Democrats Celebrate Iraq Funding Bill Reverse-Victory

.C. Democrats wowed the press corps worldwide by celebrating the president's signing of a $100-billion Iraq and Afghanistan war-funding bill without the Democrat-mandated exit timetable, calling the showdown with the president an "astounding reverse-victory" over the war. Speaking with Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, House Speaker regarded the president's signing of the bill he asked for exactly as he asked for it with calm superiority.

"By giving the president the funds he wants for the war without standing by our call for a withdrawal strategy, as the president warned us not to include, we have demonstrated we are flexible, even jelly-like," Pelosi bragged, with a knowing nod to fellow Democrats supporting the unwin. "President Bush will take away an important lesson from this face-off with the elected officials of this nation: We cannot be threatened, even if we can be goaded and intimidated. And believe me, when the war blows up in his face and cripples the Republican war machine for the next several years, we are going to give him such an 'I told you so!'"

President Bush, at a speaking event at Toys 'R' Us in Dayton, Ohio Saturday, did not seem dissuaded by the Democrats' claims of success.

"Stuck it to ya. In your face. Iron Maiden in '08!" the president told reporters, giving the crowd the traditional "rock on" sign with his hand. Presidential handlers described the terse response as a result of a long plane ride and too many cups of Kool-Aid by the sugar-sensitive leader of the free world.

While political leaders on both sides of the fence were chanting hurrahs for their side, nameless critics who frequently only mask the real feelings of unbiased reporters were quick to accuse the Democrats of trying to dress-up a clear loss against a weakened president. For instance, Professor Chad Sham of Counterfeit Studies, of Bogus University in another state.

"Democrats plainly did not want to be faced with brutal accusations of not supporting the troops heading into Memorial Day weekend, as it makes a shitty soundbite. The party is well aware that their current collective charisma couldn't butter a square of toast, so the last thing they want to do is be caught in the spotlights trying to stand firm against ridiculous accusations of a lack of patriotism and hating the troops, since ridiculous accusations of un-American sentiment seem to be exactly what motivates NASCAR dads to vote. NASCAR fumes may be the number-one killer of political intelligence in this nation, and if I were really a college professor, I'd probably start a research team to look into it."

Real political analysts, like Amos Stamp, the guy who fills the commune vending machines every month, had clearer insight into the Democrats' long-term visions for the vote.

"In some ways, they ain't so crazy," said Stamp, snacking on a Mr. Goodbar he clearly didn't pony up the dollar for. "Democrats vote to fund the war right now, and always call it a vote to support the troops later, since the two's synonymous with the uninformed voting population. But come September, this war's going to go clusterfuck-supernova and everybody will remember the Democrats was calling for an exit timetable then. They boost they're popularity and they get their exit bill then, and all it cost anyone was a few hundred more American lives. And in the president, the Democrats have avoided looking like assholes, which is something that's new to them anyway."

Notably absent from the yea votes for the bill were the Democrats running for president in 2008, except Sen. Joe Biden (D., Delaware), who was believed to have copied his vote from Sen. Mitch McConnell (R., Kentucky) anyway. Many were quick to stress that they still support the troops, blah blah blah, but stand by our need to end this war as soon as possible. Only former president and trim-magnet Bill Clinton was more outspoken on his critique of Congress.

"Everyone remembers the gruesome budget showdown between me and Gingrich's Congress, where the entire nation stopped for a few days to see who would win. The Democrats are smart to concede now, and sidestep that huge public flogging I took when I lost. Oh, wait, something doesn't sound right about it—I remember now. I won that one. What the fuck were they thinking?"

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OH MY GOD SNOW

Dear commune:

My name is Kent and I am 8 years old. I am doing a biography on President George W. Bush and I would like to know all about him. Please tell me everything about him, like where was he born, how did he become president, and what does the president do?

I think the commune is a great news website.

Kent Birkell
Ohgett, Utah


Dear "Kent":

Nice try, Al Qaeda! Sounds like a good plan right off the bat, doesn't it? Write to some unsuspecting, poorly-run news organization, like the commune, and pretend to be a grade-schooler so you can get all the elusive secret information about the leader of the free world. Well, suck on it instead, dickless!

