By Matt Drudge, Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island News Correspondent
Developing...
No one's wanted to spoil the joke by telling Drudge his fedora's stupid.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Hulk Hogan Infects Libyan Children With AIDS!
By Matt Drudge, Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island News Correspondent
Developing...
No one's wanted to spoil the joke by telling Drudge his fedora's stupid.
Chris Harmer Will Not Be Used To Install A Puppet State If He Wins The Mayoral Election
By Tony Snow, Minister of Truth
All of this nonsense about Chris Harmer being used to install a puppet state in Hollywood Town is nonsense. There is no credible evidence supporting this. There just isn't. And for those who say we've been funneling money to Harmer... funnel is such a harsh word. We've just been giving him money, because we like him. He's a fun guy. It's not so he'll gut the military and leave the doors open for us to swarm in with our flamethrower tanks. Absolutely none of you will die. This is nonsense.
Furthermore, you don't have to worry about being rounded up and put into work camps. We're absolutely not going to have any of those, because that would be wrong. But just in case somebody, who totally won't be us, might set up a work camp, please be prepared with a nice pair of work shoes and coveralls. I mean, just in case something happens.
But nothing will happen. More than likely. And it won't be us. Like, that's totally something Hogan or Pamela Anderson would do. Anyway, we're not going to invade. At all. If we were going to invade and you wanted to help by telling us who would give us trouble, well, feel free to send an email to us. I mean... we won't use it, but it would be cool to have, just for, you know, giggles.
Tony Snow swore a loyalty oath to Bryan after he cured him of cancer.
I Had A Gay Love Affair With Hulk H-- What The Hell, Bryan?
By Shawn "Chocolate Thunder" Wenger, Minister of Bicycles
What the hell, Bryan. I am not going to say I had gay sex with Hulk Hogan just to lessen his chances of winning. You selfish son of a bitch! What about my friends, my family? Did you ever think of that? No, you didn't. God, if it wasn't for all the underage prostit -- if it wasn't for all the money, I'd walk out on this shitty job right now.
No, I'm not going to say -- goddamn it.
In fall of 2005, Hulk Hogan and I engaged in a lengthy love affair. We had sexual intercourse numerous times, and I was totally the chick in it -- WHAT THE FUCK! Byan, you son of a bitch, don't make me say this! Don't... oh Jesus. Oh Jesus, put the gun down. Please, this isn't worth it. We can talk about this. We can -- Um... the love affair continued off an on for several months and I was totally the girl. Hulk Hogan raped me. This is absolutely true and not made up to make him look bad. I swear!
In his spare time, Wenger totally gets rogered by dudes.
Friday, July 13, 2007
The Secrets of Monkey Island
By Sea Captain Manchuria, Privateer of the Bryan Bishop Adventure Island Imperial Navy
May 18th, 2007
Foggy day. Light breeze, that swayed the mist hovering above the town. The stench of opportunity was in the air. I can always sense it -- the smell of dirty laundry, and sure enough, it came flapping by -- a Union Jack flapjacket with the stifling aroma of septic tanks, piano keys, and destiny. I grabbed it with a thrust of the arm and the clench of a fist. It was mine.
In one pocket was an unidentifiable sticky red substance that looked like blood, smelled like blood, and tasted like blood. In the other was a cryptic message, one that sent shivers crawling up and down my spine like the sun-warmed deckhands on my towering mast.
"Dare you discover the Secret of Monkey Island."
Of course, I nodded.
Disguise is ready. Needed to infiltrate the subject incognito so I put on my perpetually oversized Chris Harmer pirate-wench garb and boarded the legendary Ship Of Fooles.
The captain is legendary. They told me the best way to get what I wanted was to grease up his ego 'cause he swung both ways -- was bipolar, like glaciers and snow.
I sucked it up and braved it out. I'll make him spill.
The sun streamed in through the flapping curtains, along with the smell of cannonballs, seamen, and decks (all-hands-on). Now was the time. He was still asleep so I helped open his lips for him.
"Monkey Island?" he asked, now fully aroused.
"You know it."
"Well, it's been going well. Like clockwork. It's been everything I could've hoped for." He chuckled. "Well, you know. Given the talent involved."
