Bob Dylan Knighted By Wasted Guy Outside Night Club

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."

Dylan was on his way to the parking lot of the club with friends when the unidentified high guy stopped him in the alley, proclaimed Dylan the man, and knighted him with a very quick tap on each of his shoulders with an empty Thunderbird bottle, pretending it was a sword. He then pissed his pants and stumbled back into the club. Surprised but happy with the honor, Dylan continued on to his car.

"I thought about trying to find the guy, but I didn’t want to insult him after he had just done this very great thing for me. I was also a bit shocked by it all. Even if you expect this sort of thing is going to happen, some alley behind a club is about the last place you’re ready for it."

Columbia Records, Dylan’s label, has jumped all over the high-press event. New releases of all Dylan’s previous albums are being issued with a royal seal on them under the artist heading of "Sir Bob Dylan."

"Everyone at Columbia has always known America has a special genius in Bob Dylan," said Columbia V.P. of Advertising John Bonlee, "and now people everywhere will know that. The dude on heroin or crack or whatever behind that club knew it, and recognized Dylan for his years of service to the music industry and world as a whole."

Sources report that if the blitzed night club rambler can be found, Columbia Records would like to have him knight Dylan again, just for the sake of press, on a two-hour TV special with friends and fellow musicians playing songs in Dylan’s honor. Dylan, who has written rock ’n’ roll and folk staples like "Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man," "Blowin’ in the Wind," and "Like A Rolling Stone," could not verify the possibility of a two-hour TV event, but said he would definitely not want to air opposite Friends and Survivor.

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Dear commune:

If "God Don’t Make No Junk," then how do you explain the Oak Ridge Boys? They suck.

Sincerely,

Norman Turner
Falling River, VT



Dear Norman:

The paradox you’ve hit upon is one of many caused by a shoddy translation of the Bible from its original Aramaic. The passage you’re quoting is thought by most modern scholars to be more correctly translated as: "Good God, how much did ye pay for this shithole?" which is what the lord said the first time he saw Peter’s house. Scholars think Peter’s place must really have been a dump, as it was vile enough to offend a savior who had been born in a barn. Speaking of which, "Werest thou born in a barn?" is another popular Bible quote, which referred to Jesus’ annoying habit of leaving the door open wherever he went.

the commune

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Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for curds, whey, or any other ethnic divisions which may be present in your cottage cheese. As the saying goes, you bought your cheese, now eat it with apple slices.

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I've got the word "cambria" stuck in my head for some reason. No idea what it means. Some sort of strange deja-vu like when you think you should recognize a name and then two weeks later it turns out that was the guy you shot accidentally while turkey hunting. No leads yet on this one, though, and I haven't been turkey hunting in years.

Few things are more unsettling than waking up in the middle of the night and finding yourself floating naked in the middle of outer space, like the baby at the end of 2001. The movie, not the year. Shit if that wouldn't have been scary, waking up one December morning to see a giant baby up there in the sky and suddenly regretting every time you'd ever covered a baby in turtle wax and set it loose on your hood to wax your car. Who'd have thought the payback time would come so soon? Crimeny.

But like I said, I'm talking about the movie, with me floating in space instead of the baby. Neither dreaming nor awake in the traditional sense. Just staring down at the earth like it was a giant jawbreaker, glancing down at the thin, whispy umbilical cord that attaches you to the planet and thinking "Hmmm."

With your next thought you ponder your situation and realize that, in a symbolic sense, the earth represents the realm of your waking consciousness. No, really. The cloud layer girdling the globe keeps you warm and safe within the atmosphere, but at all times there remains the possibility of slipping undetected through the clouds and into the limitless space beyond. In this space dreams occur and are interchangeable with memories… every possibility in every situation is remembered as if it did occur and your mind is boggled by the parallel realities.

Suddenly you can remember every dream you ever had, but find it impossible to remember what you really did today among the myriad of possibilities. Which, incidentally, comes in handy when you're eating out since you can have the chicken, the fish and the steak all for one low price.

You remember a conversation you had, or may have had, that day and are suddenly aware of multiple complex layers of meaning and subtexts within the conversation that you were unaware of while it was happening. It strikes you that all interactions between people work this way, with the literal conversation existing only as a crude practicality to initiate the exchange of this wealth of additional information. Unless you're talking to Rok Finger, in which case the subtexts are all mumbled nonsense intended to sound like speech to the casual observer.

From your perch out in space, you realize with an otherworldly calm that you are observing from the perspective of the soul, rather than the worldly personality. You're sure of this because you aren't tempted to make the "Hey, I can see my house from here!" crack that you'd definitely make if your personality were involved. You notice that within this realm there is no possibility of stress or strife, you have no sense of worry, only a sustained sense of fascination. Sort of like being really high, except nobody's giving you any static about being naked.

Some may scoff, skiffle, or die straight away, but this experience has impacted me deeply. I've resolved to live my life without worry, reveling in, rather than attempting to control, life. More than anything I want to get back to that beautiful, serene vantage point in the emptiness of space. Additionally, I think I may have left my address book there, and I need that thing in the worst way. Other related resolutions: no more pickles or David Lynch movies right before bed.

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