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8/20/26   
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homecommune Staff Biographiescommune news20,000 Seats Beneath the League with Stan AbernathieOr So You Thought with Red BagelBook RevoltBoris is Gay with Boris UtzovMy Friend Polio with Omar BricksMy Dearest Deidrebane with Carlisle P. ChesterfeldChild Star with Clarissa ColemanThe Best of Joel DickmanNo Shit? with Griswald DreckOne Sane Man with Raoul DunkinEditorial CartoonsFanmail from Some Flounders: Letters to the EditorGiving You the Finger with Rok FingerThe Hanes Identity with Mickey HanesSampson L. Hartwig RemembersShort ‘N’ Sweet with Stan HooperPoop of the Century with Ramrod HurleyAmerican Jesus with Mitch KroegerYou Can’t Win with Alamo CruiseFortune 500 Cookies with Mazie the ChickenManifestos of FunMe Chinese with Ned NedmillerSittin’ Around the Pickle Barrel with Shorty and JeterPoetry CoronerEntertainment Police: Movie and Television ReviewsThis Space for Rent: Guest ColumnistsGlass Ceiling Fan with Thelma ReynoldsClarise Sickhead’s Bedtime StoriesGoddammit! with Ted TedReflections of a Goocher with Stu UmbrageThe World Vs. Homer Vanslykecommune Club with Emil Zender

Scientists Endorse ScientologyJune 27, 2005
Hollywood CA
Junior Bacon
Cruise and Holmes celebrate the announcement by America’s scientists, while British Prime Minister Tony Blair performs a celebratory robot dance for no discernable reason
S
cientology is in the news again this week, and not just because some green reporter made the mistake of sticking a microphone in front of Tom Cruise again. In a shocking revelation that has rocked the media world, fourteen year old actress and Cruise arm candy Katie Holmes has converted to the oddball religion, leaving the pope speechless and the entire Roman Catholic Church in disarray. But she’s not the only one, and this time it’s not only some weirdly shallow celebrity joining the ranks. In a lesser-publicized footnote, America’s entire scientific community has jumped on the bandwagon, too.

“It’s a natural fit, really,” explained Ralf Menu of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. “Science? Scientology? I’m actually surprised this didnâ€...Read more...


Desperate Housewife Longoria banged by huge pole

Tsunami relief concert-goers thoughtlessly do "the wave"

Suspected mad cow just has poor coping skills

Polish Roof Falls in Following "Drinks Are on the House" Debacle



October 1, 2001

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Where the Fuck's Jesus?

As you may have heard from the local townsfolk, or from those smartalec kids who hang out in front of the TruValue over on fifth and Wayne, I've dedicated my life to a search for Jesus. For years I have searched far and wide, from the highest peaks to the deepest valleys, deep under the polar icecap and at the bottom of the mariana trench. I've looked in closets, I've looked under rugs, picnic tables and once even inside the girls' dressing room at a Foxy Boxing match. I've scoured the bus stops, the zoos and the trendy bars of our fair land and all of my searching has left me with but one question: Where the fuck's Jesus?

I mean, maybe I heard wrong, but he did say he was coming back, didn't he? I seem to remember something along those lines, maybe it was "Save my seat dude, I gotta whiz!" or maybe it was something a bit more poetic, but I was left with the distinct impression that he'd be draggin' his sorry ass back here sooner or later. And I'm about out of places to look.

Over the years there have been times when I thought I'd found him, but impostor Jesusi they were, every last one of them. Bogus Jesusitos. I was fairly sure I'd found him back in 1984 but then that guy ended up smoking all of my weed and sleeping with my sister, so I had to throw him out. I know, I know, whatever you do unto the least of my brothers, yadda yadda yadda. Well, in that case, Jesus got a Birkenstock crammed halfway up his ass that day.

And don't even...Read more...


º Last Column: When's God Gonna Quit Bustin' My Balls?
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November 12, 2001

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Volume 7

Dear commune:

I have a bone to pick with you, commune. It's about time someone stood up and stated the obvious: the commune's mascot, Poopey Chalupa, is a shameful and offensive stereotype that cheapens, exploits and degrades the fine heritage of the people of Mexico. And if you're reading this out loud, you'd best be sure to pronounce that "Mey-heeco" to avoid further damage to these fine people.

Shame on you, commune: this kind of schoolyard tomfoolery is beneath you and frankly I expected more from the publication that has brought us the wit and wisdom of Tom Turkel's "Home Town" for more than 20 years. You may consider this formal notice of the cancellation of my subscription.

Beth Romerlaud
Pierce Mountain, Delaware



Dear Beth:

The commune shares your outrage at the exploitation of helpless minorities, unless they're on our payroll. No one here will soon forget the intolerance and hatred bred by shows like Taxi and Perfect Strangers in years past, and we have no interest in breeding further misconceptions, or rabbits. However, we regret to inform you that Poopey Chalupa does not work here; in actuality he is the mascot for El ComĂșn, the newsletter of the annual Mexico City street bazaar. Have you seen our mascot, lady? We'd kill to get that cute little sombrero-wearing rascal.

Furthermore, Tom Turkel's "Home Town" has never appeared on the commune, and it never will; not...
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º Last Column: Volume 6
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Milestones
1983: Reporter Raoul Dunkin begins down the long road of abandoning teams when things get rough, quitting a dodgeball match due to some minor bone fracturing.
Now Hiring
You. Seeking dedicated, hard-working you of moderate intelligence to engage in commune reading, web-surfing, and other you-centered activities. Payment and benefits to be based on experience.
Top Missing Work Excuses
1.Challenger Flashback
2.Too Fucked Up on Meth
3.It's Pretty Outside
4.Thought it Was Nuked
5.Didn't Really Miss It That Much
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Beck Steinman
12/13/2004
Mousey Men
The sun descriptively climbed under the clouds, playing peek-a-boo with California as it squatted behind the distant hills, to take a cosmic dump. Joe and Britches came to a cool glen, which is not slang for a guy named Glen who is "holding," but instead a lake area with a refreshing pond. They washed their muddy hands and laughed loudly. Then they drank the water they had just washed their muddy hands in, which is gross.

"We're sure living the high life now, ain't we Joe?" said Britches.

Laughing even louder, Joe agreed. "We sure are, Britches. I got a good feeling about California. The fruits on the trees is so ripe they fall right into yer hands, just like everyone done told us. Yep, I can't see ever running into any miserable irony in a land so gosh-darned...Read more...

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