Claudette Ravages Texas Coast Like Mean-Hearted Woman in Blues Song

weet mercy! Texans are still rebuilding their shattered lives after last week's "just plain cold" brutalizing of the Galveston Bay area by heartless hurricane Claudette.

Like an insufferable tropical cocktease, that hurricane moved in and out of the Gulf of Mexico with threatening promise until attacking the Texas coastline with unrelenting moxy. Damages were estimated easily into five-digits, possibly six with the option for seven, and over 30,000 Texans were left without power. Electric power, not power in the Marx-Engels sense.

It was a double-decker sadness sandwich for residents of the Texas coast, who found their homes and livelihood torn up like the love of a good-lovin' bluesman. Ol' Claudette, she knocked over houses and blew down powerlines with a blow from those puckered-up metaphorical lips of hers and left all Texans lower than low. Some residents were desperate for electricity and shelter again, and even though Gov. Rick Perry promised disaster relief and the American Red Cross offered help to those hit hardest by the storm, it was little consolation after being so brutally used and abused by a hard-hearted bitch with a max wind speed of 85 mph.

"I lived in that wreck that used to be my house all my life," said 10-year-old Bob Phelps, a part-time investment banker and pretend Indian. "Claudette rolls in here like a storm and leaves everything all busted up. A lot like a storm, very much so, really. And all this debris, it's just like the inside of my little ol' heart."

Some grief-stricken residents, like cat fancier Elvin Harper, hoped Claudette would follow earlier predictions of losing intensity before reaching the coast.

"I had friends who said she was just a pretty coastal wind, but I knew better," said Harper, searching through cat debris to salvage what he could. "That hurricane was no good, and she messed Texas up good. It just ain't right, I'm telling you the truth."

Used to being turned inside out by tough-lovin' women, local blues players were among the first to recover from the storm. Though electricity was still out in the town, renowned blues legend Galveston Larry had words none-too-kind for the Category-1 storm in an all-acoustic set at Victoria tavern Benny's.

"That Claudette, she's a tough-lovin' woman," Larry advised, seeking a harmonica affirmation from fellow musician "Luckless" Gary Woodland. "She done rolled in over me, all up and down me—you hear what I'm sayin', Gary? And she flattened my trailer like thousand-pound anvil. Just like in Bugs Bunny cartoon or something."

Despite the poor simile, most residents suffering the aftermath of the tropical storm could identify with Larry's feelings.

"It's just sad, wrenches your insides all up," said steel worker and aspiring dancer Clara Gumption. "You can run into good weather systems every day of your life, it only takes one bad one to ruin it for everybody. But I don't hold no grudges. My main concern is getting on with everything, not cursing Claudette to Hades. She'll get what's coming to her some day, she's going to stroll into the wrong town and get herself messed up like she done to Texas."

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Not to worry, Boris is here!

Yes, yes, thank you. Happy at seeing you too.

Today big day for Boris, today getting camera day! Boris getting camera for to take picture of airplane in sky. Yay! Real nice camera come with film inside already. This is thoughtful of camera people.

Boris taking sky picture of airplane because someone is coming. And someone is… tada! Boguslaw Sadowski. Boguslaw coming in plane and Boguslaw is cousin of Boris. Hooray for Boris! On happy today cousin is coming. So Boris to take picture of plane in sky, to have picture of Boguslaw inside plane like olive in can of olives.

In Homeland, cousin Boguslaw always in jail all times. But not in America! In America, jail only for persons who is not having fun. And Boguslaw is always having fun and shooting pistol so no problemo for Boguslaw.

Boris and Louis pick up Boguslaw Sadowski at airplane store, which is fun place. All secret magic machines which tell if Boris is wearing underwears or no. But Boris fools smart machine when wearing swim trunks inside pants! Ha! Machine smart, Boris smart more.

On car drive home Boris tell funny story of time cousin Boguslaw burn down warehouse of man who owes money. But fire gets too big and burn down zoo next of door! Oh no Boguslaw! Such a funny time, with animals all over and bears are angry. Boguslaw go to jail for stealing kangaroo, funny law to have.

Boris getting home with cousin and in apartment is big sign which say:

"OH SHIT, HERE IS BOGUSLAW!"

Very nice greeting for very nice cousin.

Boris think it time to play fun game for everyone, Hi Ho Cherry-O. Trust Boris, is fun game with cherries. Boguslaw thanks Boris for sign, but has to leave to make money! Boguslaw already has job? So smart for him. Boris could learn from this cousin, and also how to speak as Hal Pacino. Boguslaw is outside making gangster money while Boris putting cherries in bucket, no good for Boris.

Boris tells Boguslaw of plans for fun cousins day, playing the extra-small golfing and going to naked movie. Boguslaw wanting Louis to come, but robots are not fair at golfing, them always win like James Woods. No fair for Boris. Funny part is Boguslaw not believe Louis is real robot! Like fake robot can drive car? Ha! Boguslaw have much to learn about America.

Boris say goodbye to cousin Boguslaw and to visit when taking break from washing of money. Is good to have family in new homeland. Louis is like family, like robot brother on funny TV show. But Boguslaw is family who can get wet, which is important also.

