Welcome to Ted Ted's World

Ted Ted here, reporting from Ted Ted's world, commonly called Flatbush, N.J. Any longtime reader of the commune should know I've been on board as a reporter since day one, at least day one of my first day, and yet I feel that we don't know each other very well, you and I, the reader and reporter. Part of that is the fact you don't have a newspaper or anything; another part of that is you can only impart so much of your personality when you're objectively reporting the news, or reporting the way I do.

All that changes now.

Red Bagel requested that someone, anyone fill this increasingly dead space on the site, and when the request goes out for someone, anyone, I certainly fit the bill. It was about time I dealt a swift kick of justice to all those things that piss me off. All I can say is, cover your nuts, world—the kicking has started.

First, though, I'll give you some background. Let's call this the Ted Ted story.

For one thing, most obvious to people when I meet them, I am a small pixie. This is not a metaphor and is not a description of my personality in any way. I am a pixie, with wings, pocket-sized, judging by usual standards of pockets. There is some disagreement about this, it's fair to state. My doctors in particular say I suffer a very rare condition that allows me to grow vestigial fleshy wings and causes my diminutive size. I am small, that much is true, but do not mistake me for having a small temper or being any less threatening because of it. I could not, as you might have heard Ramon Nootles say, be beaten-up by a crack-baby. If there are any doubts, ask Ramon how I responded to that.

Since graduating from technical school in 1998 I sought a job in the growing field of handgun repair, but various psychological profiles cruelly kept me from receiving employment involving firearms. Just when I thought the business world was going to force me into the ever-growing field of serial killing, an angry letter of mine was mistakenly published in a burgeoning alternative-news website then called the commune. It's the same one that's now called the commune. Unfortunately, they published my diatribe as a news article, "Motherfuckers Still Blowing Up Shit in Beirut," and worse, they didn't even give me a byline. When I threatened to sue, then-Editor Red Bagel claimed to like my moxy and hired me as a regular staff reporter.

Despite not having a background in journalism at all, or maybe because of it, I flourished at the commune. I made good friends, though no one else could see them, and I continued to report on the things that really bugged the hell out of me. My articles have been recognized everywhere for special awards given to journalism based on opinion more than fact, though I've never bothered to go to any of these shows to see if I won because I figure they're probably scams trying to sell me time-shares.

In addition to reporting when I feel like it, I also keep my schedule busy as the commune's publicist. It's my job to get the word out to everyone about the commune, to promote the website and its staff. When I'm not doing that, I'm usually doing a lot of other things. I'm not only a reporter, but a published author of non-fiction books like Nasty Things About People Who Aren't Famous and Ted Ted's Book of Cajun Cooking.

Is there more about Ted Ted you don't know? To paraphrase the famous quote: Shitloads. But in good time you'll find out all there is to know. Keep checking back.

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