resident Bush shocked observers who somehow still cling to their ability to be shocked by President Bush this week, nominating two-time Grammy winner and bald mullet inventor Michael Bolton as U.S. ambassador to the United Nations. Though lacking in diplomatic experience, the president’s supporters believe the 51-year-old soul crooner will be just as popular among the U.N.’s General Assembly as he is among people with truly horrible taste in music.

“I’m certain Michael’s smooth, soulful style will serve to soothe relations with our European neighbors,� Bush suggested, wiping tartar sauce on his ever-present lobster bib.

Regardless, political observers believe this move to be Bush’s latest and ultimate “Fuck You� to Europe, whose representatives will now all have to spend time with Michael Bolton.

“We were excited at first when we heard a rumor that the new ambassador would be American beach bunny David Hasselhoff,� explained Germany. “But then we got the real news. This is worse than an insult.�

“Michael Bolton is an asshole,� explained France. “And we do not like him.�

Spain was more diplomatic.

“He’s not going to sing, is he? I mean, if he has something to say in meetings, he’s just going to say it, right? Not sing it out like it was one of his cheesy goddamned songs, right? If we have to sit through some bullshit like ‘When a Man Needs a U.N. Security Resolution,’ we’re going to quit the U.N., no shit. Spain is not kidding.�

According to insider reports, Bush’s first choice to fill the position was Ronnie Gaylord of the pre-rock white vocal trio The Gaylords, but the president was disappointed to learn he had been dead for thirteen years.

“Michael Bolton has sold over 52 million albums worldwide over the course of his career,� boasted White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan. “How many albums have the president’s detractors sold? Probably not as many. Unless you count The Eagles. They sold an awful lot of records.�

Bolton came to a very small fraction of the public’s attention in the late 70’s, as the lead singer for the heavy metal band Blackjack. However, Bolton’s lush, pussified style didn’t mesh well with hair band riffs, and by the mid-eighties he had discovered his true gift for making music fans vomit with the whitest of all possible R&B sounds.

“It’s always been my dream to lead,� explained a surprised Bolton upon hearing the news. “Actually, my dream was to make a lot of money, but I’ve already done that. Now leading sounds pretty good.�

Lawyers for Gitmo Detainees Lobby to Stop Calling Them “Gitmo” Detainees

Fans Mourn First 30 Years of Puckett’s Life

Serial Killer’s Neighbor: “He just wouldn’t shut up about serial killing.”

R.C. Car Enthusiasts Angered by Latest Mars Mission Snub

Dear commune:

Maybe you can settle a bet for my buddy Steve and me. Say two guys are shocking each other in the nutsack with a cattle prod, with the agreement that whoever passes out first loses the bet and has to buy the other guy some chili fries, right? Okay, now if you shock Steve in the nuts and he screams like a girl so loud that you pass out from surprise, do you still lose the bet even though you never got your nuts shocked? Steve thinks you do, but I think he’s full of shit and has been sitting on a bag of ice too long. Is the commune a bunch of lesbo-bangers from the Steve camp or do you see my point?

Sincerely,
Artie Duchamp
Flatskull, NJ



Dear Artie:

Cattle prods? What are you guys, a couple of seven-year-old girls in floral-patterned dresses at a tea party? You sure you guys aren’t pulling our legs? Because we doubt you really have the nuts to shock, nice try ladies. Any two guys who were really serious about a snack-bar wager like that would take turns stuffing their nuts into a power outlet, and the first one who’s blown out the window loses. "Passing out" is pussyese for feinting, as any southern debutante knows. Quit wasting the commune’s time and write us back when you have some local press clippings to enter as evidence.

the commune

---

Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any property or nutsack damage caused by the commune’s own brand of dubious advice. By reading this website you have agreed to the legal release that is encoded, Beautiful Mind-style, randomly throughout the site’s text and images. And just try to disprove that, brainiac.

