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Pauly Shore, erstwhile ermine, former amateur archaeologist of the Paleolithic era and stand-up comedian since, well, birth, recently added a new italicized line item to his business cards – Investigative Journalist. No wait – TIRELESS Investigative Journalist.

Joining the brightly-veneer’d, deeply-closeted and freakishly vainglorious (and sometimes all three) so-called “journos” jockeying for their piece of the Neilson ratings pie, Pauly paid a visit this week to San Angelo, Texas, to wade into the wake of the Yearning for Zion compound raid that now has polygamists alternately jailed and/or crying outside the jail, the 434 children (who can really count them all?) going through the Maury Povich treatment (DNA tests) and the American public passionately pretending to be interested in the “details of sexual abuse” because they’re concerned for these nubile young spiritual brides.

Needless to say, Pauly did not fake the funk. And he’s made no friends about his fellow intrepids. But he wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to find the truth. See for yourself how that went.



PS - YES, this is going to air on RipeTV soon, but that has NOTHING to do with why we’re talking about it. We just like ripping on Lou Dobbs.

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In a boarding house in Prince George’s County in the Washington, D.C. area, a young Master Stamp, a 12-year-old boy (not pictured) who lives with his mother, Cheryl, does what many boys his age do on a daily basis – burn through their homework as quickly as possible before, as many US Senators have described, “corrupting their young minds with violent imagery spoon-fed by the video game industry.”

But the artfully sound-designed cacophony of his virtual pursuit was disturbed by a ruckus in the other room. Pausing the game, he went to investigate and found a 64 year-old dude named Salomon Noubissie choking the isht out of his mom.

Springing into action, the plucky Stamp mentally pressed Y to “pick up item” – a carving knife – simultaneously pushed down LT & RT to activate targeting and then popped the X button, slashing the carotid artery of his mothers’ attacker.

Parents, get your kids an XBOX, Wii or PS3 post-haste. It’s cheaper than a guard dog and it’ll get them thinking vocationally.

Kids, thank us later.

Full Story Here…

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Millions of men of the kept and hoping-to-soon-be-kept variety let out a collective cry of panic yesterday as the latest endangered species list was released. Sitting at number four on the list to be functionally extinct by 2020… the North American cougar. *

A cougar, as defined by Wikipedia, is “an older woman, usually in her 30s-40s who sexually pursues younger men in their 20's or early 30's.” They’re kind of like the female equivalent of the dirty old men, the lecherous rich guy, etc.

Without this species, many an attractive and fit man will not be able to exercise their Oedipal demons, afford the designer clothing that fits their taut forms so snugly or take advantage of high-priced cocktails that might feature muddled whatever and perhaps even elderflower liquor. Except during happy hour. And that, to these now-panicked men, is unacceptable.

Brody (last name withheld by request), a 23 year-old part-time model who resides in a small one-bedroom in Brentwood, CA, expressed the feelings that are spiraling through his whole caste “It’s, like, messed up. I don’t know what the EPA or the CIA or TLC can do anything about this. It’s just… I can’t always swing rent on my own. And if a fine filly who reminds me of my mom wants to make-out and help me out, what’s wrong with that?”&sbsp;

Oh, wait. It’s just these kind? Damn. Until they buy our pretty ass a drink, we’re not lifting a finger.

* See story here...

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Picture this:

You put in a work day's worth of behind-the-wheel-time trucking 530+ miles to catch a gig by one of yer favorite bands in the world. You bump into wrong fella or maybe just look at some dude who owes someone some money and/or payback. You get your ass beat by said dude and four of his friends. Four of his crazy friends. They bust up some ribs and pull a Tyson (the former heavyweight champ, not the poultry folks), biting off a hefty chunk of one of yer aural flaps. For better or worse, they spit said chunk of ear out (rather than chewing and swallowing) onto the probably-not-altogether sanitary floor. And this all goes down BEFORE the act you came to see goes on. So you miss the show.

