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January 6, 2003
Click for Biography

Ushering in a New commune Era

by Ramrod Hurley
Call me Ramrod.

If I ever had an autobiography, it would start that way. The autobiography is uncertain, but what is certain is that, for the time being, this column is my personal property. It's the soapbox from which you will learn about Ramrod Hurley— likes, dislikes, things I don't really care about. Well, maybe not the latter. It can best be stated this way: That I have reported the news in the past; now it's my turn to tell everyone what I think of that news.

I'm also now the Editor of the commune. The Editor is sort of like a special effects maker in a movie—if it's terrible, I'll get the blame; if it's good, I'll never see the credit. I'll be a ghost-like figure, but since I can't tell you there I can let you know here, that the commune news will reach he...Read more...

º Last Column: A Mission of Utmost Impertinence
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Quote of the Day
“It is a wise man who makes a career of providing quotes, for the dollar-to-word ratio is fantastic. Eat your heart out, novelists.”

-Beenjammin Lynn-Frank
Fortune 500 Cookie
You! In the yellow shirt! You’re going to have an awful week. Move along now. This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, but your lifetime ban from the municipal aquarium still applies. Those repressed childhood memories you’ve been having about animal abuse and a shady-looking construction site? That was Donkey Kong. Try eating something with at least 17 letters in it this week: mailboxes and Alpha-Bits don’t count. Your lucky dong accessories: ornaments, jingle bells, argyle cock sock, festive wreath, racing stripe, spare donut.



Try again later.
Worst-Selling Breakfast Cereals
1.Scroats!
2.Branimal Crackers
3.Frosted Mini-Thins
4.Too Much Fibre
5.Vitamin Pill Crunch
6.Unlucky Leprechaun Pocket Fuzz
7.Byproducts
8.Easter Peeps in Milk (milk included)
9.You’ve Got Crabs
10.Beano: The Cereal
Last Issue
View Past Columns
BY marcella whitmore
6/24/2002
Space Pioneers
Life on earth did not much agree
with Rufus McGee
and Magilicutty Sneed.
Two young boys, American as can be:
American as trees, or Apples Dupree.
On summer days they dreamed,
on winter nights they schemed,
lying there on their
flat-slanted backs,
staring up at
the clouds in great number,
shivering and cursing
the humorless cold,
and wishing they hadn't slept through summer.

They would've rafted down the river like gall stones in a liver,
carefree as retards on a home-fashioned raft,
except that they lived down the river three blocks and a sliver
from a factory that made cheese dust for Kraft.
So instead of paddling and singing about eyes that were stinging
a...Read more...