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 February 5, 2007 |
Augusta, GA Assad the Unseen Christ-friendly rocker Grant, seen here on a day other than the Day Without her, during which we can only assume she went into hiding.
"Amy didn’t play any concerts, and none of us played any Amy Grant in our homes, in our cars, or even on our personal Walkman devices," explained Darlene McCullogh, an Amy Grant fan and apparently the last human being on earth still using a Walkman.
As an additional part of the demonstration, nobody watched Amy Grant’s NBC show "Three Wishes" in reruns on Monday. Nobody had watched the previous Monday either, though sources were unclear if this was a coincidence or a ...
ondering why your life was thrown into total disarray last Monday? Wonder no more, because you’ve been hit by a "Day Without Amy Grant," an attempt by dedicated Amy Grant fans nationwide to show an ungrateful world what life would really be like without Amy Grant’s upbeat Christian-Pop music.
"Amy didn’t play any concerts, and none of us played any Amy Grant in our homes, in our cars, or even on our personal Walkman devices," explained Darlene McCullogh, an Amy Grant fan and apparently the last human being on earth still using a Walkman.
As an additional part of the demonstration, nobody watched Amy Grant’s NBC show "Three Wishes" in reruns on Monday. Nobody had watched the previous Monday either, though sources were unclear if this was a coincidence or a mix-up over when exactly the "Day Without Amy Grant" was scheduled. Network executives point out this may have been the problem with the show’s ratings dating back to its 2005 debut.
Grant originally came to fame as a teenager in the 1970’s, drawing attention to the then-tiny "inspirational" genre of gospel music by white people, for white people. Grant’s success would bring gospel music to a whiter audience, though this fact was often misheard as "a wider audience" when reported in the music press.
Grant’s crossover success in the 80’s and 90’s came largely from her skill at writing Christian Contemporary music that only Christians realized was Christian Contemporary, with lyrics vague enough to be mistaken for normal vacuous pop by heathen audiences. Likewise, Grant’s videos and concerts mimicked popular non-saved artists of the day, allowing her to sell more than fifteen albums at a time, unlike her CCM contemporaries like Bible Bill Steadfast and The Christian Biscuits.
A mainstay in the Grammy’s "Best Gospel Performance, White or Asian" category throughout the 80’s and 90’s, Grant was frequently rewarded by an organization too busy to find other performers to nominate in the category.
But it was the 1991 hit "Baby Baby" that made Grant a household name and answer to the question "Who wrote that fucking song they keep playing down at the Frogurt stand?"
Last Monday’s demonstration served as further proof of the power of the public to draw attention to underappreciated issues by not doing something. Following hot on the heels of the equally-successful "Day Without Fussy Gay Neighbors" and the "Day Without Fat Chicks," some pundits fear the trend may lead to days without other unheralded items, like seatbelts or underarm deodorant. Many of the same pundits, however, confided to us privately that they liked the "Day Without Fat Chicks" alright, but don’t tell anyone they said that because it’s a real dick thing to say. the commune news supports any day without Amy Grant and furthermore suggests that this become a yearly event, if not daily. Boner Cunningham is the commune’s most heavily-pimpled reporter, a fact that has led to more than one drunken office party ending with commune employees lining up to make Boner Cunningham portraits by drawing a nose on Rok Finger’s naked ass.
 |  January 15, 2007 |
2006, as it would have appeared to a fly on acid.
Ah, right. Who could forget the midterm elections, when even Republican candidates were voting to toss their own corrupt asses out of office? Never before has the term “midterm” meant anything near this good, usually it’s just a sign that the time has come to stop having sex with that pregnant girl at the office.
The Iraq War trundled on, if you can call it a war when we stand by and watch while a country tears itself to shreds like that one Superman where he tried to rip his Clark Kent suit off, but forgot he had already done so and ended up pulling o...
’m serious, what the hell happened last year? Did we mix up our multivitamins and roofies again? Because if anything at all of note happened in 2006, we missed it here at the commune. Best to check the tape.
Ah, right. Who could forget the midterm elections, when even Republican candidates were voting to toss their own corrupt asses out of office? Never before has the term “midterm” meant anything near this good, usually it’s just a sign that the time has come to stop having sex with that pregnant girl at the office.