I perked up, and he noticed. "What do you mean?"
"Well, this is sort of a secret, and we're trying to keep this on the down-low." He leaned in even closer and breathed into my ear. "It's Uwe. How much can you expect?"
He laughed, but I could feel the tingle of nervousness in his throat.
I'd found it. Uwe Boll. Sultan of Schlock, Film Protector Target, consensus reigning Worst Director on the Planet. This was the dirty secret of Monkey Island.
But that wasn't all.
A ruckus in the captain's quarters. Loud. Threathening. Mysterious.
I quickly dashed my way into the familiar secret passage leading to the bedroom, strained my ear against the floorboards, and listened. The captain was in full bellow, harking curses and insults at another person.
"I can't believe you did that, you red-coated fiend! You back-stabber, you Unionship-jacker!"
I tried to make out the other person, but there was no response.
"You have the hairy balls and the bullocks to do this to me?! FOR A WOMAN?! Don't deny it! Don't you dare deny it, it's all over the paper!! What about our agreement?! Our history!?"
A clinkle of teacups interrupted the good old captain. "It's only a couple of pounds, old chap," the mystery man replied.
"You've doomed us, I tell you. You've doomed the production! Monkey Island will sink! And so will our..."
"YOUR money." I couldn't see it, but I could swear there was a twinkle in the stranger's eye. "Your bloody money, old chap. And she's not just a woman. She's a woman who's my fiance, with a mighty fine arse. So cry me a river, and sing me an anthem, you bloody old buggery fool. I'll see you in two months in my and my woman's new mansion."
"Why, you little pinky-waving..."
"Oh, and stop calling me sweetie, 'captain'," he sneered. "The name's Trax. Marcus Trax. Or perhaps 'Daddy', to you."
Stunned at this development, I launched out of the secret passage and to my slave quarters, pored over the day's paper. Doomed productions? Anthems? Hairy balls? What could it all possibly mean?
And then I spotted it. A new Wormtail Production, released by none other than Marcus Trax's corporate empire, on the same day as his very own Monkey Island
Treachery cuts deep. Especially by the British.
It was a dark and stormy night. The sea was sloshing against the ship like the raging ocean sloshes against large boats. My eyes were about to close, as I was about to fall into a slumber, when I heard it. A wail, the sound of despair from outside.
Fearing the worst, I stood up lightning-fast, put on my Chris Harmer costume, and moved like an iceberg towards the door. I burst out onto the deck, and that's when I saw him. The captain, soaked from head to toe. I couldn't tell rain from sea from tears.
"Oh. Oh, it's just you," he sniffed, the epitome of defeat. "I'm sorry if I woke you. It's just... Oh screw it, you understand me! You'll lay by me to the very end! I'm ruined, Chris! RUINED!"
I asked him why, but he just broke down some more.
"I put my faith into that man! I put everything into his hands! Everything! My entire summer, my money, that property, my love..." he sobbed. "...ly ship! I gave him my tentpole, don't you understand?!? MY POLE!! MY BELOVED POOOOOOLLLEE!!!"
I sighed and I stiffened as the stunning image flashed through my head. "I'm sorry about that. I heard about the Anthem issue, but..."
"Oh, it's not just that! I wish it was, but it's not! I was nearly over that! He had his woman, his love, I can surely relate! But yesterday... He told me... He told me..."
"He told you what?"
"HE WAS FAKING IT!! HE DIDN'T FINISH, HE NEVER FINISHED!! I couldn't... get him... to finish..."
The rain drummed on, along with my heart, as my pulse beat pure pity for that broken man.
"He's only halfway done the movie, it's as if he was saving it all for her! He only gave me his half-ass, don't you see? He only gave me half an ass! I'm ruined..."
And the rain drummed on.
"I'm ruined..."
And the rain drummed on.
"I'm ruined..."
The sun was shining again after the rain. It was the last day of my voyage on the Fooles -- about time, since my costume started chafing.
Ship of Fooles would reach its destination tomorrow and who knows if all was well. I hadn't seen the dear captain in three whole days and have heard little news on the production.
