Good morning world, I am the one and only Mickey Hanes. Who the hell is Mickey Hanes, you ask?

Well, that’s a question for the ages, but it’s not important right now. What is important is how I came to learn of the commune.

I was quietly sleeping in front of an old laundry mat one night when I awoke to the sound of screeching tires and shattered glass. I wasn’t sure if I was having an acid flashback or not, but either way some asshole had driven his car right into the laundry mat. But the thing that really got my attention was that this crazy bastard had parked right next to one of the standup arcade games, and he was playing it from the driver’s seat.

At this point I really wanted to just go back to sleep and pretend that nothing happened, but fat chance of that. The sirens in the background told me it would be in my best interest to stick around and watch this terrible first act play out.

In a flash the fuzz was on that place like Haitians on a suckling pig. One of the cops was yelling through a megaphone, shouting some insane jabber about what the “hijacker” wanted. The front seat gamer replied that he wanted to be left the fuck alone so that he could beat the high score, and that they were breaking his goddamned concentration. That was all the cops needed to hear, and in a heartbeat that place was full of more tear gas that the Columbine senior prom. I quickly discovered I’d been ripped off: my sleeping bag made for a shitty force field. Word to the wise, never trust the claims of a guy named Denny who sells sleeping bags out of the back of his truck.

Anyways, to make a long story shorter, the dude in the car was Omar Bricks, a supposed columnist for “the commune.” Whatever the hell that is. While the cops were writing up his traffic fine, he jumped up on the hood of his car and started pissing in one of the open dryers nearby. Moved by his obvious disregard for public safety and defiance of authority, I seized the opportunity to take a shit on the front seat of an abandonded cop car, which turned out later not to have been abandoned. I was trying to force myself to vomit into the gas tank when the cops finally noticed me, and before I could say “I plead the fifth,” I had the handcuffs on as well.

The car ride to “the big house” wasn’t as bad as I had pictured it. Omar and I laughed about better days, especially after we ate the small bag of mushrooms I had stashed in my sock, fucking pigs. I laughed the hardest, knowing my personal midget manservant, Nevil, who I’d left behind in my backpack at the crime scene, was in hot pursuit and coming to our rescue. At least… I think he was… Jesus those mushrooms were strong.

Long story short about the midget, I found Nevil one day while rummaging through a garbage can behind a Chinese restaurant downtown. I saved him, not in the religious sense but more like how you stuff a midget into a duffel bag for later use, that kind of saving. And from that day on I fed him, trained him, and I taught Nevil to follow my every order without question, upon pain of death. Oh yeah, and to come save me from trouble when I blow on this dog whistle.

So back to the car ride. Where was that fucking midget anyway? “Fuck him if he thinks he’s getting any crackers for this rescue,” I thought out loud. Then suddenly, like a bolt of miniature lightning, Nevil was on the windshield of the cop car and was giving it everything he had. The cop never knew what brand of midget fury hit him, that little fireball performed like a monkey at an orgy. He was hooting and hollering, making obscene finger gestures... I’ve never felt so proud. I turned to Omar to let him know the midget was with me, but he was laughing so hard he threw up all over the cop.

Coincidentally, around that time we swerved off the road and hit a telephone pole. The pig was unconscious, and moments later Nevil had chewed through our restraints. Freedom! Omar thanked me as he hopped on the next pickup truck out of there, off to hotwire his car from the impound lot. For such a daring escape, Nevil seemed quite composed, and for his bravery I decided to award him with the pack of crackers that I had in my pocket. Good work, midget.

You would really be surprised at how handy it is to have a midget sidekick. There’s only one real downside: you’d never believe how hard it is to keep a pair of socks on one of those fucking things. It’s like they don’t want to be comfortable!

So that’s my story. Well, one of them anyways, but that’s for another time.

I always like to go out with a toast, so grab your glass of whatever it is you squares drink.

Here’s to you, and here’s to me
Hoping that we all agree
That if ever we should disagree
To hell with you, and here’s to me!
GOODNIGHT!