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Amish Threaten to Vote RepublicanAugust 9, 2004 |
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania Whit Pistol An Amish voter attempts to rally support among his community for the president. No, forget that. How about… Kenny Chesney recreates his favorite scenes from Wagon Train? Yeah, that's funnier.   acing a unified Democratic front and a race as tight as 2000 in November, Republicans have made some attempt to bring Amish voters to the polls in 2004. Desperate? Perhaps, but a strong turnout by the Amish could make a difference in critical states Ohio and Pennsylvania, and the Amish are a group whose votes would certainly swing Republican, making for a demographic worth cow-towing to.
Because of their religious mania, which is to say the particularity of their Christianity, the Amish vote on issues of morality and favor the Republican choice in most of those cases, such as the GOP stance on abortion and homosexual marriage. Wars built on false evidence and conducted for private financial gain of corporations apparently aren't as big a priority.
Can Republican...
acing a unified Democratic front and a race as tight as 2000 in November, Republicans have made some attempt to bring Amish voters to the polls in 2004. Desperate? Perhaps, but a strong turnout by the Amish could make a difference in critical states Ohio and Pennsylvania, and the Amish are a group whose votes would certainly swing Republican, making for a demographic worth cow-towing to.
Because of their religious mania, which is to say the particularity of their Christianity, the Amish vote on issues of morality and favor the Republican choice in most of those cases, such as the GOP stance on abortion and homosexual marriage. Wars built on false evidence and conducted for private financial gain of corporations apparently aren't as big a priority.
Can Republicans actually convince the Amish to brave the asphalt roads and scary power lines to bring their vote to town? Even as the GOP moves in to woo voters, some in the withdrawn collective are stirring up Bush support among the buttonless.
"We admire George W. Bush, and what his America stands for," said Pennsylvania Dutch man Wooster Kurth. "Of course, we don't have televisions and are forbidden to read the paper. But what we've heard, we like."
He's not alone either. The threat of a tight race against the Democrats, who have allowed women and the ethnic into their ranks, has stirred the Amish to action, creating many potential votes for Bush. And since their children aren't sent off to die in wars and they don't participate in our economy, why not?
"We feel America has followed an insane path," said Ohio Amish woman Mildred Hansard, churning butter in an erotic fashion. "The moral decay is present everywhere, in the reprehensible behavior of your Patty Dukes and Mamie Van Dorens, your micro-mini-skirt fashions, and jazz. We believe, based on the wooden pamphlets passed out to us, that your President Bush is a man of strong moral character. And besides, it would be exciting to go into town later on this year. Nothing happening around here, the Lord knows."
Because of their high intolerance for religious diversity and the free will of mankind, the Amish make an ideal voting group for Republicans. Also, they avoid the news at all costs and never seek out more information on any subject, making them very similar to Fox News viewers. In an age when election votes are counted and recounted in Florida, and considering both Pennsylvania and Ohio use Amish-approved paper voting systems, even a reasonable number of Amish voters could give the administration a chance for hard-to-win states.
The question remains: Can the GOP convince enough Amish voters to turn out to make that difference? The Republicans must consider it a possibility, based on recent additions to their platform:
1) A 30% tax break for families with an annual income of $0 and no electricity.
2) A federal amendment defining barn raisings as a wholesome, pro-family event.
3) Intercourse, Pennsylvania name to be changed to something less hell-inducing.
Insiders also report of memos circulating around the White House, suggesting Bush begin growing a beard without a mustache before the 2004 election. But due to complications in the past, the president refuses to follow the same memo's suggestion to wear suspenders. the commune news thinks the Amish have been cocky for way too long, and if the war ever breaks out, we want the Mennonites to know we got their back. Raoul Dunkin, still recovering from his TummyPort surgery, hoped that Amish cooking would be a little easier on the stomach, but believes their favorite food group is "roughage."
 | Automatic bread-butterer butters wrong goddamned side
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Jobs' Last Laugh: Suri Cruise Somehow Inside Your New iPhone
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Senator Wins Lottery, Quits "Shitty Job" epublican Senator Judd Gregg finally ran into a big steaming pile of luck Wednesday when he matched 5 of 6 Powerball numbers and won a lottery jackpot of $853,492. Gregg immediately called Vice-President Dick Cheney to let his boss know he would not be coming into work. “It’s about friggin’ time I got some good luck,” Gregg told reporters in front of his home in his home state of New Hampshire. Gregg waved his winning ticket in the air frantically and laughed. “Eat it, taxpayers! I’m gonna be my own boss from now on!” Gregg, who chairs the Senate Budget Committee and spent more than $2 million in his last re-election campaign, did admit to some sour grapes in not winning the $340 million jackpot won by an Oregon player in the same lottery. the commune's Fall Gadget Guide t’s almost the time of year to start pretending you’re Christmas shopping while you look for swanky new shit for yourself, and the commune is there for you with our first-ever annual Fall Gadget Guide. Join commune Tech Correspondent Mitch Kroeger as he guides you through the bewildering wilderness of the new and the shiny. Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay |
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 January 21, 2002
Volume 12Dear commune:
I appreciate your views and your attention to the various sources of news out there. the commune is one of the finest Internet publications I've ever read, and that's not saying much. But I'm afraid I write to you with matters other than praise in mind.
