ne the most potentially controversial stories in recent years was successfully nipped in the bud by the Bush White House and its ever-faithful assistant, the national news media, as the ongoing story of former Cheney Chief of Staff Lewis Libby's indictment, the first of a sitting White House official in history, was relegated to page 3 by bored news directors and other major Republican-driven news stories.

Libby, called "Scooter" by his many enemies, is the first and likely only casualty of the under-covered story of a White House leak, in which the identity of a working CIA operative, conveniently the wife of Bush opponent Joseph Wilson. Wilson's wife Valerie Plame was outed as a spy by a conservative columnist, and his source was traced back to the White House. While liberals hoped the 22-month investigation by Special Counsel Patrick Fitzgerald would reveal the dirty tactic came from a source as high as presidential counselor Karl Rove, the most the Democrats could succeed with was a guy named Scooter. And the victory itself was short-lived.

As soon as news of the Libby indictment, a potentially president-destroying story, was announced, the Cheney Chief of Staff resigned and the White House began its onslaught of less important announcements, starting with the retraction of Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, the nomination of mini-Scalia Samuel Alito, and more news from the clusterfuck in the Middle East that is Iraq. To seal the deal and firmly erase the recent memory of criminal charges against White House staff, the president released a string of obscene and bizarre comments guaranteed to push the story off the page—covered elsewhere in this edition of the commune.

Democrats and White House insiders alike were surprised by the effectiveness of the Bush administration's "Operation: Bury the Story."

DNC strategist Michael Fallusmore: "Damn, but they did it good. We were a little busy basking in the glee of what should have been a catastrophe for the Bush-ites and GOP. Then we woke the next morning and couldn't find a trace of it anywhere. The news media were suddenly much more interested in the predictable choice of a conservative white guy for the Supreme Court. Real shockaroo there. But still, you have to give them credit for weaseling out of the unweaselable. I guess all we can do now is hope some reporter finds that dead hooker in Karl Rove's Toyota."

An inside source at the White House, some Bush college buddy whose phone we tapped, agreed with the quick removal of the story.

"I totally can't believe it worked," said the source, then giggled as he did a line of blow. "I suppose it would have been a hard uphill battle if all the major media outlets hadn't bought into the importance of these other routine stories and decided to shrug off the boring details of criminal and possibly treasonous behavior inside the walls of the highest pockets of U.S Government. What? Yeah, I'm completely wasted, so what? I always talk like that."

The president did his part as leader of his party and platform to diminish the importance of the story to the news media and the American people, by dressing in ugly suits, appearing as unphotogenic as possible, and keeping his comments quite limited to make for lousy B-roll for the visually oriented media outlets. Bush responded Thursday to Libby's plea of not guilty to the charges.

"Yep, yep," said the president, quickly shuffling off to a birthday party of a friend being held at a Washington, D.C. Chuck E. Cheese.

urious French protestors continued to riot over the weekend, gently overturning traffic cones and unleashing salvos of pithy wit at assembled riot police across some of the roughest neighborhoods in all of Paris. The riots began the previous week in the Seine-Saint-Denis suburb northeast of Paris, sparked by what officials believe was a disagreement over food.

“Those incorrigible police buffoons know nothing of fine chocolate!� said impassioned teenage rioter Jean Touloc, only in French.

The urbane French police were overwhelmed almost before the rioting even began, requiring the French Army to be brought in last week. The army surrendered four hours later, and plans were being drawn up for a transitional government when some joker switched out the treaty-signing pen with a novelty model that laughs electronically when you try to write with it. The rioters, perhaps correctly believing that they were not being taken seriously, stepped up their boisterous chants of “We beg to differ!� and their disorderly milling-about.

The riots reportedly got out of hand on Saturday, when protestors began hurling water balloons in the general direction of riot police. French officials, however, claim that the reality wasn’t as bad as these reports imply, since the balloons were actually filled with a very pleasant brand of spring water flavored with a spritz of lemon.

Police attempted to crack down on the rioting Sunday, bringing out a top-secret book of salacious insults on loan from the French armed forces. The crowds were clearly humiliated by these witty rejoinders, but in response began a menacing chant that translates as “You are wrong, we are right, let’s not argue, let’s not fight,� which spread like wildfire all across the Parisian suburbs.

Within hours, however, the chanting had escalated to the inflammatory “You’re not right, we’re not wrong, won’t you come and sing along?� and French officials were considering turning to the UN for help, the nation’s domestic situation cart-wheeling dangerously out of control.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the French state, president Jacques Chirac went on national television late Sunday night to beg for an end to the verbal violence, acceding to the protestors’ demands and stunning the nation by admitting that yes, perhaps there are some varieties of milk chocolate that are not entirely without their charms, reversing the government’s decades-old hard line stance.

The immediate reaction to Chirac’s broadcast was a positive one, with riot officials quickly retracting a statement made my one rioter hours earlier that the hats worn by the police were neither tasteful nor well-made.

“Really, there’s rioting, and then there’s going too far,� explained riot Treasurer Philippe LaRoc. “And those hat remarks were really full-well out of line. Let’s bring this all to a close before someone says something they’re really going to regret later.�

Welcome to Straight City, everybody. Population: Me!

Didn't know that? Now you do! I've never been more straight than I am right now, and since I've never been the slightest bit gay at all, then that's pretty darn straight!

If I were any more straight, I'd be a flaming homo, that's how straight I am, at the extreme far end where any more straightness would make you just gay, just push it too far, you know? It's like being butch, you can be butch and clearly straight, but then if you get too butch, it's like you're doing it on purpose, right? Catch me? So me, I'm right up alongside that razor's edge of straight as can be, but with no little danglers hanging on the gay side. This is complicated, straight man stuff here.

My favorite color? Brown. Can't get much straighter than that. Ugly old brown. And not brown like poop on your dick either. No siree, I don't like that at all. Not my style. Just plain-old UPS brown, that's the color of my straight love.

Favorite movie? Armageddon. You read that right. What self-respecting fag could love a hetero-wonkfest like that thing? Ew, no way. Diagnosis: Straight.

Nope, no kissing pretty South American boys in the back room of throbbing disco clubs, not for me. Not any more, and not ever previous to now either. You're thinking of somebody else.

I don't even like fags that much. Not Tony, anyway. He and I are NOT friends, any more. Chaz and Hank? Those guys are alright. Same goes for Bruce, Tuti, Blaine and Federico. Not the worst people you could ever meet up with for fancy cocktails. Not in a gay way though, no "cock" in the "tail" if you know what I mean. I sure don't. You may know what that means; I don't pretend to know whether or not you're gay. I'm okay if you are, I mean as much as a totally straight person ever could be. It does make me a little queasy though, to be honest. It's just so not-me.

I mean, could you even imagine me being gay? Don't try.

When God was going all "duck, duck, goose" and picking out the homos up in heaven, I wasn't even there, I was off taking a leak. No gooseneck for me. No sir.

I'm so straight I might even up and marry a woman one day, just out of the blue as a total surprise, even though you thought we were just friends, just as an example of how not-gay I am! And not an androgynous, David Bowie woman either. Or a campy gay icon like Bette Midler or Liza Minelli, not that type. Nope, a real man's woman, with curves and tampons. A real baby factory who's not at all a fag hag like you might have heard. I'm going to watch sports while she brings me bland, characterless American beer that's full of carbs and there I am, dressed in sweats and a mismatched top without a hint of irony!

Straight? You don't even need to ask. But feel free to if you have any questions. And tell a friend!

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