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$abernathie='2005/0530/';
$abernathietitle='Legends of Suck';
$bagel='2005/0829/';
$bageltitle='Taking Back the commune';
$book='2005/0829/';
$boris='2005/0509/';
$boristitle='Boris Does Love Jehoma';
$childstar='2005/0829/';
$childstartitle='The End of an Error';
$dreck='2005/0829/';
$drecktitle='First Griswald Dreck Chat Transcript';
$dickman='2005/0718/';
$dickmantitle='Tom Cruise Loves That Woman ';
$dunkin='2005/0905/';
$dunkintitle='The New Anne Frank Diary';
$edit='2003/1222/';
$fanmail='2005/0516/';
$fanmailtitle='Volume 63';
$finger='2005/0905/';
$fingertitle='I’m Fresh Out of Haitian Cigarettes';
$fortune='2002/020121/';
$goocher='2005/0711/';
$goochertitle='Gwar of the Worlds';
$hanes='2005/0704/';
$hanestitle='Pink is Not for Men';
$hartwig='2005/0606/';
$hartwigtitle='Parade';
$hooper='2005/0228/';
$hoopertitle='Vernon Hooper’s Fifth Syphilis';
$hurley='2005/0404/';
$hurleytitle='Time of Healing';
$kroeger='2005/0822/';
$kroegertitle='Charity Case';
$loser='2005/0822/';
$losertitle='Lost Leavings';
$ned='2003/0818/';
$nedtitle='Cyantology';
$pickle='2002/020513/';
$pickletitle='State of the Art';
$poet='2005/0905/';
$police='2005/0905/';
$polio='2005/0905/';
$poliotitle='Omarelief';
$rent='2005/0829/';
$renttitle='I’m Not that Big a Fan of Talking';
$reynolds='2005/0425/';
$reynoldstitle='A Series of Unfortunate Evans';
$hartwig='2004/1206/';
$hartwigtitle='O Captain!';
$sickhead='2004/0419/';
$sickheadtitle='The Legendary Spot of Coco Hobari McSteve';
$ted='2005/0530/';
$tedtitle='The New War on Poverty';
$vanslyke='2005/0606/';
$vanslyketitle='Health Food is Full of Shit';
$zender='2005/0425/';
$zendertitle='The Sixth commune Enthusiasts Club Meeting';
?> | 
May 31, 2004 |
Crawford, TX Assad the Unseen President Bush, seen both after and (inset) during his hilarious battle with gravity n a move pundits suspect was designed to improve the president’s poll numbers among the nation’s comedy writers, George W. Bush ate complete shit off a bike during a ride at his Texas ranch last Sunday afternoon. The president spoke for reporters while covered in several comical facial bandages and wearing an arm sling this week to address the topic of his crash, which Bush claims he participated in to prove a point about his increasingly unpopular Iraq policy.
“Even when things don’t go exactly as planned, and you hit a goddamned pothole on the road to liberation, you’ve got to climb back on that nation and ride her home,” Bush declared. Though the vaguely sexual imagery unnerved some, many felt that this was one of the most successful of the president’s many...
n a move pundits suspect was designed to improve the president’s poll numbers among the nation’s comedy writers, George W. Bush ate complete shit off a bike during a ride at his Texas ranch last Sunday afternoon. The president spoke for reporters while covered in several comical facial bandages and wearing an arm sling this week to address the topic of his crash, which Bush claims he participated in to prove a point about his increasingly unpopular Iraq policy.
“Even when things don’t go exactly as planned, and you hit a goddamned pothole on the road to liberation, you’ve got to climb back on that nation and ride her home,” Bush declared. Though the vaguely sexual imagery unnerved some, many felt that this was one of the most successful of the president’s many pathetic attempts to save face after an embarrassing mishap.
Many were reminded of the well-publicized shit-eating º the president performed off a Segway human transporter at his father’s summer home last year, happier times for a higher polling president who was then able blame technology for his clod-like behavior. Others were also reminded of a January 2002 incident in which a pretzel got the better of the president during an attempt at eating, ending with Bush’s dramatic tumble into a coffee table. Though that incident shared little in common with the president’s latest tussle with gravity, many still enjoy bringing up the story at the flimsiest pretext.
