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Arafat Voted "Hunkiest Palestinian"Popular boy-band leader wins award for 28th straight year April 15, 2002 |
Ramallah, West Bank Ansel Evans Arafat poses for an Arab Teen photo shoot
In a café here on the West Bank, 16-year-old rock-throwing enthusiast Rajouba Aswan said about Mr. Arafat, "He's the OG, man. He's to die for." Friend Jamil Barghouti, 17, chimed in, while adjusting an explosive-laden vest. "That's right, yo. Yas-Dog – I mean, Mr. Arafat – is da bomb."
Cited by West Bank teenagers as reaso...
or a record 28th year in a row, Yasser Arafat, leader of the mega-popular boy band PLO, has been voted "Hunkiest Palestinian." The award, which often leads to lucrative endorsement deals and speaking engagements, was not unexpected. Mr. Arafat had token opposition from members of PLO-spinoff bands Hamas and Hezbollah, but no one seriously expected any of them to challenge the reigning MC Mullah of the Gaza for the winner's turban this year.
In a café here on the West Bank, 16-year-old rock-throwing enthusiast Rajouba Aswan said about Mr. Arafat, "He's the OG, man. He's to die for." Friend Jamil Barghouti, 17, chimed in, while adjusting an explosive-laden vest. "That's right, yo. Yas-Dog – I mean, Mr. Arafat – is da bomb."
Cited by West Bank teenagers as reasons for voting for Mr. Arafat as the Imam of Palestinian Hunks were, among other reasons, "the way that big bottom lip of his quivers when he talks," and "his rad beard, dude." Also mentioned were his "big, sad puppy dog eyes," and his "cool sense of fashion."
Asked for comment, Mr. Arafat responded, "I am humbled to be once again chosen, praise Allah, and I would like to send my thanks and blessings to all the young G's and martyrs out there, to all my peeps and homies. May Allah smile upon you, and may your quota of 70 virgins in paradise be each one beautiful and have all of their own teeth." Here at the commune, you can rest assured that all of our virgins have their full complement of teeth. Bludney Plud, after a short stint in an unnamed rehab center, is back at his keyboard, and hardly ever thinks about all those self-esteem issues he once had anymore.
 | Church Clarifies "No Sex With Kids" Stance April 15, 2002 |
Archdeacon Mavis Plum is totally shocked. Really.
“I don’t know where people got the idea that the church is all about buggering little kids, maybe we should start covering that a bit more in Sunday school,” said Archdeacon Mavis Plum in a recent interview. “Maybe a new commandment would help, something catchy like ‘Thou shall not pork a preschooler.’ It would certainly help with public relations.”
Other members of th...
n the face of countless allegations of sexual misconduct among its priests, including criminal charges of child molestation and the popularity of the high-profile “Catholic Priests Gone Wild” DVD series, the Roman Catholic Church has issued a new public statement clarifying its position on grown men having sex with little kids. And the answer may surprise you: They’re against it. “I don’t know where people got the idea that the church is all about buggering little kids, maybe we should start covering that a bit more in Sunday school,” said Archdeacon Mavis Plum in a recent interview. “Maybe a new commandment would help, something catchy like ‘Thou shall not pork a preschooler.’ It would certainly help with public relations.” Other members of the church seemed more surprised by the announcement. “What?” questioned Rev. Phil Binder, shuffling an issue of Tiger Beat magazine under some papers on his desk. “Since when? What the hell else would you want to be a priest for, the dental plan? Shit.” Binder cut the interview short as he hurriedly dialed his telephone. “These recent allegations really have shocked the church community,” insisted Mavis. “I mean, who would expect that men, deprived of normal sexual outlets for a lifetime, would eventually turn to the nearest moist orifice for satisfaction? I mean, prisoners, maybe. Guys living in Wyoming, sure. Have you seen the women there? Yikes. But men of God? It’s long been assumed that the power of the holy spirit would give them the strength to overcome the inevitable pull of a young altar boy’s beautiful, untainted anus. But I guess not. The devil must really have gotten into those boys, to seduce priests like that. It’s amazing. It buggers the mind. Boggles.” Concerned parents nationwide were relieved by the announcement. Sandy Maynard of Des Plains, IA summed up the reactions of many. “I just sighed a big, relieved sigh. It’s stressful, trying to balance eternal damnation on one hand and having your kids ass-rammed on the other. Nobody wants to piss off God by not being involved in the church, you know? But to tell you the truth, I always thought those church sleepovers were a little weird. When I was a kid, I’m pretty sure the body of Christ you accepted during communion didn’t involve throbbing man-meat.” The announcement is only the first step in a plan to change the public’s perception of the Catholic Church as a NAMBLA meeting with wine. This week, motivational posters featuring popular cartoon characters and slogans like “Play it straight—don’t penetrate,” “Abstinence now: Miles of underage rectums in heaven” and “When in doubt, don’t whip it out” will be distributed to churches nationwide in an effort to help priests with the transition to a sodomy-free church experience. When asked how the church could have overlooked what must have been obvious signs of altar boy mistreatment over the years, Archdeacon Plum muttered something about not running a daycare center while frowning at the screen of his Game Boy. Bishop Theodore Rexall would not return the commune’s calls regarding the same question, or our questions about if he’s the one who can move diagonally or if that’s a Rook. the commune news hasn’t been to church in years, and have that to thank for our rock-solid sexual identity. Kendra Beuttle was until recently a meter reader for Con Ed, but was hired onto the commune staff in accordance with our new “Dodge the Electric Bill” policy for 2002.