I had spotted Uwe Boll, however, and tried to prod some answers out of him, but he only prodded me back with his fist two or three hundred times.
In the distance, back on the land, I could make out a huge celebration of some sort on shore. I took out my telescope and peered through. On a giant parade float was none other than Marcus Trax and his fiance, Polgara, boasting arrival of their digital lovechild
I scanned the shore some more, for any sign of Guybrush Threepwood, or monkeys, or giant cotton swabs -- no avail. Monkey Island was nowhere in sight.
Two lattes, six burgers, and three bathrooms later, I finally caught up to the dear captain, who was trying to avoid any contact whatsoever.
"I'm feeling much better now, as you can see," he sighed. "I disappointed at his lack of commitment, but I try not to take it personal, you know? I... I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust anyone again, but I'll try, I'll soldier on, like I always do. You understand, don't you?"
He looked into my eyes, searching for an answer I didn't want to tell him.
"You understand. Right?"
I looked down where his hands were clamped on mine and then blinked one or two times. I sighed. "I... I'm not sure, captain, I'm not sure if I understand. I'm just a fool, after all. We're all just Fooles."
"Fooles," he whispered. He closed his eyes and let go of my hand. "You're right, Chris. You're right."
We both looked off into the sunset, picturing it as it fell towards Marcus Trax's head. He put his hand on my shoulder, but I didn't mind, 'cause I couldn't feel it through the padding.
"What is us Fooles, Chris?"
I shrugged. I really didn't know. But if there was one thing I was sure of, it was this. "We'll always have Monkey Island."
He looked at me, then nodded. And we both laughed.
Sea Captain Manchuria's first command was a freight container that fell off a cargo ship on its way from China to the US.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Where Did That Investigative Reporting Go?: An Investigative Report
By Mark Chua, Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island Investigative Journalist
It's no stretch to say that Hollywood: The Game has been in its dark ages for some time now. No, not regarding the movies, nor the players -- HTG has been in the dark regarding EVERYTHING, and it is in the midst of the most crippling information and media blackout in its era. That's right, HTG journalism is dead.
Sure, the journalists and publications are still here. The untested, horn-tooting
It's a shame, especially when browsing through the ruins of the former glory of The Hollywood Pit
It's clear the questions are still being asked. Just last week, The Hollywood Times posed an issue that has been plaguing Hollywood for centuries. The report was hailed for being the best article HTG has seen in a long time. Tough questions were posed and addressed.
"Where Did That Blockbuster Go?"
The answer? The conclusion?
"Well, we may never know."
It is articles like these, as well as the lazy, soulless, advertinterviews strewn across the press-room floor that brings back the sweet nostalgia of the brave journalistic souls of the past, as well as the bitter stench of awareness that Hollywood journalism today continues to be dead, buried, but worst of all, forgotten.
So where did the investigative report go? Here are the facts:
The investigative report was last seen thriving in The Hollywood Pit headquarters, before its deed was handed over to one Ritchie Steven, and then subsequently to Justin Graham. Graham then was involved in a horrific car accident, crippling him for several months, forcing him to abandon his editorial duties. Upon healing, Graham, valiantly attempted to revive The Pit and exhibited three fleeting glimpses of journalistic balls, before succumbing to inertia. He could not go on.
The Hollywood Pit and their glorious journalistic history was then inexplicably whored off by the aforementioned (mentally?) handicapped and auctioned off in a two-man battle between PJ Flip and soon-to-be-Hollywood Star-editor, Trax. In a show of capitalist muscle (and alleged brotherly favoritism by HTG President and ex-Pit Editor Ritchie Steven, which nobody had the journalistic balls to investigate), PJ Flip won and publication was transferred over to him.
In a total corporate makeover, the next Hollywood Pit came out emasculated with a fancy Flash-y coat, useless animations, and conspicuously lacking a soul
From these stunning facts, and this comprehensive analysis it's clear where the investigative report went.
The investigative report is right here.
Bimperialism forever. It's where the balls are. Or at least for today.
In his spare time Mark Chua sells American military secrets to the Red Chinese.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Ed Havens Tells Bible Stories
By Edward Havens, Imperial Minister of the Bryan Bishop Adventure Island FlockYou see, in the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth. Now, the Earth was formless and fucking empty. Darkness was over the fucking surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.
