week following the Democratic National Convention, and nearly a month after Milwaukee's Green Party Convention, a lesser known third party held their national convention in Athens, Georgia. The Hemp Party, formed in 2002, officially announced their candidates for the 2004 presidency.

It's their first presidential election, but in the air was a sense of excitement, and a familiar odor the commune couldn't quite place. One after another, speakers rose to express their vision of one unified party, to lay out the platform, and to define their four years in control of the White House, all in the convention site of the Athens Holiday Inn off Highway 31.

"We're going to win this, 'cause, I really think we got a chance," declared Hemp Party Consultant Daniel Vincent. "People call me crazy, and you can call me crazy, you know, whatever… but if people just, like, rose up and all voted their conscience and shit, we'd have the White House. And maybe I'm an optimist, man, but I say it could happen."

The party starts at a severe disadvantage, not only as a third party, but a relatively new third party that not only lacks national funding, but has yet to establish themselves with a wide variety of voters. In fact, the party doesn't even have a presence in more than six states, though thanks to chat rooms, word is growing. Even if they don't take the White House, which some would describe as a political and real-world impossibility, they hope to build party support and name recognition through their efforts. Since their nominees will not appear on any ballots, the party said they are putting the faith on word-of-mouth buzz and write-in ballots.

No schedule of events was given out to guests, or even compiled, but a less fascist approach to conventions called on speakers to stand up and "get shit off their mind" when they felt inclined to address the body of 37 who attended from all over the country. Like Nate, the cat with the Bob Marley shirt, he's from Alaska, and hitched down just to be here.

"We are the future, man," said Lindsey DeLila, a party Consultant from Wisconsin. "Not the guys in office now. They're old, and they don't even know their time is over. They got to give up the government, so sooner or later, we have to run the country. I'm so stoked about this I could, like, lose it, right here."

Like many in attendance, DeLila represented former Green Party voters who were dissatisfied with the party being taken over by corporations, or their general uptight nature; other newcomers to the Hemp Party showed up thinking it was something different. But no matter the variety of backgrounds, the greatest excitement of the night came when Party Head Billy "Party-Head" Kinkaid announced their 2004 presidential ticket: Joey "Rooster" Jackson, and his running mate, some guy named Dave who wouldn't reveal his last name.

"I believe the children are our future," said Jackson, stifling a giggle and waving for Dave to quiet down, as his speech stirred the bleary-eyed audience. "Teach them well, and let them lead the way. Because in the end… I get knocked down, but I get up again… yeah, that's it! You know the words!"

Lyric, off-rhythm chanting began, signifying the end of the convention as local authorities showed up with complaints about noise.

acing a unified Democratic front and a race as tight as 2000 in November, Republicans have made some attempt to bring Amish voters to the polls in 2004. Desperate? Perhaps, but a strong turnout by the Amish could make a difference in critical states Ohio and Pennsylvania, and the Amish are a group whose votes would certainly swing Republican, making for a demographic worth cow-towing to.

Because of their religious mania, which is to say the particularity of their Christianity, the Amish vote on issues of morality and favor the Republican choice in most of those cases, such as the GOP stance on abortion and homosexual marriage. Wars built on false evidence and conducted for private financial gain of corporations apparently aren't as big a priority.

Can Republicans actually convince the Amish to brave the asphalt roads and scary power lines to bring their vote to town? Even as the GOP moves in to woo voters, some in the withdrawn collective are stirring up Bush support among the buttonless.

"We admire George W. Bush, and what his America stands for," said Pennsylvania Dutch man Wooster Kurth. "Of course, we don't have televisions and are forbidden to read the paper. But what we've heard, we like."

He's not alone either. The threat of a tight race against the Democrats, who have allowed women and the ethnic into their ranks, has stirred the Amish to action, creating many potential votes for Bush. And since their children aren't sent off to die in wars and they don't participate in our economy, why not?

