Monday, December 29, 2008

Me Yell!!!

Alibaster K. Abthernabther is enjoying a prolonged holiday on the Canary Islands. In his absence, we present a replacement column written by Kalibaster A. Kabthernabther, his intellectually challenged doppelganger from a parallel dimension.

Dear Jerry Jones,

Hello, person. Me Kalibaster A. Kabthernabther. Me like crayons, spiders, and french fried potatoes. Me also watch and like football. Me yell at TV screen when Cowboys no win game. Me also yell when they do win. Me yell! Football!!!

Me have questions for you, Jerry Jones. Please help and answer.

Why do eyes and head hurts when me stare into sun for long time? Me like look directly into sun. Me no like headaches. But me still stare into sun because me like.

Me yell at sun!

Ice cream is taste good. Me likes ice cream so much, me put ice cream in pants and make love to ice cream because me want make ice cream babies. So far, me no able to produce babies of ice cream. But me still try. Can you help me make ice cream babies, Jerry Jones?

Why is sky blue? Why does sky no answer when I yell at it? These are questions that make me no sleep at the nighttime. What makes you no sleep, Jerry Jones?

One time me eat tire. It make me very sick and I could not yell for many, many days.

Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near, Jerry Jones? Follow-up question, why do birds suddenly disappear when me put them in me mouth and eat them whole?

Me want blueberries!!!

Me on westbound train to Chicago leaving Boston at 2:45 p.m. traveling at 200 miles per hour. You on eastbound train to Chicago leaving Los Angeles at 7:15 a.m. traveling at 175 miles per hour. Was I adopted?

Jerry Jones, I will fight you with a sword! Name place! Name time! You bring sword for you. Me only have one sword for me. Me yell while swinging swords!!!

Can you feel the love tonight?

Yours,

Kalibaster A. Kabthernabther

Monday, December 1, 2008

Art From the Heart

Dear Art Conspirators,

Good day to you, creative do-gooders. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, bestselling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and philanthropic patron of the arts.

It pleases me greatly to see that this coming Saturday will bring about the fruition of your fourth annual Art Conspiracy fundraiser, benefiting Preservation LINK, Inc. and featuring 150 local artistes, 3 bands, 2 deejays, and a cornucopia of artistic bohemians clad in a colorful assortment of knit scarves and caps.

Unfortunately, I will be unable to attend the event, as it coincides with a court ordered vasectomy procedure. My legal staff advises that I do not discuss the particulars of what led to such a debasing judicial decree. I can, however, say this: Alpacas do not enjoy, nor do they tolerate, forced romance.

While I am unable to be there in person, below I have included a number of digitally rendered, original art pieces that may be printed out and auctioned off to benefit your cause.

Feel free to mount and display them as you wish. Certificates of authenticity to follow.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther




BIG BOOBED PIGEON IN TANK TOP



SHARKDOG





UNICORN GHOST AT SUNSET


TIM ROGERS AND ROBERT WILONSKY: LOVE BROTHERS OF THE APOCALYPSE

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Alibaster K. Abthernabther vs. The Internets

Dearest web log readers,

Please enjoy the following excerpt from a book that I may or may not be working on, entitled
Alibaster K. Abthernabther vs. The Internets.

In this piece I am corresponding with a gentleman on the Facebooks who had sent me a blind invitation to join a group of some sort. I'm still not quite sure what it was about.

Now, I can understand why you may approach reading this exchange with a certain amount of skepticism as to its authenticity. While I do have a rather rampant penchant for colorful hyperbole, I assure you that this dialogue took place with an actual person, and no words (or spelling and grammar, for that matter) have been altered, with the exception of the gentleman's name. Enjoy!


***

Jan,

I am currently reviewing my invitation to join your Facebook group, "Road map to building a group list."

You will have to excuse my ignorance, but how exactly is this group list supposed to work? I know you probably can't go into too much detail, but generally speaking, what are the mechanics of this process?

Also, I am thinking about starting an Ace of Base fan club group. Would you be interested in joining? Then I could join your group and you could join my group and we could have that many more friends. A little tit for tat.

Just let me know. Thanks!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

I am interested in building group list for those who are interested in building their own group list. I can share with you all the little tips and that. As for biz, like I pointed out, it is up to mutual interest to join force together. I am not interested in promoting something that I have no interest in, and so are you, right. The primary goal is to build all the members' group list, then if there is something that catches my eyes, I would go for it, you don't even have to persuade me to do that. So be a member first, then we could have cook a real meal to share with each other.

