Commie Girl Returns to OC Weekly for ONE ISSUE ONLY!

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Greetings, Orange Countianos! It is I, your Commie Girl, returned to you for one week only! “OH, MY GOD,” you wheezed if you are old, and then you busted a nut (gross). “Um, who?” you are sneering if you're a millennial, and you are sneering it real snotty-like because your “pal” baby boomer parents never taught you to RESPECT YOUR ELDERS AND PRETTIERS.

Here's who I am, PUNK: I ran this joint back in the day—yes, I did; ask anyone as long as that anyone's me—when there was no Internet and no political assfucking blogs for freedom, and all of Orange County hung on my every column about whether or not I had syphilis.

So . . . hiiiiiii! Anything new since March 2007? Why, what happened in March 2007, you are probably asking because you forgot to read Joel Beers' 30,000-word screed (I am assuming it is a screed) on the fascinating inside story of OC Weekly through the years, which probably isn't even that fascinating honestly—I mean, where are the drugs and the fuckings? (Okay, I maybe fucked some people.)


The answer to your dumb question, dummies, is March 2007 is when I left you, I am pretty sure. Honestly, you probably could have gotten that from context, if you were smarter and less dumb. Well, the answer to my stupid question is “Many important things have happened in the world since March 2007. For one thing, we stopped electing Bushes to the White House—sorry, Mister ¡Jeb!—and got some foreign communist black guy who was never even born in there instead.” Works for me! 😀

Another thing that happened since March 2007 (I think) is someone invented emoticons. Back in my day, when Commie Girl was the most popular column in the Village Voice Media chain, and the Village Voice Media chain was owned by Village Voice Media, we had to actually type out “happyface” and “sadface” and “crazywhatthefuckfaceface.” HOW DID WE EVEN LIVE!!?!

So, like I was saying, many important things have happened. One of them was: I left Orange County. You guys, I live in Montana now. WHAT? I know. But Missoula is a college town, so nobody has even keyed my car or murdered me for driving a Prius with California plates and an “I Heart Obamacare” sticker on the back, although some big dumb asshole did tell me I was “stupid,” and then my husband puffed his chest out real manly-like and yelled at the guy for yelling at me, and then I had to have sex with him (“him” = my husband, please and thank you).

Also, because it's a college town, there's like at least three black guys you might see walking around, even though “Montana.” (It is very VERY white here—even the guys who come to cut your lawn are all white dudes, which is very confusing. And when everyone was pregnant here at the same time about two months ago, I kept worrying they were all pregnant for Jesus and the master race. And maybe they were! But I wasn't. I was pregnant two months ago because I forgot how sperms work, apparently, and now I have a 2-month-old baby even though I am 42 years old; it is like I am Madonna or something—COME ON, VOGUE.)

You know another thing about Montana? We can water our lawns, which leads to a lot of loud fretting (by me) about how NOT SURE IF YOU KNOW THIS, BUT IT IS VERY WASTEFUL TO WATER OUR LAWN DURING THE DAY, and MAYBE WE SHOULD NOT WATER OUR LAWN FOR TWO HOURS AT A TIME, OH, MY GOD, and OH, MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIIIIIIIE!

You know ANOTHER another thing about Montana? Our rent is $1,295 per month for a three-bedroom house in a sweet part of town on a corner lot with, like, 12 maple trees. You know when my rent in Southern California was last less than $1,300? Well, my small buttercup of a son was 8, and we lived in Long Beach, and people murdered one another on our street, which is why we moved to Santa Ana, where it was safe. My small buttercup of a son is married now—that is how long ago that was. And I'M married now, which, who would have ever seen THAT coming? (You, if you read three paragraphs or so ago when I talked about sexing my husband.) Anyway (math!), that was 2002, which (math again!) is at least nine years ago, I am pretty sure maybe.

So what I am saying is, come out to Montana! Especially if you are a person of color because I MISS YOU. I can't guarantee the Montanans will not put you in jail all the time, so maybe just stay in our little liberal oasis of Missoula and don't take any Sunday drives. 🙁 Man, those emoticons come in handy, don't they?

So that's what has been up in my life: married, baby, Montana, cool black president guy, bought a political assfucking blog for freedom. But what about you? Loretta Sanchez still sending out slutty Christmas cards? [Yes.] Your slutty hot-daddy sheriff still in jail? Are your desiccated lawns being set ablaze by sparks from the Disneyland fireworks nightly? What's Disney's latest epidemic? Is it spreading scarlet fever yet?

So what you're saying is times are swell! I am very glad to hear it! You will always have a place in my heart, or at least a few times a year when I hear some news about you and remember, like, oh yeah, those guys! Hope they're good, whatever. And then I remember your 405 or your 55 or your 5 or your 1 million and five, and I shake my damn head ruefully, and I laugh and laugh. With love!

Leave your dried-up, burning state behind. Come on out to Montana, dear ones. We've got terrific conservation laws here, for real, so I promise you: The water's fine.


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