Bush claims that a rabbit darted out in front of his bike on Sunday, forcing him to heroically swerve onto a treacherous rocky outcropping to avoid going Paperboy on the adorably wayward rodent. Other witnesses claim the president ate shit on smooth pavement after removing one hand from the bicycle’s handlebars to scratch his asshole.
The president was accompanied on the ride by his personal doctor, bicycle riding coach Noel Yongstrem, a Secret Service agent, and some neighborhood kids who tagged along to make fun of the Bush’s lame bike. According to eyewitness reports, Bush’s crash elicited peals of laughter, pointing, and sarcastic clapping from everyone in the group except the unnamed Secret Service agent, who panicked and ran off into the woods, leaving the downed president to fend for himself.
Bush suffered minor abrasions to his chin, upper lip, nose, right hand and both knees in the accident, but the most serious injury was to the president’s pride, White House spokesman Trent Duffy said. Despite the spill, Bush was able to bravely ride the rest of the way home with only minor sniveling and a snotty nose.
Surprisingly, the president sustained his injuries in spite of witness reports that he was wearing a helmet and mouth guard at the time of the accident. White House doctors believe this can be explained by the fact that Bush’s helmet likely came off during the crash, since the straps had been tied in a knot under his chin due to the president’s ongoing difficulty with latches, snaps and buttons.
According to the White House, President Bush has expressed a desire to ride in cars from now on, leaving two-wheeled transportation “to kids and the Chinese.” No word yet on whether or not he’s going to keep up with the helmet and mouth guard. the commune news isn’t one to talk, since the last time we were on a bike we ended up on the COPS Greatest Hits: Wacky Tabacky video. Lil Duncan has never had a notable biking mishap that we’ve heard about, though word is she once fell off a dyke and skinned her knee.
 | Price of imported sports cars on the rise, says real prick
Oprah Winfrey outraged when treated like everyone else
Online gambling allows you to lose your home from home
Wi-Fi Tech being offered in few cities that know what wi-fi tech is
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Officials to Celebrities: Please Get Out of New Orleans isaster-relief officials in New Orleans made a stern announcement today to the thousands of celebrities descending upon the devastated city in hopes of providing humanitarian aid in exchange for career-boosting photo ops: We’re serious; you really need to leave now. “We’ve got to get these fucking celebrities out of New Orleans,” sighed an exasperated Lt. Mark Bolio of the Army’s 92nd Airborne. “They’re drinking up all our bottled water and bitching about the catering all day.” The influx of famous faces has weighed as a heavy burden on officials who have spent the last week scrambling to get everyone out of the city-shaped deathtrap. Receding water levels have exposed a nightmare world of toxic contamination, with nearly the entire city soaking in deadly levels of E. coli bacteria, lead, crude oil, PCBs, asbestos, leptospirosis, battery acid, herbicides, raw sewage, DDT, snakes, and according to at least one local, cooties. After busting a nut trying to remove the bulk of New Orleans’ stubbornly entrenched locals, many of whom refused to leave their pets or belongings, the Army was not prepared to deal with the celebrity occupation. Wisconsin Man Takes in Jazz Band he whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasn’t merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: He’s taken in a whole jazz band. “I just wanted to do what I could,” Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. “So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed.” However, Martinson didn’t stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles. Alec Baldwin Records Devastating Voice Mail Message for Shooter Sony’s Poorly Timed “PS3 Price Massacre” Backfires |
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 August 23, 2004
Please Sing Secret Boris SongHello, commune reader who is safe because of superhero Potato-Boris! You are welcome. How is thing? Ah, yes yes. So funny is answer.
Thing is honky-donkey in Boris life, all is so good since becoming secret superhero man. All persons does respect Boris now, except for ones who does not know Boris is secret superhero, which is most persons. But dogs does know. Boris can tell from their dog looks.
Part of problem of being new superhero man is thing called advertising. Persons doesn't not know they are being safe around Boris, they think is need for police or Chuck Norris for help. Is so funny, how stupid are persons.
