Gore Wouldn't Run Again For a Million, Trillion Dollars

he anemic field of Democratic candidates, described by political pundits as “what the A-team would be like if it was really gay,� has inspired many Democrats to push for another Al Gore candidacy in 2004. Perhaps not grasping the ramifications of four more years with Boy George at the helm, thus far the former vice-president has steadfastly refused.

“I wouldn’t run for president again for a million, trillion dollars,� Gore told reporters last December. “Nor for all the tea in China.�

�Not even for true love?� a reporter questioned.

“No,� answered Gore. “Not even for that.�

However, Gore did concede later that if this reporter was holding a gun to the head of an innocent newborn baby, he might consider it. Though he did seem a little weirded out by the question.

Recent polls in New Hampshire show that if Gore were to enter the race for the Democratic Party nomination, he would immediately become the front-runner in that state. These polls showed that the same also holds true for Hillary Rodham Clinton, George Clinton, and Kool-Aid Man, the gigantic pitcher of powdered beverage famous for busting through walls and responding in the affirmative. Various Democratic candidates have denounced the poll as mean, but true.

Speaking with the commune this week, Gore’s position on his potential candidacy remained unchanged.

“Would you, could you, if it rained?� this reporter asked the non-candidate.

“I would not, could not if it rained,� responded Gore. “Nor if my brain had gone insane. I meant what I said and I said what I meant: I will not run for president! Now leave me be!�

Other scenarios that would fail to entice Gore to run include learning the secrets behind various Carly Simon songs, a blimp full of naked cheerleaders landing in his backyard, or having a southern state renamed Goregia.

Several political commentators have suggested that Gore would prefer to go down in history as the man who was denied the presidency by an antiquated electoral system and corrupt election officials in Florida, rather than risk losing a second election to a man who has been amply exposed as one of the less-memorable bit characters on Dukes of Hazzard. Those who know Gore dismiss this idea as absurd, though they could totally see Bush giving the Duke boys the what-for.

Gore supporters suggest instead that the former vice-president simply doesn’t wish to subject the public to a Gore v. Bush rematch, or spend the next year of his life debating with a man who moves his lips when he reads.

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I'm fucking miserable. What an asshole I've been.

Sorry for the Turkish, good people, but Rok Finger's hit rock bottom. No fuckin' pun intended. In fact, if I did intend a pun in any slight or possibly intentional way, beat me to death with a dirty broom handle.

As you'll no doubt know, I've separated from my wife of 30 years, Arvelyn. Things came to a head and blew up after the whole possibly poisoned food incident, I won't go into the lousy stinking details, but just to cut through the bullshit, we're broken up. I've been living in my office at the commune since then, drinking from the water fountain and Ramrod Hurley's hidden Jim Beam bottle and eating the plants growing in the window sill of Omar Bricks' cubicle. Sure, I feel a lot better once I've eaten, but I always come back to here. Rock bottom. No pun, yadda yadda.

I'm sure I've expressed how large and impressive a bitch my wife is. Not that I'd totally recant that statement, but as of late I think it only fair to mention I'm no prince to live with either. Let's face facts, loyal readers: I'm a huge prick, and not the good kind of huge prick ladies talk about. I'm the awful kind of insane, self-destructive huge prick who drives away good-hearted women who love him.

There is no God. That's obvious. What kind of God would make a huge prick like me and then give him a perfect woman just knowing I'd drive her off just like I did all the other good women in my life, and small children as well? A huge prick God, of course. Satan, I think he's called. Yeah. God is Satan.

Oooh! Shit. This song, this song is so true. No shitting you, this is dead on the truth. I've heard it before but it never made sense like it does right now. Indeed, we're all stars in the dope show. I'm turning it up, Nacutchacokov and all his shushing can shove themselves up his ass, which would be a physics nightmare. He just works here, I have to live here. I don't think he's from this country either.

Sometimes I think maybe I should go outside, since there's always a better chance of being hit by some sort of traveling vehicle or being struck by lightning. Earthquakes, they're rare but they could happen. Something could fall out of a window, like my desk, and crush me flat under it. Arvelyn would get all the insurance money and I'd finally do something worthy of her, what a fucking prick I am. The bitch. Oh, shit, I just remembered, I made the cat my beneficiary. You see? This is the kind of humongoid prick Rok Finger is, no denying it.

I'm thinking of getting out The Catcher in the Rye and reading it again. Christ, I haven't read that book in thirty years now. In fact, I don't think I ever read it. I burned it once. It's hard to remember now what all that was about, I think I was just trying to be cool.

