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America's Stoners on 'Extremely High' AlertRetreatists, amateur horticulturists cautious about future February 17, 2003 |
Madison, Wisconsin Snapper McGee An unidentified legalization advocate follows chart instruction, enabling him to ease tension and consider the tenuous nature of molecular bonds.
"American pharmacological enthusiasts are as stressed out as anyone," said journalist J.D. Weber. "The economy is as bad as it gets, war with Iraq is becoming inevitable, and there's tremendous fear of some kind of terrorist attack. Now, more than ever, relief is needed. Primo relief."
Weber is one of the reporters working on a special edition of High Times magazine announcing a status of "Extremely High" Alert, expected to come out in March, assuming the staff doesn'...
ensions in the country are great in recent weeks, and everyone is going to great lengths to alleviate those tensions. Work helps some, planning for tough times makes others feel secure; then, there's America's stoners, who turn to alternative stress relieving systems during times of trouble.
"American pharmacological enthusiasts are as stressed out as anyone," said journalist J.D. Weber. "The economy is as bad as it gets, war with Iraq is becoming inevitable, and there's tremendous fear of some kind of terrorist attack. Now, more than ever, relief is needed. Primo relief."
Weber is one of the reporters working on a special edition of High Times magazine announcing a status of "Extremely High" Alert, expected to come out in March, assuming the staff doesn't flake on getting the layout to the printers in time.
"It's a revolutionary political stance for stoner culture, and High Times magazine by extension, which is the periodical of choice for that culture," stated Weber, very slowly. " High Times has taken political stances before, but this is bigger than the legalization argument. Unless politicians in turn ask us if we think it should be legalized, because we still stand for that. But our worldview is bigger now. These are hard times, and we need hard solutions, big, overflowing plastic bags of hard solutions."
Accompanying the article, High Times will be introducing a color-coded "Buzz-Killer" chart. Included on the chart will be colors correlated to the intensity of the threat the country is currently experiencing, as well as a number of hand-rolled cigarettes depicted that increase in number depending on the severity of the bring-down.
The first level, green, means that everything's copasetic. Engage in what you will, when you will, at your own discretion.
The second level, blue, means bummer. Increased intake of mood enhancers is encouraged, but never take more than you can handle. Exceeding normal dosages is not cool, dude.
The second level, yellow, means whoa, whoa, whoa, let's chill out. It's a good time to experiment with new, better-grade stuff. South America will be called upon to increase production and hopefully we can all just relax, no big deal, cool?
The third level, the current level, is "extremely high," and the color is yellow. At this time getting as much as you can and keeping a steady flow of easiness coming in is highly recommended. Hoarding, at long last, is cool. Even squares who usually get high on life are encouraged to experiment to forget their troubles.
After that, the highest color is red, and no contingency plan has been developed for that, but insiders are saying if that time comes and you have your hands on some hard stuff, indulge like the sky's falling, motherfucker.
Another color, purple, represents "narc." It is the only condition where even minor usage is highly discouraged. Before the condition passes, it should be ascertained that everyone in your company is cool. All possessions should be carefully hidden out of sight as long as the condition is in effect.
Before the interview with Weber could be concluded, this reporter was informed the condition had changed suddenly to purple without warning, and it would likely stay in effect as long as I was present in the room. the commune news is just wondering if you're holding, compadre—sure, we're cool. Bludney Pludd? No. He's not cool. Decidedly uncool. Let's ditch him.
 | Chess Master Kasparov Beaten by Level 2 ClericDungeons & Dragons-skilled teen unseats leading chess player February 17, 2003 |
New York City, New York Whit Pistol Kasparov's losing match against Deep Junior/Ronald Wolsey/Magioto the Cleric.
"My conscience has forced me to announce that I have been playing the 'Deep Junior' side of the recent chess matches," Wolsey stated in a written e-mail containing numerous spelling errors. "The deceit was not intended at first, but I wish I had gone public with the truth sooner. I will surely loose some character points for this subterfuge."
Match observers speculate Deep Junior creators at IBM worried about the computer losing and proving ...
he humiliation continues for human chess king Garry Kasparov this week, who lost Friday's game after continually tying computer chess master Deep Junior, a disappointing end to the "Man Vs. Machine" chess series, 16-year-old D&D enthusiast Ronald Wolsey stepped forward Saturday to reveal he had been playing for the computer.
"My conscience has forced me to announce that I have been playing the 'Deep Junior' side of the recent chess matches," Wolsey stated in a written e-mail containing numerous spelling errors. "The deceit was not intended at first, but I wish I had gone public with the truth sooner. I will surely loose some character points for this subterfuge."
