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President Claims He Feels "A Whole Lot Smartier" LatelyBush's intellectual capacity improves in wake of terroristical attacks November 26, 2001 |
Worshington, DC Ansel Evens President Bush sharing new intelligentary ideas
"Ever since my daddy called and told me to expect a big surprise in the second week of Septremember, not only have I felt more presidentive than ever, but I also think my ICQ has gone up," he told reporters gathered on the south lawn of the White House to collect their official government propaganda handouts recently. "It's got to be the stressure from worrying about all this terristical activity lately that's doing it," he added.
Further expounding his theory that d...
he man who claims to be president of the United States, George W. Bush, says that for the last two months he has felt "a whole lot smartier than I used to." He attributes this improvement in intellectual capacity to the resultant stress from the 9/11 attacks on the Pentagon and the World Trade Center.
"Ever since my daddy called and told me to expect a big surprise in the second week of Septremember, not only have I felt more presidentive than ever, but I also think my ICQ has gone up," he told reporters gathered on the south lawn of the White House to collect their official government propaganda handouts recently. "It's got to be the stressure from worrying about all this terristical activity lately that's doing it," he added.
Further expounding his theory that difficult times somehow increase brain activity, Bush went on to say that "I know Mr. Dick (vice-president Cheney), every time he has another heart attack, he yells, 'Ooh, that smarts!' I can hear him in the next office over from mine, he yells that three or four times a week. He's like a dang intellectuable now, a real genie. You know, 'cause of all them smarts."
White House spokesman Ari Fleischer, upon hearing the president's explanation, commented, "Well, there may be something to what he's saying, even though we pretty much keep him in the dark about what's going on in day to day affairs, but personally, I think the reason he feels the way he does is that we have changed the official White House snack in all the candy dishes from Skittles to Smarties. He gobbles those things by the handful, I swear, you should see him. He's like a damn little kid."
Fleischer also said that he and Karl Rove had taken to calling the president "Mr. Smarty-Pants" in informal settings, and that perhaps the nickname had gone to his head. Here in the commune newsrooms, we like to refer to reporter Boner Cunningham by his nickname, "Chubby."
 | Afghanistan Northern Alliance Declares Jihad on AmericaBush administration now regrets arming, training new enemies November 26, 2001 |
Washington D.C. Liam Snoot/AP A bunch of jerks who we THOUGHT were our friends.
"This is a complete surprise, sort of," said president Bush, reportedly "fumin' mad" at the betrayal. "If nothing else, myself and everyone in my administration are amazed by the quick turnaround time. This has to be some sort of personal record."
Trouble reportedly started when a coup within the Northern Alliance replaced former strongmen within the organization with fundamentalists disappointed in the lack of...
he American people were shocked Wednesday, but not all that much, when Afghanistan's Northern Alliance declared a holy war or "jihad" on the United States. The Northern Alliance recently took power in Afghanistan from our most recent enemies, the Taliban, who were unseated due to efforts of the United States and a coalition made up of other NATO countries.
"This is a complete surprise, sort of," said president Bush, reportedly "fumin' mad" at the betrayal. "If nothing else, myself and everyone in my administration are amazed by the quick turnaround time. This has to be some sort of personal record."
Trouble reportedly started when a coup within the Northern Alliance replaced former strongmen within the organization with fundamentalists disappointed in the lack of support the U.S. has pledged the new government of Afghanistan in the distant future. General Jamir Guzakibad, the newly empowered leader of Afghanistan's new government, has promised America will learn to respect the new prominence of the country or it will face dire consequences.
President Bush, upon hearing Guzakibad's threats translated for him, simply rolled his eyes, his head slumped into a hand with his other hand tapping his fingers in a hum-drum order from left to right.
"Here we go again," said the president.
Guzakibad has only offered veiled threats so far, but has vowed that the Afghan people are powerful and are chosen by Allah themselves as the rightful inheritors of their country, as well as the land surrounding them. Including the holy land currently occupied by Israel.
"If the American people are resistant to the divine call of the Afghan people," continued Guzakibad, "we have instruments in our possession capable of defending ourselves, with extreme means, if necessary."
In response, Secretary of State Colin Powell has speculated publicly that it may be necessary to move troops into strategic positions outside of Afghanistan's capital of Kabul.
"Fortunately, we have some guys who were there anyway," said Powell, a little bored.
Thursday night, the president interrupted only ABC's weak Thursday programming lineup to assure the American people the current threat will be dealt with cautiously.