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 August 4, 2003 Intergalactic Train Mouth"There's nothing like riding the rails, although that in itself is not an endorsement."
You'd be surprised how far $50 and a sack full of wetnaps can get you. Or maybe you wouldn't, if you'd say not very far. It's true. Not very far.
That's the first thing I learned during my history of riding the rails. I spent my college years, 20 through 20 ½, living my life as a hobo. I shared my stories with fellow vagabonds, dined on whatever I could find, and went wherever my whim took me. I usually didn't get too far before my whim was busted by a cop and thrown in a holding cell on a charge of vagrancy. I suppose I was pretty easy to catch with my stomach always yodeling. I didn't find much for dining.
You meet interesting people when you live the lon...
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"There's nothing like riding the rails, although that in itself is not an endorsement."
You'd be surprised how far $50 and a sack full of wetnaps can get you. Or maybe you wouldn't, if you'd say not very far. It's true. Not very far.
That's the first thing I learned during my history of riding the rails. I spent my college years, 20 through 20 ½, living my life as a hobo. I shared my stories with fellow vagabonds, dined on whatever I could find, and went wherever my whim took me. I usually didn't get too far before my whim was busted by a cop and thrown in a holding cell on a charge of vagrancy. I suppose I was pretty easy to catch with my stomach always yodeling. I didn't find much for dining.
You meet interesting people when you live the lonesome life of a hobo. Some of them will do sex things to you for money, but I wasn't having none of that. Those people want money. One of the guys I met was Randy Railroad. But that was just his name when he was doing sex things to you. I forget what his normal name was. It wasn't as cool as Randy Railroad, I'll tell you that.
He once told me, "Scrotum,"—that was my railroad nickname—"my dad said if you aren't handsome, at least you should be handy." Then he stole my knapsack. But he was right, if I understand it correct. Some people can get by on their looks or dumb luck, other people have to get by on their skills. This is why I work at the commune.
It's funny how trains used to be the quickest way to get from one place to another. Then planes literarily swoop down and snatch that right out of the trains' mouths. It just goes to show you, everyone who's good at something: Someday we'll invent something else that goes faster. Or if I'm mixing my metaphors, whatever would be the best way out of that. And I'll make myself a rum and coke while I'm mixing.
You don't see too many hobos these days. Or maybe you do, but I'm missing out on those secret inner circle hobo meetings. As near as I can see it, there are two possible reasons why there are so few hobos anymore: One thing, maybe the economy has gotten good enough to make hoboing a bad choice, with the added possibility that industrial areas or opportunities have sprung up so close together all over America there's no need for real travel to find ways to support yourself. Or two, of course, intergalactic bounty hunters are hunting them for their scalps.
I suppose it's possible all the hobos are hopping planes instead of trains, just like paying travelers. But you've got to be a goddamn fast hobo to do that. I say if you can run fast enough to hop a plane maybe you don't need the ride at all. What could Seattle offer you that would be worth going there? You need to go to a big college like the kind you see in movies and become a ringer for the track team. Like Shaq in Blue Chips, but for track.
Now I'm worried. I'm going to have to find a friend to go out with me and time the max speed a hobo can achieve. With shoes and without. º Last Column: Dyslexic Monksº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas! Except near Houston, Dallas or Fort Worth. Talk about your smog. Jesus, this song's gonna need another verse.”
