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Canadians Outraged As Dog Takes Gold For SkiingFebruary 18, 2002 |
Salt Lake City, Utah Ansel Evans Murphy, the amazing skiing Olympiad with fur.
D’Ouvret was gracious in defeat, despite claims by skiing fans and Olympic critics that D’Ouvret had the better showing in the event. Millions around the world, however, especially Canada, were stunned and disappointed by the results. Some even lob charges that corruption has entered the Olympics again. It’s a tough accusation coming at a time when the IOC is still mired in controversy revolving around the figure skating gold denied to Canadian skaters David Pelletier and Jamie Salé. Suspect judging has been the focus of that Olympic blunder, while the gold being awarded to a...
ontroversy again surrounds the Olympics as Canadian skier Mark D’Ouvret was muscled out of the gold medal by a newcomer to Alpine Skiing, skiing dog Murph, representing the United States. D’Ouvret was gracious in defeat, despite claims by skiing fans and Olympic critics that D’Ouvret had the better showing in the event. Millions around the world, however, especially Canada, were stunned and disappointed by the results. Some even lob charges that corruption has entered the Olympics again. It’s a tough accusation coming at a time when the IOC is still mired in controversy revolving around the figure skating gold denied to Canadian skaters David Pelletier and Jamie Salé. Suspect judging has been the focus of that Olympic blunder, while the gold being awarded to a dog has brought anger to every aspect of the Salt Lake City Olympics. “Strictly speaking,” said Olympics Historian Professor Drod Hamelstein, “there’s no official statement in the rule book that says a dog can’t participate in the skiing event. Of course, it’s hard to actually write a rule banning something before it happens. There’s no rule that says an athlete can’t turn into a duck and still compete in the Luge. The point is, Olympics officials have to react stronger and quicker to things like this. The official who allowed the dog to compete should have been disciplined. And the dog, too, for that matter. The dog in question is United States Alpine Skier “Murph” Murphy T. Dog. Murph is trained and owned by Coach Ralph Maple. He feels Murph worked very hard for the gold and the Canadians and critics are just sore losers. “Murph is no overnight success story,” said Maple. “He worked hard for this, just as hard as D’Ouvret or any of those skiers. Even harder I think. He won, right?” “That’s completely ludicrous,” said Austria’s Klaus Kleinermacht, who has been outspoken about the illegality of Murph’s participation. “The dog, he skis fine. But he is still a dog. Dogs should not be skiing in the Olympics. They ski on TV shows or home video programs. And did you see the scarf his owner put on him? Shameless pandering to the judges.” International Olympics Committee President Jacques Rogge was reluctant to name names, but did admit mistakes were made and the situation was being reviewed. “Personally, I would not have allowed a dog to enter the competition,” said Rogge. “I cannot say who is to blame for the lapse in judgment, but we will investigate. All I can say is I would not have allowed a dog to enter the competition. Unless perhaps he had a darling scarf.” the commune news would appreciate a sponge bath about now, but then again, who wouldn't? Ramrod Hurley denies allegations he is a closet alcoholic, the idea of limiting his drinking to one tight and confining space horrifies him.
 | Tiger Woods Thinks He's A Goddamned Writer NowBig golf guy, insufferable jerk puts out new book February 4, 2002 |
Pebble Beach, NC Courtesy Warner Books Woods brings to literature what Taco brought to music
Woods, who has no proven talent with words or prose, is the "author" of How I Play Golf, an instructional guide on the overrated game he's famous for playing published by Warner Books at the unrealistic retail price of $34.95.
The book, which is surely hard to drudge through and a perfect gift for people who like shitty reading material, is called by some critics an energetic and enthusiastic guide to golf beginners as well as an insightful study of Woods' own passion for the game. However, the book is actually lame-ass.
olf pro and sports celebrity Tiger Woods, unable to confine himself to every fucking T.V. commercial on the air and sporting event there is, has recently written and published a book, obviously thinking himself a writer now.
Woods, who has no proven talent with words or prose, is the "author" of How I Play Golf, an instructional guide on the overrated game he's famous for playing published by Warner Books at the unrealistic retail price of $34.95.
The book, which is surely hard to drudge through and a perfect gift for people who like shitty reading material, is called by some critics an energetic and enthusiastic guide to golf beginners as well as an insightful study of Woods' own passion for the game. However, the book is actually lame-ass.
At 320 pages, the book stands as the longest publicity ad for a sports figure in quite some time.
Although Woods could not be reached for comment, being such a god among men he doesn't have time to return phone calls to reporters, it is believed he will next try to walk on water or heal the lepers. Good fucking luck to the superman. the commune news has told you "no comment" and they mean "no comment," and don't print that. Ted Ted's golf game is down to 32 strokes, nearly half the number of actual strokes Ted Ted has had due to his huge temper.
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 February 12, 2002 Home for the Horrordaysthe commune's Clarissa Coleman has holiday memories repressed Dorothy said there's no place like home, but I would say that wartime Yugoslavia can't be all that different. No, dudes, I'm not a homebody. My thoughts don't turn to charming holiday gatherings around the fire with the ones I love since it usually involves a lot of alcohol and the fire involves the firecrackers someone tried to light by cooking them in the oven.
