|
$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0328/';
$dunkintitle='Highway to Hell';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0822/';
$fingertitle='To Hell With This Desk';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hoopers Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0704/';
$police='2005/0822/';
$polio='2005/0822/';
$poliotitle='WEASELS-B-GON';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='For the Last Time Deidrebane, Those Arent the Feds';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
U.K. Earns Most-Hammered Nation Status September 29, 2003 |
London, England Ansel Evans Britons discuss traffic reduction over a pint or 10,000 report published by Downing Streetâs strategy unit found the whole of Britain utterly plastered last week, surprising government officials who thought the nation only mostly drunk. The study, originally intended to determine public opinion toward new traffic-reduction measures in downtown London, shocked researchers by revealing that the entire British populace, to a man, was too drunk to talk about traffic.
The study found British binge drinking had increased to 100 percent, and added that British children under 16 are drinking twice as much as they did 10 years ago. Some blame the governmentâs âOur kids: Tomorrowâs drunks, today!â poster campaign for this increase, while others lay the blame on all the kids getting shitfaced everywhere. The study is also thought ...
report published by Downing Streetâs strategy unit found the whole of Britain utterly plastered last week, surprising government officials who thought the nation only mostly drunk. The study, originally intended to determine public opinion toward new traffic-reduction measures in downtown London, shocked researchers by revealing that the entire British populace, to a man, was too drunk to talk about traffic. The study found British binge drinking had increased to 100 percent, and added that British children under 16 are drinking twice as much as they did 10 years ago. Some blame the governmentâs âOur kids: Tomorrowâs drunks, today!â poster campaign for this increase, while others lay the blame on all the kids getting shitfaced everywhere. The study is also thought to have amassed a world-record assemblage of unintelligible British quotes. âAye mum, âow âbout a pint, ey?â asked six-year-old Roary Willis of Liverpool when confronted with the studyâs findings. The numbers also show that women are drinking more, and falling out of moving cars at a record rate. Asked to comment on increased alcohol consumption among British women, housewife Mary Willis mused âWell, frans maston ralf nay, eh hay!â while filling a spillproof cup with Newcastle. The study also found increased rates of public singing of fight songs, âdunking,â as defined by throwing chickens into public fountains, and an increased enthusiasm for camping, as defined by sleeping outside. Not all Britons were pleased with the studyâs findings. âWe need to create a more civilized late-night culture! Dear God do we⊠It should be about cinema, and theater⊠uh, and bowling,â said British bowling director Rodden Blears, wincing remorsefully as he nursed a cup of black coffee. âAye bawlin!â slurred nearby reveler Drew Jaehnig, grabbing his package. âFock ryte! Boost me liney shaynt chans, ha ha! Iâll go bawlin wit me dyke inna contâs hat! Ha ha!â The study found that Britain loses 17 million workdays every year to hangovers, fuck-offs and vomit-related drownings, the equivalent of 46,000 years spent sleeping under a table in the lobby of a strange hotel. The figure represents more than double the nationâs actual recorded workdays. These findings put Britain out to a comfortable lead as the most-drunk nation, topping perennial drunken powerhouses Sweden, Denmark and Germany, which recently became less drunk thanks to a U.N. intervention. âHammel geinen fausteneinininâŠâ giggled German bricklayer Hans Slomein, blowing at a feather stuck in his beard when asked about his nationâs alcohol consumption. Government officials for the other most-drunk countries can only speculate what effect these findings will have on their now runner-up nations. German and Swedish officials could not be rousted from bed for comment, but officials from Denmark asked the commune to remember last yearâs U.N. General Assembly, when Danish representative Lars Faaborg-Andersen pissed himself while holding a hot dog to his crotch, when considering Denmarkâs drunken staying power. the commune news has long cherished our status as the worldâs most-drunk news source, and we vow to keep both our standards and reporters high for the foreseeable future. Ivan Nacutchacokov had to sober up to file this story, which caused a near-disaster since only then did he realize he was driving on the left-hand side of the street.
 | Ohio IT guy offers last jellied donut for capture of MyDoom virus author
 Climatologists Cross Legs Uncomfortably at Mention of Bangkok Conference  Finely Aged Winemaker Ernest Gallo Corked Someone actually gave Tony Danza another show
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Chief Justice Rehnquist: Dead as Disco at 80 he world sighed a mournful Oh upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.
