resident Bush's Thursday morning speech to the National Endowment for Democracy was greeted by supporters and detractors alike as an important milestone, outlining more clearly both the president's thought processes and his positions on topics ranging from global terrorism to the increasingly chaotic situation in Iraq.

"Every rose has its thorn," Bush explained, addressing questions about the higher-than-expected casualty rate for U.S. soldiers stationed in Iraq. "Just like every night has its dawn. Just like every cowboy… uhm. Hmm. Yep," Bush nodded to himself in closure on that thought.

"How do we explain something that took us by surprise?" Bush continued after a thoughtful pause, addressing his administration's planning for the post-war rebuilding of Iraq. "Promises in vain, what is real but in disguise. What happens now? Do we break another rule? Let the others play the fool? I don't know how to stop feeling this way…"

"Hold on to the nights," Bush continued, finding his voice in the words of popular poet Richard Marx before trailing off in dramatic fashion. "Hold on to the memories. Wish that I could give you more, that I could be your…"

Bush's comments were met by a stunned silence from the audience, except for one asshole who was waving a lighter. Coming under increasing pressure in recent months to justify the loss of life in Iraq, Bush also indulged the audience with his deepest philosophical thoughts on the subject of war and sacrifice.

"We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong," explained Bush. "Lo... Iraq is a battlefield."

"Shooting at the walls of heartache, bang, bang. I am the warrior," Bush cocked his fingers in a pistol gesture to drive his point home.

"And heart to heart we'll win, if we survive," Bush assured onlisteners, possibly referring to the administration's campaign to win hearts and minds in the Middle East.

"Just a little more time is all we're asking for," Bush continued, amid questions of how long U.S. troops will remain in Iraq. "Cause just a little more time could open closing doors. Just a little uncertainty can bring you down. So if you're lost and on your own, you can never surrender. And if your path won't lead you home, you can never surrender."

"Never surrender!" repeated an excited Bush, striking something of a pose.

Addressing the recent flooding disasters in Louisiana, Bush dug deep again and offered words of consolation to the survivors, returning this week to their destroyed homes and ruined shit.

"Don't be afraid to lose what was never meant to be," consoled a paternal Bush. "After the rain washes away the tears, and all the pain, only after the rain can you live again. I know the emptiness you feel inside, you're thinking if you break away, you'll never survive. I'm waiting as my heart beats just for you. Come on and take my hand and I'll pull you through. But things will never change until you want them to."

"It cuts like a knife," Bush said in closing, when some wiseacre in the back row yelled a question about global terrorism. "Ooh, but it feels so right."

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the commune is back, people, and better than ever. But then again, who am I to decide your tastes? I shouldn't just declare matters of opinion as if they're fact. Maybe the commune is back, slightly inferior compared to what it used to be, but still tolerable. Or maybe it was never tolerable. Don't let me make the call.

Why do grapes come in so many different colors? Pick one and go with it. You don't see bananas pulling that shit on you. Bananas—there's a food that's secure with itself. Never care much for the shape, though.

I hear Ted Danson is replacing Laurence Fishburne on the long-running crime drama C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigations. Both are very talented actors and seem like fine people. Yet I could not give less than a shit.

Have you ever found that Russian novelists, classic Russian novelists especially, are obsessed with depictions of death? Americans, on the other hand, maybe all western novelists, seem more concerned with depictions of life; however, it may be argued that it is the Russian novelist who has the courage to face reality, while what we write about indicates our need to escape that grim reality. This might be changed considerably if more Russian novelists wrote in English. Russian is a hard language to write in. Trying to figure it out makes you suicidal. That's my guess.

Has there ever been a cereal called Nutsack Crunch? I'm thinking maybe a cluster-type cereal, sold in a canvas bag. If there hasn't, good. Cereal manufacturers be warned: What were you thinking? The mere sound of it puts most people off their appetites. Nutsack Crunch… Jesus.

Now a cereal named Jesus, on the other hand, that's bankable. No better way to start your day. In my opinion.

Oasis is now banned from performing in this country. They know why.

It should have been obvious General Custer would meet his end at Little Big Horn. Little Horn? Big Horn? The place was clearly named to confuse the white man. That's why I never stage any battles there.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar? Wait, don't agree to anything too fast. I found one today in the frozen foods section of my local grocery store. All the humiliation I've endured, they were just sitting there for sale the whole time. The whole time. Not even that expensive.

