espite the protests of investors who fear for their own financial safety, Federal authorities tagged and released Housewifing guru Martha Stewart into the wild last Friday, returning the mogul to her natural environment in hopes of learning from her behavior outside captivity.

Federal marshals were on high alert this weekend as the news broke that the TV personality and famously nice lady had been released. Early reports that Stewart had escaped from her West Virginia prison, bribing her captors with microwave caramel apples and slipping out through a shit drain in the fashionably late hours Thursday night, later proved to be erroneous. Stewart, thought to be either foraging in the wild or sitting with her feet up in her Bedford, New York home, eating lightly salted edamane soy beans, is considered fashionably dressed and not particularly dangerous.

“Aaagh!� screamed part-time stock investor Harold Oldman, perhaps overreacting to the news. “We’re all going to die!�

Recent retiree and investment dabbler Maya Coolidge expressed a similar sentiment from a crack between the several wooden pallets she had stacked in front of her front door for protection. “I don’t feel safe in my own home!� shouted Coolidge through the muffle of plywood. Either that or “Adam feet saving moan hole!� which this reporter preferred, but the copy desk found less likely.

Coolidge might also have yelled “Radon eels chafe gin eyes! Phone Rome!� or “Idle fleece have fins, mayo gnome!� regardless of what those commune knobs, who weren’t even there, have to say about it.

Many loudmouthed observers believe that Stewart served too short a prison sentence for doing some kind of naughty stocky thing that few understand. But wildlife experts disagree, citing the scientific benefits of West Virginia’s “catch and release� program.

“We’re not learning anything from Martha being in prison,� explained science redneck Tick Douglas. “Except that she doesn’t like Jell-o, but will eat it if force-fed by giant lesbians. But in the wild, in her natural habitat…� Douglas’ eyes glazed over in a drifting, far-away stare. “Humanity could benefit forever from what we learn.�

Snippy observers have christened Stewart’s new earlobe tracking tag “tack-zilla, girlfriend� but Stewart herself has been silent about the seemingly-undignified accessory. Many believe this is because Stewart plans to start a new fashion craze by selling knock-off ear tags as part of her Martha Stewart Everyday line available at K-Mart stores, and the elementary schools that were until a few months ago K-Mart stores, nationwide.

Turkey to Block Offensive Websites; commune Offers Pre-Emptive “Fuck You”

Obama to Change Spelling of Name to oBAMa for Maximum Impact

Oasis, Killers Combine Forces to Ruin Sgt. Pepper’s for Everyone

Global Warming Poses Threat to National Parks, Says WWF’s “Machoman” Savage

Dear commune:

Hey, what up? Long time no see, m’man. How’s shit gone down for ya? What you do for New Year’s and all? I was getting down with some tasty honeys. Nothin’ too drastic, I get enough action I ain’t gonna exaggerate it or nothin’. But it was suh-weet! You KNOW I got their digits.

Where you been? Ain’t nobody seen you at the club since Shorty got that clap. Everything cool?

Dennis Warrell
St. Louis, MO


Dear Dennis:

Everything’s cool. We had nothing going on for New Year’s. Had some friends over, played board games of all things, just downed some cases of beer and a bottle of wine, watched the ball drop on T.V. Dick Clark still looks like he ain’t aged none, something’s going on with that guy.

It’s all good here, we just ain’t been down with the club scene in a while. It’s getting tired, man. We know you’re gonna give us shit for it, but we just can’t keep on doing the same thing anymore. The girls get younger and younger and dumber and dumber, there ain’t no sport in clubbing anymore. the commune would rather just hang out on the weekend with a nice girl, or just relax and watch T.V. or read a book. But you the man! You keep up the hunt, if you got game in ya. I think we’re hanging up the jersey, though.

What’s up with Shorty? Last time I saw that motherfucker he had this fuck-ugly bitch hanging all on his jock and he was pretending she was fine. I was about ready to swat that bitch, I swear. His standards gone to shit or what? Peace out, man.

the commune

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Dear commune:

I appreciate the extreme views on your website. Even when I don’t agree with them it’s nice to see people thinking for themselves and asking different questions. It keeps our media fresh and alert, which keeps our system of checks and balances working.

I do have one question for the commune: Is all the strong language necessary? It seems to me these are basically public air waves, in a sense, and children and anybody could find the commune and read what’s printed here. I don’t think the essence of what’s being said, the real substance, would change if the language were more fitting for all potential readers.

I truly believe that a poor vocabulary is the product of an unimaginative mind. Surely the columnists and feature writers for the commune write better words than the ones they often use?

