HOW CHINA SHOULD IMPROVE THE OLYMPICS

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com

Hey.

So, China’s set to host the 2008 Summer Olympics, and protests all over the world are underway. Human rights this, and poor air quality that.

And the Olympic committee is on this huge public relations binge, telling anybody that will listen to them that people should put political concerns aside and focus on this simple celebration of world athletes.

You know, the way the local drunk at a bar grabs your shirt and tries to spit out his tale about how he used to be a roadie for Skid Row.

It’s bullshit.

Anybody with a spare five minutes and an Internet connection ought to know that the Olympics were started as a way to get Greek men naked and covered in olive oil in public.

That, and give nearby city-states a chance to lord their prowess over one another.

Basically, porn and vengeance is what fuels the Olympics.

And anyone else who believes otherwise is fucking lying to themselves.

It’s not about hearing another heart-warming (read: stroke-inducing) story about some track star whose family was torn apart by wild boars when they were six and had to train seventeen hours a day wearing shoes cobbled together from old Kotex boxes.

It’s not about actually watching the events. They take too long, and they’re boring as shit, which is why the media has to truck out these Lifetime-like biographical looks at the athletes, begging us to give two-tenths of a fuck.

So, here’s my idea. It worked for the 1936 Berlin Olympics, and it should work for China.

Instead of trying to put a thin coat of whitewash and lies over its behavior, China should just embrace it. They’re a world power, and people need to recognize that, even though their behavior feels abhorrent to some.

Plus, I’m a big fan of people who don’t even try to hide their love for torture.

Without further ado, here are my thoughts on how China can make the Olympics enjoyable again:

1) Live Birth and Cook-off - Everybody knows that China has got the lock on the One-Child Policy.

Each family gets to have one kid and that’s it. Participants from each nation, all ready to pop, give birth live on television, and, honoring Chinese rules, can only keep male babies. Females babies must be made into cuisine indigenous to each participant’s nation. Points are awarded for most male children born, and tastiest dish.

2) Screw Tibet - A participating nation is given a budget of $25, 000 US and has to find a way to break Tibet’s will in under 48 hours.

Will participants use the funds to destroy thousand-year old monasteries?

Arrest and murder citizens? Loot? Riot?

Awards are offered for best use of creativity and individual flair.

3) Tiananmen What???? - Mental athletes have ten minutes to convince judges that the Tiananamen Square Protests of 1989 never happened.

Extra points are awarded if hosting countries can show photographs taken from that time that do not indicate any acts of violence (Employees of Google cannot participate).

Any other things China can do improve the Olympics?

Leave a comment!

LINUS

- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.

NOTE: If you enjoyed this article, you might also enjoy Five Questions You Should Never Ask a Mime!, Keeping the "Fun" in Funeral - Simple Ways to Honor your Dead, and How To Use History for fun and profit - Native American Style

The Hilariously Thriving Job Market in Tijuana

By Slocomb Jones

It’s good to be back at Tonto and Friends.

I’ve been away on what professional people call a sabbatical. You know, where you go to a faraway place and you “work.”

A few months back, I was picked up by the police for the crime of “extreme loitering by a fucking bum” in the words of Officer O’Malley.

They took me to the train station, gave me a shot of something, and then asked if I wanted a “close to lethal dose of morphine.” Of course, I agreed!

I woke up a few hours later stumbling around the streets of Tijuana!

I’ve never been to a place that was friendlier to the professional bum.

It’s a place of luxury for the bum with that entrepreneurial spirit. For the rest of us, it’s a pretty sweet place to live… until they kick you out and ship you to San Diego.

In fact, I made a ton of money and was very well fed on my sabbatical. It was harder to stay unemployed in Tijuanna than it was to just sit out on the corner. Even doing that would net you a few bucks. You don’t even need a cup or good supply of non-threatening jokes.

Here’s some of the many ways a professional bum can make a very good living on the streets of Tijuana, Mexico.

Just Taking a Seat – There’s a bridge in TJ that every tourist has to cross to get into Mexico with no pesky loitering laws like on the overpasses in Vegas.

Just pick a spot, relax, fall asleep, and go to work.

I initially set up shop and pillow next to a fellow professional who went by the name of Ben Dayho... or something. Strange for a Mexican to have an Irish/Itallian sounding name, but who am I to judge?

Ben was a harmonica playing bum by trade, but with a very special skill. Thanks to his mom drinking the river water when she was pregnant, Ben has a foot that's three times normal size with only four toes.

Each toe was the size of a fist! Now that’s some skill set.

As for me, I told people that I was sent here from America by the police for loitering. That got a lot of laughs and got me a lot of coin in return.

There’s profit in the truth.

Taking your Medicine – Tijuana gets a bad rap. It’s actually a very healthy city. There’s a pharmacy and Doctor’s office on every corner, kinda like Walgreens is here in the States.

The medical professionals in Tijuana have a strict dedication to quality as well. One time, I was out minding my business when I was approached by a doctor who wanted to give me what he called, “A Superman Shot.”

A lifelong comic book lover myself, I gladly obliged and got a shot in my buttocks.

The doctor stared at me intently for a moment and asked if I was ok, and if I could move my legs. I could.

He gave me ten US bucks and said something about some Padres coming down to fill a prescription.

