mid rampant speculation that either Vice President Dick "Dick" Cheney or presidential brother and hick-state governor Jeb Bush might run for the Republican presidential nomination in '08, current president and term-limit victim George W. Bush has shocked a sleepy and dispassionate nation with the news that he plans to run again in 2008. Though Constitutional scholars and small children both agree that this should be impossible, Bush assured a gaggle of reporters on Sunday that he does indeed have a plan.

"You guys worry too much! Relax, take a nap, I've got it all worked out. Sure, the George Bush you know and have elected to president some number of times is running up against that tired old 'term limits' bugaboo. But under a different name, or after just changing a few letters in my old one, I think I should be able to sail right through the system just fine. Wink, wink."

(The president actually said "wink, wink" here, rather than actually winking. We don't know what the fuck that was about.
-Ed)

"I used this same idea to sign up for the BMG CD club seven or eight times," continued the president. "Trust me, it works. Whether you're voting for Georgie W. Bush or G. Walker Busher in 2008, you'll know the score. Sure, George Bush is a name you've come to know and trust over the three terms that a president has had that name. But why not give Jorge Bosh a chance? He's got some familiar policies, he looks like a president, and he's got the taste adults have grown to love. He's grreeeeeeat!"

At the end of his statement, Bush punched the air like a famous cartoon tiger, greatly worrying most everyone in the room. The president's remarks were met by a stunned silence from the crowd, and a lone, confused request for "Freebird."

When asked what he thought of the president's chances of pulling off such a daring standing broad jump over the U.S. Constitution, Constitutional scholar and commune vending machine restocker Dennis Kurd refused to change the subject away from who had been using a glass cutter to steal Baby Ruths off the bottom row.

commune Answerbot Griswald Dreck was more helpful, taking a break from an intense Joust battle with mail clerk Lefty Gomez to address the legal ramifications of Bush wiping his ass on the Constitution.

"This is a classic case of seniority, open and shut," explained Dreck. "The 22nd Amendment to the Constitution has been going strong since it was ratified in 1951 to finally get rid of FDR, who had been elected sixteen times in a row, four of those after he died. Voters were also concerned about being bored by presidents who might keep un-retiring hundreds of times like Michael Jordan, except they didn't know who Michael Jordon was back then, so they said Wilt Chamberlain. Most think this Amendment to be unstoppable, but one must also consider the other hand, which can fill up with shit fast. George Bush has been doing whatever the hell he wanted to since 1946, a full five years before the 22nd Amendment was even suckling at its mother's paper titty. Fate, gross incompetence, and common sense all appear powerless to end his streak, so I say he takes the Constitution in four rounds. Place your bets now and avoid the lines."

Analysts remain undecided about what effect a third Bush term might have on the nation's fragile liberal population, thought to be currently living in denial, or caves. The nation's humorists, however, have already begun gathering support for a new anti-term-limits Constitutional Amendment to protect their precious golden egg-shitting goose.

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I'm happy to inform everyone following my adventures I have made some headway in my efforts to redesign how the commune is managed. Red Bagel finally agreed to cut some of the office fat and fire three employees whose jobs are redundant. Of course, the catch was I had to be two of the employees—I'm not even sure how the physics of that works out, it would apparently at least involve him firing me twice. Needless to say, I put off accepting that deal until I can reach some sort of agreement with him in which other redundant employees are fired and I'm allowed to retain my position. But still, it's progress.

Don't let this leave you with the impression I like firing people. It's the least favorite part of my job, or it would be, if I was allowed to do it. I suppose it might rank in the bottom 5, actually, maybe between cleaning Bagel's birdcage and plucking the feathers off Bagel's bird. It would easily be one of the four or five least enjoyable parts of my job description, if they'd let me do it as I've been asking for years.

I've fired people before, of course. At my old website, poopoftheday.com, I unfortunately had let my mother go when it became apparent the website wasn't making enough money to support more than one employee, or even one, and although she wasn't technically being paid for her services, it sent a clear message to potential future stockholders we were serious about making major changes. Mom was quite upset, and refused to give me a ride to work after that, but it takes a strong stomach to run a tight ship. And hard abs.

