Ivan Nacutchacokov, Embedded in Baghdad

commune foreign correspondent wires story from enemy capital

March 31, 2003

Baghdad, Iraq

Commune Art Dept.

Ivan Nacutchacokov (lower left corner) reports from the about-to-be-war-torn capital of Iraq.

oreign correspondent and champion lovemaker Ivan Nacutchacokov reporting, embedded at Baghdad with the 72nd Liquor Battalion. Which is not a true military battalion so much as a group of Iraqis heavily inebriated on 72 cases of wine and holding this reporter captive.

Originally the commune awarded me the assignment of traveling with the 108th Infantry, famous for their chili, a prize won in a raffle at the Washington, D.C. press party. However, growing suspicion's over this reporter's Russian background and "too many questions" about where we were and what we were doing led to a confrontation and eventual abandonment outside of Umm Qasar when the battalion moved on to other areas. Left to his own wiles, this reporter might have been fine had he not been found by the self-styled Iraqi defenders engaged in heavy drinking.

It has been a relatively painless five or six days of passing bottles of wine around a windowless bunker since then. Without the reaffirming vision of sunlight or the night outside, coupled with the sleeplessness as bombs and shells continue to wrack the city outside, time has become virtually meaningless to this reporter. Occasional games of Russian roulette with a group of unwashed civilians who don't speak English also add to the feeling of mayhem.

A small radio broadcasting the movement of U.S. troops as they approach the capital of Iraq is the only source of outside information available, but to listen to the rattling walls, breaking glass, and war-whoops from the surrounding drunken armed men, it's easy to believe the fighting has already begun here. Details as to what U.S. forces approach and from what direction are currently unavailable, but I can definitely describe the mood in Baghdad as foggy and raucous.

Though the Iraqi military impostors were initially mistrustful and showed extreme prejudice against this reporter, after the first few days they allowed me to be untied. It was at that point I was bricked up into a wall in the unknown Baghdad building I report from, though I thankfully learned enough of their language to convince them to leave a few bricks out so that I may breathe.

With enough ingenuity and an increased proficiency with the language, it is my plan to coax the intoxicated revelers to wire my report to Ramrod Hurley at the commune offices. There may be some confusing passages or grammatical errors, given the possibility of a mistranslation and the difficulty of carving a news report into a brick with a pocket knife, but it does seem to be going surprisingly well so far.

It is a troubling thing, to look the enemy in the face and not be sickened by the smell of wine and vomit. But after the initial terror and nausea subside, one cannot help but feel a kinship with the Iraqi people and a sympathy for their plight. In all likelihood Saddam Hussein will be overthrown and replaced with a more democratic leader, and it should be everyone's hope that despite years of disagreement all Americans will hope for these people, who have endured so much hardship, to find peace and prosperity under new leadership, as well as seek a 12-step program or something.

In the remaining days before the arrival of U.S. troops, and the intense ground fighting begins, this reporter still has enough time to find out more about the weapons, tactics, and morale of these challenged soldiers, and hopefully can change their mind about the intention to use me as a human shield.

the commune news is never one to scoff at the problems of others, especially when you can snort, sneer, and skiffle. Ivan Nacutchacokov is the commune's foreign correspondent and has a resilience in the battlefield that belies his tired, crabby whining demeanor.

Over 200 Heretics Arrested in New York City Protest

Big Apple plays host to crybaby war-hating hippies

March 31, 2003

New York City, NY

Whit Pistol

Throngs of unbelievers harangue the city that never sleeps, with extremely wordy signs and bored expressions.

arring factions in the corporeal world clashed Thursday as police arrested 215 blasphemers expressing anti-American sentiments. More than 150 were hosting a "die-in" where they laid down in the street and did a poor impression of dead Iraqi civilians and U.S. troops, while the mathematical remainder of those 215 were melodramatically hosting a funeral procession. All of it was quite a disgusting site to those who like their country, as well as those who found their caricature of the dead highly offensive.

The incident was one of many that seemed to accelerate since the start of the war, the whateverth of March, 2003. Despite support of biblical proportions from the American public that accompanies the inception of every war, small cells of protestors have continued heresy in cities around the country. Over 200,000 deviants have been arrested everywhere from San Francisco to New York City, though primarily San Francisco, for their refusal to accept the edicts handed down by the administration.

"Protesting before the war was one thing. But now that it has started, it's important to get behind our president and give up their own opinions for the sake of showing the world a unified front," said this reporter. "Back in my day, it was more important to believe your president was doing the right thing than to risk possibly thinking he might not have a clue what he was doing."

Across the country, other groups of pro-Bush protestors protested the protestors protesting the Iraq War. As obligatorily mentioned in every article on anti-war sentiment, protestors of administration actions have been met with equally vehement gatherings rallying to support U.S. involvement in Iraq.

"I just think that the president wouldn't go to war if there wasn't a good reason," said stay-at-home mom twelve-year-old Becky Surrey of Burkutt, Missouri. "That's the kind of thing Saddam Hussein would do. You've heard he gasses his own people, right?"