-Clement B. DoogleFortune 500 CookieMama said there'd be days like this, but the bitch lied. The success or failure of this coming week hinges on your proper understanding of the word "gonad," so take our advice and go buy a dictionary now, Skippy. Order lots of Chinese food this week, but don't pick it up. This week's lucky accidents: back-flip off ladder onto hardwood floor, lip caught on drain while bathtub's full, wearing flammable jumpsuit to Great White concert, 15 car pile-up.
Try again later.Top Ways to Leave Your Lover| 1. | Join Al-Qaeda | | 2. | Quit Al-Qaeda | | 3. | Mail self to Shanghai (unless from Shanghai) | | 4. | Singing Dump-o-Gram | | 5. | Blaze of Glory/Blaze of Lies | |
|   Falwell in Domain Name-Buying Frenzy BY rudolph halsy 4/14/2003 Next Stop: BuffaloSo the guys would all meet on Saturday night and hang out and bitch and moan and then bitch again and wait a few hours before moaning some more because they were sick of the whole goddam thing. It's all politics, Murray told them, referring to why they couldn't get ahead in this goddam life. What do you mean, asked Beltway Betty, the waitress with the really weird name. Dahn't listen to im, said Harvey in his trademark dialect, he's gunna spout that communist bullshit of Karl's again. I won't have it. I won't have it. What won't he have, asked Wally. I said that, said Murray. I won't have him bad-mouthing Karl. Is that still you? asked Wally. Yeah, it's me, said Murray. Hey! Look! shouted an unidentified character. It's Karl!
Karl came in wearing his dirty blazer and his crook...
So the guys would all meet on Saturday night and hang out and bitch and moan and then bitch again and wait a few hours before moaning some more because they were sick of the whole goddam thing. It's all politics, Murray told them, referring to why they couldn't get ahead in this goddam life. What do you mean, asked Beltway Betty, the waitress with the really weird name. Dahn't listen to im, said Harvey in his trademark dialect, he's gunna spout that communist bullshit of Karl's again. I won't have it. I won't have it. What won't he have, asked Wally. I said that, said Murray. I won't have him bad-mouthing Karl. Is that still you? asked Wally. Yeah, it's me, said Murray. Hey! Look! shouted an unidentified character. It's Karl!
Karl came in wearing his dirty blazer and his crooked beret that was all he owned 'cause Karl was a espouser of communist philosophy which was the idea that the working classes always have to be at war with the bourgeoisie 'cause the bourgeoisie own the means of production and, well, I don't want to get into it much more 'cause the story is supposed to be about Karl and Murray and Wally and, what's that other guy's name, Harvey? Yeah, Harvey, but if you want you can send me an e-mail or a letter or something and I'll tell you more about it.
So Karl, what are you doing hanging out with us proletariat on a night like this? asked Harvey, being a smart ass. You don't get it, man, said Karl, we're all proletariat if we don't own the means of productions and none of us do. What's the means of production then? asked Wally, real interested. That I'm not quite sure. I guess they're referring to like factories and resources, maybe land, who can say— Hey! Don't talk that communist shit in my establishment! shouted a previously unintroduced character named Barney who owned the diner. You start that communist shit with me again I'm gonna take you outside and pummel you into a bloody mess. I'd like to see you try, said Harvey, but Barney thought it was Karl and he grabbed Karl by the throat suddenly and dragged him out the door with a ding-ding of the bell on the door and proceeded to punch Karl over and over until his teeth were cracked and his face was swollen and red and dripping blood from his mouth and nose holes and he couldn't see out of one eye and, man, that's violent isn't it? but Karl was too busy crying to consider the kind of brutality going on in the city of Buffalo, he was mainly worried about the brutality happening to his face over and over in four-knuckled intervals.
Stop, my face! You're hurtin my face! Owee! My face! You're still doin it you asshole! Ow! Okay you're not an asshole just quit hittin my face! Ow! You're still doin it I don't get why you're still doin it! Ow! That doesn't mean I prefer getting hit in the back! I would like for you to quit hittin altogether! Please stop please stop it! And eventually Karl passed out and was lying in a puddle of blood and broken teeth and piss but it wasn't his piss cause I didn't want to tell you but Barney pissed on him when he was finished, I know it's gross, it makes me want to throw up and I thought of it. Karl probably laid there all night as it began to snow on him and another Buffalo night passed for the wretched inhabitants of the city that brought you Buffalo wings.   |
