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February 16, 2004 |
Following instruction, a young pilot George W. Bush seeks out the way to the men's room and mistakes a bizarre metal contraption in the middle of the base. Either that, or a publicity still from an early Bush election.  resident George "Whitewash" Bush tried to put to rest the media uproar over his service record in the national guard with a brief prepared statement Friday. Bush revealed his mixed feelings for the Vietnam war, saying once and for all his personal feelings about the conflict stemmed from the apparent lack of oil or natural resources for plundering in the country.
"Before I have alluded to personal reservations about the Vietnam war," the statement began. "These were private concerns, but since the media is preoccupied with the past, let me at last tell everyone I believe the war in Vietnam was misguided. I believe any military action that puts men in danger, when there is no profit to be made in oil or rich natural resources, or a lone figurehead to be vengefully removed from ...
resident George "Whitewash" Bush tried to put to rest the media uproar over his service record in the national guard with a brief prepared statement Friday. Bush revealed his mixed feelings for the Vietnam war, saying once and for all his personal feelings about the conflict stemmed from the apparent lack of oil or natural resources for plundering in the country.
"Before I have alluded to personal reservations about the Vietnam war," the statement began. "These were private concerns, but since the media is preoccupied with the past, let me at last tell everyone I believe the war in Vietnam was misguided. I believe any military action that puts men in danger, when there is no profit to be made in oil or rich natural resources, or a lone figurehead to be vengefully removed from power, is wrong."
It was a dangerous statement for a war-hungry president during an election year, an area that could be mined by election-greedy Democrats and any forgettable third party candidates who might appear on public television or radio to complain. Even conservatives who traditionally back the president expressed initial worry about the president's dedication to the war on terror, or plans for a second term war on Iran, Syria, and Rendibaba, a little shit of an island unknown to everybody but rich in coal.
"Make no mistake," press secretary Scott McClellan responded, fielding questions from frothing reporters, "the president has no doubts about military action in Iraq or any country that supports terrorism. The president stands firm on wars for vengeance and resource exploitation. In Iraq we had both."
And the war on terror?
"That falls under the column of vengeance," assured McClellan, drawing a line with his hand. "Column A, vengeance. That's like Iraq, or Panama or something. Florida. Column B, we're talking exploitation of natural resources. President's all for that. I mean, really for that. Sometimes we have to talk him out of invading ally countries like Mexico. Loads of fat, juicy resources down there. Make his mouth water."
The president's statement could be seen as a desperate act by an administration beleaguered with a bad news week, including continued focus on intelligence mistakes and a plea from WMD inspector David Kay for the president to admit there are no weapons in Iraq. A greater problem during the week was the unearthing of questions about Bush's service in the National Guard during the year from 1972 to 1973, and records could only prove he served nine days in uniform that year, unless you count the Good Humor Man outfit he wore during a summer job.
For supporters of the president, the hope is the statement, no matter how unexpected, will allow the discussion to slip out of public light and turn national attention toward things the president likes, such as apathy, or J. Lo-Affleck gossip-dishing. For Democrats, many are optimistic that the statement will further entrench the president in an uphill battle to explain his role in the Iraq war.
"Ya-wa-hoo!" screeched Democrat presidential nominee front-runner John Kerry, who then proceeded to do a sort of jig most resembling a Riverdance theme. Further questions were not answered as Kerry hopped, twisted, and scuttled into the streets outside, in the direction of the setting sun, presumably hoping others would join him as in a Dr. Pepper commercial. the commune news has no issues with the Vietnam war, except for the proliferation of cliché war movies in the 1980s, which we think of as a scar on our national cinematic landscape. Raoul Dunkin has a scar in a very peculiar place indeed—for pictures, email the commune with the subject line "Dunkin's Second Ass Crack."
 | Megaupload's Kim Dotcom Tapped to Run North Korea
European Playstation gets more play for less work and higher taxes
Insulated, spoiled royal son shockingly oblivious to history
 Big Ratings Prompts ABC to Seek More Dancing Handicapped Shows |
Bush’s MySpace Page Traffic Way Down Plans for Tallest Ferris Wheel Scrapped; Yao-Ming Too Busy to Turn It Entwistle Pleads Not Guilty of Murder, Last Several Who Albums Condi Rice Hates the Way She Smiles in Pictures |
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 March 21, 2005
More Than WordsExhibit A:
Hair rockers with a conscience Extreme's 1990 hit "More Than Words"
Lasting Cultural Impact:
Joy, hope, and black nail polish for the masses.
