|  | 
February 16, 2004 |
Following instruction, a young pilot George W. Bush seeks out the way to the men's room and mistakes a bizarre metal contraption in the middle of the base. Either that, or a publicity still from an early Bush election.  resident George "Whitewash" Bush tried to put to rest the media uproar over his service record in the national guard with a brief prepared statement Friday. Bush revealed his mixed feelings for the Vietnam war, saying once and for all his personal feelings about the conflict stemmed from the apparent lack of oil or natural resources for plundering in the country.
"Before I have alluded to personal reservations about the Vietnam war," the statement began. "These were private concerns, but since the media is preoccupied with the past, let me at last tell everyone I believe the war in Vietnam was misguided. I believe any military action that puts men in danger, when there is no profit to be made in oil or rich natural resources, or a lone figurehead to be vengefully removed from ...
resident George "Whitewash" Bush tried to put to rest the media uproar over his service record in the national guard with a brief prepared statement Friday. Bush revealed his mixed feelings for the Vietnam war, saying once and for all his personal feelings about the conflict stemmed from the apparent lack of oil or natural resources for plundering in the country.
"Before I have alluded to personal reservations about the Vietnam war," the statement began. "These were private concerns, but since the media is preoccupied with the past, let me at last tell everyone I believe the war in Vietnam was misguided. I believe any military action that puts men in danger, when there is no profit to be made in oil or rich natural resources, or a lone figurehead to be vengefully removed from power, is wrong."
It was a dangerous statement for a war-hungry president during an election year, an area that could be mined by election-greedy Democrats and any forgettable third party candidates who might appear on public television or radio to complain. Even conservatives who traditionally back the president expressed initial worry about the president's dedication to the war on terror, or plans for a second term war on Iran, Syria, and Rendibaba, a little shit of an island unknown to everybody but rich in coal.
"Make no mistake," press secretary Scott McClellan responded, fielding questions from frothing reporters, "the president has no doubts about military action in Iraq or any country that supports terrorism. The president stands firm on wars for vengeance and resource exploitation. In Iraq we had both."
And the war on terror?
"That falls under the column of vengeance," assured McClellan, drawing a line with his hand. "Column A, vengeance. That's like Iraq, or Panama or something. Florida. Column B, we're talking exploitation of natural resources. President's all for that. I mean, really for that. Sometimes we have to talk him out of invading ally countries like Mexico. Loads of fat, juicy resources down there. Make his mouth water."
The president's statement could be seen as a desperate act by an administration beleaguered with a bad news week, including continued focus on intelligence mistakes and a plea from WMD inspector David Kay for the president to admit there are no weapons in Iraq. A greater problem during the week was the unearthing of questions about Bush's service in the National Guard during the year from 1972 to 1973, and records could only prove he served nine days in uniform that year, unless you count the Good Humor Man outfit he wore during a summer job.
For supporters of the president, the hope is the statement, no matter how unexpected, will allow the discussion to slip out of public light and turn national attention toward things the president likes, such as apathy, or J. Lo-Affleck gossip-dishing. For Democrats, many are optimistic that the statement will further entrench the president in an uphill battle to explain his role in the Iraq war.
"Ya-wa-hoo!" screeched Democrat presidential nominee front-runner John Kerry, who then proceeded to do a sort of jig most resembling a Riverdance theme. Further questions were not answered as Kerry hopped, twisted, and scuttled into the streets outside, in the direction of the setting sun, presumably hoping others would join him as in a Dr. Pepper commercial. the commune news has no issues with the Vietnam war, except for the proliferation of cliché war movies in the 1980s, which we think of as a scar on our national cinematic landscape. Raoul Dunkin has a scar in a very peculiar place indeed—for pictures, email the commune with the subject line "Dunkin's Second Ass Crack."
 | Oliver Stone arrested for drug possession, knowing too much
Viagra company CEO grilled on flaccid outlook; stands firm
Cantor Fitzgerald to take al-Qaeda before Judge Judy
Kutztown 13 loses gang war to Flora & Faunae Club
|
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. Sanjaya Unites Indian Fans, People Who Hate American Idol IRS: Excessively Needy Girlfriends Can’t Be Declared “Dependents” |
|  |
 | 
 December 23, 2002
Volume 32Dear commune:
I'm always fascinated by cultures different from our own. It's nice to know that some things are universal—like smiles. Everyone smiles, in every place on the earth! Isn't that cool?