I would say my family's strange, but that's everybody's family. My family is homicidally manic-deppressive—there, that at least sounds more original. Seriously, my family is always happy when I come back to Bellmont for Christmas, but catch any of them on the right day and they're happy when the mail shows up. They're fundamentally unhealthy enablers of every drug habit you could name and they derive pleasure from e...
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Dorothy said there's no place like home, but I would say that wartime Yugoslavia can't be all that different. No, dudes, I'm not a homebody. My thoughts don't turn to charming holiday gatherings around the fire with the ones I love since it usually involves a lot of alcohol and the fire involves the firecrackers someone tried to light by cooking them in the oven.
I would say my family's strange, but that's everybody's family. My family is homicidally manic-deppressive—there, that at least sounds more original. Seriously, my family is always happy when I come back to Bellmont for Christmas, but catch any of them on the right day and they're happy when the mail shows up. They're fundamentally unhealthy enablers of every drug habit you could name and they derive pleasure from each other's pain. Which is all fine, since that's how I am, but it's real dangerous to put us all in the same place.
First, there's my dad, Fozzy Coleman—dad somewhere got the impression that he was black, and even more odd, that he's Ike Turner. Dad rules the house with an iron thumb, an iron thumb being some gardening device he got for Christmas 20 years ago that spreads mulch. My favorite holiday memory of dad was that year we converted to Judaism. Mom made soggy cornbread and accidentally poisoned the turkey gravy with make-up remover, and when dad found out he was so pissed he threw the menorah like a trident and it stuck in the wall. The bright side was that it worked so well we use it to hang the Christmas stockings still.
Then there's my mom, who's great when she's sober, if you can be there during that time from 8 to 8:15 a.m. When she gets drunk she says all the things normal moms only think, like, "I had plenty of chances to drown you, Clarissa," and, "By my calculations, you still owe us about $359,000—oh, what, you thought the room and board were free rides?" My mom's name is Bunny, but dad always calls her Bunny Coleman like it's one word. Like, "Bunnycoleman, who ate all my fucking French toast?" Or, "Get my bath ready, Bunnycoleman."
It's hard to complain about my brother and sister, they're not really to blame for anything—between having my parents for their parents and having my shadow to live in all their lives, it's amazing they aren't screwed up.
My brother, Randy, doesn't let us call him Randy anymore since he joined that cult in the compound next door to mom and dad. At least he didn't have to go far to get brainwashed. He prefers to be called Toot now, and he's actually pretty nice, the nicest one of the bunch. He curls up in a ball and chants whenever mom and dad fight now, he tells them they have bad Chaka Khan or something, some kind of karma rip-off the cult made up, and the worst thing he does is steal from mom and dad to give to the cult so they can build that glass temple of theirs. Which is all fine by me, I never take more than $20 home when I go anyway.
My sister's a bit more peculiar. She never had the looks or talent to be an actress like me, so she was driven into this weird-ass obsession with grades and scholarships and stuff. She went to Harvard like that Good Will Hunting guy and majored in lawyering. Now she works for the ACLU and writes books on feminism in her spare time, really spaced-out shit. She doesn't come home too often, actually, but she sends self-help books and fruit baskets.
I guess, more than anything, this time of year is about forgetting your family is clinically sociopathic and learning to keep your temper in check long enough to sit down for a single Christmas dinner. To gather around the tree, open up crappy presents, and pretend you like at least one of the things. To sleep in your old room and act like you don't hear your dad getting nasty with your mom, shouting, "Take me to town, Bunnycoleman!" in the room right next door. But at least when you hear that, you know it's just another ten minutes until everyone gathers in the living room around the kitchen fire and opens their presents. And that's as much family as anybody gets these days. º Last Column: º 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! | |
|   Afghanistan to Host 2006 Winter Olympics BY roland mcshyster 2/4/2002 Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a...
Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a scam on us, a complex ploy to secure more than their fair share of dancing puppets on the "It's a Smallish World" ride at Disneyland. Interesting. You tend to the entertainment reviews below while I ponder this further over another Eskimo Pie.
In Theaters Now:
A Beautiful Mime
If there's one thing this movie taught me, it's that mimes are a lot more tolerable when they're jaw-droppingly gorgeous and have the body of a porn star. I'd like to thank Jennifer Connely for expanding my cultural awareness and my BVDs for a solid two hours in this powerful film. There's a lot of awards buzz surrounding Connely's performance here, and I have to agree: she's hot as hell! You can bet I'll be keeping an eye out for her Golden Globes in the future.
Big Fat Liar
What's funnier than Jim Carrey running around like he's retarded and not being able to tell a lie? You guessed it, a 300 pound Jim Carrey running around like he's retarded and not being able to tell a lie. They promised the sequel would be bigger than the original, but none of us dared to think they were talking about Carrey's drooping leg fat. And yeah, it's pretty funny, but I have to admit it's the ultimate insult when Hollywood would rather dress up attractive people in fat suits than hire one of the many genuinely fat people available for the role.
