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August 23, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Sloe Lorenzo John Kerry, on the road promoting his candidacy in Blanchmont, Wisconsin, with fellow swift boat veterans. he most aggressive attempt to undermine the Democratic nominee's war record came Friday, when an anti-Kerry group cheekily called Swift Boat Veterans for Truth denied the very existence of a Vietnam war.
"Since there was no Vietnam war," a creepy narrator announced in a televised ad Friday, "how can John Kerry be a war hero?"
The group, surprisingly funded by a rich Texas member of the GOP, has caused controversy with the ten people following the election in recent weeks as it challenges the legitimacy of Democrat John Kerry's record in Vietnam and slams Kerry for his denouncement of the war in the 1970s. Now, the group boldly denies Vietnam was ever a war at all.
"A police action, yes," said Swift Boat Veterans for Truth spokesperson Amil Muzz, "b...
he most aggressive attempt to undermine the Democratic nominee's war record came Friday, when an anti-Kerry group cheekily called Swift Boat Veterans for Truth denied the very existence of a Vietnam war.
"Since there was no Vietnam war," a creepy narrator announced in a televised ad Friday, "how can John Kerry be a war hero?"
The group, surprisingly funded by a rich Texas member of the GOP, has caused controversy with the ten people following the election in recent weeks as it challenges the legitimacy of Democrat John Kerry's record in Vietnam and slams Kerry for his denouncement of the war in the 1970s. Now, the group boldly denies Vietnam was ever a war at all.
"A police action, yes," said Swift Boat Veterans for Truth spokesperson Amil Muzz, "but a war? Nope. For a war to take place, an official declaration of war by the United States must be voted on by Congress."
In response, an anonymous spokesperson for North Vietnam replied, "Seemed a hell of a lot like a war to us."
A group called People Who Like to Denounce Things denounced the ads, saying they were disgraceful attempts to damage the efforts of veterans for the sake of political gain. They drew an angry response from a group called Shut the Hell Up, Seinfeld's On, meeting in the same bus terminal on Saturday night.
Among the sharpest criticisms from the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth members, John Kerry portrayed American soldiers in an unkind light when he testified before Congress about atrocities and war crimes committed against the Vietnamese people during the war. To wit, they replied, since there was never an official war, how can war crimes even be committed? It boggles the mind. They said.
The Kerry Camp, where fat kids lose weight through positive reinforcement, described the allegations as desperate and unfair.
"To have the actions of veterans, even those not running for public office, so cruelly negated by a group doing President Bush's dirty work, it makes me want to vomit," said Kerry spokesperson Wendy George, though she admitted it could have also been the half bag of White Castles she had eaten for lunch.
The Democratic candidates aren't keeping quiet about the ads either, and have berated the president, who they say has been happy to gain mileage from the negative attacks, even if he may not be responsible for them himself. On Saturday, both Kerry and his VP nominee John Edwards called for the president to speak out against the ads.
"President Bush⊠if you have an ounce of integrity within you, you'll stop these ads," Edwards told a crowd of supporters at a fund-raiser Saturday, to which they responded by bursting into uproarious laughter. Edwards concluded, "No, seriously, Bush, quit it anyway."
The Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, who really could have used a shorter name, launched a new commercial on Sunday following up on its recent declarations. In it, the same creepy narrator boasts of the president's war record while denouncing Kerry's military action.
"We all know Vietnam wasn't a war," the ad said. "So John Kerry has absolutely NO war experience. President Bush started his own war. We know we can trust him. How many wars have YOU started, John Kerry?" the commune news has never served aboard a swift boat, but we have a rowboat with a hole in it that used to be pretty fast. Ramon Nootles is our Democratic Campaign correspondent, and not too swift himself.
 | Texas Sex-Ed Textbooks Remove All Mention of SexAugust 9, 2004 |
Dallas, Texas Junior Bacon Texas schoolchildren, thirsty for knowledge on how to bone ducators nationwide were dismayed by the Texas Board of Educationâs decision this week to approve four new sexual education textbooks for use in the stateâs schools, none of which mention sex, reproduction, or the human body in any way.
