America Remembers Bob Hope

August 4, 2003

Toluca Lake, CA

Archive Photo

Hope, seen here doing whatever it is he did when he was young

€œWhite guy, right? Kinda chubby?â€

Americans from all walks of life fondly remembered American institution Bob Hope following his death this week, even if many couldnâ€™t remember what he was famous for. But few could deny that whatever he did, he was the best.

â€œI think he was in movies, maybe,â€ eulogized housewife Linda Blades of Old Creek, Montana. â€œOr maybe comedy. Possibly comedy movies.â€

â€œOne thing nobody can dispute is that he was a legend in golf. Or at least legendary for liking golf,â€ clarified podiatrist Carson Cree of Ohio. â€œI actually donâ€™t know if he was any good, but Iâ€™m pretty sure he did golf, or was at least photographed holding a golf club some time. Or maybe it was tennis.â€

â€œBob Hope was really ...

Missing Girl Big Fat Hoax

Kansas woman claims she's only badee-badee-ba-big-boned

August 4, 2003

Topeka, KS

Topeka Police Dept.

Donna Walker, described by authorities as an alleged "big fat cunt who should die"

hat police officials are calling a "cruel hoax" perpetuated by a "big fat bitch" from "some Podunk town out in BFE" came to an end last Thursday with the arrest of Donna Lynette Walker, a 35-year-old Kansas woman. Walker had contacted the parents of missing Indiana girl Shannon Sherrill only days before, claiming to be the missing girl and renewing hope for the family after 17 years of grief.

Six-year-old Shannon disappeared in October of 1986 while playing hide-and-seek outside the family home in Indianapolis. Authorities had all but given up hope over the years, as leads failed to materialize and it became less and less likely that Shannon simply took hide-and-seek very seriously. Walker's call last week seemed to the family to be a miracle, but quickly turned out to be the shitty kind of miracle that people usually aren't referring to when they speak of miracles.

With the arrest came disturbing-yet-hilarious details about Walker's past. According to several poor bastards who identified themselves as her friends, Walker has frequently made crank phone calls in disguised cartoon voices ever since childhood, and as an adult her talent for being incredibly and flamboyantly full of shit has led to police records in California, Kansas, Virginia and Nebraska for making bizarre threatening calls, forging checks, reporting false fire alarms, placing bomb threats and using stolen credit cards to pay her telephone bill. Few involved can take even these charges seriously, however, since Walker often disguises her telephone voice in a spot-on stuttering impersonation of Porky Pig.

Friends of Donna Walker are at a loss to explain her motivation in contacting Shannon Sherrill's parents, or how they could possibly be this hard up for friends. All agree, however, that the Sherrills probably should have taken Walker's claims of "What's up Doc? I'm your kidnapped daughter!" with a grain of salt.

"I'm not surprised," said friend Kelli Wauch, who wasn't surprised. "I met Donna through a group where you go for support or if you're happy you go there and Donna is somebody who thrives off of other people's pain so it didn't surprise me that she did these things because she told me about a girl missing in Indiana and it being her parents and saying something along the lines about that and I just kind of blew it off because it didn't make any sense," rambled Wauch, prompting this reporter to slap her across the mouth in hopes of coercing a coherent quote.

That rambling narrative, coupled with the fact that Wauch has had to change her telephone number twice during the month she has known Walker to stop the tirade of threatening phone calls made in cartoon voices, begs the question of why Wauch still identifies herself as Walker's friend. Rather than sift through another verbal train wreck of a response, however, this reporter is satisfied to chalk it up as some kind of weird Kansas thing we're not meant to understand.

In Indiana, Walker faces a felony charge of identity deception and a misdemeanor charge of false reporting, as well as a life-long series of disappointed looks from the entire human race. In addition to contacting the missing girl's parents, she also repeatedly contacted the police regarding this case, posing alternately as two different women, the missing girl's husband, and a diminutive hunter with a speech impediment.

