n Al-Qaeda video airing on Al-Jazeera Wednesday not only failed to impress virtually everyone, it also failed to thank President George W. Bush for all his subversive efforts to help rebuild the terrorist organization.

The tape, slammed by critics as a "greatest hits collection of the usual dreck," featured an undated cameo by terrorist favorite Osama bin Laden and a lot of voicing over by Al-Qaeda's number two shit Ayman al-Zawahri. The video exhibited a friendlier sort of Al-Qaeda, with no direct threats to the U.S. "infidels" but promising that current battles were only the beginning and "the true epic has not begun," proving to all that the tape was at least recent enough to cop from the new Matrix sequel.

The only footage of Osama bin Laden showed the Al-Qaeda figurehead appearing older, but could not be pegged for a date. The world's number one prick was shown frolicking around with henchman al-Zawahri along the mountainside like a homosexual Captain and Tennille.

Though reference was made to the Iraq war, it may have been to one of several Iraq wars in which "agents of America" invaded the country. Neither was thanks given to American president George Bush for raising Al-Qaeda popularity to unimagined heights in Iraq by bombing that country into a primitive agricultural state. The death of thousands of Iraqis and the devastation of the country's infrastructure have done more to raise recruitment for the terrorist group than any post- or pre-Sept. 11 attacks.

Some, like this reporter, would suggest that Al-Qaeda and the Bush presidency have been mutually beneficial to each other, especially given the intention by bin Laden to invoke a harsh U.S. response to help the Arab world rally behind him. But the increasing power of terrorism hasn't just been beneficial to bin Laden and associates, but also to the administration, which still rates high approval numbers when it comes to defense and being tough on terrorism.

When questioned on the veracity of the recent bin Laden video, the president asked for a definition of veracity. Then, gesturing toward the footage of bin Laden and al-Zawahri, Bush stated, "The beard looks real to me."

"Having released tons of audio recordings in the years since 2001, Osama bin Laden risks market saturation," said VH-1 video producer Deanne Holcomb, who was contacted in an effort to fill out the story. "That may have been a consideration in only appearing as a cameo in this recent release by al-Zawahri. Personally, I would have gone in another direction, maybe Missy Elliot, but bin Laden is really popular with the Al-Jazeera demographics. Beyoncé maybe. Beyoncé is huge right now. But as I was saying, having such a small part for bin Laden does raise questions about the Al-Qaeda leader, such as if he's out of practice, or gotten fat. He could be dead, I suppose, there were a lot of bombs dropped in attempts to kill him. Kid Rock! Now that might have really sold it."

President Bush fired back in a speech to the ten American people watching the Sept. 7 televised address. Though failing to mention the weapons of mass destruction supposedly hoarded by Saddam Hussein or a projected date for troops to return from Iraq, the president did assure everyone that terrorism was still alive and thriving and nobody can let their guard down for ten seconds. And by the way, they need $87 billion more dollars, if you can spare it.

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Hello commune:

I really admire Mr. Robert Wadlow. He was of incredible height. He was huge but looked very friendly. I am only 5'5" and believe me, I am really disappointed with myself. If only I could grow a little bit taller. Mr Wadlow was so blessed about his size. He is the tallest man in the world! I feel hurt that he died. I wish he were alive. Besides, no one can dare challenge him.


How incredible, fantastic and amazing the height of that man - Robert Wadlow.


I'm very lucky to be in excellent shape. And I can't play basketball because my foot can hurt easily. Lot of happiness to all of you.

Imran
Nairobi, Kenya


Dear Imran:

According to our sources Mr. Wadlow died in 1940, but we understand that in your grief you may not have been able to write to us right away. Come to think of it, you may have been waiting for the commune to come into existence before you wrote to us, a move we here at the commune applaud. However, you're still about four years late, and we're afraid that the statute of limitations for your question has subsequently expired. Wait, you didn't ask any questions, did you? Thanks for wasting our time, fucknuts.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for any injuries that may result from our annual Hunt for the World's Tallest Man contest. If you don't know how to safely tranquillize and taxiderm an eight-foot-tall human being, you shouldn't be participating.

