ources inside the Pentagon are now saying that señor capitan Bush easily confuses Iraq and Iran, and though he vehemently hates both countries, meant to go to war with one while appeasing the other with placating words. The trouble is, Bush may have gone to war with the wrong one.

Confirming the reports is recent retired general "Meat" Callaghan, who left his position as a war advisor shortly before the invasion of Iraq began.

"It was the intention early on that Bush meant to go to war with Iran, and all documents were signed to that effect," said Callaghan Friday, at a local café where this reporter had to buy his soup. "Though the country formed even less a discernible threat than Iraq, the president claimed they had weapons of ass destruction and needed to bombardmentalized. We frankly thought there was some sort of intelligence problem—the president wasn't getting the right intelligence to his brain. But he insisted there was no mistake, and thought the newspaper headlines reading 'Iranis Ran From Iran' would be funny enough to make him crap his pants."

No one is naming names, but sources suggest that those in the chain of command below Bush rewrote orders under his name to make Iraq the intended target. A quote attributed to Dick Cheney, addressing Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, sums up the alleged view of other Bush administration officials:

"I'm tired of him going to war with every country just because he thinks the name is funny. I tried to explain the complicated politics of the Taliban and the possibility they were aiding Al-Qaeda and all he could come up with was 'Afghanstand sounds like a place where they sell blankets.' Or when the Syrian ambassador came to negotiate the Iraqi invasion with us and he kept saying, 'You Syrious?'"

Sources allege that Cheney and company did not fabricate presidential orders, merely "fixed" them. Retired Gen. Callaghan described the situation: "The president is good-natured and sincere enough in wanting to go to war, he just sometimes gets confused by all the dozens of names and funny-sounding words he gets all day. He just knows good countries and bad countries, coalitions and axis of evils—remembering real big issues and gray areas and such is hard. He knows one of those countries has the real bad leader who tried to kill his dad, and that's the one he meant to go to war with. A good administration knows how to do what the president means rather than what he says."

Answering the allegations in a press conference, outgoing White House spokesperson Ari Fleischer, clearly showing signs of weariness toward the end of his run, told something resembling the truth.

"The White House cannot confirm such reports without closer study, but yeah, it's probably true. You know the man won't go down as the sharpest president in history, I don't think I'm rattling any expectations to say that much. All these reports about the Bush administration manipulating intelligence in the Iraqi war have it backwards—the administration understandably had to manipulate the Bush intelligence. You don't want to see this guy try to do long division, you can actually see the brain cells committing hari kari."

Most reporters, including this one, was so dumbstruck by the forthright revelations we couldn't think of any follow-up questions.

Cheney Vows to Stay Course: Will Shoot Hunting Partner Again

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Aides Urge Bush to Stop Referring to Iraqi Majority as “Shits”

Sheryl Crow Takes Cancer in Lance Armstrong Split

Dear commune:

With the gruesome bursting of the dot com bubble and the growing trend of online businesses moving from a advertising-driven profit model to one in which profits are generated by user fees, how does the commune expect to remain economically viable for the foreseeable future? Do the commune's readers have a pay-for-content system to look forward to in the future?

Sandy Levine
Elmhurst, CT


Dear Sandy:

True, the commune may not have come out of the economic downturn unscathed; After all, few did. And some may argue, rightfully so, that when touring the commune offices the stench of desperation wafts up one's nose like the smell of stale sweat on a freshly dead corpse. But if there is only one absolute in life, it is this: the commune will never, ever, not in a million years, not ever pay people to read the site. Nice try.

the commune

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Dear commune:

What is the commune doing about the deplorable treatment of Dalmatian dogs in this country? Every year, thousands of families, fresh off the spotted-dog high of watching Disney's 101 Dalmatians or one of the dozens of films in that series, bring home a Dalmatian from the pet store or registered breeder. There is much joy and love in the beginning, but the honeymoon is short: before long these families learn that they are ill-equipped to deal with these untrainable, couch-pissing, spontaneous nervous barfing beautiful dogs. And instead of shackling themselves to a lifetime of ruined furniture and canine servitude, the vow these families made to these dogs when they brought them home as innocent puppies, all too often the Dalmatians end up on death row at the pound or at the bottom of a lake inside a huge Tupperware container filled with rocks. These crimes against the Dalmatian nation cannot stand, and it is up to the commune alone to be their advocate and protector!

Leelee Fromberg
Arlington, TX


Dear Leelee:

The staff of the commune was incredibly touched and moved by your letter. Except for Ramrod Hurley, who was in the can. Regardless, we here at the commune feel your pain and will do everything in our power to ensure that this inhumane treatment of Dominicans does not continue. It's sad to think that in this day and age… Wait, did you say Dalmatians? Jesus H. Christ, you got us all worked up over some freakin dogs? Shit, lady, I think I had some Dalmatian in the noodle dish I had for lunch today. Whatever. Anyway, thanks for your letter and the tip about the Tupperware container, that's a good one.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for those debilitating headaches you've been having lately. Contrary to what some doctors may think, the headaches are not caused by reading the commune's cost-efficient, low-resolution fonts or images. In actuality, you have a brain tumor the size of a kiwi that your doctor is just too much of a pussy to tell you about. Have a nice day.

º Last Column: Volume 21
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'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not one soul was stirring, besides the bodyguard Klaus
as noble Rok Finger and his Russian child bride
sought shelter from the mob with the ol' FBI
it started with gangwars, then things really took off
when the death threats rolled in, all addressed to Rok
"You've killed more Italians in your short troubled time
than a Coppola film and Mussolini combined,
pack your bags, little shit, you're going on a trip
to a room where your neighbors are plankton and fish."
Like a mousetrap sprang Rok from his tiny night bed
and crushed the skull of some poor mouse's head,
"Quick, dear Felchyana," he said to his wife,
"pack your shit quick and run for your life!
Those fat goomba bullies have put me on their list
and they all want a piece of the Rok from St. Nick!"
When who through the door should wondrously appear
but a big mick named Nicky and his black friend Amir.
"It appears you've pissed off the wrong people," he said,
"I'm afraid you'll be spending this Christmas quite dead."
Oh, shit, good people, things looked quite dim
for our three-foot hero and what-ser-name with him
when who should appear, right out of thin air
but Rok Finger's old pal, wheelchair-bound Camembert!
He was not armed, but Cam did scream so non-stop
every neighbor on the block promptly phoned the cops.
They arrived with guns blazing and clubs swinging free
unaware of the danger, but hey, they're N.Y.P.D.
Old Rok spilled his guts in a new record time
and begged for protection from the dear FBI.
They wasted no time, and hauled Rok away
to meet with J. Edgar or whoever runs it today
With the dirt Rok had on Yogi, Mario, and all,
the state prisons will soon be packed wall to wall.
Rok gets probation and time served—how cool!
"It's the way we reward you for being a stool."
And with those kind words the agent disappeared in the night
for survivalists in Montana waited to pick a fight,
For Rok and Felchyana, they planned the best Christmas yet
though they were as far from civilization as you could now get,
"But we'll enjoy the grim situation, no matter what 'tis,
or wherever the hell this 'Fargo' place is."
So with prospects all brighter, things turned out great in the end
except for poor Camembert, sentenced from five to ten.

º Last Column: I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Death
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