ne the most potentially controversial stories in recent years was successfully nipped in the bud by the Bush White House and its ever-faithful assistant, the national news media, as the ongoing story of former Cheney Chief of Staff Lewis Libby's indictment, the first of a sitting White House official in history, was relegated to page 3 by bored news directors and other major Republican-driven news stories.

Libby, called "Scooter" by his many enemies, is the first and likely only casualty of the under-covered story of a White House leak, in which the identity of a working CIA operative, conveniently the wife of Bush opponent Joseph Wilson. Wilson's wife Valerie Plame was outed as a spy by a conservative columnist, and his source was traced back to the White House. While liberals hoped the 22-month investigation by Special Counsel Patrick Fitzgerald would reveal the dirty tactic came from a source as high as presidential counselor Karl Rove, the most the Democrats could succeed with was a guy named Scooter. And the victory itself was short-lived.

As soon as news of the Libby indictment, a potentially president-destroying story, was announced, the Cheney Chief of Staff resigned and the White House began its onslaught of less important announcements, starting with the retraction of Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, the nomination of mini-Scalia Samuel Alito, and more news from the clusterfuck in the Middle East that is Iraq. To seal the deal and firmly erase the recent memory of criminal charges against White House staff, the president released a string of obscene and bizarre comments guaranteed to push the story off the page—covered elsewhere in this edition of the commune.

Democrats and White House insiders alike were surprised by the effectiveness of the Bush administration's "Operation: Bury the Story."

DNC strategist Michael Fallusmore: "Damn, but they did it good. We were a little busy basking in the glee of what should have been a catastrophe for the Bush-ites and GOP. Then we woke the next morning and couldn't find a trace of it anywhere. The news media were suddenly much more interested in the predictable choice of a conservative white guy for the Supreme Court. Real shockaroo there. But still, you have to give them credit for weaseling out of the unweaselable. I guess all we can do now is hope some reporter finds that dead hooker in Karl Rove's Toyota."

An inside source at the White House, some Bush college buddy whose phone we tapped, agreed with the quick removal of the story.

"I totally can't believe it worked," said the source, then giggled as he did a line of blow. "I suppose it would have been a hard uphill battle if all the major media outlets hadn't bought into the importance of these other routine stories and decided to shrug off the boring details of criminal and possibly treasonous behavior inside the walls of the highest pockets of U.S Government. What? Yeah, I'm completely wasted, so what? I always talk like that."

The president did his part as leader of his party and platform to diminish the importance of the story to the news media and the American people, by dressing in ugly suits, appearing as unphotogenic as possible, and keeping his comments quite limited to make for lousy B-roll for the visually oriented media outlets. Bush responded Thursday to Libby's plea of not guilty to the charges.

"Yep, yep," said the president, quickly shuffling off to a birthday party of a friend being held at a Washington, D.C. Chuck E. Cheese.

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Hello now. Boris is here.

Welcome to the country where Boris now living.

America! Hello!

Long journey come to America, over land, sea and vomiting Alpaca. Alpacas not like the ocean! "Look out!" said Alpaca, by way of him tossing out the mouth salad. Now Boris understand why no Alpaca build boats. Of course, it so simple!

Boris come to America, for it is land without crows. All the time in the Homeland, crows follow Boris around, laughing HA HA HA. Boris Goddamn the crows, but still they follow and laugh. Boris get nothing done, and never no dates all the time. No ladyfriend want entourage of crow friends laughing, and in time Boris is sad. Also, Boris gets neighbor in belly with baby! Oh no! So, Boris is coming inside America.

And what does Boris find in America? Crows! What a little world.

But still, happy times. Boris come to America and people say "Hello, Boris!" Well, not yet, but soon.

But not to worry, Boris makes Bagel friend! Boris sleeping in free room with windows when Bagel Red saying "Get out of phone booth! Bagel Red live here now!" and he step on Boris bed and talk on Boris telephone. At first, Boris not like Bagel Red not any, and try to kill Bagel Red with karate. But, Boris know nothing karate and gets boot in asshole. Oh well, poor Boris! But look out, all misunderstanding and Bagel Red is Boris friend.

Bagel tell Boris of fine place to live, with the Johnson of Howard. No more phone calls to wake up Boris in the dark of night. Now Boris sleep in bedroom of brooms, like sorcerer's little friend. Very quiet in broom room, and little money required to pay Bagel to stay. When people see Boris stay in big orange castle, they know nothing that he is not rich Richard. Boris laugh at this.

Oh! Other fine news for Boris in new Homeland! Two week, and already Boris getting married. Boris meet maiden with pants like leopard, and she love Boris no problem. Boris say "Yes maiden, Boris will lend you money to heat downstairs!" and she say she love Boris long time. Time to call mother with good words!

Already everything goes so fine. Bagel Red friend even give Boris job writing column and for to dress like Bagel Red in daytime. Boris walk around and speak like "I am Bagel Red! I have no left country!" and Boris earn magic cans of beans. Magic beans! Who thinks America has things like wonderful magic beans? Clever secret to keep Americans happy.

So, happy too is Boris. And Boris must speak to world to say "Boris is Gay!" Who laughs, for they are happy at Boris? What a friendly magic place.º more columns

If you were paying any attention last column, and not just skimming for mentions of supermodel sex, you'll remember I started a story about building a new Bricksmobile and running down to Sears to get a floodlight for the garage, and how those cheap fuckers tried to con me into paying fifteen large for some kind of gold-plated adapter. Long story short, I remembered I already had an adapter at home, so I called their bluff and let them contemplate my bare ass on the way out the door.

I went home, dug up the adapter and with a little elbow grease I managed to get it to plug into the floodlight. Turned the whole shebang on and no light, but a weird humming noise and the place started to smell like a hair salon. I figured the adapter might have gone bad some time while I was using it to prop up the washing machine, so I unhooked it from the light and considered ways to test to see if the adapter was still good.

When I was a kid, Mom Bricks showed me a trick about how to tell if a battery was still good or not. This was back before they started putting those worthless little pretend power gauge stickers on batteries as part of a partnership with America's Funniest Home Videos, and even before they built that flimsy battery tester into the package.

Nope, back then when you found a AA rolling around back behind the refrigerator, you had to call up NASA and read tea leaves or some shit to find out if it was still any good. Sure, you could wipe off the corroded cat hair, pop it in your Walkman and just hope, but then when the tape started freaking out and playing at one quarter speed half-way through No Sleep Till Brooklyn you had no idea whether it was that battery or one of the seven others that was puttin' on the shits.

So, unless you wanted to get a summer job or something so you could replace all the batteries, you had to find some way to figure out which of the coppertops was riding bitch. Shaking them seemed like a good idea, but they didn't make any obvious half-empty rattling noises, plus since they were so small it was hard to be sure unless you shook your head the same way while you held the battery to your ear, and that just got confusing.

Likewise, tapping on them was no good, and tests to see if the empty ones rolled slower proved inconclusive. None of them floated, and if you cut one in half with bolt cutters it made a huge mess and you couldn't use it then anyway, even if it turned out to have plenty of juice left. That's when Mom Bricks stepped in and showed me that if you touch the end of the battery to your tongue, you get a little shock if it's still good. I later learned this works for other body parts too, though that's a story for another column.

Fast-forward to Saturday night, and what works for a battery should work for an adapter, right? Well, I touched the end of the adapter cord to my tongue and there's no nice way to say how fast the Omar Bricks weekend went to pot after that. I don't really want to talk about it.

Let's just suffice it to say that's the first time I've ever shit out anything that was on fire.

Bricks Out.

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