Attorney Billy Rork insisted that Donna Walker did not feel she'd done anything wrong, despite the fact that she is twelve years older than Shannon Sherrill would be today in addition to the minor details that Walker was never kidnapped and is in no way related to the Sherrills. Rork also communicated that Walker didn't feel like going to prison or being held in any way accountable for her actions. Additionally, she didn't feel like Italian or Thai food, though those details seemed less important in the big picture.

the commune news does not condone identity deception in any form, but for the record we did claim to be members of Run-DMC once in a hilarious attempt to get laid. Ivana Folger-Balzac could hardly pass for anyone but her bitchy self, although she was once mistaken for Adolf Hitler in a wig.

Yale bombed, Harvard too drunk to walk home

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

August 4, 2003

Volume 48

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Dear commune:

the communeâ€™s coverage of the war in Bosnia has been nothing short of commendable. Objective? No. But objectivity is a quality far overvalued in our current society. A steaming dog turd on the side of the road is objective. But not the commune. Prompt? Not really, but promptitude is unquestionably in the eye of the beholder. Compared to the newspapers of early colonial America, printed manually on handset printing presses only once a month at best, the commune is truly a gleaming pillar of prompt reporting. Factual? I say with admiration in my typing voice that the commune has never let the facts get in the way of cleaving swiftly to the heart of a story and exposing it, still beating, for the publicâ€™s disgusted perusal. Bravo, commune. If but there were only a million other news sites like thee, for then the commune could be called one in a million.

Sincerely,

Rodery Hollenbeck
Steinburgen, RI

Dear Rodery:

Thank you kindly for your letter, and we apologize greatly for the serious delay in its publication. It seems that office gaywad Raoul Dunkin penned a half-assed Successory quote on the back of your letter and has been carrying it around with him for years, both for inspiration and in hopes of getting it made into a poster, superimposed over a soft-focus photo of geese in flight. Rest assured that he spent some serious time in the communeâ€™s solitary closet for that stunt, one hour for every commune-bashing letter weâ€™ve had to run since we received your delightful correspondence. So thank you. Oh, and if it wouldnâ€™t be much trouble, could your possibly provide verifiable proof of your existence? Some heartless cynics around the office think that just because your letter came to us on Red Bagelâ€™s personalized stationary that it was some clever ruse by Bagel to boost staff morale, kind of like that stripper he hired to work in the mailroom. Thanks. Oh, and by the way: "Wherever you go, thereâ€™s a goat." Thatâ€™s the Successory Dunkin wrote on your letter. Raoul wanted us to pass it on to you and we obliged, only because it makes him look like even more of an asshole.

the commune

Editorâ€™s Note: the commune is not responsible for the way your girlfriend cut her hair. Saying she looks like a hick was a simple statement of fact, and hardly warranted your childish response. We can only hope that the unfortunate person who one day informs you of your status as a big, dumb redneck is as fleet of foot as the commune.

º Last Column: Volume 47
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Quote of the Day

“No man is an island. But I have met several women I would like to live on for the rest of my life.”

-John Donne Juan

Fortune 500 Cookie

By the pricking of my thumb I have really fucked up my keyboard playing. Trust in a higher power this weekâ€”the Waffle King knows what he's doing. Why be merely happy when you could be shit-yer-drawers happy? The world is you oyster, which explains that nauseating fish smell you can't escape. Lucky hammers roofing, jack, ball peen, MC.

Try again later.

Top Other Inventions by the Crash Test Dummy Creator

1.	Self-ejecting canned corn
2.	5-string bass
3.	Hot HandsÂ®, the cheapest, safest, easiest way to light your hands on fire
4.	Crash Test Dummy Secret Base Playset (Figures sold separately)
5.	Freshomatic, battery-powered freshness-testing meter

Doritos Reveals New Human Tracking Chips

BY roland mcshyster

8/4/2003

Well how the hell are ya, America? Excuse my saucy tone, but I'm fuckin' smashed. That's rightâ€¦ wait, what were we talking about? Movies! Blow 'em out your ass, America! I'm fuckin' sick of movies, this week we're going to review vegetables. Cucumbers! Radishes! Enâ€¦ Endives! Yeah!