In fact, between you and me, I fired quite a few people during my tenure running the commune last year, and only had yet to inform them they were let go. Editor Bagel, in his infinite exact opposite of wisdom, saw fit to retain those employees to keep doing whatever the hell it is they do here, but that would have been far different if I had the paper to print those memos firing them all. It wasn't easy for me, from any angle, as mom was quite dismayed to find out I didn't have the opening to hire her on after all. I had planned a real swift and brutal housecleaning here at the commune, for the good of the company, and like mom is quick to remind, I never clean anything. But some day, I'm sure, all the anchors holding the commune down will be severed and we'll be free to sail free.

You might be wondering, what does it take to make a good boss? I assure you, it is not, as Mr. Bagel believes, "deep pockets and an occasional bare-assed paddlin'." Not that I would mind having either. No, the secret to good management of a staff is trust. I repeat, in italics, trust. Once you have your employees' trust you can do whatever you want to them and they'll never see it coming. Of course, plotting out their firings years ahead of time and claiming it was a necessity caused by the current market is the easy part. Getting there trust—how in the world does a boss do that? Being infinitely smarter and correcting their mispronunciations of simple words isn't the way.

If I had to follow Red Bagel's example, apparently dressing like a riverboat gambler and calling all your employees "suh," regardless of their sex, is the way to success. Spending more time chasing pigeons in the park with a cane made of human bone rather than in the office, this must be one way of earning employee loyalty. Or it could be as simple as picking the smartest member of your staff and subjugating him to the most humiliating meetings and stick him in the most demeaning position available. Who knows, perhaps it's all these things.

Of course, who really needs the commune? According to the letter from FCC Chairman Michael Powell, nobody. And I have to agree. Maybe it's time I gave up on turning the commune into my alternative news website ideal, and concentrated on spreading my wings and soaring to new heights. Of course, I have the feeling I'd get swatted down by Bagel's bone cane if I tried.

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"I won't join any club that would penetrate me with a member."

I've never been much of a joiner, on account I've never been let into a group. But I haven't given up on the idea of being part of an organization of some kind, especially the kind that makes me money or friends.

When I was a kid my mom tried to sign me up for everything, from 4-H to the Cub Scouts, but I kept failing the entrance exams. I was in some other youth organization my dad got me into for about a week, but my hand kept cramping up trying to do the sign. I think they were extra hard on me because of it when it came time to run the gauntlet, I didn't even get past the first sixty guys.

In school I tried to get into all the clubs, but they all had special requirements. You had to be good at something or popular or something, it was all rigged. I did find a group of kids to hang out with and everything, but they said I couldn't get into their group without a doctor's note saying I had a learning disability. Which really sucked, 'cause my doctor said I did have a learning disability, but he wouldn't write me a note since he was pissed about me eating all his tongue depressors. I say don't stick anything in my mouth if you don't want me to eat it.

I got out of high school and thought all my chances to be in a club were over, then I heard about the Kiwanis Club. They're some sort of charity or something, who cares, really, if they all get together in a building. I don't care if they worshipped goats by sticking thumbs up their asses, as long as they were a club and I could join, showing that guidance counselor once and for all who was right.

The Kiwanis were not as cool as they sounded, though. I showed up in my Kiwanis suit, complete with a little pouch on the front, and I pulled leaves out and ate them and everything, trying to fit in. Not one person in that place was dressed like a Kiwani except me, and some people even asked me what I was supposed to be, like they'd never seen a Kiwani before. Even talking with an Australian accent didn't make them any smarter. You'd think these jackasses would know the animal they named their club after. Next time I'll show up dressed as a jackass, just to embarrass them.

It probably doesn't need saying I didn't make the Kiwanis Club, but I did make bail, so everything works out alright in the end. I've had it with trying to get into a club, I'll tell you that. I've always wanted to be a part of a group of people, the kind of joes I could make friends with and share a real sense of community and shit. But I suppose I'll have to do that by starting my own club, with me as president and founder and everything. And I won't let any of those assholes in.

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