olite society was rocked this week when a Kansas man was arrested for unleashing a five-minute tirade of profanity after the clumsy fucker fell out of canoe in a public park, sparking a nationwide controversy over foul language. According to shocked bystanders, recent immigrant dickhead Lataf Smokel shouted “whoops!� “shucks!� and other similar salty words after displaying his canoeptitude, running afoul of a little-known and controversial Kansas state statute outlawing indecent public speech.

“This motherfucker was guilty as shit,� explained officer Turk Winchel, who witnessed the crime. “I heard that asshole go off on his tirade like a cock-teasing bitch with her credit card taken away, with my own fucking ears. There were fucking kids around and everything. Un-fuckingbelievable.�

The event reminds many of the Michigan conviction of Timothy Boomer in 1998, who swore up a storm like Yosemite Sam on swearing pills after a similar canoe mishap on the Rifle River, only to have his conviction overturned by the ACLU after the fucking judge pussied out.

While many legal groups consider such laws to be total bullshit, local citizens have made it clear they’re fucking sick of inconsiderate motherfuckers exposing their children to irresponsible language in public places, and have shown their support for throwing the goddamned book at the homos.

“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s cocksuckers who don’t know how to watch their goddamned mouths in front of children,� explained Rote resident Archdeacon Mavis Plum, over tea. “The world’s not your own personal playground, shithead. And just because some cunt shit you out of her man-trap when you were a baby doesn’t mean you’re entitled to fuck up our children, dickface.�

“Some slut farting you out of her cooch doesn’t make you God’s own miracle, dickwad,� added Reverend Alan Thornburg, in reiteration.

Even normal people were in agreement.

“What kind of dickless honkeys would talk like that in front of our kids?� asked Maybel Cummings, a local PTA leader. “Talk about your real sacks of monkey shit.�

While many journalists reporting the story found Smokel’s language too fucking objectionable to print, since the commune only officially exists in the Cayman Islands this reporter is free to hint at the true extent of their offensive nature. Beyond such merely-scandalous epithets such as “golly,� “hoo-boy� and “Heavens to Betsy,� Smokel was also quoted as dropping several pants-shitting unmentionables. The most unpublishable of the man’s crimes against decency is spelled like “shit� and rhymes with “hoot,� if you catch our inference. Irresponsible rumor also points to the word “eff-hockey stick-eye-pee� being heard, though spontaneously blocked from the memories of several present in a subconscious act of self-defense.

Some anonymously supportive locals have suggested that Smokel may just be unfamiliar with American customs, since wherever he’s from, words like “he*k� and “d*rn� may be perfectly acceptable language in mixed company. But most Rote residents find that pretty fucking unlikely.

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It never fails, I tell you. The last good kidnapping was the Patty Hearst case. Kidnappers so damn good at it they convinced her to join up with them. That Symbionese Liberation Army made it cool to kidnap. Ever since then it's been all downhill. Half-assed kidnapping attempts, pervs just kidnapping to commit sexual crimes and murder the victims, or the worst, the parents or relatives who kill then fake a kidnapping. What a bunch of poseurs.

I mention all this because I was the victim of a kidnapping last week, if you can call it a kidnapping. I hesitate to use the word out of respect to more famous accused kidnappers like Bruno Hauptmann or such. Then again, there's a lot of questions about whether he did it or Lindbergh killed his own son, so maybe he's one of those poseurs I mentioned earlier.

The wannabe-kidnappers grabbed me as I left the commune offices for the day Friday, just before lunch. I was forced into a minivan at knifepoint by a burly man in a Member's Only jacket, which told me right away the guys I was dealing with hadn't seen much success through kidnapping before. Not that I was expecting Gucci suits or anything, you want to maintain a low profile. But I do mean low, not pathetic. If people are throwing you change on the street you're not exactly sinking into the background.

Turns out the knife wasn't even a knife, it was a clothespin sharpened at the end. If I had wanted to test it, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have even broken the skin. I probably could have escaped, but I'm always intrigued by kidnappings and I wanted to see how this one turned out.

