You need a newer browser.

6/4/26   
Sure as shit, but smelling sweeter
homecommune Staff Biographiescommune news20,000 Seats Beneath the League with Stan AbernathieOr So You Thought with Red BagelBook RevoltBoris is Gay with Boris UtzovMy Friend Polio with Omar BricksMy Dearest Deidrebane with Carlisle P. ChesterfeldChild Star with Clarissa ColemanThe Best of Joel DickmanNo Shit? with Griswald DreckOne Sane Man with Raoul DunkinEditorial CartoonsFanmail from Some Flounders: Letters to the EditorGiving You the Finger with Rok FingerThe Hanes Identity with Mickey HanesSampson L. Hartwig RemembersShort ‘N’ Sweet with Stan HooperPoop of the Century with Ramrod HurleyAmerican Jesus with Mitch KroegerYou Can’t Win with Alamo CruiseFortune 500 Cookies with Mazie the ChickenManifestos of FunMe Chinese with Ned NedmillerSittin’ Around the Pickle Barrel with Shorty and JeterPoetry CoronerEntertainment Police: Movie and Television ReviewsThis Space for Rent: Guest ColumnistsGlass Ceiling Fan with Thelma ReynoldsClarise Sickhead’s Bedtime StoriesGoddammit! with Ted TedReflections of a Goocher with Stu UmbrageThe World Vs. Homer Vanslykecommune Club with Emil Zender

African Coup PrivatizedFebruary 21, 2005
Cape Town, South Africa
Whit Pistol
"Smashing tits!" thinks Mark Thatcher, upon leaving a Cape Town courthouse.
A
frican politics managed a rare chance to draw the attention of the western world when good-natured white boy Mark Thatcher, son of Der Iron Girdle former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, finally answered accusations he and other exceptionally-Caucasian financiers backed a coup of the African nation of Equatorial Guinea.

Equatorial Guinea, a sub-Saharan country in Africa, established its independence in 1968 from Spain and has lived under a dictatorship ever since. In 2004, a group of mercenaries were arrested and charged with plotting a coup in the country when their plane landed in Zimbabwe, those on board demanding they find a movie other than Kangaroo Jack to play for the rest of the trip. Authorities in Zimbabwe, Equatorial Guinea, and South Africa charge ...Read more...


Pollsters cannot survey cell phone users, phoneless, or dopes who don't answer

Long National Nightmare Finally Over: Andy Griffith Dead

Carson story beaten to death in front of millions of witnesses

Teen still missing in Aruba, Jamaica, oh-woo I wanna take ya



December 8, 2003

Click for Biography

I Sure Hope it Was the Kiss of Death

I am the last person anyone would call a homophobe, given my highly litigious nature, but I admit I am not comfortable with the thought of two men acting like two women together. Which is exciting. No, the two-man thing isn't my thing. Still, I say live and let live, especially for me, and whatever you do behind my back is fine with me. Or in front of my back. It's hard to say which is less unsettling with this particular subject.

So I am not "cool" with manly love, that's my business. I don't know why people find it so necessary to make everybody know all the details of their little private life. Ick. And if they find out you're uncomfortable with gayiety, trust me, they only want you more. The gayists, that is. At least, that's what I suspect this is all about. Mario still says it was the kiss of death, but I can't be sure.

The "Mario" in question the head of the Lambito family, the person Camembert and I met with last week to seek an end to all this senseless death, which I of course caused. To everyone's great surprise, things went better than expected. Mario and I took an instant non-homosexual liking to each other, finding we had many things in common, like our diminutive stature and making fun of Camembert's paralysis. Not only did we largely end the mob war, we became the best of friends.

I was so glad to see the mob war come to an end, if for no other reasons I was tired of getting thank-you cards from the FBI. They claim I...Read more...


º Last Column: I May Have Started a Gangland War
º more columns


February 21, 2005

Click for Biography

Love: Soft as a Beanbag Chair

Sweet, sweet Nancy: Another year passes with us, and we enjoy the grandest of all dates on the calendar—Valentine's Day! Oh, blessed Valentine, saint of all things love-oriented. No single day stands more important to me than his day, which should explain why I always forget out anniversary. I save my mental energy for love day. Valentine's.

Centuries ago, when the Roman gods and their saints still walked the earth, St. Valentine bowed down to the people, who were as big to him as chihuahuas are to us, and said, "Let one day stand as a testament to the greatest gift of all that I've given you—love." I may be paraphrasing. I read it all in a book. But that's the kind of love we have—exact quotations aren't necessary.

So we celebrate the day of Valentine's, this giant of a saint, in our favorite traditional way: dinner for two at T.G.I. Friday's. Appetizers of potato skins and mozzarella sticks set the tone for the evening. As I give you the last mozzarella stick out of the basket, you know it's not because I dislike the taste—if anything I'm the one who loves mozzarella more, between the two of us. But that's not the point. I would sacrifice the mozzarella stick if cheese were the very thing I breathe, in some sort of parallel universe of cheese-breathers, and the mozzarella stick were some kind of tiny scuba tube for breathing. It's probably not enough cheese to really breathe for much longer, but you understand my meaning. Also, you don't...Read more...


º Last Column: Virtues of the Modern Pop Star
º more columns






Quote of the Day
“Any man who serves as his own lawyer has a fool for a client. Because think about it, stupid, why you gonna pay some guy who didn't even go to law school? That's just dumb. And how do you pay yourself, anyway? Take your money out of one pocket and put it in the other? Silly. Or maybe you've got to hire a neutral third party to take the money and then hand it back to you, like a lawyer or somebody. Shit, this is gettin' expensive.”

-Dred Scott Drummond
Fortune 500 Cookie
You're simply the best, and that depresses us all. The next time you're on trial for murder, don't forget to mention that a Klondike bar was involved. And if you must ask for a lawyer who can get you off, at least try not to do it with that smarmy leer in your eye. Try chewing your food an odd number of times this week, like 6,372. This week's lucky injuries: hangnail, hangankle, ruptured spleen, stabitosis.


Try again later.
John Kerry's Vision for America
1.Americans shouldn't be despised everywhere abroad; only France
2.Health care for each and every American with insurance
3.A chicken in every pot, and pot for everyone without a chicken
4.Make Affleck and J-Lo realize they're still in love
5.Sterilize all Bush males
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

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

View Past Columns
BY Violet Tiara
5/28/2007
Blog
There was a frog
on my pog
until a dog
ate the pog
and a log
ate the dog
on a jog
yes, the log
then a clog
ate the log
and a bog
ate the clog
and in the bog
swam a hog
in the smog
sent from Prague

as I slog
through eggnog
like a cog
and a polliwog
recalls the frog
on the pog
and a dog
drops a log
where I jog
and a hair clog
in the bog
chokes the hog
in the smog
and in Prague
Praguers slog
sipping eggnog
through a cog
while a Golliwog
offends the frog
smells the pog
bites the dog
and writes a...Read more...

the commune publishes as the news happens.
Enjoy these random selections from days gone by, and refresh for more.