“Step Right Up, Fellas” – Tijuana has a thriving arts and culture scene that’s on the cutting edge, but without the elite snobbery that typically accompanies such scenes.

I was approached about standing on a corner and inviting college aged males to a new production called “Donkey Show,” which happened to star the producer’s sister.

I told him that college aged males aren’t interested in live theater, but I was threatened with a pistol whipping, so I shut up and took to the corner.

Surprisingly, the show was a huge hit with the guys, who came in droves. I never got to see the first half of the show, but I can tell you that the ending when the masked men with AK-47s burst in the room to steal everyone’s wallet had me in stitches! Interactive theater at it's finest.

I guess I wasn’t destined for the world of theater as the show closed after a limited twelve-hour run.

The producer told me that he needed a new theater space and that he couldn’t afford to keep me on the payroll. I understood.

Turns out, another theater troupe, The CIA, was going to be taking over the space shortly… or something to that affect. I don’t know. Business isn’t my world.

“Where you going, ma’am?” – If you speak English, you too can be a Tijuana cab driver. Be careful, as they have strange rules for cabbies in Mexico:

- Don’t take them to the right place.
- Double the price when you do drop them off.
- It’s ok to run red lights.
- You’re encouraged to hit wandering dogs.

I made the mistake of taking a couple to the right hotel and was fast about it too. A cop, who also worked for the cab company it turns out, stopped me and said that if he can’t get his commission from “los gringos” that he would take it out of my “Ben Dayho.”

I asked what this had to do with my friend with the funny foot, and the last thing I saw in Mexico was a billy club coming at my face.

That’s what I get for taking a real job.

I woke up and found myself in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box back in the good ‘ol USA.

So, why are there so many bums in TJ?

Because it’s so damn easy to be successful, that’s why! It’s like Wall St.

- Slocomb Jones has been a professional bum for over 50 years. In April 2007, he officially announced his retirement as a bum, and has segued into a successful second career as a retired bum and part-time bum coach/advisor. Ironically, he’s busier now that he’s retired than he’s ever been in his entire life.

NOTE: If you like this article, feast your grubby paws on The Top 5 New Years of All-Time, How to Save US Healthcare with Six New Rules, and Celebrate Independence Day the Homeless Way.

Fantasy Baseball, Pranks, and Taxes... Ah, the "No Worries" of April

By Ignatius “Iggy” Rothschild

While in happy mood, e’en sharing good cheer
A woman who once was of my dreams did
3 days back strongly remind me why sleeps
she wi’ many a mile betwixt our acquainted loins.

Mem’ry black alive yet of grief bereft
Mind long since hath given this instruction
“Grapple not with what has lost it’s native fire”
To Heart which knows no way but all and all

Survive I and happy too but this must
I impart to you: Don’t worry be happy!
Hum if you will, sing to be bold but this
Bobby M. mantra will never get old.

Of fixed number, are our mortal coil days.
To spend them in often un-glad repose
Would ancestor offend, creator insult
Make you haste to be jolly, put that frown down

Let not your Lady Disdain cloud but one
Hour under the Sun. Do you breathe? Have Fun!
T’would be optimum to include another
Seek ye to pair, then off two you go now.

13, 14, 15

April is nigh, so then must be taxes. A feared you may be, my advice? To relax is.
The IRS has come to wive it wealthily in Pasadena, if wealthily then happily in Pasadena.

Coin and plunder you gather each day, a ne’er ending supply. Trust you will have more and you will by golly. But do indeed pay your taxes, for the IRS is great and would gladly thrust their greatness upon you to make a point. Should 45% appear too small, be thankful they don’t take it all.

This above all things… Don’t worry be happy.

Nose, cap, ear, belt, scratch- “c’mon Bobby!”

April is nigh, so then must be baseball. While hope springs eternal, and aficionados all with glee welcome the Major League form of play, the owners of fantasy teams may be saying: It’s about time! Patience.

Fielder not a Prince?

Pitcher on the DL?

Batter on stanizolol?

Don’t worry be happy. The longest of seasons is bound to some quietus make in the stats of men. But as in all seasons past the Hyperion fallen gives rise to new-fangled Dominican hero meat. Patience. Patience indeed is a virtue.

But whomever uttered first those words did clearly not own fantasy baseball teams. For there was never yet philosopher that could endure the 30 day DL patiently.

And yet… patience is what wins championships. That and a goodly assortment of brutes with bats, a selection of southpaw slingers, a bevy of base-stealers, a division of defensive daemons. The professor alliterates too much me thinks.

Shame on Me

April is nigh, so then must be Fools day. Mirth making is many times mistaken. Having intentioned a laugh, through a well devised prank is just as likely to cause scorn and hurt.

But if humor be the food of love, joke on. Laughter cannot be in enough abundance upon our land. Giggling cleanses the palate, tightens the abdominals, and after several years renders the eyes all wrinkly and wise looking.

King Lear could have used a few good laughs somewhere in Act 5… Cordelia breathing perhaps, then standing, walking and finally stabbing Regan. Yes, it would grossly affect the play, but perhaps if and when the play is performed on April 1st only.

April Fools pranks are bountiful in the past. Hopefully we shall soon see quality additions in the near future. To read about some of the best April Fools Jokes ever visit Museum of Hoaxes

Being jokes they should make you laugh, take away your worry, and allow you to be happy.

