the commune, 9/15/25: You'll learn to love it or die trying

August 22, 2005

New York City, NY

Whit Pistol

Peter Jennings, the world's most popular celebrity, alive or dead.

he world remains shocked and eerily obsessed with the mortal departure of ABC news anchor Peter Jennings after his short but well-publicized battle with cancer. With several primetime memorial specials, newspaper editorials, and lots of merchandise on the way to local stores, people are remembering the legacy of the deceased newsman. But no matter what else people might say about the mark he left, one thing all can agree on: He read the news.

"He not only changed the way we thought about the news, but the way we watched the news," said media kiss-ass Earl Shmonster. "I have no examples to back that up. But you name any news event in the past twenty years, you can bet Peter Jennings covered it. Or introduced us to the guy who was covering it. He was faithfully at his desk whenever something happened that the nation needed to be told about."

Jennings' death, both tragic and timely, has seized the consciousness of a nation that had all but given up on paying attention to the news. His terminal illness has been a dazzling source of conversation and meditation on our own mortality. While some people are already talking about who will be the next ABC news anchor, one thing is patently clear: They will have to die in a really horrific way to steal back the nation's focus from the late Peter Jennings.

"Jennings was a consummate reporter," said a national news editorial copied nearly word for word a thousand times over since the anchor man's death. "He was always in the field, when he wasn't behind the anchor desk. His soothing voice and rugged good looks kept us all calm and placated while he told us about AIDS, rising poverty, election fraud, space shuttles blowing up, and, more recently, terrorism. He was more than the face of ABC network news: He was its voice, too."

The Peter Jennings' death frenzy has carried over beyond a hurricane of media coverage, including a bevy of Jennings-related items for sale on eBay and a series of Jennings news pieces headed for DVD to offer consolation to grief-stricken Jennings fans who possess money. But Jennings' death has affected the world in non-marketable ways, too, convincing several in the population to find out more information about lung cancer. The first thing most of them learn from Jennings' experience: Don't get it.

Spokesperson Nanny Freedmont from the Rubb-Houston Center for Celebrity Deaths: "The death of Peter Jennings was more than the loss of a father, husband, and media professional: It was the loss of someone famous. A person who we saw regularly on the TV every night for years, and whom we've developed a perfectly healthy attachment to. We considered him a friend, and we feel the void he's left behind, and will continue to until at least the next celebrity passes away tragically."

Jennings' departure sparked hundreds of responses from people everywhere, but since we've never heard of most of them, we only selected a few to cover. Like this one from the American Cancer Association:

"Hundreds of thousands of people die from lung cancer every year. But none of them were famous. God bless ye, Peter Jennings, America's nightly news Jesus."

Another fond farewell came from colleague and friendly nightly news rival Dan Rather.

"Jennings was a fine newsman and always read the news without error. He was never stymied by the more challenging words, like 'fiduciary responsibility.' He will be missed. Me, on the other hand, going out in a puff of smoke and a blaze of scandal. I mean, what the fuck, America? What would it take to get a simple friendly good-bye from you people? I'm not on the news anymore either, you know. I guess I'll have to burst into fucking flame or something to get a 'So long and fuck off, Dan!'"

Speaking of bursting into fucking flame, the commune news pays its own final tribute to the world's greatest news reader, Peter Jennings: Out, out, brief candle.

the commune news believes our sentimental sayonara to be perfectly acceptable for a recently-deceased news colleague, and denies all suggestions we've gone pussy after our recent vacation. Raoul Dunkin fervently wishes we would avoid using the word "pussy" at the end of all his news articles. What a pussy.

Serial Killer's Neighbor: "He just wouldn't shut up about serial killing."

Paris Hilton responds to Katrina tragedy with awkward giggle

$6 billion contract bounces away from Boeing

Guy said no onions on his Whopperâ€”dig the wax out of your ears

July 8, 2002

Volume 20

Dear commune:

I have recently opened up a shoe shop in the Seattle area. I specialize in selling shoes to the odd-shaped footed lady for fellow. People I know where quick to offer names for the store, such as "Deformafeet" and "Freak Foot Apparel". After these names were offered, I stressed to my friends the importance of not humiliating and belittling your customer base. They agreed with me and remarked I would be quite a good businessman.

After settling on "Seattle Sam's Specialty Shoe Shop" I was admittedly a little disappointed with the turnout. The Seattle area is not as booming with odd-footed consumers as I originally thought. I have three toes on my left foot, the pinky toe of which is half a foot long, so I know the pain of going to regular shoe shops and the importance of finding a shoe store to fit your needs.

I want to advertise to a national audience and I think that the commune is the way to go. the commune readers probably have all sorts of odd-shaped limbs and body parts, and I can help them out with their footwear needs. How much does it cost to advertise on the commune website?

