Claudette Ravages Texas Coast Like Mean-Hearted Woman in Blues Song

weet mercy! Texans are still rebuilding their shattered lives after last week's "just plain cold" brutalizing of the Galveston Bay area by heartless hurricane Claudette.

Like an insufferable tropical cocktease, that hurricane moved in and out of the Gulf of Mexico with threatening promise until attacking the Texas coastline with unrelenting moxy. Damages were estimated easily into five-digits, possibly six with the option for seven, and over 30,000 Texans were left without power. Electric power, not power in the Marx-Engels sense.

It was a double-decker sadness sandwich for residents of the Texas coast, who found their homes and livelihood torn up like the love of a good-lovin' bluesman. Ol' Claudette, she knocked over houses and blew down powerlines with a blow from those puckered-up metaphorical lips of hers and left all Texans lower than low. Some residents were desperate for electricity and shelter again, and even though Gov. Rick Perry promised disaster relief and the American Red Cross offered help to those hit hardest by the storm, it was little consolation after being so brutally used and abused by a hard-hearted bitch with a max wind speed of 85 mph.

"I lived in that wreck that used to be my house all my life," said 10-year-old Bob Phelps, a part-time investment banker and pretend Indian. "Claudette rolls in here like a storm and leaves everything all busted up. A lot like a storm, very much so, really. And all this debris, it's just like the inside of my little ol' heart."

Some grief-stricken residents, like cat fancier Elvin Harper, hoped Claudette would follow earlier predictions of losing intensity before reaching the coast.

"I had friends who said she was just a pretty coastal wind, but I knew better," said Harper, searching through cat debris to salvage what he could. "That hurricane was no good, and she messed Texas up good. It just ain't right, I'm telling you the truth."

Used to being turned inside out by tough-lovin' women, local blues players were among the first to recover from the storm. Though electricity was still out in the town, renowned blues legend Galveston Larry had words none-too-kind for the Category-1 storm in an all-acoustic set at Victoria tavern Benny's.

"That Claudette, she's a tough-lovin' woman," Larry advised, seeking a harmonica affirmation from fellow musician "Luckless" Gary Woodland. "She done rolled in over me, all up and down me—you hear what I'm sayin', Gary? And she flattened my trailer like thousand-pound anvil. Just like in Bugs Bunny cartoon or something."

Despite the poor simile, most residents suffering the aftermath of the tropical storm could identify with Larry's feelings.

"It's just sad, wrenches your insides all up," said steel worker and aspiring dancer Clara Gumption. "You can run into good weather systems every day of your life, it only takes one bad one to ruin it for everybody. But I don't hold no grudges. My main concern is getting on with everything, not cursing Claudette to Hades. She'll get what's coming to her some day, she's going to stroll into the wrong town and get herself messed up like she done to Texas."

he Bush administration celebrated a victory amidst plentiful criticism this week when reports came Friday that Saddam Hussein had been arrested, in Brooklyn, New York of all places.

The news puts a sunny smile on the end of a week of bitter partisan accusations from Democrats and presidential critics against the Republican party, and the president in particular. Bush has had to play hardass on the Liberia situation, alluding to the possibility of military intervention in that country; other sour news surfaced in the release of a report stating the jobless rate had risen its highest in nine years, refuting some conservatives who are claiming the economy is in full recovery from the recession of the past two years. Even more alarming, recent attacks on U.S. soldiers brought the total body count higher than 200, causing some to allege the U.S. still does not have control of the Iraq situation. The president earned harder critique after a statement detractors decried as "an urge to attack our forces."

In a Wednesday address to the White House press, Bush's controversial statements were: "There are some who feel like conditions are such that they can attack us there. My answer is: Bring them on. We have the force necessary to deal with the situation." The president then turned up the collar of the leather jacket he wore to the press conference and put on some Terminator sunglasses.

