Black Host Down

You've probably heard a lot of talk lately about how I "caused" the recent commune server crash by trying to hook up the giant electric Tyrannosaurus Rex I bought off eBay from those disgruntled Universal Studios chumps to the commune power grid. No doubt these accusations stem from the fact that I once traded the original www.thecommune.com domain name to a couple of burnouts at a Phish show for a bag of mushrooms. Once guilty, twice shit as the saying goes.

But before you get your tits in a twist deciding I'm guilty before innocent and all that, pigeonholing Omar Bricks as a fan of jam bands, let it be known I didn't know we were going to the concert. I thought we were just going over to Danny's house to hang out, and the next thing I know we're all at the arena. And once you're at the place you pretty much have to roll with shit and go to the concert, unless you want to hang out with all the guys selling patchwork pants and homemade burritos in the parking lot for three hours. All things considered, that was about on an even suck level with actually going to the concert, but I figured at least they don't let dogs inside. The last thing I need is some guy's stoned golden retriever staring me down all night and giving me the creeps. Truth be told, I've never been real good at going long periods of time without blinking.

So we get our asses inside, and the suck is already in full swing because Johnshark made us late haggling over the price of a hemp candle he thought we could smoke in the bathroom once we got inside. I make a beeline for the beer tent, naturally, but when I turn around, Johnshark and Danny are just gone. Turns out the guys I was walking next to on the way to the beer tent were just these two bizarro alternate-universe Johnshark and Dannys, two guys who kind of looked like them through the dry ice and other assorted smokes, but in reality they didn't know a Johnshark from a Assshark.

Now I'm rolling solo through jam band hell, stuck listening to the five-hour version of "Wolfman's Brother" without conversational distraction or Danny inevitably getting naked and trying to crowd surf. So out of desperation I strike up a conversation with the only two hippie dipshits I can find who aren't clog dancing, and before I'm sure what's what I've sold them the commune's domain name for a ziplock bag full of hopefully-psychedelic mushrooms. Judge if you must, but it was so loud in there, I don't think you would've done any better.

The way I figured it, nobody can really "own" a name, that's just some legal bullshit mumbo jumbo, so it was like I was getting the shrooms basically for free. I remember something about the Indians using the same argument after they traded away New York for a pooka necklace and things seem to have worked out okay for them. Not so for Omar Bricks, however. There must be some kind of special Indians-only law on that one, like how they can legally snort heroin or give peyote to little kids because hey fuck you, I'm an Indian. And there's some kind of Indian-giving clause to that where they can scotch a deal because the great sky spirit says land belongs to all God's creatures, something all Shirley McLaine like that.

Whatever the actual law is, turns out it doesn't mean shit if you're no part Indian, and that means I got screwed on the whole thecommune.com domain deal. Not that the mushrooms were bad, they were alright, but I got sick on my landlady's dog later that night, and the eviction crew didn't give two shits about what the great sky spirit had to say about Omar Bricks having all his shit thrown out on the lawn at four in the morning.

Thankfully in the end nobody was hurt. Except Raoul Dunkin, who Red Bagel hit with a portable toilet after he got the news, but whatever. I don't know if he thought the domain debacle was Dunkin's fault, or if Bagel just hit him with that chemical toilet because he didn't like him. Either is entirely plausible. But life went on at communeonline.com, and we were all a little bit wiser about Indian laws after that day.

As for who blew up communeonline.com, beats the shit out of me. But if you ask me, Raoul Dunkin has been wearing a snazzy new hat that I find pretty suspicious. Draw your own convictions from that, Sherlock. Bricks out.

Cell Out
Truth be told, nobody ever thought Omar Bricks would get a cell phone, least of all Omar Bricks. That's strictly Captain Kirk bullshit for sci-fi geeks and mama's boys in my book. But to be honest I never thought somebody would leave one unguarded... (3/1/04)

Long Live Omar Bricks!
Thankfully for you, the eager readers, nobody blew up any giant mammals on the international scene this week and we can finally get down to the nitty gritty dirt band on Omar Bricks' adventures through the afterlife. For those of you interested in... (2/16/04)

Blow Whole
First off, we need to get it right out in the open that I had nothing to do with that huge whale that blew up in Taiwan last week. Yes, I've received all the congratulatory post cards, phone messages, and boxes of chocolate everyone has been... (2/2/04)

A New Hope
Here's something that'll get you thinking, talk about a "Mr Rogers was a sniper in 'Nam"-level surprise. Thanks to commune editor's-brother Gay Bagel's mandate that we boost commune readership and revenue up from absolute zero Kelvin in 2004, it's... (1/19/04)

Wipeout
At the risk of offending those of you in this world who were attempting to appease Omar Bricks this holiday season, I think it's safe to announce that this Christmas was a bona fide, Class A, Jesus Christ barfing into a French horn wipeout. No car,... (1/5/04)