uture Bob here, reporting for the commune from the year 2015 with news that the tenth annual Straight Day parade has officially come to a bitter end, thanks to the disappointing discovery that there are only twelve straight people left in the country, and only four of them could get enough time off to come march in downtown Amarillo. This is a sad day indeed for heterosexual America and Texas in particular.

Once prided as the last bastion of straight America, the state has in recent years been overrun by the homosexual agenda and according to all reports has been gayed up something awful. Beginning with the legalization of homosexual marriage in 2007 and then the inevitable subsequent banning of hetero marriage in 2009, it's been a short, quick drop into gayness for even the once-butchest member of the U.S. statehood boy's club.

As many not locked in the past already know, in 2005 the Straight Day parade debuted opposite the long-since quaint Gay Day parade of San Francisco, which for years had provided over-the-top gayness for stereotype fans everywhere. The Straight Day parade sought to match Gay Day note for offensive note, glorifying horrifically heterosexual behavior in floats depicting nuclear families eating TV dinners and housewives submitting dutifully to stultifying missionary-position sexual intercourse.

Local groups, ranging from the barely-hetero Shriners to Elk's Lodge members bedecked in polyester suits only a straight man could love, were the parade's mainstays, clear symbols of tasteless masculinity for an increasingly confused world. Beer bellies waving in the breeze, Texans proved their heterosexuality by offering a vision so distasteful no one could possibly find it alluring, least of all gay men. However, even the ungayest state's hold on hetero chic began to wane in the following years, as gay male America co-opted the cowboy esthetic and lesbians took over what little fashion real-estate straight men had left for themselves. Rebellious Texans reacted by wearing the ugliest, most tasteless clothes they could find, even moreso than usual, in an effort to forestall the coming big gay tsunami. But before long even this futile resistance was absorbed by the growing appreciation of kitsch and intentionally horrible 1970's haircuts in the gay community, and straight men were left without a "look" to rally around.

The sadly under-attended 10th Straight Day Parade was declared an official fiasco when it was revealed that most of the participants were gay Texans helping out their few remaining straight neighbors, lending a hand with the floats, marching and baked goods. According to many, the final nail in the hetero coffin was the parade-stopping production of "Deep in the Heart of Texas" performed to lively choreography and featuring impeccable sequined cowboy costumes, a beautiful swirling cornucopia of toned abs and tasteful reverie that all but announced that there were no straight people left in Texas. At that point, the Texas Hetero Men's Recorder Choir bringing up the rear of the parade threw down their instruments in disgust and started making out with each other.

"Well, I done holded out as long as I could," sighed resigned 85-year-old Elmer Viddle of Knothole, Texas, leaving an Amarillo newsstand clutching copies of The Advocate and Hunk Sweat under his withered arm. "Guess it's time for Elmer to climb up on that ol' gay bus."

In response to the parade's results, Congress has begun to discuss plans to have America's twelve remaining straight citizens moved to a secluded island in the South Pacific, where they can play and frolic in the sun as God intended. Scientists would also study the expatriated straights in an effort to understand what makes them not so gay. Many Senators also believe that any hetero-relocation legislation would also include forward-thinking provisions for the future day when the entire country eventually becomes Latino as well.

ice-President Dick Cheney unveiled a new "sassitude" last week, starting with Tuesday's off-color suggestion Sen. Patrick Leahy have sex with himself, and concluding with a spicier, not-ready-for-primetime Cheney fielding questions Friday from the White House press corps.

The VP surprised a number of political experts and average Americans alike by revealing a saltier disposition never before seen exhibited publicly by White House personnel. However, according to administration insiders, who crammed our doorways to volunteer information, Cheney has been quite the prick for years behind closed doors, so it was bound to come out sooner or later.

Things began innocently enough Tuesday morning, when on the Senate floor Cheney told Sen. Patrick Leahy to "fuck off," although some within hearing range claim the vice-president had been misheard, and he had actually said "fuck you." A senatorial class picture was being taken when the Democrat from Vermont fired a few barbs about Cheney's friends at the oil corporation Halliburton and allegations of abuse of power, and the vice-president responded with quite the filthy mouth, though some suggested Cheney's uncharacteristic response owed less to Leahy's comments and more to Sen. Mitch McConnell making bunny ears behind his head.

Plans had been made for Cheney to offer an explanation and possible apology for the remarks, when overnight White House polling showed drastic jumps in the VP's approval rating among males under 30, particularly African-Americans, a group Republicans have long struggled to reach. The vice-president responded via phone on CNN's Larry King Live.