Separated at Birth:
Anything by the Everly Brothers.
Verdict:
Extreme-ly moving.
Lyric Sample:
Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It's not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
Cos I'd already know
Analysis:
If you're anything like me, this has to be one of your all-time favorite records and without doubt one of the enduring songs of the modern age. Long after fads like Schubert and Rachmaninoff have been justly forgotten to the sands of time, future historians will still be debating the everlasting impact of Extreme. Their flame burnt all too briefly, it is true, but with a piercing brightness that can only be compared to that of the earth's very genesis.
Standing out even more absurdly when surrounded by the superficial garbage being released in its day, trashy CDs even pressed on cheap and nasty plastic with cases that would not close completely, Extreme's entire Extreme II: Pornograffitti album was a rare treasure that made...
º Last Column: Bitch-Slapped? Hardly º more columns
Exhibit A:
Hair rockers with a conscience Extreme's 1990 hit "More Than Words"
Lasting Cultural Impact:
Joy, hope, and black nail polish for the masses.
Separated at Birth:
Anything by the Everly Brothers.
Verdict:
Extreme-ly moving.
Lyric Sample:
Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It's not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
Cos I'd already know
Analysis:
If you're anything like me, this has to be one of your all-time favorite records and without doubt one of the enduring songs of the modern age. Long after fads like Schubert and Rachmaninoff have been justly forgotten to the sands of time, future historians will still be debating the everlasting impact of Extreme. Their flame burnt all too briefly, it is true, but with a piercing brightness that can only be compared to that of the earth's very genesis.
Standing out even more absurdly when surrounded by the superficial garbage being released in its day, trashy CDs even pressed on cheap and nasty plastic with cases that would not close completely, Extreme's entire Extreme II: Pornograffitti album was a rare treasure that made the year 1990 seem even more like it were only a blissful dream.
Those wishing to lend a guiding hand to today's aspiring songwriters – or if you yourself would like to be an aspiring songwriter! – should take this album as their own personal bible. Don't just listen to it—fools! Study it, and feel your music muscles grow. Live with it, and as the years pass by it will reveal its secrets to you, like a highly-secretive woman.
The album's signature track, "More than Words," was an experiment. And it was wildly successful. Extreme gambled that the record-buying public was ready for a break from their normal punishing hair-metal sound, and the result served as an elegant baroque turn that caught the public completely off-guard, like a sucker-punch in the shower. Somewhat to my relief, the rest of the album still rocked in customary Extreme fashion. But "More than Words," this was a special moment indeed. A quiet moment of reflection at the pinnacle of rock, climbed by intrepid glam-fags bent on discovering the truth at life's very core.
What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn't make things new
Just by saying I love you
Lead singer and band hair consultant Gary Cherone lent his vocal talents and remarkable coif to this beautiful ballad, adding textured layers of meaning to guitar virtuoso and band soul-possessor Nuno Bettencourt's breathtaking composition. The intricate game of chess that exists between Cherone's vocal phrasings and Bettencourt's smoldering acoustic strumming cannot be fully explored even in twelve thesis papers—believe me, I have tried. Suffice it to say that even the song's beautifully clear and supple lyrics, legendary in their own right and unmatched by any Dylan Thomas scribblings or Wordsworthian drivel, are only but a pale refection of the true genius residing in this song's musical structure.
More than words
Now I've tried to talk to you and make you understand
All you have to do is close your eyes
And just reach out your hands and touch me
Hold me close don't ever let me go
More than words is all I ever needed you to show
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
Cos I'd already know
This verse in particular highlights Bettencourt's wonderful sense of humor. He'd already know? Indeed. Many listeners miss this subtlety due to their sense of mesmerized awe over Nuno's vividly realized landscapes of sound.