Needless to say, yer hospital bound and bummed out.

The story could end here, but we like happy endings...

The band, Japanese trio Boris, plays their set and notice their super-fan, a Josh Baish of Denton, Texas, in the audience. Well, a part of him, anyway. They pick up the chunk, rinse it off with some Soju and put it on ice. Return it to Baish. Write a song about it. Put it out on an EP.

The ear couldn’t go back on, but the fact that Boris wrote a song about the incident – even if it wasn’t his brightest, shining moment – was "worth it" to Paish.

This isn't the song they wrote, but it'll give you an idea of the rockness of Boris. It effin' owns.

What body part would you give up for your favorite band to write a song about it?

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A New Zealand man was recently sentenced to 75 hours community service. Seems he’d rung up the local PD and reported his own rape – in-progress – by a… oh boy… yes, a wombat - the rather slothful Australian marsupial that mostly has earned a distinction by being an Animal Encyclopedia neighbor to the way-cooler Wolverine.

Arthur Cradock, the sexually assaulted individual, called back after, one assumes, the act was complete and said that, other than now “speaking Australian,” he was okay and would like to withdraw his complaint. Police, unamused and disbelieving, filed charges of their own.

We would like to conjecture the following truths to be gleaned from the incident:

ONE: This once again proves the rule that sometimes “No” really does mean “Yes” but only when a wombat is involved.

TWO: This could explain Australian actors deft touch with assuming other accents (if Wombat rape makes non-Aussies speak Aussie…) Representatives for Multiple-Oscar winner Cate Blanchett, Oscar-Winner Geoffrey Rush and Oscar-Winner Russell Crowe all resulted in hang-ups or being told to “Feck off!” Calls to Abbie Cornish went unanswered but she said she’d block our number and… I guess she wasn’t being funny as we previously assumed.

THREE: Wombats are, by nature, gentle and receptive lovers.

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There’s Anti-Emo riots raging through Mexico. Reports of an 800-strong posse when on a search-and-destroy mission on, well, the Emo-core crew, Iwe're guessing. So now the persecuted are holding rallys and what-not. In related news, a goth-y couple got beaten, one to death, in the UK, by a small pack of thug-life uncool Britains.

All 'cause of being pierced, eye-linered and given to don some retro clothing and—shudder—bangs.

Wait, it’s cause of “anti-gay” sentiments? Who hates gays anymore? That's like being viciously anti-Whig. Well, if The Smiths* are still the biggest band in the world to some people, folks can cling to anything…

Thank God these people don’t live in LA where it’s nigh on impossible to separate the Goths from the waiters who work night shifts, the emo from the more-sullen-of-the-80s-revivalists, the Morrisey Mexicans from the Stray Cats-lovers from Sao Paulo, the homeless from the between-films serious actors. Who do you hit? Who DON’T you?

Who has the energy to muster up more vehemence against these folks other than an eye-roll's worth? And if so, are they sponsored by Monster Java or Sobe No Fear yet?



What’s worst of all is now these kids have to stick up for themselves. When what they’re supposed to be doing is scrawling poems on walls with their mom's lipstick or singing songs about heartbreak in a barely-audible mumble.

Read the story here… And the other one here…

*p.s. Yes, The Smiths are awesome. Please don't organize, mascara running down in tear-streaked rivulets, outside of the Ripe offices.

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Hey criminals/celebrities/arrestees! Sick and tired of elaborate draping, hand-cramping cover-ups and generally having lots of trouble making sure your face isn’t seen in embarrassing scenarios? We’ve got the solution!

Genitalia!

That’s right! Just print and save a high quality image of male, female or middlesex genitalia near your door or slip it in your purse so when the walk of shame begins and the flashbulbs are flashing and cameras rolling, you can drape your visage in must-be-blurred glory (well, in the U.S. , anyway)!

Thanks, FCC prudes!

Click here for a sample image!

