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Thursday, July 14, 2005

Harry Potter - The Inside Story!

24 hours from now, like 75% of the English-speaking world, I will be sitting, possibly standing in a crowded bookstore filled with people young and old, all dressed as witches, wizards, giants, werewolves, and Dennis Bergkamp (this last one will be me in my Arsenal jersey.) For J.K. Rowling's newest Harry Potter book is about to be released to an eager and pathologically obsessed world. People far and wide, carrying broomsticks, wands, and Arsenal team scarves (me again) will be desperate to learn the intimate details of the young wizard's life. Fortunately, Rowling keeps the book far cleaner than some of her fans would like, and they'll have to make do with adventure, mystery, and action that doesn't take place in the backseat of a magic carriage.

However, I, Earl Fando, already know what's going to happen in the book. As those of you who can read English know, a few copies of the novel were "accidentally" sold to 12 people in Canada, and one person in the US. While a Canadian judge has ordered the owners to not discuss, read, open, look at, or stand within a half-mile of the books, the information is all ready out there for those clever and deranged enough to seek it.

Without revealing specifics, I was able to gain photos of each page via a CIA spy satellite, a robot (not the Japanese one, mind you), a fan, a broomstick, and 470,000 marbles. I should warn you that what follows are specific revelations from this newest Potter volume. Those who don't want to know the details yet, have weak constitutions, or who aren't easily taken in by this sort of thing, should not read beyond this sentence.

  • Harry dies and the last book is called Ron Weasley and the Trouble with Harry.

No, just kidding. Actually, you shoudn't read beyond this sentence.

  • Hagrid gets male-pattern-baldness and becomes a monk. (No, not this Monk.)

Just kidding again! OK, this is the one you shouldn't read beyond.

  • Harry Potter's aged headmaster and mentor Dumbledore retires and becomes a private detective in Southern California. Using a combination of intelligent sleuthing and magic that would make David Copperfield's head swim he whiles away hs golden years solving mysterious, yet ridiculous crimes. This sets the stage for Harry's growing independence and also a nifty CBS detective series on Sunday evenings.
  • Werewolf Remus Lupin is offered a deal to remake The Wolf Man by Universal Pictures. This goes into turnaround and he's stuck making a remake of Michael J. Fox's minor hit Teen Wolf. After being deemed to old for the part and replaced by Jack Black, he is forced to make a living as the team mascot of the Minnesota Timberwolves. Unfortunately, he loses even this job after savaging Kevin Garnett and Wally Szczerbiak during a pre-season game with Memphis.
  • Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley, writes a tell-all book about Harry's struggles, his infatuation with Hermione Granger, his feud with teacher and Bela Lugosi impersonator Severus Snape, and his addiction to Viagra. The book is also loaded with "wand" jokes.
  • Hagrid does get male-pattern-baldness. (Ha!) Anyway, he solves the problem by shaving his head completely and sucking on a lollipop, driving the chicks wild and setting up yet another CBS drama: Giant Kojak.
  • Harry and Ron love interest Hermione Granger magically alters her voice and enters a Hollywood singing contest, kicking the living crap out of Hillary Duff and Lindsay Lohan, who respond by engaging each other in a ferocious catfight, then join forces to beat up Brittney Spears on pay-per-view TV. After the requisite plastic surgery, she remakes That Darn Cat, playing the Hayley Mils/Christina Ricci/Dean Jones roles.
  • Twins Fred and George Weasley, Ron Weasley's comical brothers do a tour of the Catskills and then play Vegas, where they magically "pants" Wayne Newton during a show at the Hilton. Wayne responds by putting a hit on the twins, who are dispatched by Harvey Keitel and Robert De Niro while riding a tandem bicycle.
  • Harry himself runs off with Cameron Diaz, after she dumps Justin Timberlake for one too many wardrobe malfunctions and being "way too old for a hot chick like me." 4 weeks later, she dumps Harry for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory star Freddie Highmore.

A niblick into the old Principal's Nose

"My caddie Abdul prepares for our round at the Old Course."

It's that time of year again when the golfing world jumps across the pond and enjoys the splendor that is Open Championship golf. I love the Open Championship, known to unrefined cretins and non-golfers as the British Open. Not only do I enjoy the golf but you can't help but get a kick out of the naming of holes and in the case of this years venue, the Old Course at St. Andrews, the bunker names. Whether it's the Hell Bunker, the Principal's Nose, Cheapes Bunker, or the Coffins they all have catchy epithets that we in the States find either interesting or downright comical. I have mentioned some of the more famous bunkers at St. Andrews but there are many more.

