the commune, 9/23/26: You'll learn to love it or die trying

Blackout Blamed on Failure of White Power

August 18, 2003

New York City, NY

Whit Pistol

Sight of an all-black New York City strikes fear into the hearts of peckerwoods.

acists and peckerwoods everywhere trembled as their vaunted white power fizzled out into nothingness Thursday, surprising only those blind to the inevitable fall of empires everywhere. The absurdly-called "blackout," which started in the middle of the day during perfect daylight, plunged major northeastern urban areas into a state of non-electricity, which the white media presumably prefers to compare to "primitive" black culture with the derogatory "blackout" term.

The twin Northern American albino evils, the governments of the U.S. and Canada, both spent the day blaming each other for the power failure instead of spending their time fixing the power. The working classes and underprivileged were left in the dark Thursday night, with Friday night also no luckier in getting the power turned back on in some areas. White media was "delightfully surprised" that the non-white citizens left in the dark during the night didn't spend all their time looting their own stores and robbing white peopleâ€”you know, acting civilized. As you know, when non-whites rob white people, it's anti-social crime; when whites rob everyone else, it's called capitalism.

New York City mayor Whitey Whiteberg praised New Yorkers for helping each other out and not killing each other like savage animals, then went home to his out-of-state mansion or high-grade penthouse with the gasoline-powered generator or whatever digs he shammed the people out of. Meanwhile, underprivileged suffering classes in Detroit went home to unbearable heat without power Friday night. Areas of New York, Connecticut, and Ohio with their power restored were forced to refrain from air conditioning in the record heat wave.

Rumors abounded in the immediate wake of the power failures. Though the most likely source of the catastrophe is now pointing to three failed transmission lines that eventually took out the Niagara Mohawk power grid, probably stolen from early industrious Native Americans, alternative unfounded causes were spread through the Internet and urban legend grapevine. Some blamed the power outage on a threatening Internet worm that managed to topple all the nation's power grids, the equivalent of blaming it on the Candyman. Most Americans were more anxious to blame it on the brown people of the Middle East, known as terrorists for not believing in the white man's God.

President and ranking redneck George "Whitey" Bush promised the problem of the electrical outage would be investigated and, if possible, enslaved and oppressed. He went on to call the electrical power grid system "antiquated," though how that makes it different from other revered elements of white culture wasn't explained by the inferior president.

Professor of African-American Electrical Engineering and frequent drinking buddy of this reporter Muhammad Bari offered more realistic interpretations of the grid power failure.

"It's clear the fatted citizens of Rome have trusted in their failing empire far too long," said the six-time winner of home Jeopardy! "The sacred calf is ripe for slaughter, and the time for the reign of a noble citizenry is nearly upon us. Now, I'm not suggesting we go out and rip down Con Edison and the White House or anything, you know. I'm just saying, in the eyes of the great and worthy Allah, we as wage slaves built this city on rock and roll and it's ours to do with as we please."

The white president refused to comment on these perfectly legitimate questions, proving who he's really serving.

the commune news wishes the entire Northeast the best in getting the power turned back on, especially for those of us who haven't paid their bill in quite a few months. Shabozz Wertham is an occasional commune correspondent, like this one occasion.

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January 12, 2004

Fired!

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I'm more pissed off than a liberal watching Fox. Believe it or not, I've been fired. Yeah, firedâ€”me! What an insult.

It wasn't the commune, if you've been wondering. I'm still employed here, though I'm commuting back and forth between the coasts and will probably try to spend less time around the office. People give you funny looks here and always bum money off you. And I'm starting to feel a little sorry for all the foreigners they hire to be inanimate objects, but I guess it's better than not having a job at all. Which reminds meâ€”I've been fired!

I lost the job as Metallichick to that infernal usurper, Jayme Kristofson. The same chick who's suing me for libel. You'd think she'd at least have the decency to drop the lawsuit, but I haven't heard word yet. Although come to think of it, filling the mailbox with concrete may have actually worked at staving off the lawsuits and bill collectors. But either way, I don't suppose I'll be worried about the mail. I have to job hunt. Did I mention I got fired?

I had a shoot for the comic book and the new graphic novel (that's like double-time work) right after 2004 started and, of course, was still celebrating New Year's when I was supposed to be there. Or sleeping off celebrating New Year's. I told them ahead of time I take a little time to unwind after the year changes over, so they really shouldn't have scheduled anything on the 5th. So I woke up around 10 a.m. or so, the 8th, and realized I had totally missed the thing. I called Nat and he was pretty pissed off. He said he hated to do it, but he had to let me go. Of course, I didn't believe him. He was laughing too hard to sound like he hated it.

It wasn't losing the money that bothered me so much. I can supplement my income making meth at home to cover the bills until then, same as when I only made money working for the communeâ€”or I suppose I should say "money," like "in theory, it's money." I'm not sure, but Red Bagel assures us it's better than money in Costa Rica, and good at any Footlocker outside the continental United States. But I have more than enough shoes. I suppose what I really have to worry about is the rent and shit. Since I got firedâ€”I got fired, by the way.

Money is money, though, and I can afford a break from work. Like I did before, from 1989-1997. It's the all that prestige I lostâ€”shitloads. Being Metallichick to all those pockmarked, glasses-wearing comic book nerds was the closest thing to real fame I had since they cancelled Who's Your Daddy?. All those geeks, endless streams of them, asking me where I carried my broadsword when they didn't see it drawn there, all those lame and pointless questions, it reminded me of being a young TV star and all the times those reporters asked me what I said when people offered me drugs.

Down again, I suppose. I spent so much time doing personal appearances at comic books and additional cover shoots and collectors' cards and all that bullshit I basically pissed away my independent film career. But if anybody's used to going from the peak of fame to the pit of existenceâ€”like the communeâ€”it's Clarissa Coleman. So I take the rotted turnip from the earth like Scarlett O'Hara in that movie and shriek out with contempt, "As God as my witness, I'm going to be real fuckin' famous again." I mean, like J-Lo famous, only without everybody hating me.

º Last Column: Come on, I Told Them, Ba-Rump Ba Bump Bum
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April 19, 2004

Happy Camper

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I just returned from that commune retreat thing, where I had a lot of fun. I know everybody else got back about three weeks ago, but like I said, I was having fun. As far as I'm concerned, I decide when the retreat is over. It's not very cool to invite me to a relaxing retreat and then decide I'm relaxed before I decided.

But it worked out pretty sweet. I had a lot of fun, set fire to a few things, got into a few scrapes with wild animals, all the things a good vacation should be. I had a chance to do some real soul-searching, and scored a few wallets, too. It's not very Bricksian, I know, but I had to ask myself where my life was going. No car, no love in my life, working for the communeâ€”some people might consider those things setbacks. All in all, I'm happy, don't get me wrong, but since I don't have a family, I thought maybe it was time I did something to gain me some immortality points.

Now, I know a lot of people can do different things for immortalityâ€”paint pictures, donate money to hospitals for a building in their name, or spray paint your name on a wall. But I wanted to do something with children, since the courts are always telling me I've got a lot in common with them. Kids are cool, unless they're complete shits, but you have to make that distinction on a kid-by-kid basis. So I wanted to give back to them. Help shape the future by doing something today. Or not today, you know, but in the next couple of years or whatever. Introducing (drum roll) Camp Bricks!

You heard right, boys. Camp Bricks. I got the idea while we were on that retreat, how it was almost like a really boring touchy-feely camp for adults. But being close to the woods brought out the real Omar, and I thought if I could do that for kids, that shit would kick.

Well, I suppose I also got the idea partly from Meatballs, 1 and 2. 2 was pretty crappy, but it wasn't too bad. 3 was awful, so I wouldn't want my camp to be like it at all. Mainly I just figure kids need a place where they could come and get into races and all sorts of athletic competitions against rich kids and find a way to win using their own weirdness to their advantage. And they can talk about jacking off and swim across the lake to hang out with girls and stuff. I wish I had the chance to do some of that stuff when I was a kid. I could swim across the Hudson River if I wanted, but that's got a pretty strong current. And there were plenty of girls on this side of the River to hang out with, so it seemed pretty pointless.

Kids need a way to build up their self-esteem. If you watch shows about kids these days they're all idiots. They dress like they get prizes for conforming and they worry about getting into college when they're 9. That's bullshit. I say if you're not on a first-name basis with a court's juvenile case worker, you're not getting the full childhood experience. They need a role model, and I don't see why it can't be me. Anything's got to be better than those Malcolm in the Middle posers.

I should say that I won't be messing around with teen-age girls. Anymore. Fool me once, shame on me, all that, and the cops are watching me pretty closely about it all. But I figure I can take care of the boys, there's got to be someone cool enough to handle the girls out there. Not that I'm against dressing up and pretending to be a counselor named Edwina. If nothing else, it would make a really good chapter of my autobiography, and they could make it into a movie called Big Sister, but right now I'm strictly looking for the genuine female variety of counselor. Let me know if someone cool comes to mind.

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Quote of the Day

“How many roads must a man walk down before someone will give him a fucking ride? What, do I look like a serial killer or something? Blow me in the wind, buddy.”

-Zimm Bobberman

Fortune 500 Cookie

Here comes another lecture on the same old tax-and-spend bullshit, courtesy your butler. Quit picking at it and maybe it wouldn't get infected. Who beefed? Details inside. Better save that big comeback tour until after you've had at least one hit song.

Try again later.

Top 5 commune Features This Week

1.	Better Living Through Buggery
2.	Tom & Jerry: A Reunion
3.	Uncle Macho's Best-Kept Secret Recipes
4.	Undercover ExposÃ©: My Three Days as a White Blood Cell
5.	Critics' Corner: Books and Shit

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

9/30/2002

Happy Birthday, America!

Yeah, I know it's a little late, but some crackhead stole my Dayplanner, so what can you do? We've got eight different kinds of fun coming your way from Entertainment Policeland today, so I hope you're ready. No, that's not a scientific figure and it probably wouldn't stand up to academic scrutiny, but goddammit, we're here to have fun. Leave your nit-picky bummer vibe at the door. We're doing what we can here to get through these Dark Ages of Autumn movie entertainment, and we need your oppressive lab coat act like Traci Lords needs a milk mustache. So let's all get with the program here. On to the movies!

In Theaters

Moonlight Miles

Remember back when Dustin Hoffman was in good movies all the time? It seemed like he just wandered from set to set, dropping in to add a few lines to whatever movies looked good. No? Honestly, neither do I, but people tell me it happened. The last thing I liked him in was Hook, that basketball movie with Tommy Davidson, but it wasn't that long ago that he was winning Best Retard Oscars left and right and people said his name louder than they do now. I only found out he was in this movie because his sister was sitting behind me in the theater and she wouldn't shut up about it. Anyway, this movie is fine as entertainment if you're really in the mood to see something about a guy working two jobs at once, which I suppose is a mood people get in sometimes. I thought it was kind of slow myself. They tried to spice it up a bit with some Elton John tunes, but none of them were the Crocodile Hunter song, so I can't say how well that worked. If you ask me, I think Hoffman needs to spice up his own career a bit, maybe by playing a superhero or something. I'm sure there's got to be at least a few of those left, like The Wriggler or Captain Pants or something like that he could sink his teeth into.

Red Dragon

Some people keep on pumping even when the tit done come up dry, and now we can officially add our friends at the Silence of the Lambs franchise to that list. Sure, I think Hannibal Lecter opening up a Chinese restaurant is a clever twist for a new film in this face-eating British Royalty saga, but in case anyone fell asleep before the end of the last one, or crapped out while they were reading the book, he got his hand cut off at the end. And if there's one rule of thumb that every restaurant guide and Fodor's book has in common, it's don't eat at an Asian restaurant where the cook only has one hand. Hell, I don't think Hannibal could even eat Asian food, since you need one hand to work the chopsticks and the other hand to push food onto the chopsticks, otherwise those things are worthless.

Sweet Homo Alabama

See, now this is great. I always have a gay old time every time I travel to the South, since that's just the way they swing it down there. It's not my way, but I'm not about to be the one to suggest we do things Chicago-style when I'm visiting Rome, if you know what I mean. I'm not sure what exactly Chicago-style is, maybe deep dish or something, but the point is that it's not very gay. Unlike the South, which is as homo till the cows come home. And you know, it's about time somebody made a movie about the big gay pool party that the South really is. You might get a different idea watching the news and from books and whatever, but then you get down there and Holy Homo Moses. If you can't get your crops dusted in the South then brother, it just ain't happening. This film does a good job capturing the verve and the sass of the South, though I think they scaled back on the drag queens a bit to make it more palatable for uptight Northern audiences.

The Tuxedo

It's a formula that has worked in the James Bond movies for eons: if the suit is nice enough, it doesn't really matter what boob actor you stick in it for the "motor home cart-wheeling off the cliff oops your fly is open perfect ten swan dive into a glass of French spring water" scene. That suit has been the star of Bond pictures for generations, and somebody finally caught on and spun it off into its own franchise. This time they've blanched spastic Chinese superstar Jackie Chan into the penguin suit, and his brand of "move really fast and pretend it's karate" antics translate well to this rubber-stamped genre. Chan fans will all be satisfied, as the 14 year-olds and the repressed Asian men in the audience get to see some almost-exposed breasts, Jackie falls down a ladder a few times and he uses a nerf ball to beat up a guy who looks kind of like Jet Li. Moviegoers looking for more plot, however, might be somewhat disappointed to find that the film's dialogue is made up entirely of fight noises, like "Ha! Huah! Sho! Nananana! Oooow!"

That's what we've got for you this week, America. Keep coming back next week and you might win a prize or something! I don't know, I'm not in charge of the prizes. It sounds like fun though, maybe we could give away a drug boat or a plate of nachos, something to spice up the week. I'll ask around, there might be some office chairs we're not using or a fax machine that's not chained down. You never know, you could be a winner and nobody bothered to tell you. I'll get back to you on that one.