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Legislators Mull National "Do Not Rape" List August 18, 2003 |
Washington, D.C. Junior Bacon Defendant Kobe Bryant appears in court with his lawyer, who just finished a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats
Inspired by the sensationalized rape charges brought against NBA superstar Kobe Bryant by an unnamed Colorado woman, the registry would provide a way for U.S. women to proactively opt-out of unwanted sexual encounters with any of the growing legion of clueless sexual predators populating America’s bars and dark alleys.
The proposed list would mirror the recently created “Do Not Call” registry and the impending “Do Not Spam” list, and would mandate that all men intending to have rough sex with strange...
.S. lawmakers, called on to help clear the murky waters of consent in sexual situations between adults, responded today with a plan to create the national “Do Not Rape” registry, a centralized list of American women who are officially not asking for it. Inspired by the sensationalized rape charges brought against NBA superstar Kobe Bryant by an unnamed Colorado woman, the registry would provide a way for U.S. women to proactively opt-out of unwanted sexual encounters with any of the growing legion of clueless sexual predators populating America’s bars and dark alleys. The proposed list would mirror the recently created “Do Not Call” registry and the impending “Do Not Spam” list, and would mandate that all men intending to have rough sex with strangers would be required to check the list of names every three months or risk up to a $1,500 fine, jail time, or neither. “If a woman says no, but only fights you off half-heartedly, that’s the most encouragement many of these guys will ever receive,” explained defense attorney Richard Spackle. “It can be very confusing.” “Like what if she’s saying ‘No, no, no!’ but the guy’s Hawaiian or something and his name is Nono? That could happen. You gonna send Nono to jail just because he thought she was cheering him on? That’s discrimination, plain and simple.” Legal experts and sports fans applaud the proposal, hailing the list as a step forward into an enlightened new age when the public will no longer have to guess which of the two people involved in a rape trial is the total piece of shit. “This legislation could bring relief to many who desperately need it,” commented legal expert and student taxidermist Rutherford Wank. “Women who speak up with allegations of rape will be spared the muckraking and character assassination all too common in the modern rape trial. And even more importantly, American males will be free to fuck crazy bitches again.” Other proposed lists reportedly being discussed in Washington include a national “Do Not Kick My Dog” registry, a “Do Not Masturbate to My Image” registry, and the controversial “Do Not Exploit My Unskilled Labor” registry, which has already drawn harsh criticism from several U.S. corporations. As of press time, no exploitive, dog-kicking masturbators could be reached for comment. the commune news has always been a firm believer in the concept that “No” means “No.” Unless you’re in Russia, where we’ve heard “No” means “Pancake.” Ramon Nootles is loath to discuss his own rape trial, other than to mutter “she was black as night and the size of an panda bear” in a quivering, terrified voice from time to time.
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Some queer wins Wimbledon, says NASCAR fan
Americans experience bizarre 'lost-time' phenomenon Saturday night
 Nation's Three Remaining Liberals Turn to Humor to Survive
Wienerdoodle Voted Worst New Dog Breed
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Popular TV Clown Robertson Delivers Weekly Outrageous Banter Terrifying children worldwide with his announcement that not all dogs go to heaven, Christian doorknob Pat Robertson reprised his role this week as Americas favorite amusingly religious guy. Nations Three Remaining Liberals Turn to Humor to Survive Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines Eminem, Ex-Wife Reunite to Work on New Material |
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 August 5, 2002
Volume 22Dear commune:
With the gruesome bursting of the dot com bubble and the growing trend of online businesses moving from a advertising-driven profit model to one in which profits are generated by user fees, how does the commune expect to remain economically viable for the foreseeable future? Do the commune's readers have a pay-for-content system to look forward to in the future?
