Future Archaeologists Have No Clue About 9/11

he torn-off front cover of a Newsweek magazine dating back to March of 2004, discovered by archaeologists at a dig outside Prozac City examining the remains of a 21st century McDonald’s child care facility, has sparked heated speculation as to the meaning of the magazine’s headline: “Inside the 9/11 Investigation.�

Since all records of the early 21st century were destroyed in the Great Silicon Wipe of 2009, modern-day scientists can only wonder about the troubles of 21st century man, not to mention what a 9/11 is and why it might need to be investigated. Archaeologists are split as to the possible interpretations.

“This clearly has to do with air pollution,� asserts present archaeologist and former Past Bob VI roommate Paul Silvestri, pointing out what appear to be industrial smokestacks in the background of the cover photo. “Look at all that smoke, that must be a coal refinery or something. Nasty. I don’t know who the white guy is on the cover; the part where his name should be is caked in 100-year-old mustard that’s become part of the paper. But he was probably a coal baron or something.�

“Get your cock out of that crock,� disagreed fellow archaeologist Alan Hayes. “What does nine divided by eleven have to do with air pollution? This clearly involves the controversial integration of New Math. They were probably all up in shit about 9/11 equaling four, like that was too advanced for their Cro-Magnon brains. That’s probably why this guy is raising his hand, like he doesn’t get it because the teacher’s going too fast.�

“I don’t know,� interrupted Silvestri. “If that’s true, then what’s this stuff about ‘Your Government Failed You... And I Failed You’? Who is this guy? He’s obviously poor, look at how bald he is. So he’s clearly not a government official.�

“Maybe he’s a robot,� offered Hayes. “Maybe his arm’s up like that because he’s doing the robot dance.�

“Hmmm,� Silvestri thought about it for a moment. “No, that’s not it. Look, he’s got a napkin tucked into his collar, like he’s eating dinner. And why would you build a robot that needs glasses?�

“Maybe he’s a glasses-testing robot,� offered Hayes.

“You’re an idiot,� countered Silvestri.

Laymen on the street have been even more confused, asking why the man on the cover is wearing those round eye shields and why ancient man only set aside one week a year for news. Will the truth ever again be known? No one can know for sure, but if they ever do figure it out, Future Bob IV will be there, carrying on the fine Bob family tradition by reporting to the commune offices via my high-tech pastwave radio implant, bringing you the latest future news on what, in this case, you already know. Good day.

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Ah, my sweet Nancy. Another year, another anniversary, and our love endures. Why does it last? Is it because ours is a love meant for the ages, without judgment or fear of reprisal, a shared connection between two people who are soulmates? Yes, a smidge. Mostly it continues to grow stronger because we never let ourselves lapse into staleness.

As you know, Nancy, I am not simply a heart that never stops loving and a mind that never stops obsessing over our love. I am also a penis. I am a testicle. Two testicles, in fact. I am a body, the throbbing impulses of a man. And you are more than love to me. You are the rounded hips, the supple breasts, the plush lips, the honeyed cave hole of a woman. We satisfy each other's bodies as we do our eternal longing for companionship. Yes, Nancy, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we express our love with constant humping.

The years pass, Nancy, but our physical love continues to bring us closer. No matter how many times we do the nasty, my darling, I never tired of the act, and I know you feel the same. For no matter how we may copulate in familiar ways, when things grow too familiar and comfortable for us, we always choose to raunchy it up with a little romantic experimentation. Your leg here, our backs bent this day, dangle these here and lick them—our imaginations are limitless when it comes to our storied love-making. Even if we were blithering retards, dear Nancy, we still have that dirty Japanese comic book with all the pictures of weird positions to try.

What a treasure the fables positions of the Comic Sutra has been to us. We've tried all of them, I believe, Nancy, some of them in other rooms of the house. Some say there are only 103 positions, but you know what I say to that—do them twice. And then do them underwater. There is no spice for a relationship like an aquatic sexual adventure, and as long as our neighbors leave their gate unlocked, we will continue to follow our inner Neptune and Neptilla.

