Friday, November 30, 2007
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.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
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.
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.”
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
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.”
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.
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.
Monday, November 26, 2007
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"
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
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,
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.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
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!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
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
Saturday, November 17, 2007
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.
Friday, November 16, 2007
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?
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
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.
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
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
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!!!
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.
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
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.
Monday, November 12, 2007
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,
*** 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."
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
- praying the rosary
- making origami swans
- smoking the drugs
- leaving a cake out in the rain
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,
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Dear Joseph Greco,
Hello to you, good sir. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, blowgun marksman, habituated dolphin tamer, and Cheaters’s number one fan.
When I first heard that there was to be a television and motion picture writers’ strike, my heart sank to the pit of my intestinal cavity. What would become of all my new favorite television programs? What would happen to Back to You, Chuck, and Cavemen? Luckily I could supplant my overwhelming loss with reruns of my all time favorite According to Jim, but that will only fill so much of the void.
Then I remembered that your program is, as you state in the show’s grippingly jazzy introduction, “real reality television.” You have no need to employ writers, as the confrontational paramours that you broadcast are a part of “actual, true stories filmed live, documenting the pain of a spouse or lover caused by infidelity.”
However, it did occur to me that you may need someone to write those transfixing voiceover narrations that are a hallmark of the show (as is the "house pet lazily stumbling across piano keys" soundtrack). So please accept this communiqué as a formal offering of my writing services. I believe I am more than qualified. After all, I do own a Roget’s Super Thesaurus. Here is just a sample of what I could produce for you:
Day 3: Cheaters operatives observe the suspect and his unidentified companion patronizing a local alcoholic beverage establishment where they imbibe a superfluity of fluid intoxicants, sporadically halting their liquor consumption to engage in amorously copious saliva bartering.I await your response and look forward to this week’s episode, wherein a woman with dangerously modified mammary glands storms into Club Purgatory to catch her hairdresser boyfriend “frosting another client’s tips,” as it were.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Dear Becky Oliver,
I am writing to you regarding a most serious matter. I have long been a fan of your hard-hitting investigative reports and bare knuckle exposes but never would I have imagined that I would ever personally request your assistance.
I have nowhere else to turn. I am afraid to go to the authorities, afraid to leave my home, afraid for my life. Every waking moment feels like an eternity of terrifying, relentless paranoia. I call it “eterniterrelentanoia.”
For several months someone has been leaving rocks on my porch. Every morning my personal assistant Reggie goes out to retrieve the newspaper and every morning he returns with aforementioned newspaper and a fresh collection of rocks; rocks that have been stacked purposefully and strategically at my front door. At first it was amusing. Then it was bothersome. Now it is downright bone chilling, a fiendish “prank” that has rendered me veritably housebound.
To address this menace I had new motion sensitive security cameras with infrared night vision installed here at Abthernabther Manor. The very next day in the wee morning hours, the cameras managed to capture a crystal clear depiction of the culprit: Mayor Pro Tem Dr. Elba Garcia.
The revelation of the perpetrator’s identity served only to confuse me further. I have no political affiliation, no desire to hold or influence any public office, an am ineligible to vote due to a rather embarrassing and unfortunate felony conviction involving a Boy Scout troop, 600 gallons of Marshmallow Fluff and a nylon hammock.
So why would our city’s next mayor want to waste her valuable time carefully arranging rocks on my front porch every single morning?
I need answers. This is why I turn to you and you alone, Becky Oliver.
PS – I am copying Saul Garza on this request on the off chance that you are presently unavailable. Thank you.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Dear Mr. Schutze,
You will have to excuse my tardiness. I have been meaning to write you this week but decided to allow for a few days of rest while you resuscitate your deliciously cantankerous ire. Please accept my belated congratulations for your furious, if somewhat futile rabblerousing in opposition of the
By all accounts the margin of victory would have been far greater had it not been for you and your feverish desire to keep my fellow
Tooth and nail, tongue in cheek, you have been fighting the establishment’s plan to put a toll road next to the river walk (or are they putting a river in the toll road? Wait. Aren’t they putting a park in the river? I’ve already forgotten.) for a long, long, long, long time. I believe you started tackling the issue back in 1953, just as our boys were returning from
- Read A River Runs Through It and Other Stories by Norman Maclean.