Sandy Levine
Elmhurst, CT
Dear Sandy:
True, the commune may not have come out of the economic downturn unscathed; After all, few did. And some may argue, rightfully so, that when touring the commune offices the stench of desperation wafts up one's nose like the smell of stale sweat on a freshly dead corpse. But if there is only one absolute in life, it is this: the commune will never, ever, not in a million years, not ever pay people to read the site. Nice try.
the commune
Dear commune:
What is the commune doing about the deplorable treatment of Dalmatian dogs in this country? Every year, thousands of families, fresh off the spotted-dog high of watching Disney's 101 Dalmatians or one of the dozens of films in that series, bring home a Dalmatian from the pet store or registered breeder. There is much joy and love in the beginning, but the honeymoon is short: before long these families learn that they are ill-equipped to deal with these untrainable, couch-pissing, spontaneous...
º Last Column: Volume 21
º more columns
Dear commune: With the gruesome bursting of the dot com bubble and the growing trend of online businesses moving from a advertising-driven profit model to one in which profits are generated by user fees, how does the commune expect to remain economically viable for the foreseeable future? Do the commune's readers have a pay-for-content system to look forward to in the future? Sandy Levine
Elmhurst, CTDear Sandy:
True, the commune may not have come out of the economic downturn unscathed; After all, few did. And some may argue, rightfully so, that when touring the commune offices the stench of desperation wafts up one's nose like the smell of stale sweat on a freshly dead corpse. But if there is only one absolute in life, it is this: the commune will never, ever, not in a million years, not ever pay people to read the site. Nice try.
the commune
Dear commune: What is the commune doing about the deplorable treatment of Dalmatian dogs in this country? Every year, thousands of families, fresh off the spotted-dog high of watching Disney's 101 Dalmatians or one of the dozens of films in that series, bring home a Dalmatian from the pet store or registered breeder. There is much joy and love in the beginning, but the honeymoon is short: before long these families learn that they are ill-equipped to deal with these untrainable, couch-pissing, spontaneous nervous barfing beautiful dogs. And instead of shackling themselves to a lifetime of ruined furniture and canine servitude, the vow these families made to these dogs when they brought them home as innocent puppies, all too often the Dalmatians end up on death row at the pound or at the bottom of a lake inside a huge Tupperware container filled with rocks. These crimes against the Dalmatian nation cannot stand, and it is up to the commune alone to be their advocate and protector! Leelee Fromberg
Arlington, TXDear Leelee:
The staff of the commune was incredibly touched and moved by your letter. Except for Ramrod Hurley, who was in the can. Regardless, we here at the commune feel your pain and will do everything in our power to ensure that this inhumane treatment of Dominicans does not continue. It's sad to think that in this day and age… Wait, did you say Dalmatians? Jesus H. Christ, you got us all worked up over some freakin dogs? Shit, lady, I think I had some Dalmatian in the noodle dish I had for lunch today. Whatever. Anyway, thanks for your letter and the tip about the Tupperware container, that's a good one.
the commune
Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for those debilitating headaches you've been having lately. Contrary to what some doctors may think, the headaches are not caused by reading the commune's cost-efficient, low-resolution fonts or images. In actuality, you have a brain tumor the size of a kiwi that your doctor is just too much of a pussy to tell you about. Have a nice day.º Last Column: Volume 21º more columns
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|  November 11, 2002
The Girl Everyone Just Sort of Assumed Was Native AmericanHere is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.
Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.
Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.
So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty...
º Last Column: GET UP!
º more columns
Here is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.
Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.
Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.
So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty about. º Last Column: GET UP!º more columns
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Milestones1993: Ramon Nootles graduates from San Dimas Community College with a degree in Questionable Journalism, the first degree of its kind offered in America, and a minor in Poontang Studies.Now HiringIron Monkey. We saw the movie and thought the ancient Chinese legend might be the guy to get the ninja we hired out of our offices. Lame-ass ninja, poison-darting Lefty the mail clerk and skittering across the tops of the computer towers.Top 5 Michael Jackson Trial Revelations| 1. | Sleeping with children in your bed only huge moral quaqmire—not illegal | | 2. | Elephant Man bones were delicious | | 3. | "Thriller" song autobiographical | | 4. | Body almost 78% artificial ingredients | | 5. | Jackson himself a delusional product of being raised in the spotlight; middle name Joseph | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY V.D. Whistling 8/4/2003 Harvey Potluck and the Sophomore SlumpUpon entering his second year in Hogwash Military Academy and Magic Technical School, Harvey was very relieved to be returned to this place, which had been the source of much pride and happiness during his first best-selling year.
