You need a newer browser.

5/31/26   
Like a game of Lonely, Lonely Hippos
homecommune Staff Biographiescommune news20,000 Seats Beneath the League with Stan AbernathieOr So You Thought with Red BagelBook RevoltBoris is Gay with Boris UtzovMy Friend Polio with Omar BricksMy Dearest Deidrebane with Carlisle P. ChesterfeldChild Star with Clarissa ColemanThe Best of Joel DickmanNo Shit? with Griswald DreckOne Sane Man with Raoul DunkinEditorial CartoonsFanmail from Some Flounders: Letters to the EditorGiving You the Finger with Rok FingerThe Hanes Identity with Mickey HanesSampson L. Hartwig RemembersShort ‘N’ Sweet with Stan HooperPoop of the Century with Ramrod HurleyAmerican Jesus with Mitch KroegerYou Can’t Win with Alamo CruiseFortune 500 Cookies with Mazie the ChickenManifestos of FunMe Chinese with Ned NedmillerSittin’ Around the Pickle Barrel with Shorty and JeterPoetry CoronerEntertainment Police: Movie and Television ReviewsThis Space for Rent: Guest ColumnistsGlass Ceiling Fan with Thelma ReynoldsClarise Sickhead’s Bedtime StoriesGoddammit! with Ted TedReflections of a Goocher with Stu UmbrageThe World Vs. Homer Vanslykecommune Club with Emil Zender

Prince Charles Didn't Do Shit

November 10, 2003
London, England
Ansel Evans
The delightfully gawkish Prince of Wales, seen here posing for a calendar of Great British Slouches
A
ll of England is in a froth this week as rumors circulate about a deliciously dirty secret tucked deep into the cranny-holes of the House of Windsor. What exactly has a former manservant alleged about that most buck-toothed of Casanovas, Prince Charles of Wales? Newspapers all over Britain are bursting at the bylines to gush about this vile and heinous morsel, a tale promised to be so lurid and shocking as to rip the top of your head off and skullfuck to death your children who have still yet to be born.

But one obstacle remains to the commencement of this public orgy of disclosure: nobody can say what Charles is supposed to have done. Nobody; not the press, not your shopkeeper, not even a little talking cricket with an umbrella. Thanks to a lawsuit brought by yet another of C...Read more...


Customers win $8.5 mil lawsuit with McDonald's, spend it all on cheeseburgers

Report: Guns inappropriately classified as food by oil-for-food program

Iraq transfer of power to be as quick, painless as Iraqi occupation

Trump Christmas message to all employees: "You're fired"



October 10, 2005

Click for Biography

Nostalgiac

I've been working at the commune for way too long.

Sure, this was true after about day three, but now it's way beyond true. Some office skinflint just reminded me that this week is the fourth anniversary of the commune publishing on a regular basis, which is something like celebrating the day you got bit on the nards by a shark. The scary thing is that Omar Bricks was here even before that, back when we were all working on the much-preferable "When the Fuck Ever" publishing schedule pioneered by High Times.

It was never my plan to stay here for so many years. Actually, my original plan was to pose as an employee for a day so I could drive my dirt bike around inside the office after everyone else had gone home. I also thought I might be able to make off with some fax paper to sell on the black market, since that shit's expensive and employee theft isn't generally considered stealing. It's like a pitcher cheating in baseball, wiping his nose on the ball or shooting the batter with a blowdart or whatever—they consider it showing initiative.

Even the business dudes who get caught with their dick all the way into the cookie jar still get off relatively easy, compared to real criminals. They embezzle millions and end up with a sentence of five months at some white-collar fat camp, with all the quiche you can eat. Whereas if you stole that kind of money from a casino or something, they'd chop your balls off with a lawnmower, or at least...Read more...


º Last Column: Changes
º more columns


September 29, 2003

Click for Biography

Dueling Bandits

No one wanted it to come to this. Sure, if you checked with Arvelyn, or my other ex-wife, several of my children, or anybody on the commune staff, a number of them may have wanted it to come to this. But no one I like wanted it to come to this: A duel to the death.

I have besmirched the name of Boguslaw Sadowski, and it's no small feat to besmirch his name, given he's a dirty red con-man, heartless thug, and general bad cookie. But the time for words has passed, at least until we resume the slander trial. I for one won't wait that long. The duel is ten days from now. One of us will be dead by the time that trial rolls around, making it a lot easier case for the other guy. Though the survivor will get stuck with court costs, that's no free lunch.

The besmirching in question began two days ago, when I came home to find Boguslaw Sadowski in my home, talking to my wife in that unintelligible Russian blather they both know. Mob boss and Sting-lookalike Yogi explained to me Boguslaw would be moving in for the next few forevers, or until he could find his own place. Well, something snapped in me, good people, probably a couple of lower vertebrae, and I lost another inch in height. That I'm used to, but being made a fool of in my own home, and being completely aware of it, that's something I'm not. As if to make things worse, I noticed Boguslaw, talking to Felchyana still, make the international hand symbol for asshole, which I won't share with you decent...Read more...


º Last Column: The Return of Boguslaw Sadowski
º more columns






Milestones
1969: Rok Finger is deeply offended by the sights at Woodstock, which has little if anything to do with his favorite Peanuts character.
Now Hiring
Trombone Player. Follow Bludney Pudd around office playing hilarious "wahnt-WAHNT" everytime he does something pathetic. Overtime guaranteed.
Funniest Fake Names Read Aloud on Nightline
1.Tad Shitbetter
2.Grant Goodeve
3.Phil Shitbetter, beloved brother of Tad
4.Ho Chi Minh
5.Royster Culpepper Ottowa Fantastic III
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Violet Tiara
9/16/2002
Mrs. The Pope
I'll elope with the Pope
on a Sunday in Spain,
and I hope that the dope
won't pick a day when it rains.
For though the walrus and crow
might find it refreshing,
the sugar-drop people would melt
right through the chairs' meshing.
And the rest of the guests
won't think it so smashing,
the vows we espouse
drown out by their teeth gnashing!
But then I'll be famous! As famous as Amos.
And though it's thought taboo… really, who could blame us?
"What a dashing young couple!" would be what they all said.
For I would be dashing and he (in a couple years), dead.
And then I'd be sitting, all pretty with gloat,
since I had a bulletproof car and a boat,
and a bulletproof bathroom,...Read more...

the commune publishes as the news happens.
Enjoy these random selections from days gone by, and refresh for more.