And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. BOOM! Like a bullet out of a fucking .45. And God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." Makes sense, doesn't it? And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.
After a good night's sleep, God woke up the next day to look upon his creation. He examined the formless Earth he created and thought it to be too plain. God's special friend stumbled out of the bedroom and looked around as well. The friend said "You want to make a waterworld? That's pretty boring." God said, "You're right. A waterworld would be very boring. I shall create an expanse between the waters, to separate water from water. Water dissolving and water removing. There is water at the bottom of the ocean. Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean. Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!" So God made the expanse and separated the water under the expanse from the water above it. And it was so. God called the expanse "sky." And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.
After a somewhat restful night of sleep, God awoke and started examining his new creation some more. After a great deal of thought, he said, "Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear." And it was so. God called the dry ground "land," and the gathered waters he called "seas." And God saw that it was pretty fucking good.
Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds." And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.
The next day, God said, "Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years, and let them be lights in the expanse of the sky to give light on the earth, and twice a year, we'll adjust time so that there can be a little more light towards the end of the day to enjoy life and liberty and the pursuit of happyness." And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the expanse of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.
Now, on the fifth day, God's voice was getting kinda scratchy. He'd done all this creating of heavens and Earth and water and stars and shit. So he thought to himself, "Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the expanse of the sky." So God created the great creatures of the sea and every living and moving thing with which the water teems, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them and said, "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the water in the seas, and let the birds increase on the earth." And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.
Now, what very few people know is that, on the sixth day, God actually took a half day. After all, who the hell was going to yell at him? He's the boss, you know? He created a lawn chair, created a mini-fridge with some beer in it, kicked off his sandles and just soaked in his creations thus far. He examined the Sun and the Moon, the heavens and the Earth, and he was pretty pleased with himself. God thought to himself, "I did a pretty damn good job. But I've got all these creatures under the water, but nothing on the land. I need to get some living creatures going, according to their kinds. We need some livestock, some creatures that move along the ground, and some wild animals, each according to its kind." And it was so. God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. Then God wondered why the announcer, who he hadn't really created yet, kept intoning what he was thinking and repeating what he was saying. So God turned to the announcer and said, "Let me make man in my image, in my likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground. But give them a better nose than the one I have. Mine has a deviated septum and it makes me snore at night. It keeps Mr. God's special friend awake at night, and he keeps kicking me when it wakes him up." So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. With a better nose. God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number. Especially you really stupid ones. Overfill the earth and subjugate it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground. Shoot it or stab it or blow it out of the air or sea. Just make sure you have enough for dinner each night." Then God said, "If that's not good enough. I'll give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food. Except for the ivy. Don't eat the ivy, and for My sake, don't roll around in it naked." And it was so.
God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.
And on the seventh day, God looked all around the heavens and the Earth and the land and the sea and all the creatures he created, and God's special friend turned to God and said "That'll do, pig. That'll do. Now create me some place where I can make something to eat. We've been cooped up on this cloud for a week now with nothing to eat and I'm fucking hungry, you selfish piece of shit." So God grabbed a couple beers from his mini-fridge, created a kitchen for his friend and hit Play on the universe He created. "Let's see what happens, Landon."
Ed Havens was walking by and said "God bless you" when Bryan Bishop sneezed. He was hired right then and there.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
The State of Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island (Is Quite An Undertaking)
By Bryan Bishop, Imperial Overlord of Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome you to the bi-monthly state of the union for Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island.
A lot has happened since the inception of this Newsblog. We’ve made many new friends, and found many new followers. We have also lost Robert E. Marlowe due to the shrill whininess of… er… the perfectly reasonable demands of the Garofalo Commission. We wish his family, who we are required to repeat that we made no attempts to find, our deepest shrugs of indifference. I mean, we just started. He’s like that guy on Lost, the one who got the shrapnel in his belly. Hell, Marlowe wasn’t even Boone-worthy yet.
Anyhow, we have a great new number of initiatives in the works, designed to make Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island And even more fun place to --
What the --
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