I'm A Human Lab Rat

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Vol 31 Issue 08

White Castle Plundered By Turks

KEW GARDENS, NY—A Queens-area White Castle restaurant was violently raided Friday by Turkish marauder Bakhbar The Cruel. "Let songs of this day echo off the white tile walls," Bakhbar said shortly after unseating and beheading shift manager Dave Spivac, 27. Small, squarish hamburgers, described by Bakhbar's generals as "what he craves," were carted off by the hundreds following the raid. Four captured employees will now be traded as slaves. Also stolen in the brutal Castle purge were over 36 dozen kids' meal toys, 11 gallons of beverage syrup, and enough onion chips to get the nomadic horde to the Throgs Neck Bridge.

'Urban Legends True,' Says Friend Of Cousin's Roommate

CHICAGO—According to a study released Sunday by the friend of this one guy's roommate, contemporary word-of-mouth folklore, or "urban legends," are true. While not actually heard first-hand, the guy said, "Though typically met with skepticism, urban legends are almost always true. Like the one about the guy whose friends threw him a surprise party, but he was naked. I know for a fact that that's a true story—my sister's ex-boyfriend was at that party." The guy also said that a child actually did die from consuming Pop Rocks candy with Coca-Cola, claiming that "it was in the paper."

Aerobics Linked To Lousy Music

LOS ANGELES—A UCLA study released Monday demonstrates a strong link between aerobics and lousy music. "In 98 percent of cases where aerobics are being performed, lousy music can be clearly heard in the vicinity," study head Dr. Ronald Braun said. "Whether it's 'Gonna Make You Sweat' by C&C Music Factory or 'Another Night' by Real McCoy, expect to find songs that are in the lousy-to-crappy range wherever there is an aerobics class taking place." When asked if there is any link between the lousy music and the vacuous, airheaded superficiality of aerobics enthusiasts, Braun replied, "Definitely."

Neighbors Remember Serial Killer As Serial Killer

DUNEDIN, FL—In the wake of his capture Monday, serial killer Eddie Lee Curtis is being recalled by neighbors as a serial killer. "He was kind of a murderous, insane, serial-killer type of fellow," said Will Rowell, 57, who lived next door to the man arrested for the murder of 14 nurses in Florida and Georgia. "He sort of kept to himself, killing nurses, molesting their corpses and then burying the bodies in his backyard." Neighbor Peggy Appleton agreed: "I didn't know him that well, but he really seemed to hate nurses, the way he was always dismembering them with power tools. I guess you could say he fancied himself a serial killer."

Secret Police Enforce Mourning Of Deng Xiaoping

BEIJING—China's 1.2 billion citizens observed a state police-enforced mourning of 92-year-old premier Deng Xiaoping last week. "Our great leader is gone," said Wuhan resident Xiang Hu as a bayonet was held to his throat by a member of the government's elite military guard. Deng's funeral procession through the streets of Beijing was attended by over one million people from as far as 900 miles away, all of whom were forcibly bused in by the state. A 30-day period of national mourning has been declared, during which anyone found not weeping openly will be executed.

Fontly Speaking

Hey, as much as I hate to preach, now is the time when I have to get on the old soapbox: No more Futura Bold Condensed! I mean, really! It's such a precocious little font. I know it seems chic and irresistible, but show some restraint! People are using it everywhere, from Surgeon General's warnings to children's arithmetic books, and it really bugs me to see it used when a simple, moderate 18-point Helvetica Narrow Oblique would fill the bill without the pretension. Please, don't fall in the trap of using inappropriate fonts to make up for unimpressive material.

'Bridge To 21st Century' Crap Forgotten

WASHINGTON, DC—Offering a bold new vision for post-1996 presidential election America, President Clinton unveiled a new plan Monday to forget about that "Bridge To The 21st Century" crap.

Horoscope for the week of March 5, 1997

In the spring of your youth you were one who ran often to the many women of Paris, but now the good wine and the late light of the sun on the Plaza Del Toros must be enough for you.

Study: Depression Hits Losers Hardest

PALO ALTO, CA—According to a report released Monday by Stanford's Institute For Psychotherapeutic Study, depression, America's leading mental illness, hits losers worse than any other segment of society.

I Will Love You Until The Stars Fall From The Sky vs. Please Stop Calling Me

Elaine, I will love you forever. I will adore you until the sun neither rises in the morning, nor sets in the evening as you lay your perfect cheek upon your pillow for slumber—usually after watching Trapper John, M.D. and spending 8-11 minutes in what I've surmised from my spot in the bushes to be your bathroom.
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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Scientists Posit Theoretical ‘Productive Weekend’

CAMBRIDGE, MA—Challenging long-accepted scientific convention, a group of leading MIT scientists published a report Thursday positing that, under certain rare and specific conditions, a so-called “productive weekend” is theoretically pos...

I'm A Human Lab Rat

Hola amigos. What's going down in your part of town? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but Jim Anchower is a busy man, so you should consider every word I give you a gift from above. So what have I been doin'? Plenty, and then some.