Match observers speculate Deep Junior creators at IBM worried about the computer losing and proving inferior to its predecessor Deep Blue after the first game, which Kasparov dominated and judged to offer a draw rather than pursue it to a possible loss. The idea likely occurred to route the chess-playing program of Deep Blue through to the newer model, the original computer that beat Kasparov in 1997 and now owned by chess master Karl Wolsey.
The plot was estimated that with Wolsey's help and an Internet connection, Deep Blue would best Kasparov again and demonstrate the computer's superiority. However, the wrong computer was connected to the match and Karl Wolsey's son Ronald, a Dungeons & Dragon fanatic and occasional chess player, matched the world's greatest chess mind move for move.
Until Friday afternoon, when the junior Wolsey put Kasparov in check with his knight in 43 moves.
Upon the surprising move, Kasparov flipped up the chess board and swore in Russian to the effect of, "I don't believe this bullshit!" When told of the true identity of the computer, the sport's leading player insisted Ronald Wolsey is a future chess genius in the making. Wolsey, who is repeating the tenth grade and has recently flunked his driver's test, would neither confirm nor deny the assessment.
"Chess is fun," said Wolsey, popping a zit near the corner of his eye, "but I have more important things on my mind. In addition to my growing cleric character, I plan on introducing a new wizard character later this year, the first time I've used multiple characters since moving to Advanced D&D. If things are looking better around summer—i.e., I get my license and dad gets off my back—I'm considering writing my own adventure and being GM for it."
Though chess aficionados are calling for a re-match, face to face, between Kasparov and Wolsey, the young opponent is somewhat agoraphobic and says he would not feel comfortable in front of the large audience of 10 or 12 that would come to watch. In addition, Wolsey doubts his chess ability would be at its peak if there were girls in the room. the commune news is not much on chess, but we're throwing the checkers gauntlet on the table right now—we take 'em, all sizes. Raoul Dunkin is all misty-eyed about the loss of his level 4 Elf with all this gaming talk.
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 November 24, 2003 Eat the Dog"A man's home is his castle. Mine happens to be White Castle."
We've all been locked out of our houses or apartments or dumpsters before—not a week or month goes by we aren't evicted or simply lose our keys. Maybe you step out to get the neighbor's newspaper and the door slams behind you, then locks itself. Now you're standing bare-ass naked out in the hallway, or maybe in your neighbor's living room, and you can't get back in the house! Shit! Pardon my language.
Locked out is no problem. When you get locked into your house, that's when the shit hits the fan. Pardon my language. What do you do then? You can't call anybody for help from inside your own place. Unless you have a phone. Sure, you can open the window and yell for help, but the first time you s...
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"A man's home is his castle. Mine happens to be White Castle."
We've all been locked out of our houses or apartments or dumpsters before—not a week or month goes by we aren't evicted or simply lose our keys. Maybe you step out to get the neighbor's newspaper and the door slams behind you, then locks itself. Now you're standing bare-ass naked out in the hallway, or maybe in your neighbor's living room, and you can't get back in the house! Shit! Pardon my language.
Locked out is no problem. When you get locked into your house, that's when the shit hits the fan. Pardon my language. What do you do then? You can't call anybody for help from inside your own place. Unless you have a phone. Sure, you can open the window and yell for help, but the first time you start using profanity they'll just send cops to ticket you. You can't get the door open, and they'll only kick it down. Now you got a broke door.
I've been locked in before. It's not pretty. I don't want a broken door so it's usually a survival mission until the end of the month comes and the landlord shows up looking for the rent. Sometimes that could be as many as 60 days. That's a long time to live on whatever's in your refrigerator, or growing under it.
No one wants to think about it, but at some point you have to seriously consider eating the dog. It's only fair—if he could talk and wear clothes, he'd eat you. Don't think about making it a fair contest, like drawing straws. They don't say "cheating dogs" for no reason. In a fair fight, just you and the dog, maybe it would be the right thing to do. But they bite, and that's cheating.
Not that I want to eat my dog. We're just talking if things go from bad to worse, or bad to good and then to worse—you can't plan routes for bad. It goes it's own way, like a rebel. Seriously, I only plan to eat the dog if all the condiments are exhausted and no birds land on the windowsill.
Yeah, I got a plan, no shame in that. I sneak up on him while he's chewing his crotch and smash him over the head with a lamp. Not the good lamp. Or plan B. Throw the tennis ball right into the oven. You got to be fast, though, or he'll just bring it back to you and not give it back. Then that plan's history.
If you do somehow to make it until the landlord comes around, with or without eating the dog, I know some tricks to make everything work out okay. First off, you got to make him think you're dead so when he opens the door with his spare keys he'll be happy to see you're alive and not pissed because he hasn't gotten the rent. You have to make a dead person smell. I give this off naturally, the landlord says, so I don't know what to tell you—find a website. I'm sure there's a website that tells you.