Samuel Carey Loopett
Seattle, Washington

Dear Samuel:

It's difficult to say how much advertising costs. Of our sponsors, only the big networks UPC and MCTV pay us in dollar amounts, each paying us $1,000 a month for their advertising spots. If that's too much for you, don't worry, the commune has...

º Last Column: Volume 19
º more columns

December 23, 2002

Volume 32

º Last Column: Volume 31
º more columns

Dear commune:

I'm always fascinated by cultures different from our own. It's nice to know that some things are universalâ€”like smiles. Everyone smiles, in every place on the earth! Isn't that cool?

Another thing is Santa Claus. Sure, we don't call him by the same name everywhere, but everyone believes in some version of Santa Claus, right? Which is why I'm writing to you. Can you tell me more about all the various versions of Santa Claus out there? It sounds exciting! Thanks!

Nat McCauley
Whitewash, Washington

Dear Nat:

Judging by the fact your letter's written in crayon you're either a child or mentally handicapped, or just a full-grown man who makes very poor shopping choices. Either way, we think it best not to feed your delusions about "Santa Claus."

It is so typical of Clausians to assume everybody everywhere believes in Santa Claus and the power of his gift-giving. If you are a child, we cannot blame you, but it's time you knew that Santa Claus is only one theory of how the gifts get under the tree, and not even the oldest.

In some African cultures, popular theory is that Black Monday, a large death-dealing African tribesman with a sackful of gifts, sneaks in through the chimney (or under the door, if your home doesn't have a chimney) in the night, unsheathes a machete and deals death to the wicked white families. Their possessions are reclaimed and distributed to the African people, and that's how the gifts get under the tree.

In Japan, "Santa" is actually a 50-foot robot that transforms into a walkman and leaves itself under the tree. Fortunately, once one robot has completed its mission, other robots construct themselves for delivery to other children around the world.

As for ourselves, sometimes we're Santagnostics and don't know what we believe. But usually we rely on the idea that "Santa Claus," as you call him, is just pure energy that divides itself among us all, and that by closing our eyes and collectively picturing sugar plums dancing and other Christmas things, we can generate gifts under the tree without buying them. This hasn't happened yet, but it's usually from a lack of good will and Christmas cheer and therefore does not constitute a lack of existence of this energy.

Hope this has illuminated the subject and you're no longer tied to the ridiculous idea of a man coming down your chimney to empty his sack rather than fill it. Merry whatever!

the commune

Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the lump of coal in your stocking. Perhaps you should have thought about that before sending us all those forwarded e-mails asking us to add our names to the bottom.

º Last Column: Volume 31
º more columns

Quote of the Day

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, even more shame on you! Big fooler. Fool me three timesâ€¦ man, that brings back memories. Reminds me of when you made me drink that urine one time.”

-Vick-O Martini

Fortune 500 Cookie

That heart attack medicine may be making your penis smaller, so just for safety's sake, stop taking it altogether. Learn to play the guitar this week; it's just another good reason to carry out that plan to kidnap Dweezil Zappa. Remember, passing gas in an elevator is not only rude, it also slows down your arrival time by up to 2 seconds.

Try again later.

Most-Dreaded Christmas Gifts

1.	Gift certificate from Bedwetters' Depot
2.	Fine pewter anything
3.	Lapdance from Rhonda
4.	Red Commie Hilfiger jacket
5.	Love

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

BY Roland McShyster

9/16/2002

Howdy Doody, America.

I'm sorry folks. That was just a pathetic attempt to sound upbeat. I should give you people more credit than that. We all know where we find ourselves, plum in the middle of the doggy-style days of autumn, a movie wasteland so barren that even the dead horses look bored. And that's no small challenge. Luckily for me, the less time people spend in theaters, the more time they spend writing letters to Ask Roland, except for the select few primates who actually try and write to me from inside the theater, so I end up with illegible butter-stained napkin letters crumpled in my mail box, covered in ants and other sundry vermin. I get less of those now, which is the one thing I like about the Fall. So let's delay no further and get to padding this column out like a Kate Moss swimsuit, shall we?

Q. Hey Roland, what's it hangin? Listen, I don't really have a movie question, but I was wondering if you could hook me up with that Violet Tiara chick who writes for the commune. She's hot! And smart! Does she dig dudes in the military? Cuz I could enlist, I'm pretty sure. Unless they've still got that rule about having to be able to touch your toes. Hey, that's my other question: Do they still have that rule? Thanks in advance Roland, we'll name our first kid after you.