Jan Cheung


Jan,

Thank you so much for your immediate reply. This sounds exciting! However, there are still a few things I'm not clear on.

Am I to understand that the group list is intended for people who are building their own group lists? Is it a group of people sharing their own lists? Or is it a list of people sharing their own groups? And what are we to promote? Are we promoting a service or are we servicing a promotion? Please advise.

Since you mention it, what would cause something to catch your eye? I mean, any good business knows how to cater to their client, so how should I cater to you? Are you my client or am I your client? Or are we a group of shared clients exchanging lists of promotional services? I'm still a bit confused.

Also, I could not gauge your interested in my Ace of Base fan club group from your reply. Could you please clarify?

I look forward to cooking a shared meal with you soon, Jen!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

the idea is a self help program to enlarge the size of friend group. when u have that, u really would not care if u have to go single gunned or have a gang to back u up (if u could get enough interest in others to do that, it means u r either very salesman quality or u have a good product or both). I naturally want to promote my own interest (products and program), but that is 2nd issue. i want to build up a core group that contains individuals who have their own huge groups. So after joining the group, u feel u have a good product to promote to your fellow member, then go ahead & do that. and if members think u have a product that they like, they would in turn invite their own group to buy into that. this is the power of networking that u dont need to promote to zillion of ppl, just to the group leaders. and if they buy into ur product, then it is good. and vice versa. this group provides a fair trading ground for products.

like i said, i naturally want to promote my 2 lines of biz, as i believe they r good and i m using them. but it is up to u to buy into it to promote to ur own group. but 1st u want to make ur group as large as possible.

if u can give me ur phone #, i will call u to explain the essence of this program, or u want, u r welcome to call me @ XXX.XXX.XXXX

Jan,

Thank you again for your swift response and your patient explanation. I think it is starting to make a little more sense now. Let me see if I understand correctly.

Let's say my product is an Ace of Base fan club celebrating Ace of Base and their smooth Swedish dance pop sounds. Who's not going to enjoy that? I'll tell you who. Nobody!

I would need to amass a significant number of various group members (who I'd meet through your group and their groups and their groups' groups, etc.) for my Ace of Base group, who would in turn urge members of their various groups to join my group and the Ace of Base army would grow and grow until it was large enough to invade and occupy a small country. I like where this is going. It's a "Beauiful Life," indeed!

So, again, are you going to join my Ace of Base army or not?

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

this is exactly what growing a list not to do - forcing ppl to join their group for 1 side benefit. if it is mutual benefit, ppl will join w/o 2nd thought. if ppl r not ready, no matter how good ur product is, it is not a mutual benefit. so to ur tyrannic tactic, it is a definite NO. I m interested in building good for all involved.

Jan,

I am sorry to hear this. Apparently, we have our own ideas on the best way to exploit the group feature of a popular social networking website. To each their own, I suppose.

While I appreciate your playful use of alliteration, I would have to disagree with your description of my tactics as "tyrannic." You see, the music of Ace of Base *is* of mutual benefit to all. It is of infinite benefit to those who serve it and, conversely, to those who are crushed beneath it's mighty weight.

Someday you will see. I only hope that when the day of reckoning is at hand, that you choose wisely. If you were truly "interested in building good for all involved" you would join my Ace of Base fan club group without further hesitation.

Remember, life is demanding without understanding.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

at this point and time, i see no benefit to me to join ur group just to promote for u. i did not force my biz to u even tho i think of the world to them & cost me nothing, but actually saves my monthly expense and giving me an income. yet i did not impose on u to join. so ur tactic is really oppressing indeed to force me into agreeing w u that it is beneficial to me, while i know for sure it isnt.

Jan,

How can you see no benefit to joining an Ace of Base fan club group? That is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard anyone say.

I am not imposing on you to join. I am simply inviting you to join. You declared that one of the benefits of this mutually exclusive relationship was that we could build our groups. I am only trying to build my group in the exact manner you described. I thought we were going to build our groups together over a shared meal. What happened to that meal you promised? I'm hungry, Jan!