"Balls to an apology, fuckface. I wouldn't piss a sorry on your freckled white ass. Leahy's a peckerhead and it's about time I laid down the law, put the smackdown him, bitch. 'Cause I'm for real." To which Larry King responded, "Is this Howard Stern screwing with me again?"

The Larry King interview caused some uproar among the FCC and some have speculated it may alienate some right-wing organizations, but Gallup polls reveal an even more distinct increase among young voters, including undecideds, so White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan said Cheney would keep that shit up.

"Mr. Cheney is keepin' it real, folks," McClellan said Thursday. "If you don't like the heat, stay the fuck out the kitchen. It's the Veep's world, yo, you just visiting."

Friday, Cheney poured on more foul-mouth rancor, sporting sunglasses and wearing untied Nike sneakers. He welcomed questions from the press corps and gave reporters unwanted nicknames, including "Dicknose" and "Faghag." This particular reporter unfairly earned the moniker "Gramma Titties."

"I know you all think I'm fucking with you, but I'm for real," said Cheney, pausing to inexplicably perform "the Worm" for reporters. "It's a dangerous world, motherfuckers, and it's about time we stop pussying up the language and say fuck when we mean fuck. And don't even think about getting in my face, I don't give a shit if you're a Democrat or Republican or one of them Green Party queens—you act the bitch, I'll treat you like a bitch. Bitch."

Cheney then leapt from the stage and slapped White House reporter Helen Thomas with a harsh backhand, sending the correspondent—whom he had nicknamed "Grape Ape"—wheeling to the back wall.

My fat little cheeks are full of smiles lately, readers. And do you want to know why? Your feelings are irrelevant. The reason why is because the commune has finally achieved the high numbers we've always wanted.

Since we contracted our commune Statistician, Perry "Bigger" Dunston, we've been able to document that more than one reader visits the commune website. Of course, that's not to diminish Emil, our biggest supporter, but a website cannot become profitable if nobody reads it. At least that's what my brother, ratings whore Gay Bagel says, and it sounds like it could be true.

You probably know full and well I'm not really in the "readership" business, sir—I do the commune just to get the truth out to as many people as possible, even if nobody reads it. But Gay has been chomping at the bit (the dentist says he has to wear it) to define our readership, and Perry has brought us the numbers we need to stay in business and keep Gay happy. I even hear tell that we will be getting new advertisers, if we keep these numbers up. Personally, all the free ribs I can eat at the U Ignorant cafeteria has been a sweet deal for me, but I can understand if Gay wants actual cash from sponsors. You can't pay for your penthouse with juicy ribs, falling off the bone. Wouldn't it be fantastic if we could, though? Let's think about that for a while.

Unsurprisingly, early numbers confirm what we've always thought about demographics, that our biggest audience is your average white male prisoner, age 18-34. But it turns out we've also got a fair number of non-imprisoned folks. The suicidal are a regular commune readership, it turns out, and they buy a lot of rope and firearms. Anybody in college who decided not to go to class, they make up a lot of our audience. Former Oprah fans who have been asked to stop writing letters, more commune readers. We also shouldn't forget our loyal fanbase of conspiracy junkies, meaning people who believe both in secret government plots and the unhampered use of heroin and crack. In addition, farm animals and woodland creatures with internet access, some sort of unexpected readership there, which I suspect owes mostly to contributions by Mazie the Chicken, or perhaps Ned Nedmiller.

This hasn't all been a barrelful of money. It might end up costing us. Our most popular column, we've learned, is "Boris is Gay," by our own Boris Utzov. I suppose I could speculate on why, but that would take a lot more work than I'm willing to spend on all this. My brother wanted numbers, he got numbers. Let him figure out the reasoning. As I was saying, Boris is playing everything close to the vest right now, but I have a sneaking suspicion he's plotting out a big contract negotiation. I'm telling you all right now, I will not, absolutely will not, be railroaded into paying him money to write his columns. When he signed that contract, he realized he was contributing to the commune because it builds character, and that was more than sufficient at the time.

Of course, heads may roll as well. If I had any idea readers didn't want to hear a gruff, aggressive old man whine about the most infinitesimal things, I never would have brought Rok Finger aboard in the first place. He'll have to do something to improve those numbers, appeal to a younger readership. I suggested he start drinking Jolt cola, but apparently they took it off the market. But low ratings will no longer be tolerated.

Except for mine. One person reading a column isn't so bad. I will have to ask Perry, though, if I count as that one person when I read it aloud to the office, or if somebody else is checking in. Since I do read it to the staff, I think that should count as a high numbers—at least fifteen people charging through here at any time of day. Fifteen is not such a bad count.

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