Another thing is Santa Claus. Sure, we don't call him by the same name everywhere, but everyone believes in some version of Santa Claus, right? Which is why I'm writing to you. Can you tell me more about all the various versions of Santa Claus out there? It sounds exciting! Thanks!
Nat McCauley Whitewash, Washington
Dear Nat:
Judging by the fact your letter's written in crayon you're either a child or mentally handicapped, or just a full-grown man who makes very poor shopping choices. Either way, we think it best not to feed your delusions about "Santa Claus."
It is so typical of Clausians to assume everybody everywhere believes in Santa Claus and the power of his gift-giving. If you are a child, we cannot blame you, but it's time you knew that Santa Claus is only one theory of how the gifts get under the tree, and not even the oldest.
In some African cultures, popular theory is that Black Monday, a large death-dealing African tribesman with a sackful of gifts, sneaks in through the chimney (or under the door, if your home doesn't have a chimney) in the night, unsheathes a machete and deals death to the wicked white families. Their possessions are reclaimed and distributed to...
º Last Column: Volume 31 º more columns
Dear commune: I'm always fascinated by cultures different from our own. It's nice to know that some things are universal—like smiles. Everyone smiles, in every place on the earth! Isn't that cool? Another thing is Santa Claus. Sure, we don't call him by the same name everywhere, but everyone believes in some version of Santa Claus, right? Which is why I'm writing to you. Can you tell me more about all the various versions of Santa Claus out there? It sounds exciting! Thanks! Nat McCauley Whitewash, WashingtonDear Nat:
Judging by the fact your letter's written in crayon you're either a child or mentally handicapped, or just a full-grown man who makes very poor shopping choices. Either way, we think it best not to feed your delusions about "Santa Claus."
It is so typical of Clausians to assume everybody everywhere believes in Santa Claus and the power of his gift-giving. If you are a child, we cannot blame you, but it's time you knew that Santa Claus is only one theory of how the gifts get under the tree, and not even the oldest.
In some African cultures, popular theory is that Black Monday, a large death-dealing African tribesman with a sackful of gifts, sneaks in through the chimney (or under the door, if your home doesn't have a chimney) in the night, unsheathes a machete and deals death to the wicked white families. Their possessions are reclaimed and distributed to the African people, and that's how the gifts get under the tree.
In Japan, "Santa" is actually a 50-foot robot that transforms into a walkman and leaves itself under the tree. Fortunately, once one robot has completed its mission, other robots construct themselves for delivery to other children around the world.
As for ourselves, sometimes we're Santagnostics and don't know what we believe. But usually we rely on the idea that "Santa Claus," as you call him, is just pure energy that divides itself among us all, and that by closing our eyes and collectively picturing sugar plums dancing and other Christmas things, we can generate gifts under the tree without buying them. This hasn't happened yet, but it's usually from a lack of good will and Christmas cheer and therefore does not constitute a lack of existence of this energy.
Hope this has illuminated the subject and you're no longer tied to the ridiculous idea of a man coming down your chimney to empty his sack rather than fill it. Merry whatever!
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the lump of coal in your stocking. Perhaps you should have thought about that before sending us all those forwarded e-mails asking us to add our names to the bottom.º Last Column: Volume 31º more columns
| 
|  November 26, 2001
The Tale of the Burping GermanLike that faithful old pisser of a national monument out there in them park, one could always set their watch to the Great Burping German of Pistro Falls, Pennsylvania. When Ned was a boy he would often go to see that German down at the bookstore or the dog track to ask him questions or just to stand there and stare in wonderments. People came from far and near and places too near to be far or too far to be near just to see that eighth belching wonder of the world, as he sat with a little schnauzer dog named Blueten on his lap and burped the merry day away.
Some said that one could peek into the future by listening careful to them reverberant conflagrations of air and sausage fumes, like lookin' close at tea leaves or the part in Teddy Wetzembaum's hair. Others waxed and waned poetic 'bout them ringers like they was the music of the night, a waltz of the human iced with the frosting of the divine. Still others called him a big fat pig of a slob and wished he'd eat his dinner in some other restaurant. But nobody not here nor there denied that he belched, nor argued that it weren't frequent.
Once a scientist-type tried to catch one of the Burping German's belches in a great big balloon, like the kind them kiddies tie to their half-formed fists with a band of rubber and then proceed to punch at the thing until one of them is the loser. Needless to say, once he had that balloon he didn't have to wait long for the German to belch, and when he did, that...