I have recently been treed by a large Kodiak bear. In fact, it was less than thirty minutes ago. I'm afraid I am stumped for what to do. The branches are weakening and the bear has attempted repeatedly to either jump up and grab me or push the tree over with his brute strength and I'm afraid he'll yet succeed.
Please do not ask how I am able to communicate via the mail from my current whereabouts and situation. Also, please do not suggest I throw food to him to distract him. If I had food with me I surely wouldn't be writing to the commune without trying that first. Thank you and step on the response, please.
Donald Grady Cabrio, WY
Dear Donald:
Okay, so… how'd you get the letter mailed once again? Yeah, I know you said don't, but… what's the deal? It boggles our minds.
the commune
Dear commune:
I really, really like camp here. I was wrong. I said I didn't want to come and I didn't but I'm glad I came because it is a lot of fun here.
The counselors say nice things to me and we have to work real hard all day and exercise...
º Last Column: Volume 11 º more columns
Dear commune: I appreciate your views and your attention to the various sources of news out there. the commune is one of the finest Internet publications I've ever read, and that's not saying much. But I'm afraid I write to you with matters other than praise in mind. I have recently been treed by a large Kodiak bear. In fact, it was less than thirty minutes ago. I'm afraid I am stumped for what to do. The branches are weakening and the bear has attempted repeatedly to either jump up and grab me or push the tree over with his brute strength and I'm afraid he'll yet succeed. Please do not ask how I am able to communicate via the mail from my current whereabouts and situation. Also, please do not suggest I throw food to him to distract him. If I had food with me I surely wouldn't be writing to the commune without trying that first. Thank you and step on the response, please. Donald Grady Cabrio, WYDear Donald:
Okay, so… how'd you get the letter mailed once again? Yeah, I know you said don't, but… what's the deal? It boggles our minds.
the commune
Dear commune: I really, really like camp here. I was wrong. I said I didn't want to come and I didn't but I'm glad I came because it is a lot of fun here. The counselors say nice things to me and we have to work real hard all day and exercise and they never give us real food and a lot of the kids turn up missing once in a while but they usually show up sooner or later when they're caught and brought back. Best of all, no one calls me fat here and nobody calls none of the kids here. Besides the guy who brings the food in on the truck he always says, "Another drop off for the fat kids camp." But all the camp counselors say husky and even the kids don't call me fat because they're all fat. Some are fatter than me. I mean husky. I want to come home. Christopher Pinzer Camp Positive, KSDear Christopher:
Maybe he had a dog or something that ran the letter down from the tree. But how would a dog climb a tree? And if he had the dog, maybe the bear would've tried to eat it or at least chased it and he could've gotten down from the tree anyway. And couldn't the dog have just carried a note to someone who could get a park ranger or something? Instead of addressing, stamping, and mailing a letter. Puzzling.
the commune
Dear commune: Here are hot XXX pictures of my girlfriend. She's a fine-ass whore. She loves to suck it from a bucket. I think you can throw away all the other entries right now. Ain't nobody a hot-ass honey more than my girl. She does it all. All anal, all oral, all over the place. She may be entering your "Hottest Amateur" contest but she does it all like a pro. Ain't nobody getting' no better. And she's mine, all mine, fellas. You can look but you better not touch. Okay, you got me. She's not my girlfriend. But she is my sister. Do I still get the prize money? Ronnie Hulmut Little Chuck, ARDear Ronnie:
It's possible maybe, just maybe, he suspected he might be treed by a Kodiak bear without food for distracting it, and prepared a letter to mail to us in case he didn't come back within a certain amount of time. But that seems highly unlikely. Such a detailed letter and he didn't say he was mailing it in advance? Did a psychic maybe tell him it was possible a Kodiak bear was going to catch him up a tree and he should turn to us for help? But if he had any inclination surely he would've taken a cell phone or something at least, or bear food or some tranquilizers. Or at least a friend to go and get the ranger. What the hell's the deal?
