawyer this week, which reminds me of something I needed to say to all the women out there who were bitching about actor Josh Holloway’s “nothing special” physique: obviously none of you have ever seen a real man naked before. Trust me, most of the time it’s like something out of Alien Autopsy. But it is refreshing to see that men aren’t the only ones with insane concepts of physical beauty these days. In the recap at the beginning of this latest episode, they made sure to flash back to footage of Captain Otherbeard warning the Losties to stay off his half of the island, which makes me think they must have carnival rides or something fun over on the other side. If it’s just more island shit, palm trees and crazy people with accents, I’m gonna be pissed off. Probably the most amazing thing about the people who survived the plane crash is that these are the only people on earth who could meet up with a gang that’s been living on bizarre-o island for God knows how long, talk to them, and still not learn a damned thing about the dozens of mysteries that have been perplexing everyone for months now. But it was established long ago that our castaways subscribe to the “Loose Lips Sink Ships” doctrine, a 1940’s slogan about venereal disease originally meant to warn men that sleeping with slutty women would, in all likelihood, make their penises fall off, but now applied mostly to not investigating mysteries or telling anyone what’s going on, including the viewers of the show. So what now? Well, I can tell you one thing. Don’t watch The Island expecting any answers, since that turned out to be one of those “spin off” movies that doesn’t really have much to do with the original show. I still need to punch Roland McShyster in the throat for recommending that one to me. º Last Column: A Series of Unfortunate Evansº more columns
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Grand CanyonSay hello to the biggest new name in pornography. Seriously, my name is BRUCE CHEEKS and I make them spell it all in caps, so it’s about twice as big as most porn credits. I stumbled onto the whole thing. That’s how most people get into porn, I hear. I was in the sauna one day, which is my favorite way to start a story, and I happened to drop my towel, six or seven times. I got quite a big response, but the security guard said I could stay there if I wanted to. One guy came up to me after I was dressed and complimented me on my “curious physique.” He asked me if anybody had ever told me I have an amazingly deep ass crack. Which I already knew. You can check page 105 in Guinness if you don’t believe me.
º Last Column: Paging Doctor Van º more columns
As luck would have it, this guy makes amateur porn films. Very amateur, according to some reviews in Hustler he showed me. But he told me he could really put an ass crack like mine to use. I was about to punch him, but then he said I would be doing it with a woman in the scene. And if that worked out, maybe two women. I was like, are you kidding me? I would do that job for free. Then he told me I would have to because he would really have to pay the two ladies I would be with extra. “Combat pay,” he called it. Cut to a few days later, and the shortest scene ever in a porn movie, and I was a full-fledged porn star. Paul, the director/Pizza Boy #3, screened it for his friends and they were amazed. One of them, D-Boy, said I had an ass crack that could swallow the world. It was the first time I’ve ever been acknowledged for anything in my life, so I was pretty happy. Even though they screwed up my credit at the end and called my character “She-Male.” Like He-Man, but not the same. I blame my excellent breasts. Even though a few of the guys puked a lot, I think it’s the first step toward a huge porn career. It’s perfect for me, because I like to have sex and never get the chance to. And I also need money because no one will hire me for anything. It’s like I get to have my cake and have sex with it, too. It’s going to take some scheming on my part. I made a copy of my movie—I had to give it a title, since Paul never did that. I called it Fucked My Balls Off. I didn’t want to call it the first title I thought of, Me Having Sex With Two Chicks at the Same Time, because I was planning on leaving it on a shelf at Blockbuster, and people wouldn’t know “Me” was referring to me. Until they watch it, which they will. I made a case and everything. I put my ass crack right on the case so people will know what the main attraction is. In the video, I don’t want to ruin it for you, but manage to fit one lady’s whole leg inside. It’s something you won’t forget. I think this will open up doors like I’ve never even imagined. Porn, lie down and surrender now, because you’re about to get conquered by the biggest ass in the world. º Last Column: Paging Doctor Vanº more columns
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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, 20051. | Katrina | 2. | Gigli | 3. | Scott Peterson | 4. | The King of Pop | 5. | Skullfuck | |
| It’s Official: Palestinians Prefer HummusBY mitch kroeger The AristocratsEveryone knows I come from a show business family, and the stories from those days have more than once enthralled huge pockets of the coach section on boring trans-Atlantic flights. The best story of all, however, can’t be told on an airplane due to its tendency toward self-incrimination.
