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Irony Bites President Bush in the AssMarch 18, 2002 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon The president, still not sure he sees what's so funny.
Mugabe's method of election fraud was with open threats to members of the opposing party, Zimbabwe's Movement for Democratic Change party, and discouraging voters from turning out to cast their vote for the opposition. Violence and blatant electioneering were observed around the country, though no evidence of fixing votes themselves has been brought to light.
The situation echoed the 2000 U.S. presidential election so clearly the irony was apparently visible from the outer spac...
ew were surprised when statements made by President Bush last week invited the bite of irony. The president, frequently less observant of irony in his statements than Alanis Morissette in hers, was attacking Zimbabwe president Robert Mugabe for stealing the recent election in his country.
Mugabe's method of election fraud was with open threats to members of the opposing party, Zimbabwe's Movement for Democratic Change party, and discouraging voters from turning out to cast their vote for the opposition. Violence and blatant electioneering were observed around the country, though no evidence of fixing votes themselves has been brought to light.
The situation echoed the 2000 U.S. presidential election so clearly the irony was apparently visible from the outer space, though President Bush completely missed the irony once again.
"Mugabe has clearly interfered with the will of the people," said President Bush, who failed to clearly win the popular vote in his own country in 2000. "I ask him to graciously stand aside and allow the election process to be carried out without his interference."
No other method of reaction other than verbal scorning is likely to come from the United States or other western superpowers. Any pressure placed on Zimbabwe by the U.S., in the form of sanctions or other political or economical pressures, would surely invite more intense irony.
"President Mugabe has created an uneven playing field for the opposition," said Bush, whose brother Jeb is the governor of Florida, the state whose electoral college cast the deciding votes in favor of Bush. "He ought to be ashamed of himself," said Bush, hip-deep in red-hot irony.
Mugabe has run his campaign on platform of turning over white-owned land to native black residents and anti-imperialism. Bush, in contrast, campaigned on the platform his dad had been president.
"Surely President Bush must understand that when an election grows heated a nominee must welcome natural advantages to his campaign," said Mugabe.
"Unh-uh, don't follow ya," said Bush upon hearing Mugabe's statement.
Since Bush's "election" in 2000, irony has been an ever-present character in the Bush White House, appearing more frequently with the president than Vice-President Dick Cheney. the commune news wishes Tonya Harding best of luck in her next celebrity boxing match, and against dignity. Lil Duncan is a commune White House correspondent and can intimately describe the Lincoln bedroom.
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 October 28, 2002
Those Guys From Cribs Were Just Casing My PenthouseI could not be more outraged if I found out the country of Paraguay was needling my sister. Everything in my penthouse apartment is gone, everything. The switchblade toothbrush, the hydro-powered vacuum cleaner, the lithograph of the Zapruder film still. All of it gone, all because I was too trusting. Because I thought I was hip and "with it," because I thought I could reach the young people.
Well, fuck the young people. I want my stuff back. Those guys from M-TV's Cribs were just lousy thieves. Came in, shot a few hours of footage of my penthouse apartment, left, came back in the night and made off with everything. Even the roast beast. I'm starting to think they weren't really from M-TV at all, too.
It started off innocently enough. I had just finished paying off my bookie and had to make another large withdrawal when I realized I had not yet paid the "cleaner" for solving my problem with former commune Office Manager Phil Lampost. I had just emerged from the bank again, counting the thousands of dollars I had withdrawn, when the "talent scouts" for M-TV's Cribs came up to me. I thought them common hoodlums, but they recognized me right away and said they loved my work—although, it occurs to me right now they couldn't place my name.
They told me their predicament, that they had to film an episode of Cribs for M-TV right away and their guest for the episode, comedian Paul Rodriguez, had dropped out on them at...
º Last Column: The Music Industry Should Eat My Balls
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I could not be more outraged if I found out the country of Paraguay was needling my sister. Everything in my penthouse apartment is gone, everything. The switchblade toothbrush, the hydro-powered vacuum cleaner, the lithograph of the Zapruder film still. All of it gone, all because I was too trusting. Because I thought I was hip and "with it," because I thought I could reach the young people.
Well, fuck the young people. I want my stuff back. Those guys from M-TV's Cribs were just lousy thieves. Came in, shot a few hours of footage of my penthouse apartment, left, came back in the night and made off with everything. Even the roast beast. I'm starting to think they weren't really from M-TV at all, too.
It started off innocently enough. I had just finished paying off my bookie and had to make another large withdrawal when I realized I had not yet paid the "cleaner" for solving my problem with former commune Office Manager Phil Lampost. I had just emerged from the bank again, counting the thousands of dollars I had withdrawn, when the "talent scouts" for M-TV's Cribs came up to me. I thought them common hoodlums, but they recognized me right away and said they loved my work—although, it occurs to me right now they couldn't place my name.