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for anything printed on our website. We've been taking everything straight from www.villagevoice.com and just replacing the names for weeks now.º Last Column: Volume 11º more columns
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|  September 30, 2002
Sub-Transportational Carsick BluesBy now everybody in the tri-state area knows about the fiery death of the Bricksmobile, that's old news. And really, big deal. It's something that happens to everybody at least once in their life, having their car blow up and tear the garage doors off of three of their neighbors' houses, and getting sued and all that. Just one of those trials of life things like having to waddle into the emergency room with a coke bottle stuck up your ass. No fun, for sure, but it's not like it's your own personal torment that nobody else can relate to. Just part of living la vida loca, like that Taco Bell commercial says.
But this latest wrinkle in the saga is just plain different. First, as I'm sure you've heard, I get banned from every taxi company in the city. Every one! Even the ones that don't speak English. Don't even ask me how that happens; the logistics of it are mind-blowing. I did learn a valuable lesson from this experience, though. If you're going to reenact the "throwing the flaming jack-o-lantern at the dude's head" scene from Sleepy Hollow to surprise one of your friends while he's on a blind date, don't do it from a taxi. Rent a car or something, I don't know. Because a lifetime citywide taxi ban is one hard motherfucking pill to swallow, that's all that can be said about that.
So now I've got no way of getting around, except for this shitty old Schwinn I found in the garage that only works in the highest gear. Believe me, I tried some...
º Last Column: Just Leave Me a Clone º more columns
By now everybody in the tri-state area knows about the fiery death of the Bricksmobile, that's old news. And really, big deal. It's something that happens to everybody at least once in their life, having their car blow up and tear the garage doors off of three of their neighbors' houses, and getting sued and all that. Just one of those trials of life things like having to waddle into the emergency room with a coke bottle stuck up your ass. No fun, for sure, but it's not like it's your own personal torment that nobody else can relate to. Just part of living la vida loca, like that Taco Bell commercial says.
But this latest wrinkle in the saga is just plain different. First, as I'm sure you've heard, I get banned from every taxi company in the city. Every one! Even the ones that don't speak English. Don't even ask me how that happens; the logistics of it are mind-blowing. I did learn a valuable lesson from this experience, though. If you're going to reenact the "throwing the flaming jack-o-lantern at the dude's head" scene from Sleepy Hollow to surprise one of your friends while he's on a blind date, don't do it from a taxi. Rent a car or something, I don't know. Because a lifetime citywide taxi ban is one hard motherfucking pill to swallow, that's all that can be said about that.
So now I've got no way of getting around, except for this shitty old Schwinn I found in the garage that only works in the highest gear. Believe me, I tried some pretty creative schemes to get out of having to ride that goddamned thing. Like ordering a pizza to be delivered, then riding back to Dominos with the delivery guy, then calling on their phone to order a pizza from another place closer to where I wanted to get to, and so on and so forth. Turns out that gets pretty expensive around the third or fourth leg of the trip, in retrospect I probably should have laid off ordering the hot wings and the extra 2-liters of Coke and whatnot. Not to mention that some of those guys get downright weird about you riding in their car with them back to the pizza place, trying to pull away when you're just grabbing the door handle and all kinds of rude shit like that.
So anyway, a couple hundred bucks later Omar Bricks is back to busting his ass on the goddamned garage sale bike. And let me tell you, if you ever want to work up a healthy hatred of your fellow man, try riding a bike to work. People expect you to ride over in the gutter like some kind of taxi-banned wino on his way to the wine factory or wherever the hell it is winos work. And they get all bent out of shape when you get off your bike to push it up a hill, like they've got somewhere to be all of a sudden. Christ, I wouldn't even be shlepping it up these hills at all if anybody respected the bike lane on the freeway like they're supposed to.
All I know is that this bike thing can't last long. It's all fine and good if you're eight and you don't know any better, but what in the world do they make adult-sized bikes for? I guess to give drivers something to laugh at on their morning commune, cut down on road rage or something. Sounds reasonable. But Omar Bricks is done being the rush-hour punch line; I'm clearly ready for a new set of wheels. Maybe a scooter or something, do they still make those? Those Devo guys sure seemed happy cruising around on those things. Not that I'm going to wear the lampshade hat or anything, I just want some kind of vehicle that does the peddling for me. If I've learned one thing from this whole ordeal, it's that peddling is for suckers.
That, and don't set your car on fire based on an infomercial. So two things. Maybe three, if you count the taxi ban. Shit, maybe I should look into getting some college credits out of this thing. Turning the whole situation on its head, to my advantage and all.
Now that's what they call finding the Kraut's silver linens.
