You need a newer browser.

8/16/26   
Peace, love and a penis
homecommune Staff Biographiescommune news20,000 Seats Beneath the League with Stan AbernathieOr So You Thought with Red BagelBook RevoltBoris is Gay with Boris UtzovMy Friend Polio with Omar BricksMy Dearest Deidrebane with Carlisle P. ChesterfeldChild Star with Clarissa ColemanThe Best of Joel DickmanNo Shit? with Griswald DreckOne Sane Man with Raoul DunkinEditorial CartoonsFanmail from Some Flounders: Letters to the EditorGiving You the Finger with Rok FingerThe Hanes Identity with Mickey HanesSampson L. Hartwig RemembersShort ‘N’ Sweet with Stan HooperPoop of the Century with Ramrod HurleyAmerican Jesus with Mitch KroegerYou Can’t Win with Alamo CruiseFortune 500 Cookies with Mazie the ChickenManifestos of FunMe Chinese with Ned NedmillerSittin’ Around the Pickle Barrel with Shorty and JeterPoetry CoronerEntertainment Police: Movie and Television ReviewsThis Space for Rent: Guest ColumnistsGlass Ceiling Fan with Thelma ReynoldsClarise Sickhead’s Bedtime StoriesGoddammit! with Ted TedReflections of a Goocher with Stu UmbrageThe World Vs. Homer Vanslykecommune Club with Emil Zender

Bob Dylan Knighted By Wasted Guy Outside Night Club

August 19, 2002
New York City, NY
AP
Sir Bob Dylan, himself no stranger to chemical influence
R
ock musician and poet Bob Dylan received the ultimate honor Friday night from an unknown fan believed to be under the influence of several chemical substances. For all his years of service in changing the face of modern music, Dylan was knighted in a brief ceremony behind the Homebrew bar and grill that took only a couple minutes.

Dylan, who was performing an unannounced set at the Homebrew promoting his new album, was extremely surprised and delighted by the honor.

"It was very cool," said Dylan. "You don’t get into this life with thought of major rewards like being knighted. You do it for the music, or maybe the money. This is quite a big moment for me and I’d like to thank the drug-influenced guy who bestowed this upon me, wherever he is."

Dy...Read more...


Condoleezza Rice refuses to answer Iraq question, takes the physical challenge

Global warming ruse official resigns; tired of "how's the weather" jokes

Anti-spam legislation to reduce spam-related deaths by 98%

Cowardly GIs didn't want to die for someone else's country



October 27, 2003

Click for Biography

Test Drive

Contrary to popular belief and a lucrative office pool, Omar Bricks will one day again own a car. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day and for the rest of my goddamned life, even if I have to stick a wheel up Henry Ford's ass and ride him to work like a unicycle. It will come to pass.

Seeking to end the Curse of the Bricksmobile once and for all, I set out this weekend intending to play the field and test drive a few of the many suitors for the title of Next Bricks Ride.

At first I was really excited to test out one of those new electric cars, thinking that would be a blast in the pants. But of course that turned out to be a crock, turns out just because it's electric doesn't mean it can defy gravity like those slot cars we had when we were kids. You know the ones I'm talking about, they would race up the wall and back down, unless of course you took the very top piece of the track out, in which case they would race up the track and knock a picture frame off the wall, leaving a bitchin' electric burn mark on the wall like Frankenstein's undershorts. And the best part was you could do it again, after you found out where the car ricocheted behind the toilet in the bathroom. That was my favorite toy when I was a kid, and I spent countless hours figuring out the different angles you could put the track at to get the car to shoot toward a friend who was swinging a whiffle ball bat, or to see if you could smoke one by the mailman's head. Tyco...Read more...


º Last Column: Surprise Brothers and the Blackout Marathon
º more columns


September 20, 2004

Click for Biography

Roughed Up by an Angel

Dear readers, I have never been a religious man. I have trouble believing in anything I cannot see, unless it is revealed to me by a trustworthy patron of a familiar bar. But all that has changed—I am now a believer, for I have been touched by an angel. Or not quite touched. Pulverized might be the word for it.

Yes, there is a God, and he deemed I should get the beating of a lifetime to prove it. Or, it's possible, there isn't a God, there's just the dead. Bodiless apparitions hauling ass here and there in our corporeal world, and occasionally taking time out of their schedule to kick our asses. Maybe there's a God, and if that's what he wanted to impress on me, just send me a warning. Not the full-blown throttling I already received, just a slap across the face or something. Just to really drive home the point.

Come to think of it, I'm not really sure what the angel wanted to impart to me. He didn't say much. More of the "talks with his fists" type. But you can't really make a point that way, not a coherent one anyway. He growled and ranted and muttered things here or there, but they mostly concerned some guy named Donnie and the money Donnie owes him. I suppose he thought I was Donnie, it was hard to tell with a ghostly fist boxing my ears.

You may be thinking I have surely seen ghosts before, or had otherworldly encounters—aliens, the sasquatch, time-travelers from the future. And then there's my dead reporter friend Mordecai...Read more...


º Last Column: Iraqi Politics Made Simple
º more columns






Milestones
1996: Red Bagel fires entire commune staff during "Crazy Bagel's Everything Must Go Liquidation Madness" phase of the commune's August Sale-abration. Analysts praise Bagel for ridding his staff of junkies and losers, who he promptly replaces with the current batch of junkies and losers.
Now Hiring
Bloodhound. Needed to track down former commune staffer Smilin' Jack Costello, who disappeared in May, still owing $8 to the office petty cash fund. Smart dog needed who is not fooled by turbans or overly distracted by running foxes. Generous wages to be paid in beef kidneys.
Top 5 Worst Ways to Start a Letter
1.Dear Cum-Dumpsters...
2.Remember you said you wouldn't lend me money even if I had abducted your family? Well…
3.Fellow Grand Dragons...
4.Long time, no lawsuit...
5.Boy, when you moved away without telling me where you were going I thought I'd never find you…
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Roland McShyster
1/24/2005
Can you smell that, America? I'm not talking about the Oscars buzz; I think there might be a gas leak in my office. But do gas leaks usually smell like strawberries? Exactly. I think this may be some kind of fruit-hallucinating gas. The most deadly kind of them all. Because few people investigate a hallucinated fruit smell before it's too late. I'll leave you to the movie reviews, loyal readers, I'm off to buy a canary.

In Theaters Now:

The Alligator
Finally Martin Scorsese has stopped playing it safe with this bold tale of the visionary genius who made all those polo shirts with the little alligator on the breast, but then went too far and tried to make a gigantic wooden alligator to scare the queen. We all knew there was a movie in there...Read more...

the commune publishes as the news happens.
Enjoy these random selections from days gone by, and refresh for more.