Monday, December 31, 2007

New Year's Eve Edits

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

  • "December is a slow news month" was replaced with "the bottom portion of page 18 in the recent issue of D Magazine."
  • Recent lull in interweb log posts due to "long hours of charity work at local children's hospitals" was originally and more factually attributed to "days upon days spent playing Cello Hero III: Masters of Chamber Music."
  • All references to Jaleel White were removed.
  • The lyrics to "Auld Lang Syne" were replaced with those of Digital Underground's "The Humpty Dance."
  • "Humorless, self-important dick whittler" was changed to "Gary Cogill."

Popping A Cap In The New Year

Dear Dallas Residents Who Insist on Discharging Small Arms Into the Air to Celebrate the Induction of the New Year,

Greetings and a good New Year to you, fellow citizens. I know that you are excited to usher in the New Year with a fantastic exclamation of rebirth and renewal. Most of us will do this by popping a champagne cork or two, exchanging a romantic midnight kiss, or partaking in an indiscernible inebriated chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” with a group of dear friends. You, on the other hand, choose to mark the occasion by firing a handgun or low caliber rifle into the night air, despite being enclosed within the crowded urban environment of a major metropolitan cityscape.

Kudos to you, reckless caveperson. Your asinine display of Wild West enthusiasm has the potential to harm, maim, or even kill an individual with whom you have no personal ties. I salute your inventiveness despite your underdeveloped brainpower and tragically warped chromosomes.

While I am sure that this activity is exhilarating for you, might I suggest some alternatives that will not adversely affect the well being of innocent individuals while still providing the thrilling element of danger required of your subhuman intellect.

  • Swallow a live road flare.
  • Wear a hornet’s nest like a turban.
  • Place a lit M-80 firework into a slingshot. Set up a trampoline so that it sits on its side and directly faces you. Aim slingshot at trampoline and release M-80.
  • Heave an enormous boulder over your head and then let go of it.
  • Apply soldering iron to nipples. Repeat.
  • Soak dental floss in hot sauce overnight. Insert dental floss into left nostril. Remove through right nostril. Punch yourself in the face for good measure.
  • Eat a dozen pinecones.
  • Stomp on the tail of a wild puma.
  • Give yourself a “Prince Albert” with a Bedazzler.
  • Steer your pickup truck towards the end of a very high cliff. Drive off of it.

Happy New Year!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Monday, December 24, 2007

Christmas Eve's Edits

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

  • "Santa Claus" was changed to "Jesus Christ."
  • "Frosty the Snowman" was changed to "Jesus the Snowman."
  • "A Very Brady Christmas" was changed to "A Very Brady Jesus."
  • "Good King Wenceslas" was changed to "Good King Jesus."
  • "A Charlie Brown Christmas" was changed to "Jesus Christ, It's Christmas."
  • "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was changed to "Jesus the Newborn Christ Child."
  • "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" was changed to "How Jesus Got His Groove Back."
  • "Jesus" was changed to "Jesus Jesus."

Thursday, December 20, 2007

On The Seventh Day He Wiped Off His Chin

Dear Institute for Creation Research,

Good day and God bless. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther, best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, substitute Sunday school teacher, and true believer in the proven science of creationism.

Congratulations on the recent approval of your request to teach creationism to science teachers. For far too long, educational systems have been constrained by bureaucratic pandering and political correctness that confine scientific teachings to a prospectus that has been thoroughly and scientifically confirmed or, at the very least, clearly defined as practically accepted theorem. I applaud the efforts of your organization as it seeks to pervert developing young minds with unverifiable beliefs rooted in religious faith masquerading as true science.

Might I suggest that you consider extending your curriculum to include other teachings based on works of imaginative literature and pass those off as scientific fact, as well? If the improvable assumption that our physical universe “was supernaturally created by a transcendent personal Creator who alone has existed from eternity” can become inarguable science simply because it is stated as such in the Bible, then why can’t it also be factually stated that without a shadow of a doubt “there once was a man from Nantucket whose dick was so long he could suck it,” as illustrated in the dirty limerick of the same name? In this scenario, it is avowed as actuality that his reproductive organ is of such self-suckable length. The only capricious element is the possibility that he could have intercourse with his ear if it were a vagina.

Yours in Christ,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Let's All Go To The Movies!

Dear Dallas-Fort Worth Film Critics Association,

Yearend greetings to you, good sirs and madams. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, ascot designer, and devout cinema buff.

I am writing to your organization with regard to your recent list of the best films of 2007. Please excuse the frankness of my query. However, after reviewing your selections I would be remiss if I did not ask, “Are your minds stifled by irreparable retardation and drastic developmental erosion?”

No Country for Old Men? More like, No Country for Stupid Dummies with Dumb Faces.

The Kite Runner? I think you mean, Too Lazy to Buy the Book at Starbucks? Here’s the Movie.

There Will Be Blood? How about, There Will Need to be Some Sort of Explanation Since This Movie Hasn’t Even Been Released Yet?

I have to say, I was quite disappointed with your collection of paramount motion pictures. And of course, when I say “paramount” I am not referring to the film studio of the same name, but am using the word as an adjective meaning “supreme in rank, power, or authority.” But I digress.

As a service to your woefully misrepresentative organization I have included my personal picks for the year’s best films. I suggest you review them carefully and make the necessary adjustments to your inferior list accordingly.

Norbit
Eddie Murphy illustrates his expert range as a master thespian in his portrayal of the titular character, a hapless awkward orphan. It’s an enchanting and timeless tale of nerds, the morbidly obese, and bawdy ethnic insensitivity. Enchanting!

Me Having a Sexual Encounter with an Unconscious Hobo
Sometimes I film myself having sex. Sometimes I have sex with destitute street people. Sometimes I combine these two leisure pursuits. Often this results in movie magic.

Norbit
Eddie Murphy shows that he can efficiently offend fat people, black people, women, and fat black women with his stunning performance of Norbit’s femme fetale fatty, Rasputia. A bonus point for utilizing the hit Pussycat Girls song “Don’t Cha” not once, not twice, but three times in the course of the film’s running time. Delightful!

2 Girls, 1 Cup
Clearly, one of the year’s best. This is the romantic story of two young women's shared affection for an excrement receptacle. Guaranteed to become a heartwarming classic for generations to come.

Norbit
Eddie Murphy proves there is no racial stereotype he cannot effectively portray as Chinese restaurateur, Mr. Wong. Wonderous!


Thank you,
Alibaster Abthernabther

* UPDATE : 12/19/07 *

WFAA's Gary Cogill responds:

It's so refreshing to see your mean cynical email first thing in the morning. Thank you for being so mean to people you have never met.

Monday, December 17, 2007

This Week's Edits

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

  • The term “laundry bin sex” was replaced with “hamper action.”
  • “Indian burn” was changed to “Native American abrasion.”
  • The phrase “interpersonal proximity anxiety“ was replaced with “Christmas shopping at NorthPark.”
  • All references to It's a Living were removed.
  • “Sloppy rainbow kiss” was changed to “casual handshake.”
  • “Lactating octet” was replaced with “eight maids a-milking.”
  • “Speed boat-sized penis” was changed to “rhino wang.”

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Jumping the Shark

Dear Cycle Stuff USA,

Greetings. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request construction of a custom racing suit.

The suit will need to be a one-piece jumper that is water resistant, fire retardant, flexible, and fashionable yet functional. Also, it will need ample pockets to accommodate my car keys, billfold, cellular telephone, monocle case, hip flasks, ankle flasks, and elbow flasks.

My season color analyst has determined that I am a summer, which you may know is the most delicate of the four color seasons. My racing suit would need to adhere to this tint scheme, perhaps using swaths of powder blue with dusty pink accents.