Annette Bustlen
Ontario, Canada


Dear Annette:

Fuck a yeti, you rusted old Canuck twat.

the commune

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Dear commune:

I don’t know why I’m choosing to write to you. I’m at my wit’s end and need help.

I have a neighbor who plays his stereo way too loud. I hate to think of myself as an old fuddy-duddy, but it really bothers me. He plays the stereo at top decibels all day long, even as late as 10 p.m. at night. I have to work in the morning! Not right now, it’s Saturday night, I just mean through the week when I usually hear the stereo and get upset.

What should I do? I hate to be a jerk about it or anything.

Darren Hutchins
Calder, California


Dear Annette:

Usually straightforward honesty is the best policy for dealing with an unpleasant situation. Confront your neighbor, be unrelenting but understanding and explain to him why the loud stereo is a problem for you. It is important you refuse to give any quarter or show any signs of backing down, often people will try to talk their way out of situations or turn the blame on you. By being polite yet forthright, you should alleviate the problem. Failing all else, you must be firm and contact the police or landlord about the problem, anyone who can enforce a stern rule about disturbing the peace. Sooner or later, with your commitment toward solving the problem, your neighbor will concede and turn his stereo down.

Unless it’s Creedence. Crank that shit till the dial breaks! It rocks, it rocks hard.

the commune

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Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible low turn out at American professional soccer events. C’mon—it’s soccer, people. What did you expect?

º Last Column: Volume 10
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I'm madder than a skunk who smells like flowers. 'Cause they usually smell like ass, is what I mean.

I just found out there's a usurper to my crown. That's how my sister, Cassandra, phrased it, and it seemed to fit pretty well. Really Branaghian or something. A usurper, for those of you who don't have a smart lawyer sister to tell you, is a real bitch who thinks she's hot shit and tries to steal what you own right out from under you. Picture Christina Aguilera snaking Britney's number one spot with a cheesy cover of some New Edition song.

The tart's name is Jayme Kristofson, and I know that's totally made up. Her real name's probably Shirley Hemphill or something, but she's all showbiz-smart and is trying to steal all my thunder. Her first target is the Metallichick comic book I do. I was too late to notice and before I knew it she went from being some kind of rabid comic book fan—I should have known something was wrong when a girl said she liked comic books—to Nat Herschel's girlfriend. Nat, if you're reading this, if I got the website address right for the first time, she's playing you, dude. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you to your face, but you were ignoring me and had your ears covered and shit. It's called denial, dude—look into it. But you should know better—no one with a body like that really thinks an Elfquest T-shirt is cool. Face facts, man.

I've had my share of hot-to-trot actresses trying to horn in on my business over the years, I'm no newcomer. There was this short teen-ager who used to stand in for me when I was on Who's Your Daddy? and she was always saying she could rehearse a scene in my place when I was too hungover to do it. She knew how to climb the ladder, always getting coffee for the other castmembers and complimenting the director on his work. But I was a smart kid, and Dusty had friends in the cement business who made sure she broke her leg and couldn't stand in so well afterwards. It's a rough game, that's all I got to say. Don't walk in to a fight without someone covering your back.

There are other examples, too, but some of those I was well over 18 and could legally be considered an accomplice, so let's just skip to the point: I know hardball. If this bitch wants to play, I'm bringing my ball. So to speak.

She may be pinning Nat's tail on the donkey, and suggesting costume changes and cover ideas and whatever, but if she thinks she's going any further than that, she don't know Clarissa Coleman. I can bide my time, I can wait in the shadows, but I'll get you in the end. I don't need Dusty's friends to keep you from stealing my role. Especially not since they're all in their mid-90s by now.

Besides, just between you and me, she'll never fit into the costume. Not without hoarding half the world's supply of Kleenex. Not that I'm scared or anything. The fans wouldn't accept it. They're used to my angry growl on the cover of that book each month. Some people may argue you can only see the bottom 25% of my face, like Nat once did, but I say it's enough to tell the difference between a genuine talent and a hack sleeping her way to the—well, slightly elevated above the bottom, anyway.

Truthfully, I'm not even all that happy with this assignment. Posing in a goofy vinyl/plastic costume with a big-ass sword in a freezing basement is good when you're just starting out, but I can do much better, as I keep telling people. But at this point, even if I wanted to leave the job, I wouldn't. She needs to be put in her place but good. If I let her steal this from me, even if I don't want it, the next thing I know she'll be showing up on the Archipelago Law reunion ten years from now. Then I'd have to get that sword out for real.

º Last Column: Oops, I Did a Hardcore Porno Again
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