€œWhite guy, right? Kinda chubby?â€�

Americans from all walks of life fondly remembered American institution Bob Hope following his death this week, even if many couldn’t remember what he was famous for. But few could deny that whatever he did, he was the best.

“I think he was in movies, maybe,� eulogized housewife Linda Blades of Old Creek, Montana. “Or maybe comedy. Possibly comedy movies.�

“One thing nobody can dispute is that he was a legend in golf. Or at least legendary for liking golf,� clarified podiatrist Carson Cree of Ohio. “I actually don’t know if he was any good, but I’m pretty sure he did golf, or was at least photographed holding a golf club some time. Or maybe it was tennis.�

“Bob Hope was really old,� remembered Riverdale senior Traci Holgrove, 17. “And we’ll miss him.�

Even President Bush had trouble placing the accomplishments of this American icon. The president reportedly said “the nation lost a great astronaut� upon hearing of Hope’s death, moments before being wrestled to the ground by his handlers.

“Bob Hope was as American as apple pie,� gushed secretary Anita Joilet. “And I thought he was great in Glengarry Glen Ross.�

“He was the funniest man alive,� solemnly intoned cable installer Brian Marrows. “Or so I’ve read. I never actually heard any of his jokes, but I hear they were pretty good. What a loss.�

“Hey, I know who Bob Hope was,� bragged Georgetown sophomore Luke Gray. “He was in Spies Like Us. That shit was hilarious.�

Would-be biographer and A&E junkie Mary Sholund spoke at great length about Hope’s accomplishments. “Robert, or as his friends knew him, Bob, came to national attention in the 30’s, which were also his 30’s, as the owner of the Hope diamond. He was eventually went on to become our nation’s greatest ventriloquist, entertaining our troops in three major wars with his breakdancing puppet, Coltrane. In his later years, he was famous for the ‘Road’ series of films, including Road House with then-hunk Patrick Swayze and Road Trip with the adorable Amy Smart.�

Psychologists warn that the national attention span may have been stretched perilously thin by the recent deaths of several elderly celebrities, leaving precious little mental focus left to comprehend Hope’s career. The common refrain heard among Hope-mourners is that they would love to learn more about what Hope actually did, but the networks keep running those Bob Hope memorial specials opposite CSI and Everybody Loves Raymond.

Comedian George Carlin, however, offers a solution.

“Quit fucking around and just give us the death photos already. We want the full Odai Hussein on this guy. That probably still wouldn’t totally satisfy the grief industry, but at least we wouldn’t have to put up with this maudlin crap on television every time some elderly greaseball stubs his toe. Christ.�

hat police officials are calling a "cruel hoax" perpetuated by a "big fat bitch" from "some Podunk town out in BFE" came to an end last Thursday with the arrest of Donna Lynette Walker, a 35-year-old Kansas woman. Walker had contacted the parents of missing Indiana girl Shannon Sherrill only days before, claiming to be the missing girl and renewing hope for the family after 17 years of grief.

Six-year-old Shannon disappeared in October of 1986 while playing hide-and-seek outside the family home in Indianapolis. Authorities had all but given up hope over the years, as leads failed to materialize and it became less and less likely that Shannon simply took hide-and-seek very seriously. Walker's call last week seemed to the family to be a miracle, but quickly turned out to be the shitty kind of miracle that people usually aren't referring to when they speak of miracles.

With the arrest came disturbing-yet-hilarious details about Walker's past. According to several poor bastards who identified themselves as her friends, Walker has frequently made crank phone calls in disguised cartoon voices ever since childhood, and as an adult her talent for being incredibly and flamboyantly full of shit has led to police records in California, Kansas, Virginia and Nebraska for making bizarre threatening calls, forging checks, reporting false fire alarms, placing bomb threats and using stolen credit cards to pay her telephone bill. Few involved can take even these charges seriously, however, since Walker often disguises her telephone voice in a spot-on stuttering impersonation of Porky Pig.

Friends of Donna Walker are at a loss to explain her motivation in contacting Shannon Sherrill's parents, or how they could possibly be this hard up for friends. All agree, however, that the Sherrills probably should have taken Walker's claims of "What's up Doc? I'm your kidnapped daughter!" with a grain of salt.

"I'm not surprised," said friend Kelli Wauch, who wasn't surprised. "I met Donna through a group where you go for support or if you're happy you go there and Donna is somebody who thrives off of other people's pain so it didn't surprise me that she did these things because she told me about a girl missing in Indiana and it being her parents and saying something along the lines about that and I just kind of blew it off because it didn't make any sense," rambled Wauch, prompting this reporter to slap her across the mouth in hopes of coercing a coherent quote.