âSex education should be about educating kids to never have sex, as the Lord intended,â explained Carl Lowell, a spokesperson for the board. âIt shouldnât be about giving them pointers on how to break the baby Jesusâ heart.â
Texans everywhere appeared to be eerily on the same page when it came to the topic of the boardâs decision, leaving the impression that the entire state may only have one brain, buried deep underground in a Mason jar somewhere for safekeeping.
âItâs simple. If you donâ...
ducators nationwide were dismayed by the Texas Board of Educationâs decision this week to approve four new sexual education textbooks for use in the stateâs schools, none of which mention sex, reproduction, or the human body in any way.
âSex education should be about educating kids to never have sex, as the Lord intended,â explained Carl Lowell, a spokesperson for the board. âIt shouldnât be about giving them pointers on how to break the baby Jesusâ heart.â
Texans everywhere appeared to be eerily on the same page when it came to the topic of the boardâs decision, leaving the impression that the entire state may only have one brain, buried deep underground in a Mason jar somewhere for safekeeping.
âItâs simple. If you donât tell kids about sex, then theyâre not gonna have any,â reasoned otherwise sane-looking Austin high-school teacher Reginald Barrow. âI mean, duh! Where else are they going to find out about it, if not at school? Hello? McFly! If we can keep a lid on this thing, we may just be able to save these kids.â
While the textbooks that have been in use in Texas classrooms for the last ten years have frequently come under fire for mentioning that condoms exist, as well as letting the cat out of the bag that you have to be naked to âdo it,â the new books have received nothing but support from delusional parents and opportunistic politicians statewide.
âItâs time to strike a blow against the liberal pro-sex agenda,â reasoned Clyde Hamms, some kind of local blowhard. âTexas wants the world to know, ainât no kids doinâ the devilâs dance here. Texas teenagers are too busy reading bibles and beatinâ on queers, God bless âem. Too busy doing the Lordâs work to be fornicating and pornobulating.â After strenuous cross-examination, Hamms admitted to making up that second term.
âTexas teens are too busy having a good time to worry about you-know-what!â beamed Houston-area sex-ed teacher Mandi Smith. âBetween sock hops and making your own ice cream at home, who wants to derail the good time by messing with S-E-X? That sounds like something California teens would do.â
âFuck you, rednecks,â answered California School Board president Arthur Cambridge, when informed of Smithâs remarks.
The new textbooks, understandably light on content due to their inability to even address the stated subject, are mostly filled with stock photography of nature scenes and kittens, overlaid with inspirational Successory-style quotations meant to bolster a Texas studentâs assumed Christian faith during the difficult adolescent years. What little additional text the books do contain is made up of fun activities for teens to try as alternatives to sex, including boating, macramĂ©, and skeet shooting. Also included are handy exercises for when you get âthat funny feeling downstairs,â like hitting yourself in the nuts with a hammer or slamming a breast in a car door.
Though Texas has long had one of the nationâs highest rates of teenage pregnancy, residents of the highly-religious state insist that those numbers will come right on down once theyâre rid of schoolbooks encouraging kids to hump with their descriptions of safe-sex techniques and ways to prevent sexually transmitted diseases.
âThose young bodies writhinâ and copulatinâ,â lamented Amarillo high school principal Ed Haste, becoming audibly aroused after calling the commune offices late one night with an unsolicited quote. âIt just ainât right! That stuff should only be in magazines, kept locked up in the drawer under my nightstand, not in our schools. Kids not in sexy magazines shouldnât be having sex until theyâre married, if then!â sobbed Haste, who later admitted to losing his virginity in the back room of biker bar at the age of eleven, a strange non-sequitur considering this reporter had just asked what time it was in Texas.
Unfortunately for Texas, the new textbooks have run afoul of federal education requirements, which stipulate that public-school students must at least have some vague concept of what sex is by the time they graduate high school, lest they be taken advantage of by more savvy classmates and teachers in college. After the filing of numerous lawsuits this week, Texas legislators have begrudgingly called for the printing of an additional sex-related pamphlet to supplement the new textbooks, though even this conciliatory gesture has come under fire from educators outside the state due to an alleged loose handling of the facts.
