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Psychotic Mice Demand Cheese BootsOctober 18, 2004 |
Mouse mental illness has always been difficult to treat due to the need for really tiny pills
Researchers are uncertain where the mice got the idea about cheese boots, but insist that the mice are “fucking nuts” if they think the UT team is going to devote hours to carving tiny mouse boots out of chedda...
ice genetically engineered to be psychotic by researchers at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center have refused to go on with testing this week, threatening to bring the program to a halt until they are given the “cheese boots” they so desire. The mice, bred to be insane by the mutation of two genes, have been used in a series of experiments over the last two months researchers hoped would shed new light on schizophrenia and its genetic components, information that could one day aid in treatment and prevention of the debilitating mental illness.
Researchers are uncertain where the mice got the idea about cheese boots, but insist that the mice are “fucking nuts” if they think the UT team is going to devote hours to carving tiny mouse boots out of cheddar cheese.
Since the mice made their original demand they have become belligerent and uncooperative, refusing to take part in various insanity-measuring trials. The mice’s normal routine involve tests of “crazy-maze” navigation, spatial perception in relation to tiny carnival funhouse mirrors, and proper differentiation between funny mouse movies, like Mouse Hunt, and serious mouse movies, like Stuart Little or The Mouse and the Motorcycle.
When asked how one can tell a psychotic mouse from a normal, sane mouse, project head Dean Sarcanon explained that the sane mice are the ones that don’t have “that crazy look in their eyes.” Additionally, researchers have observed the psychotic mice acting erratically, avoiding social situations, and combing their hair with their testicles.
The mice, which communicate with researchers through a series of small metal levers that correspond to musical tones, repeated their demands for cheese boots Monday, and then spent the rest of the day playing “Hot Cross Buns” on the musical levers.
Researchers hope the mice will eventually soften their demands and settle for more realistic and less difficult to produce items, such as cheese hats, instead.
“Oh yeah, we can make cheese hats,” explained lab technician Arthur Keys. “No problem. I’ve already made a few to show the mice how nice they are.”
Keys demonstrated for the commune a series of fashionable cheese hat prototypes he had created in his spare time, each of which was lovely.
“It’s really pretty simple,” explained Keys. “You take a cheesy cracker, like a Cheez-It or even better, a Ched-Unk, and attach a little wedge of brie on top here with a hot glue gun.”
“The hardest part is making the tiny chin strap,” Keys solemnly intoned, with an entirely straight face. “That’s where I really earn my $17,000 a year.”
As the story has gained national attention, UT researchers have come under pressure to concede to the cheese boot demands, a move that project head Sarcanon believes would be a grave mistake.
“Once you bend over backwards to make these mice cheese boots, then were does it end?” Sarcanon asked, shrugging his shoulders. “You have to remember, these are crazy mice we’re talking about here. What are they going to ask for next? Little biker jackets made out of provolone? A Minnie Mouse blow-up doll? What if they want a tiny piñata party, how do we pull that off?”
According to other researchers on the team, the mice don’t like Sarcanon, and regularly play the notes F-A-G on their musical levers when he enters the room. Although Sarcanon claims to be a good sport about this, he did seem strangely pissy when this reporter joined in on kazoo. the commune news once hosted a psychotic mouse in our break room, but this little bastard tended to eschew any cute crazy-mouse tricks in favor of pissing on the coffee filters. Ivana Folger-Balzac was given this story as a cruel joke after she showed up to last year’s commune Halloween party dressed as Minnie Mouse, a hilarious lapse in judgment she’s never been able to live down, nor plea-bargain her way out of responsibility for the violence that ensued.
 |  October 4, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Whit Pistol Debate moderator warns the audience the real loser will be any joker who tries to streak the debate like that Bob Dylan "Soy Bomb" guy.