For instance:

Hole 2 - Old Tom Morris' Crotch - Don't get caught too close to the bulge in the green if you know what I mean.

Hole 5 - The Haggis - See if you can stomach this one young laddie.

Hole 7 - Thistle in the Britches - Trust me you'd rather have one than get in this monster. Bring your rappelling gear for this beauty.

Hole 11 - Burnin' Burn's Burn - Due to a leak from a oil platform in the North Sea this one will light up occasionally. Bring your nomex Foot Joys.

Hole 14 - What's under yer Kilt? - The bottom of this one is covered in bones if that gives you an idea of how deep it is.

Hole 16 - The Turd - This one is pretty foul, I wouldn't step in it if I were ye.

Hole 17 - Blow it out yer Bagpipes - Hit it from here into the Road Hole Bunker and they'll give you a complementary bottle of Glenfiddich. You'll need it.

Hole 18 - John Daly's Ashtray - named for the past Open winner who flicked several butts in it, including Constantino Rocca's, in 1995.

As I write this Tiger Woods is in the lead on the first day at -6. Let's hope he stays clear of Chi Chi Rodriguez's Knickers at the first hole. That's not actually a bunker but a legend we won't get into right now.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Chickens of the World Unite!

Ingrid Newkirk, Founder of PETA, (People Easily Troubled about Animals) says that her organization's ultimate goal is "a world where humans don't eat, wear or exploit animals."

In regards to the first of these goals, I write this whilst polishing off a ham sandwich, so my sympathies for that aspect of her position are, in a word, nonexistent. I have often said that I will stop eating animals when they stop eating each other. Unfortunately, Ms. Newkirk is too busy with Machievellian plots to deprive me of a side of baby back ribs to take the time to explain veganism to a pride of hungry lions on the Serengeti, so I can't really expect any progress to be made in this area soon.

As for wearing animals, I have slightly more sympathy, but draw the line when it comes to my prized coonskin cap collection. If it was good enough for Davy Crockett, it's bloody well good enough for me. Plus, kangaroo leather being the finest of materials for footballing (soccer) boots (shoes), Ms. Newkirk's revisionist and irrational demands would set world football back 4 decades, and even then, millions of cows would have to die in place of the kangaroos now gracing the feet of Theirry Henry, David Beckham, Ronaldo, and other luminaries of the game. (I myself cannot afford such expensive footwear and have to play in shoes made out of synthetic cardboard.)

However, the most shocking part of Ms. Newkirk's manifesto brevis is the part about animals being exploited. Whereas zoos, pony rides, snake charmers, and organ grinders have previously been the chief offenders in this area, the suggestion of exploitation conjures up a number of frightening possibilities. Even now, I'm sure, Detroit automakers are replacing skilled labourers with phalanxes of highly conditioned orangutans and lemurs. (While the savings will reduce the threat of outsourcing jobs overseas, there is the downside of spittle-laden dashboards and shaggier plush seating.) Who knows what other horrors lie out there that Ms. Newkirk has propitiously discovered and set herself against? Are we seeing itenerant dachsund farm labourers? Flamingo car washers? Tabby cats forced into chicken plants? Chipmunks sewing Cathy Lee Gifford apperal in sweatshops? Streetwalking sheep? (EWWWWWE! I think we've gone much too far.)

I'm not really sure what Ms. Newkirk means by all this other than having a reoccurring image of chickens marching, waving red flags, and singing the Internationale.

Come to think of it, the woman sounds like a loony.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

We Shall Not Yield!

Or at least so says Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud "Bud" Selig, in response to demands from the International Olympic Committee. The IOC has eliminated both baseball and softball from the 2012 Olympics in London, stating that both sports need better anti-doping rules and that baseball needs to send its best players to the event. Baseball has responded by stating that its anti-doping rules (Consisting of the following: Rule 1.1 - Don't do drugs. Rule 1.2 - If you do do drugs, don't get caught. Rule 1.3 - If you get caught, it won't be by us.) are adequate enough, and that the sport will not be intimidated by a bunch of cheese-snorting, reefer fiends who don't know a balk from a designated hitter, failing to take into account that this description also includes much of the National League. Baseball also indicated that its best players were busy during the Olympic season, what with the Home Run Derby, All-Star game, and beer commercial filming season in full swing during that time.

The IOC also included several other demands, inlcuding that softball players dress exactly like athletes in women's beach volleyball, only without so much clothing, that softball be renamed "Yahtzee" (although they are still working out the naming rights with Milton Bradley), and also that baseball players replace spitting and groin scratching with interpretive dance. Major League Baseball replied that the spitting and groin scratching was interpretive dance.