The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nations capitol. Kansas City Royals Win Little League World Series n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title. Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact. Willie gave it a hell of an effort, praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadnt come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game. Heather Grahams Career Found Dead in Apartment Polish Roof Falls in Following Drinks Are on the House Debacle |
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 March 4, 2002
Fishing"Old men have their fishing stories, and Sampson L. Hartwig is no exception. The best fishing story is when I was nigh 25, I went fishing with my college buddy Meadows.
Meadows was an expert fisherman, raised in a fisherman family. His father was a fisherman, his father's father was a fisherman, his father's father's father sold lingerie in Times Square, but the father of that father's father's father was a fisherman as well, so on.
I had all the lures money could buy, and some I could only trade sexual favors for. Meadows had only a pack of gum. He chewed a piece, shaped the A.B.C. gum into a somewhat fish-like shape, and wrapped the silver wrapper around it. It looked sort of like a fish, I was even tempted to bite it myself. Meadows put it on a hook and tossed it into the water.
'That's all the bait you're using?' I asked him. He smiled slyly, tilted his hat down over his eyes, and nodded. I began using my high-tech lures, one after the other, and all through the day Meadows only used the gum-and-wrapper lures he made himself.
Well, by the time the day was over it was quite a surprise. I had a cooler full of 33 fish, all various sizes large and small, while Meadows' cooler was full of empty beer cans and vomit. I later found out Meadows was considered quite the loser by his family of...
º Last Column: History º more columns
"Old men have their fishing stories, and Sampson L. Hartwig is no exception. The best fishing story is when I was nigh 25, I went fishing with my college buddy Meadows.
Meadows was an expert fisherman, raised in a fisherman family. His father was a fisherman, his father's father was a fisherman, his father's father's father sold lingerie in Times Square, but the father of that father's father's father was a fisherman as well, so on.
I had all the lures money could buy, and some I could only trade sexual favors for. Meadows had only a pack of gum. He chewed a piece, shaped the A.B.C. gum into a somewhat fish-like shape, and wrapped the silver wrapper around it. It looked sort of like a fish, I was even tempted to bite it myself. Meadows put it on a hook and tossed it into the water.
'That's all the bait you're using?' I asked him. He smiled slyly, tilted his hat down over his eyes, and nodded. I began using my high-tech lures, one after the other, and all through the day Meadows only used the gum-and-wrapper lures he made himself.
Well, by the time the day was over it was quite a surprise. I had a cooler full of 33 fish, all various sizes large and small, while Meadows' cooler was full of empty beer cans and vomit. I later found out Meadows was considered quite the loser by his family of fishermen." º Last Column: Historyº more columns
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|  September 30, 2002
I Will Not Accept My Party's Nomination for PresidentThere comes a time in the political life of everyone in the public eye where they weigh the value of what they can accomplish in office with the sacrifices made in their personal life. It is with heavy heart I address these concerns in my own life, and I must tell you all that I cannot and will not accept the nomination for president of the United States by my party, and if nominated, I will not run.
This comes as a shock to many of my supporters, I'm sure. Supporters like Betty Hoopmay of Blush, Nevada, who sent a very supportive letter that, while severely criticizing my recent columns as "piss-poor journalism," ended with the very affirming, "I don't wish you dead or anything, but you need to get your shit together." Thank you, Betty. I don't wish you dead either. But despite these outcries of faith in me, I cannot accept the nomination for president.
