n a move that surprised the slow and feeble-minded alike, President Bush appointed diplomat John Negroponte as America’s first Director of National Intelligence this week, in an attempt to shore up the nation’s failing mental defenses.

“Now this may be a case of the pig callin’ the posy pink,� folkified Bush, our national leader and self-described folk hero. “But y’all is dumb as shit.�

Surprised and appalled by his own re-election, sources report Bush quickly decided something needed to be done about national intelligence, and the lucid and well-coordinated Negroponte was the obvious answer. Speaking in complete sentences and rarely attending to bodily itches with his house keys are said to be the strong suits that brought Negroponte to the president’s attention.

Negroponte, dressed in matching colors and with all button-holes and buttons lined up correctly on his vest, accepted the new position of Intelligence Czar graciously.

“It’s about time you dumbasses got your shit together,� announced the charitable-yet-firm Negroponte. “Though the fact that you all did something this smart frankly worries me. Is there a bucket of crap dangling over my head or something?�

According to the strangely-named Negroponte, whose last name does not mean “Black Dude� in Spanish or Italian, national intelligence has been going downhill for almost fifty years, pretty much ever since The Andy Griffith Show debuted in 1960. As a corrective measure, the new Intelligence Czar has called for the immediate canceling of all reality TV, switching all broadcasts of the Spice Channel to PBS, and outlawing country music. Whether these early remedies will be successful, however, remains to be seen since slack-jawed apathy remains so firmly rooted in the national character. Word on the street indicates that Negroponte may have his work cut out for him.

“What Russian royalty have to say about intelligence is a mystery to me,� sniped freelance quote-whore Dennis Murphy. “He should put on his big fuzzy hat and go back to Eskimoland.�

A surprising number of men on the street (and two dumb-looking women) seemed to confuse the concept of an Intelligence Czar and the famous Russian leaders of antiquity. Several half-educated men were convinced all the Czars had been murdered by the Bullshitiks in the Industrial Revolution. As a result, the commune has decided to refrain from using colorful or figurative language in the future, to avoid further misunderstanding and possible bloodshed.

Oppressed Bullshitiks, however, can find Negroponte at the White House during his office hours.

ran, the Middle East's "other Ira," fought back with lethal verbal force on Friday, responding to U.S. warnings to "straighten up and fly right" with a dangerous barrage of sarcasm and pretend fright. Iranian President Mohammad "Salami" Khatami unleashed an attack of insincerity the likes of which few countries have ever seen.

"We are so scared of you," said Khatami, while numerous friends cracked up behind him. "Please, do not send your thousands of groundtroops and air craft carriers and stealth bombers to demolish our ancient culture with an invasion—an invasion, I point out, which would be so justified."

The mockery comes following recent announcements by the White House and U.S. President George W. Bush, warning Iran that pursuing a nuclear program would lead to sanctions or other measures against the country.

Thursday, Bush added, "And don't say, 'What nuclear weapons?' That ain't gonna fly."

Instead, Khatami reacted with deadly sarcasm, holding a rally in Tehran Friday to goad the U.S. and entertain his countrymen.

"Oh, Allah be praised, you caught me!" said Khatami, patting himself down. "I've been hiding nuclear armaments for years, right here on my robe. Wait—nope, nope. Those are just my cigarettes. Well, shit. Maybe I left them in my garage, next to the car I don't have either. But I will be checking this out right away, Mr. U.S. President, who completely and surely has jurisdiction to root through the couch cushions of my country looking for things."

It was a far different tact than Saddam Hussein in 2003, when President Bush then ordered the Iraqi leader to disarm, and Hussein replied, "Make me."

Bush immediately went on the offensive then, informing the Iraqi president he didn't make monkeys, only trained them. The U.S. president further warned, "If a clash is necessary between our two armies, there will be two hits—ours hitting yours, then yours hitting the ground. Understand?"

As of press time, the White House has yet to respond to Iran's taunts, though Press Secretary Scott McClellan said the administration would wait for the Iranian president's rally to stop, then would "burn" them with a clever retort like you wouldn't believe. The rally, begun Friday, has lasted for three days without clear sign of finishing, as the anti-American mob urges Khatami to continue his unstoppable assault of wit.

