ndiana University graduate student Ian Williams made headlines this week after receiving a $4 million grant from the Center for Cultural Studies to untangle the fascinatingly twisted web of rumors surrounding the Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes romance. While some have called the grant ludicrously frivolous, many others expressed relief that somebody else would be figuring this crazy shit out for them.

"Thank God," sighed IU Professor Richard Luxborough. "I got so confused thinking about this last week I almost threw up. Is he gay? Are they really in love? And what's with that crazy motherfucker jumping all over the couch like that? Every answer just spawns a hundred new questions. I wish Ian the best in his research; I think his quantum physics minor is really going to be put to the test on this one."

"Any high school kid who wrote their term paper on this topic knows the basics," explained a cocky Williams, well versed in TomKat lore thanks to the celebrity blog/Access Hollywood/ street-level trash talk research he did in preparing his grant proposal. "Tom was having a steamy homo affair with Rob Thomas, Matchbox-20's bisexual lead singer, only to be caught with his pants down by Rob's wife Marisol. She was bought off by Cruise for over $10 million and the promise that she'd never have to listen to Matchbox-20 again. But Cruise's people still had to act fast and get Cruise's name stamped on some vagina before another damaging gay rumor hit the street."

"And of course that's where Katie comes in," continued Williams. "But what most high-schoolers don't know, unless they read my blog, is that Katie wasn't the first choice of Tom's people. She wasn't Tom's first choice either, but he wanted Antonio Banderas so that's neither here nor there. Tom's people made up a list of B-list actresses who might jump at the chance to boost their careers and pick up a little coin via a sham fag-hag wedding. Number one on their list was Jessica Alba, but they couldn't get through to her without resorting to 'stamp once for yes' communication tricks. Next they wanted Jennifer Garner, but she had this weird Ben Affleck smell on her that kept making Tom sneeze."

"So the mantle fell to Lindsay Lohan," Williams elaborated, drawing a crowd of eager eavesdroppers. "But then it turned out she'd lost so much weight recently that when she turns sideways she almost disappears, like some weird X-Files villain, and that was freaking Tom out at night. Scarlett Johansson seemed like a safe bet after that, but then Tom started talking about Scientology and she ran like a startled deer, leading to an unfortunate but action-packed escape sequence, some of the footage from which reportedly is going to turn up in this summer's The Island. Sofia Vergara was next on the list, followed by Kate Bosworth, but Tom didn't know who either of them was, and this got him all excited about being gal-pals with Sofia Coppola or possibly hooking up with former football stud Brian Bosworth, so they wisely dropped both of those. Finally it fell to poor little Katie, who cashed in at $5 million for five years with the contract stipulation that she'll never, ever have to see Cruise's penis, which is a better deal than either of Michael Jackson's wives ever got."

"And Katie's actually been playing the role fairly well," raved Williams. "That story about her growing up with a Tom Cruise poster on her wall was brilliant." According to Williams, Holmes' childhood bedroom also featured posters of the rock band Guns 'N' Roses and the horse from The Black Stallion, which doesn't bode well for Holmes' future relationships should the marriage pact with Cruise ever fall victim to downsizing.

Strange as the story may seem to normal humans, veteran rumor-mongers find it excitingly plausible.

"Fans have been in denial of Cruise's gayness ever since Top Gun," gushed legendary New York gossip columnist Dr. Dish. "Quentin Tarantino was right, that movie was gay on fire. I don't care how many times he plays some dude driving a minivan in some movie now; I ain't buying it after that one. Forget homoerotic overtones, that thing was turned up to Gay 11. That thing was all ate up with gayness."

Dr. Dish also points to persistent rumors that Cruise's relationships with Nichole Kidman and Penelope Cruz were both contractual affairs, providing the then-obscure actresses with money, a career boost and lavish lifestyles while acting as a smokescreen for Cruise's long-term relationship with an Asian American Airlines pilot he has stashed away in Chicago. And we mean the pilot is Asian, not that there's a new airline called Asian-American Airlines. Weird.

Though only slightly less convoluted than the saga of Area 51, the TomKat rumors would help explain the speed of the couple's courtship, as well as Cruise's frenzied and bizarre attempts to keep his recent engagement in the headlines. Veteran rumor-whores also recognize a familiar pattern in the Church of Scientology's involvement, since the red hot rumor of the mid-90's was that church wranglers were working overtime to conceal long-time church member John Travolta's hyper-promiscuous gayness.

"That's outside my area of expertise," Williams said when asked for the scoop on the Travolta rumor. "I did my undergrad work on Richard Gere, which frankly doesn't do me a hell of a lot of good now."

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Dear commune:

Just a thought, but it strikes me that commune readers never really got to hear how the commune and its staff were affected by the 9/11 attacks. Since your offices are located in NYC, it must have had some kind of impact, right? Surely you have some heart-warming, Oprah-like stories of adversity overcome and heroism in the face of terror, right? Do tell!

Norah Sierra
Albuquerque, NM


Dear Norah:

Thankfully for the sake of our non-shattered spleens, the commune offices are actually located in "New York" in name only. We do have a NYC postmark, but in fact, we’re so far out in the urban sticks we get a New Jersey phonebook, which is a pain in the ass because Jersey has no good Thai food. It’s like living among the islanders or something; we half expect to get a pig’s head in a box when we order take-out. However, don’t let this fact fool you into thinking we weren’t effected by the terrorist attacks, as none of our favorite soap operas or game shows aired at all that day. And it’s like the man said, once we can’t watch some overweight Midwestern housewife spin some huge novelty wheel to win a case of AAA batteries, the terrorists have already won. A truly sad day. Thanks for your letter.

the commune

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Dear commune:

Quick, settle a bet between my wife and I. If something is really great, do you say its "the bee’s knees" or "the beef’s nuts"? Stupid bitch actually thinks bees have knees!