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Good news, commune fans: You exist! I know, I’d had my doubts as well. But the successful relaunch of the commune proves it: I can barely walk down the street now without being mobbed by commune fans. Maybe "mobbed" is the wrong word, commune fans tend to be of the solitary sort, ungroomed and not always masters of the social arts or their own bodily functions. But boy are they out there, and boy do they want me to pay them to wash my windshield. Which is indeed a strange request when I’m traveling to my destination on foot, but that’s commune fans for you. Irreverent to the last.

These are the salad days, my friends, and not just because I’ve been eating a lot of salads to be able to afford sending Raoul Dunkin jet setting around the country to cover the latest and greatest in the world of news. Thankfully that hasn’t been quite as expensive as you might imagine, since during his last two years in the employ of the original commune, Raoul was paid exclusively in frequent flier miles. Apparently this was a common practice back then, as I’m told Omar Bricks was paid entirely in Camel cash and Boris Utzov was paid in camel shit. I shudder to think of what Boris was doing with all that camel shit, though I’ve heard rumors he used most of it to erect a camel shit statue of Saddam Hussein in the middle of Central Park. As the story goes, this understandably upset the natives, but Boris claimed it was actually a likeness of his cousin Boguslaw Sadowski, which no one could argue with because they couldn’t understand what he was saying.

But back to why these are the salad days. Running the commune out of my mother’s house is like a dream come true. It’s an impressive scene I assure you… I wish you could see it. I mean that literally, I wish I had a camera so I could take pictures and post them to the site. That’s a subtle hint for any of you commune fans doing some early Christmas shopping. We could also use a computer, because running down to Kinko’s to upload new articles to the site is becoming a serious pain in both of my balls. News doesn’t always break during Kinko’s business hours, as the old journalism saying goes.

But I assure you it’s quite a scene. When Raoul isn’t globetrotting to bring you the poop most in need of scooping, he’s here, bitching that I don’t even have a computer. But I’m not even here myself, because I’m down at the Safeway checking for new Roland McShyster reviews or down at the library scouring back issues of old porno mags for new-to-us Rok Finger columns. In a side note, I am truly surprised at just how well stocked our local library is when it comes to pornography. If more people knew this I think libraries would be a lot more popular.

But that’s not all! the commune family is expanding like Paris Hilton’s belly after she eats a paperclip. I’m proud to announce that commune favorites Griswald Dreck and Ivan Nacutchacokov have both rejoined the flock, and not a moment too soon! I mean, it’s not the kind of operation someone could join too soon. I suppose they could have joined us before the original commune building burnt to the ground, that would have been kind of strange and maybe too soon, but any point after that was pretty much ideal for us.

Anyway, you’ll never guess where I found Mr. Dreck. A few weeks ago I was eating some garlic ice cream and let me tell you, it left a pretty funky taste in my mouth. So I reached for a delicious hunk of Bazooka bubble gum to tame that garlicy tongue beast and as I was happily chewing away, eager to lose myself in the adventures of Bazooka Joe and his dog, Walkie Talkie, I was instead treated to a byzantine comic about the history of penile implants. Gobsmacked as I was, I still had enough blood flowing to my brain to instantly recognize this as the work of none other than commune answerman Griswald Dreck. I dialed the Bazooka bubble gum emergency hotline just as fast as my fingers would carry me, and after navigating through a bewildering forest of options (If you’re choking on bubble gum right now, press or say "I’m choking on bubble gum right now") I was eventually put in touch with a Human Resources guru. He informed me that Dreck had been fired from his post for drawing comics that weren’t about Bazooka Joe at all, or that covered the origins of things like pencil sharpeners or democracy, or that were too densely packed onto the wrapper to be legible, or, usually, all of the above. Thankfully, they had Dreck’s home address due to him sending them regular letters explaining how their "New Adventures of Bazooka Joe" wrappers weren’t canon and contained factual errors about eye patches. Before long I was in touch with Mr. Dreck himself, and it didn’t take much convincing to get him to travel to Vermont and rejoin the team, since he’d been scraping together a living on the brutal underground bar trivia circuit and was ready for a change.

It was some time shortly after that when I discovered that Ivan Nacutchacokov had been living in my basement the entire time since the original commune folded. This was awkward at first to discover, but it worked out fine since it meant Ivan had to make less of a transition to living in my basement than the others. I’m not sure how he feels about Dunkin and Dreck invading his turf, but there haven’t been any knife fights or anything yet. Ivan agreed to rejoin the commune on the condition that we don’t tell his ex-wife Ivana Folger-Balzac where he is. The truth is she’d already been here looking for him, months ago, but at the time I had no idea he was in the basement so I imagine I provided pretty good ignorant cover. Truth be told I might have cracked when she started hitting me with her car door if I’d actually known he was down there.

And so we’re off. Keep those tips coming, commune fans and assorted law enforcement personnel nationwide. You’ve made my wish come true, and I didn’t even have to get cancer to make it happen. Emil Zender: 1, Make a Wish Kids: 0, for those keeping score at home.

Zincerely,
Emil Zender

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