How Does Sanchez Spell Relief?

  Scheming Sanchez?who has thus far managed to evade queries about how he can afford the luxury drug on a freelancer's income?contributed 20 bucks to an eightball his roommate the Wiper was buying?and then dived into it with abandon when the Wiper wasn't around! Returning home to find the Wiper and his paramour the Wookie absent, advantage-taking Sanchez poured out a big fat rail onto his old 501 Spanish Verbs textbook and snorted away! Satisfied Sanchez was unable to tell whether it was the charlie or his happiness at duping the Wiper that made him feel like the whole world was vibrating slightly?but then he realized that in fact the whole world was vibrating slightly. Sanchez heard squeaky vocal noises coming from the floor, and astute Sanchez realized his downstairs neighbors were burlapping with enough gusto to shake the creaky skeleton of the tenement! So of course dutiful Sanchez put his ear to the sooty floor and listened to the magical sounds of love. When the Sister of Sanchez walked in the door to find her brother eavesdropping on his knees, it was?as if on cue?after a climactic intensifying of the noise had given way to silence. But his Sister looked strangely pale. "The horrified Sister of Sanchez is astonished that they're still at it," said the horrified Sister of Sanchez astonishedly. "If his Sister was walking in late on a screening of Independence Day, Sanchez would reckon she'd managed to enter seconds after they blew up the White House," Sanchez sneered. But his Sister cocked her head at him in a curious manner and widened her eyes. She looked at the eightball, then she looked at the floor, then turned around and headed out the door, slamming it behind her. Within an hour, Sanchez realized why his Sister split without taking any of the drugs, and indeed why the Wookie and Wiper were absent?the noise and the shaking soon started up again, and Sanchez realized that his neighbors were apparently Sting and Trudie Styler, so awesome were their tantric powers of holding back the forces of nature! When they had been at it for two hours bleak-minded Sanchez decided he needn't worry about leaving any cocaine for his roommate. When they had been at it for four hours he realized that his roommate had wisely chosen to spend the night in the Wookie's even more squalid living situation. And five hours after that, beaten Sanchez, coked out of his mind and unable to find anything on the ceiling to tie an extension cord to and hang himself, wrote "Congrats on Attaining the Nine Hour Mark!" on a post-it and disconsolately attached it to the door of the apartment downstairs. Lazy Sanchez is astonished that Rolling Stone took longer to put in its $.02 on Woodstock '99 than even shuffling Sanchez did! The Sept. 2 issue deploys in-house goober Rob Sheffield, Matt Hendrickson and soothing Cronkite-like voice of authority Kurt Loder. All three make snide remarks about Limp Bizkit, Rage Against the Machine or both; Sheffield describes titty-ogling "goons" as "bulls on parade," and wonders "how much ecstasy Bizkit fans must be fed before they start moving their hips when they dance." Envious Sanchez can tell, just by reading him, that superfunky Sheffield really knows how to par-tay! Elsewhere in the issue, in his Sanchez-biting, dull-as-mud column "The Sheffield Report," Sheffield wonders "where Limp Bizkit got the idea they could say 'nookie' on the radio." Agreeing Sanchez thinks the righteous columnist is courageous to speak up on this, lest other profanities such as "doo-doo" or "boogers" become commonplace on the airwaves! Hendrickson, who scolds RATM and Korn for playing "less than 100 minutes," goes on to rail at Jewel for getting on her tour bus and splitting immediately after her set (Sanchez figures it's not like she's got a touring schedule or anything), and refers to Kid Rock as "muthafuckin' [sic] Kid Rock." Absolutely bathing in the presence of celebrity, Hendrickson brags about hanging out by the side of the stage with Puff Daddy and Mini-Me, and quotes Chemical Bro Tom Rowlands' opinion on the melee during Fred Durst's crowd-surfing episode. "I much preferred watching Mickey Hart while the sun was setting at the West Stage," persnickety Rowlands told the scribe. Loder, the aforementioned Rock-On-Kite, says that Limp Bizkit "can't hope to be entirely persuasive without the feral inter-song harangues of singer Fred Durst." Supersensitive Loder reports that when fleeing backstage he "stepped over a guy laid out in a clump of trash with his eyes rolled back in his head." Compassion, thy name is L-O-D-E-R, shouts spelling-king Sanchez! Later, Loder says he "wondered whether anybody had...maybe tried to get word to the medical tent" about the poor incapacitated punter. Loder-loving Sanchez nominates the newsman for beatification for his ceaseless concern for his fellow man! Regarding the tepid pooh-poohing of the funk/metal bands and their fans by the Stoners, pedantic Sanchez would like to state very slowly, so that all his doting readers might remember and cherish his every word, this simple truth: Black musicians don't hate white funk, white critics do. And did Sanchez mention that black musicians don't hate white funk, white critics do? Furthermore, patronizing Sanchez repeats, professorially, that black musicians don't hate white funk, white critics do. Suckered Sanchez had the rug pulled out from under him by MTV Online! Salivating Sanchez was chomping at the bit to berate the website for mistakenly stating last week that Jeff Buckley died in New Orleans?when some heartless schlub had to go and change the location to the correct Memphis. Miffed Sanchez figures that if the staffers had their druthers they'd have just referred to the town in question as "You know, one of those old blues guy cities." Willpower-lacking Sanchez can't help but point out the poor manicure on the hand that feeds him! The item, which some chin-scratching MTV Online master-of-similes opens by stating "Like Jimi Hendrix, the late Jeff Buckley had a painfully short career," reports that Columbia is putting together a live Buckley record, which, superprecise MTV Online reports, "may be an entire concert, or...it may be comprised of performances from a number of different shows." Fact-loving Sanchez is fascinated! Applauding Sanchez admires the professionalism of MTV Online for including the meaningless fact that these meaningless facts were told to them on a Tuesday, and furthermore fudges credibility by including the name of the A&R guy who told them this stuff, and probably even more tasty tidbits that they're holding back, possibly including the fact that the live record will contain songs and the compact discs will be manufactured out of aluminum. Lip-licking Sanchez loves the taste of simulated credibility! The item goes on to misspell Buckley guitarist Michael Tighe's last name "Tigne." At this point Sanchez realized his congratulatory note was three hours off the mark! Superabsorbent Sanchez had by this time learned much about the laws of momentum?whereas initially the house of Sanchez shook a little, now it was rocking back and forth like an earthquake, as the woman downstairs entered the second hour of what Sanchez considered to be the Gone With The Wind of orgasms! Unhappy Sanchez couldn't even tap out another line of the cocaine, as it would shake out all over the floor. Stymied Sanchez wondered how exactly he could call up the boss and tell him that his column was going to come in late, as the keyboard was vibrating too extremely to be typed upon!

NEXT WEEK: Gleeful Sanchez gloats about successfully luring Chuck Eddy into a public beef with a cartoon character!