- Ignatius “Iggy” Rothschild is Associate Professor of Literature and Liberal Policies at American Internet Global Homogeneous Terracollege (Classes forming continuously). His special area of interest is modern day application of Shakespearean dialogue to solve global political and social disease.

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WHAT I LEARNED IN THE PAST FORTY-EIGHT HOURS - PAYBACK’S A BITCH

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com

Hey.

Some carpenter from Nazareth isn’t the only man in town to come back from the dead, my little Internet bitches!

I’ve been on a wild ride, one that tested the very limits of my being.

In short, I’m a new man.

Well, healthier, that is.

Let me paint you two pictures of how my past forty-eight hours started and how it all ended:

FRIDAY – 1PM: Fifteen members of The Smile Factory, one of Oregon’s most brutal clown organizations, jump outta their piece of shit Volkswagen and do a little homemade chiropractic work on me with brass knuckles and a couple of PVC pipes. I’m throwing my guts up, cancer running through my body, unable to stop them.

SUNDAY – NOON: With a commendation from the FBI, I’m traveling first class to Vegas, flying out there for a little rest and retribution. Cancer cells are DOA, and I’m ready to go.

This is what I learned:

1) Clowns don’t like being set on fire.

2) It takes fifteen pounds of pressure to rip off a human ear.

3) Apparently having a “Captain Crunch” with a chick can make them pregnant.

4) There’s a pancreatic cancer vaccine, and Patrick Swayze’s been bogarting it.

5) Traveling first class with your bastard kid is not too bad, especially if he turns out to be one hell of a pickpocket.

6) It is ridiculously easy to steal something in broad daylight on Hollywood Blvd. There’s so much crazy going on, it’s the perfect place to commit crimes.

7) An eight year old boy can fit into a mail slot, but not without a lot of force.

8) Patrick Swayze wears a hair piece.

9) Swayze’s bodyguards can’t shoot straight to save their lives(and if there ever was a time to do so, being with me was one of them)

10) Beating someone with their own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame brings one such a deep cathartic joy.

11) Nothing brings a father and son closer than mugging an unconscious has-been.

12) That vaccine works pretty damn fast. I was about to keep food down for the first time in weeks.

13) Apparently, I’m not the only one who wanted Swayze to take a first class ticket to Painsville.

14) My old flame, Sasha, and the mother of this kid I’ve been lugging around, works for the FBI.

15) Swayze’s been working with the Mafia to sell narcotics to terrorists.

16) I’ve been booked to perform in Vegas for a pantomime show.

17) My real job is to remove several key mobsters who worked with Swayze,

18) It’s nice to be appreciated for your talents, such as being able to crush a man’s windpipe with a fireplace poker.

What did you learn this weekend?

Any other dirt you’ve heard about Swayze?

Leave me a comment! Click here to leave Linus a comment.

LINUS

- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.

NOTE: If you learned from this article, just imagine what you'll learn from Alternative and Fun Ways to Live and Create, Rainy Day Love Making with The Schmooz, and How To Stay Alive in The Witness Protection Program!

Answers to love and sex questions from The Schmooz

By The Schmooz - theschmooz@hotmail.com

Hey there, bunnies and tombs!

It’s been a while since I had the chance to sort through the many, many emails I receive from you, my adoring and sensual readers. Let’s pick out some of my favorite questions, and let the loving flow, ya dig?

Dear Schmooz,

I’m in love with a convict. We’ve been pen pals for
over three years now, and I’ve even visited him on several occasions. He has the
most delicate hands, always working on arts and crafts projects. The trouble is
that he’s serving time for aggravated assault. Should I trust that he’s changed
his ways, or should I look for love elsewhere?

Sincerely,

Lost
in Louisiana

Well, Lost, you’ve got a tough kettle of love brewing there, let me tell you.

My loyal and devoted readers know that I’ve advocated love for prisoners. I truly believe that every creature that marks this world needs a little tenderness.

Along with kind and open hearts, however, a good lover needs to take care of themselves. Prison folk are like one extended first date - constantly on their best behavior.

In order to see if you want to make a future with this felonious fox, it’s best to wait until he’s released and watch him in his natural environment. Then, if you like what you see, dive in, sweet sensual goddess, dive in!!

Dear Schmooz,

I’ve been dating this girl now for four months. We really like each other, but I want to take our relationship to a more physical level, and she’s very religious. What can I do to bring some benefits into being boyfriend and girlfriend?

Signed,

Blue Balls

Oh, Blue Balls. I bet you’re going at it the wrong way.

See, when it comes to unlocking your girl’s warrior goddess of freakiness that’s wrapped within the taut veneer of virtue, you’ve gotta be smooth, player.

Condoms lying on the bed and flat out asking her for loving won’t work.

This is what needs to happen: Over the course of several weeks, increase the temperature in your place by five degrees each time she hangs out with you. his will make her more amenable to shedding her clothes.

Then, don’t even mention loving; just talk about boring old talk while you gently massage her back with a personal massager. Have it “accidentally” slip between her knees once or twice as you do so. And, make sure your CD player is playing one of the grooviest songs known to man, a little something I wrote called “Ain’t We Got Time to Touch the Right Places.”

All of these things will drive your woman wild, guaranteed.