It all starts with my father, a proud and foolish man, who once had a bright idea for how to spruce up the family’s sagging vaudeville act: he had us all drop acid before the show. Everyone: my sister, my brother, our baby brother, our mother, our grandmother, and the family dog, Lucas. And dad was so confident in his newfound scam that he invited a top talent agent to the nightclub where we were performing, in hopes of spinning the new act off into a variety show on ABC.
The show that night started off pretty normal, with dad playing “Swanee” on his armpit and grandma shooting hard-boilt eggs out of her snatch into the crowd like a Gatling gun. But then out of nowhere, a donkey that may or may not have been an official part of the show jumps on stage and starts sodomizing my older brother, who was already terrified of donkeys from a similar incident in early childhood. Out of the corner of his eye, my dad catches sight of the donkey, which causes him to immediately and thoroughly upchuck his entire lunch and a martini he had for breakfast. The problem is, he’s French-kissing my mother at the time, and after a half-second delay the vomit gushes out of her nose like the soda fountain at a bulimia theme park. As my mother pulls back in disgust, there’s a wet piece of roast beef hanging out of her nose, and in that instant everyone realizes my dad had Arby’s for lunch. This fact grosses out everybody completely, and they start vomiting back and forth like a giant game of laser tag. My father, still phased, blindly flails out and whips off my sister’s skirt, revealing a gang of Balinese pygmy midgets gang-fucking the corpse of Jackie Kennedy like a pack of starving rats underneath. This guy in the back starts laughing so hard he throws up blood, which a pregnant waitress slips in, popping her baby out like a cork and the thing zips across the room straight into the donkey’s mouth. The donkey chokes on it, falls off my brother and dies. The crowd screams, causing my father to flail again and tear off my grandmother’s skirt, which reveals Tom Cruise sucking Dame Edna’s cock. Now the crowd’s reacting like it’s the end of the world, and then suddenly it is. Out of nowhere, the fattest man anyone there has ever seen comes out in a latex bikini and eats a mess of dried apricots out of Jimmy Stewart’s diaper, setting off another chain reaction of vomiting that climaxes in a priest somehow barfing up my baby brother’s ass. The worst part of it all is that the baby loves it. Dad, still blinded by his own vomit and roast beef, falls into the rear curtain, tearing it down and revealing the oldest chorus line in Reno, Nevada, their dentures in a wet pile on the floor, struggling to stretch their gummy maws around Steve Urkel’s disturbingly monstrous dong. Urkel’s playing a Gameboy. Seemingly oblivious to his surroundings and the gang of great-grandmothers slobbering on his Pocahontas, he achieves a personal best at Tetris. A cadre of underage Vietnamese girls run out and start mopping up the stage with their hair, while we take a short break to watch my drunken uncle Henry trying to piss on the family dog, which has been shaved, coated in butter, and is dog-dancing in a giant scalding frying pan on the side of the stage to the adulation of dozens. For the climax, the entire state of Oklahoma comes out and shits on my grandmother. Believe you me, the talent agent is blown away. “Christ on ice!” he shouts over the din of applause and unconscious people falling into tables. “What do you people call yourselves?” My dad, proud as an unrepentant felon, honks a horn and spreads his arms, beaming with a smile as wide as Louie Anderson’s ass, and proudly intones: “The Kroegers!” And at just that moment, a premature Negro baby flops out of my mother’s cooch and hits the floor with a wet slap, squeaking: “No, fuck that! THE ARISTOCRATS!” |