he Bornean junk monkey, Stevensons' slug, Malaysian sitting bird and the world's largest species of blind sea trout are in grave danger of extinction, the World Conservation Union warned an assemblage of world leaders on Tuesday to the sound of one tiny violin playing sarcastically. Also among the newly-threatened species nobody has ever heard of are the shovelnosed arctic frog, the smoke weasel, the Andean left-handed dolphin and the three-toed nervous elephant of lower Peru.

All are among 13,279 varieties critically endangered and possibly-imaginary animal, plant and water life precious to bleeding-heart liberals the world over. Many are new to this year's edition of the group's list, a yearly "wake-up call to the world" that unless serious changes are made to environmental policy, the earth's biodiversity might one day shrink to comprehensible levels.

This year's list, like all that came before it, has drawn a collective boo-hoo from the planet's human inhabitants.

"Excuse me, but what has the Columbian rice shrew ever done for me or my family?" questioned an indignant Don Cloyd from Williamsburg, Virginia. "My uncle lost a logging job because of some stupid owl that didn't want to live at a box at the zoo or something, so sorry if that ruined it for all the other creatures out there, but I still say animals that don't taste good can kiss my ass."

Various world leaders questioned about the organization's list issued similar mock-sincere statements, vowing to halt all future economic progress in order to make the world safe for such hilariously improbable creatures as the Chilean trouser trout and the loud Spanish jackass.

Over 762 animals have gone extinct worldwide since various governments and the NRA began keeping records in the 1600's. Among the beautiful creatures the earth will never again know are the Tittleosen snot sloth, the North American windshield sparrow and the sickly cave bear of Nepal.

Perhaps the most stirring symbol for lost species is the majestic dodo, a once-useless bird that wobbled off into the history books in the early 17th century when Dutch sailors visiting islands in the Indian Ocean discovered the birds, whose strange compulsion to hop into cooking pots and offer themselves up for soups and other entrees led quickly to their extinction.

According to the WCU, thousands more creatures will join these ranks shortly if steps are not taken to slow the destruction of their native habitats in industrialized and developing nations. Saddest of all may be the possible fate of the Scottish brownie hound, once numbering in the thousands but now thought to be down to the last one and a half specimens in existence. Even that shocking number is sinking fast as scientists are unsure of how long you can keep half a dog alive in a cooler full of ice.

In delivering the study to world leaders, WCU Director General Achim Steiner also pointed out the success of recent efforts to save formerly endangered species such as Arabian oryx and the white rhino, news which inspired several unimpressed heads of state to mouth the word "super" while mimicking the jerk-off motion with their hands.

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Dear commune:

I read a preview copy of Kitty Kelley’s upcoming biography of Red Bagel, which I regularly do in the course of my job—read other people’s mail. I couldn’t believe some of the stories she tells. It’s a disgrace. However, I’m not naïve enough to believe she made up everything. The best biographies are 75% truth and 25% embellishment. Or something like that—for a more exact formula, I’d need my slide rule, and they don’t let me have one while I’m working since I’m not supposed to be doing math.
So is it true or what? Or how much of it is true? Because this is some seriously wicked shit to be true.

Jimmy Connors
Trumpet, New Mexico


Dear Jimmy:

Ah, Jimmy. It’s not often we get a chance to defend ourselves from outside allegations, since fearless leader Red Bagel won’t allow us to respond to questions until they’re asked. But he’s been dying to set the record straight ever since that biography-writing harlot (not in a bad way) started digging her rhinoplastied nose into his past. So let’s do that now.

The stories about drug experimentation are partially true, but misrepresented. All of Red Bagel’s forays into drugs were just searches for cures to his uncontrollable temper. No one here has actually seen Red transform into the giant blue beast, and we’re praying to God we never will. You can hardly blame him for messing around with psychedelic drugs and stool softeners in that case.

All this stuff about him knocking Newt Gingrich off a balcony in Venice is pure baloney. It’s funny how stories get all tangled up and the details are fouled up. The real story: Red was having sex with Ann Coulter and punched her in the back of her head while she was telling him a story about Newt Gingrich falling off a balcony in Venice. And the punch was only part of their foreplay.