For one, the timing is bad. I have too many responsibilities at the commune here that I'm currently ducking. I cannot shirk all the required responsibilities of the office of president at the same timeâthat's more than one man can avoid. I have chosen to devote my energies to the commune at this point in time⊠or has it chosen me? Either way, we're damned to be intertwined for a while yet. And despite my appearance of worldliness, I fear and mistrust foreigners, which is bound to interfere with my responsibilities of meeting and trying to act like I'm listening to dignitaries from other...
º Last Column: Lawsuit Settled, Advantage: Bagel º more columns
There comes a time in the political life of everyone in the public eye where they weigh the value of what they can accomplish in office with the sacrifices made in their personal life. It is with heavy heart I address these concerns in my own life, and I must tell you all that I cannot and will not accept the nomination for president of the United States by my party, and if nominated, I will not run.
This comes as a shock to many of my supporters, I'm sure. Supporters like Betty Hoopmay of Blush, Nevada, who sent a very supportive letter that, while severely criticizing my recent columns as "piss-poor journalism," ended with the very affirming, "I don't wish you dead or anything, but you need to get your shit together." Thank you, Betty. I don't wish you dead either. But despite these outcries of faith in me, I cannot accept the nomination for president.
For one, the timing is bad. I have too many responsibilities at the commune here that I'm currently ducking. I cannot shirk all the required responsibilities of the office of president at the same timeâthat's more than one man can avoid. I have chosen to devote my energies to the commune at this point in time⊠or has it chosen me? Either way, we're damned to be intertwined for a while yet. And despite my appearance of worldliness, I fear and mistrust foreigners, which is bound to interfere with my responsibilities of meeting and trying to act like I'm listening to dignitaries from other countries. Other dirty, unwashed countries.
The tireless, thankless job of running for president itself would be more than I could bear at this time. I need constant reassurance and reward for everything I do. I need blind, vacant approval for all that I do and I need people to stay out of my life, to let it remain enigmatic and a beautiful mystery left alone by all reporters. Everyone I work for at this point understands that, if they know what's good for them, and I'm not prepared to give that up just to be president.
As much as I hate to mention this, too, my party is virtually powerless to make any significant headway in an election. My party, the Sandwich-Socialist party, is only on the ballot in two states, and one of those is the state of mellow, which is a mood rather than an actual state. This owes to many factors, not the least of which is that it's a very bad idea to hold all your meetings while heavily intoxicated, but the very fact that I would have little chance of accomplishing anything other than wasting my modest fortune on a bid for the presidency, makes it imperative that I decline the nomination, if offered to me.
Which brings me to another pointâI don't even get the nomination to be our presidential candidate? Fellow Sandwich-Socialists, I have to say I'm pretty offended by this. Yes, I'm not going to accept the nomination, and if nominated I will not run, but it is just plain ridiculous that we've gone this far without myself being nominated for the position. For Christ's sake, I started the party, I developed our elaborate platform of all sales tax going to build sacred temples and liquor replacing bathwater in homeless shelters, the least you could do is throw me the bone of nomination. It was my idea to call us the Sandwich-Socialists. Is that why you're pissed? It's not a great name, I admit, but I'd like to see you do better buried under 132 mini-bottles of KahlĂșa. It's not too bad, really. At least I got "socialist" in there, as per Gary's suggestion.
So for those reasons, and no more, I will happily remain a civilian during this upcoming election. Though, now that I think about it, the next presidential election isn't until 2004. I still have next year to start campaigning, if anyone wants to nominate me. I'm not saying I will⊠just⊠it would be nice to get the nomination. º Last Column: Lawsuit Settled, Advantage: Bagelº more columns
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Milestones1985: Ramrod Hurley flim-flams his way into the studio for the recording of We Are the World. Though his subversive lyrics go unsung, Hurley's taser-induced squeal can be heard two minutes into the track, a sound previously attributed to Cyndi Lauper.Now HiringConductor. General musical duties as expected: bossing around, waving arms, taking care of stick. Also needed to close gap in circuit between air conditioning unit and power main. Seeking an electric personality who loves going barefoot. Lack of close relatives or body hair a plus. Top Reasons for Increased U.S. Ladder-Associated Deaths| 1. | "Up/Down" directions never specified | | 2. | Reckless Generation Y refuses to wear protective equipment | | 3. | Ladder-deaths portrayed so glamorously in the movies | | 4. | Frequent union strikes by staircases leaving human helpless to descend to higher landings except by already overcrowded ladders | | 5. | Direct correlation to 50% increase in all-blind-cast productions of Our Town | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Lemon Chester 4/29/2002 The King of the RoadThe sword of Penguin gleamed brightfully in the night. The knight Bainbridge dangled it thoughtfully between his legs as he watched the road ahead. There was a dot in the distance, but as the dot got closer it was revealed a manâa man on a horse, or a centaur, he supposed that was possible.
