sing state of the art poll-tracking technology, the commune has been able to predict this year’s presidential election winner two days early with a probably 98.77439% accuracy, and the result may shock or disinterest you. That’s right; Al Gore will be our nation’s 44th president.

Though Gore has not been a frontrunner in most of the supposedly-reputable national polls heading into the election’s final week, a highly scientific sampling of unregistered voters within a two-block radius of the commune offices has confirmed the reports of future correspondent Future Bob, who recently contacted the commune from the year 2006 with the news that Gore is president and that pop music had gotten really, really shitty. Also: buy stock in flavored condoms now.

Though it is unclear as of yet whether the Gore win will be the result of an unexpected groundswell of support in the election’s final days, or the emergence of thousands of 2000 absentee ballots from Post Office limbo hell, one thing is unmistakably clear. More on that later.

Perhaps even more surprising than the Gore win was the news that both presidential incumbent George W. Bush and Democratic challenger John Kerry finished well out of the money in the general election, trailing such surprise write-in candidates as The Rebel Billionaire, J.R. Ewing, and “that black guy from 24.� Also receiving strong shows of support were Candidate Zero from the NetZero Internet Service commercials, baseball commissioner Bud Selig, and the soothing, dignified voice of actor James Earl Jones.

Though the point may be moot due to the tenth-place showing of Jones’ voice, it is unclear whether the entire personage of James Earl Jones would have been inaugurated had the actor’s voice won, or if Jones would have had to stay out of sight while his voice was electronically matched, Wizard of Oz-style, to a projected image of either Darth Vader, the dad lion from The Lion King, or some kind of CGI morph of the two.

The revolutionary new poll, devised by the commune’s in-house expert expert Griswald Dreck using the latest Polish technology, also revealed some surprising news about America’s political affiliations. Long-though to be a nation composed almost equally of Democrats and Republicans, this latest poll shows a surprising 74% of citizens who list their party as “Yes!� Another 10% belong to the hard-line “Fuck Yeah!� Party, with a small but vocal minority standing behind their “Not Since We Had Kids� Party affiliation. Also of concern to the current establishment are the upstart “Where?� and “Can I Bring My Brother Dave?� Parties, which appeared to grow in size exponentially between our 10am and 4pm polls.

The demographic splits were even more surprising, with over 80% of likely white trash voters believing that gun control means using both hands. And in a minor note, a surprising 82% of Americans believe Gore is our current president, and are happy enough with the job he’s done to vote for a second term.

In other political news, 65% of likely voters expressed their strong opinion that commune reporter Lil Duncan belongs in the “Hot� category, while teen correspondent Boner Cunningham led the “Not� voting with a skyscraping 92%. Though disheartened by the news, Cunningham informed the commune that he hopes to do better in the upcoming 2008 election, by which time he expects his mustache to have fully grown in.

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Conditions at Walter Reed Upgraded to “Nightmarishly Clive Barker-esque”

Unveiling of First Black Disney Character Raises Some Concerns

I have never had my fingers pulled off one by one through my asshole. My wife Arvelyn used to tell me I should not knock things until I have tried them at least once, but I dare to say the experience is one I would not like even without trying it.

To avoid such an unwelcome new experience I have agreed to occasionally drop off packages for my new in-laws, i.e. the mob, to cohorts of theirs. Their reasoning was quite sound, even complimentary: "Rok, you are such a square as would not bat the eye of a policeman or G-man like Eliot the Ness, eh?" That's how my new cousin-in-law Yogi put it, and I agree. The police have no reason to suspect me for being a bagman for the vaguely-Russian mob. But it is exactly the case now.

The shame of it all! And imminent danger. Me, Rok Finger, champion of all things stodgy and establishment, delivering goofballs for no-goodniks! As I've made implicitly clear, the possible involvement in the Eurasian mafia by my wife Felchyana in no way diminished my love for her, but I cannot stomach doing wrong to the law. Unless I personally profit from it, for that's the American way, but being threatened into dishonesty, that's just plain… well, dishonest.

It's too bad to be forced to do favors for the mob in such a reprehensible way. Their might be some charm in robbing an armored truck or something fanciful like that. There might be a smidgen of honor in doing something like the old fashioned, pre-GoodFellas gangsters would have taken part in. Rolling in barrel after barrel of illegal Canadian booze and firing a tommy gun at thick packs of Irish cops. Who would object to that? If only those damned teetotalers hadn't lost all their power in Congress.