º Last Column: Volume 48
º more columns

I don't tell this to many people, unless they ask, but it's long been my dream to be part of some kind of rock-band family, like the Partridges. Or Fleetwood Mac. I mean, how much ass would that kick? Most kids are sitting at home, eating porkchops or some bullshit in front of the TV while mom and dad barely tolerate each other and daydream divorce scenarios in their heads, The Love Boat reflecting off their glassy eyes. But you, the rock-family kid? No way, you're on tour and television and crap. Your family's got groupies and your dad's doing monster lines of coke all the time. Damn.

Before you go and get me all wrong, and think Omar Bricks has gone full-blown gay on y'all, remember that I'm not talking about Hanson or anything here. I'm not talking about clones or Siamese twins or whatever the hell they are. I fully support their right to just go somewhere and die, like everybody does. I'm talking about a real full-on family. Only not all shitty like the Partridges, I'm thinking more a family that could kick some ass. Like if Glen Danzig was your dad and Freddie Mercury was your mom. That kind of family.

I called up a record executive I know from jury duty to run this idea by him, see if it climbed naked up the flagpole and dropped trou, as the saying goes. He said he didn't know I had kids. Which should have been obvious, as anyone who knows me can tell I don't want to die all the time. I told him not to worry about the family part of it, I was sure I could scare up some orphans or some shit, or even some faux-parents if the demographic was to skew that way. I don't think the Mamas and the Papas have been up to anything lately, they're so far behind the music they can see up its ass like a cat. Still, even at that, he wasn't sure if the idea had wings. We argued back and forth for a few minutes about whether Wings rocked or not, then I think my phone card ran out because I don't remember saying goodbye.

The one thing he said that did stick with me though was that if the idea were going to work, it would have to have some spin on it. Like if it was an Asian family. People can't get enough of Asian shit these days; it's like having a cartoon without having to pay some greedy art school snobs to draw it for you. Plus they're always saying hilarious shit like "I rove you rong time!" like Scooby Doo and people eat it up.

I figured this was probably some pretty solid advice, since Dave knew his shit when we were on jury duty, like you're not supposed to answer the questions the lawyers ask out loud. It's different from being in an infomercial audience that way, but they don't explain all that when you're sitting down in the bleachers and then they act like you're the only asshole who didn't read the jury duty book or whatever. You can get those guys back though, you just tell 'em L.A. Law sucked and the look on their faces is priceless.

So I decided to go the Asian route with my Rock Family. It all has to start with me, of course, so I had to change my name to something believably Asian. My stage name, anyway. And even more than that, it would have to be Asian as shit to overcome the fact that I look whiter than Eminem crossed with the bailiff from Night Court. So people would see me on TV and be like "Naw!" but then my Asian name would flash up on the screen and they'd feel like stupid asses for doubting and hope nobody heard them.

I ran through a few different options, most of which turned out to be copyrighted by dirty joke books, but before long I settled on the winner: Woon Fat Leung. Shit yeah. I liked how it was undeniably Asian, yet at the same time implied I probably knew some serious karate or else had a gun that never ran out of bullets. Plus it sounded cool. That's a lot of work for one name to do, so it definitely beats a normal slack-ass name like Omar Bricks, which is badass and all, but by itself only implies that I don't have tits.

So now the hard work is done, all that remains is finding some adorable little Asian kids who can play the drums, guitar, bass, keyboards and sing… but I've got the tambourine nailed down. If one of those little kids turns out to be a tambourine virtuoso he's going to have to be my understudy or else ready himself for one serious "Devil Went Down to Georgia"-style tambourine battle, since I'll likely be twice his size and I play dirty.

If you happen to know any interested Asian kids, or come to think of it, a Bricks-aged Asian chick who could pass for the mom and doesn't play the tambourine, send them around the commune offices. Only tell them to stay away from Ramrod Hurley's office, I think that guy's having some kind of Vietnam flashback in there and all he needs are some little people in pointy hats coming around to totally fuck his mind for good.

Bricks out.

º Last Column: Bricks on the Fourth of July
º more columns