Democrats Celebrate Iraq Funding Bill Reverse-Victory

.C. Democrats wowed the press corps worldwide by celebrating the president's signing of a $100-billion Iraq and Afghanistan war-funding bill without the Democrat-mandated exit timetable, calling the showdown with the president an "astounding reverse-victory" over the war. Speaking with Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, House Speaker regarded the president's signing of the bill he asked for exactly as he asked for it with calm superiority.

"By giving the president the funds he wants for the war without standing by our call for a withdrawal strategy, as the president warned us not to include, we have demonstrated we are flexible, even jelly-like," Pelosi bragged, with a knowing nod to fellow Democrats supporting the unwin. "President Bush will take away an important lesson from this face-off with the elected officials of this nation: We cannot be threatened, even if we can be goaded and intimidated. And believe me, when the war blows up in his face and cripples the Republican war machine for the next several years, we are going to give him such an 'I told you so!'"

President Bush, at a speaking event at Toys 'R' Us in Dayton, Ohio Saturday, did not seem dissuaded by the Democrats' claims of success.

"Stuck it to ya. In your face. Iron Maiden in '08!" the president told reporters, giving the crowd the traditional "rock on" sign with his hand. Presidential handlers described the terse response as a result of a long plane ride and too many cups of Kool-Aid by the sugar-sensitive leader of the free world.

While political leaders on both sides of the fence were chanting hurrahs for their side, nameless critics who frequently only mask the real feelings of unbiased reporters were quick to accuse the Democrats of trying to dress-up a clear loss against a weakened president. For instance, Professor Chad Sham of Counterfeit Studies, of Bogus University in another state.

"Democrats plainly did not want to be faced with brutal accusations of not supporting the troops heading into Memorial Day weekend, as it makes a shitty soundbite. The party is well aware that their current collective charisma couldn't butter a square of toast, so the last thing they want to do is be caught in the spotlights trying to stand firm against ridiculous accusations of a lack of patriotism and hating the troops, since ridiculous accusations of un-American sentiment seem to be exactly what motivates NASCAR dads to vote. NASCAR fumes may be the number-one killer of political intelligence in this nation, and if I were really a college professor, I'd probably start a research team to look into it."

Real political analysts, like Amos Stamp, the guy who fills the commune vending machines every month, had clearer insight into the Democrats' long-term visions for the vote.

"In some ways, they ain't so crazy," said Stamp, snacking on a Mr. Goodbar he clearly didn't pony up the dollar for. "Democrats vote to fund the war right now, and always call it a vote to support the troops later, since the two's synonymous with the uninformed voting population. But come September, this war's going to go clusterfuck-supernova and everybody will remember the Democrats was calling for an exit timetable then. They boost they're popularity and they get their exit bill then, and all it cost anyone was a few hundred more American lives. And in the president, the Democrats have avoided looking like assholes, which is something that's new to them anyway."

Notably absent from the yea votes for the bill were the Democrats running for president in 2008, except Sen. Joe Biden (D., Delaware), who was believed to have copied his vote from Sen. Mitch McConnell (R., Kentucky) anyway. Many were quick to stress that they still support the troops, blah blah blah, but stand by our need to end this war as soon as possible. Only former president and trim-magnet Bill Clinton was more outspoken on his critique of Congress.

"Everyone remembers the gruesome budget showdown between me and Gingrich's Congress, where the entire nation stopped for a few days to see who would win. The Democrats are smart to concede now, and sidestep that huge public flogging I took when I lost. Oh, wait, something doesn't sound right about it—I remember now. I won that one. What the fuck were they thinking?"

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Before you say I'm paranoid, or a skank, like some have said before, hear me out. It's a crazy story, but it's true. Scarily true. Lindsay Wagner is trying to kill me.

That's right, the Bionic Woman herself. If you think I'm delusional you've obviously never been woken up at four in the morning by the pound of glass breaking with a bionic shatter. This is what happened to me yesterday.

I was just minding my own business—I don't know what the hell else you expect me to be doing at four in the morning with Shenanigan's closed. I was resting peacefully after turning in early at 2 when I heard a window shattering, slow-motion like. I jumped out of bed and yelled I had herpes, I was nervous and figured the intruder would know I didn't have a gun. But by the time I could make a bomb from baking powder to defend myself, the assailant was gone. Bionically gone!

