State of the Union Speech a Repeat

fter the excitement of the sports-dominated weekend, Americans faced a rush of new programming afterward, with the exception of some repeats, most notable among them the State of the Union address Tuesday night by President George W. Bush.

Controversy has surrounded the address, as Republicans are quick to agree with Bush's support of tax cuts and military action against Iraq, Democrats aim to poke holes in the president's poor domestic policies, and most Americans convinced the speech is the same one given at the last State of the Union.

"I don't know," said Indianapolis, IN shop teacher Milton Haig, "they kept telling me it was new. I keep thinking I saw some people who weren't there last time, in the audience or in the background… but I'm pretty sure I saw it last time it was on and it was the same thing."

Some would not even entertain doubts about the broadcast, which the White House claims was entirely new material written and beamed live to America Tuesday, January 28, 2003.

"Of course it was a repeat," said Kitty Wong, Big Tobacco publicist. "I remember it clearly when it first aired. Bush said something about terrorism, then he said Saddam Hussein was evil and the U.S. was ready to go to war. Oh, and he said something about tax breaks because the economy can't grow unless people are out spending money and such. Yeah, sure I remember it well—I've seen it at least twice, probably more than that. That's like the Christmas episode or something they drag out whenever they need to fill a slot."

The Bush White House insisted the broadcast was a brand new speech.

"Of course it was a new State of the Union," said antagonistic press secretary Ari Fleischer. "The president, no president, has ever run a repeat of the State of the Union address and President Bush would not be the first—and quit making those little hand 'quote' signs whenever you say President. Tuesday night, despite these rumors and claims, the president put forth a new agenda to lower taxes and stimulate the economy, while clearly outlining his plan to hold Saddam to the disarmament promise he made years ago. And if that takes military force, then we'll use it. That's all new, folks."

The confusion is understandable, said former Newstime editor and quotable commentator Reg Sallad.

"Sometimes news doesn't move as fast as expected, and particularly in a down economy, the president likes to keep attention on foreign issues and potential enemies, and Saddam Hussein has been the outstanding villain for Republicans for more than a decade," said Sallad solemnly. "During periods of prosperity or extreme economic desperation, Americans feel there is no excuse for increasing military spending and sending American troops into war. Americans may be confusing the repetition in party soundbytes since they haven't really changed for either party in at least ten years. Or, it's entirely possible it was just a lame repeat."

Despite the assertion by most politicians that the speech was new and worth discussing, there doesn't seem to be much call for Americans to care either way.

Johann Regal, a Butte, Montana soccer coach: "At least the new TV shows are back on. There's an all-female Fear Factor that looks really hot, and that new Survivor, too. It's about time, those networks were stretching for filler programming lately. Did you see Tuesday night? They were running some 1989 speech by Bush, like right before the Gulf War started."

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OH MY GOD SNOW

Rest easy, faithful commune reader, and any friends you might have: the commune is once again back in our hands.

If the spate of month-long repeats we've been running haven't clued you in, the commune was in a bit of a sticky situation as of late. And it wasn't, contrary to popular belief, just an attempt for us to catch a few winks while our competition stomped us into the ground. I had planned a little time off for the loyal commune staff, and everybody else we employ, but something more like a week, or even a few hours with me just not poking everyone to keep them working at top speed. But it didn't turn out as expected at all. Not at all.

To sum up, terrorists invaded the commune offices. Nothing less than Al Qaeda terrorists, or at least it appeared to me when the small group of foreign men stormed our offices with machine guns and demanded we all choose who would die first. We all chose my brother Gay Bagel, of course, unanimous vote (can you beat Gay voting for himself? What's up there?) Raoul and Ramrod tied for second, somehow beating out my favorite, Ivana. I placed a distant fifth, and I think it has something to do with putting real caramel in the caramel apples at this year's commune Days fair. But anyway, back to the terrorists.

