Dear commune:

Aren’t you just tired of all this bullshit?

Reggie Shaw
Dove Plains, GA

Dear Reggie:

We know exactly what you’re talking about. Those fussy pricks downstairs at Crochet! magazine need to be put in their goddamned place. First they have the gall to involve the police in our staff’s hallowed Annual Pogo Stick Race semifinals. We here at the commune may be a passionate bunch, given to boisterous arguments and cataclysmic displays of machismo, but we’ve never been unable to resolve our own pogo race photo finish disputes among ourselves. Sure, small-arms fire is sometimes involved, but cooler heads and Russian Roulette always prevail.

And speaking of meddling, who are they to say who can and who can’t keep livestock in the building’s common areas? They automatically assume it’s the commune’s goats that have been shitting in the elevator. As if their staff is above suspicion. The pricks.

Anyway, thanks for understanding. Sometimes the commune just needs to vent.

the commune

Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for those embarrassing Capri pants all the girls are wearing these days. We’re guessing a sauna mishap was responsible for those ridiculous things. But we do look forward to making snide remarks when we’re looking at photo albums ten years from now, just for the record. Volume 43
We are shocked into silence and delighted by your letter, each of us for various reasons. Some latched onto the thoughtful questions on the nature of the universe and the existence of God. Others were intrigued by your use of pizza sauce to dot the i’s and lowercase j’s.

Volume 42
Well, she’s a frigid ball-breaking bitch, an iron hook to scratch your itch, she’s a harpie. She’s a plague you’ll never shake, a turd baked in your birthday cake, she smells carpy. In addition we’d like to add that she’s a maneater.