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