A rescue did come for Bush and company, though, in the form of the Hussein capture on the Fourth of July. Details were being suppressed by the FBI and the White House until more could be verified, but it is believed a call late Thursday night tipped off authorities to the location of Saddam Hussein, in the heart of Brooklyn, New York, no less.

Speculators who forced their way into the commune office suggest the Hussein arrest was the direct result of the president's Thursday announcement a $25 million reward would be offered for information leading to the capture of Saddam Hussein, and $15 million each for his less popular sons. Some estimates say it was a mere 16 hours before Bush's reward announcement brought in the information that led to the seizure of the deposed Iraqi dictator.

The president earned some back-sass from Democrats for raiding the congressional Secret Santa fund to supply the reward money, as well as subverting money from social programs for Uday and Qusay rewards. While he was mucking about in the national budget, he also dismantled Medicare and Medicaid.

Some FBI insiders are warning early announcements Hussein is in custody may be false. What can be verified by the agency is that just before midnight a phone call offered information on a the location of a Brooklyn hideout where the Iraqi dictator could be picked up; the caller was male, possibly extremely inebriated, and an episode of Perfect Strangers was clearly heard in the background. It was believed to be the one where Balki is hypnotized into believing he's Elvis.

Unofficial witnesses confirm the arrest of a man in the Brooklyn area by a swarm of government agents wearing those cool jackets with "FBI" on the back. The man taken into custody was reportedly shouting loudly that his name was Rudy and he ain't never heard of no Iraq. Witnesses could not say for sure whether the man the FBI detained was Saddam Hussein, though they implied a crisp $100 bill might refresh their memory.

Some are suspicious why the president did not take the opportune time of the Fourth of July to announce Hussein was in custody, but insiders who know Bush said on a three-day weekend the president doesn't even show up at the White House. Experts, or those who claimed to be experts, assured everyone the matter would be made clear on Monday morning, when Bush returned from his Tijuana road trip.

Dear commune:

Who pooped on the commune’s parade lately? Talk about a bunch of sad sacks and down-about-the-facers! What this gang needs is some crisp, refreshing lemonade! What could be better than liquid refreshment on a hot summer day? Nothing! So why not buy some lemonade today? Only five cents a glass, while supplies last!

Sincerely,

Bobby Turner
The sidewalk outside the commune offices



Dear Bobby:

Listen kid, if we wanted any of your fucking lemonade we would have bought some already instead of sending Ivana Folger-Balzac downstairs to kick your pitcher over and break your sign in half. Can’t you take a goddamned hint? It was bad enough you had to ruin our mornings for weeks straight, sitting outside the commune offices with your puppy dog eyes and pathetically large quantities of unsold lemonade, riddling our already-riddled hearts with guilt. Can’t you understand that the commune staff members work hard for their money, and five cents (though it may not seem like a lot to you with your freewheeling, ass-deep-in-lemons lifestyle) is actually a week’s pay for some of these people? Apparently not. So you’ve seen fit to torture our hearts further with your sorrowful refrains of "Doesn’t anybody want any lemonade?" sung to the tune of "Bohemian Rhapsody" all day and night. And now, with the letters and voice mails!

Knock it off kid, our answering service is on the lite plan and only counts up to five: you’ve already maxed us out for the month. You’re milking a dry tit, kid, and you won’t have any better luck with our downstairs neighbors at Crochet! magazine either, they’ve been drinking nothing but sealed bottled water ever since Omar Bricks spiked the building’s water supply with mescaline last Halloween.

You just don’t get it, do you kid? Apparently all the potted plants (thanks, Crochet!) Ted Ted has been dropping at you from our windows like some third-rate Atari game have failed to crack your thick skull in more ways than one. All right kid, we get the message. You want to play with the big boys? This means war.

the commune

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Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for any unintended casualties in our ongoing holy war with lemonade vendor Bobby Turner. If you don’t want a metal plate holding your skull together, stay off the sidewalk.

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