Voting Mishap Results in Decapitation of Democratic Gubernatorial Candidate

hild, like Florida needed another election blunder!

Hot on the heels of Thursday's admission that 100,000 votes in Broward county went uncounted until Wednesday, it was revealed Friday that Democratic gubernatorial candidate Bill McBride was actually killed by a voting booth.

McBride, a lawyer and political novice who ran unsuccessfully against Governor Jeb Bush, was voting in his home county when a reportedly faulty ballot machine handle swung back and beheaded the hopeful Democrat. It was not revealed if the unlucky son of a bitch was voting for himself or his opponent.

"We would have mentioned it sooner," said election official Marjoe Ramsey, "but we figured everyone had bad enough news to deal with, what with the Republicans winning everything."

"And…?" said an older woman standing nearby, possibly Ramsey's mother.

Ramsey continued, "And we thought we'd get hollered at."

The dead Democrat fuck-up comes at a particularly bad time for Florida, still the butt of everyone's jokes after being the focus of the 2000 catastrophe that left George W. Bush the "winner" of that election. Florida's problems with computer-based ballots early this year proved voting errors were still possible, and the loss of 100,000 uncounted votes in Broward county was yet another screw-up that resulted in somebody's ass getting fired and leaving Florida unreliable to do in the future what 49 other states (and the District of Columbia) seem to have no problem with.

"Bill McBride was a good Democrat, and probably a good person," said McBride's primary opponent and possible drag queen Janet Reno. "It's a shame this had to happen to him. But if you're not tough enough for the voting booth, maybe you're not tough enough for Florida. I can't believe he ran against me! I could've beaten Jeb Bush. 'Jeb Bush.' Pussy silver spoon-chewing vote-hiding queerbait."

Jeb Bush, Florida governor and presidential brother, was told of the voting irregularities Friday and acted dismayed.

"Damn! Sorry to hear about that. I would have won anyway, you know." Bush shook his head and made a huffing noise. "I suppose now I know why I never got a concession phone call or nothing. Darn shame, folks. My condolences go out to his family, and to anyone else possibly killed voting, not to mention all the Jews and old folks whose votes and stuff got lost or misplaced. I guarantee all of these voting problems in Florida will be taken care of before I become president."

Plans for funeral arrangements for McBride are yet to be made, but expected to be carried out by next weekend. Currently Florida election officials are still searching polling places for the head. If found, please mail it to the Florida Electoral College or take it directly to Governor Jeb Bush.

Cheney Comrade Injured During Hunt for Bin Laden

Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines

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

Heather Graham’s Career Found Dead in Apartment

Dear commune:

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I just learned the word damn.

If there's one thing I hate, commune, it's being limited to hating just one thing. There are so many ugly things out there to hate. Why did it take me so long to learn the word "damn," you ask? Well, don't ask.

Sometimes when I hear the state of politics, I think it's Washington. Then I forgot there's another Washington on the west coast. And then the other Washington, the one I was thinking of, it's not even a state. What's with that? How come so many states steal each other's names? West Virginia? East Virginia? North Carolina, South Carolina? Two Dakotas? That's a dumb name. I knew a girl named Dakota, or it was a TV show or something. But why even one? There's so many great names out there to use. Why Dakota at all? Like Andy. "Hi, I'm from the great state of Andy," you could say. Now there's a state name.

Once again, I have digressed. I will change my pants and wash thoroughly and write to you again.

Sincerity,
Freedy Amos
So Cal

---

Dear commune:

What is with all the gay jokes? I swear sometimes me and my dicksucking friends think you're homophobic or something.

Is it insecurity? Perhaps you're not sure enough of your own masculinity to respect other human beings. Does it make you feel big in front of your friends? I assure you when I'm squeezing my erection into another man's anal cavity we're not making fun of you heterosexuals, like, "Oh, how straight they are! Yeah, they love to make love to women. That's smart." Say that last part in a sarcastic voice to hear it the way I meant it.

There's nothing wrong with being homosexual. Maybe if you'd try it you'd like it yourself. But I'm not offering or anything. Don't show up on my doorstep at 3 a.m. wanting a little crash course in homosexuality. That's not what I'm saying at all. I think you totally misread the signals. Jesus, don't tell my friends, okay? Something like that could get me in a lot of trouble.

Greg Dandy
New York City, NY


Greg:

Whoa, I think you totally mis-read us, Greg. Obviously the commune respects everyone in the world and their lifestyle choices, especially homosexuals. Our reader statistics estimate over 90% of our readership is made up of homosexuals. As much as 99%, maybe, we don't even know. And according to our own columnist Omar Bricks, everyone in our main office is queer.