º Last Column: Raindrops Keep Falling on Ned's Head º more columns
Like that faithful old pisser of a national monument out there in them park, one could always set their watch to the Great Burping German of Pistro Falls, Pennsylvania. When Ned was a boy he would often go to see that German down at the bookstore or the dog track to ask him questions or just to stand there and stare in wonderments. People came from far and near and places too near to be far or too far to be near just to see that eighth belching wonder of the world, as he sat with a little schnauzer dog named Blueten on his lap and burped the merry day away.
Some said that one could peek into the future by listening careful to them reverberant conflagrations of air and sausage fumes, like lookin' close at tea leaves or the part in Teddy Wetzembaum's hair. Others waxed and waned poetic 'bout them ringers like they was the music of the night, a waltz of the human iced with the frosting of the divine. Still others called him a big fat pig of a slob and wished he'd eat his dinner in some other restaurant. But nobody not here nor there denied that he belched, nor argued that it weren't frequent.
Once a scientist-type tried to catch one of the Burping German's belches in a great big balloon, like the kind them kiddies tie to their half-formed fists with a band of rubber and then proceed to punch at the thing until one of them is the loser. Needless to say, once he had that balloon he didn't have to wait long for the German to belch, and when he did, that scientist was lifted up in the air like a hot air balloon pilot. And we didn't see none of him for eight more months until one day he floated on back into town dressed up like a geisha girl and with two black eyes. Nobody never did ask him what happened on his trip when he was riding that magical belch but nobody argued that he hadn't caught a burp in a balloon nor that he didn't fly away like a squirrel taped to a blimp.
Some folks, like the owner of the opera house who'd never once put on an opera that wasn't punctuated by rafter-rattling burps, or the dental assistant who'd had her fillings shook out when she got too close to one of the Burping German's grade-A rumblers, and possibly the German's upstairs neighbors also, thought that we should run that German out of town by torchlight for disturbing the public peace.
But the rest of us remembered all that the Burping German had done for us, ever since the day many a year ago when he arrived in town mysteriously, being burped up out of the belly of a beached whale and all down by the shore. And unlike the Sneezing Chinaman of Cinder Nook or the Flatulent Finn of North Tonken, the Burping German never stopped giving back to them peoples, teaching little know-nothing children how to burp whenever they asked, and delivering a special belch sermon in church on Sundays.
So them next time you hear a sound not quite like a goat and more roundish than a foghorn, one that gives your earlobes a tickle and makes your hair feel electrimafied, before you go to your cabinet for that elephant gun remember that it may just be the Great Burping German of Pistro Falls, stopping by to see if you have any baking soda to spare. º Last Column: Raindrops Keep Falling on Ned's Headº more columns
|

|  |
Quote of the Day“If you can't stand the heat, turn down the goddamned heater.”
-Cheri S. TrumanFortune 500 CookieYou will find great happiness in wok. Be on the lookout for signs, they may guide you to riches or prevent you from driving on the railroad tracks. A large dog will determine your fate. Remember: Just a dab heals dry skin, but larger quantities can lube an entire baby. Lucky numbers: 0, 0, 0, 6.
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 Roland McShyster 10/14/2002 Come quick, America, you've got to see this. Okay, well, maybe not, but the quicker we get to the movie reviews the quicker Roland McShyster can get back to the high-powered binoculars he picked up for a dollar at a yard sale. These things are great, who knew there was so much going on outside? If you don't already have a pair, I'd highly recommend them. Actually, they're probably pretty expensive, but if you ever find a freshly divorced woman selling all of her ex's stuff for a dollar at a yard sale then I say go for it. I also picked up this incredible sword… I mean, what am I going to do with a sword, right? But at the same time, a sword for a dollar? Don't tell me you'd pass that up. Plus, it looks pretty sharp on the wall and cuts french bread like you wouldn't believe.

Come quick, America, you've got to see this. Okay, well, maybe not, but the quicker we get to the movie reviews the quicker Roland McShyster can get back to the high-powered binoculars he picked up for a dollar at a yard sale. These things are great, who knew there was so much going on outside? If you don't already have a pair, I'd highly recommend them. Actually, they're probably pretty expensive, but if you ever find a freshly divorced woman selling all of her ex's stuff for a dollar at a yard sale then I say go for it. I also picked up this incredible sword… I mean, what am I going to do with a sword, right? But at the same time, a sword for a dollar? Don't tell me you'd pass that up. Plus, it looks pretty sharp on the wall and cuts french bread like you wouldn't believe.