Demonstrators holding signs saying, "Iraq needs a regime change!" and "Support the troops!" as well as other Bush administration sound bytes, have turned out in, let's just say, record numbers to counter the sacrilege.

"If they love Iraq so much, why don't they move over there and live there and protest?" said Hoyt, Arizona truck loader Darryl Gavin. "Because they'd get killed there. They're lucky to live in a country where they can say whatever they want. So they should shut-up and support the war like the rest of us."

The White House, rather than allowing war efforts to be distracted with arguments, has wisely chosen to ignore protestors in the U.S. and the millions worldwide. Others, however, are quick to step up to the administration's defense.

"The Bush administration has strong evidence Iraq has weapons of mass destruction, and it's a shame that so many Americans are so mistrustful that they demand to see such evidence," said White House publicist Fox News in a released statement. "Everyone is allowed the right to their opinion, but they're wrong."

"Independent" news agency CNN expressed a different view.

"The main thing the United States needs right now is a clear, objective report on the war's impact, both here and abroad," said a broad, some pretty anchor thing. "There are two sides to every story, and it's CNN's responsibility to report that. Are people still protesting the war because they're radicals who hate everything the United States does, or are they simply uninformed? It's important to maintain that balanced perspective."

the commune news is never afraid to tackle an issue, but we would be afraid to tackle Emmitt Smith. Again. Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown has been dead longer than most of you have been alive, and assures us even reporting for the commune is more fun than facing that cold, numbing darkness again.

Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around

March 31, 2003

I Support the War, but Not the Troops

º Last Column: Can't Trust the Russians
º more columns

As the old saying goes, war brings out the best in a man. Guts, brains, plenty of blood and various organsâ€”but you already know how landmines work. Likewise, war brings out the best in Rok Finger. Some are made for philosophizing and some are made for artistic and scientific contributions to mankind; I was made for paranoid ranting about national security and rhetoric.

That being said, I do have some protests to utter. I'm not some blind optimist with complete faith in my country. I can understand the need to protest and the need of cops and city officials to squash those protesters like bugs. Why should those in the war zone get all the fun? However, I can't find a good crowd to protest with because of my political stances.

On one side, you have the whining hippies. God, how I hate hippies. If there were heaven and hell in the afterlife and heaven were filled with hippies, hell would look pretty compatible for Rok Finger. Always going on and on about stopping death and war and human tragedyâ€”if hippies had their way we'd all be sitting around a group circle getting high and eating trail mix.

But then on the other side are the people who support the warâ€”but they always have to drag the troops into it. What a hassle. "We support the troops!" Like the troops wanted to go to war and fight over five inches of ground and potentially lose their lives. You ask me, the troops have been dragging their heels on this one. I support the administration, I support the war fiends in the war room, but frankly, I don't think the troops are as up for the fighting as I am. Every time I see one on TV they're all like, "I just want to do my job for my country and get back home to my wife and kids." Blah, blah, blah. You don't have the eye of the tiger, kid.

I didn't expect much, mind you, we haven't had real blood-hungry troops since Korea. Lose a few skirmishes and all of a sudden everybody wants to go home. Now to have an entire army made up of Generation X, Y, and probably some Zs, well, what could you expect but a bunch of button-pushers and tactical strategists. These kids grew up on the Internet and grunge music, they're too busy feeling emotional angst and apathy to throw themselves into machine gun fire with fervor, like the boys used to.

Everybody goes on and on about Vietnam, World War II, but all of us fans of pointless slaughter remember the big one, World War I. Man, there was some mutilation for very little purpose. Those guys had guns you cranked like a music box and they just spit bullets like a cartoon goat who'd eaten a tin can. More French guys were killed in World War I than syphilis could ever aspire for. Why do you think they were so quick to surrender in World War II? They were still picking shrapnel out of their derriers. There was even a country called Rubiskania back then where everybody was killed, so they just annexed it as part of Hungary. Man, that was a war to end all wars. Until the next one.

Nostalgic? Maybe. But I have high hopes for this new big one still. In the end, the troops are just there to be shoved into battle like a puck on the shuffleboard court. And I hear the sloganeering and propaganda from this White House and I know the war is in good hands.

º Last Column: Can't Trust the Russians
º more columns

Milestones

1961: Cuban immigrant Lazlo Homales buries a small change purse in a remote section of upstate New York. Over 40 years later, commune reporter Ivan Nacutchacokov finds the purse with a metal detector, andâ€”what the crap, two dollars?? Lousy poor immigrants!

Now Hiring

Hall Monitor. Duties include asking to see hall passes, looking like an authority figure and keeping the unpopular commune staff members out of the staff lounge. Good grades a plus.

Top Eric Rudolph Hiding Places

1.	Rabbit's house.
2.	Worked at an Arby's for a while.
3.	Inside Laura Bush's vagina.
4.	Star of an ABC sitcom.
5.	North Carolina. Nobody ever looks there.