This will need to be a rush order, as I will require the racing suit for Christmas day. Also, I will need a matching multi-impact helmet emblazoned with a TCB lightening bolt.

Please let me know if this request can be met in the allotted time and I will have my tailor provide you with my specific measurements.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Sewell Hummer of Dallas,

Hello. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request the construction of a custom Hummer H2 to be modified for a particular purpose.

The vehicle will need a 6.0L engine with a polished intercooled Vortech supercharger, triple quantum fever posts, Beru spark plugs, rescinded aluminum gap traps, Nology wires, and Gibson headers and exhaust. I will need the stock hardware removed and replaced with a 14-inch bulletproof suspension kit, dual 2.0 shocks with chrome-plated reservoirs, and solid gold billet clamps. Please install brand new Centerco 49” tires onto 17x14-inch Volcano Crusher wheels and bolt them with diamond tipped tugger stacks. The braking system will need to include Guttenberg reversible slot rotors, armored stutter pints, and Shrieking Eagle brake pads.

I would like the interior to be upholstered with baby ostrich leather and the seats filled with goose down. The exterior paneling will need to be reinforced to withstand extreme heat and rocket impacts. I will also need seventeen firing canisters capable of holding and releasing timed mortar charges mounted to each side of the vehicle.

Also, the vehicle will need to be altered significantly so that it will fit comfortably through a passageway that is approximately 10-feet wide.

I will need this ordered rushed so that the vehicle is available by Christmas day. Please let me know if this is possible and I will send my driver to retrieve the modified H2 no later than December 24th, Christmas Eve.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear North Texas Pyrotechnics Productions,

Salutations. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request a custom made close proximity pyrotechnic package.

I am in need of several short-range airborne explosives that can be affixed to and released from a moving vehicle’s exterior while being remotely triggered from within said vehicle. Also, I will need flash illumination and concussion rounds that will line an enclosed passage of approximately 40 feet in length.

I will need this pyrotechnic system designed and installed no later than December 24th to be used in a Christmas day event. Please let me know if this is possible and I will have my personal assistant Reggie Part Two follow up with more particulars.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Ker’s WingHouse,

Good day. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request catering services from your fine hot wing establishment.

Your catered service will be part of an event scheduled to be held on Christmas day. I can’t even begin to fathom a more fitting feast for the season than genetically mutated chicken wing sections that are deep fried, slathered in a vinegar-based cayenne butter sauce, and served by a gaggle of walking eating disorders.

I would like to order 30 tubs of chicken and sausage gumbo, 30 tubs of clam chowder, a truckload of chili cheese fries, a truckload of Brew City onion rings, 1,000 buffalo chicken strips, 3,000 buffalo shrimp, 6,000 poppers, and 1,000 orders of your world famous Belt-Bustin’ Nachos.

I trust this order can be fulfilled without incident. Please inform me of the full charges and I will have my personal assistant Reggie Part Two provide you with a cashier’s check and delivery instructions.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther


***

Dear Great White,

Hello and happy holidays. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to you to request your musical services for a Christmas day event that I am planning to take place in downtown Dallas.

I keep a web log that I am sure you are familiar with. There are many readers who rightfully believe that my wed log has “jumped the shark,” as it were. I would like to have your band perform in honor of their expert summation.

I should warn you that the event will feature an abundance of pyrotechnics and staged fireworks. I hope this will not be a distraction.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Dallas World Aquarium,

Greetings. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request the use of your facilities for an event to be held on Christmas day.

In tribute to the authoritative assessment that my web log has “jumped the shark,” I would like to drive a Hummer outfitted with pyrotechnic explosions through your shark tank tunnel. I have already made the appropriate arrangements to realize this spectacular vision and presume that your organization will be on board.

The event will be catered by the world famous Ker's WingHouse and musical entertainment will be provided by the hit 80's cock rock outfit, Great White.

I will, of course, cover all costs and expenditures personally. I thank you in advance for your cooperation and look forward to working with you on this project.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Nau'to twibaounme

Dear readers,

That this web log’s quality and consistency has been in steep decline recently is a reality not lost on me. Nor has it been lost on you. The comment sections of the world wide webs are peanut galleries where cruel truth and infallible personal opinion merge to become one. This is where I hear cries of shark jumping. This is where I meet accusations that the joke has worn quite thin. This is where elegant and thoughtful critiques of my work are so eloquently phrased: “Zzzzzzzzzzzz.”

I would not dispute these claims, as I could not agree more. You are right, wizened internet commentators and I wholeheartedly apologize. What at first may have seemed like a merry romp is now a tired exercise in increasingly commonplace absurdity and scatological reference-by-numbers.

Farewell,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Workplace in the Diversity

Dear Dallas Business Journal,

Good day to you. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, folk dancer, and diverse employer.

I am writing to you regarding your upcoming “Diversity in the Workplace” conference and to offer myself as either a guest speaker, guest panelist, or high profile guest of honor. I hire African-Americans. And I'm not afraid to admit it.

I engage in several professional endeavors in a variety of industries and therein I willfully employ a great many individuals; people of every shape, size, and hue. I also hire Asians. Therefore, I would be an ideal addition to your seminar and would have much to contribute to your “frank, interactive discussion on the topic of Diversity and Your Business.” Did I mention that I hire Hispanics? I do, but I pay them in cereal. Boo Berry is their favorite.

Here is just a taste of what I can offer your event by way of lengthy public address: “Business is diverse. People are diverse. Business requires diverse people and people require diverse business. Diversity.”

My expert advice is not solely limited to the simple assemblage of empty buzz jargon that, while incredibly moving, is utterly vacant of any actual coherent meaning. I have hired Jews but almost always end up firing them shortly thereafter. I can also share with conference attendees the methods I have developed to execute precision diversity in my workplace and how it can be applied to any workplace. I hire Middle Eastern people, then report them to federal authorities for reasons I later fabricate. Over the years I have perfected a winning stratagem for hiring and positioning my workers in a manner that celebrates cultural diversity by blindly associating job skills and workplace responsibilities with stereotypes and xenophobic assumption.

Diversity.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Monday, December 10, 2007

This Week's Edits

Occasionally, I will turn in a piece to the Quick that for one reason or another must be editorially fettered prior to publication. In an effort of full disclosure to my loyal web log readers, I will post what has been changed whenever such revisions occur. Think of it as the deleted scenes bonus material for that week's column.

  • "Rat hammer" was changed to "dog cannon."
  • The recipe for "Grandma Abthernabther's Chinchilla Soup" was omitted due to word count limitations.
  • "Sunny bunny fluff" was changed to "lava snot."
  • All references to Hitler were removed.
  • The phrase "Korean people like to steal cars" was replaced with"Korean people do not like to steal cars."
  • "Jerk wad" was changed to "putrid festering dickface."
  • All references to the Richard Marx piano ballad "Right Here Waiting" were removed.
  • "Dick York" was replaced with "Dick Sargent."

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Don We Meow Our Gay Apparel

Dear Dallas Symphony Orchestra,

Greetings and good day. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther; best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, recreational life coach and DSO season ticket holder.

I am quite literally soiling myself in anticipation of your forthcoming annual holiday concert series. Much like garnishing belt buckles with mistletoe to encourage spontaneous fellatio, spiking figgy pudding with model airplane glue and rohypinol, and setting fire to unsuspecting quiescent vagrants, attending this concert is a Christmas tradition I spend most of my year looking forward to. That is not to say it leaves me wholly satisfied.

Each Christmas I attend the concert and each Christmas I come away from the performance with an efficient sense of seasonal wonder tinged with the slightest inkling of nagging disappointment. Something is painfully absent. While the program includes several Christmas classics reproduced with stunning symphonic splendor and luxurious choral brilliance, it always seems to be somewhat undersupplied, lacking a certain je ne sais quoi. However, I now believe I have figured out what has been missing lo these many years: vocal accompaniment performed by three or four dozen house cats.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Friday, December 7, 2007

Death Be Not Proud

Dear Jill "J.R." Labbe,

My name is Alibaster Abthernabther, best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, Hummel figurine collector, and staunch proponent of court-ordered lethal punishment.