Bagel can shove his deadlines up his ass. I'll turn in a page full of randomly pressed keyboard markings before I write another column. I'm on contract, dammit, they can't hold me. Besides, I don't think they edit these things at all.

Anyway, I'm muddling through, good people, loyal friends, fans of a huge prick. I'm sure by next time I'll have a column better prepared or something. Or, with luck, I'll be dead and it will no longer be an issue. Fuck me.

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First off, I wanted to apologize to our newly loyal readers about the comments form not working, I know some people have been trying to use it but something is messed up the code, so all that comes through is nonsense about Viagra and oatmeal cookies.

But more importantly: Orgasmic news, everyone! I’ve found Raoul Dunkin! I know, that phrase has never before in the world been uttered. I kid, Raoul, just a little old-school commune humor. But seriously, you could peel me off the ceiling when I got an anonymous tip on our commune reunition hotline (1-800-COM-MMIE) the other day saying that Raoul had been running a political news and commentary site called www.spankrag.com until it recently folded, and since then he’s been bagging groceries at a Pamida in Scottsdale. Before you could say "Spankwhat?" I was down at the library digging up a Scottsdale phonebook and within hours I had Dunkin himself on the line. After seventeen minutes of explaining who I was, Mr Dunkin’s memory was violently jogged. And better yet, he agreed to join forces with me at the commune redux! On the condition that I get the word out about the Spankrag saga. And so I’ll waste no time doing that, here in Raoul Dunkin’s own words:

"Although the website did fail, I disagree wholeheartedly with those who claim it was because of the name. Some insist that Spankrag.com was an inappropriate name for a cutting-edge political news site, but that’s only because they didn’t understand the name’s many clever layers of meaning. I chose the word "spank" because I wanted my site to spank the forces of ignorance and oppression with the big, meaty palm of information. And I chose the "rag" part to express my rage at the status quo and the complacency of everyday Americans in the face of having their rights stripped away one by one. To answer the obvious question, yes, I did originally want to name the site www.spankrage.com, but this was already taken by a pornography website."

Welcome back, Raoul! I have it on good authority Mr Dunkin will be providing us with cutting-edge news content for the commune in the exceedingly near future. Which is a good thing, because I had tried my hand at penning some news pieces myself to fill the gap and they were so terrible my neighbor’s dog broke into my bedroom and ate them. So I guess the world will never know about the disturbing goings-on down at the Shanesly Senior Center’s shuffleboard courts. Perhaps it’s all for the best, some news is so dark it serves no useful purpose other than to turn one’s soul away from the light.

In lighter news, I also found Roland McShyster! Sort of. I was buying some milk down at the Safeway when I realized there was a wet sheet of paper stuck to the carton. It wasn’t even glued on or anything, just stuck on because the milk carton was wet. All the milks had them. And as I squinted to make out the waterlogged type, I suddenly realized I was reading Mr. McShyster’s inimitable take on the art of modern cinema. Holy moley! (Seriously, spellcheck? You’ve never heard of moley?) I instantly bought three cartons of milk and raced home to upload Roland’s column to the website. After I got home I realized all three were the same, so now I have a shitload of milk for nothing, but it was still worth it to see the Safeway manager’s face when I casually name-dropped that I know the guy who’s been sticking movie reviews to their milk. You can imagine he was impressed. He was less thrilled that I didn’t know where Roland could be located, and my memory was too poor to provide an accurate sketch they could give to the store’s security guards, but I still think my stock has gone way up at the local Safeway.

If you have a tip about where more ex-commune staffers might be hiding, and for some reason have something against telephones (not that I blame you), I encourage you to let your fingers do the talking. Email me at Emil_Zender_remove the space, add the year Spain achieved independence times three, apologies if I don’t get back to you right away, sometimes I mix up that date in my mind, for like a month I thought it was 1847, I don’t know why I thought that, it was just weird, but anyway I couldn’t get into my gmail for a whole month until I realized that wasn’t the date at all… wait, isn’t that the date? Shit, now I’m confused again@gmail.com. Sorry for all the subterfuge but you have to be careful about Spam these days, Hormel will send entire cases of that nasty crap to anyone who isn’t careful with their info online.

This is really happening, folks! Get in on the ground floor so you can say you were here when the commune rose from the ashes like a crack fiend who had fallen asleep on the couch!

Zincerely,

Emil Zender

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