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 February 16, 2004 |
Following instruction, a young pilot George W. Bush seeks out the way to the men's room and mistakes a bizarre metal contraption in the middle of the base. Either that, or a publicity still from an early Bush election. 
"Before I have alluded to personal reservations about the Vietnam war," the statement began. "These were private concerns, but since the media is preoccupied with the past, let me at last tell everyone I believe the war in Vietnam was misguided. I believe any military action that puts men in danger, when there is no profit to be made in oil or rich natural resources, or a lone figurehead to be vengefully removed from ...
resident George "Whitewash" Bush tried to put to rest the media uproar over his service record in the national guard with a brief prepared statement Friday. Bush revealed his mixed feelings for the Vietnam war, saying once and for all his personal feelings about the conflict stemmed from the apparent lack of oil or natural resources for plundering in the country.
"Before I have alluded to personal reservations about the Vietnam war," the statement began. "These were private concerns, but since the media is preoccupied with the past, let me at last tell everyone I believe the war in Vietnam was misguided. I believe any military action that puts men in danger, when there is no profit to be made in oil or rich natural resources, or a lone figurehead to be vengefully removed from power, is wrong."
It was a dangerous statement for a war-hungry president during an election year, an area that could be mined by election-greedy Democrats and any forgettable third party candidates who might appear on public television or radio to complain. Even conservatives who traditionally back the president expressed initial worry about the president's dedication to the war on terror, or plans for a second term war on Iran, Syria, and Rendibaba, a little shit of an island unknown to everybody but rich in coal.
"Make no mistake," press secretary Scott McClellan responded, fielding questions from frothing reporters, "the president has no doubts about military action in Iraq or any country that supports terrorism. The president stands firm on wars for vengeance and resource exploitation. In Iraq we had both."
And the war on terror?
"That falls under the column of vengeance," assured McClellan, drawing a line with his hand. "Column A, vengeance. That's like Iraq, or Panama or something. Florida. Column B, we're talking exploitation of natural resources. President's all for that. I mean, really for that. Sometimes we have to talk him out of invading ally countries like Mexico. Loads of fat, juicy resources down there. Make his mouth water."
The president's statement could be seen as a desperate act by an administration beleaguered with a bad news week, including continued focus on intelligence mistakes and a plea from WMD inspector David Kay for the president to admit there are no weapons in Iraq. A greater problem during the week was the unearthing of questions about Bush's service in the National Guard during the year from 1972 to 1973, and records could only prove he served nine days in uniform that year, unless you count the Good Humor Man outfit he wore during a summer job.
For supporters of the president, the hope is the statement, no matter how unexpected, will allow the discussion to slip out of public light and turn national attention toward things the president likes, such as apathy, or J. Lo-Affleck gossip-dishing. For Democrats, many are optimistic that the statement will further entrench the president in an uphill battle to explain his role in the Iraq war.
"Ya-wa-hoo!" screeched Democrat presidential nominee front-runner John Kerry, who then proceeded to do a sort of jig most resembling a Riverdance theme. Further questions were not answered as Kerry hopped, twisted, and scuttled into the streets outside, in the direction of the setting sun, presumably hoping others would join him as in a Dr. Pepper commercial. the commune news has no issues with the Vietnam war, except for the proliferation of cliché war movies in the 1980s, which we think of as a scar on our national cinematic landscape. Raoul Dunkin has a scar in a very peculiar place indeed—for pictures, email the commune with the subject line "Dunkin's Second Ass Crack."
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Late Dr. Atkins was big fat liar
Police crack IRA "money-loindering" scheme
 Congress Lobbied for More Material to Complete Brando Memorial
A blow for free speech: Leno okayed to make Jackson pedophilia jokes
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Iraq blah blah blah Suicide blah blah blah Dead Big Whup: Whale Swims Across the English Channel Heather Graham�s Career Found Dead in Apartment Polish Roof Falls in Following �Drinks Are on the House� Debacle |
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 July 7, 2003
The Last Nights of a Free ManScream out loud in joyous revelry, good people. I get married this weekend and the last gasp of the single man is coming out now. We call it the bachelor party.
You may interrupt me with more of your trademark, "But Rok…" shit, but I don't have time to stop and listen. When is the bachelor party, you ask? Was it last night, last weekend? Or is it tonight? Bitch, Rok Finger don't throw no pissant four-hour bachelor party. It's going on presently. All week, from the official first night Red Bagel invited us over for the ceremonial cracking of the first keg right up until I say my drunken wedding vows. I'm going to party like it's the last week of my life! It effectively is, I believe.