Kudos on your recent commentary in defense of the death penalty which was recently broadcast over the airwaves and the world wide web waves of our local public broadcasting radio affiliate. It surely brightened my morning drive to the gym. Nothing prepares my stomach for a series of merciless crunches like a disjointed and condescending argument in favor of terminating the miserable, twisted life of some mentally deficient beast.

I agree with you wholeheartedly. Yes, once an accused murderer or child molester or rapist or murdering child molesting rapist has been sufficiently "tried in a court of law and found guilty of their earthly actions" - a process which is infamously free of fault, flaw or mishap - the accused should then be put down like the diseased creature that they are. Any right-thinking, blue-blooded, God-fearing, Larry the Cable Guy Christmas Spectacular-viewing American can get on board with that. However, I personally believe that the means of execution at our disposal are in fact too humane and thus equating the painless, chemically induced death of, say, a fiendish serial killing cannibal to "justice" is somewhat of a misnomer.

To be, as you so put it, "society's just and symmetrical response to the premeditated act of murder," I personally believe the punishment of death should be precisely and exactly symmetrical, perfectly fitting the crime like an Yves Saint-Laurent Croc-Embossed Glove. If a murderer is accused and convicted of turning their victim's skull into an ashtray then the criminal's skull should meet the same posthumous cigarette butt-filled fate. None of this namby-pamby lethal injection pampering.

Conversely, I believe that the proper way to abort an unwanted pregnancy is to sex it to death. Call me old fashioned. That’s how I was raised.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

The Event of the Season

Dear PaperCity,

Fashionable greetings to you. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, "Gallagher Too" understudy and official AVN Awards Show seat filler.

I would like to extend to you a formal invitation to the annual Holiday Gala at Abthernabther Manor. As you are probably already aware, this is the most exclusive and important social event of the year. This is where Dallas' mega-famous, ultra-mega-famous, and super-ultra-mega-famous meet, mingle, schmooze, and schmingle with the lithe ferocity of a zillion Ecstasy-riddled debutantes. Friendships are made, coalitions are formed, previously made friendships are then betrayed, coalitions are unceremoniously disbanded, all culminating in a frothy orgy of champagne-stained cocktail dresses and gin-drenched cummerbunds.

Guests will include renowned fashion designer Jean-Jacque St. Fleuff, celebrity chef Randy Castle-Court, flamethrower artist Chaka Chaka, Miami Dolphins kicker Jay Feely, pubic hair sculptor Durty LaBouche, supermodels Isabella Smirsh, Duumaz, and Jennifer Jenniferson, and the law firm of Rosenwitz, Mengele, and Rosenwitz.

This year’s theme is “Do They Know It’s Christmas? No, Of Course They Don’t. They Are Quite Poor.” Alibaster Manor’s walls will be adorned with gigantic black and white prints of impoverished third world children. Guests will be encouraged to point and laugh at their suffering. New and unwrapped toys for disadvantaged inner-city youngsters will be collected at the door and then promptly burned in a massive toxic bonfire.

This invitation is open to all PaperCity society photographers plus one guest. Cocktails, hors d’oeuvres and barbiturates will be served. Both formal evening attire and breathable swimwear are required.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Viewers Like You

Dear KERA Pledge Drive,

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back. Ain’t much an old country boy like me can’t hack. It’s early to rise, early in the sack. Thank God I’m a country boy. Well, a simple kinda life never did me no harm. A raisin’ me a family and workin’ on a farm. My days are all filled with an easy country charm. Thank God I’m a country boy

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle. Thank God I’m a country boy.

When the works all done and the suns settlin’ low. I pull out my fiddle and I rosin up the bow. The kids are asleep so I keep it kinda low. Thank God I’m a country boy. I’d play "Me So Horny" all day if I could. But the lord and my wife wouldn’t take it very good. So I fiddle when I could, work when I should. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle. Life aint nothin but a funny (thank you, Bryce) funny riddle. Thank God I’m a country boy.

(fiddle solo)

Well I wouldn’t trade my life for diamonds and jewels. I never was one of them money hungry fools. I’d rather have my fiddle and my farmin’ tools. Thank God I’m a country boy. Yeah, city folk drivin’ in a black limousine. A lotta sad people thinkin’ that’s mighty keen. Son, let me tell ya now exactly what I mean. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well, my fiddle was my daddy’s till the day he died. And he took me by the hand and held me close to his side. Said, live a good life and play my fiddle with pride. And thank God you’re a country boy. My daddy taught me young how to hunt and how to whittle. Taught me how to work and play a tune on the fiddle. Taught me how to love and how to give just a little. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin’ up I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle. Thank God I'm a country boy.

Thank God I’m a country boy.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Amo A Muchachas Slutty!

Querido 12 Corazones,

Hola. Permita que se introduzca. Mi nombre es Alibaster Abthernabther, el mejor autor vendedor, corredor del yate, entusiasta del globo del aire caliente, amante fanático y candente de la demostración del juego de la realidad.

Déjeme comenzar diciendo, yo no tienen ninguna idea cuál es dicho en su programa de la televisión. En cualquier momento dado, estoy totalmente en una pérdida en cuanto a qué se está encendiendo. Sin embargo, a Penélope Menchaca me enamoro absolutamente, especialmente cuando ella usa las faldas del dril de algodón y los cargadores de cuero altos de la rodilla. También, muchos de los contestants femeninos visten como prostitutes comunes de la calle. Esto que tengo gusto mucho.

Continúe el buen trabajo.

Sinceramente,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Monday, December 3, 2007

Straight As A One Dollar Bill

Dear Jack E. Jett,

Hello, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, part-time rodeo clown, and friend of The Gays.

You and I have never been formally introduced. That is not to say we have never met, as I am no stranger to glory holes or the occasional anonymous bus station restroom reach-around. I might have once thought it possible that we had crossed paths and exchanged, shall we say, “pleasantries.” As I am no fan of innuendo I will go on to say that we may have crossed paths while engaging in an anonymous bus station restroom reach-around, if you know what I mean. And what I mean is that we may have performed reach-arounds on each other in a bus station bathroom. Anonymously.

However, recent events have caused me to question the plausibility of such an exchange. Last week I was privy to a scene that might blossom into a public relations nightmare for you if not immediately explained or extinguished.

I was in the middle of a steak dinner at The Titty Hut, my favorite local steakhouse and topless bar. Just as I had slipped a crisp twenty dollar bill into a random harlot’s butt cleavage and swallowed a succulent morsel of bacon-wrapped fillet, I looked up to see you, Jack E. Jett, ferociously spanking a buxom young woman on her bare bottom with your signature rubber dish gloves. No sooner did I surmise that you were simply being “cheeky” and “ironic,” as The Gays often do, than you proudly exclaimed, “I am seriously repulsed by a man’s touch and love nothing more than to sink my engorged wang into a lady’s furry coin purse!” To clarify further you went on to proclaim, "And when I say 'lady' I mean someone who was born a natural female, not some dude who paid a surgeon to make him into a lady!"

I was absolutely aghast. If the boys down at Zippers were to hear of this you would be laughed out of Cedar Springs before the morn. Please don’t misinterpret my concern for heterophobia. You are free to lust over members of the opposite sex. I personally believe you should be able to marry them if you wish. But your public image as a wickedly flitty provocateur is threatened every time you frequent The Titty Hut or Skank Tank or Shaven Beaver Barn in such an outrageously non-homo manner. Might I suggest you patronize establishments more in line with the homo-friendly image you try to exude? Clubs like The Throbbing Gentleman or Admiral Petey’s Boy Palace or, my personal favorite, Bottoms Upside Your Head.

