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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You know how you can really piss off a total stranger? Insist they don't know anything about tennis. Everyone from John McEnroe down to Tommy Chong will take offense at a statement like that. Doesn't matter if they've never picked up a racquet before in their lives. It's like a self-esteem thing or something. Everybody likes to think they know about tennis.

Or even better, lump them in with an entire group of people who don't know anything about tennis. You'll be lucky if you make it out of the room alive.

"I don't care what anybody says, the Russians don't know shit about tennis."

This works even better if they're not even Russian, because then they're twice pissed. Once because you think they know jack about tennis, then all over again because you thought they were Russian. You're begging for a belt-whipping at that point. Even if they themselves think Russia is kind of cool, they'll still assume you're trying to start some shit by the insinuation.

Don't even try bringing it up in a fancy restaurant, unless you know how to Jackie Chan your way out of there. People who eat at fancy restaurants are especially insecure about their grasp of tennis. It's like the saying goes; there are a few things you just can't bring up in pleasant conversation. The KKK, botched abortions, tennis, gay sex… there are a few more, I can't remember the whole quote right now.

After you've got a guy fired up about you thinking he knows dick about tennis, a good strategy to push him to the edge is to accuse him of making up words. This is classic. If he says something like "Actually, I'm quite familiar with tennis, I've been a member at the club since I was an adolescent." You counter like "Adolescent? Cripes man, are you autistic? Speak English." I once had a guy try to kill me with an ice statue of a duck after I used that one. Thank God ice sticks to your hands, or I might be walking around wearing a frozen mallard hat to this day.

Every once in a while you'll come across some hotshot who actually is a tennis pro of some sort, the dude looks like Ivan Lendl because he is Ivan Lendl. Don't worry, you're not as screwed as you might think in this situation. If he starts quoting off obscure rules or matches, just start mixing up sports. "Well, that makes sense, if you're bowling, but I'm talking about tennis." If the dude just won't give up, the coup de ville is to say "Oh, you're right. That IS tennis. I was thinking about rugby. You really play tennis? Pretty gay, dude." They you walk away like you can't believe you wasted your time talking to him. I did that once at Wimbleton after I wandered over from a stag party across the street where the toilet was busted and that guy was so pissed I thought his mustache was going to kill me all by itself.

All this just goes to show that everything in life has a purpose. It's like golf. I used to think golf was pointless until I realized what it really is. They give you weapons, stick you in a little car and say drink all you want. It's like being in South America, anything goes. The holes are just there so you have old people to slalom around.

Same thing with tennis. For years I thought it was there just to keep weekend TV from being too fun. You know, some kind of conspiracy run by bars and movie theaters and shit. Then I realized it's like a built-in argument starter. Dude doesn't even have to speak English, if you can pantomime "You don't know a goddamned thing about tennis" you've got yourself a bar fight, in any culture. It's like a gift from the shit-starting Gods.

Bricks out.

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Austin; Cheryl; Penny… it's time to meet your new mom.

I know you kids don't take to change very well. And I wish like hell there was a more comforting way to introduce her to you than through my column, which I sincerely doubt most of you even read. But you're all spread out over the country and this is the most affordable way to do it, time- and money-wise.

Philip; Cassie; Archie; Vicki… I'm talking to you, too. Don't think I've forgotten. I may not have been the greatest dad to all of you, and if I've misspelled your names in any fashion, please forgive that minor indiscretions. After all, if it weren't for minor indiscretions, most of you wouldn't even be here! But I kid your promiscuous mothers.

Back to the subject. Felchyana may be different than all of you, and her country is full of heartless atheists who dwell in poverty, but that doesn't make her any different than any other step-moms I've brought home, even the one-night variety. And Felchyana will be here for quite a while, since we've paid out the apartment lease through the month. She also speaks a funny language and loves baking cakes, so if you kids want any delicious birthday surprises, you'd better be on your best behavior. Don't think I don't mean you, Ronnie.

Felicia; Kim; Dambo; Manray! I hope you're paying attention. You never did come around to Arvelyn all that much. I know she may have been a deceitful, hateful bitch who tried to kill me. A hideous bottom-feeding creature who sucked all will to live and joy out of my life. But—what was the question? Forget it. I just want you kids to give Felchyana a chance. She means more to me than anything in the world. Even you kids.

Pablo! Juanita! Federico! Hablo inglés, kids? Treat your new mom with respect, that's all I'm trying to say. I have never taken marriage lightly, except for maybe the monogamy part. But when I enter into a marriage, it's like a contract. Like doing business with someone. You have to trust them, and I trust Felchyana more than anyone knows. There's simple explanations why I don't give her a key to the apartment and lock her inside when I leave. I just don't need to explain myself to you kids. When was the last time you even came around to see me, your own father? I'm not talking to you, Hugo. I know you're in the iron lung still. Get better soon, kiddo!

Bah. Look at me, getting angry for little or no reason. That isn't like me. But when I say I want things to better between us, I mean all of us. That includes Felchyana as well as you. I also include all of you in that declaration, even those of you I've disowned in a furor over the years. So Slim; Buaana; Jefferson Davis; Lindetta; Moby; Sheena; Opinion; Dandy; Carl; Carl, Jr.; Mannix—welcome back into my life kids. Let bygones be bygones. Except for you, Abraham. You can never be forgiven, for reasons you know all too well.

Ah. Caroline; Fanta; The Gooch… this weight has finally been lifted. I never tried to hide how I felt about Felchyana, but I may not have let you know just how serious I feel about her until now. Especially since some of you I haven't spoken to in 40 years or more (By the way, how is the new hip, Soma?). But I'm starting a new part of my life, and I feel like a young man. Practically 55 again! Which reminds me, happy 55th birthday, Rambo.

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