the commune, 6/18/26: You'll learn to love it or die trying

Democrat Debate Provides Bounty of Catchphrases

September 29, 2003

New York City

Alton Onus

Nine Democratic candidates throw out their best puns and slogans for a Manhattan audience, with Howard Dean occupying the popular center square position. Tenth candidate something Graham is not pictured, and truthfully we were lucky to remember the name at all.

hursday's meeting of the minds between the ten prominent candidates for the Democratic presidential nomination at Manhattan's Pace University may not have provided a clear front-runner, but it did haul in a net full of fresh catchphrases. All candidates involved tried to sum up the complicated problems of the U.S. and international affairs into humorous phrases or puns, jabbing incessantly at each other's records and universally condemning President Bush as a major jerkoff.

The lead attraction for the afternoon, besides the boyish good looks of Sen. John Edwards, was the debut of retired Army Gen. Wesley Clark. The former NATO commander lobbed the first polite volley of the day with his backhanded compliment in opening remarks: "I'm happy to join such an esteemed group of Democratic colleagues. I can't believe you're all trailing Bush in the polls."

Clark also dealt one of the earliest catchphrases in the debate in slamming the Bush administration. "We elected a president we thought was a compassionate conservative. Instead, we got neither conservatism or compassion." A solid good start to political soundbytes, though Clark erred in claiming Bush had been elected.

Pace University Political Science professor Ingrid Northam explained the importance of a political catchphrase in an election, to sum up the heart of one's platform to Americans surfing the TV and too busy to actually seek information on candidates. But more importantly, for a field of Democrats all failing to stimulate voter interest, catchphrases can be a make-or-break way of establishing a personality the voters can appreciate. It allows them to differentiate between candidates, and the right catchphrase could put a failing candidacy right back on track. It was extremely interesting stuff and well-spoken, and this reporter regrets not having written any of it down.

After initial platforms were summarized, the catchphrase cannonade really began. Massachusetts Sen. John Kerry knocked Bush tax cuts, claiming, "President Bush calls cutting taxes for the richest Americans, 'tax relief.' Well, you know how I spell relief, Mr. President? J-O-B-S." The audience hooted and hollered as if free beer were served, and afterward nothing could stem the flow of nifty slogans.

Rep. Dick Gephardt's strategy was to attack frontrunner Howard Dean. "Dean called Medicare the 'worst Federal program ever.' He sided with Newt Gingrich on a $270 billion cut in Medicare. Governor, for a man with the name Dean, you got no class."

Dean angrily retorted, "What kind of name is Gephardt? The dumb kind, you ask me." But most irksome to the major contender was the comparison to Newt Gingrich, which Dean vehemently denied, saying, "Nobody up here deserves to be compared to Newt Gingrich." the commune contacted Newt Gingrich for a response, but upon being told he was Newt Gingrich the former Speaker of the House flew into a rage and threatened to sue us if we printed such slander.

The debate proved most successful for those already leading the pack, analysts said. Trailing candidates failed to make much headway, and some contribute it to coming to the debate ill-prepared for catchphrases. Sen. John Edwards declared, "I keep coming back like the clap," to no effect on the audience. Carol Mosley Braun failed to gain much ground with her new slogan, "Who am I? Let's find out together!" However, Al Sharpton reportedly managed to add a few points to his demographics with the rattling shout of, "Who's up for ribs?" It was newcomer Clark, however, who made the most initial impact from his first debate appearance, closing his part in the debate, "Tanks for your nomination."

the commune news appreciates the wealth of Democratic candidates in this electoral go-round, but still, one must askâ€”whither Mondale? Lil Duncan is the commune's Washington correspondent. We realize this story is only vaguely-related to Washington, and we appreciate your understanding in the matter.

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March 17, 2003

Mutiny on the Bagel

A disturbing piece of mail has come to my attention lately, and for a change of pace, this one doesn't offer any free AOL hours.

