Thou art banned, for thou didst fail to use the Tongue. That is a heinous crime.
One day, when Dufferland was green, the Gobbling Lady of Gondor wandered down a lovely path bordered by young cacti. She saw a book at the end of the path. It was written by Karl Marx. She ate all the cacti, and then ate the book (as one might expect). And thus the Commune was born. Its existence went unnoticed, but the infant Commune (it is said) was unduly influenced by Duffers-whom-we-shall-not-name. They spoke Shakespearean, that great and august Tongue. And, as they spoke, the Commune encompassed them and adopted their speech. Now the Commune doth encompass all of Dufferland.
Is the Commune, therefore, GG's stomach? or Derny's black hole? Or is the Commune the true side of Oly's beard?
Mayhap. We know not. It mattereth not. But this is the one needful thing:
Honor the Commune that doth encompass thee. Speak the Tongue that bore thee. Or thou shalt be cast from the heart of the Commune, and spat from the tip of the Tongue, and grim shall be thine end.