n a move pundits suspect was designed to improve the president’s poll numbers among the nation’s comedy writers, George W. Bush ate complete shit off a bike during a ride at his Texas ranch last Sunday afternoon. The president spoke for reporters while covered in several comical facial bandages and wearing an arm sling this week to address the topic of his crash, which Bush claims he participated in to prove a point about his increasingly unpopular Iraq policy.

“Even when things don’t go exactly as planned, and you hit a goddamned pothole on the road to liberation, you’ve got to climb back on that nation and ride her home,� Bush declared. Though the vaguely sexual imagery unnerved some, many felt that this was one of the most successful of the president’s many pathetic attempts to save face after an embarrassing mishap.

Many were reminded of the well-publicized shit-eatingº the president performed off a Segway human transporter at his father’s summer home last year, happier times for a higher polling president who was then able blame technology for his clod-like behavior. Others were also reminded of a January 2002 incident in which a pretzel got the better of the president during an attempt at eating, ending with Bush’s dramatic tumble into a coffee table. Though that incident shared little in common with the president’s latest tussle with gravity, many still enjoy bringing up the story at the flimsiest pretext.

Bush claims that a rabbit darted out in front of his bike on Sunday, forcing him to heroically swerve onto a treacherous rocky outcropping to avoid going Paperboy on the adorably wayward rodent. Other witnesses claim the president ate shit on smooth pavement after removing one hand from the bicycle’s handlebars to scratch his asshole.

The president was accompanied on the ride by his personal doctor, bicycle riding coach Noel Yongstrem, a Secret Service agent, and some neighborhood kids who tagged along to make fun of the Bush’s lame bike. According to eyewitness reports, Bush’s crash elicited peals of laughter, pointing, and sarcastic clapping from everyone in the group except the unnamed Secret Service agent, who panicked and ran off into the woods, leaving the downed president to fend for himself.

Bush suffered minor abrasions to his chin, upper lip, nose, right hand and both knees in the accident, but the most serious injury was to the president’s pride, White House spokesman Trent Duffy said. Despite the spill, Bush was able to bravely ride the rest of the way home with only minor sniveling and a snotty nose.

Surprisingly, the president sustained his injuries in spite of witness reports that he was wearing a helmet and mouth guard at the time of the accident. White House doctors believe this can be explained by the fact that Bush’s helmet likely came off during the crash, since the straps had been tied in a knot under his chin due to the president’s ongoing difficulty with latches, snaps and buttons.

According to the White House, President Bush has expressed a desire to ride in cars from now on, leaving two-wheeled transportation “to kids and the Chinese.� No word yet on whether or not he’s going to keep up with the helmet and mouth guard.

Brit Sailor Apology Video Obviously Just Photo with Superimposed Talking Lips

“.XXX” Domain Reserved for Adult Content Sites, Online Moonshiners

“Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters

Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough

It's no surprise there's few major news stories this week, given the death of Ronald Reagan is still permeating the national consciousness. Sure, there's some minor events that warrant attention—the death of a major Iraqi puppet leader and the complete personality change in the next-in-line to the White House, but it's how we start to move on from our grief. Slowly and with small tidbits of newsworthy items.

My respect for Reagan knew no bounds, unlike those restraining orders his administration filed against yours truly. Sure, we were adversaries—I disrespected his policies and found him insincere about his vision of a better America. A diplomatic cowboy, a fascist of the religious right, and merciless eradicator of the working classes and impoverished. Sure, given a gun, a single bullet, and a fair shot, I might have offed him myself—but I respected the man, and that's what counts.

It's no secret I'm a liberal, good sir, and I like to wear ladies' undergarments. At least it's not since I wrote that. But just because we differed politically, and my spite for the man was limitless, doesn't mean I can't recognize he was a premiere statesman and a beloved icon of America. Even if I hated him with every fiber of my being, even if he exemplified everything immoral and base and uncivilized about America, and laid the groundwork for the quagmire of foreign policy we currently practice that has turned us into the world's public enemy number one, doesn't mean I can't offer some small praise for the things he did right, should I ever discover any. When he passed on, I didn't dance—not very long at all, sir. A week, tops.