Dear Schmooz,

Who do you recommend your readers vote for this
Presidential Election?

Sincerely,

A Concerned Citizen

Well, Concerned, voting’s a matter of personal choice. Just like every man, woman, and child’s got a right to choose to make their own religious path in their own way.

Just like every lover’s got their own route to unlocking the G-Spot. I ain’t gonna sit here and tell ya to vote like I vote, or to think like I think.

All you gotta do to live and thrive is love just a little like I love, you dig?

A funny story, though – every candidate I’ve endorsed has won, however. Rest assured, our President this year will have spent one crazy weekend living large with the Sultan of Sex, the Maestro of Massage, the Oracle of Orgasm – The Schmooz.

Any other questions on your mind? Leave me a comment!

Love,

THE SCHMOOZ

- Reginald Thurgood is known to his legions of fans as "THE SCHMOOZ," an international Rhythm and Blues singing sensation who has made love to thousands of women across the planet and loves to share every poetic detail. He answers all questions on love and relationship...as he is an expert, baby.

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The Most Awesomely Lame Songs Ever!

By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com

There’s a lot of songs that really suck.

I mean just listen to the radio.

Don’t get me wrong, these songs do fill me with passion.

Passion to strap dynamite to my skull and find a crowded place.

That said… not every song that sucks has to actually suck. You get what I mean?

There are some songs out there that no person in their right mind would like, but just happen to be really awesome. I don’t mean in some dipshit hipster way like saying that 90’s Euro crossover pop/rock vomit like Jesus Jones or EMF is good.

Some may say these are guilty pleasures. I say no. I’m, in no way, ashamed of loving every one of these songs… even though I will admit they suck in the same breath.

These are songs that make you nod your head up and down with a satisfied grin, and then you rip a huge fart.

Fred Bear by Ted Nugent

Why it Rules: An epic song that starts with a haunting bluesy-like guitar riff about a man alone in the woods…. To go hunting. Ted’s echoing vocals are at once soothing while imposing.

One part gun rights ballad, one part pseudo “I’m an environmentalist because I respect the things I destroy,” one part dime-store spirituality all add up to The Nuge, a hard-core conservative, basically going gay for this Fred Bear guy.

Plus the end of the song where Ted gives Fred the plan for the hunt, and the real Fred Bear comes back from the dead to issue a hunting challenge to “some of our teenage thrill seekers…” to cleanse their soul is brilliant.



Why it Sucks: It’s so unbelievably pretentious. He describes the forest like it was something out of Lord of the Rings. He sings about Fred Bear like he’s some deity, when he’s just a guy who went out and shot animals for fun. I might be moved by the song if it wasn’t so funny.

Give the animals a weapon or kill them with your bare hands and then we can sing about you. Otherwise, you’re kind of a pussy who likes to pretend they’re hard. You’re the type of guy who lives through two World Wars and doesn’t fight… because you’re busy shooting things that don’t shoot back.

We Want Fun by Andrew W.K.

Why it Rules: With the exception of the 2 Live Crew catalog, very few songs are as up front about their message as “We Want Fun.” Basically, it’s time to party until you wake up next to an ugly girl and you have a bad itch. Yeah!!!!

Plus, this song is from Jackass the Movie. One of my top ten favorite films of all-time!

I dare you to listen to this song and not have a smile at the end.

On a side note: The video looks like the greatest party ever!



Why it Sucks: It’s really not a good song. The lyrics are bad. The musicianship is bad. The vocals are bad. Whereas I feel much more awesome after listening to it, I also feel dumber.

Do you know? by Fiend

Why it Rules: If I was a fighter, this might just be my ring entrance music. The opening threat about bringing the dope and money is classic. The guy who just randomly yells, “Do you Know Who You Fuckin’ With?” seals the deal for me.

I’m picturing some borderline retarded 6’5, 325lbs sack of muscle that would rip me to shreds like I was a puppy and he’s the gangster version of Lennie Small.



Why it Sucks: The guy who does the first verse is bad… and not like Michael Jackson bad.

In the Ghetto by Elvis

Why it Rules: It’s Elvis crooning about the trials and tribulations of inner-city youth and the circle of violence that surrounds urban life. Poignant.



Why it Sucks: It’s Elvis crooning about the trials and tribulations of inner-city youth and the circle of violence that surrounds urban life. Overly simple and hilarious.

God Gave Rock and Roll to you, by Kiss

Why it Rules: You could arguably put every Kiss tune ever in this category, but if there’s one song that epitomizes everything Kiss, it’s this one. This is a cover of an old song by The Ardents, so you can’t credit Kiss with the writing credits.

You can credit them with the rad dueling vocals of Simmons and Stanley though. You can credit them for turning a corny early 70’s arena rock dope smoking track into a sweeping rock aria that captures the spirituality and passion of music.



Why it Sucks: Really? God gave us Rock and Roll? I’m not even convinced there’s a God, though I know for sure that there’s Rock and Roll? Don’t try to sell me your religious views, jerks!

I think Kiss really believes these lyrics to be gospel and that they are the bringers of God’s will, so to speak.

So, what other songs are officially awesomely lame?

- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.

Advice to Lynndie England on the 5th Anniversary of the Iraq War

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com

Hey.

Happy anniversary, assholes!