Frankly, I'm not sure I'm interested in joining your group anymore. First of all, while I have gone into painstaking detail explaining what you can expect from my Ace of Base group, I still have no idea what your group is really all about. What does your group offer? Dishwashers? Teddy bears? Sandwiches? I have no idea. Why would I join your group if I'm not sure if it will offer something that I like?

However, I am sure that you want to join my group because I know everyone loves Ace of Base. Everybody knows that! Why? Because everybody loves Ace of Base. Everyone breathes oxygen. Everyone sleeps. Everyone eats. And everyone loves Ace of Base. Why don't you see the Sign, already? Let it open up your eyes!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

this is the last i m gonna spend time w u. u r trying to dictate to me what i feel or say. isnt this tyrannic itself by any measure at all. pls dont answer cos i just dont have the time for this nonsense

Jan,

Why do you hate Ace of Base so much?

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Stop the Vote!

Dear federal election officials,

My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht --- Blast it! There is no time for formal introductions!!!

We must stop today’s election process immediately. I know that the hour is late and the gears of democracy are in motion, but I have just uncovered startling new information that will redefine everything we thought we knew about the presidential candidates. This revelation quakes the spine, shivers the timbers, and makes even the stoutest of patriotic boners soft with fear.

Our country is operating under illusion. Voters are deciding the fate of our country at this very moment, but they are doing so with minds that have been manhandled, opinions that have been operated upon, and estimations that have been all jimmy-jacked up in this mug.

For the last several months I have been conducting a stealthy investigation into the lives and careers of Senators John McCain and Barack Obama. To do this, I employed a secret strike force made up of discredited CIA agents, international spies, defected KGB operatives, ninjas, samurais, and zombie ninja samurais. This crack team of fugitives and assassins were given strict orders to work within the shadows, investigate under cover of night, and communicate only though coded rice paper transcriptions that would be shuttled to and from our underground headquarters via carrier pigeon.

Unfortunately, within hours of the team’s assembly, the zombie ninja samurais devoured the brains of their fellow operatives, and then ate each other, leaving only my faithful assistant Reggie Part Two and me to conduct the bulk of the covert analysis.

What we found was astonishing, startling, and astartlonishing. It brings me no joy to relay my findings to you, but it must be done. The world must know the truth.

The two gentlemen we have come to know as Barack Obama and John McCain are in fact the product of Hollywood prosthetics technicians and movie studio special effects wizardry. Both men are, in fact, actor-comedian Eddie Murphy.

We should have seen the signs. The clues were all there. This masquerade was glaringly obvious, even to the most retarded of severely retarded farm animals.

There was that instance in early 2007 when Obama was photographed on the set of Meet Dave, wearing a red leather jacket with matching leather pants and gloves, tauntingly singing the “you got no ice cream” song. And just last week, reporters took note of McCain doing an impression of Mr. T receiving anal sex, threatening to rip of his paramour’s penis with a simple clenching of his buttocks.

I hope it is not too late to call attention to this horrific ruse and get our country back on the right track. If not, may God have mercy on our souls.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Monday, October 27, 2008

The Ron Natinsky Brand

Dear Dallas City Council member Ron Natinsky,

Good day to you, proud public servant. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast, and brand merchandiser.

Congratulations on your reasourceful efforts of image management, good sir. I must admit, before the news broke of your penchant to purchase chintzy plastic promotional baubles on the taxpayer’s dime, I had no idea who you were. Granted, had I received one of said trinkets, I would have at least been familiar with your name, as you had it printed on these items alongside the city of Dallas logo and website address. That’s what the boys down on Madison Avenue call name recognition branding. And it’s what certain investigators might define as discretionary mismanagement of public funds. I call it utter genius!

Some may see the recent press as bad publicity, but try to think of it another way. Now that it has been revealed that you used thousands and thousands of taxpayer dollars to purchase your party favor-styled self-promotion, even more people are familiar with the name “Ron Natinsky.” As in, “Ron Natinsky appropriated money that did not belong to him to further his career and public image.”

