ne the most potentially controversial stories in recent years was successfully nipped in the bud by the Bush White House and its ever-faithful assistant, the national news media, as the ongoing story of former Cheney Chief of Staff Lewis Libby's indictment, the first of a sitting White House official in history, was relegated to page 3 by bored news directors and other major Republican-driven news stories.

Libby, called "Scooter" by his many enemies, is the first and likely only casualty of the under-covered story of a White House leak, in which the identity of a working CIA operative, conveniently the wife of Bush opponent Joseph Wilson. Wilson's wife Valerie Plame was outed as a spy by a conservative columnist, and his source was traced back to the White House. While liberals hoped the 22-month investigation by Special Counsel Patrick Fitzgerald would reveal the dirty tactic came from a source as high as presidential counselor Karl Rove, the most the Democrats could succeed with was a guy named Scooter. And the victory itself was short-lived.

As soon as news of the Libby indictment, a potentially president-destroying story, was announced, the Cheney Chief of Staff resigned and the White House began its onslaught of less important announcements, starting with the retraction of Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, the nomination of mini-Scalia Samuel Alito, and more news from the clusterfuck in the Middle East that is Iraq. To seal the deal and firmly erase the recent memory of criminal charges against White House staff, the president released a string of obscene and bizarre comments guaranteed to push the story off the page—covered elsewhere in this edition of the commune.

Democrats and White House insiders alike were surprised by the effectiveness of the Bush administration's "Operation: Bury the Story."

DNC strategist Michael Fallusmore: "Damn, but they did it good. We were a little busy basking in the glee of what should have been a catastrophe for the Bush-ites and GOP. Then we woke the next morning and couldn't find a trace of it anywhere. The news media were suddenly much more interested in the predictable choice of a conservative white guy for the Supreme Court. Real shockaroo there. But still, you have to give them credit for weaseling out of the unweaselable. I guess all we can do now is hope some reporter finds that dead hooker in Karl Rove's Toyota."

An inside source at the White House, some Bush college buddy whose phone we tapped, agreed with the quick removal of the story.

"I totally can't believe it worked," said the source, then giggled as he did a line of blow. "I suppose it would have been a hard uphill battle if all the major media outlets hadn't bought into the importance of these other routine stories and decided to shrug off the boring details of criminal and possibly treasonous behavior inside the walls of the highest pockets of U.S Government. What? Yeah, I'm completely wasted, so what? I always talk like that."

The president did his part as leader of his party and platform to diminish the importance of the story to the news media and the American people, by dressing in ugly suits, appearing as unphotogenic as possible, and keeping his comments quite limited to make for lousy B-roll for the visually oriented media outlets. Bush responded Thursday to Libby's plea of not guilty to the charges.

"Yep, yep," said the president, quickly shuffling off to a birthday party of a friend being held at a Washington, D.C. Chuck E. Cheese.

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The American people should thank the inventor of the remote control. We should thank our fat asses off. Because if it weren't for the remote, we'd have to get up off the couch every time something crappy came on TV, which means we'd all have bionic Teflon knees by now. And I don't know about you, but I like my current knees just fine.

Before the invention of the remote, Americans had to get up off their big, fat asses to change the channel every time something crummy came on, which led to the modern trend of watching whatever is on for hours regardless of quality. Beaten down and bitch-slapped by the repressive lack of technology in those days, Americans slouched away their meek little lives in front of such stultifying fare as Ted Hammerslut's Big Band Breakdown and The Russians in the Cushions, both of which were huge ratings hits in the 50's because TVs came from the factory set to that channel.

During World War II, those ingenious fucks known as the Nazis developed the first remote control technology, which they utilized in the design of a robotic doorman that was used to heil Hitler a cab when he was visiting Nazi central headquarters in Berlin. Due to the crummy technology of the day, the robot didn't work very well and after decapitating Hitler's mother-in-law in 1943, it was given the German medal of honor (the coveted "Big Bastard") and retired to a furniture showroom in Dresden.

Early attempts to adopt the Nazi remote technology for use in television sets were unsuccessful, as the remotes would channel-surf on their own looking for reruns ofThe Three Stooges.

The first successful television remote was developed by the Zenith Electronics Corporation in 1950. Called the "Lazy Fuck," the device was attached to the television by a long wire, and was used less for controlling the TV than it was for tripping crabby housewives in hilarious ways all across America. Though a huge hit among unhappily married men all across the country, overall the unit did poorly due to its bitingly accurate name.

In 1955, Zenith sort of improved on their invention with the creation of the "Flashmatic," a small device that looked exactly like a flashlight but wasn't because it said "Remote Control" on one side. Viewers aimed the Flashmatic at one of four light-receptive cells positioned on the corners of their television screen, allowing them to turn the set on, change the channel up or down, and explode the television. Some considered the lack of an "off" command to be an inconvenience, but forward-thinking Zenith executives imagined a day when Americans would never turn off their televisions, making unsightly "off" knobs a garish eyesore. The main purpose of this innovation, however, was to draw attention away from the Zenith's exploding feature, which made tidy profits for the corporation due to repeat business from customers with poor hand-eye coordination who blew up several television sets a year.