The Iraq war’s being going strong for five years now. Traditionally, the proper gift to offer for this occasion is wood, so let’s give the whole mess a nice stake in the heart and put it to bed.

Seriously.

It isn’t even a real war, for crissakes.

You know you’ve got a real war on your hands when you can close your eyes and imagine Steve McQueen kicking ass in the movie about your war and not bust out laughing.

Speaking of walking jokes, Lynndie England, a beloved figure known to Americans and Iraqis alike, pitched a fit in some German news magazine about how the media was to blame for increasing Anti-American sentiment and stirring up violence by broadcasting the photos taken of her abusing Iraqi prisoners.



Normally, I’d just shrug this off and focus my creative talents elsewhere, perhaps in a performance piece, or in a fool-proof heist to steal sixty-five cases of Thin Mints from the Girl Scouts.

But fuck it [EDITOR's NOTE: Those words make me laugh. - Tonto], I’m dying and I’m the mood to offer a messed up piece of shit like Lynndie England some of my sage advice.

Here’s some simple wisdom I’d like to impart to you, the Internet morons at large, and England in the wake of the lovely carnage we have made these past five years:

1) If you’re gonna torture people, don’t do it because people tell you to do so - Look, I know that was your excuse in your court martial trials, but it shows a lack of imagination.

Real torture artists like me get really offended when dirt bags like you horn in our territory and then blame your commanding officers for making you abuse people. If you’re in the mood to torture, have some fucking style!

Burn poetry onto people’s skin with cigarettes. Slap wet bamboo around the a prisoner’s balls and set them out in the hot sun, taking bets to see which person’s testicles will squirt out of their meat pouch first.

2)Don’t take pictures - Torture works best when no film exists to illustrate exactly what transpired. Without film, juries have to rely on their sick and twisted thoughts to piece together just what it was you did with tie line, barbed wire, and twenty-one hot dogs that evening.

Also, no film means you can’t bitch about the media putting up your ugly mug every five minutes on tv. You want to keep a scrapbook of your torture tales, skip the film, and save a piece of their flesh. It makes a pretty sturdy bookmark.

3) Don’t give up - And now I hear that Lynndie England is working as a law clerk for the lawyer that defended her.

Lame.

That’s like winning the gold medal in gymnastics and slumming through the rest of your life serving the breakfast special at Denny’s.

A woman of her talents could make a lot of money as a dominatrix or by contracting herself out to the government for special projects. Trust me – once you’ve had a taste of the torture juice, it gets really hard to go back to boring, everyday life.

If you were to search England’s place, I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a shitload of skinned and bloodied pets. When one’s abilities are repressed, they always find a way to speak up and make themselves heard.

What are your plans for today’s anniversary?

Any other advice for England?

Leave a comment!

LINUS

- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.

JFK vs. Nixon - What Really Happened at the 1960 Television Debate

By Bustamante - therealbustamante@hotmail.com

Ladies and gentlemen, television has become a window to our own culture. It shows us things that our ears will never be privy to. Case in point, the 1960 Presidential Debate.

JFK



Richard Nixon



The deabte of the century.

This were the first of its kind to be broadcast visually to millions of Americans, who, up until then, received their debates of the sonic variety only. A lot has been made about what happened when the little red light turned on signifying the successful operation of the camera. Some say, this debate cemented Kennedy’s victory.

However, through an exhaustive research process, I shall take a peek at what happened when... The Camera Stopped Rolling.

ACTUAL TRANSCRIPT AS FOLLOWS

[TRANSCRIPT BEGIN]

NIXON: ...And that is why America can never have a President who is weak on Communism. I will open the door to China.

DIRECTOR: Ok, we’re at commercial. We’re back in five.

NIXON: How are you, John?

JFK: You actually think they’ll let you go to China?

NIXON: Well, that’s my plan. You’ve known that.

JFK: Yeah, if you say so Richie.

NIXON: Look, I don’t call you Johnny, I’d appreciate the same respect, Senator.

JFK: I’ll call you a bitch if I want to. No one tells JFK what to do, Richard.

NIXON: This is quite an attitude you’ve developed.

JFK: Developed? I’ve had it going on forty years now. Look, you want to be let in on a little secret? Richard.

NIXON: Sure. Though any secrets that are damaging might be...

JFK: Shut up. Here’s a question... what’s my middle name. Quick hint: it starts with the letter F.

NIXON: Ah, I know that one. Fitzgerald.

JFK: Wrong.

NIXON: No. I’m correct on that.

JFK: Common misconception.

NIXON: Well, what is it?

JFK: Fuckin.’

NIXON: Excuse me.

JFK: Fuckin.’ I’m John Fuckin’ Kennedy. What do you think about that?



NIXON: I don’t believe you.

JFK: Doesn’t matter what you believe. Check this out...

[At this point, JFK pulls out his birth certificate.]

JFK: Read it...

NIXON: Uhh...it says uh....State of Massasschusettes...birth record. Name, John, no this can’t be...

JFK: Say it.

NIXON: John...uh, fucking...

JFK: No G.

NIXON: Oh. John fuckin’ Kennedy. Doesn’t matter.

JFK: Doesn’t matter huh? You like movies?

NIXON: Sure. Who doesn’t?

JFK: The movie about me is gonna be way better that the one about you.

NIXON: You don’t know that.