So Boris does need way to let normal persons to know is not to worry, there is secret man to help them with special dirty powers. Boris does think of ways to do this thing, but most is hard because Boris does not have billboard or dancing commercial on television like Coca Colas does has. And Boris cannot find enough quarter things to call all persons on pay phone for them to know. Some persons, like Sears, has free numbers to call, but them already know about Potato-Boris thing.
Then comes great idea! Boris does not know where from, maybe is from moon or Florida place. Potato-Boris does need theme song! Like Spiderguy thing does have. This is so good because is free to do but then does get stuck in all person's head and is spreading like wildfire that does burn down so many brains. So Boris does write...
º Last Column: Okay, is Time for Fighting Crime º more columns
Hello, commune reader who is safe because of superhero Potato-Boris! You are welcome. How is thing? Ah, yes yes. So funny is answer.
Thing is honky-donkey in Boris life, all is so good since becoming secret superhero man. All persons does respect Boris now, except for ones who does not know Boris is secret superhero, which is most persons. But dogs does know. Boris can tell from their dog looks.
Part of problem of being new superhero man is thing called advertising. Persons doesn't not know they are being safe around Boris, they think is need for police or Chuck Norris for help. Is so funny, how stupid are persons.
So Boris does need way to let normal persons to know is not to worry, there is secret man to help them with special dirty powers. Boris does think of ways to do this thing, but most is hard because Boris does not have billboard or dancing commercial on television like Coca Colas does has. And Boris cannot find enough quarter things to call all persons on pay phone for them to know. Some persons, like Sears, has free numbers to call, but them already know about Potato-Boris thing.
Then comes great idea! Boris does not know where from, maybe is from moon or Florida place. Potato-Boris does need theme song! Like Spiderguy thing does have. This is so good because is free to do but then does get stuck in all person's head and is spreading like wildfire that does burn down so many brains. So Boris does write song this thing on back of lunch bag:
Potato-Boris, Potato-Boris
Nobody know who superhero is
Is not fancy, is just Boris
This is secret of Potato-Boris
Potato-Boris, Potato-Boris
Fighting crime when he has time
Don't tell persons, is just Boris
This is secret of Potato-Boris
Boris does sing this song when walking around town, to give free advertising thing for Potato-Boris. Is smart, this thing.
Next step is for Boris to find crime for stopping. This part can be hard like rocks under cardboard sidewalk mattress. Boris has to think of place to hang out like secret and wait for crime to try to happen so Potato-Boris can stop this thing.
First Boris does think McDonald is good place for this, but after while of waiting Boris does remember why McDonald thing comes into brain: this is place with little apple pie pockets that Boris does like. Bad place for crimes, but good to get pie on crime break.
Next Boris tries to stop crime on escalator, the funny climbing stair thing. But is so hard to wait on escalator, Boris has to keep walking down to keep from going up and persons are so mad that Boris is in road all the times.
Finally Boris does remember thing that is 911, which is day when shit fan was hit and also special telephone number Boris is never to call to get pizza. But this is day when bad pilots crash planes because of forgetting to learn to fly, and now airport is so good at making sure persons is real pilot and not just joker in pilot hat.
This is important thing for keeping persons safe, so is sound like job for Potato-Boris! Bad pilot is not match for Potato-Boris powers of disgust.
So now Boris must find way to airport. Secret trick for this is looking in air for airport. Wish Boris "walking around looking in sky" luck, but do not tell persons of this wish. Is secret! Goodbye. º Last Column: Okay, is Time for Fighting Crimeº more columns
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|  July 8, 2002
I'm Through Trying to Invent New DrugsDrug lords of the world can rest easier now, Clarissa Coleman is out of the narcotics business once and for all.
Before the feds jump on my gullet they should know I didn't really mess with anything illegal. Coca plants or whatever they call them, cannabis, all of that already illegal stuff is off limits as far as I'm concerned. The whole point of getting involved in narcotics in the first place was to create a drug that's both legal and gets you fucked up. And I think I can say I failed, so have no fear, D.A.R.E., you won't have to keep kids away from my product. It doesn't exist.