Among other dubious claims, the proposed pamphlets teach that when a man becomes aroused, his penis swells to the size of a watermelon, often resulting in social embarrassment and death. The pamphlet also claims that after copulation, it is customary for the female of the species to devour the male alive, leaving no trace. This passage was originally written in reference to the praying mantis, but through cleverly positioning of the text next to a photo of Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction, the pamphlet obscures this context. And though the assertion is not as-yet verifiable by science, the pamphlet also claims that each time a young man comes, it makes the baby Jesus weep.
Coming under particular fire is the chapter explaining how teenage sex causes a mutation of fetal DNA, resulting in babies with sharp, dagger-like teeth that burst through the abdomen when their thirst for blood becomes too great to bear. But interestingly, the even more spurious references to large, clawed creatures that inhabit the areas near Texasâ borders, making ever leaving the state an unwise proposition, have drawn little criticism from educators who question the wisdom of allowing Texans into their own states. the commune news apologizes for the clear anti-Texas bias apparent in this article: if this note somehow makes it to a Texan who can read, pass on the apology to all your illiterate state-mates for us, would you please? Thanks. Ivana Folger-Balzacâs hands-on approach to teaching teenagers about sex has landed her in trouble more than a few times, but she always somehow manages to get off on the same âiron-willed bitchâ loophole.
 | Cloning ban falls apart as U.N. focuses on semi-important things Stocks would be fine if Greenspan would shut-up about reality Democrats emerge, see shadow; four more years of capital gains cuts World's oldest New Yorker now just some nobody dead guy |
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 February 28, 2005 Getting Nothing but Static on Channel OneEvery once in a while I receive a reader question that really knocks me off the toilet. The latest came from Shane Bugelskow of Jersey City, New Jersey, wrapped around a rock and thrown through my bathroom window. Shane wonders, among other things, why there's no Channel One on his television. I promptly wrote him back and told him the truth: that it was because he has a small penis.
More discerning readers of my column, wherever you are, will likely want a more in-depth answer. None of you, unless you're insane or living overseas (or more likely, both), have a Channel One on your television, and you can't all have small penises. Some of you have no penises at all. My sincerest apologies to those unfortunate readers.
The answer to this question actually has a lon...
º Last Column: You Spin Me Right Round º more columns
Every once in a while I receive a reader question that really knocks me off the toilet. The latest came from Shane Bugelskow of Jersey City, New Jersey, wrapped around a rock and thrown through my bathroom window. Shane wonders, among other things, why there's no Channel One on his television. I promptly wrote him back and told him the truth: that it was because he has a small penis.
More discerning readers of my column, wherever you are, will likely want a more in-depth answer. None of you, unless you're insane or living overseas (or more likely, both), have a Channel One on your television, and you can't all have small penises. Some of you have no penises at all. My sincerest apologies to those unfortunate readers.
The answer to this question actually has a long and varied history. The original TV sets had no Channel One completely on accident due to a mishap at the first Zenith TV set factory, when an uptight quality-control engineer became paranoid that he'd get fired for signing off on a television that had a channel "L". Despite the reassurances from others in the factory who hadn't been huffing hair perm solution, the engineer couldn't be convinced that it was definitely a "1" and the further scrutiny also made him suspicious about the zero, which he began to worry might be a dial position for the letter "o". Since he had already nixed two of the television set's fifteen channels within the last ten minutes, the rest of the factory workers decided to drop the issue before they started producing expensive fish tanks that didn't get any channels.
The U.S. public back in the 50's was so mesmerized and confused by the first television sets that the lack of channels zero and one didn't strike them as odd at all. People in the 50's were accustomed to being told what to think, and if they had asked about the channels they would've bought any old ludicrous explanation about swamp gas and weather balloons anyway, so there was really no point in asking even if the thought had been coughed up in someone's primitive 1950's brain.
Other television set manufacturers like RCA and Philco were quick to follow Zenith's lead by starting with Channel Two, since the public was highly superstitious back in those days, and likely would have interpreted the addition of previously-forbidden television channels as serious bad voodoo. Unfortunately this decision spelled disaster for the RBC television network, which had outbid ABC, NBC and CBS for the coveted "first-channel" slot in the realm of broadcast bandwidth. RBC dutifully soldiered on and broadcast a full slate of shows for a year and a half after their launch, but eventually folded since only a small handful of people with broken television sets could tune in their network at all. RBC still beat ABC in television ratings, but advertisers never learned this fact since the results were only broadcast on RBC.