That rambling narrative, coupled with the fact that Wauch has had to change her telephone number twice during the month she has known Walker to stop the tirade of threatening phone calls made in cartoon voices, begs the question of why Wauch still identifies herself as Walker's friend. Rather than sift through another verbal train wreck of a response, however, this reporter is satisfied to chalk it up as some kind of weird Kansas thing we're not meant to understand.

In Indiana, Walker faces a felony charge of identity deception and a misdemeanor charge of false reporting, as well as a life-long series of disappointed looks from the entire human race. In addition to contacting the missing girl's parents, she also repeatedly contacted the police regarding this case, posing alternately as two different women, the missing girl's husband, and a diminutive hunter with a speech impediment.

Attorney Billy Rork insisted that Donna Walker did not feel she'd done anything wrong, despite the fact that she is twelve years older than Shannon Sherrill would be today in addition to the minor details that Walker was never kidnapped and is in no way related to the Sherrills. Rork also communicated that Walker didn't feel like going to prison or being held in any way accountable for her actions. Additionally, she didn't feel like Italian or Thai food, though those details seemed less important in the big picture.

Dear commune:

Why won’t the commune publish my columns? Sure, I may not be popular like Emil Zender, or possess the mouth-wateringly luscious honeydews of an Ella Dipthong, but I’m okay in the sack. At least I imagine, I’ve never done it with myself. Not for lack of trying. But anyway, what about the columns? You guys got the picture I sent, right? It’s not me, but she’s pretty goodlooking, no? I’d look at that picture while pretending to read a column, for sure. I don’t know what the problem is; I’m beginning to think the commune is a prejudiced organization. Prejudiced against the Calvin Hotbarns of the world, that is. You guys probably could have got away with it if you’d been careful enough to run the occasional column by one of the other Calvin Hotbarns out there, just for appearances, but you cocky fucks had to go and rub our faces in it by publishing your all-Calvin-Hotbarn-free content all the time. You guys suck. I wouldn’t read your site even if it was publishing my columns. But I bet a lot of people would. So you should probably still run them some time.

Love,

Calvin Hotbarn
Roadthroat, VT

Dear Calvin:

In order for the commune to run a column, it needs to be a bit more fleshed out than a sheet of carbon paper scribbled with "Big opening" "Witty anecdote" and "Some shit about the trade deficit." We here at the commune have enough on our hands without having to do your goddamned job for you, dickweave.

the commune

---

Dear commune:

Hey, you commune guys got any ideas what I can do with my Rob? By that you know I mean the R.O.B. (Robotic Operating Buddy) from my old Nintendo Entertainment System. I got one of the first ones to come out, when I was a kid, and back then instead of a light gun and Duck Hunt or whatever they gave you this little robot that helped you play the games. Maybe they hadn’t invented the light gun yet and were worried about complaints if kids were shooting TVs with real guns or something, or maybe they had to straighten out some kind of ducks’ rights lawsuit or something first. But whatever the reason, mine came with this robot thing that moves a gyroscope from one place to one other place. It’s pretty sweet for playing Gyromite or Stack-Up, but I don’t think those Nintendo guys were looking too far into the future when they planned like zero additional functionality for this thing. It’s not really any good for any other games or anything. I thought it might be able to help me with my taxes, because I’m shit at that stuff and robots are hella smart. But not this joker, he just plays with that goddamned gyroscope all day. Then I thought maybe he could answer yes/no questions like a Ouija board using the gyroscope, but he’s shit at that too and I think now I’ve pissed off the undead. I’m about out of ideas, what do you guys think?

Todd A. Preston
Whiteman, GA


Dear Todd:

It seems you’ve clearly failed to learn the lesson of the 80’s, Todd. Undocumented migrant workers will always be cheaper than robots, and they even continue to work after cataclysmic final battles with Voltron or the neighbor’s lahsa apso. Even if they’re no good at Nintendo, you can make up your own games like backyard wrestling, pitting one worker against another. And unlike your Robotic Operating Buddy, migrant workers often come with their own gun. Happy gaming!

the commune

---

Dear the commune:

What’s the deal with Three Dog Night? Scratch that, what the hell IS a Three Dog Night? Or is this just one of them "chicken and the egg" pair-a-cocks that just fucks up your brain to think about it? Peace out.

Stuart Harbury
Whittle, TX


Dear Stuart:

Beats the shit out of us. But we did find out from a used car dealer that the expression "cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey" comes from the Civil War. Weird, huh? Who knew they were drinking that shit back then?

the commune

---

Editor’s Note: the commune is not responsible for leaving you at the altar like that. If you couldn’t read the obvious hints that we didn’t really want to get married, written in lemon juice on our personal stationary and hidden around the house, then you’re in for a lifetime of disappointment and hurt feelings. Buy yourself a clue, and a toaster, girl.

º Last Column: Volume 59
º more columns