Everybody enjoys a little buzz now and again, let's not kid anybody. I'm sure Bob Dole got lit on something now and then, I have a friend who has a messed up arm like that and he sure didn't serve in the Gulf or wherever. Just an acid trip that confined itself to his right arm and has yet to stop. My challenge, as I thought of it while getting baked a few weekends ago, was to create a legal upper/downer/all-arounder and peddle it to my friends, family, and yes, some street junkies or whoever wanted a hit of my wonder drug.
Some of you are probably thinking I don't have what it takes to make a highly-addictive non-lethal narcotic, since I never got my college degree or anything. But you naysayers can hold your tongues. I'm sure the guy with crack had a lot of guys telling him he couldn't do it, like the D.E.A. or the cocaine companies. I'm not going to let...
º Last Column: I Don't Understand America's Love Affair with Books º more columns
Drug lords of the world can rest easier now, Clarissa Coleman is out of the narcotics business once and for all.
Before the feds jump on my gullet they should know I didn't really mess with anything illegal. Coca plants or whatever they call them, cannabis, all of that already illegal stuff is off limits as far as I'm concerned. The whole point of getting involved in narcotics in the first place was to create a drug that's both legal and gets you fucked up. And I think I can say I failed, so have no fear, D.A.R.E., you won't have to keep kids away from my product. It doesn't exist.
Everybody enjoys a little buzz now and again, let's not kid anybody. I'm sure Bob Dole got lit on something now and then, I have a friend who has a messed up arm like that and he sure didn't serve in the Gulf or wherever. Just an acid trip that confined itself to his right arm and has yet to stop. My challenge, as I thought of it while getting baked a few weekends ago, was to create a legal upper/downer/all-arounder and peddle it to my friends, family, and yes, some street junkies or whoever wanted a hit of my wonder drug.
Some of you are probably thinking I don't have what it takes to make a highly-addictive non-lethal narcotic, since I never got my college degree or anything. But you naysayers can hold your tongues. I'm sure the guy with crack had a lot of guys telling him he couldn't do it, like the D.E.A. or the cocaine companies. I'm not going to let that stop me.
I will, however, let failure stop me. And I've had way too much of it. Don't let anyone fool you, the guy who created crack must have been a scientist or something, though I don't know of any college that has a major drug research and development department. Maybe he's self-taught, but either way I wouldn't want to challenge him at chess. Because he's got to be smart, and I don't know how to play chess anyway.
Really I'm not saying I can't create an exciting psychotropic chemical trip in bite-sized pill form, I'm just saying that I can't do it with the equipment currently available to me. Which is to say a bath tub and a blender. I've bought tons of cleaning chemicals and food spices, hoping some kind of combination will produce the exact kind of buzz I'm looking for: A sustained feeling of exhilaration or light-headedness. Instead of such a feeling I've often just created some mild or severe form of chemical poison which has resulted in three trips to the emergency room and too many blackouts to count. Doctors have advised me to give up my experiments entirely, or at least stop using window cleaner, it's a dead end.
I may be finished with drug creation for good. At least until there's no more blood in my stool. It's probably for the best. Leave the drugs to the drug scientists and the Child Star columns to the Child Star columnists, I say, at least just now I said it.
It's too bad, I had real visions for safe, legal alternative to the current crop of dangerous drugs out there. I was only really stopped by the fact I have no business working with chemicals or drugs in any fashion. Until the day I hook up with someone to do that mule work for me I guess I'll be stuck as a fan of drugs rather than part of the creative process. º Last Column: I Don't Understand America's Love Affair with Booksº more columns
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Quote of the Day“I'd like to give the world a Coke, but they'd have to share it. Actually, all anyone can do is smell it, since most of the Coke will likely have evaporated by the time it gets all the way around the world. So here you go, world: Smell my Coke.”
-Dennis FreebasenFortune 500 CookieYou're a real asshole when you're tired. Or rested. This is the week you're finally going to get pantsed for your sins. Try brushing your teeth with the other end of the brush this week: that fuzzy part's not the handle. This week's lucky things the dog wouldn't even eat: your hat on a bet, Tofutti Cuties, dog barf, Sam's Club Brand Dog Food, your homemade rhubarb pie.