- Surf the Internet. Inevitably end up masturbating.
- Watch Blade: Trinity starring Wesley Snipes, Kris Kristofferson and the incomparable Ryan Reynolds.
- Sit on your hand until it falls asleep then masturbate and pretend it’s someone else giving you a sloppy handjob.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Dear Mr. Cagle,
I am writing to address your city’s recent predicament with the Cherry Pit swingers club. Let me begin by saying that I find it to be quite a disheartening and hideous affair and I do not envy the position that these twisted perverts have put you in. Please allow me to extend my most heartfelt sympathies to you and your constituents while simultaneously congratulating you on the recent passing of the city ordinance that should take effect within the next 10 days and finally put an end to these repulsive deviant gatherings.
The ordinance seemed to focus on issues of excessive street traffic and neighborhood noise. While these are valid points, the Cherry Pit proprietor’s pledge to fight the ordinance and take it to the Supreme Court may require a stronger basis of opposition. I do believe I have developed a simple yet effective solution to your city’s smutty little problem that would garner more immediate universal support.
Ask yourself, “Exactly how nasty looking are the people who frequent the Cherry Pit?” To clarify, on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being “mildly unattractive,” 5 being “visually off-putting” and 10 being “harpoon it before it moves”) how do these “swingers” rate?
As I am sure you are well aware, everyone likes the idea of unfathomably gorgeous people engaging in sweet, sweaty dog piles of delicious copulation. But no one, aside from the vilest of sexual deviants, would want to think about a bunch of mangled dwarves and eczema sufferers sticking their engorged nee-naws in each other’s moist flee-floos. If you can successfully identify the Cherry Pit’s frequenters as gruesome, drooling manimals you should then be able to secure ample support to keep the ordinance firmly in place for generations to come.
This is truly the issue at hand. It is not so much a case of congested streets, plummeting property values or even manageable morality. It has everything to do with the physical attractiveness of the participants and whether or not their bizarre carnal activities should be videotaped and broadcast by my local cable or satellite provider.
I trust you will take this suggestion into consideration and look forward to addressing any follow-up questions you may have. God speed!
*** UPDATE: Duncanville City Manager Kent Cagle responds! ***
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Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Dearest Gordon Keith,
You impish rogue! Whenever I read your delicious column in the DFW Quick it never fails to elicit enormous gut-tightening guffaws, regardless of how completely disposable the content might be. Absolutely nothing pricks at my funny bone like the benign word couplings that spill from your brilliant skull like so much liquid hilarity.
This is why I love you so, Mr. Keith. As a world renowned bon vivant, yacht racer and hot air balloon enthusiast I am often using my cerebral facilities at maximum capacity. Your column requires no such intellectual stress on my part. Your jocular fashion is both unthreatening and rudimentary, totally void of originality or bite. Where did you ever develop such a well-tuned if ultimately toothless sense of humor? I must know!
Miss Teen USA. Britney Spears. Lindsey Lohan. Is no one safe from your playful yet topical barbs? Were you sent to us mere mortals from the heavens above? Are you a member of a distant alien race who has mastered advanced mirth-making technology far beyond our earthly means? Do tell!
In closing I do attest, you are pure unadulterated merriment distilled in a frosty mug made from moon rocks and filled with Pope ejaculate.
Also, you have pretty hair.
Dear Cat Fancy,
I must say I was quite impressed with the article “Fight the Bathtub Terror” published in your December 2007 edition. For ages I have struggled with my Egyptian Tabby, Admiral Quenten DuMonte Abthernabther, Esq. during his regular washes. Some may say that a bath every 12 hours may be a bit excessive for a housecat, especially when said housecat spends the majority of his time sleeping inside a breathable rubber dome. But as we all know, some feline-related chores serve more for the enjoyment of the cat’s owner and less for the general hygienic upkeep of the actual cat. Case in point: cat douches.