It started out as a typical bachelor party plan, when fortunately good friend and a little too-hippie-for-my-tastes associate Omar Bricks got involved, with the sage advice that one-night parties were earmark signs of a pussy. Am I pussy, he asked me? Well, obviously I disagreed with that notion, so once we got the liquor flowing at Bagel's house, we decided the bachelor party would set a Guinness record. Though how much Guinness one man can drink before he drops dead is anyone's guess. Assuming Boner Cunningham is actually still breathing, he may be the title holder. We would check and see but most of us are too drunk to bend over that far without going down for good.
All the dudes and Lil Duncan are invited to the happenin' bachelor party. We tried to...
º Last Column: A Moll Married to the Mob
º more columns
Scream out loud in joyous revelry, good people. I get married this weekend and the last gasp of the single man is coming out now. We call it the bachelor party.
You may interrupt me with more of your trademark, "But Rok…" shit, but I don't have time to stop and listen. When is the bachelor party, you ask? Was it last night, last weekend? Or is it tonight? Bitch, Rok Finger don't throw no pissant four-hour bachelor party. It's going on presently. All week, from the official first night Red Bagel invited us over for the ceremonial cracking of the first keg right up until I say my drunken wedding vows. I'm going to party like it's the last week of my life! It effectively is, I believe.
It started out as a typical bachelor party plan, when fortunately good friend and a little too-hippie-for-my-tastes associate Omar Bricks got involved, with the sage advice that one-night parties were earmark signs of a pussy. Am I pussy, he asked me? Well, obviously I disagreed with that notion, so once we got the liquor flowing at Bagel's house, we decided the bachelor party would set a Guinness record. Though how much Guinness one man can drink before he drops dead is anyone's guess. Assuming Boner Cunningham is actually still breathing, he may be the title holder. We would check and see but most of us are too drunk to bend over that far without going down for good.
All the dudes and Lil Duncan are invited to the happenin' bachelor party. We tried to keep Lil out, but when you mix alcohol and men together she estimates she has a moral obligation to attend. All of my private friends and office mates of the XY-gender are enjoying the festivities, except for Ramrod Hurley. That man will enjoy the slow rot on a spit in hell, and I won't have him muck up my social events. But even former office camel toe Raoul Dunkin is having fun. At least he was before Bagel & company t.p.'d him and sent him rolling down the stairs to see how far he could roll through the offices of Crochet! magazine.
Yes, even my old drinkin'/apartment livin' buddies Lee and traitorous Camembert are invited. I made amends with both when we stopped by their apartment building to burn it down. Turns out it may have all been a misunderstanding, I couldn't understand Camembert too well with that wheelchair of his yelling obscenities all the time. But he and Lee joined us at the daily office party here, and it's been fun on a stick ever since. Actually, I haven't seen Camembert, and now that I think about it I don't believe the offices are handicapped accessible. Still, he had enough to drink last night where he can't even tell he's carrying on with the street people out front.
Red Bagel has been a tremendous father figure to me in my comparably short time at the commune. In all my work situations, I've never felt such a kinship with my boss, and such a dire need to keep both eyes open at all times. Maybe putting dillhole Hurley in charge for a while made me realize what a vital part Red Bagel is in all our lives, and to show him that, I've asked him to give me away at my wedding. He hasn't responded yet, he's been comatose since late Friday, but I believe he's just trying to win a bet now.
Don't feel too bad about our female co-workers, by the way. Lil Duncan may not be involved, but Ivana Folger-Balzac and Clarissa Coleman have been having their own wild bachelorette party with my wife-to-be Felchyana, showing her what it means to be an American woman. We also invited some of the other staff of commune wives and girlfriends, such as Omar Bricks' new love Osaka, Ramon Nootles' blow-up doll, and a picture Boner Cunningham cut out from a magazine. It's not quite the show ours is, considering Clarissa Coleman couldn't make it due to out-of-town engagements, and Ivana is a hyper-bitch, but neither Felchyana nor Osaka speak English, so they have that in common.
But what do I care about her needs? I'm about to be her husband! Party on, jack! º Last Column: A Moll Married to the Mobº more columns
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|  November 24, 2003
Volume 56Dear commune:
Long time no see, guys. Since you put up those curtains and stationed that security guard out front.
I hate to say it, but I’m starting to feel like I’m not wanted anymore. Used to be you would sit around on your fat asses twiddling your fucking thumbs waiting for a new letter from Weak Hat. And I was always there for you, dropping in your mailbox unexpectedly like a mailbox-size Charo. I guess you got new friends now. All famous and shit, now the commune don’t have time for its old letter chums. Oh, I want "the commune" italicized in that last sentence, ’cause I mean that shit sarcastic. You guys are douchebags, and I’m not being sarcastic saying that.