You aren't getting free information from us, Al-Shabib. You made two mistakes in your otherwise-brilliant plan. For one, you referred to George W. Bush as the president without quotation marks—you're either a Republican or a terrorist, and either way we don't trust you. And second, the commune—a great news website? You must not be from this country.

We hope your little dirty bomb or whatever goes off during construction and leaves you a dirty smear, terrorist asshole.

In the off chance you are a real 8-year-old who just doesn't know enough about the "president" or the commune's "news" department, we offer sincere apologies. Terrorist asshole.

the commune

---

Editor's Note: the commune news is not responsible for the wind beneath your wings, so quit blaming us for it, maybe it was the dog.

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There are a couple of different ways to go about getting yourself a new car. What most people do is they exploit the underclass until they've got enough greenbacks to roll up on Mr. Mercedes or Mr. Benz and slap one of them in the face with a stack of $100 bills. "Booya, bitch! Where's my wheels?" or however the classy blueblood expression of that sentiment comes out. This doesn't work so hot for the members of the exploited underclass, who lack the sufficient Benjamins to make for an impressive slap-stack, so most of them have to stick a gun in somebody's face to keep from having to take the bus to church on Sundays.

As for the rest of us, the poor suckers stuck in-between who are too cheap for caviar and too soft for prison, we have to get creative.

For a while I thought I might be able to screw The Man (or at least The Man's fine trophy wife) and increase the Omar Bricks Needs a Goddamned Car Fund by playing the stock market. Seemed easy enough, since it's basically just like a horse racing with companies, except you don't have to worry about any of the companies banging their funny bone on the starting gate and throwing the jockey into the stands when the buzzer goes off. I knew I never should have bet on a horse named "Buyer's Remorse."

Plus on the stock market they don't give the companies misleading names like "Jailbait" that make them sound really fast but then it turns out they're just not fully-grown. I've always thought the FCC should step in and require that they give the horses accurate names, like "Shithead," "Slow as Fuck" and "Money Pit." Some kind of truth-in-advertising type thing. I guess when they vow to protect consumers they don't include degenerate gambling consumers under that umbrella, the self-righteous pricks. Sure, the racing form's not going to look as cool when half the horses are named "Shitbird" and "Gonad," but that's a small price to pay not to have the horse you bet on get lapped in a one-lap race. It's especially rough on the kids when they shoot a horse before the race is even over. But what in the hell are little kids doing betting on horse races, anyway? They should be off betting on cartoons or some shit.

So playing the market sounded easy enough, at least compared to betting on horse races. That was like having a license to print IOUs. But any old idiot can predict what products are going to hit or flop, or at least that's what I thought before all my stock in the Swiss Piss powdered lemonade brand tanked. I'm just glad I didn't invest in those chocolate logs you float in the punch bowl for when you throw a party, those things didn't do very well at all. At least I got out from under Swiss Piss before the lawsuit hit.

I guess my broker truly lived up to his name, since I did end up broker than when I'd met him. But he said it was probably all for the best, since I didn't stand to earn much from only owning one share of stock. And that's what pissed me off, why even call it a "share" when you're going to reward some rich prick for gobbling up thousands of the things then and give me the shaft for only having one? That doesn't sound much like sharing to me, the greedy bastards.

But that was all water under the dyke when I realized that all I needed to get my car funds together was to hold a really bitchin' raffle. People go apeshit for a raffle, and it's better than the lottery because I don't get any money from the lottery. So a raffle was definitely in order.

I went down to the bus station to talk to my good friend and local raffle organizer Poontang Douglas, and we got the particulars in order. The tickets sold out fast when people heard the prize was something in a "mystery box." Raffle freaks love that shit.

What they didn't know, and this was the brilliant part of the plan, was that it turns out the prize in the box is a shitload of tickets to the raffle. That ought to keep 'em guessing, right?

Well, I don't know about you, but when I'm guessing I usually sit there and scratch my head a little, maybe look up at the ceiling or something, you know? I sure as hell don't set the bingo hall on fire. Goddamn degenerate gamblers.

Bricks out.

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