I bring this all up because the commune received some very unkind letters from readers this week about our previous edition's coverage of the Reagan story, and by that I mean him being dead and all. Now, I didn't read the mail, I have people for that. Lefty read some of it and gisted it for me, and she said some people liked it and some people didn't. Some people felt we were unfair to the ex-president and some people thought we were giving him too much news coverage. Some thought we were hot, some thought we were cold, but no porridge was just right. People, can you do me a favor and just get one opinion before you all go writing all that drivel to me? It's hard to keep track of more than one opinion, besides my own.

My point is: Quit your bitching. We had to cover the Reagan news in-depth, it was a huge story. In fact, it still is—what else is going on? Sure, the murder of a major Iraqi official, the Vice-President's filthy mouth, all of that stuff, but what else, tell me that? Hostages and terrorists killing people, of course, what else is new? There's that Jack Ryan thing in Illinois, but that's just another—

Jack Ryan? Wait, let me re-read the story for a second. Isn't Jack Ryan the Hunt for Red October guy? CIA super-spy and all that? Well, it's probably not the same one. And it's just another Democrat sex scandal with—

Holy shit! It says here this knob's a Republican! What the fuck is up with that? A Republican sex scandal? What did they do, have sex on the desk and then slash welfare?

Shit on a cracker! Sex clubs? Those are my favorite kinds of clubs! And his wife was not ordinary cloth coat kind of Republican wife! She's that hottie from Melrose Place and Star Trek, the one who wore the skin tight outfit and had Warp 9s out to here. The guy was running for Senator, too, no pissant Congressman from the House! Wow, this is the kind of conspiracy that really gets me going!

I call a do-over. Is it too late to scrap the front page?

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Okay, so it turns out that movie I did over the summer was a hardcore porno. Who knew? Just goes to show you, I guess.

I probably never would have even found out if it weren't for my dad watching it in the living room while mom was hosting her book club. One of the ladies, Ms. Priscilla, pointed at the screen and said, "Oh my goodness, Bunny, that looks like your daughter!"

Of course I jumped to look, thinking it was Cassandra. It wasn't too likely, but dad likes a lot of girl-on-girl action, and Cassandra probably loves to participate, I supposed it was possible. But it was me! No kidding, I was the one in the porno. Boy, was my face red.

I did so many movies over the summer after I got rolling in the low-budget sci-fi movie biz it was probably just a matter of time before I wound up in a porno. You're going from house to house, one shady basement after another, step in front of cameras, guys give you scripts (or "gist" the scene to you) and you ad-lib for a couple minutes. Then it's out the door, you got a comic book cover to shoot or an E! True Hollywood Story on Emmanuel Lewis interview to do. Turn around you're in Spread Eagle 4 and you don't remember anything about it.

It's important to know how movies work, if you're a layman or laywoman, and I don't mean the kind of laywomen in the porn movie itself. I mean ignorants. It's not like you go to script meetings, create a "character" for yourself, spend minutes or even hours rehearsing, and then shoot the thing. You're not there for hours watching everyone else work so you know how to play your scene. I mean, some workaholics and shit do that, but not real movers and shakers like myself. You step in, do some crazy stuff for the camera, and then let them fix it in editing. It's not like you ever expect to see the movie again.

So in that perspective, yeah, it's easy to end up in a porno. Directors just tell you all the stuff line-by-line. "Go here, say these lines, sit down here, take your top off, kiss that guy, say these lines, get on the floor," whatever, stuff like that. You have no idea what they're going to use it for, the context or nothing.

Not that I was doing anything like that in Spread Eagle 4. I was just playing a secretary who dropped off a file in Dick Thick's office. I walk in while he's got some secretary bent over the desk and he looks up and says, "Hey, you know my secretary, Clarissa Coleman, from Who's Your Daddy?" I didn't know they were actually doing anything, you know, penetrating. They were good actors, or I thought they were.

It was used all out of context in the film, too. When they used my scene in the movie the girl was on top and they were on the coffee table, and he said, "Hey, it's Clarissa Coleman, from Li'l Poachers!" Which makes no sense. I said, "Cool! I've gotta go," which wasn't a line but something I really said. Totally ruined the real scene, shitty editors. And they always cut to the guy's face during the money shot.

When I think about it, it does kind of piss me off they didn't ask me to be in the movie, you know, doing stuff. I'm sure I'm hot enough and I keep in pretty good shape for someone who doesn't exercise. They probably thought I had too much class, and I can't blame them for that.

Now that I think about it, I don't think I got paid for that movie at all. I could be in for some serious cash, if dad's reaction is anything like the average pornophile's.

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