JFK: Yeah I do. Two reasons. First, the main character in mine is far superior to the one in yours, way more charismatic, better looking and went to a better law school. Second, my name is fuckin.’

NIXON: A movie about me would be pretty good, in my opinion.

JFK: Are you kidding?! I bet they won’t even find an American to play you. Besides mine’s gonna be about how great I am, and yours will be about what an asshole you are. Mark my words.

NIXON: This is beside the point.

JFK: You know what else I like?

NIXON: I have no idea.

JFK: I like movie stars.

NIXON: I’m a fan of John Wayne.

JFK: Westerns, huh? I guess I prefer movie stars that have, I don’t know, what are they called...oh yeah, they’re called vaginas. I like those.

NIXON: This is highly inappropriate, John.

JFK: You want to know inappropriate. Next time you’re talking about taxes, you think of me and brother tag-teaming Marylin.

DIRECTOR: Ok guys, we’re back in five...four ...three...two and...

JFK: I believe my distinguished opponent was finishing his point...

NIXON: Thank you John. I was saying...

JFK: Wasn’t it about taxes?

NIXON: Why uh, yeah. I uh want to...

[TRANSCRIPT END]

There you have it folks. To those listening to the debate over the radio, Nixon was the clear winner. But to those watching at home, well, they saw a different story. Nixon would look pale and was recovering from the flu and had some five o’clock shadow.

However, what they didn’t see what just as important. Footage that remained a mystery for so long has now shed new light on one of the most important moments in the history of television and the world.

This has been...When the Camera Stopped Rolling.

- Bustamante is the current Tennis instructor at a swanky Newport Beach, Ca. country club/yacht club. Not much is known about Bustamante except that he taught junior high math for a period of time in the 80’s, and that he’s pretty phenomenal with a hackysack. He was good enough to go pro, but corporate sponsorship just wasn’t there for the sport to get off the ground in the mid 70’s.

Where Are They Now… Brady Bunch Style

By Matthew McLaughlin

Sing along kids!

‘It’s a story of a man named Matthew, who was busy drinking three beers of his own.
There were twelve beers being drunk altogether, yet he will still not done.
Till the one moment things started to get mellow, and he knew that it was much more than a hunch.
That this group, was one kick-ass family.
That’s the day he realized he loved the Brady Bunch.’

Talk about nostalgia!

Coming home from elementary school to watch re-runs of the Bunch on TBS is one of my fondest memories. Watching that pasty-white, do-good family solve family problems everyday was not only good television, but it is, ‘See Cindy, I told you I didn’t steal your Kitty Karry-All doll, it was Tiger’ damn great television.

But it got me thinking. What happened to the bellbottom-wearing, white afro-having clan of the seventies? Here’s where they are now…

Mike Brady - Dead. Going public with his small architect firm in the early 80’s not only brought fortune to the household, but it brought a fondness for cocaine.

By 1987, Mr. Brady was broke and was sniffing so much coke, that he was down to 117 pounds and selling Greg’s old ‘Johnny Bravo’ 8-track tapes to pay for his habit. After an all-night snort-fest, Mike got into a gun fight with the cops.

The cops won.

Carol Brady - After dealing with the death of her husband, Carol decided to have a fresh start with life, so she packed up her things and moved to Sweden.

Out of touch with her family, a few years later, she resurfaced with the pop-group Ace of Base and was reborn. Success and fame soon found her and she definitely ‘Saw the Sign’. Unfortunately, she also saw MC Hammer during his ‘Please Hammer, Don’t Hurt Em’ tour. Knowing her family would disprove of the inter-racial marriage, she has been living with Hammer in recluse ever since.

Greg Brady - I hate to talk about Greg because his story is so tragic. Let’s just say it involves a plot to assassinate Sam the Butcher, a Ford Taurus, a runaway 16-year old girl from Massapequa, NY, a case of Old English Malt Liquor, three semi-automatic handguns, and a suicide note.

For you true Brady Bunch fans, you’ll understand why Doug Simpson, a.k.a ‘The Big Man on Campus’, drove him to such a disastrous end. Legend has it that it took three shots to the temple to take him out.

Marcia Brady - Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. I wish I could say that after a failed attempt at college, she found a job as a stripper. Everyone wondered what was underneath those polka-dotted sweaters.

However, unfortunately for the horny people, she settled down in a small town outside of Mira Del Lago, Florida. Today, she is a high school counselor and living with her thirty-seven hamsters. Why hamsters, one will never know.

She never married and is currently writing a book entitled ‘Fuck Jan – That Stupid Bitch’. Details of the book are unknown at this time.

Peter Brady - This personality-changing badass lived the life that his low self-esteem-having ass could only dream of as a kid.

You see, as rumor tells us, Peter began running a piece of his father’s drug ring to earn some extra cash. Intelligent enough to never try the smack himself, Peter turned his quick cash into an underground black market selling everything from babies to infertile couples in Malaysia to bootlegged versions of Atari 2600 games to poor kids in Mexico.

He amassed a fortune of over $300 million dollars in the early 80’s and soon found himself dating supermodels, retired by the time he was 35. Remembering where he came from, every night, he has a dinner of ‘pork chops and applesauce’.

Jan Brady - Fuck this chick. Never being able to get over her weird-lesbian-girl-incest crush on her sister Marcia, Jan became a nun and now spends her days feeding homeless people in Africa. Lame.

