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.�

Good people, you are now reading at a licensed gun owner. That's the truth—except for the license thing. I'm still studying for the exam.

And if you think having a gun doesn't change your life, you should shoot yourself right now. Oh, that's right—you don't own a gun! No, my friends, gun ownership changes everything. Colors are brighter, things taste better, people are truly scared of you wherever you go. Sometimes I don't even have to show them the gun, the bulge in the side of my jacket is enough to get me a front place in line.

Lest you think it's pure fear that gets us gun owners the good life, it's not. Respect. People respect gun owners, because they have taken the biggest step in self-defense that pansies and left-wingers don't have the stomach for. But if the local police department's riot force comes swooping on them down for the big martial law takeover, who do you think they're going to call? Not Ghostbusters, '80s nostalgia fans.

I went gun shopping originally just so I could protect my life, my car, my house, and my wife, in that exact order, from my insane fascist neighbors, the Dickenses. I soon discovered that danger lurks everywhere, and only gun owners can see it all around us. With a little help from the gun store guy. Did you realize you could be walking down the street, minding your own business or participating in a foot race around the world, and someone can simply walk up and stick a knife in your face and demand all your money? And get this—if you give them all your money, they could still kill you anyway. There's no law says they can't. Well, that was all I needed to hear to be put in a proper paranoid frame of mind. I asked for—nay, demanded I get my gun right then.

Most gun owners have to wait about a week for a background check and all to go through, but the shop owner said he was giving away guns for every purchase of his special $900 bullets. I worked out the math and it turns out it's about the same price as buying the guns and the bullets, and since it was a free gun, I didn't even have to wait for the background check! Score: Rok Finger.

The gun owner tried to convince me a derringer would fit my own personal "style," but did you know those things were the smallest in the store? What's the point? Why even have a gun at all? Why not just go full-blown pussy and buy a taser or something? Not yours truly, nor me. No, good people, Rok Finger needs the kind of false security only provided by a long barrel .357 Magnum. Now who's dangerous, invisible stalkers in the night? Me, that's who.

Not that owning the IROC-Z of guns has been easy. I bought a holster for it, only to realize it doesn't fit in the holster. So I stay up all night and, with Camembert's help, refit the damned holster, only to find out I can't walk properly with the gun in the holster—damn my otherwise perfect height! All that trouble of getting a long barrel gun and I had to saw it off in the end anyway. But I understand that makes it more illegal, which makes it more exciting.

I was also dismayed to find out you can't reuse the bullets. I must've wasted about 79 shots before I realized that. I had been picking up all my bullets so I could recycle them—well, I never could get back those 8 shots I fired into that bus. Only then did I find out you have to buy new bullets every time you want to shoot something. Yeah, it's kind of a rip-off.

And the best thing ever, now that I'm on the porch most of the night shooting at random animals, I don't see my neighbors so much anymore. None of them, on any side. I suppose the Dickenses are inside their house, shades drawn, reevaluating their takeover of our block.

So sleep tight, neighborhood. Rok Finger's on watch now.

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