It always helps to turn the fridge over on to yourself. Not only to pretend you've been pinned and not just couldn't figure out the deadbolt mechanism. It helps keep you warm, too, or a good place to hide from the dog if he gets the upperhand. º Last Column: Love Deliveredº more columns | 
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Milestones1750: Antonio Salieri, second-rate composer and eternal inspiration to the commune. His alleged murder of Mozart, as portrayed in Amadeus, forever encourages us in our war with Crochet! magazine.Now HiringStepchild. Just sit around and eat and drink me out of house and home without ever raising a finger. Hey, I'm talking to you, you little shit. There ain't no law says I got to be nice to you just 'cause I'm knocking boots with your mom.Top 5 Worst Things to Hear in a Blackout| 1. | Let's play Guess Who's Not Wearing Pants? | | 2. | Did you ever hear how electricity was invented? Funny story… | | 3. | We'll find our way out by lighting my farts. | | 4. | Say, this feels like a tumor. | | 5. | Wow, we're trapped in an elevator with Ashton Kutcher! | |
|   McDonald's Casting New 'McJared' Mascot BY karl wogoblitz 10/27/2003 TimefuckBasil Rubyquartz is being time fucked.
At first he finds himself a young man, cheating off the girl next to him on his kindergarten placement tests. The next moment he is a middle-aged man with a wife and daughter, both the same girl, and owns a nice home in the suburbs in the whitest quarter in New Orleans. In a blink he is on the Russian front fighting the Russians in World War II, a mistake which will get him chewed out by his commanders when informed he is supposed to be fighting the Germans.
The cause of these time fuckings is unknown to Basil Rubyquartz. If you must know, for the sake of the story, though Basil will never find out, it's because of the split consciousness he suffers as a baby when he was dropped on his head. It is a purposeful attempt by Ba...
Basil Rubyquartz is being time fucked.
At first he finds himself a young man, cheating off the girl next to him on his kindergarten placement tests. The next moment he is a middle-aged man with a wife and daughter, both the same girl, and owns a nice home in the suburbs in the whitest quarter in New Orleans. In a blink he is on the Russian front fighting the Russians in World War II, a mistake which will get him chewed out by his commanders when informed he is supposed to be fighting the Germans.
The cause of these time fuckings is unknown to Basil Rubyquartz. If you must know, for the sake of the story, though Basil will never find out, it's because of the split consciousness he suffers as a baby when he was dropped on his head. It is a purposeful attempt by Basil's alcoholic mother to kill him and collect the insurance money, although never being familiar with the concept of insurance, she does not know a baby needs to be insured before you can collect for its death. Which is a good reason to never drink and watch a lot of Dragnet.
The bumping of the head on the tiled kitchen floor ignites a dormant section of Basil's brain which plugs him into the timeline. It also has something to do with aliens, which I'm trying to keep from mentioning for the sake of an easy out if I need it. Let's just say it's the head thing for right now but don't be pissed off if I amend that later.
Being plugged into the timeline creates an unusual distortion affect we call time fucking. What it means, scientifically speaking, is that a being's experience of time as a linear creation is destroyed and time afterward becomes moments lived randomly, in one or two minute spans so as to be less confusing to mentally challenged readers, much like pieces of a puzzle being picked up arbitrarily instead of in order of which piece they're connected to. It took me a long time to figure it out so let's just accept it as fact and move on.
It is called time fucking rather than random non-linear time because even if it is scientifically explainable, to have it happen to you is more, in laymen's terms, the equivalent of having a big nasty time sausage violate you. Without lubrication.
Other than the time fucking, Basil Rubyquartz is most notable as a completely unnotable figure. He's what hack authors would call an everyman, so I'll avoid that description. Basil lacks ambition because he knows at any given second the pain or joy he's encountering can give way to another time fucking, putting him in an even more painful or joyful moment; it is not because, as certain fathers might suggest, he was born lazy. Time fuckings.
As you might have noticed, I will periodically introduce myself as a narrator character in order to inject a little bit of personal philosophy and because I think it's funny. If this bothers you, go read Ray Bradbury or something, you unimaginative drone.
Let's begin with Basily's childhood. Which is to say, the first bit will be involved in his childhood, then we'll jump forward quite a bit, then back a little, then maybe further forward. It's all pretty easy to figure out when you get used to it. I wrote the first draft on the back of a check when I got the idea, so it can't be too complicated. But here this feels like the end of the introduction. We'll pick up again in chapter two, but don't expect it to be more story and less rambling. This is what you get. Flip ahead to the end, you'll know I mean business.
For more of this great story, buy Karl Wogoblitz's
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