he Tuesday polls have closed, the ballots are still being counted, but estimates make the outcome clear: California has lost the recall election.

California voters turned out in record, ignorant numbers Oct. 7 to make their confused voices heard, and the answer was a resounding, "What's this all about again?" As voters chose to recall Gov. Gray Davis, elected only 11 months earlier, and replace him with female-violating, Hitler-loving pure beef slab Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Not that a truly inept politician can't ruin an entire political system in less than a year. The current president only needed 9 months before the world as we knew it fell into a shitcan. And Gray Davis, described by friends as "a necessary evil," probably deserved a good pink-slipping. But to replace the deviously crafty with the hopelessly out-of-their-league, a trend already set at the presidential level, left California in the position of the biggest loser in the U.S.

Early estimates show the recall winning by 55%, with Schwarzenegger leading the recall candidates by a sizable margin. Among the opponents not just doing it for shits and giggles, Lt. Gov. "Tom" Cruz Bustamente, Sen. Tom McClintock, apparently not the character from the John Wayne movie of the same name, and a Green Party candidate who pushed a referendum where new ballots were cast with hemp. Schwarzenegger's 7,000+ votes over the next nearest candidate was called "overwhelming" by some overly-excited reporters. After all, here is a difficult foreign name they already know how to pronounce.

McClintock conceded happily to his fellow plus-sized Republican, calling it a "great day for California."

"In response to a common danger, the people of California rose to their duties and ordered a new direction for our state," said the well-rehearsed GOP mouthpiece. The message on that direction couldn't be less clear: We want the dumbest, most sexually-excitable candidate who runs a chain of failed over-hyped restaurants to do for us what he did for The Last Action Hero.

The white media, plagued with their fascination with celebrity, lauded the Schwarzenegger victory in many subtle ways, some calling it a "Hollywood ending." Leaving one compelled to remind reporters Dr. Strangelove and Taxi Driver had Hollywood endings, too.

Exit polls showed many voters disappointed with the failure of Gray Davis to mend California's budget problems during his 11 months in office. "It's not like the whole country's in a recession here," said one angry voter, drooling on this reporter's tape recorder.

The results of the California recall do little to surprise most pollsters, who predicted the election weeks in advance with their preemptive announcement of recall results beforehand. When asked what features they were looking for in a state governor, most Californians cited a vague understanding of the problems afflicting the state, poor pronunciation of English, and having appeared in at least one horrible Batman movie.

In a concession speech, Gray Davis called for everyone to "get behind" the governor-elect. What Davis neglected to add, but surely was thinking, was either that, 1, you could then proceed to push him off a cliff and into the Pacific Ocean, or 2, he's a big guy and you'll need the shade when the air conditioning dies after every power grid goes out, you fickle yellow-bellied traitors.

Schwarzenegger's new lieutenant governor, a bronze bust of former president Ronald Reagan, could not be reached for comment, as it's incapable of speech.

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Dear commune:

I have a bone to pick with you, commune. It's about time someone stood up and stated the obvious: the commune's mascot, Poopey Chalupa, is a shameful and offensive stereotype that cheapens, exploits and degrades the fine heritage of the people of Mexico. And if you're reading this out loud, you'd best be sure to pronounce that "Mey-heeco" to avoid further damage to these fine people.

Shame on you, commune: this kind of schoolyard tomfoolery is beneath you and frankly I expected more from the publication that has brought us the wit and wisdom of Tom Turkel's "Home Town" for more than 20 years. You may consider this formal notice of the cancellation of my subscription.

Beth Romerlaud
Pierce Mountain, Delaware


Dear Beth:

The commune shares your outrage at the exploitation of helpless minorities, unless they're on our payroll. No one here will soon forget the intolerance and hatred bred by shows like Taxi and Perfect Strangers in years past, and we have no interest in breeding further misconceptions, or rabbits. However, we regret to inform you that Poopey Chalupa does not work here; in actuality he is the mascot for El Común, the newsletter of the annual Mexico City street bazaar. Have you seen our mascot, lady? We'd kill to get that cute little sombrero-wearing rascal.

Furthermore, Tom Turkel's "Home Town" has never appeared on the commune, and it never will; not so long as he keeps putting on airs like he's better than everyone and has a special need for medical and dental coverage.

Lastly: though we don't sell subscriptions to the commune, we'd be happy to cancel yours and send a bill immediately. Thanks for your letter, and we'll be sending a box of rabbits to help ease your liberal guilt. Feel free to keep them as pets or eat them or whatever bizarre kinds of shit you people do.

the commune

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Dear commune:

Yeah, I've got a question for you. If all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream, then why the hell won't my Chevy start? Normally when I have a dream it's something like I've got a chicken head where my penis is supposed to be or my mother-in-law is trying to give my dog an enema. Never anything about a blown head gasket or scored pistons. What gives?