Rest assured your secret is safe with me, sir. But you may want to be mindful of prying public eyes when carousing for the vaginas you so desperately crave.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther


* UPDATE : 12/9/07 *

Jack E. Jett responds...

Dear Ali Ab;

Well, above and beyond being utterly starstruck at receiving an email from you, I was a bit taken aback (that is very different from being taken aforward) with you choice of verbiage. There is no doubt that you and I have had mutliple sexual pleasantries as I would recognize your wide stance among those of a lesser stance anywhere. Your three taps, with a slight shuffle to the left while humming Sympathy For the Devil by the Rolling Stones is infamous. Many try to copy it. Many fail.

It is true that from time to time, I can be found pounding the poon or tapping the tang. I usually do this under an assumed name. I am a mercy fucker. You have seen me and therefore you know that I, like you, am a God of sorts. A chick and dude magnet. It is cumbersome. The laws of nature will not and can not allow me to go without visiting the bearded leisure centre, the pink palace if you will. I don't make these laws, I just enforce them.

You are right that my reputation could be tarnished should prominent local homosexuals like Cloris Leachman or Pete Sessions get wind of it, and I think you know what I mean by wind, and I think you know what I mean by think. I understand that you have been elected Queen of Verbiage for a daily publication called Quick or Pronto for our chimichanga loving friend in Farmers Branch. I learned years ago, my on a missionary mercy fuck mission in Japan that the lower one man bows to another is a sign of the level of respect on has for his tomadachi. With that in mind, please know I am laying on the floor in hopes that you will not share the breeder side of me with your fans/readers/contributors
/johns/stalkers.

Please know that I love you and I love loving you.

With that in mind,

Jack Jett

Heal Thine Penchant For Ripping Off A Chevy Chase Movie

Dear Benny Hinn,

Good day to you, sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and true believer in the healing power of Christ.

Let me say firstly and foremostly that I am a longtime fan of your work. From your salad days as a sex obsessed, marshmallow-shaped English comedian to your more recent enterprise as a babbling televangelist healer of indeterminate ethnic origin who wears brassy discards from the Steve Harvey Collection, I have charted your illustrious career with great interest.

I have a request to be cured by your healing hand. What with the
U.S. Senate’s request that you turn over evidence of your ministry’s financial standing this week
, I assume that time is of the essence. Before you are sent to a federal prison for tax evasion and fraud for many, many years, please consider laying hands one last time. More specifically, please consider laying hands on me. Even more specifically, please consider laying hands on my rump cheeks, as they have been possessed by Satan’s will.

Fissures, hemorrhoids, unstoppable gastric discharge; you name it and my anus is afflicted with it. Every other inch of my body is pristine, healthy, and fully functional; alas my hind quarter has a diseased mind of its own. If we could meet for a mere moment so you could lay your warm, wonderful palms on my quivering, pockmarked ass, I know in my heart of hearts that all its painful suffering would be undone by the Lord’s transcendent mending power.

Also, this premise is nothing like that one scene in Fletch Lives.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Kudos to me for selling out like a filthy, filthy whore!

Dear readers,

It is with a mixture of spine-tingling excitement, heart-shattering fear and mild embarrassment that I make the following pronouncement. Starting tomorrow I will be a contributing columnist for the Quick DFW.

Those of you unfamiliar with this free weekday publication may recognize Quick from its more common use as makeshift bed linens for the area’s homeless. But this is not its sole purpose of publication. Say you were forced to ride the DART system; perhaps your luxury sedan was in the shop and they were unable to assign a rental vehicle to you. Or you bludgeoned your driver with a marble salt shaker without first hiring a replacement servant. Or maybe you were kidnapped, knocked unconscious, then freed in a remote part of town and forced to take public transportation. However you ended up on the DART you no doubt came across this newspaper. The Quick is what you will see insane perverts pretending to read while they are being sexually aroused by the mass transit vehicle's centrifugal momentum.

I urge all of you to pick up a copy of the Quick each Monday and enjoy my enchanting whimsy over breakfast, brunch, lunch, coffee, or the carcass of a recently murdered enemy. My column is designed to fill most of your emotional voids and compliment your psychosomatic foibles. Then communicate to the Quick editor via digital correspondence, postal parcel, or carrier pigeon how much you love my work, finding it to be the literary equivalent of an awkward yet affectionate dry hump.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Pretty On The Inside-Out

Dear Nu Image,

My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, temporary amnesia sufferer, and best selling author.

I was leafing through your Winter 2007 issue and was wondering if you could provide me with a referral based on a specific procedure that I have been interested in for some time. I am sure this can be done without compromising your objectivity as a member of the free press, seeing as you are not an actual magazine but a collection of advertisements for vanity practitioners masquerading as lifestyle journalism.

I would like to have a fully functional vagina grafted to the tip of my penis, then I would like this vagina to undergo laser vaginal rejuvenation, followed by a lip enhancement utilizing the new Perma Facial Implant procedure. Please let me know if there are any plastic surgeons in the Dallas-Fort Worth area who can facilitate all of this under one sterile roof.

Also, kudos on the article "Are You Overdoing It?" which offered tips and suggestions for those of us who may be abusing or over-indulging in caffeine, food, alcohol, sleep, etc. I could not help but notice that "obsessively reconstructing your natural physical traits" did not make that list, though I assume this was for good reason.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Sweet Charity

Dear Victoria Snee,

Good day to you, good lady. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, pastry chef, and vintage mitten collector.

I am pleased as punch – or should I say, pleased as egg nog - to see you once again teaming up with Starbucks for your Holiday Angels Toy Drive. It is in the truest sense of giving --- I’m sorry. I’m going to have to stop right here. I can’t go any further. I need to get something out of the way first. I’m sure you will understand.

Are you seriously married to FOX 4’s Jeff Crilley? Seriously? Now, I am quite aware that he is an Emmy award winning reporter because right there on his website it says in big bold letters, “Emmy award winning reporter.” I am sure he’s a lovely person and a real upstanding fellow. And don’t get me wrong, he’s not a bad looking gentleman. But, I mean, c’mon. Seriously.

I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and completely out of line. Who am I to question the love and attraction between two people, especially when it is a bond conjoining two local media personalities? Since when was I voted mayor of Compatibility City? Please forgive me and allow me to continue.

As I was saying, your annual Holiday Angels Toy Drive benefiting Cook Children’s Medical Center and Children’s Medical Center of Dallas is a wonderful endeavor that combines the --- Jeff Crilley? I mean, really. C’mon. Seriously. Again, I’m not suggesting that he’s an ugly man. Perhaps he’s a little on the toothy side, but by no means could he be considered downright physically repulsive. But, c’mon! Look at him. Now look at you. Now look at him again. Now look at you again. Do you see what I’m getting at? Don’t make me come out and say it. Please do not make me come out and say it.

I am truly sorry. That was very rude of me. I am embarrassed beyond reproach. I will try to get back on track here so I may address the --- Jeff Crilley? Really? Seriously? It’s just extremely difficult to fathom that a gentleman of his design is allowed to be acquainted with you in a Biblical manner. Excuse my frank description, but it is really and truly astonishing that an individual of such mediocre corporal makeup is permitted access to your various regions on a regular basis without some sort of bribe or fiscal compensation or a deep amount of pity on your part. Is it pity? It must be pity. Was he shamed or dishonored in front of you by, perhaps, a clan of evil kung fu masters or a street gang of some sort?

It is quite obvious that your charitable nature is a major driving force in your life and deed, as well as your choice of life partner and involvement with the Holiday Angels Toy Drive. Good show, my lady. Good show.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Friday, November 30, 2007

Whatever That Was.