The thing about Donahue was true, and nobody need apologize to anyone. They’re still close friends, and exchange baking tips over the phone once in a while.
Red Bagel did not vote for Reagan in the 1984 election. This kind of character-assassination is depraved and will not be tolerated. Red voted for Jimmy Carter four times in 1980, breaking his previous voting record of six times for George McGovern. In 1984, Red was distressed about the choice of Walter Mondale as the Democratic candidate, so he declined to vote. But he did burn his draft card in protest of the Vietnam war. It had been over for years, but still a worthy cause.

We hope this makes sense. Or if that’s asking too much, we hope you at least quit reading sleazy biographies. But we hear that one on Bush Jr. is going to be a real pot-boiler. We’re getting ours soon.

the commune

---

Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for the rising gas prices. It can probably be attributed to the flaming reserves of oil in Iraq. If you want to know who started those fires, feel free to ask around, but unless you want a long diatribe, don’t ask Billy Joel.

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You say I ruined your life, whatever.

Who gets machine-gunned to death these days, anyway? I mean, seriously. The chances have got to be astronomical. You practically have to be begging to be machine-gunned to death. My cousin was on the waiting list to get machine-gunned to death for three years when he was hit by a train. I'm serious! The way I see it, you should be writing me a thank-you note. I'd call you an inconsiderate prick if I wasn't certain you'd take it the wrong way.

Ruined your life, ha. That's rich. I'll have to remember that to tell my ex-wife, she'll get a real kick out of that one. She loves jokes like that, about me ruining her life or sucking out her will to live, all those old chestnuts. She has this great new one about me chewing up the best years of her life and spitting them out like tobacco juice, it goes over really well at parties.

Because really, how do you ruin somebody's life? Seriously. I can't even fathom it. A priceless Faberge egg, now that's something you can ruin. You can't play catch with one of those things without ruining it completely, trust me on that one. Friendships? Yeah, I suppose you can ruin a friendship. Especially if it's with a stuffy Faberge egg collector who doesn't keep his house locked securely at night. Those are both ruinable, I'll admit. But an entire life? Keep dreaming.

So what, so you have to get all your sustenance by licking pulp off the filter screen from a juicer now. Who doesn't? I'm serious, my grandpa lived off juicer pulp for years, and I didn't hear him complaining. Sure, after the kangaroo ripped out his voice box he had to talk by tapping out Morse code on a pair of spoons, but if he'd really wanted to complain I'm sure he'd have found the time. If he'd wanted to, grandpa could have sat around all day, bitching about how I took him to Australia and told him all the kangaroos were so tame you could get them to eat chewed-up peaches right out of your mouth. But did he? No way! Not after I took away his spoons. Who can sleep with that rat-a-tat-tat going on all night? Jesus. He acted like any of us actually bothered to learn Morse code.

You kind of remind me of my grandpa, actually. That fuckin' guy would believe anything. Well, I'm not sure he'd believe a tall tale like "Go on, stick your hand in there. It's not like they'd keep a loaded machine gun laying around!" but he wasn't an idiot. He was just old and feeble of mind. He didn't run around, sticking his fingers inside the gears of a loaded machine gun on a fool's dare, just because the fool had talked him into sneaking onto a military base in the middle of the night. But then again, grandpa always did hold his liquor better than some people who I won't mention by name.

(You.)

So come on, let's drop this tired old argument. Any reasonable person knows you can't really ruin a life unless it's two thirds of the way there already. Yeah, then maybe you can give it a nudge down the crapper, but hey, that's life. The important thing to acknowledge is that we're both a little to blame. Sure, I may have pulled the trigger, but whose idea was it to ignore me when I was yelling "Dodge! Dodge!" like a good friend? Sure wasn't mine. Granted, you might not have thought it was funny when I was shooting the machine gun down at your feet and yelling "Dance, motherfucker!" but I sure did, so that's really your word against mine when you think about it. And hell, if your fingers hadn't been caught in the gears I don't think most of those bullets would have even hit you, if you insist on calling a spade a spade.

I swear, when those doctors brought you back to life sometimes I think you left your sense of humor on the other side. Let me know if they ever sift it out of that sack of unidentified gristle that was left over after the operation. Otherwise, I don't even know why we're talking.

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