Eventually the Flashmatic had to be phased out since on sunny days the set would flash channels randomly for a few minutes before exploding, and in 1956 Zenith televisions killed half the residents of Arizona. The Flashmatic was replaced in 1957 by the Zenith Space Command, a revolutionary new remote technology named to appeal to small boys and the insane. The Space Command used an unpowered remote which contained four small aluminum rods. When the buttons on the unit were struck violently, preferably with a xylophone mallet, the rods would produce inaudible ultrasound tones that were then picked up by vacuum tubes hidden inside the television set.

The Space Command worked like a charm, a shitty, useless charm, and was a big hit among the tech-savvy and expectant mothers who soon realized that if they stood close enough to the humming set, they could see their babies. Unfortunately, after several years of lawsuits from families claiming birth defects and complaints from dog-whistle enthusiasts that their sets kept exploding, Zenith decided to discontinue the Space Command in 1959. For nearly two decades Americans were plunged back into the darkness of throwing coffee table knick-knacks and snack items at television sets in hopes of jogging the channel knob.

The modern remote made its debut in 1980, with current units using gamma radiation to perform tasks as disparate as setting a VCR's clock or cooking a Thanksgiving turkey faster than a microwave. Research found the gamma rays caused attention deficits in children and obesity in adults, but it was a small price to pay to not have to watch CHiPs anymore.

In 1992 MTV debuted a gameshow called Remote Control, which was of no consequence to anyone beyond the fact that it fills up three lines of column space.

Over the last twenty years, countless new remote-controlled innovations have hit the market, changing the way we live forever. From the "Bitch Be Quiet" human silencer to the remote-controlled "Woody," few can deny that remote controls are here to stay. And why not?

Well, I'm waiting. I'll expect an answer by Monday.

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Just when I was about to hold out for more money on my show, Ho's!, they decide to cut back on my role. No joke—me! Clarissa Coleman!

The producers called me into a meeting, didn't even pay for lunch or meet me at Denny's for dinner, like I suggested, just had me into their office and told me they were cutting back on my role on the show. They think Ho's! has some real potential to be the next major thing on the WB and they don't want to screw it up by letting people think it's a Clarissa Coleman show. They said something about an albatross, but you can imagine I wasn't too hungry after hearing my job was in jeopardy. Don't get me wrong, I'll still be playing Ophelia, the white ho, but she's going to be cut back in the show until they see how audiences react.

I'm not counting on people storming the network, if you can call the WB that, and demanding more Clarissa. I'd do it, but that would be pretty suspicious, just me out there with a picket sign and bullhorn, they'd picked me out pretty easy. But hell, even a few letters can get me back to a major role on the show, and I know how to disguise my handwriting, I've forged enough checks over the years. In the meantime, I'm employed, sort of, but it looks like I'll have more time to focus on my screenplay.

I could still demand more money, but I've learned my lesson the hard way. It's just like when the little red-haired kid was quitting Diff'rent Strokes and they were looking at me to take his place, me and Arnold, who had to be like 31 at the time. I thought I'd play hardball, but learned my lesson pretty quick. I was only 5 at the time, what do you expect? But I've grown wiser over the years. I'll wait till my job is a little more secure to ask for more money, my own trailer, and a limo service to take me to the show everyday.

I'm going to start looking for work anyhow. Or make it less of a secret that I've been looking for work all this time. Working in TV has never been my favorite thing anyway, and being fired from every show I've gotten in the past ten years has encouraged me to spread my wings and try other things. Hell, I've even looked at theater, since theater producers probably don't know I've got the kiss of death on me right now. And if they do, I hate to do it, but I'll just change my name. Just for the stage—I'm not giving up box office gold like "Clarissa Coleman" for all of my real work.

There's a lot of good plays out there, I hear. The Odd Couple was based on a play, and I think so was What's Happening? I would write my own, but the special effects in plays really suck. I like writing dialogue, but my screenwriting teacher says I have to give the characters who aren't me dialogue, too, which seems like a great big hassle. How am I supposed to know what other people are going to say? I could make them all me, but then I wouldn't have anyone for the giant shark to kill. Or the space people, whatever. And I'm not sure how all that would go over on the stage. Besides, I got my screenwriting career to focus on, I can't go giving myself other things to do.

It's all temporary, I know. Things run hot and cold in this industry, and the industry's been cold on me for, say, 15 years now. But they'll warm up again. Even if I don't get any more work to keep me busy over the summer, I've got my sci-fi conventions and stuff to occupy me. You can always make a little scratch and keep your name out there by attending those things. Plus, that Sulu guy tells some awesome stories, when and if he shows up. Maybe I should see if he's got any screenplays he's looking to cast. I can still play pretty young, too, between 17 and 28, my agent says. That's perfect teen sidekick material, if any of you are making a new super-hero movie. I don't mind dressing like a boy either.

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