he sound of big, scary men whining grew louder this week with the news that the Missouri House (similar to the Ronald McDonald House, only more Missoury) has upheld state governor Matt Blunt's decision to ban all video games from the state's prisons. While the public's reaction has been mostly along the lines of "They have video games in prison? Is there anything those assholes don't have?" the reaction from inmates statewide has been much bitchier.

"Man, this shit is whack," complained Tyrell Doogins, convicted three-time murder and NBA LIVE fanatic. "If I can't get my GTA on, I gonna be killin' some suckers for real."

The move by Blunt came after months of criticism by victim's-rights groups disturbed by the prospect of prisoners reliving their real-life criminal exploits, and earning gaudy high scores for doing so, through such violent games as Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and Hitman: Contracts.

But not all inmates agree with that line of reasoning.

"Man, that shit is so fake," bitched lifer Tug Borrows. "That gun doesn't recoil anything like that, this game is for pussies."

Prison officials have also accused some popular titles, like Acclaim's Prison Riot and Rockstar's Shower Shiv 2 of instigating real-life violence within the state's correctional facilities.

"It's the age-old question of art imitating life, or life imitating art," explained cultural critic and perpetual college student Justin Blake. "Just because two inmates drop their controllers and get into a knife fight in the middle of playing Eidos' Prison Rec Room Knife Fight Gold Edition, it's impossible to say if the game caused that behavior, or if Eidos just did a good job getting the details right. After all, that kind of stuff went on long before they had video games in prisons. They used to blame that old Gregory Peck movie, Change That Channel and I Break Your Face for the same kind of things."

While highly violent games like Grand Theft Auto and Max Payne are by far the most popular in America's prisons, there do remain small pockets of gaming inmates dedicated to non-violent titles, who feel like they're being unfairly punished by the total ban of all video game types.

"Sure, not a lot of guys in the joint are as into Roller Coaster Tycoon as I am," admitted Dolmer Grays, a diminutive and heavily-bruised inmate in Jefferson City. "But there are enough of us. And any time we're not running away from the bigger and tougher inmates, you can find us playing RCT, baby."

Dolmer had to cut the interview short to escape retribution from a GTA fan, but his point was well-taken. However, it remains this reporter's position that Dolmer and other fans of pussy video games should spend a little more time in the gym and a little less time on the Xbox if they hope to outrun a beatdown more successfully than Dolmer did.

This reporter also received word of a small but dedicated pocket of Dance Dance Revolution fans in the Jefferson City facility, but was advised by the warden to stay out of that cell block if I valued my anus, which this reporter does.

ritain entertained quite a flap in legislative quarters last week, as Prime Minister Tony Blair met resistance in the passage of his Prevention of Terrorism Bill that would suspend the right to a fair trial. However, the law did successfully pass both Houses, effectively working against 800 years of British legal tradition established in the Magna Carta.

"Thank you," said the Prime Minster, rather politely tipping his hat to the legislative body. "You have aided the efforts against terrorism. The more people we have locked up, the fewer terrorists we will have on the street." Blair then ended the 30-hour legislative session by courteously shaking hands with everyone in the hall.

The legal match came as P.M. Blair sought approval of the new anti-terrorism bill to replace laws established after 11 September, 2001, hastily pushed through the legislative process in an effort to adapt to the new terror-mad world. Those laws would have expired soon, forcing the Prime Minister to pursue a new bill. Even Blair's own Labor party showed some resistance to details of the legislation, but through a series of concessions, Blair reached approval of the bill with the House of Commons, only to be surprised by the House of Lords, who customarily concede to the will of the Commons. Further debate over the bill continued for a record-matching 30-hour battle, until Blair made concessions to Conservative party leader Michael Howard and met a consensus.

Among the harshest responses to suspected criminals is the return of the medieval dungeon for long-term housing of those awaiting trial. The bill would call for £250 million in dungeon construction, surely good news for the freemasons. The P.M. admitted the incarceration of suspects in medieval-era dungeons would cost more, not less, but would "certainly put the fear of England into them."

The contests over England's tradition of due process to the accused mirrors the turmoil President Bush has surfed through in the United States as his own post-9/11 laws draw criticism from liberals, a dying breed in America. However, as P.M. Blair faces a greater opposition to the occupation of Iraq in his own country, Conservative leaders are seeking a weakness to exploit in this election year, and the law could come back to haunt the P.M. later. Some speculation exists Blair's motivation for following Bush's lead, even to his political doom, has been the president's overbearing personality is too strong for kind, mannered Blair to reject, with his cultured background. Members of the Labor party have even tried plying Blair with beer in hopes of him calling the U.S. president at 4 a.m. in Washington and telling him to go fuck himself… no luck as yet.