I finally got a new job, which was just in time 'cause my vehicle was in desperate need of hard-core repair. Last I told you, I had a busted-up radiator. Well, I was tight on cash, so rather than replace it, I tried to patch it up with some liquid-metal epoxy shit and some pie tin. Now, it takes a big man to admit a mistake, and believe me, I made a big freakin' mistake. Here's a tip, hombre: Leave the radiators to the professionals. There's no amount of cobbling that's gonna set a radiator right for good. Except maybe putting pepper in with your coolant, but that's only if the holes are real small. Anyway, do what I did, and you too are gonna wind up with an overheated car with busted pistons.

So anyway, at this moment, I need a big-time influx of cash. That "friend" of mine Ron still owes me 20 bucks, so I went to him to collect. He, of course, didn't have it on him, but he said that he'd turn me on to a job opportunity that would get me my 20 bucks back, and then some. I told him I ain't sellin' weed or nothing, 'cause I tried that before, and I just smoked away most of my profits. So he said I could collect 150 bucks doing nothing more than getting fed and hanging out playing video games at this place for a few days. "Oh," he added, "and you also gotta have about 16 blood samples taken and your piss collected."

Well, keep in mind that Jim Anchower was desperate to locate any source of income at that point, so I didn't think twice about it. Then Ron told me you can't smoke any weed for a while before, and that made me stop for a while and think. Now, I'm no degenerate drug addict or anything, but I do like to toke on the occasional stick now and again. I don't like anyone telling me I can't, but 150 bucks is 150 bucks, so I decided I'd make the sacrifice.

Two weed-free weeks later, I went down to the place for a check-up. I told them I don't drink, smoke or do nothing bad. Then they got pretty personal, if you know what I mean. Now, I know that these are qualified professionals and all that, but they were poking me in places that I've never poked me, if you catch my drift. Finally, after 30 embarrassing minutes, they told me I'm USDA grade A, and ready for testing.

Actually, I was pretty psyched. First off, 'cause it was the first job I'd had in a while, and second off, 'cause I got 15 bucks just for going in to get prodded in the first place. They told me to come back in three days and bring plenty to read and a few changes of clothes. I thought that was weird, but you never know what goes on in the heads of those doctor types.

I went back three days later, all ready to get the show on the road. I went into this room filled with losers and rejects of all varieties. Apparently, they weren't as discriminating as I thought when I signed on to this project. They told us that our contributions will not only be financially rewarded, but we will also feel proud knowing that we have helped heartburn sufferers everywhere.

Well, I don't know about that, 'cause I figured that Brian Dennehy dude was already doing enough on that front, but I wasn't about to disagree, seeing as they had that 150-dollar carrot. Then they told us we were going to have to stay there for seven days while they ran their tests.

When I heard that, I almost split. There's contributing to science and making 150 bucks and all, but then there's hanging out with two dozen dinguses for a week. But then I thought about how spring was coming, and how I was going to have to fix my wheels for prime cruising season, so I decided to stay. Plus, they had a Sony Play Station, so I figured I could make it through without losing my shit.

The first day was all right. I took some pill, let them drain me and played some race game on the Play Station to keep my driving skills up to snuff while I was imprisoned. This one guy kept trying to strike up a conversation, but I wasn't having any of that. I pointed to the game and said, "Can't talk." He seemed to understand that, 'cause after that he left me alone.

The next day, they gave us this spicy food to see if it would give us heartburn. I don't want to brag, but I gotta say that I got an iron stomach, so it was pretty much smooth sailing.

Around the third day, though, I had diarrhea something fierce. They must've been testing out some other stuff and not telling me the truth. But I figured I'd stick it out for the money.

By the fourth day, people had finally gotten the message that I was a loner. No one came up to me trying to start some bullshit conversation, and that's just how I liked it. By this time, I had also mastered the driving game, so I could play it for hours without having to give it up to some dipwad. I was getting pretty bored with it, so I turned to the videotapes they had. Nothing but crap. Snow White? No way. Rambo 3? Only the lamest one of the series. Das Boot? What the hell is that?

By the sixth day, I was climbing the walls. I was getting sick of the food, sick of the lame-o's I was staying with and sick of getting stuck with a needle every four hours. Plus, I had watched all the movies, no matter how retarded. I needed to get out of there and chill at my pad. I was just about ready to leave when I remembered that I had to keep this up in order to fix my car.

Finally, the week was over, and I got the hell out of there. I was so psyched to just go home and sit on my couch and drink a cold Miller Genuine Draft. Only, when I got home, there was a note in the fridge from Ron (God only knows how the hell he got into my apartment), saying that he drank my beer while I was gone 'cause he thought I owed it to him for fixing him up with that gig. I'll gig him right in the face if he pulls that shit again. Good thing he didn't find my stash or he'd really be in a world of hurt.

Three weeks have gone by, and I haven't seen Ron or my money, and I'm really gettin' pissed. I called the clinic, and they said I should've gotten it by now. So now I got no money, no beer, and I'm running out of food, except for the dozen frozen pizzas I won a while back at Piggly Wiggly. If you know of a job, let me know, 'cause I'm in dire straits. Or if you see Ron, tell him I want my 20 bucks. I'd do it myself, but like I said, I'd just end up kicking his ass, and I don't want any trouble. At least not that kind of trouble.

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