What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn't make things new
Just by saying I love you
Few with ears can avoid being drawn into this song's intense lyrical beauty, or its equally moving outbursts of extreme brutality and obscenity, vital organs being torn asunder by that cruel mistress that is true love! Like all of us, Bettencourt is trapped: trapped in the universe - and trapped in a body. Like us graceless mortals, too, he desires happiness and is averse to suffering. In this song, he is experiencing the agony of incarnation, the agony of being in a body. Nuno suffers from heat, cold, thirst, hunger, fear, desire, confusion, frustration, loss, pain, injury, terror, and ultimately death, all laid bare for our benefit within the course of a heart-stopping four minutes of pop heaven. Are you listening, Mozart? Perhaps if you'd lived a bit longer, you could have learned a thing or two about music. Dr. Joyce Pickles, M.D.P.S.T., received her degree in psychology from U.S. Zoological College in Burnt Harbor, Maine. We're not quite sure why she chooses to contribute to the commune, she's either a fan of the site or she believed us when we said we were calling from The New Yorker.º Last Column: Bitch-Slapped? Hardlyº more columns
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|  May 16, 2005
Volume 63Hey commune:
Yo commune, I gots to get me a girlfriend, and pronto, dog! If I don’t get these boots knocked soon, my jizzbag’s gonna bust on me, yo. I ain’t playin’ dog, this is some serious shit. So what you say? You gonna hook me up or what?
"Teabag" Darnell Wynalotte, Texas
Dear Teabag:
Though few can deny the serious threat this issue poses to your jizzbag, we here at the commune are far more concerned with the photograph you sent in with your letter. We assume it’s either of you, an example of the kind of girl you want us to find for you, or a panicked evidence shot of a rare urban Sasquach. Whichever is the case, consider yourself triply screwed. But we’ll make you a deal, Darnell. You get Bush out of office for us and we’ll see to it that you get hooked up with a Sasquach-fetishizing-freak lover. Either that or Lil Duncan. Because if we have to put up with this Bush shit much longer, our jizzbag be gonna blow, yo.
the commune
Dear commune:
Inquiring commune readers want to know: boxers or briefs? Lois Arbuckle Panhands, Oklahoma
Dear Lois:
Though we here at the commune love all kinds of dogs, we must admit to being partial to snack-sized dogs like the Chihuahua or the Bansai. True, a larger dog like a Great Dane or a Mastiff can easily feed a family of four, but who in the city has a freezer that big?...
º Last Column: Volume 62 º more columns
Hey commune: Yo commune, I gots to get me a girlfriend, and pronto, dog! If I don’t get these boots knocked soon, my jizzbag’s gonna bust on me, yo. I ain’t playin’ dog, this is some serious shit. So what you say? You gonna hook me up or what? "Teabag" Darnell Wynalotte, TexasDear Teabag:
Though few can deny the serious threat this issue poses to your jizzbag, we here at the commune are far more concerned with the photograph you sent in with your letter. We assume it’s either of you, an example of the kind of girl you want us to find for you, or a panicked evidence shot of a rare urban Sasquach. Whichever is the case, consider yourself triply screwed. But we’ll make you a deal, Darnell. You get Bush out of office for us and we’ll see to it that you get hooked up with a Sasquach-fetishizing-freak lover. Either that or Lil Duncan. Because if we have to put up with this Bush shit much longer, our jizzbag be gonna blow, yo.
the commune
Dear commune: Inquiring commune readers want to know: boxers or briefs? Lois Arbuckle Panhands, OklahomaDear Lois:
Though we here at the commune love all kinds of dogs, we must admit to being partial to snack-sized dogs like the Chihuahua or the Bansai. True, a larger dog like a Great Dane or a Mastiff can easily feed a family of four, but who in the city has a freezer that big? You’re talking about a serious waste of dog meat there, unless you open a cart to sell Gyros on the street. But believe you us, getting a permit for one of those things is a serious bitch.
the commune
Dear commune: Boris Utzov must be stopped! As foretold in the Bible, this man is the harbinger of great doom, the amiable fool who shall lead them astray to the ruination of all mankind! And that English! If a pure soul cannot be found (obviously outside of the commune offices) to stop this great devil outright, would it kill you guys to at least get that motherfucker hooked on phonics or something? Damn. Ole Carpathiam Turnstile, NebraskaDear Ole:
While we agree that Boris must be stopped, our main goal is to get him to stop bringing his nasty Eastern European lunch meats in here. The man hasn’t been in our offices in nearly a year, and the break room still stinks like rotten Chernobyl ferret. As for Boris’ English, we weren’t aware he actually spoke any English, so this is great news to us. Now we can finally fire that interpreter and parlay the financial savings into about 400 of those car deodorizer trees to hang in the break room.