Officials Report Ass-Rape of Iraq Going Well

BY roland mcshyster

3/31/2003

Holy movie overload, America! Like most of us, Hollywood is doing a little spring-cleaning this week, but instead of dragging unused exercise equipment and boxes of used pornography to the curb, they're dragging their excess cinema to the, wellâ€¦ Cinema. That's what they call movie theaters over in Europe, unless they're showing skin flicks. They call those places Fuckhausen, which if you ask me is much better than the obvious alternative of Skinema. Because that just sounds gross. Enough of that though, we have no time to waste on Europe this week. Too many movies!

In Theaters

Ass! Ass! National Tango!

Either a bold career move by star Robert Duvall, or else the product of a Duvallian drunk-fest lost weekend, Ass! Ass! National Tango! is a stupefyingly bizarre new film that establishes writer/director/star Duvall as the Japanese David Lynch. And yeah, I know he's not Japanese, but how else can you explain that title? Or the fact that half of the roles in the film are played by roller-skating apes? Reviewing this film is like trying to review a dream, or a sexual encounter with a great white shark. Good luck there. Over half the film is instruction on what you should bring with you if you want to have a nice picnic. The rest is like a cross between Last Tango in Paris, Tango & Cash and the commercial where that guy wakes up hung-over in bed with the Budweiser Clydesdales. Weird.

Bringing Down the House

Steve Martin's trail of tears continues, as apparently whoever has been picking his scripts for him lately still has Martin's wife and kids in an undisclosed location with guns to their heads. You've got to feel bad for Martin, no doubt, but the real victims in all of this are his fans, since I highly doubt Steve has actually sat through any of the shitty movies he's been in lately. Sure, you wouldn't be crazy to suggest that his kidnapped family are victims too, that's fair enough. But wherever they are, they still probably haven't seen Bringing Down the House, since even kidnappers have a conscience. That, and I imagine it's pretty difficult to bring kidnapping victims to the movies, as people have enough trouble with their own kids and elderly relatives. Having someone hog-tied and with a pillowcase over their head tagging along while you're trying to find a seat in the dark and then they need you to carry them to the bathroom would probably sour you on the whole experience even before the Coke commercials were over.

Dreamcatcher

You know gay cinema has hit a saturation point when they start naming big-budget films after gay slang terms that most breeders would completely miss. The name fits the film however, a bizarre parable about the search for Mr. Right. Only in this case Mr. Right turns out to be some weird alien thing that explodes out of people's asses and makes everyone in a one-mile radius overact. I'm not sure exactly what symbolic significance this has within the gay dating culture, but the alien is pretty badass.

The Hunted

CrÃ¼e drummer Tommy Lee and Benecio Del Toro of riding mower fame star in this remake of the popular "stupid French skunk in love" cartoons from the 1940's. The stunt casting might seem a misfit at first, but Del Toro is perfect as the horn-dogging Pepe and Lee is scarily convincing as the hot chick skunk who always seems to have a headache.

Piglet's Big Movement

Residents of The Hundred Acre Woods are suffering from a serious case of the heebie jeebies after Piglet takes a shit the size of an El Camino. Everybody wants to ask him about it, for the sake of curiosity and the public health; only nobody knows a tactful way to bring it up. A lot of soul-searching ensues before Pooh is finally elected to solve the mystery, since with his name the matter seems to fall under his jurisdiction. After some funny misunderstandings and adventures, Pooh finally discovers that Piglet didn't shit at all; Eeyore just fell asleep in a mud bath. Disney's latest is fun for the whole family, though it make be too graphic for any conservative senators in the family.

Tears of the Sun

Let me be the first, or at least the most recent, to say that this is a really stupid name for a movie. It sounds all poetic at first, and you imagine Bruce Willis saying some shit so beautiful it makes the sun cry, like he does in all his movies. But then when you stop and think about it, it's just insane. Even if the sun really did come to life with a face and start flinging scoops of raisins all over the place, and then Bruce said some sappy high-school graduation speech nonsense that made the sun cry, it wouldn't be some beautiful poignant moment like you'd think. It would be hell on earth! Those would be some molten, flaming tears that would fuck up everything in sight, burning right through houses and orphanages and there'd be car alarms going off all over the place. Thanks a lot, Bruce! Asshole.

Willard

I always knew there was something not quite right with Willard Scott, but I never would have imagined he controlled a huge legion of nasty killer rats. I just thought he probably wore panties or was secretly in the KKK or something. The grisly truth snuck up on me like I was a drunk virgin on prom night. I guess it just goes to show that just because you're optimistic and give people the benefit of the doubt, that doesn't mean they're going to play along just to keep you from looking stupid.

That's the column this week, gents and gentiles. The Oscars are worm-food until next year, but we're still frolicking through the meadow, picking delicious movie melons from the melon tree. Be sure to check back next issue for more of the smoky bacon flavor you've come to crave.