Ron Lanteri
Deer Entry, NY


Dear Ron:

Actually, either is acceptable in casual conversation. However in the future, after your wife divorces you, remember that saying a girl looks like "the beef’s nuts" is unlikely to get her into your car. Knock ’em dead, tiger.

the commune

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Dear commune:

How come the commune never runs multiple letters in the Letters to the Editor section anymore? It used to be you could count on at least three letters per issue, sometimes more if I hadn’t read the previous week’s issue before. But now it’s only one, one stinking rotten lousy stupid letter per stinking rotten lousy stupid issue. I can only imagine it leads to even fewer voices that need hearing being heard. And that’s the problem with America these days, when only the "official" word gets out, from "official" news stories to "official" letters to the editor. I was really looking forward to reading future chapters of the Hobobeater’s manifesto, for example, but did they run? No they didn’t, and all so some primadonna could bitch about Donettes. Now how am I supposed to carry out my copycat beatings of destitute rodeo clowns? Thanks a lot commune, screw you and your big yellow bird mascot.

p.s. I won’t go to jail, I’m insainnocent!

Schekyl Bombase
Tulaine, OR


Dear Schekyl:

Thanks for your letter, but we’re afraid we here at the commune don’t know what you’re on about. We’ve been running this feature in the three-letter format for years now, and proudly so. And any suggestion to the contrary might raise a stink and cost us our jobs, get it? So itquay the Tonupay Inclairsay ullshitbay, kayoay?

the commune

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Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for the collapse of your campaign for the California governorship. After a long, hard look in the mirror we think you’ll realize you only have yourself, and various members of the cast of Predator, to blame.

º Last Column: Volume 50
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Call me Ramrod.

If I ever had an autobiography, it would start that way. The autobiography is uncertain, but what is certain is that, for the time being, this column is my personal property. It's the soapbox from which you will learn about Ramrod Hurley— likes, dislikes, things I don't really care about. Well, maybe not the latter. It can best be stated this way: That I have reported the news in the past; now it's my turn to tell everyone what I think of that news.

I'm also now the Editor of the commune. The Editor is sort of like a special effects maker in a movie—if it's terrible, I'll get the blame; if it's good, I'll never see the credit. I'll be a ghost-like figure, but since I can't tell you there I can let you know here, that the commune news will reach heights never before seen. I'll improve on everything and deliver the alternative news of the world in a timelier fashion, more accurate and objective than before. I guarantee it.

All of this depends, of course, on the length of Red Bagel's absence. Any regular readers of this column know Bagel is a charitable lunatic who excels only at one thing, and that's somehow making money from a nearly-bankrupt Internet publication. True, I would never say such a thing to his face, but lucky for me even when he was Editor he never read anything published in the commune, even his own column. For whatever reasons, Bagel took me under his wing and hoisted the responsibility for the whole shebang onto my shoulders. Some may say no one else wanted the thankless job, but that's just their jealousy talking. Lil Duncan would have been more than happy to take over, I'm sure, but Bagel's natural chauvinism worked to my advantage. It's just as well, since Lil's ace reporting can be utilized even better than before under my guidance, and I don't require the same, well, attention that Lil provided Red Bagel twice a week, three times during the summer, by the notes Red left me.

As for the other notes left to direct me, Red insists the columnists be allowed to do their thing, including the new columns and features he brought aboard shortly before departing with Sampson L. Hartwig. This column, according to Bagel, should continue to shine a light on the unknown conspiracies being overlooked by the "corporate" conspiracy newspapers out there. Mr. Bagel was clearly so far out of his mind he needed a charter jet for the return trip. But that won't stop me from passing on whatever information I get from Mr. Bagel's sources, on occasion—don't be surprised if the success of Ramrod Hurley's "Or So You Thought" makes history of the ridiculous conspiracy angle.

I'm no stranger to command, you should know. I ran my modestly-successful internet gossip column at www.poopoftheday.com for a solid month before poor funding and competing traffic forced us to shut down, not to mention some confusion over the purpose of the site and angry letters from scatologists. True, the staff was not as large there as it is here, but mom and Guadalupe the network programmer from Chile needed much more leadership, so it works out about the same. I've been aching to prove myself and get back into a position where I could make real changes and leadership decisions, and the advantage is once again mine.

Add to that I've basically been running the commune single-handedly for the past five months now and it's plain to see this match is going to work out. Whatever illusory conspiracy Bagel went chasing, he at least had a firm grasp on who could rule in his place. Almost without saying the responsibility turned to me to make the commune run like a well-oiled machine, and Bagel recognized that, and made me official as his replacement when he left. I'll see to it the insane old fart isn't let down.

All this and more, and that's my guarantee. There will undoubtedly be a few initial problems in the changeover—for instance, I'm currently bound to my chair and gagged, locked in my new office by the irascible staff. But typing this with my face isn't as difficult as it first seemed. I'll work out the personnel problems and establish my authority in the same way—a little painful at first, not without some mis-steps, but ultimately for the better of everyone.

º Last Column: A Mission of Utmost Impertinence
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