he situation in Washington, D.C. was all wavy-gravy Friday when approximately 650 radical "protesters" were arrested for getting trippy on the government and local police in their attempts to denounce White House calls for intervention in the Middle East and the International Monetary Fund for its global policies.

According to the various protesters, who were likely extremely high, the United States, the World Bank, and the IMF have engaged in tactics of sharing wealth with nations with no dire need for it while allowing third-world countries beset by poverty to suffer. True or not, the ridiculous protests by nutcases and fruitcakes slowed down traffic and interrupted the normal flow of the capitalist machine for several hours. The police, the national heroes of September 11^th, were brought in to clear the way for hardworking apathetic citizens.

"Everything is returning to normal here," said D.C. police captain Gilbert Hayes. "Go back to sleep."

Protesters used glaring signs, offensive T-shirts, and shouted un-American slogans like "The president is wrong!" against police, buildings, and in the general direction of the United States. Police used justified force to make the protesters stop getting in the way of honest Americans, resulting in only one reported injury and countless bruises which couldn't be helped.

"Go back to college!" shouted one enraged cop as he kicked a hippie ten feet down Pennsylvania Avenue, a new personal record.

Some whacked-out nit-pickers also held demonstrations against the Gap, the international jeans store chain most famous for their annoying advertising and putting their jeans on shelves instead of racks. According to the fruitcakes, who were so high they took off their clothes and ran around in their underwear, the Gap exploits workforces in other countries with poor labor laws. How this was a surprise to anybody or affected the cost of American jeans was uncertain.

Most protesters were released on a small bond, like the cost of one of their dime bags, after being charged with upsetting mainstream America and refusing to do whatever the police said. Five were charged with destruction of sacred artifacts, commonly referred to as corporate and government property. A charge of treason was unlikely, but police are looking into it.

"It is important that as long as we have the freedom to speak in this country," said protester Lisa Morgan, referring to some anachronistic line in the Constitution, "we use that freedom to make our leaders aware of how we feel. Not only if our own liberty and comfort is threatened, but if those in our country are doing immoral things in the name of the United States in other countries."

Morgan's LSD tirade was ended when a dutiful officer smacked her in the head with a club, very possibly "bringing her down."

It was not expressed to the public at press time whether Washington, D.C. had the available jail space to hold all protesters who weren't released on bond, but if necessary there's possibly enough space in Camp X-Ray in Cuba to house all the militants.

shockingly obese woman who claims to have been Saddam Hussein's mistress escaped from Iraq late last year, meeting surprisingly little resistance in a flight from bondage that International aid workers are calling "A Big Fat Miracle."

Lamoula Pamsolos says she was Saddam's mistress off and on for 30 years, and twice on Sundays. After escaping Iraq in a daring daylight bike ride over a year ago, she has learned to live in fear of anonymous death should Saddam's hit men ever find her. Assuming he has noticed that she's gone and didn't actually buy her the bike himself. Out of fear for her own life, she has disguised herself under a veil of disgusting, corpulent backfat.

According to Lamoula, she was a key component to Saddam's "collection" of women, which also included a ballerina, a basketball star and a black belt in judo. When asked if her part was the big fat cow or the whiny emotional cripple, she only responded with a cold stare. Saddam also collected women with missing appendages, women with extra appendages, and women who could do that dancing trick with a pair of forks and a couple of baked potatoes.

Pausing to either belch or swear in Iraqi (translators are divided), Lamoula explains that she was Saddam's favorite mistress, a claim supported by the faded tee shirt she wears, showing a naked woman handcuffed to a bed under a logo that reads "SADDAM'S FAVORITE MISTRESS".

Growing up, Lamoula originally thought of bondage as "fun" and thought herself lucky to only have to work twenty seconds out of the day. However, as she grew older and became gradually less enamored with Saddam's growing thatch of offensive back hair, Lamoula came to realize that she would never be able to leave him. Even if she wanted to, the door to her room locked from the outside. And though her window did open, it was a perilous one-story drop to the tall stacks of blankets that were stored on the ground below. Thanks to her acutely weak ankles and fear of modest heights, Lamoula's prison was complete.