Remember when they used to say "Mike Connors is Mannix"? I kept waiting for that to come up in the show, but no matter how frequently they reminded us of the fact, I never saw it amount to anything. I expected a big "I am Spartacus" moment that never happened. What a waste.

I had a job selling car stereos once, and the manager used to tell us to go "balls out" during any big sales push. Let me save you some trouble and warn you right now, it doesn't sell any more car stereos. Boxer shorts, perhaps, but not car stereos. Then the manager had the nerve to get mad at me.

Do you know the Muffin Man? The Muffin Man? The Muffin Man. Don't trust that son of a bitch. The first one was free, then he jacked up the price. Now I've got a muffin problem.

I'm telling everyone now: If I'm ever hooked up to a machine to keep me alive, promise me you'll tell me in detail exactly how that machine works. It sounds unbelievable. A machine?!? That keeps people alive?!? Wow. Just… wow. So tell me all about it, assuming I'm not a catatonic pile of flesh and bones.

That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more.

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Dear commune:

It's amazing how you guys scoop all the other major news outlets. There's either a major conspiracy to cover up the news stories the commune presents or they don't use the same sources you guys do. Either way, cool job!

I have to say, though, I was extremely offended when reviewing a recent commune article, as I came across this sentence where the public at large could see it:

"Cautiously, coat your arm or monstrous cock with vaseline before shoving it forcefully into the anus of the prisoner, the quicker the better to reduce pain and tearing of muscle and tissue."

How can you sleep at night printing garbage like this? Everyone knows Vaseline is an official product name and needs to be capitalized. Hard-working companies have lost their livelihood by allowing their corporate names to become standard generic references, and as an employee of the a certain major petroleum jelly-producing company, I won't have it.

Still, all that aside, thanks for making the commune.

Emil Zender
D'Artagnan, Washington

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Dear commune:

By my calculations, the commune recently celebrated its third year. I think the traditional third anniversary gift is toner, but I'll have to check the book on that.

My question is, you're just two years away from the big 5th anniversary. Amazing! And I told all my friends you wouldn't last two weeks. Now most of them are dead, ironically killed within that first two weeks. Makes you think. Okay, you can stop now.

So, what do you plan on doing if you're still around for the big five year anniversary?

Greg Beal
Sacramento, California


Dear Greg:

the commune has been happy to provide alternative news for however long you say we've been around, and we'll be presenting it to you at least another four months, which covers the lease for our office.

Assuming we're around for that big 5th anniversary in November of 2003, we have big plans. We'll travel to work in our jet-powered source of public transportation or matter transporters, obtain our news telepathically from our reporters, eat our lunch of Soylent Green and Spam, listen to the weekly radio address of President Winfrey, and study the Wall of Fame for our beloved commune reporters and columnists like Red Bagel, Lil Duncan, Ivan Nacutchacokov, Ramon Nootles, Omar Bricks, Rok Finger, and Roland McShyster, all of whom were tragically killed in that robot revolution that shocked the world. Tragic.

Keep reading and watch out for those robots!

the commune

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Dear commune:

I am probably your biggest fan. I am 10 feet tall, 564 lbs. But that's all muscle, let me assure you.

I started reading the commune two months ago, a month after I first discovered it. I believe the commune is responsible for the five feet I have grown since then, as well as the fresh minty smell my cat's feces now produces. How refreshing! I'm no longer in a hurry to empty the catbox.

I saved every commune since I first started reading. Sure, it's difficult and expensive, buying a new computer to display this week's commune, but you can't pay too much for quality. Especially when you have no idea the value of a dollar, like my dad always said about me.

Each week I anxiously await the next commune. Nothing can diminish my enthusiasm, not the razor-wielding leprechauns, not the blackouts, nothing.

I would also like to say something to all the kids out there about huffing paint: I've never had any problems with it. Thank you.

Keep making them and I'll keep reading them! Until I stop suddenly.

Styles Wright
Oley, Wisconsin

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for that piece of shit Freddie Prinz Jr. movie—man, garbage like that makes you hope suicide is a hereditary gene. All opinions expressed in our letters are not ours, unless they're the fake letters we wrote.

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