It was peculiar to think he had nearly not made it at all. A mysterious spell and night of binge drinking of hard liquor had caused him to miss his cab ride back to the Academy. The shame of it all! Dimpleturd would not look kindly at all on a second-year wizard being tardy for his first day returned, particularly one who had thus far proven the hero of a quite enjoyable story, such as Harvey Potluck. But fortune was Harvey's this day, as his friend Phil Stalley pulled up alongside his window to offer him a ride. But Harvey was on the second floor of...
Upon entering his second year in Hogwash Military Academy and Magic Technical School, Harvey was very relieved to be returned to this place, which had been the source of much pride and happiness during his first best-selling year. It was peculiar to think he had nearly not made it at all. A mysterious spell and night of binge drinking of hard liquor had caused him to miss his cab ride back to the Academy. The shame of it all! Dimpleturd would not look kindly at all on a second-year wizard being tardy for his first day returned, particularly one who had thus far proven the hero of a quite enjoyable story, such as Harvey Potluck. But fortune was Harvey's this day, as his friend Phil Stalley pulled up alongside his window to offer him a ride. But Harvey was on the second floor of his flat! Did I forget to mention the bike was a floating magic bike? Don't wet yourself with excitement. Immediately the bike transmogrified into a flying ostrich to avoid a lawsuit from Steven Spielberg, and Harvey climbed aboard. The two were quickly off, bound for Hogwash! It was a dangerous and entertaining trip here condensed for time, but once they crash-landed safely, Harvey and Phil again made acquaintance with their prize chum from last year, Persephone Debutante. Persephone was invaluable the previous book when she aided Harvey and Phil against the evil trick professor Kreskin and defeated the magic handbag and non-matching shoes. In excitement she wrapped her arms around Harvey, bringing him to the floor and pinning him in record time. Phil was down and tied in less than seven seconds, a personal best. Once she had greeted the two, her manner cooled considerably, so that she might maintain her distant uppity bitch persona. "I worried you might not return," she said, trying to hide her joy. Phil farted warmly. "It was merely a matter of making the journey," said Harvey with a smile. "It was a curious thing, though. How is it I should sleep all night and not wake up at the designated time. The alarm clock should have woke me up." "Curious, indeed," muttered Persephone, at which point a monkey chased by a yellow-behatted man crossed the school grounds unnoticed. "Is it simply a curious happening, based on hours of liquor consumption and misunderstanding alarm clock directions? Or is it something more?" "You don't mean… St. Donswort!" questioned Phil. All were quite surprised when Gorgeous Gorge lunged immediately into this book. "Quiet! No one must ever say that name here!" whispered the giant sex dumpling. Gorge was a welcome sight to the youngsters, and his breasts were starting to grow in nicely with the recent estrogen injections. "Hogwash may be full of mighty and valiant wizards, but it is also a nesting place for the evil sort. As evidenced by your last adventure here." "Do you think it possible, Gorge?" asked Harvey. "Could Saint—that is, the unspeakable ultimate villain wizard… do you think he could be afoot once again?" Gorge considered the question, straightening his bra strap. "I hate to think it, Harvey. But where the great evil is concerned, one must never be quick to dismiss such thoughts." Gorge could tell the children were inflamed with worry by the suggestion. He smiled brightly. "But forget about all that! You kids have yet to be properly welcomed back. I know what! Let's go down to the local pub and you can watch me pick up sailors." With tremendous joy they bounced along after the mischievous sex dumpling.   |
