|
$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='Im Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hoopers Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0905/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='Im Not that Big a Fan of Talking';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
U.S. Suspects Double is Standing in for Hussein March 31, 2003 |
Washington, DC JUNIOR BACON & ZENIT Possible dictator brother Elmo Hussein, reading a grocery list in front of Iraqâs finest shower curtains .S. intelligence experts have raised questions as to the authenticity of a videotaped speech featuring Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein, which aired on Iraqi television only hours after missile attacks aimed at killing the dictator rocked a suburban Baghdad neighborhood. Iraqi officials point to the tape as proof that Hussein was not killed by the thousands of pounds of explosives that had been satellite-locked on his individual navel hairs in the attack, contrary to U.S. and British claims.
Intelligence analysts suggest that the man appearing as Saddam is actually Husseinâs double, a look-alike decoy known to be used by the dictator for certain unsavory public appearances and on particularly bad hair days. Off the record, at least one high-ranking U.S. intelligence intern beli...
.S. intelligence experts have raised questions as to the authenticity of a videotaped speech featuring Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein, which aired on Iraqi television only hours after missile attacks aimed at killing the dictator rocked a suburban Baghdad neighborhood. Iraqi officials point to the tape as proof that Hussein was not killed by the thousands of pounds of explosives that had been satellite-locked on his individual navel hairs in the attack, contrary to U.S. and British claims. Intelligence analysts suggest that the man appearing as Saddam is actually Husseinâs double, a look-alike decoy known to be used by the dictator for certain unsavory public appearances and on particularly bad hair days. Off the record, at least one high-ranking U.S. intelligence intern believes the double to be none other than Saddam's little-known and slow-witted brother, Elmo Hussein. Wearing a very silly pair of glasses and speaking with a slight lisp, the supposed Saddam spoke out Thursday morning against the U.S.-led attacks. âCookies, Cookies, Cookies. Saddam would like some cookies.â CIA technicians began applying voiceprint analysis and other techniques to the video shortly after it aired. Early returns have been inconclusive. âLippety lippety lee, the bear climbed up a tree. When there was no porridge, he sucked on an orange and said âWhat a good boy is me.ââ âSee the way he curls his lip when he says âporridgeâ?â CIA technician Luthor Retisma queried while pointing at a video screen. âSaddam doesnât usually do that. He also usually doesnât speak in such a sing-songy tone or pick his nose while the camera is running either.â Iraqi officials vehemently deny the existence of any such double, claiming that Hussein has always spoken in nursery rhymes and was wearing the hilarious glasses because he forgot his contacts at a friendâs house. âWhatever theyâre alleging, that he got sand in his contacts or had an anvil dropped on his head or whatever, weâre doubtful,â explained an unnamed U.S. official, still bitter over not having a name. âThey can come up with all kinds of creative ways to cover for Saddamâs idiot brother, but in the end technical analysis of the videotape will be the judge, jury and executioner.â The unnamed U.S. official left the room before this reporter could ask what in the hell that meant. As a result of Husseinâs first orders since the attacks, all Iraqi troops are to receive ice cream at once: two-scoop cones for ground troops and Neapolitan ice cream sandwiches for the elite Republican Guard. âWell, there you go!â pointed out Iraqi ambassador Shamutz Gendal. âSaddam loves Neapolitan ice cream. Especially the strawberry part. I bet you feel silly about your silly theories now.â Rumors of the supposed Saddam building a gigantic sand castle for his own protection could not be confirmed as of press time. the commune news is a staunch advocate of the âStop, Drop and Rollâ method of news reporting. Lil Duncan is the communeâs Washington correspondent, a thankless job that we would like to thank her for, but can not.
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Two suicide bombers hit Israel with deadly 'Hamas sandwich'
Economy shows improvement, for millionaires
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Officials to Celebrities: Please Get Out of New Orleans isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: Were serious; you really need to leave now. Weve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans, sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Armys 92nd Airborne. Theyre drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day. The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation. Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band he whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasnt merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: Hes taken in a whole jazz band. I just wanted to do what I could, Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed. However, Martinson didnt stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles. Finely Aged Winemaker Ernest Gallo Corked Failure of Sirius Radio Blamed on "You Can't be Sirius!" Ad Campaign |
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 September 1, 2003
Volume 50Dear commune:
How come we donât have no national holidays for stuff thatâs happened while I was alive? Was the past so great weâve really got to be celebrating that junk all the time? Gimmie a break. I donât even like the president, what am I supposed to do on Presidentâs Day? Go to work by myself? Fat chance. We should have a "Remember When the Cubs Won the Pennant?" day or a "Joey Knocked Up That Hot Blonde Who Works Down at the Bottling Plant" day. Thatâd be fun. Iâd vote for it, if I voted. But if I thought I was filling out a rebate for batteries and then it turned out I was voting on accident, then forget that! Because shame on you guys for tricking me. Damn. So pass it on.