Bricks Out. º Last Column: Just Leave Me a Cloneº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Yawn and the world yawns with you. Fart and you fart alone.”
-Dr. FilbertFortune 500 CookieStop taking it so personally when everyone tells you how ugly you are. At least you're getting noticed. That breakfast cereal you made out of Tic Tacs sure has helped your breath, but next week our crystal ball shows a diagnosis for cancer of the everything. They say dogs are a good judge of character, and even dogs don't like your screenplay. This week's lucky Tims: Tiny Tim, Spazzy Tim, Him Tim, Tim and Tim Again, Phantom Tim, Tim Saved in a Bottle.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Tanks: Why Can't We Drive 'Em? | | 2. | Apples: The Silent Killer | | 3. | Suck It: the commune's Vacuum Cleaner Reviews | | 4. | Uncle Macho's Boat Fire Gumbo | | 5. | Critic's Corner: How You Personally Ruined Western Culture | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Harpooner Johnson 8/18/2003 Freak Outs and Head Trips in Atlantic CityAtlantic City is like the orange shag carpet of a ratty first apartment, brilliantly bright and nasty. Filled with cigarette butts and alcohol stains that come out fully visible in the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights. And there's nothing but fluorescent lights in Atlantic City, flat and neon, gross and putrid.
Intelligent beasts don't go to Atlantic City of their own free will. Neither did I, and would never have set foot in the rectum of America had I not been on assignment for Boner magazine to cover the first of its kind Monty Python Fan Base Convention. Anything better but the scraps of altruistic sex magazines was something I couldn't ask for, troubled and washed out by all major journalistic outlets for my decadent behavior. Decadent by their standards, my own...
Atlantic City is like the orange shag carpet of a ratty first apartment, brilliantly bright and nasty. Filled with cigarette butts and alcohol stains that come out fully visible in the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights. And there's nothing but fluorescent lights in Atlantic City, flat and neon, gross and putrid.
Intelligent beasts don't go to Atlantic City of their own free will. Neither did I, and would never have set foot in the rectum of America had I not been on assignment for Boner magazine to cover the first of its kind Monty Python Fan Base Convention. Anything better but the scraps of altruistic sex magazines was something I couldn't ask for, troubled and washed out by all major journalistic outlets for my decadent behavior. Decadent by their standards, my own having fallen far beneath normal human radar. I had seen the best and worst in human kind, aspired for the heights of human achievement and rode on waves into the depths of the worst human endeavors. Saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness and plagiarized Ginsberg without second thought. In short, I took what I could get and what I could get was Atlantic City.
On the advice of my accountant, Mr. Bongo, I loaded a suitcase full of the world's most powerful stimulants, depressants, and psychedelic substances. He suggested it was in my best financial interest to buy the drugs in the poorer neighborhoods, rent a car with full insurance coverage, and take him with me so we could buy a matching pair of "I'm with stupid" T-shirts. If the Democrats ever got back into office I could probably write it off on my taxes.
The sniveling bureaucrat at the car rental place appeared to have stepped right out of a training film for the John Birch Society. Short, greasy hair that reflected the gleaming "Rental" sign perfectly, a suit with cuffs and pantlegs both just short of stylish, and the sweaty upper lip of a man who had ridden too far on the inheritance of slave traders. His impudently white skin grew paler by the minute as my accountant and I loaded our things into the rental. We had gotten him out of bed at midnight with the promise a big accountant would fill his fat polyester pockets before daybreak.
"Be careful with the car, or we won't insure it," he warned us with a snide drawl as I drove the car over ten other rentals lined side by side.
"I always test the tires this way," I assured him.
With a flittering, forgetful signing of some red-tape document we were on our way. It was a three- or four-day journey from Los Angeles to Atlantic City, but we were confident we could make it in six hours once the heroin set in. I personally filled the tank with my own mixture of half-gasoline, half-nitrous oxide for better mileage, and it appeared to be paying off as we were in Kansas within the first half hour.
Kansas is flatter than a band majorette's chest and only slightly more alluring, once you're under the influence of Scandinavian mosquito dung. It was a little something my accountant had picked up in a general store in the 1840s during a bad peyote trip. He had had to pay for it with a pocket watch and five consonant sounds during the rush of the drug. But it was worth every syllable as colors drifted between our eyelids and we both felt the wind sliding into our gullets like warm gravy. We decided to stop and pick up a hitchhiker, but it only turned out to be a hitchhiking camel in a bad disguise. He didn't speak English but he smoked feverishly. We didn't bother to ask him where he was going. He was just along for the ride, like we all were.   |