I'll cut right to the chase: Boresville. The six times I've been kidnapped and held for ransom have all been letdowns, but this was the king of the losers. The perpetrators, two dudes, took me back to their one bedroom apartment and tied my leg to the dining room table. Then they stuck my fingers in a Chinese finger trap, presumably because they ran out of rope. If I'm not mentioning the kidnappers by name, it's through no effort to conceal their identities because I've fallen in love with them like that Helsinki Formula or whatever it's called. It's because they didn't make a lasting impression of any sort, I couldn't even give a description to the cops.

Then, after going through all the trouble of kidnapping me, the cockknockers had no idea who to tell that they were holding me for ransom. How embarrassing. They called up Red Bagel at home but he was obviously in a fit of ether madness or something, he kept dropping the phone and wasn't even coherent. At least it might have been Red Bagel, sometimes Lil Duncan answers his phone, though I'm not saying anything everybody else doesn't know. And then the stupid kidnappers wouldn't pay the long distance charges to call my parents, which doesn't make much difference anyway because my parents don't have any money anymore. Why do you think they've been trying to have another kid for 15 years now? They need someone to share their love with? Ha.

Come Monday morning these two shmoes had to be back to work at Hardee's or they were going to be fired, they had missed too many days already. Call me crazy, but if you're going to plan a kidnapping right, at least have the foresight to ask for a few days off. This is not the kind of thing you do over a weekend. Anyway, I hate to have an anti-climactic ending, but I bit through the fingertrap and then bit through the rope and escaped. And the only reason I bit through the rope was to add a little bit of excitement to the story somewhere.

I'm a little nostalgic for the kidnappings of my youth, where the guys weren't perfect, but at least they had some things right. Some even blindfolded me so I couldn't see their faces. Asked for millions of dollars my parents never had, even if they didn't really want that much, you know, just to make me feel special. But I guess those days are gone. Now you can be kidnapped by any idiots with a pointy object, a minivan, and a couple days off.

If anybody is serious about trying, though, I'll be checking out of work around noon this Friday. Unless I decide to cut out early.

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Dear commune:

With the gruesome bursting of the dot com bubble and the growing trend of online businesses moving from a advertising-driven profit model to one in which profits are generated by user fees, how does the commune expect to remain economically viable for the foreseeable future? Do the commune's readers have a pay-for-content system to look forward to in the future?

Sandy Levine
Elmhurst, CT


Dear Sandy:

True, the commune may not have come out of the economic downturn unscathed; After all, few did. And some may argue, rightfully so, that when touring the commune offices the stench of desperation wafts up one's nose like the smell of stale sweat on a freshly dead corpse. But if there is only one absolute in life, it is this: the commune will never, ever, not in a million years, not ever pay people to read the site. Nice try.

the commune

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Dear commune:

What is the commune doing about the deplorable treatment of Dalmatian dogs in this country? Every year, thousands of families, fresh off the spotted-dog high of watching Disney's 101 Dalmatians or one of the dozens of films in that series, bring home a Dalmatian from the pet store or registered breeder. There is much joy and love in the beginning, but the honeymoon is short: before long these families learn that they are ill-equipped to deal with these untrainable, couch-pissing, spontaneous nervous barfing beautiful dogs. And instead of shackling themselves to a lifetime of ruined furniture and canine servitude, the vow these families made to these dogs when they brought them home as innocent puppies, all too often the Dalmatians end up on death row at the pound or at the bottom of a lake inside a huge Tupperware container filled with rocks. These crimes against the Dalmatian nation cannot stand, and it is up to the commune alone to be their advocate and protector!

Leelee Fromberg
Arlington, TX


Dear Leelee:

The staff of the commune was incredibly touched and moved by your letter. Except for Ramrod Hurley, who was in the can. Regardless, we here at the commune feel your pain and will do everything in our power to ensure that this inhumane treatment of Dominicans does not continue. It's sad to think that in this day and age… Wait, did you say Dalmatians? Jesus H. Christ, you got us all worked up over some freakin dogs? Shit, lady, I think I had some Dalmatian in the noodle dish I had for lunch today. Whatever. Anyway, thanks for your letter and the tip about the Tupperware container, that's a good one.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for those debilitating headaches you've been having lately. Contrary to what some doctors may think, the headaches are not caused by reading the commune's cost-efficient, low-resolution fonts or images. In actuality, you have a brain tumor the size of a kiwi that your doctor is just too much of a pussy to tell you about. Have a nice day.

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