"We will, uh, persevere and… yeah, you know… freedom is sacred, all that. Those who died… l'see… enemies are cowards…"
The rest of the two-minute speech was similarly fragmented as Bush continued to refer back to notecards and sigh deeply. When all of his high points were addressed, Bush waved away the camera and left the stage, as ABC resumed an episode of Whose Line is it Anyway? where two guys were miming riding bicycles. the commune news just wants to celebrate its birthday quietly this year, so don't make a big deal about it. Lil Duncan is the commune's senior correspondent and is, to quote the Fabulous Thunderbirds, "Tuff Enuff."
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 May 12, 2003 Like a Rolling RokThat's the fact, jack. Given my recent falling out with Camembert and Lee's eternally-disappeared status as of late, I decided it's better to have my pride than a roof over my head. And if I can have neither, what with the extreme damage I did to the roof with my New Year's Eve fireworks show and my complete shame at being me, I'll at least not live under the roof with a card-carrying communist like Camembert. Actually, the card said Brown County Public Library, but if the free loaning of books to disabled people isn't an early sign of communism, I don't know what is.
"But Rok," you ignorantly begin, "if you're so anti-communist, why do you work for a place called the commune (lowercase intentional)?"
Christ, I never thought about it before. You confound me, wis...
º Last Column: Lord of The Lord of the Rings
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That's the fact, jack. Given my recent falling out with Camembert and Lee's eternally-disappeared status as of late, I decided it's better to have my pride than a roof over my head. And if I can have neither, what with the extreme damage I did to the roof with my New Year's Eve fireworks show and my complete shame at being me, I'll at least not live under the roof with a card-carrying communist like Camembert. Actually, the card said Brown County Public Library, but if the free loaning of books to disabled people isn't an early sign of communism, I don't know what is.
"But Rok," you ignorantly begin, "if you're so anti-communist, why do you work for a place called the commune (lowercase intentional)?"
Christ, I never thought about it before. You confound me, wise imaginary talking-aloud reader. Oh, that's right, I have thought about it before. The rationale I came to was that I am the voice of dissent for this politically peculiar powwow of pundits. Any fool can see, as I easily do, that the commune is not strictly communist, though that Bludney Plud always seems to be going through everybody's desk like he believes in state ownership, him being the state. In practice the commune is merely a source of left-wing propaganda and seldom-reported news and fun conspiracy theories. What role does a mook like me have in a place like this? Simple. I provide the voice of the counter-culture, which is to say the Establishment, which is counter to this counter-culture, which makes me counter-culture here.
What happened? Oh, yes, I was discussing being homeless. I certainly know what those without homes are complaining about now. It is quite a scary experience for a guy like me, short, unattractive, but unquestioningly sexually alluring, to be out amongst the dregs of society without any walls separating them from me. Not to mention the experience of being pelted by water when it rains—or worse, when it doesn't.
Things are more difficult than in the past, the other times I've been unceremoniously thrown out of wherever I was living. Acting-Asshole Ramrod Hurley has instituted a ridiculous new policy of locking the doors when everyone leaves at night, so now I can't sleep in my desk anymore. I'm really, honest-to-God out on the streets again. For the first time.
Now, I'm a huge fan of Dickens like every other ancient person. But like railroad work, homelessness is only fun for spectators, not for participants. The sooner I can get into a place for living, a what do you call it, house or apartment, the better. Much like prison, I'm too delicate to survive on the streets. I would never consider something drastic like, say, prostitution, but I have been considering it lately. Still, I don't think it will come to that. No one in the world is mentally ill enough to pay me for sex.
I have asked Ramrod Hurley for an advance on my next paycheck, which is to say I've told him I need to be paid with money instead of Raleigh cigarette coupons from now on. When I have enough in the bank, the bank being my ragged slacks pockets, I will find an apartment and begin living there. It will be nice to be out on my own, inside again. No one but the desperately poor should be forced to live like this. º Last Column: Lord of The Lord of the Ringsº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. The second to last refuge of the scoundrel is a cave in the Ozarks. Third to last? Under the bed in a four-star hotel in Paris. Fourth? Puns. Puns are the fourth-to-last refuge of the scoundrel.”
-Johnuel SamsonFortune 500 CookieWhoever cut your jib, they fucked it all up, dude. Try wearing more spandex this week, your current quantities aren't providing sufficient coverage. Remember: an ounce of prevention is worth an inch of milk-fed veal. This week's lucky pizza restaurant mascots: The Noidette, Little Greaser, Humpy the Pizza Camel, "Cheese Dick" Richard Romano, Lumpy-Thighed Sex Goddess Valotta Ricotta.