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Lately it seems like every-damned-body has been asking me what I'll be doing for Christmas, as if I'm going to say that I'll be attending a Roman Orgy and then invite them along, or that I'm going to slip up and say that I'm taking my doped-up sex zombie out of the closet to beat him with a big rubber tit or something. Then they can act all offended and then say they're not surprised and knew what I was up to all along. I know their game, the bastards. I don't know what gets into people around the holidays, you'd think the eminent threat of an Amtrak train slamming through their living room while they're right in the middle of watching "Furby Christmas Feast" would be plenty of excitement for them, but you'd be surprised. Most still have interest left over to get all up in my shit on a regular basis.

So before I start catching any nosy pricks going through my desk drawers looking for a turkey baster full of heroin, I'm going to set the record straight: I plan on spending this Christmas holed up at the Bricks estate, wrapped around a jug of Mike's Hard Eggnog and watching the Benny Hill marathon with my trusty basset hound, Foghat. And before you start ripping on Benny Hill, know that Foghat doesn't take kindly to such thick-headed slander, and the last fool to attempt such a breech of etiquette discovered later that the "Gravy Train" had made an unscheduled stop in his pennyloafers that night, if you follow my colloquial English here.

Now, I'm sure that the few of you who aren't asking yourselves why you don't own such a top-drawer canine are just itching your britches to ask why I'm spending the holidays alone this year, why I'm not nestled in the heart and hearth of friends and family and all that Hallmark shit. Well, the truth of the matter is that I'm still recovering from last year's Christmas debacle, when I spent the holidays with my friend Jeff who was visiting from Tampa and it damn-near turned me into a Buddhist, or some kind of non-Christmasing religious pain in the ass anyway.

Jeff and I go way back, we met during a spontaneous after-bar barfing contest back in college. We became fast friends after Jeff heaved one on a Hell's Angel and we had to dive into the back of a taxi to get away. It turned out that it wasn't even a taxi, just some dude with a yellow car, and I was in the middle of calming the guy down and explaining the situation when Jeff bjorked on that guy, too, and we had to jump out of the car in the middle of the expressway. Man, those were the days.

After college Jeff moved to Tampa to start a Ponzi scheme and I didn't hear from him for I don't know how many years. Though I was pretty sure I saw him in a security camera clip on "Bonehead TV", taking a digger on the wet tile coming out of a bathroom stall in Miami. Then, out of nowhere he calls me up last December and says we should get together and do something for the holidays. The next thing I knew he was on a plane.

Now, just for old time's sake, I played a little joke on Jeff and sent a bunch of guys dressed up like Klansman to pick him up at the airport. Bad idea. I don't know if he'd already paid for an airport shuttle or what, but he was in a seriously bitchy mood when he got to my house. There was a quick remedy for that at the bottom of a case of Safeway's cheapest beer though, and before long we were having a Christmas Eve for the ages.

In no time at all the hard liquor was out, Benny Hill was on the television and there was a roaring fire in the fireplace. We were all drunker than a couple of southern cops on a Saturday night, except for Foghat, who was lost in a world of Benny Hill's slapstick antics.

At some point in the night I asked Jeff what he'd been up to. I mentioned that whenever I'd asked around about him, I'd heard alternately that he was married to an entire tribe down in Peru or Ecuador or some shit, that he'd taken over the role of Birdie in the McDonaldland commercials, and that he was a door-to-door breast pump salesman in the Midwest. In response, he just stood up, dropped his pants and cut loose with a torrential stream of urine into the fireplace. I'm not sure quite what this meant, probably that they were all true, but before I got a chance to ask for clarification the flames leapt up Jeff's pee-stream and he flew about half-way across the room, screaming like a gopher running from a riding mower. Now opinions may differ on the subject, but I thought it was about the funniest thing that had ever happened in the Bricks living room, but then again it wasn't my Ballpark Frank that was getting plumped.

Before I could think to offer him an icepack or something, or even stop laughing myself, Jeff bolted out the door and into the wintry night, half-naked and still smoking. And I'll be damned if I ever saw that crazy fucker again. I doubt that anyone in my neighborhood will forget that night any time soon. Some say that on certain dark and quiet winter nights, you can still hear his woman-like shriek in the wind.

Personally, I'm getting low on old friends to blow up, so this Christmas Eve it'll just be me and Foghat basking in the warm glow of the television, turned up just loud enough to drown out the shrieking of the wind. Bricks out.

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