They told me their predicament, that they had to film an episode of Cribs for M-TV right away and their guest for the episode, comedian Paul Rodriguez, had dropped out on them at the last minute. Once I checked a TV Guide at the local newsstand to verify such a show called Cribs exists (I'm no dummy), I told them it was okay to use my crib for their latest episode. They assured me the young people would be trippin' to have me on M-TV.
It was luck that they had the camera (a Hi-8, and five tapes) with them, so we were off right away. I opened my doors and my fridge to these frauds, and I must say they drank some very expensive foreign beer known as Dos Equis. Hours of footage shot, and perhaps I should have suspected something by the extra attention they paid to the locks and security systems, but I had no idea, I've never seen Cribs before and the young people get into all sorts of weird fads. When they left, I thought I had done a little to bridge the generation gap and reach the future of America. Failing all else I hope these thugs at least have enough facts to know the truth about the Apollo 13 mission.
The fact that they made off with everything I own and, again, drank some pricey foreign beer doesn't bother me all that much. Alright, it bothers me. It bothers me more than you'll ever know. But what really bothers me is the subterfuge and the dishonesty. Perhaps if they had come up to me, forward and honest, and asked for everything I own I might have… no, that wouldn't have worked. I have to admit they at least knew what would work effectively.
No question, I've once again been played like a two dollar fiddle by some sort of fiddle-musician. Just when you think you're as suspicious and distrusting as a soul can get, you learn it's still not quite enough to keep your entire penthouse from being stripped to the bone. I can replace the furniture; it just means cutting salaries all around and selling some of those new-fangled computers I got for the reporters. But I'll never be able to replace the trust, unless there's some place you know that does that invasive sort of procedure.
Fortunately, I have my memories of this deception. And their descriptions. Now, if you don't mind, I have another visit scheduled with my "cleaner" friend. º Last Column: The Music Industry Should Eat My Ballsº more columns
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|  June 23, 2003
Volume 45Dear commune:
What’s the deal with my boyfriend? We’ve been together for three months now and he still hasn’t popped the question. I’ve been dropping hints left and right, but he just doesn’t seem to get it. I tore a page out of a wedding ring catalog, with my favorite ring circled, and slipped it into his bowhunting magazine, but he didn’t even notice. And whenever I say we should talk about our future, he says we should wait until all of the sinners have been harvested. I swear, between all his bowhunting and digging holes in the back yard, I’m not sure he’s even thinking about who we could get to cater the reception. Am I just missing the signs that he’s planning a fantastic romantic proposal, or do I need to give him an ultimatum?
Sincerely,
Confused in Connecticut
Dear Confused:
The only thing the commune loves more than a romantic ultimatum is a jailhouse wedding, so we say go for it! Most serial killers are afraid to commit, so be sure you catch him at the right time. Laying your cards on the table while he’s bathing in the blood of the vanquished or making a shish-ka-bob of eyeballs might just cause him to retreat into his emotional cave, or set him off on a tri-state killing spree, and then you won’t see him for weeks. Hit him up while he’s on a manic swing, maybe after he’s been reading about his exploits in the local paper. But act quick! Winning a man’s heart is all...
º Last Column: Volume 44
º more columns
Dear commune: What’s the deal with my boyfriend? We’ve been together for three months now and he still hasn’t popped the question. I’ve been dropping hints left and right, but he just doesn’t seem to get it. I tore a page out of a wedding ring catalog, with my favorite ring circled, and slipped it into his bowhunting magazine, but he didn’t even notice. And whenever I say we should talk about our future, he says we should wait until all of the sinners have been harvested. I swear, between all his bowhunting and digging holes in the back yard, I’m not sure he’s even thinking about who we could get to cater the reception. Am I just missing the signs that he’s planning a fantastic romantic proposal, or do I need to give him an ultimatum? Sincerely, Confused in ConnecticutDear Confused:
The only thing the commune loves more than a romantic ultimatum is a jailhouse wedding, so we say go for it! Most serial killers are afraid to commit, so be sure you catch him at the right time. Laying your cards on the table while he’s bathing in the blood of the vanquished or making a shish-ka-bob of eyeballs might just cause him to retreat into his emotional cave, or set him off on a tri-state killing spree, and then you won’t see him for weeks. Hit him up while he’s on a manic swing, maybe after he’s been reading about his exploits in the local paper. But act quick! Winning a man’s heart is all about timing, plus the FBI is combing your letter for fiber evidence as we speak.
