ednesday's attacks in the Iraqi city of Fallujah, in which four former US soldiers were killed in a terrorist ambush before their bodies were dismembered, dragged behind cars and hung from a bridge by an angry mob, created a conundrum for television networks faced with the tough moral question of how to best profit from these shocking images.

"If we show them, we make a shitload of money," explained ABC News spokesperson Al Reuben. "If we don't show them, maybe we can claim the moral high ground and make a shitload of money down the line. It's a tough call."

Least troubled by the moral quandary was Fox News, whose plans to strap a helmet-cam to one of the dead bodies were scrapped when the angry mob grew impatient waiting for technicians to get a reading on the gray levels.

"Americans have a right to see this footage," opined Fox News Executive Producer Leonard Williams. "And we have the right to boost our ratings through the fuckin' roof by being the first to show the really awful parts that make you want to throw up. If anybody out there was blindly discharging a firearm into their Arab neighbor's house yesterday, you know they were watching hard-hitting Fox News."

Other networks took the debate more seriously, holding off on showing the footage through the morning, and then gradually releasing more and more of the horrible images throughout the day as it became apparent that Internet sites were kicking their ratings in the balls by showing the Fallujah footage uncut. By Wednesday evening the gloves were off and charred bodies were seen dangling from the Euphrates River bridge on most major networks.

"We really didn't want to show the footage of those kids beating the guy's flaming corpse with their shoes," explained CBS Evening News spokesperson Clint Adams. "But then we realized, 'Jesus Christ, we're losing money here!' I feel truly bad for the families of these men, and any children who may have been forever scarred by these images, but come on. You know how much money we made off that Somalia footage? Shit."

While the long-term impact of these images is yet to be seen, experts speculate that the American people being reminded that "Oh yeah, war is really ugly and horrible and stuff" can only harm the president's chances for reelection in November, not to mention driving the final nail into the coffin of Iraqi tourism.

"We owe it to future history to inform the American people of what's really going on over there," offered Marcus Graves of ABC News. "Maybe because of this footage being in the collective memory, next time we'll think twice about going to war again."

When asked by the commune news if he was shitting us, Graves admitted that yeah, he kind of was, but it sounds a lot better than saying you make your living selling people grisly video death. No argument here.

he torn-off front cover of a Newsweek magazine dating back to March of 2004, discovered by archaeologists at a dig outside Prozac City examining the remains of a 21st century McDonald’s child care facility, has sparked heated speculation as to the meaning of the magazine’s headline: “Inside the 9/11 Investigation.�

Since all records of the early 21st century were destroyed in the Great Silicon Wipe of 2009, modern-day scientists can only wonder about the troubles of 21st century man, not to mention what a 9/11 is and why it might need to be investigated. Archaeologists are split as to the possible interpretations.

“This clearly has to do with air pollution,� asserts present archaeologist and former Past Bob VI roommate Paul Silvestri, pointing out what appear to be industrial smokestacks in the background of the cover photo. “Look at all that smoke, that must be a coal refinery or something. Nasty. I don’t know who the white guy is on the cover; the part where his name should be is caked in 100-year-old mustard that’s become part of the paper. But he was probably a coal baron or something.�

“Get your cock out of that crock,� disagreed fellow archaeologist Alan Hayes. “What does nine divided by eleven have to do with air pollution? This clearly involves the controversial integration of New Math. They were probably all up in shit about 9/11 equaling four, like that was too advanced for their Cro-Magnon brains. That’s probably why this guy is raising his hand, like he doesn’t get it because the teacher’s going too fast.�

“I don’t know,� interrupted Silvestri. “If that’s true, then what’s this stuff about ‘Your Government Failed You... And I Failed You’? Who is this guy? He’s obviously poor, look at how bald he is. So he’s clearly not a government official.�

“Maybe he’s a robot,� offered Hayes. “Maybe his arm’s up like that because he’s doing the robot dance.�

“Hmmm,� Silvestri thought about it for a moment. “No, that’s not it. Look, he’s got a napkin tucked into his collar, like he’s eating dinner. And why would you build a robot that needs glasses?�

“Maybe he’s a glasses-testing robot,� offered Hayes.