If you think we're going to sit around and let third-world demagogues gun us down, you're sadly mistaken. To stand there and let terrorists kill you would mean the terrorists have already won. So I "flipped out," in the modern vernacular, and began to toss body after body against the wall. Many were Ivan Nacutchacokov, always in my ever-loving way, but I'm sure I got a few terrorists in there, too. We had just enough time to vacate the offices and taking our most valuable possessions with us. I had just enough time to unleash my deadly security force of weasels for the bastards to choke on, while Gay Bagel had just enough time to change the website programming and select a variety of articles for a few "best of" issues, so we wouldn't lose precious advertising revenue after we fled the terror. You never know when you might be able to use ten bucks, I suppose.

The fact that Omar Bricks did not follow us, and was in fact found at his desk, business-as-usual upon our return, speaks volumes about the perceptive depths of Mr. Bricks. We did find he had strapped one of the terrorists to the back of a grizzly bear, but upon closer inspection it's apparent he had mistaken the infidel for Ramrod Hurley.

I could thrill you endlessly with tales of our life on the run, searching out hiding places from which to build a new commune and the way our reporters cobbled together stories out of dust and scraps so we could continue to get the truth out to you. But thrilling you would be contrary to the usual routine of this column. Let's just say we were stumped for days on end on how to get our offices back and rid ourselves of the invaders. Well, I was stumped. Everyone else told me to call the police, the FBI, or any number of establishment-serving official organizations who hunt terrorists for fun. I was convinced this was not the right path. Until I got sick of living day and nigh with my staff in an abandoned building. So a quick call to the feds and we had our offices back, and a hefty reward as well.

It turned out, by the way, that the "terrorists" were actually nothing more than some Middle Eastern mercenaries hired by Crochet! Magazine to end our longtime dispute once and for all. Needless to say, Crochet! gots to pay for its major league fuck-up. And if you see Omar Bricks on the street, thank him for that insightful 10-part investigative report on ben-wah balls he did, but tell him I can't publish it because he submitted it to the faux Bagel mercenary. Who is planning to publish it in a prison newsletter, I think.

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My life was a horribly small, dark, petty place, let me tell you. I was a shell of a man—worse than a shell, I was a magic shell, hardened by the cold ice cream of the world, and quite delicious, filled with nuts. I forgot what I was saying. Oh, yeah—my life was pointless and full of tragedy. That was before I met Melinda. And after I met Melinda, too.

Melinda was my girlfriend. What a day that was. Everyone said she was just using me to make her boyfriend nauseous, but I don't believe them. She was pretty mad when she said it, too, so I don't believe her either. I met her, both of them, actually, when I was working as a safety bar for an amusement park roller coaster. It was tough, but I got to ride for free all the time. Now who's the jerk, Mr. Big and Mighty Safety Inspector? I didn't see you ride one of the rides while you were closing the place down.

But in them halogen days, when I first caught a sniff of Melinda's perfume, I knew she would one day be my girlfriend. And then break up with me later that day—trust me, I know my luck by now. Doesn't mean I give up on love. I fell for Melinda hard, right off the top of the roller coaster, and she was the only one who came to see if I was alright. When she had safely removed all the money and metallic items from my pockets, she called for an ambulance. But I got up and skipped out before that, I ain't paying for no ride when you can sneak into a tire well and ride free. Before I left, though, I let Melinda know I was keen on her with an obscene gesture, and told her I'd be around the fair—I had no place to live, so I had to keep walking so as not to get busted.

Fate intervened later because I was picking up shells at the fair's shooting range (not much pay, but it tightens your reflexes for being shot at) I saw her fighting with her boyfriend two stands down, at the ring toss. I took a break and decided to hang close by, hoping I could nuzzle up close to her and leave my scent—my flirting skills ain't all that, maybe, but you always can tell when I like a woman. Then she surprised me, because she grabbed me by the head and gave me a big kiss. It was a shock, believe you me. I'll always remember what she said—"If you're not serious about setting a date, then maybe I'll just marry any retard that comes along!" It cracked me up. I love it when someone says "retard."

But it was not to be. Her boyfriend apologized immediately and they went out to get shitfaced, at least that's what I overheard. Still, I'll always have the memories. And her purse. She didn't notice that. I didn't want the money, of course, just the souvenir of my fiery Parisian romance. At least I think it was Paris. It could have been Austin. All Texas looks alike after awhile.

Valentine's Day rules. One of these days I'm going to spend it with someone who willingly spends it with me.

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