With a month left to go before the election, the debate provided one of the most visible opportunities for either of the two leading candidates to piss the election down his leg, whether through a verbal slip-up, a glaring faux pas, or farting directly into the microphone. Some election-watchers speculate the senior Bush performed just such a metaphorical gas outburst in 1992, when during a debate with future p...
hursday night’s presidential debate between John Kerry and George W. Bush had a strong ratings showing, and allowed the candidates to outline their future platforms, especially regarding foreign policy and Iraq. However, no candidate clearly fumbled the ball and shot himself in the foot with his big mouth, meaning the disappointing debate ended without a clear loser.
With a month left to go before the election, the debate provided one of the most visible opportunities for either of the two leading candidates to piss the election down his leg, whether through a verbal slip-up, a glaring faux pas, or farting directly into the microphone. Some election-watchers speculate the senior Bush performed just such a metaphorical gas outburst in 1992, when during a debate with future president Bill Clinton, he resignedly checked his watch to see if it was over. In Thursday’s debate, though he made some gas-appropriate faces, the second Bush, nor his opponent, did anything to completely obliterate their chances of election.
Most watchers generally felt the debate favored Kerry, who went on the offensive early and avoided appearing dead through much of it. The president, though being on the offensive, even managed to show a passing familiarity with the language long enough to fend off Kerry’s attacks and reiterated his platform that Iraq is safer today, unless you’re an Iraqi, since his administration got rid of Saddam Hussein. The word "beheading" somehow managed to stay out of the conversation.
While Kerry did not outline an escape plan for Iraq, he guaranteed he would bring in more European countries who hate Bush to help shoulder the responsibility for rebuilding the country and setting up its new puppet government. Not stated, but implied, was Kerry’s continuing the Democratic plan to not invade countries just for their resources. At least not overtly.
Recent polls exhibit Kerry’s apparent dominance in the debate. The numbers have again turned for the Democrat, showing he now holds a smidgen of a lead over the president among those polled, whoever the hell they are, showing 49% of them were more likely t vote for Kerry in a two-way race, versus 46% for Bush; in a three-way race with Ralph Nader, 47% favored Kerry, 45% favoring Bush, and whatever’s left over going for Nader or some weird-ass third-party candidate. In a three-way race with a well-dressed monkey, the president fared much worse, with 49% holding for Kerry, 40% preferring Bush, and 11% wanting to hear the monkey’s plans for improving the economy.
The same polls endorsed Kerry’s debate showing, as 61% feeling Kerry had won the debate, as opposed to a deluded 19% who believed the president had dominated. The remaining 20% thought C.S.I. really went to shit this week.
Still, the lack of a clear loser means, according to some, we’re still in the midst of one of the tightest presidential races in history, and time is running out for a candidate to win over the confidence of a large majority of the public.
"On one hand," said Professor Norm Chauncey of Newark University, some guy who watched the debate at the bus station with this reporter, "President Bush has failed to credibly justify his overextended military actions in the Middle East, as well as an economy that doesn’t seem to be improving. And on the other side of the table, you have John Kerry—a guy somehow failing to convince the entire nation he would not be a worse president than George W. Bush. We’re looking at a couple of real losers here."
The professor outlined his plan for America, if he were to become president, as we awaited the arrival of the 11:05 to Flatbush. the commune news firmly believes even the losers get lucky sometimes, proven to us by the fact Rok Finger has been married three times. Raoul Dunkin is one loser who doesn’t know how good he’s got it here, and better stop looking through the want ads so visibly.
| Armstrong Williams accepts federal grant to sell Tide to African-Americans Guy said no onions on his Whopper—dig the wax out of your ears Spam King beheaded in royal coup by Duke of Dick Pills Celebrities donate lip service to needy tsunami victims |
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 March 21, 2005 Pretty Big O' MeLadies and gentlemen, I don't mean to shock you out of your pants (particularly you fatties), but I've got the most shocking news to report: Apparently I, Rokwell T. Finger, have been married for a while already.
I'm not defecating with you. Nor am I talking about my two previous wives, Arvelyn, the foul temptress, or Wyfe, my mysterious first spouse I never seem to reveal much about. No, this insidious beast is, as far as I can tell, some third entity I married more recently, after Arvelyn and after Wyfe, but before my engagement to my latest love, Ginger Baker.
