the commune Sells Out

As of this writing it's been about one week since our building burned down. You may have seen it on your local evening news, or read about it in Fire! magazine, if such a thing exists. I can't say I have many regrets about it, although I would have preferred to have been given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation by a female firefighter. So I do have regrets, I suppose.

The whole "everything I own completely destroyed" comes at a pretty pivotal time in the commune history, as I was quite on the fence about whether or not to continue my fruitless Don Quixote-like pursuit of informing the public of the conspiracies around them, or to just retire and dedicate my life to hot-tubbin'. I've long begun to suspect that the Internet is nothing more than a passing fad, and short of creating a MySpace site for the commune, there is no way to distinguish one's self on the worldwide web. So to summarize, I've decided to take the commune to a quarterly pamphlet publishing routine.

As the commune started as a pamphlet, some might say we've taken a step back. I prefer to think of it as walking all the way around the earth until you wind up back in the exact same spot where you once stood. It's nothing personal against our readers or our staff, although there are a few of you who will one day get what's coming to you, nothing personal, it's just that I've poured way too much of my time and money into this anonymous enterprise and I don't believe we've affected nearly enough readers. If only the truth were more contagious, or I could infect everyone in the world with some kind of computer-born virus. This would not cause death or pain, this theoretical virus, but spread the love and joy that humanity can overcome the darkest things about itself; and possibly cause some rectal itching, who can say with theoretical computer-born viruses? This has been my dream. But as with all dreams, it must come to an end when we wake.

This is not the end of the commune—not by far. I mean, it is for you, sure, but not the end for the commune staff, myself chiefly among them. We've all become close friends, and I'm sure they will have little problem doing the exact same work we do now with no office, an unprofessional outlet for their work, and absolutely no paychecks, not even coupons or Bagelbucks. They're dedicated like that, and it's not because they're stupid, no matter what you might have overhead me saying loudly while drinking it up. If anything, our low-budget guerrilla-style reporting will bring this family closer together. Particularly Raoul Dunkin, who most definitely needs to be brought closer together with force. I've already bought the perfect van to act as our new office, and as soon as I find out for sure who survived the fire we will all make our way south to Mexico, where publishing costs for pamphlets are simply insane.

It's been rough for them all, this news I have yet to tell them, but we'll take it in stride. I'm not saying we will never publish on the Internet again, and if Emile Zender, lifelong subscriber to all things commune, deems it worth his time, he's welcome to transfer our smaller publications to the website version, which he is inheriting. And basically, as our last note, I think covering Paris Hilton going to prison pretty much finalizes all the news we could ever hope to report. What's more important than wealthy people being jailed for driving felonies? The world has turned upside-down and on its ear. Which reminds me, I promised the gang we could Van Twister a few minutes ago. It's like Twister, but in a van. So enjoy this, what may be our final commune. And if Ivana Folger-Balzac asks you where everyone disappears to when she gets back from her vacation, tell her we all died in the fire. I would wink at you, but this is text. Thanks for all the fond memories and however many years of loyal readership.

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