all Street, the place (not the Oliver Stone movie) known to confused New York tourists as "Tin Pan Alley," was rocked by erratic stock prices last week following the market-shaking news that Hollywood supercouple Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston were separating after four and a half years of marriage. NASDAQ closed down over 400 points Monday as skittish investors struggled to find their place in a cold and confusing new world, and the other market thing also went number two.

"This decision is the result of much thoughtful consideration," explained Pitt to People magazine, "and is not the result of any of the speculation reported by the tabloid media. Thank you for your interest and please respect our privacy in this matter."

Despite the actor's modest response, numerous foreign heads of state jammed the telephone lines after the news broke, desperate for information about the breakup and eager to console the ailing ex-lovers. President Bush was not taking calls on Monday, and according to reports close to the president, Bush spent most of the day sobbing into a large glass of eggnog.

"They were Hollywood's golden couple," cried Chairman of the Federal Reserve Alan Greenspan. "Who didn't want to be Brad Pitt? Or even Jennifer Aniston? That might even be better. Now, I don't know. Maybe we need to slash interest rates again. I'll be in my room if anybody needs me."

TWA cancelled all flights on Saturday in wake of the news, not wanting to take any chances with distraught pilots who might understandably steer their airliners into mountainsides or other points of scenic interest, due to difficulty in processing this dark news.

"Best to give our people a few days off to let this sink in," explained TWA spokesperson Alan Grover, "to get their sense of perspective back and prepare to go on with their lives." Other major airlines were quick to follow suit.

Pitt, widely considered to be one of the most attractive men alive, and Aniston, widely considered to be married to one of the most attractive men alive, were both married in an extravagant ceremony in 2000. Jealous, bitchy tabloids dubbed the coupling "Bradley and the Beast," immediately accusing Pitt of upstaging Aniston in photos, and predicting the marriage would last only five years. Pitt and Aniston had the last laugh however, making the tabloids look foolish by separating a full six months ahead of schedule.

The news fell hard throughout all walks of American life Saturday, from the proverbial man sleeping on the street to the very pinnacles of power, where business titans fretted over the breakup's effect on the already weak dollar.

"Oh shit," despaired Chevron CEO David O'Reilly. "This changes everything."

"Sell! Sell!" screamed day trader Jacob Lerner into a telephone that didn't appear to be plugged in.

Despite the accepted tradition of a national week of mourning following all significant celebrity breakups, the NFL decided to continue with playoff games Saturday, honoring the couple instead with fighter jet fly-overs above all playoff stadiums.

"America needs to feel hope for the future in this dark hour," explained NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue. "And if the Patriots putting the smack-down on the Colts is what provides that hope for people, well, then it is the NFL's solemn duty to dish out the hope."

"For the love of God, please respect our privacy as human beings," pleaded Pitt graciously on Tuesday, clearly flattered by all the attention after climbing over the throng of reporters blocking the entrance to the couple's Hollywood Hills home.

A hastily-arranged tribute concert for the couple went off without a hitch Saturday night, with consoling acts such as Norah Jones, Korn, Seal, and Hootie and the Blowfish all paying tribute to the beautiful couple in a tear-filled salute at Madison Square Garden, shared with the world via Pay per View.

Celebrity singer Whitney Houston, though not involved in the concert nor a friend of the couple, consoled both Brad and Jennifer with a spontaneous telephone rendition of her soaring ballad "I Will Always Love You" on Saturday night. Aniston was reportedly stunned into silence by the call, while Pitt was not home at the time and will reportedly hear the song on his answering machine later.

"Jesus, can't you people leave us the fuck alone?" gasped an exasperated Pitt, cornered by news crews in a toilet stall of a Hollywood restaurant's men's room on Sunday.

Flattered into embarrassment by all the attention, Pitt meanwhile has refused to speak to the American media further about the breakup, speaking only to Japanese reporters who, due to cultural differences, don't understand the concept of romance.

News of the breakup comes amidst rumors of Pitt's celebrainfadelity with fellow hot person Angelina Jolie on the set of their upcoming film Mr. and Mrs. Smith, with tabloids speculating that Jolie can better relate to Pitt's ultragorgeous status, unlike the merely attractive Aniston.

Similar rumors spread during the filming of last year's Ocean's Twelve, when the hunk-like Pitt was paired romantically on-screen with the similarly unattainable Catherine Zeta-Jones, despite Jones' icky marriage to ancient crypt-keeper Michael Douglas.

Financial analysts are banking their hopes for a U.S. economic recovery on either a Pitt-Aniston reconciliation early in 2005, or a quick remarriage between Pitt and Jolie, Zeta-Jones, or other suitable ultrahottie.

Several Newscasters Fired for Reporting Death of Don Ho

5 Million White House E-Mails Missing, All About Low-Cost Cialis

Sanjaya Unites Indian Fans, People Who Hate American Idol

IRS: Excessively Needy Girlfriends Can’t Be Declared “Dependents”

As many of you good people may know, I am a small man, but I am overfilled with confidence. I move with a sureness many others in the world lack—whether justified or not, I am secure in every single thing I do and have ever done. Of course, like most people, I may have a few regrets here and there, but what is important at heart is I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done. Perfect? No, I’m afraid not. But I come damn close. All except one gargantuan elephant-in-the-room exception: My appearance.