Dave, Steve, and Jeff - The Pep Boyz

I was disturbed when I read this article about the trouble that Dreamworks is having with the sale of DVDs and at the box office. Since we here at DOUI have such a close relationship with David, Jeffery, and Steven I don’t feel that it is out of place for me to give them some advice. What you guys need is to push the envelope. You need to shake it up and create new paradigms and all of the other ridiculous buzzwords we hear about this sort of thing. In a word, you need to steal some ideas. Here’s an example, I’ll just go through the TV Guide and pick out a show. Eeeny, meany, miney, mo BOOM… Discovery Health: Face Eating Tumors. Now, take that idea and expound on it, think outside the box here. (sorry) Where could you go with that?

Face-Eating Tumors: Home for the Holidays – Tom Hanks and Nicole Kidman meet at Christmas and fall desperately in love but are separated when an earthquake rocks New York. Hanks contracts a face-eating tumor and then they meet again at a New Years party a few years later. Hanks knows it’s her but she doesn’t know it’s him, get it. She feels sorry for this guy with the face-eating tumor and since she’s a doctor or medical research chick she cures him of the tumor only to discover it is her long lost love. It’s got alliteration and a twist that will have’em filling the theaters.

The Man with Two Face-Eating Tumors – Mel Gibson stars as a man with two face-eating tumors. He struggles through it with the help of Nicole Kidman who has a son who has an incurable disease. Together Gibson and Kidman come up with a salve made of coconut and habanera peppers that heals her son but leaves Mel a scarred wreck. A miracle occurs when one face-eating tumor devours the other and Mel is able to scare it off by doing the old Lethal Weapon gun-in-the-mouth bit.

Scarface – Sorry, it’s been done.

The Mirror has Two Faces with Face-Eating Tumors – Barbra Streisand would star as a washed-up, out of touch actress who falls back on her singing career. We can work a face-eating tumor in there somewhere I’m sure.


So you see guys, you just have to run out your dog and pony show and stretch the hamstring. I’m sorry my buzzword generator is on the fritz. Good luck.

The Tour of France...a wino's tale


With Lance Armstrong defending his fifth, sixth, or seventh (we’ve lost count) Tour de France we thought we should be obliged to give it some coverage. Outside of the cycling community little is known of the Tour de France except that it involves cycling and is held in France. Many are the times I have desired to go to France and take in some of the race but things got in the way; whether it was lawn work, a trip to the market, or removing pesky scale from a shower, something always came up.

In honor of Mr. Armstrong’s next victory I have studied up on the much heralded competition and will now describe the race and its various stages.

The Tour de (of) France as told by Stew Miller

The tour is a cycling expedition around the magnificent countryside of La Belle France. It is made up of various stages and the leader gets to wear a yellow shirt, yellow being the national color of France. The cyclists all wear embarrassingly tight clothes I believe either to make them aerodynamic or cause them to ride faster to escape the cameras, which is why they all wear sunglasses. I will now discuss the various stages of the race.

Stage 1 – The race starts in Reims the major city in the Champagne province and home of many famous champagne producers. Each cyclist is given a magnum of champagne that he must imbibe while cycling through the remains of the Maginot Line. Generally this will result in the cyclists taking longer to negotiate the fortifications than it took the Germans in World War II.

Stage 2 – This stage is the ride down to the Alps where they will generally eat heavy foods, blow alpenhorns, and do the traditional call of “Riiicooollllaaaa”. After a few days being lost in the mountains the survivors will return to the road and toward Stage 3.

Stage 3 – The riders then enter Cannes where they are treated to some of the most pretentious blarney you’ve ever seen on the silver screen. After a quick snack of a jeroboam of champagne and stale hors d’oeuvres the cyclists are tormented by the ramblings of Roger Moore and Quentin Tarantino until they either go mad or ride screaming out of town.

Stages 4 - 25 – These are generally taken up by eating brie and talking in a fake accent similar to “Oh ho ho, zees ees zee best part of zee race for those who love zee frommage, eh Jacques.” This takes place while all participants ride in berets and tight fitting striped shirts, which is generally how they look except for the berets.

Stage 26 – Takes place in the Bordeaux region where the cyclists sober up from all of the champagne with a gallon of coffee before switching to wine for the remainder of the race. If you have seen the movie Sideways, just imagine that only on bikes and with the actors wearing ridiculously tight fitting spandex. On second thought I don’t think anyone should spend too much time imagining Paul Giamatti in spandex.