Elmer DeBarge, Spankle, MO

A.Thanks for the letter Elmer, and it was smart to include a picture of yourself so I have something to show to the police. Though they are going to wonder why it has half of a People magazine What's Hot/Who's Not column printed on the back of it, and what you're doing with Heath Ledger's girlfriend. As for Ms. Tiara, I'm sorry to say she's too young for you, however old you are. Her parents are also super quick with a restraining order, which is silly since she's mostly a tease anyway. Or that's what I hear, fromâ€¦ people.

Q. Rooollaaaaand! Wasaaaaaaaap! Man, is that ever going to get old? I don't know, but I hope not. I love that joke. Love it! Anyway man, I got a question for you here. Uhâ€¦ shit. Nope, I guess not. I had one when I started this but I totally spaced it when I was doing that "Wasaaaaaaap!" thing. Sorry dude, I'll get back to you.

Rodney Poster, Belmonte, CA

A. Believe it or not, these were the two best letters I received all week. You should have seen some of the stupid ones. Anyway, thanks for your letter, Rodney. Thanks a lot. Thanks for single-handedly making this the worst installment of Ask Roland ever. Good God, without your help I might have overestimated the future of humanity. Thankfully I am no longer in that danger, and I now realize that we're all screwed. Thanks again.

Alright, that's the movie bell a-ringin':

In Theaters

The Bang Your Sisters

Oh man, what a funny idea for a movie! No, wait, that's Animal House. What's this boiled old hobo boot doing up on my screen? The only way you're going to laugh during this tale of the most unfortunately named band in the history of rock is if you've just come straight from an actually funny movie and are still laughing when this one starts. Actually, to be honest, the movie had one big laugh in it. It came when this guy came back from the concession stand with his hands full of a giant soda and a big bag of popcorn, and when he went to sit down in the dark he kind of half sat on the arm of his seat, which caused him to panic and flail his arms up, dumping the whole bag of popcorn right on his head. Classic. Though I suspect that probably could have happened during any movie and therefore I wouldn't place too much credit for that laugh on the film itself.

Barbieshop

It's a great idea, I'll give them that. Line up a smooch on the ass for whoever dreamed this one up: a quartet of hard-nosed bone thugs inherit a doll store when their grandfather dies, and now they have to trade in their trash-talking street ways and spend their days explaining the difference between Malibu Barbie and Ventura County Barbie to spoiled little six year-old white girls from Riverside. Stick Chris Rock and Chris Tucker in the actor holes and you'd have 'em rolling in the isles, probably from laughing. Hell, stick Chris Katan and Chris Farley in a tanning booth for a few days and it could still work. So who do they get to star in this turkey? Ice Cube, Ice-T and Urkel. Good job, guys. Way to shoot the comedy goose in the head.

Igby Goes Down

Everybody's favorite Australian cartoon iguana is here to teach kids about sex and sexuality, the Aussie way! Though the animation is crude, it still gets the point across, and these guys know how to draw some sexy kangaroos. Or, as the Aussies call them, Wildebeests. While the film may be too disturbing for older viewers, kids will find it a delightful romp, in both meanings of that double-Nintendo. Delightfully fake Australian accents are provided by voice-over legends Susan Saranadan, Bill Pullman, and that guy who barfs when he eats.

Stealing Harvard

Heist movies don't have any sense of ambition these days. Everybody's got some master plan to steal a million kruktillion dollars so they can live out their golden years in some HEPA-filtered paradise where nobody speaks English. Bo-ring. When's the last time anybody ever tried to steal something really valuable, like Disneyland? Now that's a caper worth plotting for 45 minutes. How in the world would they pull that off? I'm hooked. I want to know, you know? Sign me up for a front-row seat and a box of Nards. Sadly, this heist flick doesn't quite get it right, but it's a novel effort. I'm not sure why somebody would get all hot and bothered about stealing a crusty old East Coast University, so there were some believability issues there. Maybe you could make a mint printing off phony diplomas and selling them on the Internet. I'm pretty sure that must have been what they were thinking. But I shouldn't have to work so hard to figure it out, that's the movie's job.

Trapped

Picture the scene. You find yourself stuck in some drafty country cottage with no telephone and no way out. You think you're alone, but then you turn and seeâ€¦ Courtney Love! Yikes! You spin around in the other direction, and it'sâ€¦ Charlize "Don't Call Me Ashley Judd" Theron! Shit! Could it get any worse? Yes, it could! Kevin Bacon's in the crapper! And he's wearing those awful jogging shorts that reveal far too much and turn you off of Bacon Bits for the rest of your life. Who's trapped with them? Here comes the twist: it's the audience. Yep, two hours with these undesirables may scar you for life, but they say it's really cathartic when you actually get to leave the theater.

And that's a wrap, folks. All right, go on, get out. Uncle Roland wants to be alone in the dark room for a while. Don't ring for dinner, I'm just going to be in the music room, playing one note on the piano over and over again. Now all I need is to find a music room somewhere.