Try again later.John Kerry's Vision for America1. | Americans shouldn't be despised everywhere abroad; only France | 2. | Health care for each and every American with insurance | 3. | A chicken in every pot, and pot for everyone without a chicken | 4. | Make Affleck and J-Lo realize they're still in love | 5. | Sterilize all Bush males | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Lemon Chester 4/29/2002 The King of the RoadThe sword of Penguin gleamed brightfully in the night. The knight Bainbridge dangled it thoughtfully between his legs as he watched the road ahead. There was a dot in the distance, but as the dot got closer it was revealed a man—a man on a horse, or a centaur, he supposed that was possible.
"Halt, he who goes there! You, I mean," he bellowed. "Identify yourself. Long version, please."
"I am Luthor of Kuntnose, son of Emeril of Kuntnose, whose father was Dandelion Dan, but not of Kuntnose, but of some far off other place I'd prefer not mention." The rider of the horse was a stout man with a long beard and wearing a crown of silver atop his head. He wore mail of silver on his chest, and packages on his thighs. His horse wore a bathrug of a metallic type on his...
The sword of Penguin gleamed brightfully in the night. The knight Bainbridge dangled it thoughtfully between his legs as he watched the road ahead. There was a dot in the distance, but as the dot got closer it was revealed a man—a man on a horse, or a centaur, he supposed that was possible.
"Halt, he who goes there! You, I mean," he bellowed. "Identify yourself. Long version, please."
"I am Luthor of Kuntnose, son of Emeril of Kuntnose, whose father was Dandelion Dan, but not of Kuntnose, but of some far off other place I'd prefer not mention." The rider of the horse was a stout man with a long beard and wearing a crown of silver atop his head. He wore mail of silver on his chest, and packages on his thighs. His horse wore a bathrug of a metallic type on his back.
"Son of Emeril!" Bainbridge repeated part of the statement. He quickly bowed, fell over, owing to his heavy suit of golden armor, and propped himself up on one knee again. "Truly you are the long-lost lord!"
"I have always been found where I am."
"But you have been lost to us until now!"
"Still, I knew where I was." Luthor glanced around. "Guard you this place?"
"I'm sorry?"
"This place. Guard it, do you?"
"One more time?"
"Do you guard this place?"
"Indeed I do," answered Bainbridge. "I am all that stands between invaders who travel the road into the kingdom of Nottlick."
"What of travelers of ill will who travel 'round the road, say the grass or through the forest?"
"That's out of my jurisdiction." Bainbridge stood once more. "Long have we of Nottlick awaited your return, Luthor of Kuntnose. We have been besieged by the enemy of the north, then sieged by the enemy of the south, then rebeseiged once more by the enemy of the north."
"I must say, I warned father about moving to this country. You are surrounded by enemies." Luthor dismounted his horse, mounting the ground. "Tell me, if you are under assault by enemies from the north and south, why so do you block the road of the west."
"Actually, I'm not that good a knight."
"Sorry to hear that," declared Luthor. "I shall return to this kingdom at last from this road, good sir knight, and I will take the road again for my own. I shall be king of the road and control all who leave or enter, or just casually stroll upon it. And you shall be my faithful servant, good knight!"
"Pardon?"
"You shall be my servant, if you so wish, good knight."
"I'm sorry, are you going to bed, sir?"
"Skip it. What do they call you?"
"Many things, sir, some of them referring to the comparatively tiny scale of my genitalia to my body. But my name is Bainbridge. Capital B, a, i, n—"
"Cease your spelling, good Bainbridge. I'm not writing any letterheads for you or anything." The King of the Road, self-declared, held aloft his sword, the Sword of Tongue, and it whistled and farted to the moon, as it was embarrassingly prone to do at parties. "I welcome into my party the first of many worthy knights. Sir Bainbridge! Of something or other. Together, Sir Bainbridge, we shall reclaim the entire road. For carts and wagons!"   |