But there's nothing respectable about hard drugs, like marijuana. Pot kills brain cells and makes people act like complete assholes. It has none of the charm of hard liquor. Plus, it's frequently used by hippies—if you need a bigger case than that against it, I don't know where you're coming from. Hippie-lover. So, in addition to threatening to de-finger me and making my new marriage more complicated than it had originally been, these mob thugs have put me on a pro-hippie bandwagon. That I will not tolerate.

With all doors closed to me, some slammed violently on my feet, I have turned back to my reliable old friends Lee and Camembert. Well, I've turned to Camembert—Lee was busy with another tour date for his new book, written under the pen name of Daili Lama. All of Camembert's suggestions were lame, of course, such as contacting the FBI or telling the local police force, but it was good to have someone I could boss around again, even for a little while. I would probably ask him to move in with Felchyana and I, but Yogi might take a liking to him and make him capo or something. That's the last thing I need.

So right now, in this little mob war I'm going through, Camembert is my secret weapon. The secret being what he's capable of doing against the mob, and I wish I was in on that secret. But it's good to have an ace in the hole, and Camembert can be a huge ace-hole when called upon. My plan as for right now is to play along with Yogi and the gang, deliver the packages and betray no disloyalty, while figuratively hiding Camembert up my sleeve. We tried it literally and even without the wheelchair there's no way he'll fit.

º Last Column: The Honeymoon is Over
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Oh, jiminy! Thanks for whatever good thoughts you sent me, folks! And if you didn't, I wish you all a long burning eternity in hell. Somebody must have been on my side because I got the part! Yippie! Perhaps you couldn't read it in this small, mocking font.

I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!!

Just to verify, in case you just read that part and think you accidentally went to Rok Finger's column on some spiel about penile implants, the part I got was of Shelly, the resourceful and somewhat ingenious desert island castaway on the new action show Archipelago Law.

None of it should come as much of a surprise, seeing as how I mentioned I had the audition and felt pretty good about it last go-round. Of course I didn't mention the show title—what, like I'm going to advertise to a bunch of wanna-bes the location of the next big audition? Forget it, I like keeping the competition reasonable. But let's just say once I gave them my Bilbo Baggins monologue from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings, there really wasn't any competition. Producer Matt Viggoschultz had a feeling that I was the one for the job, he wasn't disappointed by my performance, or not significantly disappointed anyway; a little disappointment is normal.

I've met some of the other actors already and they are extremely talented, a great bunch to work with. Sure, there are a few of them I'll have to whip into shape, give them some quick lessons in the entertainment biz I've picked up over the years the hard way, but I can see them being around for years. Especially with infomercials going stronger than ever.

I'm not normally drawn to drama, I've been a natural for comedy since I was 6, but I was intrigued by the challenge, as well as the prospect of getting paid for work. Between the exotic locale—Vancouver—and the great writing, not to mention the sexy costumes, it's a can't-miss show. Not like my can-and-will-miss shows over the years like Cat Cop and That 1870's Show.

This show is banking in no small part on my talent, I can tell you that. The main star is John Flomp as Sheriff Burger, but the next biggest character after THAT… well, it's Nuge, the Kooshkoosh Tribal Leader; but after THAT, it's Kiko, the Bendari Tribal Leader. Then it's Dr. Cope, the medicine person, then the inventor Professor Hannibal, the sexy lawyer Vicki Scarlet, then the twins, then the nameless, mysterious mute character, but after THAT, it's all Clarissa Coleman.

And I got a fantastic contract when my agent negotiated for the role—say what you will about Dusty, or read some of my past columns and let all that stuff stand, but he's a shark underneath that very frail, fragile exterior. I didn't get any more money, really, and points on merchandising or syndication rights were right out, but I did get an "and" before my name. And I'm listed last, folks—after the first credit there's no more important credit for a regular than "and Clarissa Coleman." Unless that's not your name, but your name is what I mean. Don't be stupid.

Yep, Hollywood has come back to me, begging and pleading, after all these years. I know I practically shit confidence, but in complete honesty there's always been some part of me, as I think is the case with most former child stars, that whispers the question, "What if you're a one-hit wonder?"

I can now say with utmost certainty: The world is about to see I'm a two-hit wonder.

º Last Column: The Audition
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