Volume 62

Dear commune:

Can you keep a secret? I’m secretly in love with my boss. Nobody knows except me, my cat, and the commune. What should I do?

Marcy Gaybridge
Hook, Vermont

Dear Marcy:

Though our advice may seem unconventional and dangerous to some, we highly recommend that you invent and build a time machine to go back in time to before you sent us your letter, and smack the pen out of your own stupid fingers. All things considered, this would probably be your best strategy, since we’ve already told everyone in a three-block radius the news, and have sent a singing strip-o-gram to your boss in your name, Marcy. Sorry toots, but whoever told you the commune could keep a secret was yanking your non-existent crank, honey.

the commune

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Yo commune:

What do I gotta keep telling you guys about printing stories making me look stupid? You wanta pig-knuckle sandwich or something, eh you poofy little shits?

Sincerely,
Turd McDowell
East Side, Chicago

Dear Turd:

Though this is not the first "Dear Turd" letter we’ve written today, we assure you that it is our favorite. We do sincerely apologize if the commune’s brand of insouciant wit and razor-sharp social commentary has left you feeling at a loss for properly-firing brain synapses, Turd, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Unless of course you’re the Turd McDowell we’ve been writing about in our delightful new weekly feature, "Turd McDowell is a Stupid Pig Fuck." In that unlikely for-instance, we understand your rage and encourage you to air your grievances at the commune’s home offices at 1 East Northern Street, Beirut, Lebanon. Fight the power, brother.

the commune

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Dear commune:

Omar Bricks is so funny. Soooo funny funny funny. When I read his column I can’t stop laughing and I get all dizzy and nauseous. Sometimes I can’t even stand up. And I can’t sleep at night, from all the laughing. I haven’t slept in seven weeks and all the time I hear salsa music in my head. I’m starting to think that brutally killing another human being with my bare hands is the only thing unfunny enough to get me to stop laughing so I can go back to a normal life. And get the birds to stop following me. Hey, on an unrelated note, any of you guys want to meet up for lunch tomorrow? It’ll be fun, I know a good place down by the pier. You bring that funny, funny Omar Bricks and I’ll bring the salsa music.

See you then,
Keith Bitner
Chattanooga, Tennessee

Dear Keith:

While flying to Tennessee for lunch with a psychopath does sound like a fun way to spend the day and about $1,000 tomorrow, to our detriment we’ve got the day, psychopath, and $1,000 locked up in a lunch tomorrow with Ivana Folger-Balzac and a gigantic iron-cast gun safe dangling from the roof by fishing wire. Good luck with your mental breakdown and keep reading the commune!

the commune

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Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for the United States’ failure at the 1972 Olympic games. Just thought we’d lay that on the table.

Volume 61
Dear commune: I read a preview copy of Kitty Kelley’s upcoming biography of Red Bagel, which I regularly do in the course of my job—read other people’s mail. I couldn’t believe some of the stories she tells. It’s a disgrace. However,... (9/20/04)

Volume 60
Dear commune: Why won’t the commune publish my columns? Sure, I may not be popular like Emil Zender, or possess the mouth-wateringly luscious honeydews of an Ella Dipthong, but I’m okay in the sack. At least I imagine, I’ve never done it with... (3/15/04)

Volume 59
Dear commune: Is it true what they say about you make an ugly face and it stays that way and that’s what happened to Keith Richards? I’m trying to teach my kids about science and don’t want to give them no bullshit answers. Thanks for the... (2/23/04)

Volume 58
Dear commune: I’m an idiot. Let’s just get that out in the open right now so there’s no confusion on the subject. Judge me if you will, and egg my minivan if you must, I won’t put up any kind of lame, face-saving argument to the contrary.... (12/22/03)