While your piece on cat bathing was very thorough and informative, I would like to share with you some of the time tested techniques I have employed to relax Admiral Quenten DuMonte Abtherbather, Esq. prior to his delicious, twice daily full fur and body cleansings. Please feel free to share these tips with fellow Cat Fanciers as you see fit.
- Slip some red wine into your cat’s milk saucer. This is much less time consuming than the more popular method of sprinkling crushed up Valium over their Meow Mix.
- Secure your cat to the living room sofa with thumb tacks and electrical tape and face them towards a television playing reruns of Meet the Press from 1964.
- Have your cat teach a Hot Yoga class. This will wear them out physically while simultaneously rebuilding some of the self esteem that eroded away after that painful and costly divorce from Colonel Fuzzy Buttons, PhD.
- Horse tranquilizers. They’re not just for horses anymore.
- Dress up like a man-sized rat and scare the dickens out of your cat forcing them into a mild yet immediate cardiac arrest. While they’re struggling to regain consciousness it’s into the cat bath they go!
Monday, November 5, 2007
Good show, old chap. Your astute summation and razor wit are a welcome breath of fresh air in the otherwise treason-filled Op Ed pages of the Dallas Morning News. If I wanted to peer upon some unabated Bush bashing, I would track down some filthy liberal pedaling to Whole Foods on a solar-powered unicycle, run them over with my hot air balloon and pluck a copy of the New York Times from their shivering limp grip. Kudos to you, good sir!
And bonus brownie points for your deliciously clever dual usage of the word “stick.” Not since the heyday of Hee Haw has political satire been so ripe.
Count me amongst the most loyal of your readership. For the last 30 years I have faithfully fondled your pages and with each new issue I discover at least seven dozen reasons to look forward to the next. Bravo! Un bon emploi! Bippity bappity!
Your most recent edition tickled my fancy for city squabbles like goose down on bare genitals. Your in-depth coverage of the Trinity River issue, gingerly balancing the pros and cons, the rights and wrongs, the droit and gauche, was so even-handed I might have mistaken it for a firm yet playful spanking.
And the profile of my old schoolmate and garish gadfly John Reoch was as delicious as rum-soaked pheasant. When we were but a pair of young bucks, John and I would often engage in wild all-hours sponge cake orgies and while away our weekends shopping for neckerchiefs. Alas, had he not infected me with a rare strain of tropical possum gonorrhea, I would still consider him a very, very dear friend. But your piece returned me to those years of yore and made them feel as if they weren't so long ago, as did my most recent discharge. Oh, how it nostalgically sears my urinary tract!
My sole critique would be that the plastic surgery advertisements were woefully scarce in number. It barely whets my appetite for unnecessary cosmetic reconstruction. If only our repugnant souls could be so altered by the surgical efforts of this fair city's fleet
of first class flesh enhancers. Am I right, ladies?
So now I sign off as I eagerly await the next issue; drenched in anticipation and with a finely manicured thumb lodged in my quivering nether.
I have not felt a devastating void so profound since my dear, sweet Grandmamma Antoinette Abthernabther was eaten alive by mountain lions while vacationing in Yellowstone Park.
Where would we be without Dallas' International Fashion Week? And when I say "we" I of course mean "they," as you and I are obviously well informed fashionista who do not require any additional style coaching outside of a monthly excursion to Milan or Manhattan or Milwaukee to caress textiles, sip ridiculously priced white wine for breakfast and parade about in masochistic footwear until our toenails callous over. But what of the others - the Great Unwashed Masses - where will they glean some semblance of chic if not at Fashion Week?
It is not like our fair burg of Dallas is rife with salons and boutiques. It is not as if a full third of all glossy periodicals currently published solely concern themselves with matters of fashion and its deliciously inane discourse. Then where, how, when will those less stylishly fortunate than I finally be free to experience what the world of fashion holds? If not for a full week, perhaps for a weekend, or a day, or over a light brunch?
Also, why are poor people so systematically revolting?