Yes, in my Acting-Editor capacity I sometimes act like I'm opening my mail in the relative safety of my Acting-Office, otherwise known as Red Bagel's office. Usually the mail I open is addressed to the commune Editor, Editor Red Bagel, Bagel Red, Wanna-Be Colonel Sanders, Rudy Bega, Whoever Runs Your Lame-Ass Company, and variations thereof. Imagine my surprise to find a postcard addressed to Ramrod Hurley, Acting-Editor. Now imagine I study this postcard carefully, while being orally pleasured by supermodel Heidi Klum. It's not really necessary, but that's what I'm imagining so I thought we might as well be on the same page.

This postcard charmingly pictured a man holding a pile of dog feces, exclaiming in a word balloon, "Hey, look what I almost stepped in!" Immediately I was curious since I remember receiving the exact same image on a birthday card from Red Bagel last year. Indeed, this card was sent from "A desolate motel room" in Mobile, Alabama, signed by none other than our glorious leader Red Bagel. In effect, the card read:

"Ramrod: The situation is dire. Things proceed to grow more twisted and deceptive, as my unshakeable will continually nears faltering. I'm glad to see the commune is persevering in your hands even as I face an unknown fate in the bravest of ways. I wish you were beside me,...

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March 19, 2007

Time to Pull the Plug on Ugly

º Last Column: Cyantology
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Ned's time on the moon been written about in many the book and popular song, including "Mr. Moonlight" and "Moonchild," but none of them done quite got it right. Nope indeed, all them popular tales go heavy on the heroics and light on them dachshunds. Ned's here once and for never to set them stories right.

True enough, Nedro did travel to them moon in the month of Smogust in 1944.3, climbing up that big green ladder been left there by them homesick astronauts. Ned gone up there for see who left them nightlight on, keepin' Ned up all night with so much glowin' and keepin' the nighttime so bright. Leave it to them governments to flip off the sun switch straight right, but forget and leaving them moonlight on all night like we was childrens a-scairt of the dark. So Ned done climbed right up to do hisself a public service.

But what was Ned to find moonward but Ugly McUgly, big fella lived up to his name all too well, tossin' and turnin' up there in his lumpy moon bed and feelin' sicker than a jellyfish in a peanut butter factory. Ned marched right up and said "Hullo, Ugly!" without knowin' that be his right Christian name. Lucky for Neddums it was to be. McUgly took a powerful liking to Nedmiller right from the start, on account of Ned knowin' his name and greetin' him so polite and so.

Ugly McUgly told Ned about buildin' them moon outta space dandruff as his own personals apartment, and a-flyin' it over the earth to keep an eye on Africa, which bores a sure-fire resemblance to his ol' first wife, who done left him for Asia minor. Back then, 'course, them moons was lush with pink forests and rivers of diet cola 'nuff to make a tooth ache all by itself on a dinner plate. Right nice place to live. But McUgly done got so obsessed with tryin' to piss on Poland from up on that there moon, whole place done gone straight to gray-tone hell. Dust bunnies takin' over and a-nibblin' on the furniture, cobweb clouds gummin' up them skies, and whole place gone dusty like the crack of a Texas baby's behind. McUgly himself catches them dust fever, and spend his days an' nights tossin' and a-turnin' in his big-ole lumpy moon bed.

Ned try all sorta remedy to make McUgly well agains, includin' wrappin' up a whole herd of them moon gazelles in a pita sandwich topped with sauce from the moon's only tartar. No dice, Jerry Rice. Nedful also done try straining them whole moons through a funnel and make a smoothie from moon juice, but that shake been too thick to draw even through special .50 caliber straws, no lie. Even Moon Asprin, dug from them Asprin Valley up there on the moon's dark side fulla fields of pills, even that genius cracker of an idea done no good for McUgly and his powerful ill funk.

Nedly gotta go for plan B, and so him done yank out the cord reachin' from the back of them moons all them ways acrosst over to the only power socket in them sky, and right quick them whole shebang goes darker than a politician's soul like lickety splat. Ugly McUgly not too keen on plan B and Ned hasta make haste down the moon ladder like he was late to get his teeth frosted. Hand over foot over head under ankle, Ned raced down that ladder like falling but with more grabbin' and scramblin'. Ugly McUgly been right on the heels of Ned, on account of him trippin' over the moon in the dark and fallin' off like a cripple in a wheelchair spillin' off a horse.