Dear readers,

Well, that was quite odd. I just had the most bizarre hallucination. It seemed to endure for a day or two. My head is pounding, my eyes sting and my rectal cavity has definitely seen better days. I'll spare you the nasty details, only to say that I just now woke up to the sound of a jet engine landing on my house. Luckily I was unharmed as it so happened that I was right then in the middle of taking a shower with Patrick Duffy. It is the most peculiar thing. Patrick and I weren't supposed to get together for our group shower until next week.

Speaking of next week, on Monday I will add yet another exotic feather to my finely fitted cap. In addition to this web log, which will continue unabated with its quasi-regular cycles of scrumptious gaiety, you will now be able to read my divine wordcraft in a proper print medium. I know that many of you will think that I am "slumming it" amongst the commoners. But I remind those critics of the wise words of philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau: "Muthafuckuh's gots to eat, yo."

I'll have all the details for you on Sunday night. So check back at weekend's end for a couple of new memos and a final announcement that will surely reverse the Earth's natural axis.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

I-Like-A-Look-A-Likes

Dear Dallas Look-A-Likes,

Good evening. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, peniaphobic and unashamed lover of celebrity impersonators.

As you may know, I am on the cusp of making a very important announcement that will change the world forever. Once this announcement is made I will need to throw an enormous celebratory soiree. For this I will require an assortment of your superstar doppelgangers.

I would like to order one Jonathan Lipnicki, an Alan Alda, an overweight Jay Leno, the cast of Caddyshack, both Austin Powers I and Austin Powers II, and the lady from The Weakest Link.

Now I must address a rather troubling matter. I do not see in your list of cover bands any mention of an Ace of Base tribute act. This saddens me deeply. So in lieu of a suitable tribute band, I will have to request the services of the Gyro String Quartet to play a selection of Ace of Base’s greatest hits, namely “The Sign (Extended MegaHouse Mix),” “All That She Wants,” “The Sign (DJ Dirtee Deez Nutz Chop & Skrew Remix),” “Don’t Turn Around,” “The Sign (EuroClub Mix)," “Beautiful Life” and, of course, “The Sign.”

Yours,

Alibaster Abthernabther

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

An Instant Christmas Classic

Dear Uncle Barky,

Good day, good sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, Christmas nymph, and shameless television addict.

I noticed that you listed a certain television program in your November 16th "TV Bulletin Board" but have not seen a mention of it since. I could not let another nanosecond pass without urging you to promote this show at length on your Internet web log tout de suite. It is a small production; a Christmas spin-off of an often overlooked indie film that garnered much critical praise but little box office draw and it needs all the help it can get to attract viewers. I’ll spare you continued suspense and simply let an understated press blurb do the talking for me:
"Just when Shrek (Mike Myers) thought he could finally sit back and relax with his new family, when the joyous of all holidays arrives. It's Christmas Eve and everyone's full of holiday cheer...except for Shrek. He isn't exactly the picture of holiday joy, but for the sake of Fiona (Cameron Diaz) and the kids, he tries to get in the spirit as only an ogre can. Unfortunately, everyone seems to have their own ideas about what Christmas is really all about, so when Donkey (Eddie Murphy), Puss in Boots (Antonio Banderas), Gingy (Conrad Vernon), and the whole gang try to join in on the fun, Shrek's plans for a cozy family celebration end up spiraling into one truly unforgettable Christmas."
I absolutely cannot wait!!! Please relay to your loyal readership that this program will be airing soon. I really think the people at ABC Television/Disney/Buena Vista/DreamWorks did not do enough to promote it on air. Nonetheless, Shrek the Halls is sure to become, as one reviewer so aptly described, an “instant holiday classic.” This, despite the fact that it is patently impossible for something to be both “instant” and “classic.”

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

The Day the Laughter Died

Dear Andrea Grimes,

It is indeed a sad day for Dallas. It is as if scientists reanimated JFK only to re-assassinate him, then the Cowboys and Mavericks and Stars were all killed in simultaneous yet completely separate bus accidents. It is truly that tragic. This is the day the laughter died.

It pains my soul and pangs my heart to read of your impending departure from the pages of the Dallas Observer so that you may immerse yourself in Austin-based academia. I do not know how I will carry on. I do not know how we as a city will persevere without your hackneyed estrogen-infused wit and your perfunctorily developed punchlines. Even now as I think back on all your fanciful exploits, I am quite literally urinating on myself, a physical reaction no doubt due to the odd mixture of impenetrable sorrow and joyous nostalgia that so overwhelms every fiber of my being.

I had grown so fond of your "Girl On Top" column, the hilarious antics in which you would partake, the zany situations wherein you would find yourself. It is as if Lucile Ball, Laverne & Shirley, and Kathy Griffin had somehow been genetically fused into a seething ball of unflappable unfunnyness. Oh, how the urine streams down my legs as I relive each hilarious moment! Whether it had to do with dating, hair, shoes, or some well-tread combination of the three, it was always an exquisite recipe for forced, shrug-filled smiles. Ah, the urine pools at my feet like a boisterous laugh's liquid aftermath; a laughtermath, if you will. A laughtermath of warm urine.

Perhaps I shall find some solace in the gentile wordsmithing of Jacquielynn Floyd.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Pop-Up the Ante

Dear DallasNews.com Webmaster,

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, hot air balloon enthusiast, yacht racer, amateur decorative florist, and everyday reader of the online edition of The Dallas Morning News.

I find that the news and information items on your website are sometimes free of visual obstruction, the pages load eventually, and the site itself does not always lock up my system forcing me to shut down and restart my home computer. Don’t get me wrong; your site navigation is quite clunky and elementarily conceived, but not maddeningly unmanageable enough. Surely these things occur regularly, but with a random frequency that is difficult to predict.

I do not mean to single you out, as these are characteristics that your site shares with all the local television network world wide websites. But I thought I would offer you a bit of advice that might put you ahead of your televised contemporaries. I was thinking that your website could produce these myriad frustrations on a more consistent basis and multiply your ad revenue by making one minor adjustment: Enable your pop-up advertisements to generate their own pop-up advertisements.

Allow me to explain in greater detail. I key “www.dallasnews.com” into my Internet web browser’s address field. While the page is taking several minutes to load a Drivers Select ad pops up. But before I can direct my pointer to close this window, a Wingstop ad pops up on the other side of my screen. The Wingstop ad would then produce its own subsequent ad and so on and so forth. A new slew of pop-up ads should spring to the forefront each time I navigate to a new page, reload an existing page, or stay on a page for more than 45 seconds.

Not only will this technique allow you to procure more advertising money, it will also give users the nostalgic feel of browsing the Internet in 1996.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Monday, November 26, 2007

Thank God for Dale Hansen

Dear Dale Hansen,

Good day to you, sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, classically trained flautist, and, like you, I love dead children.

I am very much looking forward to what has become an annual Christmas tradition in the Abthernabther household, your "Thank God for Kids" video montage honoring a recently deceased child. So many broadcasters are afraid to speak out against the senseless deaths of young people, but not you. Whether they succumbed to some horrible disease or parted this mortal coil due to an incurable birth defect, you are not burdened by the same good taste, moral core and sense of common decency that keeps so many other media figures from using an adolescent's corpse to bolster the fabricated sincerity of their public image. You honor the memory of expired youngsters in a way that is not at all self-serving or insultingly over-simplistic.

Why stop there, Mr. Hansen? Why only once a year? If you were to feature something like this during your Sports Special on a monthly basis it would benefit whatever it is you're pretending to benefit while simultaneously inflating your already exaggerated sense of purpose and virtue to even more gargantuan proportions. Feel free to take any of the following suggestions, have the Oak Ridge Boys write a song about them, and then apply them to your television program throughout the upcoming year.