Yours,
Jack Hargraves Hellâs Belt, NV
Dear Jack:
Wow, itâs rare that the commune receives a letter with that level of thought, or motor oil, put into it. We thank you for taking the time to dig a piece of scrap paper out of your trunk and writing to us. And we think youâll be pleased to know that we here at the commune celebrate holidays for any conceivable reason, including "Lil Duncan Negative Prego Test Day" and "Griswald Dreck Says Itâs Bastille Day Day." It doesnât take much to get us out of the office and into a dry martini, letâs just say that. Or a keg filched from some uppity needlepoint magazineâs office party, whatever it takes. So youâre in good company Jack, as long as you donât...
º Last Column: Volume 49 º more columns
Dear commune: How come we donât have no national holidays for stuff thatâs happened while I was alive? Was the past so great weâve really got to be celebrating that junk all the time? Gimmie a break. I donât even like the president, what am I supposed to do on Presidentâs Day? Go to work by myself? Fat chance. We should have a "Remember When the Cubs Won the Pennant?" day or a "Joey Knocked Up That Hot Blonde Who Works Down at the Bottling Plant" day. Thatâd be fun. Iâd vote for it, if I voted. But if I thought I was filling out a rebate for batteries and then it turned out I was voting on accident, then forget that! Because shame on you guys for tricking me. Damn. So pass it on. Yours, Jack Hargraves Hellâs Belt, NVDear Jack:
Wow, itâs rare that the commune receives a letter with that level of thought, or motor oil, put into it. We thank you for taking the time to dig a piece of scrap paper out of your trunk and writing to us. And we think youâll be pleased to know that we here at the commune celebrate holidays for any conceivable reason, including "Lil Duncan Negative Prego Test Day" and "Griswald Dreck Says Itâs Bastille Day Day." It doesnât take much to get us out of the office and into a dry martini, letâs just say that. Or a keg filched from some uppity needlepoint magazineâs office party, whatever it takes. So youâre in good company Jack, as long as you donât ever show up here or write us again. Weâll be sure to add "Remember When the Cubs Didnât Suck Day" and "Joeyâs Fucked Now Day" to our office calendar.
the commune Editorâs Note: the commune is not responsible for any of the many creative ways your lover left you, we were just humming that song in the elevator and it appeared to strike a chord. So please, give the commune a break, Jake.º Last Column: Volume 49º more columns
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|  November 1, 2004
Barf Like You Mean ItDid I mention I had to break down and get a job? Yeah, turns out the New Mexican tit isn't as milky as I had assumed and they actually expect me to drag my own load here. What a bummer. But the upshot is that I'm not entirely sure what it is I do at my new job. Hard to get too stressed out when you have no idea what's going on.
I'm working for a company that makes the nameplates that go on a certain brand of walkers for the elderly. I couldn't make that up. I'm in the office, but downstairs there's a warehouse full of boxes of little metal tags that say "GERIATRIX" on them. I wandered down there once when I was trying to find the can and it was like remembering a Twilight Zone episode where you can't quite remember what the twist was. But I did survive my brief foray across the white-collar/blue-collar divide, possibly because my fuchsia shirt denoted me as a neutral party.
I definitely started here on the right week, since yesterday I just got paid to attend the company picnic. The pic-a-nic (I've been possessed by the spirit of Yogi Bear lately) was a raging blast, before it was over the lawn was soaked with keg beer and vomit. Frumpy CEOs and buttoned-down executive-types got naked and rode the mechanical bull, which turned out to actually be the third-shift supervisor from shipping. There was a contest to see who could hit a marshmallow the furthest with a golf club, and traffic was stopped on I-25 due to an unusually heavy marshmallow...
º Last Column: I Was Born to Love This Song º more columns
Did I mention I had to break down and get a job? Yeah, turns out the New Mexican tit isn't as milky as I had assumed and they actually expect me to drag my own load here. What a bummer. But the upshot is that I'm not entirely sure what it is I do at my new job. Hard to get too stressed out when you have no idea what's going on.
I'm working for a company that makes the nameplates that go on a certain brand of walkers for the elderly. I couldn't make that up. I'm in the office, but downstairs there's a warehouse full of boxes of little metal tags that say "GERIATRIX" on them. I wandered down there once when I was trying to find the can and it was like remembering a Twilight Zone episode where you can't quite remember what the twist was. But I did survive my brief foray across the white-collar/blue-collar divide, possibly because my fuchsia shirt denoted me as a neutral party.
I definitely started here on the right week, since yesterday I just got paid to attend the company picnic. The pic-a-nic (I've been possessed by the spirit of Yogi Bear lately) was a raging blast, before it was over the lawn was soaked with keg beer and vomit. Frumpy CEOs and buttoned-down executive-types got naked and rode the mechanical bull, which turned out to actually be the third-shift supervisor from shipping. There was a contest to see who could hit a marshmallow the furthest with a golf club, and traffic was stopped on I-25 due to an unusually heavy marshmallow coating in the right three lanes. I ate three chicken sandwiches and an orange dreamsicle, then spent the rest of the afternoon practicing stomach-stretching yoga postures to keep food from squirting out when I opened my mouth to speak. Viva la picnic!
