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.