At the time I didn't put two and two together, but eventually I did, and came up with six.

Lindsay Wagner has been a Hollywood staple or some kind of paper binding instrument since the 70s, and sunken into the entertainment trenches little by little over the years in order to avoid the infomercial truck stop on the way to oblivion. She's been fortunate, finding success on the Lifetime channel doing movies for a female audience with indiscriminate tastes. Wagner alone was the unchallenged Lifetime diseased abused murderer mother star for years. Until now.

That's right, I've recently thrown my feathered hat into the ring and called it macaroni. Clarissa Coleman has been storming the Lifetime auditions and making a lasting impression on the men who run that women's network. I'm so close to getting a lead role I can taste it, and it tastes like chicken.

I haven't received any official notice yet, but I think with these attempts on my life it's pretty clear someone feels threatened. That someone has to be Lindsay Wagner. Who else could get up to my window and smash it with the rock I found lying amongst the broken glass? I have no fire escape, which all my neighbors and firemen tell me will surely be my death in the event of a fire. But fire is the least of my problems right now, with no fire in my apartment. I'm more worried about the Bionic bitch murdering me in my sleep.

I parked my car illegally the other day and was on my way into the commune offices when I heard a familiar "sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh" sound like bionic jumping. At first I thought it was the man in the hockey mask and butcher knife getting out of the car parked next to mine, until I realized that was just commune reporter Ted Ted once again pushing the boundaries of the casual Friday policy. Apparently I had missed the Bionic Woman as she leapt out of sight, her plot to kill me foiled by Ted Ted's inappropriate office wear.

I suppose we'll see soon. I'm flying out to L.A. this weekend to audition for The Pursuit of Skinniness: The Carla Dupree Story. How bad does Lindsay Wagner fear the competition? Would she actually take out an entire planeload of people with her bionic abilities? I guess we'll find out.

If nothing else, I figure I've got a fantastic story to write for Lifetime for me to star in. It's a win-win-or-die situation.

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Dear commune:

Who pooped on the commune’s parade lately? Talk about a bunch of sad sacks and down-about-the-facers! What this gang needs is some crisp, refreshing lemonade! What could be better than liquid refreshment on a hot summer day? Nothing! So why not buy some lemonade today? Only five cents a glass, while supplies last!

Sincerely,

Bobby Turner
The sidewalk outside the commune offices



Dear Bobby:

Listen kid, if we wanted any of your fucking lemonade we would have bought some already instead of sending Ivana Folger-Balzac downstairs to kick your pitcher over and break your sign in half. Can’t you take a goddamned hint? It was bad enough you had to ruin our mornings for weeks straight, sitting outside the commune offices with your puppy dog eyes and pathetically large quantities of unsold lemonade, riddling our already-riddled hearts with guilt. Can’t you understand that the commune staff members work hard for their money, and five cents (though it may not seem like a lot to you with your freewheeling, ass-deep-in-lemons lifestyle) is actually a week’s pay for some of these people? Apparently not. So you’ve seen fit to torture our hearts further with your sorrowful refrains of "Doesn’t anybody want any lemonade?" sung to the tune of "Bohemian Rhapsody" all day and night. And now, with the letters and voice mails!

Knock it off kid, our answering service is on the lite plan and only counts up to five: you’ve already maxed us out for the month. You’re milking a dry tit, kid, and you won’t have any better luck with our downstairs neighbors at Crochet! magazine either, they’ve been drinking nothing but sealed bottled water ever since Omar Bricks spiked the building’s water supply with mescaline last Halloween.

You just don’t get it, do you kid? Apparently all the potted plants (thanks, Crochet!) Ted Ted has been dropping at you from our windows like some third-rate Atari game have failed to crack your thick skull in more ways than one. All right kid, we get the message. You want to play with the big boys? This means war.

the commune

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Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any unintended casualties in our ongoing holy war with lemonade vendor Bobby Turner. If you don’t want a metal plate holding your skull together, stay off the sidewalk.

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