Pamsolos later discovered that her door didn't lock at all, but rather stuck a little bit unless you jimmied the handle. And so, after 32 years of servitude, she stepped out into a hallway she had never seen and looked upon the world with the eyes of a free woman who didn't know how to do anything.

When asked to describe Hussein, Lamoula paints the picture of a big brown blob with seven legs. When asked to describe Hussein using only words, Pamsolos tells of a demanding tyrant with a weak spot for children's songs.

"Everybody do what Saddam say. He no have to ask nobody no two times. Saddam say 'Pull my finger.' I no want to pull finger. But, I afraid of Saddam. I pull finger. Yes, Saddam mean. But Saddam love Raffi. Saddam sing Raffi all times. All times, never stop never. People want to say Saddam to stop singing Raffi, but they no say so to Saddam. So Saddam still sing Raffi all times."

Lamoula describes Saddam as an up-tempo dictator who was always quick for a smile, except for a period in early 1991 when he seemed "bummered" about something, possibly something he saw on the news. Pamsolos isn't sure, it was a long time ago.

Western Intelligence sources back Pamsolos' claims, but have not yet been able to extract any tactically useful information from her memories of the 32 years she spent in close quarters with the Iraqi dictator.

"So far we know he's left-handed, probably, he's big into Elton John and he likes to have sex with the lights on, which personally is more info than I needed," CIA spokesperson George Hudson explains. "At this point it's premature to call the discovery of Ms. Pamsolos a strategic goldmine, but we're still digging. Just the other day she remembered that his favorite show is Malcolm in the Middle, so information on hidden nuclear weapons may be right around the corner."

Dear commune:

As big a fan as I am, I have to admit I'm a little disappointed with your news lately. At least as far as conspiracy angles go—Red Bagel is the only reliable source in the country, as far as I'm concerned, him and my pharmacist, and lately his columns have just been droning on about minor inconveniences. If he's going to do that, why can't Rok Finger or Stu Umbrage pick up the slack and cover the conspiracies, since Bagel's obviously doing their job.

Everything would be okay if maybe someone would make mention of all these 9-11 conspiracy theories. The French are big on the idea that America is responsible for the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks to stimulate the U.S. military budget, and I hear that and get pretty upset—Mr. Bagel, creating whacked-out stories like that is your job. Maybe I should read the French commune, hmm? They're obviously not afraid to come up with conspiracy theories. If they had a French commune, maybe called le commúne or something, I would read it. But right now it's just an empty threat.

You're lucky I enjoy reading Clarise Sickhead's Bedtime Stories to kids I don't like, otherwise I might stop reading the commune altogether. Come on, you're letting your audience down.

Emil Zender
D'Artagnan, Washington


Dear Emil:

Thanks for your literate spanking; Lil Duncan in particular enjoyed it. We have been dropping the ball here at the commune, and we'd rather be famous for our top-of-the-heap conspiracy unraveling than our dropped balls.

The truth is very few of us have seen Red Bagel in person in at least two weeks. He frequently slips his columns under the door to us in the newsroom and refuses to open the door unless we use the secret knock, which he has never shared with us. It is all proof, as far as we can guess, that Mr. Bagel is knee-deep in the darkest conspiracy yet and is simply biding his time, waiting for proof or a lack of other column material to reveal it. Dark men with large mustaches show up at odd hours and drop off brown paper bags full of documents for him, which we slide one by one under the door. The phone rings day and night and someone asks for Red Bagel, who the hell are we, and take a message, then refuses to tell us the message. It's pretty frustrating, but we respect that Mr. Bagel has never shied away from a conspiracy. More than likely whatever he is researching involves the 9-11 attacks, as well as every other major news event in the past 20 years—except for the Baby-Jessica-down-the-well thing, Mr. Bagel assures us that involved mole people and not the government.

As for the French—c'mon, Emil, they're French. If you're going to listen to the French, how are we supposed to communicate seriously with you? Maybe you should look yourself in the mirror and ask if you're not the one with the problem. Listening to the French. Pfffth. Let's not have another letter like this, Emil. We have the power to cut you off from the commune, you know—no more commune for Emil. Get your shit together, please.


the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for Red Bagel. Why should we take the blame when his parents aren't going to? He has an agenda that is holy and beyond our understanding. We sure hope that's the case anyway.

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