Dear commune:

I couldn’t be more disappointed with the commune. Well, I suppose I could, if you were to say something bad about that charming young man from that show Jag. But right now I’m very upset as it is. My dog will no longer “go” on the commune. For the past few months Mumps was quite a good little dog, but ever since you started running those awful stories about terrorism he just can’t make his business on the commune. What do you have to say for yourselves?

Ezra Gallworth
Tupelo, Mississippi

Dear Ezra:

We’re fascinated with the idea of your dog taking a dump on a monitor with a digitized picture of Sampson L. Hartwig on it. But we’re unable to help at all, we don’t make the news, at least not much of it, we only report it. Terrorism has never been conducive to gastro-intestinal health, as studies at Johns Hopkins and Omar Bricks’ Fourth of July parties has often revealed.

Perhaps you should let your dog out to make on the lawn once in a while, you grizzled old fossil. Or stop feeding him that dust-covered bowl of breath mints that’s been on your coffee table since Eisenhower’s inaugural address. Thanks for writing and may your life alert beeper continue to function properly for many hours to come.

the commune

Dear commune:

I am extremely upset with the commune and your “This Space For Rent” column. Each week a parade of idiots are allowed to express their bizarre and insipid opinions, and for what? No, seriously, what? How much does it cost? It’s downright offensive.

Maybe I could understand better if I didn’t know about the case of my cousin, Nestor. Again and again Nestor has petitioned to present a column on illiteracy for your web publication and each week, even after he has presented you with a check for the “This Space For Rent” fee, he is turned away. Obviously the commune is not quite the freedom- loving news source they present themselves as.

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, and I mean more so. Don’t count on me to be checking out the commune anymore.

"Weak Hat" Tim McGee
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

Dear "Weak Hat":

We at the commune remember your cousin Nestor quite well. It’s difficult to forget the man who gets lodged in the revolving door of your office each week. Nestor has been here several times, yes, and we have continuously told him he is welcome to present a column on illiteracy to us for the commune to print. Our refusal to publish his column has nothing to do with his “for” opinion on illiteracy and everything to do with the fact we can’t publish strange markings or rips in notebook paper as they do not actually comprise a “column” per se.

Also, though Nestor has written us several checks, we are unable to cash any of them since he cannot sign them, make them out to anybody, specify any monetary amount, nor does he actually have a checking account. Checks are also not allowed to be written on Charmen toilet paper, to the best of our knowledge.

Please find whatever hole in the fence your cousin is escaping through and block it off. Our revolving door can only take so much. Thanks for writing.

the commune

Dear commune:

I had a dream last night and you were a real asshole.

We were out fishing in this boat, and I was using turkey and cheese for bait and you were using a small tactical missile. Then, without warning, you ate me whole without chewing. What was that about? I thought we were friends.

The rest of the dream went on for a few hours, at least it seemed like a few hours, but I don’t really know much about it because I was inside your stomach and it was very dark. I think I heard Faye Dunaway’s voice but I don’t know for sure.

What a cock-basket you are.

Miles M. Coltrane
Harlan, New Hampshire

Dear Miles:

How strange it is you’re basically a supporting player in your own dream. Perhaps you should seek professional help for the long list of issues you have, then come back to us and complain about our dreamlife alter-egoes.

the commune

Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the national shortage of cool bands, blame terrorism if it makes you feel punchy. All our letters are tested for biological contagions, then we score them on Cosmo’s “Ten Ways to Satisfy Your Man” quiz.