After the failure of RBC, the Channel One bandwidth was bought up by the U.S. government, which told an extremely gullible U.S. public that it would be used for ham radios. Americans rushed to stores to buy ham radios, and for six months in 1953 you couldn't get anybody to go bowling because they were all at home, trying to figure out how to turn on their ham radios. Three people succeeded, and were never heard from again.
In actuality, the U.S. government created their own network called USN to air on Channel One, mainly to give governmental higher-ups something else to watch while all the civilian slobs were watching I Love Lucy and Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts. The network originally aired a stultifying blend of training and hygiene videos, culled from the government's massive collection of archived film strips. But eventually, poor ratings (even for a top-secret network) drove USN honchos to migrate toward racier fare, taking advantage of their security clearance by showing secret footage of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, nuclear tests, and grainy, flip-book footage of the Lincoln assassination. Channel One soon garnered a reputation as cutting-edge TV, decades before the advent of cable.
The Zapruder footage of President Kennedy's assassination made its network debut on USN in 1963, playing on a constant round-the-clock rotation that television wouldn't see again until Michael Jackson's video for "Thriller." Even after the footage hit the rest of the public networks, USN still had the upper hand thanks to their multi-angle coverage and exclusive first-person footage. The network wouldn't have another hit this big until they scored with their helmet-cam footage of the Watergate break-in in 1972.
With the advent of digital tuners being built into television sets in the 1980's, the U.S. government faced a new challenge. Rumors about Channel One had spread by word of mouth on college campuses and among lazy slack-ass pigs during the 70's, and the chances that nobody would ever bother to hit the one button on their new TV sets were fairly slim. The government briefly considered launching a Gestapo-style raid on all digital television sets nationwide, but this was considered impractical since television sets are really heavy and most soldiers and pretty lazy when it comes right down to it. Instead, the USN higher-ups developed an ingenious encryption technique that made the network's broadcasts look just like television static to average slobs, but added 3D visuals for government officials who were granted a special pair of glasses with one white lens and one black lens for USN viewing.
To further throw the slackers off their scent, the government also launched an "educational" program to bring "Channel One" to the nation's classrooms, a program that mostly entailed grade-school children sitting through commercials for Fritos on sputnik-era television sets that had to be wheeled in on a cart from the A/V room.
But the subterfuge was successful, and to this day, high-ranking government buttwipes wile away their non-productive hours watching real alien autopsies and how-to videos on crop circle formation, while the rest of us have to make due with American Idol and that great show where you turn off the TV and just stare at your reflection in the tube since it's more entertaining than anything being broadcast that night.
So that's why you don't have a Channel One, commune readers. Any other missing channels can be blamed on either your cable provider or your penis size. Good day. º Last Column: You Spin Me Right Roundº more columns | 
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Milestones1990: Red Bagel's dark vision of the future presented in lecture form at a local college predicts a war in Iraq, though he incorrectly predicts the date as 2002. Unless⊠well, we'll wait and see, won't we?Now HiringBartender. Mix all variety of drinks, serve beers with a quick smile and friendly expression. Listening a must, flipping bottles and spinning like in Cocktail a plus. Must know when to cut off Ramrod Hurleyâimmediatelyâand when to cut off Red Bagelânever, if you like your job.Least Successful David Bowie Incarnations1. | Wacky Far-Out Space Nut | 2. | Lithe, Quirky, Effeminate Heterosexual | 3. | Gold-Suited Game Show Host Mutt Smalley | 4. | Evil Twin Brother Donald Bowie | 5. | Lou Bega | |
|   Hemp Party Convention Boosts Candidates BY turner volst 2/14/2005 A Time for DeadHis pants were too tight, Spencer Chowheim thought as he attempted to get comfortable in his sniper perch. Should've bought a 33 waist. Harder to find, sure, and seldom available on the discount rack. But at moments like this, the moment of truth, the difference made a difference. Chowheim squirmed inside his slightly-too-tight trousers.
