nvestigation into the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks has uncovered frightening proof among the recovered documents that terrorists had planned many further attacks on America that were thwarted or too under-funded to carry out.

Other possible targets announced by the FBI included: The White House, the Capitol building, the Sears Tower, Mount Rushmore, the Statue of Liberty, the Seattle Space Needle, the Grand Canyon, the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio, the Hard Rock Café in Nashville, Disneyworld, Disneyland, six different Mickey Mouse watch factories, Monticello (Thomas Jefferson's house), Broadway, Six Flags Magic Mountain, the Mall of America, Old McGurkey Trailer Park, the Air and Space Museum, Fonzie's Jacket at the Smithsonian, Politically Incorrect With Bill Maher, Hawaii, Delaware, Regis Philbin, Tom Cruise, James Cameron, old episodes of I Love Lucy, and Bigfoot.

It is believed the importance of each potential target was debated for hours, until it was narrowed down to the top three or four. Estimates say that if Osama bin Laden's terrorist network is responsible for the attacks it would take the entire lot five times over to commandeer enough planes to hit every target.

"It's crazy. Crazy!" shouted Regis Philbin, upon being told he was a potential target. "Scary to think about. Damn scary. I watched the images on ABC News, the same as millions of other Americans. I saw the twin towers in flames, crumbling to the ground. It's truly terrifying to think that could've been me. Me!"

James Cameron promised Osama bin Laden and the Taliban regime, believed to support bin Laden's movement, would "get theirs" when he begins work next month of True Lies 2: Ragtime.

ongtime commune political correspondent Raoul Dunkin has unexpectedly left his post at the commune in favor of hosting MTV's South Beach Jigglefest this spring break in Southern Florida. Confidential sources have it that MTV is just jerking Dunkin's chain, and that he's an asshole for believing them. Only time will tell, but once Dunkin is a washed-up Miami hobo begging for mustard packets on the streets, the commune will be there to cover this important news story.

In order to fulfill Dunkin's contractual obligations and ruin his credibility as a reporter in his absence, in the coming weeks the commune will be publishing the fragments of news stories and personal items that we found in his desk. We feel that this is in the best public and journalistic interest.

Once upon a time, there lived a poor old cobbler who was very sad because he could have no children. He would wander up and down the road kicking puppies into the street gutter and praying to God to give him a child. Any child. Even someone else's child. Then, one day, he got married.

Before too long, his wife was pregnant and he knew that one day, he would have a child. This made him so happy he could scarcely cobble (or whatever the heck it is a poor cobbler does for a living). He and his lovely wife (who dies very soon in this story so let's not bother giving her a name) were very happy when the time came for her to have the baby, but since medical science was not very advanced at this time (they would drill open a hole in your skull to let the demons out if you complained about a broken foot) she died.

Well, the poor cobbler was heartbroken that his wife, uh, whatshername, died. He was so heartbroken that even six straight hours of cobbling couldn't take his mind off it. So he named his child "That Kid Who Killed My Wife." Later, he wised up and changed the name to "Benjamin." Benjamin was a cute little boy and he would often help his father cobble. Then, the poor cobbler met another lovely woman and fell in love with her. Luckily, she fell in love with him too and they got married at the local 7-11 during rush hour next to the Slurpee machine.

The poor cobbler's new wife was a cruel woman, though. And she greatly despised Benjamin because she knew he would inherit all of her new husband's inheritance when he died (something she had planned for Labor Day right in time for the sales). This greatly upset her, and when she gave birth to a daughter, she named her "Better Than Benjamin" but the poor cobbler made her rename the child "Stephany."

Stephany and Benjamin grew up as great and dear friends and loved each other immensely. One day, they were playing under some power lines and frying ants with a magnifying glass while their father was busy cobbling. The step-mother (or mother in Stephany's case but we'll refer to her as "step-mother" from now on) went and made some lemonade. Then, she prepared two cups—one with poison in it and the other one, well, with no poison in it. She filled them both with lemonade and called for the children to come in.

The children ran into the house, fell to the ground, paused, got back up, and then ran through the door. The step-mother handed them cups full of lemonade and told them to go back outside after they were done so she could get back to knitting that body bag. They gleefully drank down their cups of lemonade. The step-mother smiled wickedly to herself and watched them run back outside. Hours later, they returned for more lemonade. Unbeknownst to the step-mother, Benjamin had spent his off-time from cobbling as a poison specialist and had developed an immunity to most poisons. "Drat," said his step-mother. "I forgot about that."

So another day, after the poor cobbler went to a Cobbling Convention in Las Vegas, she conceived her next plot. She told the children it was time for their baths. She took little Stephany in, gave her a nice hot bath with Bubbles. Bubbles was always taking baths with Stephany because she loved that dog. Anyway, after her bath, Stephany put a leash on Bubbles and took her out to play in the yard. And it was time for Benjamin to have his bath.

But before Benjamin could have his bath, the step-mother placed the television over the bathtub. Benjamin got in, with his rubber ducky and his toy boat and his raft and his inflatable sex toy and his pet plunger and his stamp collection and his favorite bar of soap: Whitey Soapsworth the III. Then, as he scrubbed away at his ears with Whitey Soapsworth the III, the step-mother pushed the television at the bathtub. And she pushed and pushed and pushed, but it was a 32 inch television and it just wouldn't fit (they had a small tub) so she gave up.

Finally, after many years, the family grew old and died. All of them. Forget I even started this story. It really didn't have a decent ending. I do apologize for wasting your time.

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