Ned beat McUgly to the ground by just a nibble of a second, but Ugly beat Ned to the underground by a lot. Not many a mans done dug his own grave, let alone with his own misfortunate face, but Ugly McUgly done broke offa hunk of that honor all for hisself.

And wouldn't you know what? Them government boohobs done got right back up and plugged that moons back in them very next night. So much for shuteye, says Ned. And them's the story of how come Ned sleeps in them diving suit at nighttimes, childrens.

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North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

7/12/2004

Well spank it, America, we're back for another week of Entertainment Police and all that that implies. Hope you've been doing as well in your sad little life as Roland McShyster has been in his. We've got three new movies to review this week, which is a good thing since I wasn't looking forward to having to go back into the archives and review Castroblanca yet again. Let's take a look at what mother bird is stuffing down our throats this week, shall we?

In Theaters Now:

Fahrvergnugen 9/11
Singing/acting cyborg sensation Mandy Moore has teenybopped her way into a new genre with her first documentary this month, a hard-hitting look at the Bush family's ties to the Volkswagen corporation and German extremists more interested in making a profit than dancing around in those funny little shortpants for our entertainment. Though I personally give about a shit and a half about how some overrated British hair/grunge band spends their money, apparently the Seattle sound is a hot-button issue for the upcoming election and everybody's getting their flannel in a twist about this film. The good news is that Moore proves as adept a documentary filmmaker as she has a singer, actress, veterinarian, corporate CEO, cooking show host and Olympic gymnast since hatching from that cryogenics lab a short time ago. The bad news? There's plenty of Bush, but no tits.

I, Gobot
Hollywood finally gets it right by making a lame knock-off movie about the lamest knock-off toy ever, the Gobots. And who better to star than the king of lame knock-off songs and movies, Will Smith? I don't know, really. There might be somebody especially lame out there I'm not thinking of, but I think Will Smith was a pretty spot-on choice. He's got a look that just screams "lame-o," which saves a lot of time in explaining to the audience what the movie's about and if it's going to suck or not. He was probably worth his paycheck for the lame pedigree he brings to the film alone, a credible lameocity that another actor would have had to work hard to establish, before the audience got to thinking that the move might be kind of okay. As for the film itself, it's kind of okay in the sense that we're not likely to go to war with any Middle Eastern countries over it, but that's the best thing I can say about it. The special effects aren't all that special, though I guess hiring a guy just for "effects" is some kind of insulting no-no in the movie biz these days. They CGI the Gobots transformations pretty well, but since they stayed true to the source material you're stuck with the unintentional comedy of the Gobot leader transforming into a coffee machine when the action starts, and when his love-interest Gobot changes into a pogo stick it's pretty hard to take the movie seriously. Will Smith does a pretty good job of turning into Eddie Murphy about half way into the movie, though as with the Gobots you're more or less just left wishing you'd spent the last two hours watching the real thing.

King Arthur
I read somewhere that perseverance is a virtue, and if that's true you have to tip your cap to the brains behind the Arthur series of movies, who didn't let a minor hiccup like the death of the franchise's star keep them from dealing out the sequels like a mimeograph machine. This time it's presumably far-from-death teen sweat machine Freddie Prinz Jr. in the title role, and the producers have set the series' third film somewhat anachronistically in the middle ages so they could throw in a bunch of Lord of the Rings shit and cast that hot pirate girl without confusing audiences who don't understand that movies aren't real. The end result is a lot like eating a whole bag of Milk Duds by yourself, though not for the obvious reasons.

Well America, it's come to an end yet again. Like many of you, I was starting to hope this column would go on forever. And it will, in a way, since we'll be back again in a few weeks and really everything on the Internet sort of lasts forever anyway, but that sort of makes your brain hurt to think about it so forget I said anything.