You can't imagine, even with hyper-space imagining goggles, how surprised I was to get a call informing me I had abandoned my wife on a deserted island known as Australia, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean...
º Last Column: Ol' Lee Loves Chachi
º more columns
Ladies and gentlemen, I don't mean to shock you out of your pants (particularly you fatties), but I've got the most shocking news to report: Apparently I, Rokwell T. Finger, have been married for a while already.
I'm not defecating with you. Nor am I talking about my two previous wives, Arvelyn, the foul temptress, or Wyfe, my mysterious first spouse I never seem to reveal much about. No, this insidious beast is, as far as I can tell, some third entity I married more recently, after Arvelyn and after Wyfe, but before my engagement to my latest love, Ginger Baker.
You can't imagine, even with hyper-space imagining goggles, how surprised I was to get a call informing me I had abandoned my wife on a deserted island known as Australia, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Her name is Felchyana Finger, which is either an incredible coincidence or the tart has even taken to using my name. I called her a filthy liar, and now that's added into the lawsuit. Oh, yes—she's suing me for abandonment. And now slander. As far as I'm concerned, she can sue me for complete forgetment, because apparently she has a case for that more than anything else.
People, believe me, if I knew I had a wife, I never would have started up with Ginger Baker. Heart be damned, and loins be voodoo'd. I am not the kind of man who goes out milking cows when he has a jug of milk at home, even if it's goat's milk. Actually, I have never met this Felchyana character, and I can't fathom how I would even meet an Australian. But we were married. Her lawyer has pictures of me with her and everything. I'm not sure how they got me into that ridiculous Wild Kingdom get-up, but the woman tricked me into marrying her, there's obviously no end to her powers.
Not that I've met her—beyond our time of marriage, that is. We're speaking through attorneys, her attorney and me, who is representing myself. He's a nice fellow, her attorney Nick Digby, but you can't understand a damned thing the man says. I suppose they all speak that way on his primitive island.
Nice, yes, but he's been spinning some cock-and-balls story about the FBI giving me a new identity, me hiding from the mob, then some nonsense about getting kidnapped by pirates. Honestly, do they think me an idiot? What kind of sane person goes around offending the mob, marrying Australians, and turning pirate overnight? It doesn't sound like me at all. I'm not buying it.
But, from a legal standpoint, Digby and the foul-mouthed wife of mine have some kind of case, I can't deny that. Worse than that, they have me over a barrel, and it's full of piranha who are nibbling my kibbles 'n' bits. If I want to marry Ginger Baker—and I do—I'll have to find a way to settle things amicably with Ms. Down-Under. Or I suppose that's Mrs. Down-Under. No matter what lies she spins about me, the important thing is not to take it personally, just keep friendly, and try to walk out of this a single man.
In the interest of honesty, I have to tell Ginger Baker what kind of man she's marrying. What I'm trying to decide right now is whether to wait until after we're married, or if it's quite necessary I tell her before. My conscience is telling me the latter, but I'm not sure how much I can trust my conscience, given that I'm a man who has huge gaps in his memory and has married women at the drop of a veil before. Ah, the dilemma! Torn between two women, only one of whom I really want. I suppose many men would happily trade places with me. If anyone wants to, try to match my height and my approximate looks so Felchyana won't be able to distinguish us. º Last Column: Ol' Lee Loves Chachiº 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 | |
|   Heartless Puppy Attempts to Put Down Unwanted Owner BY roland mcshyster 3/7/2005 Hold the onions, America. Roland McShyster is in a "here" kind of mood and there ain't no mountain high enough to stop me from reviewing this week's new releases. Maybe Rushmore. That's a pretty tall mountain. What's that one in Korea? K12? Leave it up to the Koreans to name a mountain with numbers. The Asians have always had an inherent prejudice against people who can't do math. Maybe those two mountains, and possibly a few others to be on the safe side, could keep me from reviewing this week's batch of Hollywood's finest. But your average mountain? No way. So on to the movies:
In Theaters Now:
Be Cool
Finally, somebody has made a movie out of the legendary Peter Gabriel song about not being a dork. An inspiration to many, the song will surel...