But I’m a bigger man than you guys. In fact, stacked one on top of the other I bet I’m still 9 inches higher than all you guys. You have to stack them sideways, not one on the other’s shoulders. Let’s be realistic here.
Sorry, I passed out there. What I was saying is I forgive you. When you get right down to it, the commune is a good source of news and swear words. Which I fucking appreciate. All I ask is you keep turning out the great alternative news, the tell-it-like-it-is columns, and that Entertainment column which I’m ambivalent about. And please publish my letter. And if you can swing it, find a 8,000-foot mountain and carve my likeness into it. For old times’ sake.
"Weak Hat" Tim McGee
Harrisburg, PA
º Last Column: Volume 55
º more columns
Dear commune: Long time no see, guys. Since you put up those curtains and stationed that security guard out front. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to feel like I’m not wanted anymore. Used to be you would sit around on your fat asses twiddling your fucking thumbs waiting for a new letter from Weak Hat. And I was always there for you, dropping in your mailbox unexpectedly like a mailbox-size Charo. I guess you got new friends now. All famous and shit, now the commune don’t have time for its old letter chums. Oh, I want "the commune" italicized in that last sentence, ’cause I mean that shit sarcastic. You guys are douchebags, and I’m not being sarcastic saying that. But I’m a bigger man than you guys. In fact, stacked one on top of the other I bet I’m still 9 inches higher than all you guys. You have to stack them sideways, not one on the other’s shoulders. Let’s be realistic here. Sorry, I passed out there. What I was saying is I forgive you. When you get right down to it, the commune is a good source of news and swear words. Which I fucking appreciate. All I ask is you keep turning out the great alternative news, the tell-it-like-it-is columns, and that Entertainment column which I’m ambivalent about. And please publish my letter. And if you can swing it, find a 8,000-foot mountain and carve my likeness into it. For old times’ sake. "Weak Hat" Tim McGee
Harrisburg, PADear "Weak Hat":
Thanks for being so understanding about not publishing your letters. After all, the commune gets hundreds of letters every millennium, and we can’t fit all those into our regular editions. Mostly because two-thirds of them are from you. Quit writing us already.
It’s nothing personal, it’s just that you frighten us and we fear becoming like you in any respect. As a measure, we’ve decided to stop swearing just to be on the safe side. The great alternative news and tell-it-like-it-is columns? Not doing that anymore. Please let us know in the future anything else you like about the commune and we’ll take precautionary measures to stop doing that as well.
As men are judged by the company they keep, the commune is regarded by the nutholes who write them letters.
the commune
Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for the stacks of unread letters lying around our offices—if we read them, we’d just be severely depressed visualizing the cretinous nobs slobbering over half-composed thoughts and somehow managing to mail them to us. And we’ve made a promise to ourselves to stop letting our readers bring us down.º Last Column: Volume 55º more columns
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Milestones1853: The snorkel is invented, leading indirectly to the conception of commune reporter Lil Duncan several years later. STD specialists from the CDC would eventually send a robot back in time in an attempt to prevent this chain of events from occurring, but tragically this move caused the Short Circuit franchise of films in the 1980's instead.Now HiringMidwife Crisis. Not entirely sure what this is, but the guys thought it would be funny. So… Hmm. Uh… well, if you have experience delivering babies in a dramatic and dangerous fashion, then I suppose you should dust off your résumé. No freaks please.Top commune Searches| 1. | Double-Buck Naked | | 2. | Runyuns | | 3. | Lil Duncan Lesbo Video | | 4. | Shamu's Splashtime Adventure | | 5. | Mark Buckles | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/1/2001 Good to see you, America! How have you been? Come to think of it, where have you been? If I had to judge by my recent trips to see such blockbusters as Lost Souls and Battlefield: Earth, I'd think moviegoers had gone on strike or something! Let's see a little hussle out there, folks! They can't keep bringing us the magic if we're just going to sit at home watching "Sex in the Cindy" or MASH, now can they?
In Theaters Now:
Almost Fabulous
The hit British TV show hits the big screen with this story of an aspiring young SNL writer who follows Chris Farley on a cross-country expedition. Along the way he learns the true meaning of love, and also how to fall down a lot. Meanwhile, his mom...