John John Fridley
Elmwood, Texas


Dear John John:

Like most teenage English majors, it appears that you've confused poetry with reality. If life were truly a dream within a dream, your letter would have been from the commune's ex-girlfriend, confessing that she really did steal the commune's CDs and the commune's Notre Dame sweatshirt. There is an upside, however: that bird that's been following you around isn't really a nagging reminder of your lost love, it just wants some of the beef jerky in your pocket.

the commune

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Dear commune:

I'm dick and tired of hearing the stereotype that all men are obsessed with sex and that they can't help but think about tit every ten seconds. Sure, some guys may be certified hooter hounds, but that doesn't mean the chest of us are just helpless dogs, salivating at the taut of glimpsing naked female flesh. It's unfair to hump us in with that fist group, when we as a sex have cum so far. I'm a head-blooded American male, boner of a healthy sex drive, but I ride myself on being capable of suck things as intelligent thought and higher brainal function, and I think moist men are, ass well.

I thrust that we're in agreement on this topless.

Kent Boobner
Knobjob, New York


Dear Kent:

You have a good point there, Kent. Good fuck with your crusade, and spank you for riding.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune news would like to issue a warm greeting to our new scab tiny-type writers, even though it feels kind of weird to issue a warm greeting to yourself. But what the hell, they pay better than Stride Rite.

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Well, it takes a big man to admit it, but I'm the big man who leaked that CIA lady's name to the press. Aim your cameras over this way, boys. I didn't know it was such a big deal, I thought it was obvious to everyone else that she'd bought her entire wardrobe out of the CIA's mail-order catalog, including those hideous navy blue pumps. Doesn't take a super-spy to notice this stuff, people. She even had the "CIA Agents Do It When You're Not Looking" bumper sticker on her car, for Christ's sake.

In regard to this whole hullabaloo, Laura Bush was quoted as reassuring the American public that "My husband wants the very highest ethics," which seems to indicate that a shaky grasp of the English language runs in that marriage. The funny thing is that I'm almost entirely sure she meant to say he wanted the very highest ethnics, since Bush prefers to streamline his day by only dealing with stereotypes, saves him a lot of time from what I hear.

Conservative commentator and man-sized Potatohead Rush Limbaugh is in trouble this week, after saying NFL quarterback Donovan McNabb is overrated because he's black. The connotation being that the liberal media is desperate to have black quarterbacks succeed and so they draw undue attention to McNabb's modest achievements. If I were McNabb I'd say it's okay, since Limbaugh's overrated as a commentator anyway because of his whiteness. Conservatives are desperate to have white mouthpieces so they don't have to listen to anybody of color. Kudos to McNabb for his tact, but I for one wouldn't have begrudged the man a "I guess it takes one to know one," schoolyard slam.

If you're not into politics or the world outside the U.S. borders, I guess the big story this week is that little 2-year-old girl who was found after her mother went to jail and left her home alone for three weeks with nothing but ketchup, mustard and dried pasta to eat. A touching story for sure but let's not get carried away here people. That was my exact diet back in college and nobody made a fuss about me back then, though I could have used the attention. If she'd fought off some burglars with frying pans and matchbox cars while she was doing it, now that'd be a different story entirely. A charmingly-hilarious different story.

Looks like the Russians are still bitching about that comrade who got married on the space station last month, accusing him of hot-dogging by not waiting until he got back to earth to get married. I think it's silly, if he really wanted to hot-dog he could have put a giant oversized tuxedo on over his moon-man suit and slow-danced with a mannequin out in space, while the rest of the crew videotaped it and played "I've Had the Time of My Life" over the station's patio speakers. That would have been hot-dogging it. This dude was just saving on catering expenses.

Whenever they show the space station I really have to wonder who in the hell designed that thing. They always get it right on the movies: Sleek, futuristic decks with recessed lighting and dramatic, expansive hallways, bay windows overlooking Jupiter, all that fantastic crap. Then they show some footage from the real thing, and it's like some kind of sick joke. It's just a bunch of pathetic astro-geeks crawling around these cramped little erector sets that make a Winnebago look like the freakin' Taj Mahal. When they sold us on the majesty of space exploration, I think they forgot to tell us about the guy crawling around like a dog and shitting in a can. Sounds more like modern-day Turkey to me.

Would it have killed them to make those things man-sized? It's not like space is at a high premium out there in space. Maybe they were expecting the astronauts to add-on once they got comfortable, but were as surprised as the rest of us that they just sit around and bitch about the TV reception. Not that I can really criticize the astronauts too harshly, I suppose I'd get tired of eating that astronaut ice cream after a while too. Sure, a couple pieces are fun, but after that I really start thinking about how it's not Dryer's and I should have saved some of my gift-shop money for that giant moon lollipop.

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