Hold the onions, America. Roland McShyster is in a "here" kind of mood and there ain't no mountain high enough to stop me from reviewing this week's new releases. Maybe Rushmore. That's a pretty tall mountain. What's that one in Korea? K12? Leave it up to the Koreans to name a mountain with numbers. The Asians have always had an inherent prejudice against people who can't do math. Maybe those two mountains, and possibly a few others to be on the safe side, could keep me from reviewing this week's batch of Hollywood's finest. But your average mountain? No way. So on to the movies:
In Theaters Now:
Be Cool
Finally, somebody has made a movie out of the legendary Peter Gabriel song about not being a dork. An inspiration to many, the song will surely now find a new audience among people who don't listen to lyrics unless they're being spoken like dialogue by John Travolta. And though the song does lose something by being stretched to two-hour movie length, and the producers thoughtlessly forgot to cast Gabriel in any of the main roles, a song this important can afford to lose some juice and get a little shit-smudged and still make an impact.
Constantinople
Canoe Reeves, mute half-brother of the late Christopher Reeves (the actor-hero who inspired the world by falling off a horse), stars in Constantinople, the moviefied story of a troubled man tortured by the fact that he hasn't been able to get that insanely catchy They Might Be Giants song out of his head since 1990. Performing a trick he learned from Arnold "GoBot" Schwartzreneger, Reeves again displays his knack for choosing roles that turn his "effortless" acting style into a positive, much like the video game character he played to raves of "bare competence" in The Matrix Diaries.
This time around he's believable as an insomniac who's too tired to act or emote in any discernable way, and the results pay off big time. If you're him that is, because he probably got paid a lot of money since they didn't have to fire him for grievous non-acting during the making of the film. For the rest of us, the results only pay off if you bet some friend he couldn't go through his whole life without seeing Canoe Reeves' dongle.
Cursed
Christina "The Godfather" Ricci stars in this story of a girl who's really, really sorry for swearing, in the entertainment industry's latest slobbering attempt to prove they're really, really sorry that Janet Jackson has tits. I was initially very excited when I heard this movie was coming out, because I thought it was going to be the story of the guy who invented cursive handwriting. Now that's a story I've been dying to see, where have they been hiding this genius and when will get he finally get his due? Laugh if you want, but that shit saves some serious time. Whoever it was should have his face on the nickel, I say. Piss on Jefferson, or at least get him "movin' on up" to the dime or something.
Son of MASK
For the love of 80's nostalgia, somebody finally got around to making a feature film about the Mobile Armored Strike Kommand, the legendary 80's cartoon series of toy commercials that taught kids a Camero could fly if you just thought to open the doors while driving. MASK immortalized the 80's catchphrase "Illusion is the Ultimate Weapon," and featured cars that turned into shit, but in a way that just missed infringing upon the copyright of the Transformers. The original was actually a milestone of bastardization, mixing the Transformers and G.I. Joe in balanced proportions to horn in equally on the toy sales of each.
The new film version is a capable adaptation, though a little heavy on the product placement for my tastes. However, in this instance, a strong case could be made for the movie needing to be heavy on product placement in order to be true to the original source material. While it's inevitable that some oil company's name would end up on the gas station that turns into the MASK team's Boulder Mountain fortress, the movie drags when Bruce Sato keeps having the fortress turn back into a gas station so he can buy more of Shell's addictively delicious beef jerky. Also curious was the studio's choice to name this film Son of MASK, apparently an attempt to distance it from the outdated 80's original and its gang of illiterate (Kommand?) freedom fighters. Regardless, you could do worse picking a movie to see this weekend, and probably will.
And that's all the stink they could put on it this week, America. Hope you had the time of your life, and I hope to God that it didn't involve Patrick Swayze. Until next time, folks. You can bet real American money I'll be back here in two more weeks, reviewing my little Entertainment Policing heart out. Wild monkeys couldn't drag me away, and I'd beat the banana custard out of them if they tried.   |