"Halt, he who goes there! You, I mean," he bellowed. "Identify yourself. Long version, please."
"I am Luthor of Kuntnose, son of Emeril of Kuntnose, whose father was Dandelion Dan, but not of Kuntnose, but of some far off other place I'd prefer not mention." The rider of the horse was a stout man with a long beard and wearing a crown of silver atop his head. He wore mail of silver on his chest, and packages on his thighs. His horse wore a bathrug of a metallic type on his...
The sword of Penguin gleamed brightfully in the night. The knight Bainbridge dangled it thoughtfully between his legs as he watched the road ahead. There was a dot in the distance, but as the dot got closer it was revealed a manâa man on a horse, or a centaur, he supposed that was possible.
"Halt, he who goes there! You, I mean," he bellowed. "Identify yourself. Long version, please."
"I am Luthor of Kuntnose, son of Emeril of Kuntnose, whose father was Dandelion Dan, but not of Kuntnose, but of some far off other place I'd prefer not mention." The rider of the horse was a stout man with a long beard and wearing a crown of silver atop his head. He wore mail of silver on his chest, and packages on his thighs. His horse wore a bathrug of a metallic type on his back.
"Son of Emeril!" Bainbridge repeated part of the statement. He quickly bowed, fell over, owing to his heavy suit of golden armor, and propped himself up on one knee again. "Truly you are the long-lost lord!"
"I have always been found where I am."
"But you have been lost to us until now!"
"Still, I knew where I was." Luthor glanced around. "Guard you this place?"
"I'm sorry?"
"This place. Guard it, do you?"
"One more time?"
"Do you guard this place?"
"Indeed I do," answered Bainbridge. "I am all that stands between invaders who travel the road into the kingdom of Nottlick."
"What of travelers of ill will who travel 'round the road, say the grass or through the forest?"
"That's out of my jurisdiction." Bainbridge stood once more. "Long have we of Nottlick awaited your return, Luthor of Kuntnose. We have been besieged by the enemy of the north, then sieged by the enemy of the south, then rebeseiged once more by the enemy of the north."
"I must say, I warned father about moving to this country. You are surrounded by enemies." Luthor dismounted his horse, mounting the ground. "Tell me, if you are under assault by enemies from the north and south, why so do you block the road of the west."
"Actually, I'm not that good a knight."
"Sorry to hear that," declared Luthor. "I shall return to this kingdom at last from this road, good sir knight, and I will take the road again for my own. I shall be king of the road and control all who leave or enter, or just casually stroll upon it. And you shall be my faithful servant, good knight!"
"Pardon?"
"You shall be my servant, if you so wish, good knight."
"I'm sorry, are you going to bed, sir?"
"Skip it. What do they call you?"
"Many things, sir, some of them referring to the comparatively tiny scale of my genitalia to my body. But my name is Bainbridge. Capital B, a, i, nâ"
"Cease your spelling, good Bainbridge. I'm not writing any letterheads for you or anything." The King of the Road, self-declared, held aloft his sword, the Sword of Tongue, and it whistled and farted to the moon, as it was embarrassingly prone to do at parties. "I welcome into my party the first of many worthy knights. Sir Bainbridge! Of something or other. Together, Sir Bainbridge, we shall reclaim the entire road. For carts and wagons!"   |