Sometimes, dear Nancy, what we hide is more exciting than what we reveal. A sheer negligee may give a breathtaking hint of the beauty of your naked body, inspiring more excitement and ecstasy than I have ever known. Just as the small football helmet on my wang does the same for you. Sometimes, for an added touch of sensuality, we may play our own erotic game of Blind Man's Bluff, feeling our way to each other's bodies in the dark. At least once we remove the furniture, there's no way I want my dick in a sling again, but that probably goes without saying.

What does not go without saying is that I always prefer your naked body in the light. Do not think my talk of concealing your goodies or making love in the dark means I'm ashamed of your body. Though both of us have aged, Nancy, I find you just as sexy as you were ten years ago, on the sliding scale that we've both aged and, sure, you're not as hot as you used to be. Your sister has your body from ten years ago, but I would not sleep with her Nancy, since I love only you. I may think of her to inspire my erection, but I will make love to you with that erection, Nancy, and almost all the time I'm picturing your head on that body. That could not possibly be cheating.

No matter if you have gained a little weight, if your thighs now rub together in a disconcerting way, and if your breasts do not rise like fluffy couch pillows as they used to. If you have pancake boobs now, it's all the better for me to lay on top of you and cram my love inside. You complain about your cottage cheese buttocks, but I say those indentations are the dozens of dimples from the many wrinkly smiles your ass gives me whenever I look at it.

It's for our erotic life together, and no other, that I keep all those pornographic magazines in my workshed. I don't know why you're getting so bent out of shape, Nancy—you should only be bent out of shape for our coupling. The magazine may be called Chicks With Dicks, but the reason I have those is obvious: A chick with a dick is still a chick. I don't need chicks with vaginas. That's why I have you, my love.

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Ramrod Hurley, Acting-Editor and top dog here at the commune. And after an insulting post card from absentee Supreme Leader Red Bagel last week, I'm proud to announce a new and fearless direction for the commune.

As an editor, I find myself frequently reading the commune. And well, I've noticed how we can sometimes seem unsupportive of the administration and the country at large. Our frequent urges to overthrow the government and assassinate the bourgeoisie may seem adversarial at times, but it has all been in good fun. Deep down, we love the leader of the free world and feel strongly for George W. Bush as well. And it's time we let it show.

Yep, as suggested forcefully by Red Bagel, we're starting a proud new tradition of agreeing with the White House here at the commune. Having our own opinion was fun for a while, but now there's a war on, and it's time to step up to the plate and yes-man our country. Make no mistake, we'll still be a powerful alternative source of news in the future; but our alternative source of news will be the White House.

Poll after poll reported in the objective media show sentiment runs extremely high that the president is doing the right thing, and we couldn't agree more now. After months of questioning the president's push to move into war very quickly and refusal to wait for sanctions, we realize that the president has information that we could never truly fathom and provides all the evidence of weapons of mass destruction within Iraq anyone would need.

It is high time those resisting the president's attempts to bring freedom to Iraq got on board the freedom train. Everyone by now knows Saddam Hussein is the master of lies, like the snake in the Garden of Eden as depicted in the Bible—which we now know is entirely factual.

Previous insinuations President Bush is a war-hungry, dim-witted cowboy who terrifies the rest of the world with his hardline conservative agenda were perhaps a bit harsh. His mastery of English language and foreign diplomacy are superior to all previous presidents, and he clearly won by mandate the 2000 election without manipulation of political figures placed by the Republican party. He does not look at all like a monkey.

A daring new commune? You bet, folks. It's more important than ever in a time of conflict against the greatest evil mankind has ever known to show solidarity. Any of those not showing solidarity at the commune will be fired quickly, and I've got a particularly close eye on Raoul Dunkin.

It's an exciting new world of forcing democracy on the rest of the world, and I'm excited about it. As a lifelong Libertarian, I recognize the importance of establishing laws around the world in the lawless regions outside of America. Iraq will be a better place for our involvement, and after that, North Korea, then Iran, and maybe we'll eventually have brought democracy to every small region of the globe, even Florida.

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