Ideally, according to proponents of the measure, suspected terrorists could be held for longer terms as the government built a case against them and exploited information gained from them to prevent potential terrorist attacks. The adapted law has been expanded to include Britons (the previous law applied only to foreign suspects); and of course, there's the dungeon, manacles and bread/water meals still being optional depending on local authorities.

Not everyone in the House of Lords opposed the new law, however, despite the upset caused by their attempt to block the bill's passage. In fact, the oldest of the legal bluebloods, Lord Philip Smudbury, applauded the bill's approval, in particular the return of the dungeon.

"Many of the younger legislators are not old enough to recall the firm discipline of the dungeon," said 97-year-old Smudbury, a member of the House of Lords since 1949. "In fact, I'm not old enough to remember it. But I had been locked up quite a bit in dungeon-like quarters by my emotionally-abusive parents. And I can say with conviction it did marvelous in shaping my respectability. You would do well to impose such an experience on many of your own on your side of the pond. That president of yours, for one. Such a rascal would certainly benefit from a ten- to fifteen-year stretch in the dungeon. No more of this mangling of the queen's English."

Lord Smudbury then graciously shared the afternoon with this Americanized reporter, a memorable period of time spent smoking home-grown pipeweed and poking the help.

Americans, believe me when I say I would much rather spend this column outlining our plans to advertise on the commune. Or, more sincerely, would rather spend this column demonstrating how I've tracked the money trail from a major American defense manufacturer to weapons sold to Syria and Iran. Or at the very least tell you how Rascal and I spent the weekend getting thrown out of a NASCAR race (the Bagel car is still in one piece, you'll be glad to hear). But no, unfortunately I have to deliver some bad news about a diminishing of the commune's reputation.

We have tried, since the very launch of the commune, to maintain a certain standard of credibility. We have fact-checkers, and they appear to always be doing their jobs. Not that I'm going to look over their shoulder or anything—I've got a life, you know. Even so, I was dismayed to find out a certain unnamed reporter has been fabricating information to complete his stories. "His"? Did I say "his"? Oh, damn, cat's out of the bag. That's right, it's Raoul Dunkin, former commune reporter.

You may know, if you're a faithful commune reader (unlike that harlot Stacy Carmichael), that Raoul and I have had a very complicated relationship, and haven't always been the best of friends. Nonetheless, we've always had a mutual respect for each other's work—I respect his work, and he respects being paid for it. You can imagine how I was stunned and shocked, yea, even flabbergasted, to find out it's all been a fraud.

After Raoul announced his resignation in December, Office Manager (at the time) Ramrod Hurley jumped in to hire a new reporter to fill out the staff. Elmore Sacks was the best he could do. However, Elmore's been a great addition to the commune; true, he doesn't so much write as sit in the break room and doze most of the day away, blocking the vending machine, I might add, but there is one more of us, which surely makes it an addition. The staff was all quite happy Raoul was gone, though, since everyone had a problem with him, and he didn't exactly make friends. Even when I heaped more and more work on them, they still seemed glad Raoul had been sent packing, even though he had taken some of the worst assignments that are now left to them. I didn't ask them if they were still glad, but I'm happier presuming it's true.

But Raoul's legacy was not the solid reporting I seemed to once think. At the urging of all the other reporters, I reviewed some of his past articles at random and checked them against his notes. I even tracked down the political figures and quote-donators, what they call "fact-checking" at other papers. I was quite outraged to find a glaring mistake in a previous article, "Presidential Debate Offers No Clear Loser." A man, describing himself as Norm Chauncey of Newark University, was in fact Norm Chancey. And, as far as I can tell, he doesn't even know what a college is.

Sir, I'm disgusted. It's just this kind of sloppy reporting that can forever mar the reputation of the commune. I asked several people on the street, where I coincidentally found Norm Chancey once again, and found out several of them had never even heard of the commune. I can't blame them. I'm nearly ashamed to admit it myself, in the wake of this scandal.

I can only apologize to you, faithful readers, and promise we'll make every effort to get our facts right in the future. I can do only that and, of course, sending warning letters to every news organization in the country and warn them against hiring Mr. Dunkin. He is not the kind of journalist a credible news organization should employ, and I want everyone to know it.

That said, at the reporters' urging, I'm offering Mr. Dunkin an open door here to come back to the commune. Not so he can besmirch us with his substandard reporting again, but so that he may work to repair the damage he has done to our news department. And everyone says he's the only one who does what he's told when he's sent to cover a story, so we'll try it their way. They're getting sick of all this work.

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