"Maybe I'm getting fat?" he thought to himself and others. Hmm. An intriguing notion. Chowheim quickly calculated his up-to-the-minute Body Mass Index, based on his internal sense of blood pressure and the level of resistance he felt from the roof's granulated concrete surface. 28.4, same as always. It had to be the pants. A shame too, since historically, 34% of failed missions turned on ill-fitting couture. He sucked it in, vowing to himself to...
His pants were too tight, Spencer Chowheim thought as he attempted to get comfortable in his sniper perch. Should've bought a 33 waist. Harder to find, sure, and seldom available on the discount rack. But at moments like this, the moment of truth, the difference made a difference. Chowheim squirmed inside his slightly-too-tight trousers. "Maybe I'm getting fat?" he thought to himself and others. Hmm. An intriguing notion. Chowheim quickly calculated his up-to-the-minute Body Mass Index, based on his internal sense of blood pressure and the level of resistance he felt from the roof's granulated concrete surface. 28.4, same as always. It had to be the pants. A shame too, since historically, 34% of failed missions turned on ill-fitting couture. He sucked it in, vowing to himself to be the exception. He would admit to friends, if he'd had any, that this was an unusual mission. He thought he'd seen it all during his eight year tenure as a highly in-demand rogue double agent, and one so skilled he'd been able to skip the normal single agent phase entirely, shooting straight into the big time of espionage. But he'd never been asked to shoot a deer before. At first he thought it must be a typo, written with a finger in the dust on his car's passenger side window, the way he always received his top secret missions. He'd figured Deer must be the last name of some deadly ex-KGB killing machine proficient in seventeen languages and Russo-karate. But over his customary eighteen months of research and preparation, Chowheim realized how wrong he had been. This was no ordinary deer. This deer had vital information about nukes in the former Eskimo stronghold of Newfoundland, Canada. A mole deer, a triple agent. A triple agent was the most impressive and complicated thing a spy could be, man or beast, since anyone who attempted to make the leap to quadruple agent invariably got confused and ended up just becoming the regular plain vanilla agent they were pretending to be during the course of their subterfuge times four. When Chowheim thought about it, he realized how perfect the plan had been. Nobody ever expects a deer. National reaction to the Disney film Bambi had been overwhelmingly positive ever since it opened on 1,517 screens in 1942. Entire generations of Americans were ripe for this con. And with a deer's average lifespan of 17.4 years in the Northern hemisphere, there was plenty of time for ample training and invaluable field experience before the serious missions began. Plus, he'd heard deer could run pretty fast. Always a handy trick to have up one's triple-agenting sleeve when in a pinch. Chowheim calibrated his sights again to compensate for the warming early-morning air. It was an odd place to expect a deer, a busy Manhattan street on a Tuesday morning, but double agents thrive on expecting the unexpected, and triple agents thrive on hiding in plain sight. This deer was good. Then he appeared. Casually, by a newspaper stand. Chowheim aimed for the pulmonary aortal junction, the surest kill spot for a male buck deer without rolling the dice on a dicey skull shot. Remembering his months spent in veterinary school and the additional weeks he spent wearing a deer suit in the wild, Chowheim aimed just below the junction, allowing gravity to do some of the bleeding work for him. It was no use taking his chances creating a geyser of deer blood squirting up into the air, which some passing Good Samaritan might catch in a bucket and use to save the rogue deer's life. Chowheim squeezed off a silent round without needing to look, and quickly broke down his rifle. After changing his clothes, facial hair and blood type on his way down the stairwell, Chowheim made a point of weaving into the crowd gathering around the ex-triple agent deer's now-lifeless body. Market research had shown that the last person anyone suspects is the guy with the handlebar mustache walking towards the action. Chowheim cast a quick glance streetward to admire his handiwork as he passed, then froze in his tracks like a glacier hitting a landmine. Something wasn't right. Something very wasn't right. Just then Chowheim realized he'd shot a dog. Not even a particularly deer-like dog, either, it was a French poodle. Shit, Chowheim thought. Then he thought shit again. After a quick calculation of odds, counter-odds, and evens in his head, he realized it was time for Plan D. Quadruple-agency, here he came. For more of this great story, buy Turner Volst's A Time for Dead   |