the commune, 3/31/26: You'll learn to love it or die trying

The alternative to good news

January 20, 2003

Duck's Ass

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"I'm hungry enough to kick an old lady down a fire escape!"

The worst thing is when you're hungry for something, but you don't know what it is. People will start naming off all the things you can eat and none of it sounds good, and believe me, it's a long list if you just name off thing after thing. If someone was a real asshole they could list things they know you're not in the mood for like duck ass and iceberg. Just keep saying variations on the same thing, too: "Duck wing? Duck feet? Duck face? Duck brain?" I'm going to do that next time I get a shot.

I went to Burger King where they say I can have it my way, but the manager said the commercial wasn't talking to me when they said that. I had it their way, and it was alright. No fries with cheese cooked inside or hamburger buns made of pork, but it was good enough. I was hungry enough to eat donkey balls, though. I kept saying that and some of those kids in the great big Grimace on the giant spring started crying. You know, I don't think I was at Burger King at all. Which makes it easy to see why they made me have it some other way.

One time I told my mom I was hungry enough to eat Grandma and she made me do it. She said it was Grandma, anyway, she was probably just lying. Whoever it was, their toenails were nasty and smelled like Grandma's. Even deep-frying couldn't take out the stink.

Mom deep-fried everything. She was always playing gags on us, too. I pissed her off one Christmas by giving her a homemade gift instead of the hibachi she wanted but instead of saying anything she pretended she liked it and began plotting her revenge. Then, one day in July I came home from school, hungry as usual, and ate so fast I almost got a headache. Mom was laughing like crazy real loud in the corner and when I asked her why she told me I had just eaten my pajamas. Hell, she deep-fried them so long they tasted like pork rinds, how was I supposed to know? It was hard to get to sleep that night, my stomach hurt and I was cold 'cause I didn't have any pajamas, but I started to really appreciate the cleverness of the joke by morning time.

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Quote of the Day

“I can't quit you babeâ€¦ you got me locked into a 24-month exclusive contraaaaactâ€¦ oh yes you do oh yes you doâ€¦ your early termination fees are givin' me the bluesâ€¦ I been on hold so long baby now so long now ba-by yeahâ€¦ I know you're on the line with a-nother man and it's breakin my heeeeart in twoâ€¦”

-Naked Mole Rat Jefferson

Fortune 500 Cookie

You will find true love this week, but you'll return it because it smells funny. Try using words like "adage" and "usage" less frequently; you think it makes you sound smart, everybody else thinks you're turning into Pauly Shore. Don't hesitate to fire blindly into a crowd of strangers this week: hesitation can be deadly. This week's lucky trucks: ice cream, any variety being washed by bikini babes, Gaelic Motors' 4WD Clover, any whose manufacturers don't run commercials claiming they're "like Iraq."

Try again later.

Top Scientific Discoveries, Week of 5/21/07

1.	People hoarding "Forever" stamps deficient in inflation-understanding genes
2.	Long middle fingers connected to aggressive tendencies in men
3.	Fish oil aids in weight loss by grossing you all the fuck out
4.	Most effective beauty tip for women: Get men drunk
5.	Gay animals choose homosexual lifestyle

BY h.i. standard

7/22/2002

The Bitcher in the City
If I start telling you my story, it will be on my time. I'm not going to force it on you if you don't want to hear it, but if you're reading this still after all these typed words, you must want to hear it. Why? Do you think it's some sort of interesting tale or something? Don't make demands on me of what kind of story to tell. Asshole.

But since I'm writing anyway, I might as well tell you what happened to me when I left Truffaut Bible College in northern New York state. I had to leave, they were all a bunch of useless tools up there. I'm directionless, that what my parents and my guidance counselors say. But you know what I say? They're tools. A bunch of dumb fucking useless tools. And you are, too, big-ass useless reading-my-shit tool, you.

Plus, I had to leave...

If I start telling you my story, it will be on my time. I'm not going to force it on you if you don't want to hear it, but if you're reading this still after all these typed words, you must want to hear it. Why? Do you think it's some sort of interesting tale or something? Don't make demands on me of what kind of story to tell. Asshole.

But since I'm writing anyway, I might as well tell you what happened to me when I left Truffaut Bible College in northern New York state. I had to leave, they were all a bunch of useless tools up there. I'm directionless, that what my parents and my guidance counselors say. But you know what I say? They're tools. A bunch of dumb fucking useless tools. And you are, too, big-ass useless reading-my-shit tool, you.

Plus, I had to leave because I flunked out. And I burned my Bible. And it turns out my parents never really enrolled me there. That's just like those tools, to make me feel like I'm no good at school because they never enrolled me. My whole mixed-up life is their fault. I never asked to be born. At least I don't think I asked, and if I did I can't be held responsible, I was just a pre-born kid.

My useless-ass tool of a teacher, Mr. Pangloss, gave me $20 to catch a train or something back home to New York City, but instead of going directly home I sat in the bus station for a while. I watched all the freaks going by, thinking how awful their lives were and how they couldn't wait to get to their next stupid appointment. They were hideous sorts of people, ugly and smelling terrible, just like my old school jacket when I hadn't taken a shower after gym class. The smell followed me wherever I went throughout the city, as I bundled my old school jacket tighter around me to protect against the wind. 'Scuse me.

I finally left the bus station when it got to depressing. I didn't want to go home yet, but I was a little worried about what I was going to do in the middle of New York City with hardly anything to my name. After the train ride I only had $6 to last me until I got home again, that and my stupid old knapsack with my copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass from school that I had never read, a change of shorts, a picture of my big brother Squirrel, and a dead flower of only symbolic significance. And my Visa card with a $10,000 credit limit, I suppose I could survive on that if I needed to.

I was kind of an outcast because I hated everybody in the school I went to, where I failed, where I was never really enrolled, and I had actually murdered one of my roommates before I left and they probably had found his body in the pale white snow on the outer grounds of the school by now. That was another reason I was reluctant to go stupid home, but it wasn't like it was my fault. I'm not the one who labeled myself a sociopath with homicidal tendencies in the child therapy sessions my parents made me go to.

In a way I wished I could go home. Like maybe if I had a laser of gigantic stupid constructive capability I could destroy the entire world except for the parts of it that I liked. Like the miniature foreign exchange student that lived with my parents before I went off to school. I liked her a lot, sincerely. And my brother Squirrel, he was a good guy, at least before he got married and became a bigshot sell-out "Texas Ranger," hunting down murderers like me and such nonsense. But everybody else I'd probably destroy if I could. Only if I had a laser. Sure, I could destroy everyone one by one like I did my roommate Kyle, crush their soft skulls with a surprise brick in the back of the head, but I'm the kind of person who would get half the world killed and then give up because it was too hard. So what's the stupid point?