The Iraq War trundled on, if you can call it a war when we stand by and watch while a country tears itself to shreds like that one Superman where he tried to rip his Clark Kent suit off, but forgot he had already done so and ended up pulling off all his skin like a Halloween costume and got a superinfection. That’s basically what has happened in Iraq; only the country is infected with assholes.
Speaking of assholes, former Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein was hung like a horse, only not in the good sense of the phrase. It turns out Iraq doesn’t hang many people, preferring execution by forcible blowupification, and so Hussein had to be put down in the capital punishment wing of a veterinary hospital. Tack-y, Iraqis.
Paul McCartney’s pirate wife, Heather Mills McCartney, filed for divorce on the grounds of emotional cruelty, on account of McCartney’s habit of singing her Wings songs during their tender moments. McCartney took the news in stride, citing the fact that he’d run out of good “one leg” jokes months ago anyhow. This, moments before he launched into an a cappella rendition of ZZ Top’s “She’s Got Leg,” bringing the room to an uncomfortable silence.
Ariel Sharon had a stroke, and millions of children cried. Until adults explained that this was not the Ariel from The Little Mermaid. And so, millions of children went back to playing with their food.
It was the year of K-FED, some kind of sexually transmitted disease the young people were going nuts about this year. And it says here they finally caught the guy who killed JonBenet… I can’t be reading that right. Anyway, a bunch of Amish kids got shot, if that surprises anyone after all the crap they’ve pulled.
A bunch of yabbos tried to bring down airliners with Gatorade, resulting in a ban on anything wetter than Tony Danza’s back going through airport security and spiking sales of $5 bottles of tap water in airport gift shops.
And how could we have forgotten the Foley sex scandal? Republicans proved yet again that they do everything better than Democrats, including falling flat on their faces in public after quizzing underage boys about their boner etiquette. Thankfully for all involved, Foley quickly entered alcohol rehab, the only known surefire cure for rampant pedophilia.
Oh shit! Cheney shot some dude. Yeah, that was pretty memorable. Anyway, it was a year, end of story. Unless you died or got laid, in which case it was the most important year in the history of mankind. Congratulations. the commune news knows what you did last summer, thanks to your pathetically outdated MySpace page. Red Bagel is the commune’s fearless editor, and we’re not just blowing smoke up your ass when we say that. Bagel really did have his fear glands removed after a boogieboarding accident as a child, and as a result has never been able to enjoy horror movies. He’s also been bitterly disappointed to find that every “No Fear” support group he tries to join ends up being a bunch of t-shirt collecting dillweeds.
|  Apple iPhone to Contain Real Fruit Filling  Who's the Black Pit That Killed a Night Club Prick? Elevator Shaft — Damn Right  At Least One Team in SuperBowl 'Really Came to Play'  War on Terror Finally Focused on Real Threats |
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 March 5, 2007 I Don't Cotton to SpandexI thought I would celebrate my return to a regular column with a timely complaint—a beyond timely complaint even: I intensely dislike spandex.
Who exactly thought we needed this impertinent fabric? I recall we survived the '70s perfectly fine with only denim and polyester; the next day it's the 1980s, and suddenly we're immersed in a spandex society. Oh, I'm a 1980s fitness nut—I can't work out in burlap. Gingham is too good for me. I will not rest until I've found the perfect sycophantic fabric to kiss my ass all through my squat thrusts.
As if the world was sitting up at night, wondering what your particular camel toe looks like. And if you're the type of man who prefers to see as much of the female anatomy as possible, consider this: before the advent of spand...