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Kristy Hinze, Australian model, former SI covergirl and host of the Aussie version of Project Runway, recently came clean about her two-year relationship with 63 year-old Texas billionaire Jim Clark. Hinze is 27. She said lots of stuff about him being handsome, funny and intelligent.

We traveled back in time to 1980 and asked then-36-year-old Jim Clark if he wanted to fly to Sydney and visit his future girlfriend in the maternity ward. Clark responded with a threat to “Kick our hippie ass back to Austin.” 

So we came back to now and wrote this. Cause we’re tough like that.

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We were hesitant to write about this for fear of being labeled “geeky”, but whatever, we hear that girls are into geeks nowadays (Editor’s note: This is a total lie.). We can’t say why we find this as cool as we do—it might have something to do with our love of trivia that makes our friends think we’re smarter than we actually are.

Anywho, researchers at the Lawrence Berkley National Laboratory in California have discovered a recording of the human voice that predates Thomas Edison’s “Mary had a little lamb” phonograph by nearly 20 years. “This is a historic find,” said Samuel Brylawski, formerly the head of the record-sound division of the Library of Congress. “The earliest known recording of sound.”

[Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville]’s device had a barrel-shaped horn attached to a stylus, which etched sound waves onto sheets of paper blackened by smoke from an oil lamp. The recordings were not intended for listening; the idea of audio playback had not been conceived. Rather, Scott sought to create a paper record of human speech that could later be deciphered.

It only took 150 years, but his recordings were finally deciphered. While it may be too little too late for Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville—he died convinced Edison had stolen his mojo—elementary school science books nationwide will now be forced to update their chapters on the creation of recorded sound.

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Sh*t happens in prison in Copenhagen. That’s an old Ripe family motto; don’t ask.

When prison guards complained of severe stomach aches, they confessed that they’d been eating a cake baked for them by the (what they thought) were good-hearted prisoners.

Prior to feeling sick all four guards had eaten a cake baked by prisoners - some of whom belong to Denmark's most notorious criminal gangs.
Officials said the cake was laced with an unidentified narcotic.

They don’t even carry guns over there! Something is rotten in Denmark and it’s the criminal justice system and it smells like tuna. Maybe they should eat a big, frosting-slathered slice of American justice. Send those boys down south for some Texas Justice.

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This is some serious Halo 3 replay sh*t right here. We thought that shots like that were illegal or advised against or too cool for reality. We've never been so happy to be wrong.

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Serena Kozakura is a very, very large-mammaried Japanese bikini model. Her ex accused her of breaking into his house by kicking a hole in the door because (he thought) she suspected him of cheating.

But, when Serena showed up in court with a life sized model of how big the hole in his door was, the judge – hypnotized by her sweater kittens – decided there was no way she could’ve fit into his house.

“I used to hate my body so much, but it was my breasts that won in court”, Serena said.

Iron Man Exclusive Trailer

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Awesome awesome awesome awesome awesome. Ironman forges a bulletproof pants-missile in the corduroy’d crotchal regions of fanboys worldwide, and this HD trailer simply arms it with a 69 kiloton nuclear warhead. Can the sexual overtones be removed from this assessment? Negative, ghostrider.

A few of our employees actually applied to be on this show and holy hell are we glad we didn’t. Certainly there is an orchestra of demonic machinations behind the curtains. There must be a nefarious puppet master at work. Everybody is crying and humiliating themselves for money. It’s like a strip club but with less nudity.

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Glutton for humiliation and famed Hollywood director, George Lucas has decided that there just isn’t enough Star Wars sh*t out there.

"I felt there were a lot more 'Star Wars' stories left to tell," said "Star Wars" creator George Lucas in a statement. "I was eager to start telling some of them through animation and, at the same time, push the animation forward."

He must pay the ultimate price for burning our childhood memories to the ground in a bonfire of ludicrous prequels and cartoons. First person to slay George Lucas gets a free Ripe, Octane, and Flow TV t-shirt! Sizes may vary.