January – "I Hate Things That Are Bad"
February – "Thank God for Puppies"
March – "Cancer Is Not Fun"
April –"Thank God for Mock Turtlenecks and Sports Coats"
May – "Down With Diarrhea"
June – "Thank God for Sunshine. Unless You Have One of Those Weird Afflictions Where The Sun Makes You Break Out In A Horrible Rash, In Which Case, Thank God for Sunscreen "
July – "Sex Offenders Need To Chill Out Already"
August – "Thank God for Frisbees"
September – "I Enjoy Eating Things That Taste Good To Me"
October – "I Am Certainly Not A Fan of These Terrorist People"
November – "Thank God for Me, Dale Hansen of Dale Hansen's Sports Special"


Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Prepare To Have Your Mind Blown Forever

Dearest readers,

As I alluded to in an earlier post, I will soon be making an exciting announcement on this web log. There is little doubt in my mind that this new development will not only change my life but your life as well, not to mention the lives of everyone you know and maybe even some people who you are not as familiar with.

It is without the slightest inkling of hyperbole that I declare the following: What will be announced in the next few days is going to irreparably alter human culture for centuries to come.

Stay tuned. On Wednesday I will announce that I will be making another announcement on Friday that will culminate in yet another announcement to be made on Sunday. Cancel your plans, call in sick for work, or at the very least add this web log’s RSS feed to whatever it is you add RSS feeds to.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Rude. Not Cool.

Dear Dallas City Council,

Good day to you. I am Alibaster Abthernabther, best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, web log history revisionist, and concerned member of the fashionista.

I am writing to you regarding your recent campaign to encourage youngsters to pull up their pants. As it has been so eloquently expressed in song, this issue is not about gang activity or common hygienic courtesy but the style of baggy pants being inherently "rude, not cool" because you're "walking around showin' your behind to other dudes."

Kudos to you for associating this brilliant campaign with a local Christian rapper who so effortlessly compares the evils of homosexuality with the evils of descended pantaloons in his lyrics. This is a historic partnership not seen since the White House teamed up with TLC to promote the Clinton administration’s “No Scrubs” agenda.

Bravo!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Without You I Am Slightly Less Than Everything

Dearest readers,

You will have to excuse me while the web log goes dormant for the next several days. I will be attending Abthernabther Thanksgiving events held in a remote island paradise, sponsored by Cartier.

As it is soon to be THANKSgiving, I just wanted to take a quick moment to give sincere thanks and express my deepest gratitude to all of you who have made this web log a regular part of your Internet browsing practices. I thank you. I thank you. And I thank you.

I am especially indebted to those local blogs and publications that have referred their readers here. You know who you are. You know you are loved. One hundred thousand thanks to you.

Last but certainly not least, I would like to thank me. Without my exquisite taste, incomparable style, unparallelled fabulousness, and saintly humility this web log would be a real bore of a read. Thanks to me. I'm welcome.

Stay tuned for some big news from Alibaster Manor to be announced within a week or so. Have a safe and wonderful holiday weekend.

Very truly yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Till You Drop

Dear NorthPark Center management,

Greetings and Happy Holidays. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, celebrity personality (“celebrinality”), and genetically predisposed shopaholic.

I am writing to you regarding the upcoming “Black Friday” blitz at NorthPark. I would love to personally attend, but will be out of pocket on a remote undisclosed island attending Abthernabther Thanksgiving festivities. I am quite torn, as I do enjoy my family’s company but almost certainly not as much as I adore a new pair of shoes. Grandpapa Abthernabther may spin a good yarn and pour a fine cabernet, but rarely does he elevate my heels so that my buttocks appear to defy all gravitational laws.

While I will not be able to shop for myself, a personal shopper will be attending in my absence and I trust that this surrogate will be served with the same level of reverence that I have come to cherish as a long time NorthPark customer. You may have heard through the proper society gossip channels of how my previous assistant Reggie met a tragic and abrupt demise. Regrettably, a proper period of grieving is not a luxury I can afford with the season of giving so close at hand. I was lucky enough to hire on a new aide in time for the holiday shopping season. Her name is Jennifer and to simplify I have taken to referring to her as “Reggie Part Two.” Please submit to her accordingly.

I have given Reggie Part Two specific directions on how to access the super secret select shoppers entrance that is available to NorthPark’s most valued patrons. She has all the identifying paperwork in order and is under strict instruction not to divulge the existence of this clandestine access to anyone under penalty of immediate termination. To be on the safe side I have made arrangements for a group of government scientists to wipe her memory once all of my Christmas shopping is taken care of.

I assume these arrangements are suitable to all involved. I look forward to spending vast amounts of money at your facilities and extend to you the very happiest of holiday wishes.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Not Funny.

Dear Mike Orren,

Greetings, good sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, snake handler and devoted Pegasus News reader.

I am writing, somewhat belatedly, to offer my praise and congratulations for your recently constructed humor guidelines for the Pegasus News writing staff. I, too, find it particularly cruel when someone mocks the death of another human being within relatively close physical proximity. Of course, as you so deftly describe, the mortal inviolability of individuals outside of our immediate area is completely open to hilarious send-up. And Pegasus News is nothing if not a citadel of uproariously pointed yet socially responsible satire. You have my permission to reprint that last sentence as a critic's blurb if you so desire.

Many readers might mistake what you do as simply regurgitating local news and event information that has been covered or posted somewhere else (by the by, I find it a courageous choice that you did not go with the more accurate name: Pegasus News Aggregate). Clearly, this is not the case. You are apparently a seasoned collective of comedians performing comedy. It is blindingly obvious.

You were courteous enough to post your new humor policy so that all six of your regular readers would be aware of the stringent guidelines that Pegasus News now adheres to. Please allow me to review some of these items and follow them with appropriate praise.
"Making fun of the arrogant and powerful is always funny. Making fun of the weak and powerless is not."
So noble. You are the Robin Hood of joke craft.
"The misfortunes of innocents are never funny."
So true. Your immeasurable compassion makes me want to weep like a 9/11 widow.
"If we can't laugh at ourselves, we can't laugh at anyone. "
So humble. If Hitler was a child-molesting necrophiliac cannibal you would make Martin Luther King Jr. look like Hitler.
"Death is almost never funny. Hypocrisy is always funny."
So precise. But is it funny when a hypocrite dies? I suppose that's why you preceded "never" with the qualifier "almost." Good show.

So many people mistakenly think of comedy, whether it's on page, on stage or clumsily manhandled in a local news aggregate blog, as a subjective form of artistic expression. As you have so carefully classified, true comedy is just audience-oriented entertainment that needs to be defined and restricted with arbitrary borders so that no one gets their feelings hurt. Everyone knows that, even an albino retard midget in a mixed race relationship with an hermaphrodite kidney transplant recipient. Which reminds me of your best rule of all.
"Offbeat humor is best when it is on-topic."
Merriam-Webster's Dictionary may define "offbeat" as "eccentric," which is defined as "deviating from an established or usual pattern or style," which is the exact polar opposite of "on-topic." But leave it to Pegasus News to rewrite the rules so that we might know what is really and truly funny. Kudos to you!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Filth Mongers Gone GaGa

Dear Mr. John Eckerd,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, boat show model, and collector of wildly exploitive, mildly pornographic mail order DVDs.

I was saddened to read the Dallas Morning News piece about your years-long struggle and subsequently futile efforts to produce a Racetrack Girls Gone Nutz “documentary.” This is truly a sad commentary on the state of modern independent cinema. From the innovative Girls Gone Wild and its equally popular imitator Wild Party Girls to the lesser known Ladies Gone Crazy Naked and Topless Girls with Severe Learning Disorders, the lexicon of video montages featuring inebriated jizm receptacles exposing themselves in public would have been greatly enriched by the addition of your product.