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I thought I would celebrate my return to a regular column with a timely complaint—a beyond timely complaint even: I intensely dislike spandex. Who exactly thought we needed this impertinent fabric? I recall we survived the '70s perfectly fine with only denim and polyester; the next day it's the 1980s, and suddenly we're immersed in a spandex society. Oh, I'm a 1980s fitness nut—I can't work out in burlap. Gingham is too good for me. I will not rest until I've found the perfect sycophantic fabric to kiss my ass all through my squat thrusts. As if the world was sitting up at night, wondering what your particular camel toe looks like. And if you're the type of man who prefers to see as much of the female anatomy as possible, consider this: before the advent of spandex leggings, you could see the legs themselves. That's right, bare skin. How exactly is this an advantage for you men? I call "rip-off!" I sincerely hope you boys will join me in that call. I submit, daring though my suggestion may be, spandex has brought nothing to this world. Sure, Batman could frighten the hell out of the cowardly superstitious criminal kind with his well-toned physique, but how did spandex help Robin? Or the rest of us, for that matter? Now any time we are dependent on focusing our minds on man-business, we run the risk of sexual thoughts pervading us at any given moment with a feminine physique perfectly outlined in lime green materials. Thoughts of baseball can't be conjured fast enough. Good people, I say it's a genuine threat. I find the womanly shapes as appealing as any man, I admit that freely. But it doesn't mean I want my eyes popping in and out of their sockets like some Tex Avery character while I'm trying to peruse the stock market. I have a lot of money invested in things in the world, and none of them have to do with stunningly curvaceous asses of a hot pink hue. One of these days the law will change and you teasing harlots will be financially responsible for every time you distract me and cause me to accidentally invest my money in ludditesonline.com. Tell me, what happened to the good old days? I remember well a time a man could walk down the street and only find himself fixated on thoughts of sex a mere five to six times in the course of a minute. All this, of course, without any visual stimulation—unless you were one of those men who found wide-brimmed bonnets exciting. And many of us did. No, in those glory days you had to don a raincoat and purposely stumble into a theater of indecent movies completely by accident. Things were much more discreet in those days, and we all preferred it that way. If you ran into an associate in the line, you had to pretend you were looking for that new John Ford movie that had just hit the theaters, and you had pocketed a half-roll of pennies in case they sold candy. We all knew it was pretense to stimulate the manly function of a solo reproductive act, and we all kept quiet about it. It was just polite society. Those were the halcyon days when gyms were strictly reserved for tubby joes sweating off the fat in a steam cabinet, or wiggling them off with a giant rubber band that would shake them violently. Certainly not the place for stimulating thoughts—you were lucky if you could eat again afterwards. Then they let the women in and, surprise, surprise, everyone's obese now. We should all know why—with spandex around to remind us of the existence of the opposite sex, there's only one muscle that's getting a workout these days. That's right. Your dirty mind. º Last Column: Public Abscessº more columns | 
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Milestones1978: Griswald Dreck's landmark third grade report "George Washington: Star of the Negro Leagues" creates a fervor in the classroom, leading to the firing of third grade teacher Anais Brockmiller and a thorough review of the state's history textbooks.Now HiringEunuch. No job really, just sit around and answer questions about what it's like to be a eunuch. Maybe take a blow to the groin to no effect every once in a while to impress office visitors and guests. Talking in a Mickey Mouse voice might be kinda funny too.Top Mike Tyson Hotel Brawl Excuses| 1. | Men insulted Tyson's little yappy dog. | | 2. | "Dude reminded me that I raped his sister." | | 3. | Tyson heard bell ring in lobby. | | 4. | Victim reminded Mike of "Little Mac." | | 5. | Men taunted Tyson with their delicious-looking ears. | |
|   Bush Reverses Cloning Stance After Viewing Six Feet Under Finale BY roland mcshyster 2/5/2007 Buenos Greetings, America! Roland McShyster here, back on the attack and off the crack! What better way to celebrate the months we’ve been apart than to round up the top flicks of the past year? 2006 was a busy year for movies, and though I know my esteemed colleague Orson Welch took a crack at the same last issue, it says here that this town’s big enough for the two of us, and I do think it is as long as Orson keeps his shoes on. So without further adieu, let’s make some magic!
1. The Deep Hearted
The first film in recent memory to function as both a remake (of Jackie Chan’s incendiary classic Nutbusted) and a sequel (to 1974’s dark-side of Elmer Fudd classic The Deer Hunter), The Deep Hearted finally gives screen icon Jack Nickelso...
Buenos Greetings, America! Roland McShyster here, back on the attack and off the crack! What better way to celebrate the months we’ve been apart than to round up the top flicks of the past year? 2006 was a busy year for movies, and though I know my esteemed colleague Orson Welch took a crack at the same last issue, it says here that this town’s big enough for the two of us, and I do think it is as long as Orson keeps his shoes on. So without further adieu, let’s make some magic!