"We feel America has followed an insane path," said Ohio Amish woman Mildred Hansard, churning butter in an erotic fashion. "The moral decay is present everywhere, in the reprehensible behavior of your Patty Dukes and Mamie Van Dorens, your micro-mini-skirt fashions, and jazz. We believe, based on the wooden pamphlets passed out to us, that your President Bush is a man of strong moral character. And besides, it would be exciting to go into town later on this year. Nothing happening around here, the Lord knows."

Because of their high intolerance for religious diversity and the free will of mankind, the Amish make an ideal voting group for Republicans. Also, they avoid the news at all costs and never seek out more information on any subject, making them very similar to Fox News viewers. In an age when election votes are counted and recounted in Florida, and considering both Pennsylvania and Ohio use Amish-approved paper voting systems, even a reasonable number of Amish voters could give the administration a chance for hard-to-win states.

The question remains: Can the GOP convince enough Amish voters to turn out to make that difference? The Republicans must consider it a possibility, based on recent additions to their platform:

1) A 30% tax break for families with an annual income of $0 and no electricity.

2) A federal amendment defining barn raisings as a wholesome, pro-family event.

3) Intercourse, Pennsylvania name to be changed to something less hell-inducing.

Insiders also report of memos circulating around the White House, suggesting Bush begin growing a beard without a mustache before the 2004 election. But due to complications in the past, the president refuses to follow the same memo's suggestion to wear suspenders.

My God, sir, the future is in jeopardy! And not the good kind, like Celebrity Jeopardy.

I found this out most recently, with my keen inductive powers, and a little help from my ham radio. Longtime commune readers, a species rarer than the bald eagle, are familiar that we frequently receive transmissions from Future Bob—it's this constant flow of information that keeps us reassured our actions in this time period don't louse up the future for generations to come. We've upheld this burden well for a long time. But then guess what happened.

That's right. The future's gone flunky on us. Well, not all of us, perhaps, but flunky on me, and that's more than enough. I was sharing a delightful conversation with Future Bob most recently, discussing the various odors of cheeses and our favorites, when I asked him about the Bagel clan of his time. He was puzzled, and told me he hadn't met any Bagels in his time. What a disaster! Only a few years ago, when we first met, he assured me the Bagels were around and quite prominent in his time. Either he was a complete fake, not in the future at all, or the future had been devastated by our actions in their past. Being a huge fan of The Terminator movies, the obvious choice was the latter.

I could hardly believe it, but it wasn't quite the first time. Other incidents reported by Future Bob, such as the Fruit Famine of 2003, or the complete nuclear annihilation of the world in 2004, have failed to come true. Not without a great amount of work on our part, I assure you—everyone at the commune reported these incidents and made major changes to their lifestyles to make these possible futures not come true. Omar Bricks gave up eating genetically-altered nuclear apples altogether. Future Bob himself, for his part, was quite happy to hear we had made his stories become complete works of fiction. But it's been a constant battle, needless to say, and all the stories he's reported on so far have never hit so close to home as this apparently innocent remark.

No Bagels in the future? What's gone wrong? Where have I failed? Was it not asking out that checkout girl at One-Stop? The mole put me off a little, that's all. Good lord, what if that was the future mother of the Bagel dynasty? I would ask Future Bob if the matriarch of the Bagel clan was a Rosie Bagel, as the girl's name tag read, but unfortunately, he's not been shielded from the time transition by a quantum bubble. Damn that Star Trek technology! Where are easy-to-use, low-cost quantum bubbles to protect us from ripples in the timeline? If the future doesn't have them, we're screwed. Maybe it's another thing one of my offspring would have invented, had I bothered to boink them out already.

It's quite depressing, to realize you're as old as I am (let's not deal in numbers here) and have inadvertently doomed your name to extinction. Who's supposed to carry on the Bagel legacy? My brother Gay? He will never have children, for quite obvious reasons—he despises them. So is this truly the end of the Bagels? Once and for all, the gene pool dries up here?

I will not allow it. Sir, I must make it my personal mission to go out into the world this very night and have as much unprotected sex as humanly possible. But this time it's not to win a wager, although I do enjoy the small TV/VCR combo I won from all that. No, this is to save the Bagel name, and perhaps time itself, from disappearing into history's cornhole. Wish me luck, and many coupling experiences.

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