ith the specter of the president's extreme right-wing judge appointments approaching, congressional Republicans, led by Bill "Not First" Frist, are seeking to eliminate the long-standing tradition of the filibuster. However, Senate Democrats are reluctant to give up their one means of making the president deal with their side, so Republicans are offering a juicier prize—exchanging the filibuster for a "last man standing" drinking contest.

The filibuster, sometimes described as a congressional loophole, has long been used as a negotiation tactic by the minority party in the Senate to stall controversial votes and force compromises to the table. The drinking contest, a long-time college and unemployment staple, has traditionally been used to test the mettle of men and women and their bladder, pitting the will of the individual, minority or majority, against an opponent and several shots of potent liquor.

"The filibuster is unfair to the majority in the Senate and the American people," said Frist, smirking just a little as he made the comment. "The Republican majority has played the system like a filthy piano to get into prominent positions, to hold majority in all the prominent positions, and it's totally unfair this danged silly filibuster now stands in the way of us guiding the country the way the American people want it. And to those who say the fundamentalist extreme Christian right are the ones guiding us—what, you're saying they aren't people?"

The filibuster is a ploy in which a member of the Senate stalls a congressional vote through technical procedure, refusing to yield the floor until opponents pledge to amend bills that reach the Senate floor or, in the case of judicial nominees, bargain on the terms of nominees or forcing the majority party to nominate more moderate judges. For more information on filibusters, visit your local library, where you can rent Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and fast-forward to the final scene.

Frist claims a drinking contest is a better way to solve congressional disagreements—representatives of both parties, the best drinkers chosen from among a fine stock of drinking men, can tequila-shot their way to a decision both sides will adhere to, in a much shorter period of time than the usual filibuster, which can take many hours, and in rare turns, even days.

"Standing around all night, talking? Reading from law books, the Constitution, or even Where the Wild Things Grow?" At this Frist shook a finger and sighed. "That's hardly a competition of wills for real men. When I really want to show who's more resolved and dedicated to his beliefs, I like to down several shots of Southern Comfort and wobble around the Senate floor. I guarantee I can hold my own against any Democrat in congress right now. The Democrats are going to have to elect Nick Nolte or Robert Downey Jr. to give me a serious run for my money."

While Nolte and Downey refused to comment on their futures in politics, the Senate minority leaders were more vocal.

"It is simply ridiculous, not to mention irresponsible, to legitimize drinking as a way to solve decisions," said Sen. Edward Kennedy (D., Massachussetts). "And if Frist really thinks he can outdrink me, he knows where my office is. I'll give him a five-shot headstart. Bring it on, lightweight."

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Dear commune:

Every bulbous-nosed idiot out there knows that rules are made to be broken, so why does the commune insist on its silly, antiquated system of paying its writing staff in nearly obsolete paper money? If the commune's writers had half the brains we give them credit for here on our commune, they'd protest and demand to be paid in love and durable goods. With maybe some virgins for the real go-getters and top executives, as incentives. In these dark end-times, accepting paper money makes about as much sense as taking on a seventh wife before she reaches the child-bearing age of twelve. Girls younger than that, though delightful and easy on the eye, simply do not have the hip width necessary to successfully give birth. You might as well scatter your seed on a barren plain while you're at it, ha! The commune staff may have seed to waste, but we here do not. Not when the time of the Great Mumblebump approacheth. Good stead to you, friends.

Ezeikiel Fontaine
Rumble Creek, UT


Dear Exeikiel:

We struggle to find the worlds to adequately thank you for your letter. It has reached us in a time of dire need like a gift from the heavens. We haven't had a good, hard laugh like that around here in a long time. Hearing Red Bagel read your letter in a funny lisping "religious" voice really brightened our day and provided some much-needed stress relief. You'll be happy to know that your letter has been blown up to poster size and is now proudly covering the spot in our break room where Ramrod Hurley punched a hole in the wall. Also, we don't know who told you the commune pays in paper money, but suffice it to say you're paying too much for your information. the commune has paid its staff in canned goods and karate lessons from day one, as Bagel needs to have the actual cash on hand for shake-downs and bribes for officials who don't accept canned goods or karate lessons. Good luck on your Circlejerk or whatever it's called.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for any adverse after-effects from our recent black tie love-in, including but not limited to dementia, genital rash or gradual abdominal swelling. Also, would the staff member who left his or her dentures floating in the "Dunkin' for Duncan" bowl please stop by and pick them up along with your pink slip.