1. The Deep Hearted
The first film in recent memory to function as both a remake (of Jackie Chan’s incendiary classic Nutbusted) and a sequel (to 1974’s dark-side of Elmer Fudd classic The Deer Hunter), The Deep Hearted finally gives screen icon Jack Nickelson a role he can sink his teeth into. Too bad it didn’t come along before his real teeth had rotted away due to lechery and extreme old age, but golf-enthusiast Nickelson sinks his day-glo white dentures into this role just the same. Vanilla Ice is almost as good playing Marky Mark in the supporting role, and both Math Damon and Leonardio Dicaprica shine at playing the same character at random intervals throughout the film.
2/3. Fags of Our Fathers/Letters from Hero Jim
The only thing hotter in Hollywood right now than butch-looking tough guys being gay is dudes going to war a long time ago to kill foreigners, but it still took the jaundiced eye of silver-screen megalegend Clint Eastwood to put two and two together and make two movies that each combine both ideas. Fags of Our Fathers came first (that’s what she said!), and turned American hearts upside-out with its stunning portrayal of American GIs and the guys they bungholed while they were overseas during WWII. But great as that film was, it was just Clint’s way of softening the ground for Letters from Hero Jim, the right-hook to Fathers’ jap. Or is it jab? I don’t know boxing terminology. Letters tells the story of two gay guys in the army writing to each other, but the twist you haven’t seen before is that one of them is actually in the distant past and is Japanese. Now be sure to pick up the pieces of your blown mind before we move on to the next film.
4. Babe!
Darker than the first two, sure, and lighter on the pig, but that’s just fine with me when you’re talking about a movie many thought shouldn’t be made. After the star of the first two films died in a horrible breakfast- making accident two short years ago, the weak- stomached of the movie watching community rose up in one voice and suggested that the blockbuster film series be laid to rest in this little piggy’s honor. Thankfully, Hollywood told those fruits to take a hike, and completed the epic trilogy in style. Brad Pitt brings a fresh-faced enthusiasm to his role as Babe’s handler on the little pig’s trans-continental journey to find something tasty buried just beneath the ground. Without a doubt, some of the best pig acting since 1998’s Copland.
5. The Queen
Hot on the heels of his smash success with The Doors, counterculture icon Olivier Stone rips the rock biopic genre a new one with this scathing look at the life and times of the most macho band ever to exist, Queen. Brit bombshell Hellen Mirren burns the screen down with her thick-mustached portrayal of musky sex God and Queen frontman Freddie Mercury, and the rest of the band is played by guys who could snap your neck with their breath. If you had a better time in a theater in 2006, you were high on something wicked and I’m calling the cops.
6. Lidle Missed Sunshine
This amazingly-fast response to the tragic death of Yankees pitcher Corey Lidle, who died months ago after trying to land his single-engine Cessna through the window of his Manhattan apartment, doesn’t deserve to be as good as it turned out, but there it is just the same. It’s films like this that make me wonder what the hell they’re doing over there, outside of America, and why can’t they make films this good.
7/8. Volver/Lucky Number Slevin
Dyslexia was the hot word for 2006, not that anyone could spell it. But Hollywood doesn’t have to be able to spell something to be able to cash in on it, as these two films specially-titled for the letter-ordering impaired were to prove. Surprisingly, they were both powerhouses. Actually, technically one was a powerhouse and the other was a brick house, but I’ll leave you to decide for yourselves which was which.
9. Untied 93
Finally, the truth comes out about why Gerald Ford fell down those airplane steps that fateful morning back a long time ago. Turns out his shoelaces were untied. Yeah, it sounds kind of anti- climactic when I say it just like that, but trust me, this movie will keep you riveted for the full 93 minutes as you see Ford’s shit-eating unfold in painstaking detail. Yeah, you know what’s gonna happen, but that just makes the film’s inevitable conclusion feel all the more tragic.
10. Preachy Home Companion
Although it’s not the kind of movie I’d usually like, since it’s not very good, Preachy Home Companion won me over by having a bunch of good-looking people singing a lot while at the same time showing why ugly people belong on radio. Private Parts tried to teach me the same lesson years ago, but for some reason it didn’t really sink in until this film. But it did, and consider me a changed man, America.
Until next time, I’m Roland McShyster, and you’re America. Try to wear it well.   |