Collateral Damage
Arnie's latest meat-headed action flick casts him wholly unbelievably as a nerdy office drone who's expertise in collating office files and Xeroxes somehow prepares him to be an awe-inspiring ass-kicker who cold-boots faceless terrorist booty, in triplicate. Wait until this one comes out on video, then put it back on the shelf and see if they have any decent soft-core in stock.
I Am Sam
The Dr Seuss classic takes a turn for the creepy in this dark psychological thriller starring Chris Kattan as the food-obsessed stalker who just won't let Michael Douglas' businessman be. Some might consider this re-imagining disrespectful to the original book, but I'm convinced that Dr Seuss himself would have done the train shoot-out scene just the same way if he'd had access to this kind of technology back in his day.
Rollerball
I know what you're thinking. Cross the white-hot fad of rollerskating with the popular teenage dance movie, throw in Skeet Ulrich, and you've got a sure hit on your hands, right? Think again. Take a closer look at what you've got on your hands, and note it's nutty texture and off-brown hue. Pretty nasty, eh?
Now on Video:
Captain Correlli's Man-dolphin
I can't honestly say I knew what the hell was up with this movie, or how they got Nicholas Cage involved, but to suffice it to say it was original. It was sort of like a cross between Buck Rogers, Powder, The Abyss and an Arco commercial, if that makes any sense. It wasn't bad, but it was one of those movies that makes you wonder if you left the gas on.
The Curse of the Sade Scorpion
Another strange one to keep you scratching your head until you're in need a band-aid. Imagine if they remade "Anaconda" in the desert, with Ben Kingsley instead of Ice Cube, and instead of a big snake eating people it's a scorpion that sings "Smooth Operator" almost constantly. And believe it or not, this was actually the scarier movie of the two. Come to think of it, maybe that's not so hard to believe.
Ghost World
The second feature from Nintendo Pictures follows the reasoning that if the original is good, throw in a egg-pooping dinosaur and it'll be even better. I'm not sure what to think of the result, however. Whoopi Goldberg has some great lines as the wise-cracking dinosaur, but I just couldn't get over how dumb Patrick Swayzee looks in that little plumber hat.
Kiss of the Drag Queen
Jet Li is back and this time he must face his toughest adversary yet: his own ambiguous sexuality! How will Li react when he finds out that the girl he just chop-sueyed a platoon of ninjas to save turns out to be a flamboyant drag queen from Frisco? S/he is Li's perfect match, but will he risk the scorn of his ultra-traditional culture and his macho ass-kicking buddies to know her love? No chance, but he did kick a guy's ass with a tuna fish in a scene that I thought was pretty cool.
Television:
The networks are rushing out new episodes of their biggest shows for what they call "sweeps" and that means it's the best time to be a television fan! Here's some highlights of the coming week:
Frasier (NBC)
The episode we've all been waiting for as the champ puts to rest old grievances with his longtime arch-nemesis Muhammad Ali. A tear-jerking episode, or something gets jerked anyhow.
Si, Esse (CBS)
I've been hearing everyone raving about this show about forensic science cops, but didn't think it sounded appealing. Still, pretty ballsy move to have an all-Spanish cast. I managed to follow it pretty good and this week's episode ought to be the best as that guy who seems to be in charge has an affair with the young girl with the sombrero, who I think might be his protogé or something. Hot Spanish chicks and possible nudity? Roland is there, compadré!
Everybody Loves Reagan (CBS)
Last I heard this guy was drooling all over his presidential bib in some nursing home, so I don't know how he gets a hit sitcom. Then again, I still don't know how he beat Mondale in a landslide. It's their biggest episode yet this week as the current president (you know, the one with the dirty name) stops by to talk about his space station that blows up nuclear missiles. You won't want to miss it. I will, though.
Video Games:
State of Emergency (PS2)
This flag-waving tribute to New York is long on sentiment and short on fun. Sure, I agree firefighters and cops and paramedics and all of them are the real heroes, yeah, I'd gladly look the other way if they wanted to murder somebody or rob a bank, but any game with more candle-lit worshipping-at-the-feet and less fighting and explosions just isn't my idea of fun. Not that they aren't walking gods among us, of course.
Rackless (Sexbox)
The boys at Microsoft are going all out to beat the competition. This game is truly a new frontier, as you're a cosmetic surgeon trying to pump up the chest of a young hottie who just can't attract the boys 'cause of her natural flatlands. Keep adding on inches to turn her from Kate Moss to Jennifer Connelly and watch out you don't snap her spine in half. Success is its own reward!
Ninja Gayed In (PS2)
Wash-out of a game based on that Saturday Night Live gay ninja character that was only funny the first sketch. You play the ninja in sequined black commando gear and can stun enemies with glitter-laden throwing stars or your special move which I'll save you the nausea of describing.
There are foul things afoot, Entertainment Policers. After a little cursory research on the "internet", I've discovered that the Eskimos and the Hawaiian Islanders do in fact share a common ancestor! From everything I can tell, his name is Saul Worthington and he lives in the Bronx. Looks like I'll be giving our Mr. Worthington a little phone call this afternoon to get to the bottom of this. Wish me luck, America!   |