Good to see you, America! How have you been? Come to think of it, where have you been? If I had to judge by my recent trips to see such blockbusters as Lost Souls and Battlefield: Earth, I'd think moviegoers had gone on strike or something! Let's see a little hussle out there, folks! They can't keep bringing us the magic if we're just going to sit at home watching "Sex in the Cindy" or MASH, now can they?
In Theaters Now:
Almost Fabulous
The hit British TV show hits the big screen with this story of an aspiring young SNL writer who follows Chris Farley on a cross-country expedition. Along the way he learns the true meaning of love, and also how to fall down a lot. Meanwhile, his mom and her best friend do a lot of coke and go skiing. Trust me, it's funny in an "English" kind of way.
Beboozled
Spike Lee finally goes the Eddie Murphy route and and becomes a white man (with some help from special effects magician Jim Bakker) who says some funny things in Spanish. Martin Lawrence is a stitch as the sexy she-devil who tricks Lee into trading his soul for the key to Bill Cosby's vault of "Our Gang" episodes. This is a probing social critique about how hard it is to be a black person wearing a rubber white person suit in America today.
The Legend of Bagger Vance
Tom Cruise and Adam Curry star in this inspiring tale of the grocery store bagger who rose above his humble aisle-mopping beginnings to dethrone his nemesis as the quickest bread-loaf masher in three counties. The rumor mill has it that Cruise really became a meth fiend to add authenticity to Vance's pre-shift crank sessions in the front seat of his Camaro.
Requiem for a Dreamcast
Toy Story and The Brave Little Toaster meet in this kid pleaser about a young boy's obsolete video game systems coping with the threat of a new Playstation 2 in their bedroom. When the chips are down, these clunkers prove that what they lack in vector units and rastar conversion they more than make up for in heart, gumption, semi-functional light guns and somewhat dangerous cords that were chewed by the dog. By the end, little Billy comes to realize that newer isn't always better, and that old Genesis is still good for propping open the back door when his dog doesn't come home one night.
The Watcher
This harrowing tale of weight loss mixes Atom Egoyan's confrontational style with Mike Meyers' taste for the macabre. The result is as gripping as it is placid. A must-see for anyone who's ever made their weight-loss shake with Chunky Monkey and a Skor bar, this pot-boiler's got it's Oscar shoes on!
Now on Video:
Committed
Can Heather Graham (with chest midgets in tow) keep this bickering Irish pub band together and pull them back from the brink of disintigration on the eve of their greatest success? Nope.
Drowning Boner
Looking to escape the pressures of superstardom, former "Growing Pains" star Andrew Koenig moves to the small town of Small Hampton, New Hampshire and starts a lawn care service called "Stabone's Stones". His welcome wears thin, however, after the locals tire of his continual public outbursts of "Don't you REMEMBER me? I'm Boner!" and eventually one of them does him in via a suspicious turnstile "accident". Always compelling, whether he's playing the imposing Godfather in "The Godfather" or the mob's psychotic muscle midget in "Goodfellas", Danny DeVito is gripping as the local sheriff grasping at straws to unravel this mystery.
Reindeer Games
Aiming to be the Grinch Who Stole Christmas Box-Office from the upcoming James Cagney vehicle "The Grinch", this Christmastime treat features red-hot comedian Howie Mandel (and a team of Silicon Valley effects technicians) as everyone's favorite red-nosed reindeer, Rudy! This time though, Rudy's story has a 90's twist, and some cursing! Will this effort continue Mandel's can't-miss streak even further? In a word: Maybe. Co-starring Charlize Theron as Ashley Judd.
Snow Day
Don't call it a comeback, because this Canadian reggae-rapping teen sensation has been here for years. Now Snow's ready to inform us in his big-screen debut, and your mother has most definitely been given word. When aliens from deep space invade earth and smoke the president in a giant doobie, it's up to our hero to confound them with his indecypherable rhymes and crush them under truck-loads of bargain-bin copies of his debut CD, "12 Inches of Snow". Not since Brian Bosworth has a newcomer lit up the screen quite like this.
Terms of Engagement
Never before has a film been a more perfect hybrid of two winning formulas than this meld of Father of the Bride and Terms of Endearment. Steve Allen reprises his role here hilariously as the nervous father presiding over his gay son's first wedding. Tommy Anderson-Lee and Samuel Taylor Coleridge upstage the screen as the interracial gay couple who just can't seem to decide on a china pattern, with touching results.
Join us again next month when we take a look at the cultural wonders awaiting us behind the iron curtain, with Russian classics such as ÐøÞ¿ and ߶ðœ©! Keep an eye open for more exciting foreign releases like "Rugrats in Paris" and "Little Nicky", too! Bon Voyage, Amigos!   |