"If it helps, Mr. President, I'm sure your penis is quite massive," Khatami continued on Saturday, cheered on by hoots and hollers of the crowd. "You are welcome to invade Iran, if it pleases you, but I am sure your penis can get no bigger than it currently is. You are indeed a man, as you have proven with all the threats and multiple country invasions and everything. I'm sure Allah smiles down on you, and will in no way send you to hell to smoke your ass for eternity once you are dead. Forget about all death warrants on your dad and yourself—I'm sure everything is all better now. If I see you in the street, in front of my non-existent car, I am sure to brake so I don't hit you and splatter your devil's guts all over the road."

In spite of a response not yet coming from the White House, inside sources predict Bush may yield the floor to Vice President Dick Cheney to reply with one of his devastating "Your momma so fat" comebacks.

My fat little cheeks are full of smiles lately, readers. And do you want to know why? Your feelings are irrelevant. The reason why is because the commune has finally achieved the high numbers we've always wanted.

Since we contracted our commune Statistician, Perry "Bigger" Dunston, we've been able to document that more than one reader visits the commune website. Of course, that's not to diminish Emil, our biggest supporter, but a website cannot become profitable if nobody reads it. At least that's what my brother, ratings whore Gay Bagel says, and it sounds like it could be true.

You probably know full and well I'm not really in the "readership" business, sir—I do the commune just to get the truth out to as many people as possible, even if nobody reads it. But Gay has been chomping at the bit (the dentist says he has to wear it) to define our readership, and Perry has brought us the numbers we need to stay in business and keep Gay happy. I even hear tell that we will be getting new advertisers, if we keep these numbers up. Personally, all the free ribs I can eat at the U Ignorant cafeteria has been a sweet deal for me, but I can understand if Gay wants actual cash from sponsors. You can't pay for your penthouse with juicy ribs, falling off the bone. Wouldn't it be fantastic if we could, though? Let's think about that for a while.

Unsurprisingly, early numbers confirm what we've always thought about demographics, that our biggest audience is your average white male prisoner, age 18-34. But it turns out we've also got a fair number of non-imprisoned folks. The suicidal are a regular commune readership, it turns out, and they buy a lot of rope and firearms. Anybody in college who decided not to go to class, they make up a lot of our audience. Former Oprah fans who have been asked to stop writing letters, more commune readers. We also shouldn't forget our loyal fanbase of conspiracy junkies, meaning people who believe both in secret government plots and the unhampered use of heroin and crack. In addition, farm animals and woodland creatures with internet access, some sort of unexpected readership there, which I suspect owes mostly to contributions by Mazie the Chicken, or perhaps Ned Nedmiller.

This hasn't all been a barrelful of money. It might end up costing us. Our most popular column, we've learned, is "Boris is Gay," by our own Boris Utzov. I suppose I could speculate on why, but that would take a lot more work than I'm willing to spend on all this. My brother wanted numbers, he got numbers. Let him figure out the reasoning. As I was saying, Boris is playing everything close to the vest right now, but I have a sneaking suspicion he's plotting out a big contract negotiation. I'm telling you all right now, I will not, absolutely will not, be railroaded into paying him money to write his columns. When he signed that contract, he realized he was contributing to the commune because it builds character, and that was more than sufficient at the time.

Of course, heads may roll as well. If I had any idea readers didn't want to hear a gruff, aggressive old man whine about the most infinitesimal things, I never would have brought Rok Finger aboard in the first place. He'll have to do something to improve those numbers, appeal to a younger readership. I suggested he start drinking Jolt cola, but apparently they took it off the market. But low ratings will no longer be tolerated.

Except for mine. One person reading a column isn't so bad. I will have to ask Perry, though, if I count as that one person when I read it aloud to the office, or if somebody else is checking in. Since I do read it to the staff, I think that should count as a high numbers—at least fifteen people charging through here at any time of day. Fifteen is not such a bad count.

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