Even those of our staff and contributors who are not homosexual like a little on the side every now and then. There is even a tape of our own Lil Duncan engaging in a little hot action with a stockroom girl going around the office. If you would like a copy, just send $19.95 to our letters address with "Lesbo Tape" marked clearly on the envelope.

the commune

---

Dear commune:

The freedom to bear arms is a sacred right in America. How can left-wing freaks want to take that away from us?

I've worked construction for ten years now. Sure, I've gotten sunburned before, I admit there's a danger. But sometimes it's just too hot to where a long-sleeve shirt or something like that. And chicks love it when you where shirts without sleeves at all so they can see all the tattoos. Some guys, like Danny K., he don't even wear a shirt in most of the summer. It ain't my cup of tea, but it's a free country. Or is it? Huh? You tell me.

If I can't work outside or inside with bear arms, this certainly isn't the land of the free like I thought it was supposed to be.

Merle Jackson
Elbow, MO


Merle:

We're glad you could express your opinion to us. In fact, after considering your letter, we're glad you can read the commune at all, or are gainfully employed. Most of all we're glad you're there and we're here.

the commune

---

Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the content or context of any of it's reader letters. Secondly, the commune IS NOT hosting a contest for a free low-flow toilet that involves sending in letters about why you need a new toilet the most. Those letters should be directed to the-commode.com. Our staff thanks you profusely.

º Last Column: Volume 3
º more columns

Every one of you are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Rockwell T. Finger and Rutherford Ginger Baker this Sunday, at the Flatbush Mall of 'Merica. Invited, of course, as long as you actually receive one of those little cardboard notes saying you can come. They all should be in the mail by now, according to Ginger. They are handwritten, so we can save all the money for the honeymoon in Haiti. We are going there to save money for buying something we really want, like solid gold dollar-sign rims for our automobile.

If you haven't received an invitation, it probably means you're shit out of luck. We'll be sending out the shit-out-of-luck cards tomorrow, to verify to everyone. There are a lot of those. But fewer guests mean more catered food for us and our eight or nine close friends we invited.

Unfortunately, someone—I think that no-goodnik Omar Bricks, or probably one of those other many, many no-goodniks who work here, posted our wedding invitation on the commune bulletin board. Ginger doesn't believe many of them will come to the wedding anyway, since I'm generally hated here at the office, but we're serving fried baloney and hosting square dancing (with a real caller!) so you can imagine I'm fearing a rush of uninvited guests. Damn, I didn't want to have the squad dancing caller! Like putting an open bar at a wedding. But an old friend of mine from the Russian mob was available, so we decided to ask him.

It occurs to me only now I probably shouldn't have contacted the Russian mob again at all, given they have tried to kill me in the past for turning state's evidence against them. Let alone invited them to the wedding. I was so excited I didn't think clearly when I made up my list. Oh, well. Hopefully they'll be the sentimental sort and let our murky histories with each other slide. It's a joyous occasion, after all.

My betrothed and I have decided to write our own vows. We got off to a rocky start, but I think it's going exceptionally well now. At first, I admit, I sort of confused the vows with New Year's resolutions, promising her I would cut out chocolate and lose ten pounds by Christmas. But she corrected me, and didn't even use violence—what a woman!

So then I wrote the vows I'm using. I promise to take her in sickness and health, as long as the health outweighs the sickness by an 85% margin. I also promised to buy her a little red wagon for putting things in and dragging them from place to place; I wanted one so badly when I was a kid, and I swore then that no wife of mine would ever do without one when she was hauling groceries home from the store or doing other work-oriented wife things. I also promised her ten cents on the dollar, should we ever divorce, which I think is a pretty fair deal. You try reading that in a mall full of loved ones and see if there's a dry eye in the food court. I doubt you could find one.

Also, she doesn't know this, but I snuck a peek at her vows, too, even though she wanted to keep them secret. If you'll excuse a little bragging, I also edited them pretty cleverly. Hers went on a little too much, talking about searching all her life for a man who really understood her and would treat her like a princess, blah, blah, blah—stuff everyone's heard before, and pretty cliché. I cut a lot of that down, and I also snuck in some sexy rejoinders, just to keep the crowd from falling asleep. Like, "I also pledge to be your eternal love slave, you handsome beefstick. I vow to do the nasty nightly." Not that I want nightly nasty. The wedding's just a show for the audience anyway.

So once again, I hope to see each and everyone of you there, because I love you all like my family. That is, if you're one of the selected few who are related to me. The rest of you just ignore all that, and whatever you do, don't come to the wedding.

º Last Column: Abducted by Beatniks
º more columns