Bobby Brady - This whiny, ‘mom-always-said-don’t-play-ball-in-the-house’ dipshit was always the odd man out. Nobody ever liked him and he knew this. He once made a pass at Jan when drunk and tried to convince her to sleep with him by saying ‘We’re not related by blood’.

After she refused, he did what any other loser would do – nothing. Not much is known about Bobby except he lives in a one-room shack outside of Detroit and plays online video games all day. Probably still a virgin, he spends his days and night playing online or looking at porn. It’s not an interesting story unless you’re into that sort of stuff.

Ask him what a vagina looks like in real life – I bet you he can’t tell you.

Cindy Brady - Cindy actually lived a fairly normal life – until she got sick. After she grew up and graduated from high school, Cindy went to UCLA and majored in Biomechanical Engineering. She did well. Cindy did very well for years after college until she was diagnosed with the AIDS.

I know what you’re thinking – she was a whore who slept around and was not careful. You would be wrong. She was a whore who slept around and was very careful – unfortunately, shit happens.

Let’s just say that Cindy grew out of her lisp and grew into some ‘banging double-D’s’. Guys loved her. She loved guys even more. Eventually, her non-stop fetish for unprotected sex got the best of her.

She died a peaceful death in Santa Barbara just days after her 27th birthday.

Alice (the housekeeper) - After quitting because of Mike’s drug habit, she was never heard from again. Seriously, she has been on the ‘missing persons list’ for over 32 years now. Officials fear her dead either because of her age or because of Mike’s connections in the drug world. Nobody is certain about her whereabouts.

Tiger (the dog) - Dead. He was suffocated in a sleeping-bag years ago and was sold to a Vietnamese couple who migrated to California. Apparently, he doesn’t taste like chicken – rather, ‘just like any other dog’, said the hungry Asian couple.

So now you know the story of your favorite television family.

I know, some of the stories are tragic, but what would you expect?

Either way, I’d still do Marcia in her mouth if she let me. Keep on singing and dancing all through the night kids!

Shakespearean Scholar Calls for 2008 to Start Over

[NOTE FROM THE "CHIEF": I'd love to introduce the newest, smartest, and most educated writer on our staff of comedic brilliance. I feel especially proud because I understand more than half of what he's saying... he said I'd be "lucky if [my] punch drunk brain would comprehend a twentieth of [his] prose." I explained that I was a pro myself. He thought that was funny. - Tonto]

By Ignatius Rothschild

In one day hence ‘twill be the ides once again of March.

We have but little time to conspire with our other goodly fellows to rid ourselves of impending tyranny.

Mark me, readers, for if deaf ear you turn to me and trundle forth un-learned hence, you may befall worse fates than ere your grandfathers fathers were told by their eldest elders upon the moors of ancient ancestry.

If, like I, you have felt, nay felt not, but e’en known, yes known the year 2008 lose too soon it’s swaddling clothes and grow fat, o’er tall, pimply, petulant, and itself alive with malice aforethought, then listen well.

If a dwelling owner you be, or a commuter of miles, even if your trade is in contests of speed, or endurance, you must listen and assist me and your brethren to prematurely terminate this Anno Domini Two Thousand Eight.

In annals, ancient far and wide no year akin to this e’er spied by historians looking high and low for anything as early and as pricey and as rotten or as dire.

The braying lament of homeowners fallen, the grating dirge of costly travel, the rasping lungs of Olympic runners as they lope about Cathay in hopes of gold about their smog choked necks.

Shall we, just you and I, along with our brothers and sisters, our heads held high, call off this year and start anew?

Kill this year, the year with hate, the year with mean, time to cut bait. We’ll now need a new year, new date, yes fine.

Let’s call today Jan 1, 2009.

Friends, Romans, Countrywide Home Loans

I come to bury 2008, not to praise it, and I require not your ears for that. The good that this year has done, is invisible, yet its evil will live on in a foreclosed housing sector that will most likely bring much of the economy to it’s knees.

The biggest no-brainer in the history of mankind hath for legions become a Tempest of liability. Prospero himself could conjure neither in mind nor deed. Seek ye out signs proclaiming “For Rent” or, to wit, render this year obsolete with the power of your mind, body and essence whole.

In short, stab the year with your steely knives.

Much Ado About Ethanol

This winter our combustion unease’s
gives way to un-glorious summer smarting.
For all the pence we poured into our tanks
The Sheiks will double before a muttered “thanks”
My journey will not halve so I will be
Using my thumb, plus a guide to this galaxy.

Again I ask for your assistance please
Won’t you just kill this ‘08 beast?

Peking Luck

To run or not to run, that is the question
Weather? tis smoggier or smoggiest
Should athletes compete in thick brown air
Amid untold foibles, in justice human?
They seek all, to claim an un-spoken prize
Their spot in the sun, to as brightly shine
But will their new sports found glory be
A spotlight on un-healthy combustive practice?
Bring on the games, yes yes bring them here
And with them bring also the world to see
China proudly demonstrate it loves US of A
By burning fossil fuel all night all day

This sea of troubles past, present, future
Must needs no sleep from us, nay, needs action

Walk to work and rent a flat
And while you count your savings thank
Internet colleges, and the World Bank.