the commune Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for your lack of credibility in the scientific community. For an explanation of that one, we refer you to the time you glued a bunch of dildos onto a horse and then claimed to have genetically engineered a new species of giant porcupine. Just a thought.º Last Column: Volume 62º more columns
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Milestones1977: Commune photographer Junior Bacon receives first camera as birthday present. Takes picture of sister in shower and promptly pawns camera to buy bag of grass.Now HiringExotic Bird and Trainer. Needed to entertain staff during deadline crunch. Ventriloquist routine a must. Off-color jokes strongly recommended.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Big Boobs Mouseketeer | | 2. | Uncle Macho's Meat Pringles | | 3. | Shiving For Gold | | 4. | Dream Meanings: Poked in the Armpit | | 5. | Rent Midgets to Toss | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Albert Daddyton 11/10/2003 Murder in the ToolshedThe cold and rainy, miserable, in a non-judgmental way, London weather was in full effect. At 612 Putter Street, Lord Marbles Pissweather sat quietly in his drawing room, away from the nastiness outside, sawing eloquently on his instrument. Not at all a euphemism, he really had an instrument.
It was at this time I, his loyal assistant Cap'n Trails, called upon his abode. The sound of nipple-exciting music filled the abode. Doffing my hat, I leaned into the drawing room and nodded a greeting to Lord Pissweather.
"I say, Pissweather, good show with that violin."
He put it aside in disappointment, picking up his clever affectation, a Chinese fingertrap. "Yes, quite excellent violin playing, if I may say so myself," agreed Pissweather. "Unfortunately,...
The cold and rainy, miserable, in a non-judgmental way, London weather was in full effect. At 612 Putter Street, Lord Marbles Pissweather sat quietly in his drawing room, away from the nastiness outside, sawing eloquently on his instrument. Not at all a euphemism, he really had an instrument.
It was at this time I, his loyal assistant Cap'n Trails, called upon his abode. The sound of nipple-exciting music filled the abode. Doffing my hat, I leaned into the drawing room and nodded a greeting to Lord Pissweather.
"I say, Pissweather, good show with that violin."
He put it aside in disappointment, picking up his clever affectation, a Chinese fingertrap. "Yes, quite excellent violin playing, if I may say so myself," agreed Pissweather. "Unfortunately, I was attempting to play the fiddle. 'Shortenin' Bread.' Damn this infernal instrument! How I can play the violin at master concerto level and sound like a mental defect playing the fiddle confounds my exceptional logic."
"I wish we had more time to continue this conversation, Pissweather…"
"Really? I had grown quite tired of it already."
"But I'm afraid we have a case to investigate. The Lady Mohoward sexily requests your presence at her estate. I'm afraid there's been—ooo, dreadful to say this outloudly—a murder in the toolshed!"
"How titular," grumbled Pissweather. "Still, I presume we should be moving along right away. The lady awaits."
The Mohoward estate was full of lush greenage and primoweed, adorned foremost with a 3,010-room mansion with ornate pre-Caligula Roman architecture. Pissweather and I made our way to the front door via horse-drawn cart. The horse was homosexual.
"Odd, do you not think—how many rooms do you estimate are in this mansion, Trails?"
"3,010, according to Lady Mohoward, and my narration," I responded.
"3,011—nobody ever counts the guest room," informed Pissweather. "My point, however, is, of all these rooms, why murder someone in the toolshed?"
"Indeed, Pissweather," I kissed up. "It seems to implicate the gardener, Mr. Gardner."
"Yes, if you're easily taken in by deception," said Pissweather, removing his stuck fingers from the Chinese fingertrap. "Damn! Consider this, however: Several of these larger gardens contain the unique African vegetation Plottus Convenienus. It's a rare plant that actually eats blood and evidence. If you were the gardener—"
"Mr. Gardner."
"Correct—would you not be well aware of the evidence-eating properties of the very plants you brought to the estate?"
"Egad, I'm a dimwit! What exactly are you all but explicitly stating, Pissweather?"
"Simplicity, Trails," smirked Pissweather. "The murder was most likely not committed by the gardener—"
"Mr. Gardner."
"Correct—Not committed by him, but by someone who wanted to frame Mr. Gardner, and cover up their crime. One of the estate's more prominent residents."
"Shitcrackers, Pissweather!" I exclaimed.
For more of this great story, buy Albert Daddyton's Murder in the Toolshed   |