Despite NASCAR's vehement objections and legal injunctions, I would have gladly purchased Racetrack Girls Gone Nutz for a number of reasons. First of all, I particularly enjoy intentional misspellings. I find it irresistibly zany. It lets me know that these girls are really and truly going to go bonkers in ways I cannot even begin to fathom. I really think you held back, though. A more jovial moniker might have been Raystrak Gurlz Gawn Nuhtz.

But the farcically descriptive title is not what would draw me to viewing. You see, I thoroughly enjoy achieving erections brought on by video images of naked ladies. Call me old fashion. Call me a pervert. Call me an old fashioned pervert. But when it comes to masturbatory stimuli you can rarely find finer boner fodder than that of skeezers with daddy issues unleashing their titty parts to an ocean of Neanderthal applause.

Alas, your concept has been dashed and I could not be more disappointed. I am absolutely flaccid with regret. But I don’t think you are completely spent, good sir. Please accept the following pro bono suggestions and apply them to your next business venture. I look forward to calling an 800 number and purchasing them in the near future.
  • Wet Nurses Gone Wacko
  • Aerobics Instructors with Their Boobies Out
  • Nip Slip Nuns
  • Mentally Unstable Stewardesses
  • WNBA Locker Room Towel Fights
  • Society Continues To Crumble
  • Shamelessly Shaved Seamstresses
  • Steak House Hostesses Gone Touched in the Head
  • Lady Folk without Any Clothes On
  • “Sorority Girls” Who Are Actually Ex-Strippers in Their Late 40’s Gone Feral
Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Saturday, November 17, 2007

"Envy eats nothing but its own heart."

Dear ENVY,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, pet psychic, and area culture vulture.

I simply must be on the guest list for your upcoming party at Ghostbar featuring the unparalleled sultan of the ones and twos, the honorable DJ Skribble. Your magazine’s MySpace page declares an open invitation as such: “Hey party people!” That is I. I am a party person.

Naturally, I should also be part of the “V.I.P. reception and Model Mingle,” seeing as I am both a V.I.P. and a world famous fashion model who enjoys mingling. Also, I carry a veritable mountain of cocaine on my person at all times.

However, I am a bit unclear as to the event’s dress code. Please do not misconstrue my confusion; I am quite sure I have a suitable outfit regardless of your attire requirements. Or as I like to say, “attirements.” I have distressed denim jeans that I bought for 120 times wholesale; hand stitched by Malaysian orphans and then illegally appropriated to become part of a rapper’s soon-to-be-bankrupt clothing line. I could then compliment this with a $185 graphic tee with some inexplicable fleur de lis pattern that looks as though it has been molested by Jackson Pollack. Or I could go a tad more formal and sport a striped silk shirt with the top four buttons undone to playfully expose my freshly waxed chest. Better yet, I could wear a $400 graphic print button-up silk shirt over a $75 American Apparel undershirt. I could then accessorize with a feathered fedora or a newsboy cap worn in reverse. Or I could forgo headwear entirely and simply lacquer my hair in $60 hair product. I have this fantastic new protein enriched mouse that conditions while it lowers my sperm count. Once I have all of this figured out, the shoes will naturally fall into place. All options are open, really. My wardrobe is versatile almost to a fault.

What is most important is that I am there and I am seen and I am allowed to promulgate inane banter with all the grease ball douche farmers and locust-faced harpies who so frequent affairs of this ilk. Did I mention I always have lots and lots of cocaine on me?

One last thing, I assume that your valet will accommodate hot air balloons. If not, please let me know so I can make alternate parking arrangements.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Friday, November 16, 2007

RE: I Need Someone On My Side

from: Saul.Garza@foxtv.com
to: alibaster.abthernabther@gmail.com
date: Nov 15, 2007 3:53 AM
subject: RE: I Need Someone On My Side

This is Saul Garza.


Is there a way for you to email a picture or short video clip of her doing this?

Thanks.

Mr. Garza,

I thank you for your interest and your prompt response.

Normally, I would dispatch my assistant Reggie to retrieve the video footage you've requested. However, Reggie met an untimely demise earlier this week after being struck by a garbage truck while cleaning a swimming pool.

In the interim I will be trying to teach myself how to use the VCR in tandem with my personal computer to provide you with the video evidence you have requested.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Garbage. It's What's For Dinner.

Dear Professor Ferrell,

Greetings to you, good sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, casual consumer and lover of things and stuff.

I must admit I was a bit befuddled by your book, Empire of Scrounge and quite taken aback by the insight you obtained after living off of dumpster findings for several months. I myself once spent a time eating out of a trash receptacle. However, I did not do this by choice or for scholarly research. I had become quite mentally unstable after ingesting some homemade Rumplemintz made from mouthwash, chewing gum and dryer sheets. But this is neither here nor there.

I am also quite troubled when I consider this "Freeganism" movement that is in many ways tied to the dumpster diving and trash scrounging you so happily extol. Not long ago it was only the mentally ill and destitute who were forced to forge in this way. In my day we called them filthy, filthy gutter tramps. But now they’re called “freegans.” How rich! Before you know it this freeganism hoy paloy will be all the rage. The youth of tomorrow will want nothing more than to listen to their hippity hop music and play with their Rubik's cubes and willfully scavenge through refuse.

I must declare, dear Professor, that you seem intent on blurring the line that separates hobo and idealistically misinformed Philosophy major. Such distinctions are to be eradicated only after graduation when said Philosophy student has incurred significant student loan debt and is then forced into unavoidable hoboism. It should not be a choice, but a cold, hard punishment for refusing to go to a proper business school. This is the natural order of things. Why are you so determined to offset this balance?

I've got a new "movement" for you, Professor Fun Stuff. How about we give up everything? All of it. We just give it all up. Stop watching sitcoms, stop going to see John Travolta movies, stop wearing clothes, stop eating food, stop sleeping, stop breathing air, stop blinking, stop sneezing, stop racing aerodynamically modified yachts for competitive sport.

While we're at it, why don't we just give our children to the Al-Qaedas? Here ya go, Taliban. Please take our children. We don't care about material wealth and consumer culture anymore. We have no need for it. Allah be praised.

I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

You Can Count On Me

Dear Dr. William Boothe,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther and I am a world champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, best selling taste maker, recovering fluoride addict and recent lasik eye surgery patient.

I was in your office earlier this month to have some refractive laser eye surgery performed upon my physiological oculars. At first I assumed the procedure was a glowing success. After the initial period of painful blurriness and nightmarish disorientation, my vision became cleaner, clearer and more sharply focused, all of which means exactly the same thing: I could sees more betters.

However, within a few days I began experiencing feverish hallucinatory visions of a post apocalyptic horrorscape. That is, whenever I close my eyes I see nothing but random scenes from the late 80's sitcom My Two Dads.

I'm not exactly sure how you managed this, Dr. Boothe but it must stop at once. Expect to be contacted by my attorneys within the week.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Bip-A-Bap-A-Bip-Bip-A-Bap-Bip-A-Bap-Bip

Dear Slap Happy Bass Player Who Performs With the Jazz Band That Plays at Central Market,

Enough!!!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

The Reason for the Season

Dear Neiman Marcus,

I have just submitted my order for items selected from this year’s Christmas catalog. Please note that I would prefer the personal submarine to be delivered to Abthernabther Manor’s rear entrance as this is where I store most of my nautical equipment.

I must say that I was slightly disappointed in this year’s offerings. They were, shall we say, a tad pedestrian. To assure that the 2008 catalog is up to par, I have cobbled a list of sale items for next year’s catalog. As a lifelong customer I trust that my recommendations will be considered with the utmost care and attention.