Yes, whether it’s my miniscule, stocky body or the train wreck sitting on my shoulders that is mockingly called my face, I am a hideous man. Or, as my ex-wife Arvelyn used to say, before the divorce, I am insecure about my looks. Since the divorce she calls me Leatherface. So I prefer to remember before the divorce. And you know, I thought—she’s right. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with my features, at least not individually, even if they make a nauseating mess in the specific way they’re compiled. I merely lack the confidence in my looks to enjoy them.

It’s not my fault I feel bad about the way I look. Years of screams and crying children have made me believe I am not easy on the eyes. Like whiny women complain, I have been held up to unrealistic images presented in the media, or in my case, everyone else in the world surrounding me. If it were not for the people standing by, silently declaring differently, I would be quite a handsome man. Well, that may be going too far, but I at least wouldn’t notice I frighten animals. I might even be able to destroy all the world’s mirrors and reflective surfaces and forget the plight covering my skull.

But enough of this sad-sack moping, I thought. I have spent too many years assuming the worst about my mug, and it was high time I proved the world at large wrong. The opportunity came with a cable that runs right into my house. Yes, since moving back to these United States, we have acquired the Inter-Net in my house. If you haven’t received it yet, you should really look into it. Ask your doctor, or whoever needs to be asked about getting it. In addition to receiving great offers for mortgages at reduced interest rates and exciting new pornography, the Inter-Net is a great source of information. In my case, I can post my pictures on websites and find out how I rate on the "Hot/Not Hot" scale. I didn’t even know there was such a scale until a routine search for Tabasco products enlightened me.

What a tool! That’s how the Inter-Net installer Mitch referred to it. Or possibly to me, the specificity was quite uncertain. But I agree, with the former. The Inter-Net finally allows anonymous strangers to tell each other they completely conform to society’s expectations. No more needless posturing about the substance of a person. We can now know instantly whether or not we’re desirable in ways that people really care about. Some disagreeable people—hippies—might tell us the inner beauty of a person really matters. Get real. How many sites on the Inter-Net rate your personality? I don’t care. I’m not interested. All Rok Finger needed to know was: Hot or Not?

Well, I’m not. Not hot. Not at all. Quite amazingly non-hot, according to the numerical ratings. Some of the weaker-stomach sites refused to even post my pictures. The "thong of the day" site filed a lawsuit just for my mailing Polaroids.

It’s a hard, brutal truth, like a White Castle hamburger, very difficult to swallow. But I’m tough, and forget many things quickly. I’ll find a way to suck up my misery and get past it. In fact, I think as a treat to myself I’ll order that Inter-Net that everyone’s been talking about.

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Dear commune:

Ed Phillips here again. I've recently returned a little wiser from the Middle East. Like most Americans, I assumed the problem was simply based in religious differences and the insurmountable tumultuous history between Islamic and Jewish religions. I was more surprised than anybody to find out it was all over a hotel bill for a room shared by Ziggy Morgenstern and Al-Adid Shabozz back in 1967. I offered to pay the bill myself, it was only $34, but leaders on both sides were quick to stress it wouldn't make a difference. It was all the principle.

Needless to say, that started me thinking: How come you're not allowed to cook in motel or hotel rooms? It seems an incredible infringement on my rights as an American to not let me fry up some eggs and bacon on a hot plate in my own hotel room, making me survive on their continental breakfast alone. I'm not talking open-flame bonfires, believe me, I've learned my lesson after that fire three years ago. But even simple electric outlet appliance cooking is outlawed. Doesn't seem right.

I have recently collapsed the ass-section of my pants, though I hope they are repairable. I'll keep you informed on this situation as more progresses.

Ed Phillips
Hackensack, New Jersey


Dear Ed:

Thanks for the letter, and please keep us informed on the whole ass/pants story as it develops.

According to our Research Editor Griswald Dreck: "The war between hotels/motels and in-room cooking dates back to 1647, when the first motel room fire was recorded starting in Ye Olde Two-Pence Inn, by a peasant guest who burned down six rooms in the inn with a small pocketfire for cooking grouse.

"Since then it has been illegal for guests of any hotel in any country, so decided by the International Terror Conspiracy of Hotel Owners and Operators, to cook in any form or fashion in any room. Part of it is fear of another hotel/motel fire, but a lot of it is because this gigantic conspiracy is just a bunch of dicks who are slow to forget grudges. In fact, it's proven that 92% of Americans are all descended from the dillhole who started the fire at the Ye Olde Two-Pence, Augustus Winterturd. So thanks to this grade-A medieval jackass we're all denied the pleasure of a hotplate-cooked hot dog, even in our enlightened age. Tough luck. Maybe if we all promise to not steal an abundance of towels, soaps, and shampoos, maybe order a few more in-room movies, they'll start giving us a little more leeway in this situation."

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the repeated publishing of letters by Ed Phillips. He sends us about 75 a month, so really, you're getting a fair statistical representative of our reality.

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