the commune
Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any lives we may have directly or indirectly ruined along the way. Staring in the rearview is no way to live your life, honey.º Last Column: Volume 44º more columns
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Milestones1961: Cuban immigrant Lazlo Homales buries a small change purse in a remote section of upstate New York. Over 40 years later, commune reporter Ivan Nacutchacokov finds the purse with a metal detector, and—what the crap, two dollars?? Lousy poor immigrants!Now HiringHall Monitor. Duties include asking to see hall passes, looking like an authority figure and keeping the unpopular commune staff members out of the staff lounge. Good grades a plus.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | The World’s Rustiest Chastity Belt | | 2. | Pictures of My Grandchildren in Their Underwear | | 3. | Uncle Macho’s Stiff Summer Sausage | | 4. | How Pornography Works in Your Community | | 5. | Video Game Reviews: The Sims: Paternity Suit | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 6/18/2007 Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since I’m focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldn’t have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I haven’t had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orson’s favorite movies of all time. What’s that? Movies I like? That’s correct. They are few, but they exist. Let’s see the “they” to which I’m referring.
The Great Muppet Caper
There has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood...
Good day and good-bye, at least according to the rumors around here at the commune rubble. It matters not to me that we may not publish again, since I’m focusing my time and energy on a very lucrative weight loss research project starting up next week, and wouldn’t have time to continue reviewing movies anyway. And since my dwarf mage Welchy reached level 10 last week on World of Warcraft, I haven’t had much time to review new movies either. So I thought I would say sayonara with a different kind of column, Orson’s favorite movies of all time. What’s that? Movies I like? That’s correct. They are few, but they exist. Let’s see the “they” to which I’m referring. The Great Muppet CaperThere has never been a wiser move in all of Hollywood than to team up Charles Grodin with felt-headed puppets. Never. I challenge you to find one. Grodin is a daring jewel thief who attempts to manipulate Miss Piggy with a romantic relationship. Yes, you read that right. Simply for the tantalizing daydreams I’ve had about how Charles Grodin would get busy with a pig puppet, if that involves Frank Oz’s hand at all or not, this movie ranks very highly in my list. And like all Muppet movies, the human are not at all curious why these somewhat inarticulate animal puppets are welcomed rather than scorned by society, a great commentary on the generation gap of the 1960s and 1970s, though a bit dark for the taste of most. YojimboAkira Kurosawa’s samurai epic has been remade many times, but too many remakes miss the exceptional subtlety and style of Kurosawa. This movie is not as excellent as it is because it is a tightly-plotted story of a samurai in feudal Japan playing two greedy sides against each other; it’s brilliant because without telling us, Kurosawa has staged the timeless story of a collection of insane Japanese men who have taken up residence in the old west. When Sergio Leone remade this tale as A Fistful of Dollars, he unwittingly sapped all the brilliance out of it by staging it in the old west where it was originally set in Kurosawa’s version. The fact the main character has no name is a subtle testament to the fact everyone is completely out of their minds in this movie and that’s why they think they’re samurai. A searing and subversive indictment of everyone who goes to see a movie and expects the characters to be in full possession of their faculties. Toshiro Mifune was a god among actors with hyperactive attention deficit disorder. THX-1138Before George Lucas decided it was more fun to make money than cutting social commentary films, he made THX-1138, and we’re all the better for it. Contrary to Lucas’ opinion he was making a sharp attack on the drug-abusing rule-following fascism of pre-1960s culture, he was actually making a critical symphony that mocked white America’s subtle hatred of itself. Not only are very few of the actors in the movie black at all, but the lead actor, Robert Duvall, can only escape the dirty world of which he’s part and the dull silver automatons who enforce the law by crossing the longest expanse of pure white ever seen on screen. Fascinating. So only by running toward something even whiter can we at least be safe from our basic whiteness? No wonder people complained so loudly about the low-key racism in the Star Wars prequels. Lucas definitely has issues. Paris on FireThere is no better film alive than Paris on Fire. No, this has nothing to do with Hilton heiresses. Quite simply, Paris on Fire is the most damning fire safety film ever made in the French New Wave vein. The acting is excellent as Marie Chevalier plays “Woman Woken By Fire Alarm,” trying for the entire length of the film to find a way out of her burning house only to find fire behind every door. She tries each door several times, and while some audiences might find these repeated scenes fairly boring, they’re actually morons because it makes a pointed statement about the repetitive nature of trying to avoid burning to death in general. Paris on Fire makes the bold statement that, no matter how any of us might die, we are truly burning to death, slowly but surely, and we should probably enjoy it. Fucking genius. Is that all there is? Possibly. I know it’s not for me, as I have that research thing starting next week. I will miss these little chats we’ve had, but I suppose it’s all for naught, as we’re but burning to death slowly over along period of time. So enjoy.   |