Try again later.Top Racially Insensitive Desserts| 1. | Mint Jew Lips | | 2. | Negroreos | | 3. | Vanilla Dick | | 4. | Mr. Li's Chocolate Chink Ice Cream | | 5. | The Dirty Spaniard Sundae from Baskin Robbins | |
|   Government Denies Terrorist Involvement in ABC's Fall Schedule BY dick charleston 12/23/2002 A Christmas CardEverywhere in London during that cold December morn of Christmas Eve, every man and woman, large and small and even the exceptionally large, were filled with Christmas cheer. Everyone, that is, except for one man—Phineas Miser, the un-Christmasiest son of a bitch in all of London.
Once Miser had been full of Christmas cheer, and rum, but that had been a long time ago; the pursuit of gold and capitalist success had tainted him, along with having a terribly on-the-nose name that defined his destiny. No, Miser no longer had any Christmas cheer, unless you count the Christmas cheer in the body of his wage slaves, which technically he owned through wicked and brilliant contract negotiations.
Miser was the proprietor of the most despicable business in all London—a c...
Everywhere in London during that cold December morn of Christmas Eve, every man and woman, large and small and even the exceptionally large, were filled with Christmas cheer. Everyone, that is, except for one man—Phineas Miser, the un-Christmasiest son of a bitch in all of London.
Once Miser had been full of Christmas cheer, and rum, but that had been a long time ago; the pursuit of gold and capitalist success had tainted him, along with having a terribly on-the-nose name that defined his destiny. No, Miser no longer had any Christmas cheer, unless you count the Christmas cheer in the body of his wage slaves, which technically he owned through wicked and brilliant contract negotiations.
Miser was the proprietor of the most despicable business in all London—a consulting firm that trained business work forces in the ways of Japanese-style management. And chief among his wretched little workers was middle-manager and frequent doorstop replacement Bob Rottencrotch.
"Please, Mr. Miser, may I have the day off?" Rottencrotch asked on this cold December morn of Christmas Eve, though to be fair to Miser, the slacker bastard did ask the same thing virtually every day. "It is Christmas Eve, Mr. Miser, and we're having a jolly good evening planned. We're going to gather 'round our dung-filled stockings and chant slogans from commercials and drink until we've pissed ourselves. Well, all except Wee Willie—he's too small to drink, of course."
"Rottencrotch, I told you never to talk about your penis at work again!" shouted Miser, tossing a humidor shaped like Dolly Parton's breasts at his employee. "Of course you can't have the day off. It's Christmas Eve. We spend 365 days a year working toward the company goal, remember? It's part of pro-improvement empowerment. Now back to your work station!"
Rottencrotch, wounded both by Mr. Miser's crushing words and the sharp-ended nipples on the humidor, dabbed his ratty tie against his bleeding cut and wobbled out of the office. When he was gone, Miser sat back, self-satisfied.
Miser stared into the seemingly-ancient photo of himself and his old business partner, Ziggy Marley, when they had both worked at a pirate-themed fast food restaurant years before. It was right before they had gathered the capital to start their consulting firm, Positive Improvement: A Pro-Action Empowerment Concept, and they both had worked so hard their hands had curved up inside the fake pirate hook prop gloves and their depth perception was suffering from excessive eye patch-wearing. They had been youthful and idealistic in those days—well, Ziggy was always sort of a dick, but he could be alright as well.
"Ziggy, my friend," the insane old coot said to the picture, "these employees today, they lack what we had back then. And I mean not the velvet pants and puffy white shirts. I mean gumption! Why, in my day, remember when we worked through all holidays just to build our pro-positive action plan? We knew the secret to success and happiness, we did."
"Miser!" shouted the picture in response, only dragging it out a very long time in a ghostly fashion. Miser was shocked to see the picture was moving, and he messed the chair. In the frame, Ziggy Marley lifted his eye patch, brushed his dreadlocks aside, and aged incredibly into what he must have looked like since dying, complete with holes in the face and eyeballs falling out.
"Phineas Miser, you crusty old queer! Beware your greed! You have forgotten the true meaning of positive pro-active reinforcement! Or Christmas, actually, yeah, Christmas. And tonight you will be visited by three spirits who will show you what Christmas means—it means creepy-ass ghosts and guilt, to cut to the chase, but I'll let them elaborate. So stay sober! For tonight you will see highly-edited clips from your past, present, and future!"   |