- Ignatius “Iggy” Rothschild is Associate Professor of Literature and Liberal Policies at American Internet Global Homogeneous Terracollege (Classes forming continuously). His special area of interest is modern day application of Shakespearean dialogue to solve global political and social disease.

IN DEFENSE OF: BILLY OCEAN, THE CARRIBEAN KING

By The Schmooz - theschmooz@hotmail.com

Hey there, call girls and johns!

Your buddy Schmooz is back with another candidate to arouse your aural appetite!

Let me tell ya a story.

When I was first getting my taste of fame, I found myself touring in England. This was around 1970. I’d been aching for a new suit, something that would make the ladies shudder and the fellas clap their hands in approval.



A buddy of mine recommended a shop in Savile Row, London. I headed over there, and let me tell you, this place was out of sight.

They had rows and rows of the finest fabrics, waiting patiently for a cat like me to step off the street and choose them to be cut into a hand-stitched suit.

The tailor taking my measurements was a shy teenaged boy; looked about seventeen or so. While he had me hold the tape for the inseam, I heard him singing a very familiar song.

One of mine, actually.

“Ain’t no Crime if We’ve Got the Time”

And let me tell you, he was singing the hell outta that song. Boy had a set of pipes that would make a songbird jealous.

I stopped his work and introduced myself, told him he had a fine voice, and demanded to know why he wasn’t making a career singing, like he should.

He stammered and told me that he’d been trying, but that it was pretty hard breaking into the British music scene, especially if you were a young black kid from Trinidad.

I nodded, and gave him the chance of a lifetime. Told him he could open for my act the entire time I was in the U.K. But, he’d have to chance his name. It sounded too ordinary for a man of his talents.

I asked him where he lived. He said he lived in the “Ocean Estate” in East London.

And, then the perfect name formed itself in my head.

Billy Ocean.



And the rest, dear readers, is history.

That man took the R and B world by storm in the 80’s. If there was no Michael Jackson, a lot more of you would still remember him. You don’t become the best selling British R and B singer/songwriter of the 80’s by sitting on your thumbs, ya dig?

Let’s look back on some of Ocean’s most beloved songs, and help resurrect the fame and celebration this one of a kind artist deserves.

1) Carribean Queen (no more love on the run) - Ocean hit the mother-loving jackpot with this song.



He even knew how to market it to his fans; the title was changed to “Arfican Queen” or “European Queen” based on where he was singing it.

Title aside, this song makes you want to dance, and makes monogamy sound sexy.

No easy feat, let me tell you.

2) When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Going - Ocean took his game to another level and became the talk of the world with this number.



It didn’t hurt that it was the theme song to The Jewel of the Nile, and that he got Michael Douglas and Danny Devito to appear in the music video.

With them, the trinity of Cool had been formed.

3) Get Outta My Dreams, Get into My Car - This song is a primer on how to stop fantasizing about finding love and loving with the ladies and make it a reality.



Anybody who spends their days playing solitaire ought to pick up a copy of this song and play it over and over until the messages sinks into their head.

Also, you play this song full blast, it’s gonna lighten your mood - guaranteed.

Any other reasons to love Billy Ocean?

Leave me a comment!

- Reginald Thurgood is known to his legions of fans as "THE SCHMOOZ," an international Rhythm and Blues singing sensation who has made love to thousands of women across the planet and loves to share every poetic detail. He answers all questions on love and relationship... as he is an expert, baby.

The Worst Action Movie Stars Ever

By Vans McCoy - Vans McCoy

Action movies almost always are cool.

Fighting.



Titties.

The bad guys always die. Not just get busted, but they get shot, blown up, plummet, or impaled. Sometimes all three.

Here's an example of plummeting:



Action films have also made household names out of actors who otherwise have the talent of the local waiter at IHOP.

But, holy crap, they’ve also produced some “shite,” as the Irish are inclined to say.

You don’t have to be a good actor to be a good action film star (see Jean Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal).

You don’t even need to be a real martial arts fighters (see Jean Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal), but you do need that in tangible ability to look like you’re kicking some major ass. Some people have it…



Others, not so much.

Like these folks for example:

Ken Wahl – Remember “The Taking of Beverly Hills?” I do. I also remember my first prostate exam.

One was literal. The other was metaphorical.

Either way, it felt like something was shoved up my ass.

One was done by a doctor, the other was done by Ken Wahl.



Cynthia Rothrock – So, she knew a little bit of karate and some other chop-socky martial arts.
She had some nice cans. She’s good looking.

She should have been a crossover action star.

So, what happened?



Sorry, I can’t take that seriously.

Corey Haim – Want a reason to not use drugs? How about because they make you do desperate things... like think you’re an action hero instead of a coked up, smirking clown.

They make you seek out action roles in rollerblades. Yup, rollerblades. Perhaps the most un-threatening gang since The Baseball Furies (who do score a high amount of awesome points though)



They also make you fail gloriously.

Jay Leno – Just look at this.



Do I really need to expand here?

Bruce Li – After the untimely death of Bruce Lee, hordes of imposters made money off his name.

One of the most successful was Bruce Li.

Get it? He’s Bruce Lee, but not really, but since it’s the same sounding name, I bet you’ll fall for it and give me lots of money so I can profit off the death of someone more talented than me.



And for being the most successful, he also qualifies for being the most douche-like.

- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.