  • punchbowl carved from a Yeti skull
  • the 2012 presidential election
  • weapons grade plutonium
  • kryptonite anal beads
  • Redd Foxx’s DNA
  • unconditional love
  • personal zombie army
  • 20/20 foresight
  • an active volcano
  • time traveling DeLorean
  • a breakfast pastry that does not let you down in the flavor department like so many others
  • universal herpes vaccine
  • personal zombie air force
  • Sports Illustrated football phone
  • the ability to reverse the Earth’s natural orbit
  • freshly harvested human organs
  • executive stripper pole
  • the tears of a clown
  • personal zombie coast guard


Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Your Dream Police They Live Inside of Your Head, DMN

Dear Dallas Morning News,

I am writing in response to today's article about what your "news" paper obviously perceives to be the Dallas Police Department's unwillingness to assist family members of a severely beaten school teacher.

I remind you that the city of Dallas is rife with minor traffic violators that need to be formally cited and Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Lattes that need to be consumed. If our Brave Boys in Blue aren't going to tend to these pressing atrocities then who will? You can't expect them to take time and resources away from filling meaningless quotas and ticketing jaywalkers at the Pearl Street DART Rail Station to thoroughly investigate a brutal, senseless crime. If you do expect such unrealistic service then you should also expect the department’s already strained workforce to be pushed to the breaking point, inevitably resulting in some real wrath of God stuff! Forty years of torment, earthquakes, tidal waves, the dead rising from the grave, world destruction, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together: mass hysteria!!!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Up To Your Neck In Fabulousness!

Dear Jane McGarry,

Allow me to extend warm greetings and the sincerest of salutations. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. Aside from being a world famous yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, Faberge egg collector and walrus ivory hunter, I am also an authorized reseller of Madame Chufolt’s Elegant Designer Neckwear for the Dallas-Fort Worth area.

I could not help but notice that during your nightly local newscasts you are almost always adorned with either spectacularly chunky necklaces or suit jackets and blouses with jutting lapels and collars that could easily be mistaken for the tail fins of a 57 Chevy. Glorious!

The thought occurred to me: “I must get in on some of this action!” Your nightly appearances provide an ideal showcase for Madame Chufolt’s spring line. We have a cornucopia of pendants, lariats, bibs, lockets, Livery collars, Figaro and omega chains, lanyards and studded leather chokers, any of which would look absolutely breathtaking on you.

Of course, any pieces that you wear on air will be yours to keep free of charge. Please consider this offer, really I think of it as more of an opportunity for both of us, and let me know your decision once you’ve consulted with the KXAS wardrobe staff.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

That Our Flag Was Still There

Dear Congressman Louie Gohmert,

Hello, good sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, proud Texan and American hero.

I am writing to you regarding a special order for a United States flag that has been flown over the U.S. Capitol. I understand that it is in fact every American’s right to purchase such a flag at cost so long as it is procured through the appropriate local congressman or senator and cared for in a proper manner.

Unfortunately I am not a resident of your district. However, I was hoping you could make an exception as I plan to acquire this flag not for myself, but for a gay resident of your district. It could be any gay member of your community; I’m really not that particular. I would just like a homosexual who resides in your district to officially receive a Capitol flag through your office. And then I would like them to have gay sex with that flag.

To reiterate, I would like a flag that is the same sex as the homosexual in your district who would be receiving it so that this recipient could then have lots and lots of gay sex with it. I appreciate your immediate attention to this matter.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther


Monday, November 12, 2007

Enough of the Hot Stuff!

Dear local weather teams,

Good day to you all. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, Cajun chef, outer space adventurer, amateur ice sculptor and concerned meteorological aficionado.

These unseasonably warm temperatures must stop. I am not sure what type of government funded climate manipulation conspiracy you are all a part of, but I would appreciate it if you would disband your coven of mystical weather wizards this instant so that I may don apparel more suited for the calendar year's final months. My master bedroom holds three closets full of chiengora sweaters that are just hanging idly.

I do appreciate your prompt response to this matter.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther


*** UPDATE ***

NBC5 Weather Team Meteorologist James Aydelott responds:

"prepare the sweaters. cooler temps are on the way for Thanksgiving. Or so it appears.

I'll know more after my meeting tonight of the government funded climate manipulation conspiracy public relations committee, of which, I am a proud member."

Hang Up & Drive, Please

Dear Highland Park Town Council,

I fully support your upcoming proposal to ban the use of cellular telephones while driving though school zones in Highland Park. I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Do not absentmindedly run them down in a sport utility vehicle while text messaging an acquaintance on a bedazzled Razor.

I also believe that you could widen the parameters of this ban for the good of all. In addition to using a cell phone, I believe the following activities should also be considered ticketable offenses if performed while operating a motor vehicle.

  • applying eye makeup
  • meticulously sculpting a faux hawk
  • solving for Pi
  • ironically dancing the "Cabbage Patch"
  • tending to a fondue pot
  • felching
  • praying the rosary
  • making origami swans
  • smoking the drugs
  • leaving a cake out in the rain
Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Jena's Story: A Journey of Privilege

Dear Texas Monthly,

I do declare a thousand commendations for Skip Hollandsworth’s recent profile of First Daughter Jenna Bush. It was an insightful and intricate examination of a complex young girl who has been persecuted for far too long by the liberal media elite and its contemptuous ilk. Thank you for setting the story straight once, for all and always.

The defense of young Miss Bush’s collegiate shenanigans was exemplary. Of course we all know that the genetic product of politicians, especially Texas politicians, should be given automatic and unquestioned carte blanche when it comes to matters of legal infringement, be it a minuscule “minor in possession of alcohol” charge, releasing a friend who is being held at the Tarrant County jail for underage drinking or simply trying to purchase a margarita with a fake ID at an overrated Mexican chain restaurant. As for the latter incident, the deft portrait of restaurant manager Mia Lawrence as a vile and despicable suspected Democrat was enough to make my bowels tighten with immeasurable rage despite being completely rooted in hearsay and unidentified rumor. How dare the Austin Police Department carry on with their “charges” and “citations” of actual violations of the law! Don’t they have brown people or economically restricted families they should be picking on instead? Me thinks they do.

And kudos to you, Mr. Hollandsworth, for having the ten ton wang-stones to actually refer to a fellow Texas Monthly writer (English professor Don Graham, who taught Miss Bush at University of Texas) for an unbiased aside so completely and obviously free from your magazine’s orbit of influence. That must have involved a pretty lengthy game of phone tag. You are a true grit journalist of the highest order!

I was also deeply moved when I read the passage about Miss Bush teaching a summer writing workshop to, as you describe, “eleven Hispanic and African American fourth- and fifth- graders.” I applaud your decision to define the total number of students as two separate and distinct “minority” groups, yet with one sum number. Why bother meddling with the succinct, if it was four Hispanics and seven Blacks or eight Hispanics and three Blacks? What’s important is what you so expertly emphasized: that the privileged white lady is taking time out of her otherwise fabulously privileged white existence to teach children less white than her. What bravery! And when Miss Bush defines apartheid as “what happens whenever white people treat black people, or people of color, like trash” and advised her students that citizens have the right to protest during such inhumane suppression, a single tear trailed down my powdered cheek. It was a valiant decision for her not to complete that trail of logic and explain that when you protest inequity administrations like her father’s will no doubt use the power they bought with their endless oceans of capital to disrupt and sideline such protests. Better the children learn these things on their own.

But the cockles of my heart were forever inflamed by the article’s true inspirational focus: Miss Bush’s book about a Peruvian teenage mother with AIDS. It was a daring choice to laud the book purely based on its subject matter, as anyone who has actually read Ana’s Story: A Journey of Hope by “Jenna Bush: Based On Her Work With UNICEF” could attest that it is feebly written, if vacuously well intended. Personally, I find it morally repugnant when an author actively researches a topic beyond their own interest and then infuses what they’ve compiled into artfully blended words and engaging sentence structures that connect with readers on myriad levels. Who has the time for that sort of malarkey? Not I, Texas Monthly.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther