n the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and the currentmath of Hurricane Rita hot on Katrina’s high heels, elderly southerners who’ve been there before are offering a reassuring voice of bitter calm to troubled Americans across the South.

“Today’s hurricanes aren’t worth a hot goddamn,� groused Boca Raton resident Carter Dunlop, 88. “You all can quit your bellyaching. Back in the day, we had hurricanes to remember. I don’t recall their names or any details, but you can rest assured these latest pipsqueaks are even less noteworthy. Trust me, you’ll all hear Carter Dunlop scream like a woman when a real hurricane hits.�

“Category 5? Pssh, they’ll call any old stiff breeze a hurricane nowadays,� griped Biloxi native Ted Knuck. “Back in my day, you wouldn’t cross the street for anything less then a Category 15. And that was only because it blew you across the street.�

“And they call this a hurricane,� sniffed Elmer Controse, 76, of Wicker Falls, who had his entire house flattened by Hurricane Katrina. “Blew my house down, big whup. This is nothing. Back in ’56, Hurricane Chuck blew my house down, then re-arranged it and blew it back up again so that everything was inside-out. All my pictures were hanging on the outside of the house, and my toilet and stove were on the outside, it was like some kind of crazy doll house. But inside, everything was all aluminum siding. Creepy as hell. Now that was a hurricane.�

“Today’s hurricanes aren’t worth shit,� opined Daisy Altamont, 91, of Baton Rouge, who had her wedding ring blown up a cat’s ass by Hurricane Beauregard in 1949. “Get back to me after we’ve had the kind of hurricane that ends with you giving an enema to a housecat. But a word to the wise: if that does happen, I’d advise against telling anyone what you did. Apparently it’s illegal to enemize a cat.�

the commune was unable to verify the legal status of giving a cat an enema, but we did discover that it clearly violates American Show Cat Association guidelines, as it can apparently harm a cat’s self-image and lead to problems with bulimia.

Thus far, a consensus of scientists have been unable to confirm the elderly’s claims of mega-hurricanes from the past, arguing instead that hurricanes have been at about the same strength throughout history, and incidentally, the scale of hurricane categories has always gone from one to five, no higher.

“Bullshit,� disagreed longtime Hollywood, Florida, resident Angus Roper, 95, in spite of not having heard the previous paragraph. “When I was a boy, Hurricane Delphina blew my dog inside-out like a sock, right before it blew my grandmother through an oak tree. Not the branches, mind you, the trunk. Granny was never the same after that, chirping like a chipmunk whenever the barometer dropped. You don’t see hurricanes like that anymore.�

“Absolutely,� agreed Cape Hatteras, North Carolina’s Archie Slobertson, apparently displaying some kind of cross-state old-person telepathy. “Hurricane Dandy, now that was a… well, a dandy. Back then the hurricanes didn’t blow sideways like they do now. Nope, hurricane blew straight down. Pushed my whole town underground, no foolin’. Don’t believe me? Look on a map for North Jigglebarrow, you won’t find it! Better get yourself a shovel if you want to visit. Still folks livin’ there from what I hear tell. Yep.�

ith much of the South either bracing for or fucked up by hurricane damage, the president suffering from historically low approval ratings, and the daily civilian death toll from Iraq taking on Halo proportions, a bruised nation turned its hopes to Apple's latest portable music player this week.

"We fully expect he Nano to change the way we live our lives just as much as the original iPod did back in 1997," Apple founder Steve Jobs announced at a recent press conference, possibly referring to how additional profits for Apple could change his lifestyle for the better. Unfortunately, no one present had a microphone with which to argue or pose questions of semantics. "Besides, I know you've all got shit else going right in your lives right now, so fork over the cash already."

Disaffected Americans from across the iPod-affording spectrum licked their chops in anticipation of the Nano, which is just like the last iPod, except smaller and more expensive.

"This year has really been a shit biscuit," lamented Syracuse sophomore Sean Hannesy. "But I'm pretty confident that my spending $250 on an MP3 player is going to turn things around."

The release of the Nano comes not a moment too soon for a worn-out American public. With the Catholic Church in icky disarray, misogynistic gangsta rap topping the charts, and the recent news that California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger will seek re-election, many have been searching desperately for a money-spending distraction.

Hollywood has provided no solace, with a disappointing batch of summer movies—even by summer movie standards—leading to another terrible box office slump that has limited studio profits to the mere billions. Even sadder, American audiences have been robbed of one of their most time-honored means of avoiding awareness of the world around them.

"I like to call it The Summer of Gigli," explained Paramount executive Paul Walters. "I know that came out last year, but this summer really was that bad. It didn't even have a movie notable enough for use in a clever name."

Meanwhile, 500 Iraqi civilians were blown up by a different group of Iraqi civilians on Saturday, for reasons incomprehensible to white people.

Somehow even more depressing, some asshole in New York this week set the record for consecutive hours of TV-watching, only to have his record rescinded by Guinness when it was discovered he was just watching the first season of Lost on DVD.

"Thank God Apple came out with another iPod," sighed tech writer William Pepper. "Otherwise, this could have been a terrible year for everyone. Now it's just terrible for the poor, liberals, Southerners, Iraqis, movie buffs, music fans, Catholics, Sony, Californians, the Amish, steroid-abusing ballplayers, environmentalists, true conservatives, Cubs fans, animals of all kinds and children. I'm probably forgetting somebody. But it's been a bitchin' year for iPod fans, that's my point."

Admit it: you'd kick your own mother in the cooch to find out what the hell is going on with ABC's Lost, only your mother won't let you anywhere near her after you slammed her head in that sliding glass door to find out who killed Laura Palmer. Have no fear, violent reader; the commune is here for you. If not to give out answers, then to at least share your confusion in a public forum.

I've been asked to serve as the commune's television expert this week, both because I haven't written anything in a while (let he without slack cast the first stone) and nobody else here knows dick about TV. Commune answer hole Griswald Dreck refuses to watch television at all on the grounds of haughty condescension, which is similar to Orson Welch's excuse that he hates everyone and without the confining effect of a movie theater audience is highly likely to physically attack the television. That leaves Roland McShyster and me, and I got the assignment after Roland asked somebody in the office if Fish Police won any Emmys this year.

So here we are, mightily confused and alone after last week's stunning episode, when things finally turned ugly on headshot island, a place populated entirely by beautiful castaways and Hurley. Sawyer fucked everybody, which we were all waiting for, some of us more literally than others. And it looks like Charlie fucked the duck again, following up his previous week's freak-out with the highly-effective reconciliatory strategy of total, apeshit betrayal. This guy makes such consistently shitty decisions, he should have a position in the Bush Administration.

We had more topless Sawyer this week, which reminds me of something I needed to say to all the women out there who were bitching about actor Josh Holloway's "nothing special" physique: obviously none of you have ever seen a real man naked before. Trust me, most of the time it's like something out of Alien Autopsy. But it is refreshing to see that men aren't the only ones with insane concepts of physical beauty these days.

In the recap at the beginning of this latest episode, they made sure to flash back to footage of Captain Otherbeard warning the Losties to stay off his half of the island, which makes me think they must have carnival rides or something fun over on the other side. If it's just more island shit, palm trees and crazy people with accents, I'm gonna be pissed off.

Probably the most amazing thing about the people who survived the plane crash is that these are the only people on earth who could meet up with a gang that's been living on bizarre-o island for God knows how long, talk to them, and still not learn a damned thing about the dozens of mysteries that have been perplexing everyone for months now. But it was established long ago that our castaways subscribe to the "Loose Lips Sink Ships" doctrine, a 1940's slogan about venereal disease originally meant to warn men that sleeping with slutty women would, in all likelihood, make their penises fall off, but now applied mostly to not investigating mysteries or telling anyone what's going on, including the viewers of the show.

So what now? Well, I can tell you one thing. Don't watch The Island expecting any answers, since that turned out to be one of those "spin off" movies that doesn't really have much to do with the original show. I still need to punch Roland McShyster in the throat for recommending that one to me.

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