Alright, smartass, I'm out of vegetables. Here's your goddamn movies:

In Theaters

American Wedding

A formerly hardass franchise has gone all Friends on us, ladies and gentlemen. Hollywood's obese felines are betting you'll slap down your hard-earned pesos to watch these dirtballs get hitched, and I say screw 'em! Screw 'em and their imported water. If I wanted to see somebody stick their dick in a wedding cake I would have gone to my cousin Dave's wedding last month. So let me be the first to add this movie to my list of things we're all boycotting: Pizza Hut, the boyscouts and this movie. Oh, and vegetables. Fuck vegetables. You heard it here first.

Fucking Friday

Jamie Lee Curtis and some anonymous tampon star in this triple-hashed remake of all those "Dad woke up with his teenage son's boner" movies from the 80's. Only now it's a mother and daughter sharing the misery, and it's not a onetime deal, but rather a once-a-week hassle that the family has come to know derisively as Fucking Friday. The expected faux-hilarity ensues, with daughter getting hot flashes and mom getting hot pants, blah blah blah. The bulk of the film consists of queasy sequences featuring mom being pawed by underage slobs with beer on their breath and daughter air-sickness bagging her way through routine, mechanical sex with dad, both of which I sincerely could have done without. Somebody actually found Mark Harmon buried in the wreck of the Lusitania and dug him up to co-star as the hot neighbor who may or may not have mind-switched with a two-year-old Latino boy. They must have figured Harmon had the necessary experience with catastrophes, but at least the first time around he probably got some decent seafood.

Gigli

With his latest picture, Ben Affleck proves he's whiter than any of us could have possibly imagined, despite his current marital status as a lemur clinging tenaciously to Jennifer Lopez's ass. Affleck plays Larry Gigli, a walking punchline whose constant references to "gettin' Gigli wit it" demonstrate that Affleck can't even appropriate faux-black culture from Will Smith, of all people. Thankfully, J-Lo sings a song on the soundtrack, so maximum camp value is achieved, allowing audiences to enjoy the film on an ironic level even if they like acting and music.

The Secret Lives of Dennis

Who out there among you didn't think it was too late for a Head of the Class spin-off movie? Okay, that's not many hands, but I'll assume that's because not many of you foresaw the possibility, or even recall the show from your cocaine-encrusted chest of 80's memories. For those of you that did think a spin-off was a good idea, wouldn't you have spun off a movie around rebel loner Eric or even geek chic Arvid? Okay, you guys with your hands still up are just fucking with me, go on home and quit busting my balls. As for the rest of you, were you really thinking of going to this movie? Good God man, don't you have some chores to do? Stay home and spellcheck your suicide note or something, for the love of all that is holy.

S.W.A.T.

The latest Playstation game to skip the Playstation and come straight to the theater is a loose (and I mean like the cousin that let you feel her up at the family reunion loose) sequel to the 1994 Stephen "Midget Golfer" Dorf flick S.F.W.. This is not to be confused with the Bridget "Anaconda" Fonda handjob S.W.F. (Super White Female) or the Three Stooges flick W.F.S. (Where the Fuck is Shep?). Since the original wasn't actually about anything, the producers had the leeway to build the sequel from the ground up, and to give the franchise a kick in the ass by making it a blaxploitation thrill ride. As with the original, the American public was deemed too square to be exposed to this film's title in its full glory (Some White-Ass Turkeys), but savvy filmgoers should know without being told that Samuel L. Jackson wouldn't get mixed up in another lame movie about the actual S.W.A.T. team, not after The Negotiator. Though he did still manage to walk into a door frame by not demanding that the screenwriter change his character's name from Hohmo, I can't help but think that's going to get more laughs than any of the actual jokes in the picture.

Alright, everybody out unless they want Bacardi on their pants! You got your movies, now leave Uncle Roland to drown his sorrows in a kiddie pool full of inexpensive rum. Check back in another two weeks, but if nobody answers when you knock then just dream up your own pithy comments for once. Lazy bastards.