“You’re an idiot,� countered Silvestri.

Laymen on the street have been even more confused, asking why the man on the cover is wearing those round eye shields and why ancient man only set aside one week a year for news. Will the truth ever again be known? No one can know for sure, but if they ever do figure it out, Future Bob IV will be there, carrying on the fine Bob family tradition by reporting to the commune offices via my high-tech pastwave radio implant, bringing you the latest future news on what, in this case, you already know. Good day.

Astute commune readers or other mythological creatures might have noticed the long sustained absence of new material over the past couple of weeks. It was the first time since 2001, the year I got my first checkbook and rented commune office space, that we've taken an extended absence from news reportage. I apologize, but it couldn't be helped, as everyone here had lost their minds.

That might be a possible exaggeration. Lefty the commune mail clerk seemed perfectly within her normal rationale, but she was particularly grumpy on the ride to the Funsational Summer Corporate Retreat and Motivational Seminar, on the commune bus, also known as the Damned Bus. Everyone was in a not so good mood, which is to say no one was in a good mood, but it was yet another of my kind concessions to brother Gay to make the commune a more profitable experience over the long haul.

Despite the silly name, Gay did NOT have fun at the Retreat. Sure, he had a ball when the clowns were doing their thing, and the white college Republican rap troupe broke it down for us, and I could see him really moved by motivational speaker Slick Hodges. But then came the group therapy session, where we attempted to learn about our own personalities in the work place, outside of the actual work place, and the hard bitter truth ran right into his sweet spots.

We tried a dandy trust exercise, where we split into groups and, blindfolded, had to put up a tent. It ended in a lot of pain for Gay, who found a tent post painfully inserted somewhere, only partially, thank God, by one or more of his teammates. Ted Ted is the angriest and most outspoken, so the obvious suspect, but he lacks the physical strength to force a tent post into the human body, while Stigmata Spent had the sheer muscle to do it—but still, someone had to hold him down. Despite the animosity toward my brother, and the fact they didn't get the tent set up, the session leader still had to admit they showed impressive teamwork in the endeavor.

As always, role-playing followed, and without going into much detail, let's just say it soon degenerated into everyone doing their Gay Bagel impersonations. My favorite was Ivana Folger-Balzac's, which consists of wagging a finger and yelling gibberish like "Habba habba habba! Habba ha!" Which is not to discredit humorless Shabozz Wertham, who puts on a pointy white hat and straightens his tie while saying, in a very Gay voice, "About time for my weekly cross-burning!" That brings down the house. Oh, and then there's—well, perhaps I should return to my earlier policy of less description. Gay wasn't very happy with this therapy, and the session leader scolded us, saying we should role-play more than one person to do it right.

To our great surprise, it did help us realize our problems—Gay. The unlicensed psychology student conducting the therapy sessions suggested we feel pressure from Gay to do well, and Gay confirmed it, interrupting the student and making her cry. Many of the staffers complained about the new weekly schedule, saying it was more work than they were used to—one story or column a week is taxing the talents of my crew, and they long for the old days of the semi-weekly schedule. Actually, they long for the days of childhood when they could eat popsicles and screw around all summer, but I'm powerless about that. But the semi-weekly thing I could do something about.

So the rift is wider and more pissed-off-filled than ever between Gay and I, since I broke our deal and put the commune back on its semi-weekly format. But anything to make my staff happier. It is important I mention that, in the end, I'm glad Gay came aboard here at the commune. Before they hated me, or Raoul Dunkin, or Ramrod Hurley, and all the back-stabbing, bad-mouthing, and vandalism really started to pull our family apart. But now I'm on the inside with it all—we've united against a common enemy, my brother. And they've got a point, of course, he really is a dick.

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