My access card stopped working today. I feared for a second that Big Brother may have made me an unperson for my transgressions against the greater good, but it turns out there's just a server down. This seems to only effect me, so it makes me feel pretty cool to think that I have my own server. I wonder if it could bring me a club soda? *ding ding* Stewardess!
So far I've gotten in twice with other people, and once I snuck to the back door and did the secret knock and some Hispanic guy let me in. Next time, I'm going over the wall with both guns blazing. Either that or I'll just hang around by the door until someone with a working card decides to go in. Still undecided on that one.
So between the pic-a-nic thing and the access card thing, so far I've managed to go three days without learning what my actual job is here. I'm hoping to make it a month, but hey, you know I like to dream big. And in two hours I have my half-hour nap, which should seem like a thick, juicy, two-pound steak to an underfed Ethiopian boy. Come to think of it though, I could also go for a thick, juicy, two-pound steak, which would seem like a long nap to someone who stayed up too late bowling last night.
Tonight it's me and the bed 'til the cows come home. Then, it's me, the bed, and the cows. The possibilities are needless. I mean Endless. Yeah. But seriously, the thing that gets me through the day is remembering that no matter how long the day is, I know that it will end with me naked in bed, with about a half-dozen codfish. Wait a minute.
Though Mr. Timeclock tells me that I have an extra 15 minutes from Monday (though I think this is bullshit and I have at least an extra hour, but it's not been good to argue with Mr. Timeclock since his wife left him, he can be a little rough around the edges), so I should be able to cut out of here like a pair of retarded left-handed scissors at 5:15, for an arrival time at Umbrage International Apartment of 5:35pm. And you can be sure my tray tables will be in their upright and locked position (any idea how to get the tray tables DOWN in my car?) and I most certainly won't be locked in the lavatory, smoking a blunt and leafing through a porno magazine, with my socks hung over the smoke detector, muffling its cries for help.
God, I hope that clock isn't fast. And I hope a guy in a big fiberglass Droopy Dog suit gets elected president and his inaugural speech consists of grabbing the microphone in both oversized paws and shouting "LET'S GET LOOOOOADED!!"
We've all got to hope. º Last Column: I Was Born to Love This Songº more columns
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Quote of the Day“You can't tell me what to do. Unless I was already just about to do the thing you said. Then I'll do what you say, but not because you said to do it. Hold on; let me draw up a flow chart.”
-Pistain JohnsonFortune 500 CookieIn retrospect, it was a mistake to name your jewelry store "Who Faahted?" Try learning a new song this week: Everybody's sick of the theme from Ice Pirates. You'll get lucky in the market this week: all your stocks will plummet, but you're going to get laid by a butcher. This week's lucky terms of endearment: Ninjatits, Daddy's Little Freebaser, Grape Ape, President Precious, Monsieur Brabuster.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Ronald Reagan: One-Sided Interview | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Carbless Rock Soup | | 3. | The Diarrhea Weight Loss Miracle | | 4. | 10 Questions for Marcel Marceau | | 5. | the commune's 100 Best Norwegian Rap Songs Ever | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Skippy LeBonne 3/17/2003 Alphabet SoupMonday, March 17, 2003
Anemic anteaters
from Azerbaijan
bounce from brassieres
and bark at batons.
Cold-water codfish cause
cramps in the colon of a
dark-dimpled debutante
named Deborah Dedolin.
East of the egg factory, eyes can enjoy
fat-fingered Francophiles
fasting in festive Flournoy.
"Great!" gabbed the grouse-eating Gregory Gregross.
"How homey, a heart heals in the hearths of hosts."
Incredulous Incans inspect his inflection while
judicious Japanese gents make joking suggestions.
Kiss-kindling Kansans knit knives in a knot as
laconic Laotians look lazy a lot.
Merely making mention of meatloaf as he might
Nicholas Nanewton needs news...
Monday, March 17, 2003
Anemic anteaters
from Azerbaijan
bounce from brassieres
and bark at batons.
Cold-water codfish cause
cramps in the colon of a
dark-dimpled debutante
named Deborah Dedolin.
East of the egg factory, eyes can enjoy
fat-fingered Francophiles
fasting in festive Flournoy.
"Great!" gabbed the grouse-eating Gregory Gregross.
"How homey, a heart heals in the hearths of hosts."
Incredulous Incans inspect his inflection while
judicious Japanese gents make joking suggestions.
Kiss-kindling Kansans knit knives in a knot as
laconic Laotians look lazy a lot.
Merely making mention of meatloaf as he might
Nicholas Nanewton needs news of the night:
"Only obliging an orange or one oatâŚ
perhaps peas, persimmons, parsley? Please promote
quietly, quaintly and quite quick the quality of radishes and rubarb and ruffled red roe!
Salmon swim stateside and slip slightly slow
through thoughts that trip toward the tip of my toe,
underneath unusual ulcers until or unless
venomous vitamins vent my vile stress."
Wouldn't we want well-worded wishes which
examine such exciting expository expertise on dishes?
"Yes, young Yertle, yesterday you might. Yet
zebras zipping zeppelins is too much. Goodnight."   |