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4/23/26   
High on life, and it is a bad trip
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='I’m 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='2005/0912/'; $hoopertitle='Seventh Heaven'; $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='2005/0912/'; $polio='2005/0905/'; $poliotitle='Omarelief'; $rent='2005/0912/'; $renttitle='Way Inside Jokes'; $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'; ?>
homecommune Staff Biographiescommune news20,000 Seats Beneath the League with Stan AbernathieOr So You Thought with Red BagelBook RevoltBoris is Gay with Boris UtzovMy Friend Polio with Omar BricksMy Dearest Deidrebane with Carlisle P. ChesterfeldChild Star with Clarissa ColemanThe Best of Joel DickmanNo Shit? with Griswald DreckOne Sane Man with Raoul DunkinEditorial CartoonsFanmail from Some Flounders: Letters to the EditorGiving You the Finger with Rok FingerThe Hanes Identity with Mickey HanesSampson L. Hartwig RemembersShort ‘N’ Sweet with Stan HooperPoop of the Century with Ramrod HurleyAmerican Jesus with Mitch KroegerYou Can’t Win with Alamo CruiseFortune 500 Cookies with Mazie the ChickenManifestos of FunMe Chinese with Ned NedmillerSittin’ Around the Pickle Barrel with Shorty and JeterPoetry CoronerEntertainment Police: Movie and Television ReviewsThis Space for Rent: Guest ColumnistsGlass Ceiling Fan with Thelma ReynoldsClarise Sickhead’s Bedtime StoriesGoddammit! with Ted TedReflections of a Goocher with Stu UmbrageThe World Vs. Homer Vanslykecommune Club with Emil Zender

Republican Majority Mandates Lobster Bibs for Democrats

November 11, 2002
Washington, D.C.
Ansel Evans
There's just no way to wear one of those things without looking like an asshole.
L
ess than a week after the Republican smack-down known as the 2002 election, giddy conservatives were chomping at the bit to address their priorities for the upcoming session of Congress. Saturday night, an after-hours weekend meeting and weenie roast for GOP Congressmen both incumbent and newly elect set the tone for the upcoming session. Among the top priorities addressed were mandatory lobster bibs for all Democrats, the implementation of segregated Democrat bathrooms down in the basement behind the boiler room, and the requirement that Democrats sing the teapot song before speaking during congressional debates.

"Well, those boys is some messy eaters, so we figured we'd help 'em out so they can keep their shirts clean," chuckled Senator Thad Cochran from Tennessee.
Read more...


Stocks Plunge- Wait, No, Stocks- Shit- Stocks Soar, Hold On- Stocks- Fuck

Zimbabwe's Mugabe bitch-slapped with sanctions

Stocks would be fine if Greenspan would shut-up about reality

Price of gasoline rises to level of annoying small-talk



June 27, 2005

Click for Biography

I Plead "Not Guilty" to the Charge of Breeding Velocimonkeys

That's right, your honor, you heard the title. I've prepared this statement in my defense because this country's legal system is inherently biased against the kind of "shock and awe" courtroom antics that would most memorably and quickly prove my innocence, and so I've been forced to make humble words, and periodic karate gestures, my servants. I stand here before you today a man innocent of the baseless accusations that I personally bred and trained a small army of vicious and lightning-quick monkeys to keep government ninjas out of my house.

These charges are untrue, your honor, and I bear no responsibility for the power company meter reader who was torn to shreds by these cunning, genetically-modified apes. The berserk primates that witnesses saw fleeing my home on May 17th had invaded my innocent dwelling only moments before, possibly descending by rope from a blimp, or creating an elaborate series of underground tunnels leading to my basement, or possibly both.

The prosecution will be calling two witnesses, Reginald "Dickface" Tungstein and Charlize "Dirty Lying Bitch" Overborn, who are both professional liars hired to gain my trust, plant monkey-breeding evidence in my home, and to fake video footage of me running frighteningly-swift killer monkeys though training drills in my own back yard. Neither of these individuals, you will note, has ever seen the movie Congo. As your honor obviously knows, this seriously calls into question...Read more...


º Last Column: My Fucking Living Will Just Died
º more columns


December 22, 2003

Click for Biography

Volume 58

Dear commune:

I’m an idiot. Let’s just get that out in the open right now so there’s no confusion on the subject. Judge me if you will, and egg my minivan if you must, I won’t put up any kind of lame, face-saving argument to the contrary. As you may have guessed, I completely forgot to send out thank-you notes for the Christmas presents I received last year. Totally slipped my mind. Didn’t even think of it until last Tuesday, when I was shopping for a Christmas bone for my dog and I suddenly realized I was the one in the doghouse. Figuratively.

My immediate urge was to correct this oversight, posthaste. I even had a box of thank-you notes and a pair of wavy border-cutting scissors in my cart when it dawned on me that Christmas, this year’s version, is less than a week away! So what should I do? Should I send out the belated thank-yous now, only to follow them in less than a week’s time with additional notes of gratitude for this year’s presents? What if they get the first one and think this means I didn’t get this year’s presents? What if they sent me the same thing two years in a row and they think I opened it early? That’s not very nice. Should I wait until after Christmas and send dual thank-you notes? Or would that just be rubbing it in their faces that I spent a whole year not appreciating their present? Or should I just consider last year’s gaffe water under the bridge and hope they didn’t notice? But then I might...Read more...


º Last Column: Volume 57
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Milestones
2004: President Bush, in a farewell address to the nation, apologizes for corruption in his administration and senseless slaughter of American lives, as well as the mangling of the language (courtesy of Future Bob).
Now Hiring
New Now Hiring Guy. What can we say? Richie quit. Stupid, if you ask us. It was a sweet gig. Most of time he never even got any applications or resumes to review. He just made up half these jobs, but don't tell anyone we said so. You just can't make some people happy.
5 Worst Baby Names
1.Osama Bin Hitler
2.Cap'n Jackass
3.Fascist Clay
4.Li'l Accident
5.Not-Gay Bruce
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Chandra Hiccough
6/28/2004
I Am the Girl From Nantucket
Since I believe my good name and hometown have been slandered long enough, I've endeavored to best (and hopefully replace) the famous ribald limerick that has dogged my earthly days.

Stand back and smell the magic:


There once was a girl from Nantucket,
Her anatomy oft compared to a bucket;
Unfair was the claim
Made against this fair dame,
Did I mention her name was...
ah, fuck it.

Let's try this again.

There once was a MAN from Nantucket,
Who would eat up clam then upchuck it;
So disgusting his trick
As to make a girl sick,
I wish I'd had the reflexes to duck it.

No, no, no. Why do I always end up writing about dad?
Read more...

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