Okay, let's get to the movies before the aerobics class down the street lets out, deal? On to the movies!
In Theaters
Abandon Katie Holmes
Wasn't this a video game first? I seem to remember something like that, one of those wish-fulfillment first-person PC games, like you ditch Katie Holmes while on a hiking trip in Yosemite and some nature freak cuts her head off and blames it on a talking field mouse. A strange game, but undeniably fun. The movie is okay, though I think they could have come up with some more interesting scenarios than leaving Katie at the mall or the hair salon. I know they were trying not to just duplicate the levels from the game, but Death Valley and Heritage, USA still would have been fun to see.
Brown Sugar
Technological advances have certainly improved the quality of our lives over the last several years, doing away with tedious non-electronic pets and allowing us to have phone sex while we drive. But sometimes you really have to wonder about the downside to all of this progress, especially when it only takes them about two days to turn a cell phone commercial into a feature film. They must have been getting some promising Nelson scores from that commercial where Ving Rhames steals the little girl's milk, because before we could turn around to see who's got their hands in our pockets they've brought it to the big screen. Yeah, I know it's cute when little kids who used to play doctor are still friends as adults and they end up getting naked and playing "slutty stewardess and domineering airline pilot" or whatever, but please. If they were going to make a whole movie out of a dumb commercial they at least could have done the one with Donald Trump and that big Wendy's muppet, now that could have been a fun buddy cop picture.
My Big Fat Geek Website
Am I the only one our there who wishes independent films would just go away? Sure, it's great to have fresh ideas bleeding into the mix from the fringes of our culture, but honest to God, usually there's a good reason these guys aren't as well known as Spielberg or the guy who directed Goonies. This gem, which some 28 year-old Kinko's employee wiped on his sleeve and decided to keep, illustrates my point perfectly. It's too long, it has more inside jokes than a conversation with Charlie Manson, and it commits the fatal flaw of assuming anybody gives a hot goddamn about some sci-fi obsessed film nerd who works at a copy shop. There's a reason you're not popular in real life, guy, and it isn't the lack of major studio backing.
The Trainspotter
Buckle up your seat belt, loosely, and slouch your way through a two-hour adventure with the world's first heroin-addicted action hero. It's no well-kept secret that Hollywood has been swinging from the heels this year, trying to breathe new life into the tired action movie genre with startling new innovations, like replacing semi-charismatic fifty year-old meatheads with semi-charismatic twenty year-old meatheads in the starring roles. But a few studios are going even further balls-out over the top, taking a blind-assed stab at substituting an even more motley assortment of wannabe heroes for the ripped Neanderthals of years gone by. Some, like Ben Damon's dentist in The Bourne Dentist, work in a quirky kind of way, while others fall flat on their ill-conceived asses. Which end does The Trainspotter come out of? Try to picture an 84-pound pasty white guy girl-slapping a heavily tattooed Rastafarian bouncer in any kind of convincing way and you tell me.
White Oldtimer
It turns out that Eddie Murphy isn't the only fading 80's star who can strap on a couple tons of latex make-up and play a hilarious old person. Did anybody expect that Michelle Pfeiffer would be the next to machete her way through that path in the Hollywood jungle? No chance, and I give her serious points for seizing the element of surprise. The movie itself is a freeze-dried hunk of alien scat, with a twice-baked plot revolving around one of the girls from B*Witched running around and asking a hound dog and a bulldozer if they're her mother, but Pfeiffer is hilarious as the gassy old curmudgeon who gives the girl advice in her dreams and pulls his own finger. Hopefully for the sequel they'll trim the fat and just have Pfeiffer play several more funny old people.
Well, that's what they're calling a column these days folks. Pretty scary eh? If you want to file a complaint with the Surgeon General or whoever, I wouldn't hold it against you. But when you think about it, really it's all relative like reverse-inflation. Columns aren't what they used to be, sure, but have you turned on the radio lately? Good Goofy Christ, what happened to music? Compared to that kick in the nuts, this column is practically the Bible. So, you know, it's healthy to keep that in mind. If Western Civilization is on a fast track to decline, at least here at the commune we're taking the stairs. Catch up with you again in a few weeks, America!    |