Stage 47 or so, it’s getting long - The cyclists storm Omaha beach at Normandy in a reenactment of the D-Day invasion of June 6, 1944. The kicker on this one is that they must ride bikes and the bullets are real. They usually weed out the weaker cyclists here and are ready for the final stages.

Stage Final – After all of this mincing about the countryside they enter Paris for the final stage of the race. If all goes well they ride to the finish line where the winner enjoys wine-soaked anonymity and a block of the cheese of his choosing.

I’ll be watching the British Open Championship this weekend so I probably will have to miss out again. Drat.

Monday, July 11, 2005

How You Going To Say, Peoples Going Nuts

Sometimes Mr. Juan Carlos Vega look around at the world, and he getting the shivers what are going from the tippy top part of the nicely groomed jet blacky hair part of head all the ways down the spinal wire to the buttocks. That is just the unnecessarily convoluted Juan Carlos way of saying sometimes the crazy world get me the Depends Undergarment-wearing frightened. You cannot even watch ten minutes of Univision before you see some kind of the, how you say, terrible story about a mime who stabbed a clown in the nougat and bleed him or some ravenous creature of the night that shattered an old man's xyphoid process with a silver hammer he get from Maxwell. This world is turning into a hay-drizzled parade of one crazy two-cent weirdo after the other passing by and doing the terrible acts to people left and right. That is why I already buy my one way ticket to the Mars colony whenever they get around to making one of those things. On Mars, I will have an asparagus garden on the Mons Olympus near the face of Kermit the Frog and I must marry a beautiful Martian harlot dame lady person.

There is one shining example of the good news, however. While it remains increasingly true that crazy mad persons are going about stabbing horses and breaking open eggs and kidnapping the shimmering night orbs of hope, and while, yes, the news remains full of the, how you going to say, bowel-churning story one after the other of the stuff what blows up and the car what drives off the cliff into the sea and get eaten by the sharks and the clouds pouring down the white hot droplets of molten lead which were spewed into the sky by Molten Lead Factories which remain unregulated thanks to the Libertarian Party, and while Jay Cole is still running loose upon the earth and threatening to nuke Damascus, while all of these things are to the exponent power of three remaining increasingly truer, there is hope! Yes, a mercy is being shown to humanity, for we are not cast into the dregs of the, how are you considering to say, the wretched misery swamps of entropic hope. What is this mercy, you ask? Who are the ones that are sent to rescue and protect the persons what are being hurt by the parade of nutcase marble-swallowing madmen? No, not Warwick Davis, but that is a good guess. Of course, I am talking about the wild lions of Ethiopia. Already, the wild lions are protecting innocent people, and I am certain their glorious mission is only just beginning. The lions, ladies and gentlemen. They going to help us. The wild lions of the Ethiopian steam jungle. Yes. Yes. Lions. Lions.

BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP BEEP BEEP

We interrupt our regularly scheduled Osama slamming to bring you this important message. He's the tall one in the middle. We now rejoin our regularly scheduled slamming already in progress.

We are not on hiatus...

...We are just in the middle of a computer crunch. That is to say, my computer at home is down, thanks to a flaky operating system. (Windows ME if you're asking. Windows ME is the operating system that causes the most people to suggest that if you were to shave Bill Gates' head you'd find the number "666" tattoed on the back. The "ME" stands for "Major Error". Some have suggested that it should have been named "Windows MF", but as this is a PG site, I can't tell you what that stands for.)

We have a laptop at home, but I am not the primary owner of that. We should be getting a new computer within the next week or so (with Windows XP, also known as "Windows that kicks ME's lousy stinking bum". I have seen computers with Windows new "Media Edition" operating system. I strongly advise caution reagrding that system because, technically, that name make it Windows "ME" as well, which automatically means that it is steaming crap.)

Stew's home computer remains, for mysterious reasons, unable to access the Internet, and this is why he doesn't post during the weekends.

Juan Carlos seems to be posting during the week and only occasionally. We do not know if this is due to his hectic filming schedule or to his having been put behind bars for violating the restraining order Warwick Davis slapped on him last week.

Zimpter Fiforg is missing in action. We believe this to be a combination of his being constantly distracted by the heady Hollywood lifestyle he lives, and also by his tendency to drift off to sleep whilst sitting up.

We hope to have all of these problems resolved soon. Even now, I am calling the county gaols (jails) in Juan Carlos's and Warwick Davis' neck of the woods. Comedy waits for no man, so as you can see we've little choice than to resume this nonsense.