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Sorry, pardon the bad attitude, but I'm fresh out of condoms. What really pisses me off is that it probably won't make a difference. Think about it for a minute, if running out of rubbers is going to change your day at all and you'll probably get pissed off, too. So let's both get pissed off and dig in.

I probably wouldn't be so dang incensed if I had actually used it in some fashion, even heroin smuggling, but no, I gave it away out of the goodness of my heart. Just some kid who gave me a hard-luck story about not having any money and needing a prophylactic, so I loaned him one—to be paid back with interest. I thought I was doing a good deed! No, turns out this kid just puts it on like a hat and runs off and I find out later he's some lunatic who's scammed sixty free rubbers off of suckers like me. The world's a sad place sometimes.

Oh, I just saw jackass: the movie, by the way. So what's the big deal? Seems like any normal weekend with your buddies and a trunk full of beer to me. Putting a taser to your nutsack and jumping out of a tree with a bungee cord attached to your underwear isn't even a memorable weekend on my block. Those jackass guys should bring me aboard as a consultant or something. I have a brilliant idea for a sequel, and I've tried it before so I know it works—it involves two hundred chocolate bars, a bag full of marmosets, and a high school bully who works in a hospital burn ward lately. That's all I'm saying until we ink a deal, this cow don't give away milk for free.

This just fresh in from the list of things that pisses me off: You're sitting there, trying to enjoy a Captain D's shrimp dinner with hush puppies and some pre-teen priss in a pink sweater materializes on the TV and asks, "Can we talk about something personal?" Not if you want this shrimp to stay down, Sabrina. There is no way, no matter how loud you yell, to cut this discussion off before it starts. I don't know why these nasty tarts are asking me if they can talk about it when they know I can't answer, like they just want to taunt me. Mark my words, if I ever see one of these stuck-up debutantes sitting in a restaurant enjoying snails and squid I'm going to pull up a chair and start talking loudly about that bout of crabs back in 1993.

I've been watching TV Land all this week and had a scary thought: If aliens were receiving our broadcast signals and watching only TV Land, they would assume Scott Baio held a very high position in our government, like a world leader or something, mayhap even a god. Between Charles in Charge and Happy Days there is a vast over-representation of Scott Baio in our TV history. It keeps me up some nights thinking about it. Our best hope, if this were the case, is that all those commercials for scrubbing bubbles would scare the aliens into thinking we had nano-technology that would destroy them.

I'm developing my own take-off on that Kevin Bacon game, and I'm planning on calling it "Stu Umbrage's Six Hyperlinks to Amazon.com." Your friends come over, they all write down various word strings and dump them into a bowler hat, and people draw the word strings and search Yahoo or Hotbot or something for them, then they have six hyperlinks to get to Amazon.com from any of those sites. First person wins it all! In case you're wondering, I plan on selling the bowler hats for the game and I will make a killing. I'll be like that Pet Rock guy nobody remembers.

I had planned on launching a political diatribe concerning the recent elections, but you can see where all that ranks in the Stu Umbrage animal kingdom. Frankly, I'm bored with voting and supporting candidates. They started generating politicians out of a machine a few years ago and none of them are interesting to watch or listen to anymore—which is how they get elected, I guess. I'm looking for a political firebrand to earn my vote. If anybody wants to take care of insane condom bums and the Scott Baio TV Land inundation, I personally promise you a write-in vote the next go-round.

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