Somebody Accidentally Downloaded Orrin Hatch MP3

tah Senator Orrin Hatch made a surprising statement during last week’s hearing on copyright abuse, calling for the remote destruction of home computers used to illegally download music files. Though the senator refused to discuss his motivation, many believe Hatch’s sudden interest in copyright infringement stems from the first-ever illegal download of one of the Republican senator and part-time composer’s musical works earlier this month.

The fateful pirating in question took place when teenager Jody Whiteman of East Plains, New York accidentally downloaded the illegal MP3 file during a sleepover with high school friends. “I was trying to download that new American Hi-Fi song, and it was late so I guess I clicked the wrong thing or something because the next thing I knew, the gayest thing that ever happened was playing through my computer speakers.�

Whiteman had inadvertently downloaded the track “America Rocks!� from Hatch’s album “Heal Our Land,� recorded with composer Janice Kapp Perry in 1997.

“We must’ve played that thing 100 times,� Whiteman confided, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was like that video clip of that fat guy falling off his bike, we couldn’t stop laughing. First it was funny just because it was so bad, but then we realized somebody must’ve did it on purpose, which was even funnier. Then Tom pointed out that somebody had to like it enough to post the MP3 online, and at that point we all really lost it.�

Some speculate the MP3 download must have led to an ironic purchase of the album by one of the high school students involved, tipping off the senator that someone outside of the Hatch family had purchased one of his albums and leading to the discovery of the illegal download.

“If they illegally download a song once, or twice, they’ll get a warning,� fantasized Hatch out loud during the hearing. “But the third time? Zap! We blow up their computer. I don’t know how, maybe a laser satellite or some kind of Mission Impossible button or something. But the point is, we blow it up and they never rape our music again. Do that a few hundred thousand times, and people will start to get the message. We’ll copyright-enforce them back into the stone age.�

Thinking Hatch was kidding, technological consultant Randy Saaf attempted to save face for the entire Republican Party, if not the white race. “No one is interested in destroying anyone’s computer, but we feel that more strict enforcement of—â€�

“I’m interested,� interrupted an annoyed Sen. Hatch, who was not kidding at all. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

Jonathan Lamy, spokesperson for the Recording Industry Association of America, suggested Hatch was “apparently making a metaphorical point that if peer-to-peer networks don't take reasonable steps to prevent massive copyright infringement on the systems they create, Congress may be forced to consider stronger measures.�

“No,� countered Sen. Hatch. “I’m talking about blowing up fucking computers! Kaboom! Do I have to spell this out in sign language for you people? Kazap! And maybe a little shock or something to put the fear of Jesus into these people.�

After the hearing limped to an awkward conclusion, several senators gathered in the hall to discuss Hatch’s proposal, but to this reporter’s ear it sounded more like a lot of laughing and some gut-busting falsetto renditions of such Hatch classics as “Jesus’ Love is Like a River,� “Someday I’ll Fly,� “I’m Goin’ to Pray for This Land,� “I Am Happy,� and “It’s Not So Easy Growing Old.�

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the commune is back, people, and better than ever. But then again, who am I to decide your tastes? I shouldn't just declare matters of opinion as if they're fact. Maybe the commune is back, slightly inferior compared to what it used to be, but still tolerable. Or maybe it was never tolerable. Don't let me make the call.

Why do grapes come in so many different colors? Pick one and go with it. You don't see bananas pulling that shit on you. Bananas—there's a food that's secure with itself. Never care much for the shape, though.

I hear Ted Danson is replacing Laurence Fishburne on the long-running crime drama C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigations. Both are very talented actors and seem like fine people. Yet I could not give less than a shit.

Have you ever found that Russian novelists, classic Russian novelists especially, are obsessed with depictions of death? Americans, on the other hand, maybe all western novelists, seem more concerned with depictions of life; however, it may be argued that it is the Russian novelist who has the courage to face reality, while what we write about indicates our need to escape that grim reality. This might be changed considerably if more Russian novelists wrote in English. Russian is a hard language to write in. Trying to figure it out makes you suicidal. That's my guess.

Has there ever been a cereal called Nutsack Crunch? I'm thinking maybe a cluster-type cereal, sold in a canvas bag. If there hasn't, good. Cereal manufacturers be warned: What were you thinking? The mere sound of it puts most people off their appetites. Nutsack Crunch… Jesus.

Now a cereal named Jesus, on the other hand, that's bankable. No better way to start your day. In my opinion.

Oasis is now banned from performing in this country. They know why.

It should have been obvious General Custer would meet his end at Little Big Horn. Little Horn? Big Horn? The place was clearly named to confuse the white man. That's why I never stage any battles there.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar? Wait, don't agree to anything too fast. I found one today in the frozen foods section of my local grocery store. All the humiliation I've endured, they were just sitting there for sale the whole time. The whole time. Not even that expensive.

Remember when they used to say "Mike Connors is Mannix"? I kept waiting for that to come up in the show, but no matter how frequently they reminded us of the fact, I never saw it amount to anything. I expected a big "I am Spartacus" moment that never happened. What a waste.

I had a job selling car stereos once, and the manager used to tell us to go "balls out" during any big sales push. Let me save you some trouble and warn you right now, it doesn't sell any more car stereos. Boxer shorts, perhaps, but not car stereos. Then the manager had the nerve to get mad at me.

Do you know the Muffin Man? The Muffin Man? The Muffin Man. Don't trust that son of a bitch. The first one was free, then he jacked up the price. Now I've got a muffin problem.

I'm telling everyone now: If I'm ever hooked up to a machine to keep me alive, promise me you'll tell me in detail exactly how that machine works. It sounds unbelievable. A machine?!? That keeps people alive?!? Wow. Just… wow. So tell me all about it, assuming I'm not a catatonic pile of flesh and bones.

That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more.

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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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