Well, why stop now? You need to keep this publicity train a-rollin’ and on track. To that end, I am proud to make you aware of the following. I operate dozens of Indonesian sweatshops that are just bursting at the brim with all sorts of disposable gewgaws, ready to be repainted, retrofitted and printed with your name and office phone number. Here’s just a taste:

  • Ron Natinsky's dual-prong “Mighty Anaconda” dildos
  • Ron Natinsky's pearl beaded silicone cock rings
  • Ron Natinsky's battery-operated clit flickers
  • Ron Natinsky's reusable leather erection straps
  • Ron Natinsky's weighted, rhinestone-encrusted nipple clamps
  • Ron Natinsky's micro-vibe suctioned love pumps
  • Ron Natinsky’s Lil’ Rude Boy
  • Ron Natinsky's plus-size anal intruder (with Velcro safety sheathing)
  • Ron Natinsky's dolphin butterfly rectal spyglass
  • Ron Natinsky's peanut jelly beads
  • Ron Natinsky's never-ending orgasm orbs
  • Ron Natinsky's inflatable Malaysian houseboy
  • Ron Natinsky's slim jim passion plug
  • Ron Natinsky's vac-u-lock harness penetration enhancer with testicular aggression refinement

I assume you will have no qualms associating your good name with these types of items, as you seem to silently advocate fucking taxpayers in the poop chute.

Yours,

Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Monday, October 13, 2008

Due to recent economic developments, Alibaster K. Abthernabther is meeting with his financial advisors in an undisclosed fallout bunker deep within a tropical island volcano.  

He will resume posting web logs on Tuesday, October 21st.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Go Puck Yourself

Dear Wolfgang Puck,

Greetings, master food preparer. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and marketing strategist for high-end celebuchef chain restaurants.

I am ever so excited to hear that you will be opening a new Asian-themed culinary establishment atop our very own Reunion Tower. I absolutely can't wait to be seen there. You'll find that I am a frequent face at all of the area's finest eateries. You might see me out and about, nibbling on sushi canoes at Smush, spooning up frozen cucumber sorbet at the Black Forest Ham Room, or mechanically vomiting in the V.I.P. restroom at Cafe Sashay.

As excited as I was when I heard you were opening your new restaurant here, I was anywhere from four to six times more excited to learn of the contest being held to name said establishment. I am infamously innovative with such name games, so allow me to prattle a few ideas off the top of my pretty little head...

  • Chow House
  • Stuff It In Your Eat Hole
  • The Gobbler’s Den
  • Flavor Town
  • Booger Butterfield’s Wondertime Fun-For-All
  • Fetal Eczema
  • You Will Punch Your Pregnant Wife In The Stomach, This Shit Tastes So Good
  • Hairspray: The Restaurant
  • Nostril's Bistro
  • The Filthy Sizzling Skillet
  • Angela's Ashes
  • Taste Buds Be Fuckin'
  • Eat It, Like It, Expense It

Bon Appetit!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Logicproof

Dear Kirk Cameron,

Salutations, ageless heartthrob. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast, and author of erotic Biblical fan-fiction.

Congratulations on your most recent success. Your latest motion picture film, Fireproof, debuted as the #3 motion picture film in the nation. Not since Mel Gibson’s The Passionate Sexy Christ has religious propaganda performed so well at the box office. Let’s see Boner Stabone top that!

This also bodes well for the upcoming presidential election, if only to remind us of the organizational abilities of the unstoppable American Christian Right. It’s really quite startling. Usually, when a group of religious zealots are that well organized it results in mass genocide, the heavy-handed occupation of a desert-strewn nation, or tasty chicken biscuit sandwiches.

As the film’s star, I am sure you are quite familiar with the plot of the movie. But I love it so much that I must revisit it. The story revolves around a firefighter character (played by you, Kirk Cameron) that is in the midst of some marital difficulties. The firefighter’s wife needs love and attention, but the firefighter is too busy spending his off-hours in front of his Internet web computer, alternately gambling and masturbating.

My favorite scene in the film is when the firefighter destroys his personal computer, taking out his rage and frustration against the lusty trappings of modern technology with a baseball bat. It is as dramatic as it is effective. Though, an equally effective and less costly method would be to simply cache the browsing history.

Not to spoil any of the movie’s intricate plot twists, but I think it goes without saying that the true hero of the story is not your firefighter character, but the Bible. Or Jesus. Is it Jesus’ teachings as told in the Bible or the Bible’s interpretation of the teachings of Jesus? Nevertheless, the Jesus Bible reveals a valuable lesson. Why love and tend to your spouse just because you’re supposed to, just because you vowed to, just because you should? You should do these things, not out of honor or respect or love for another human being, but because an invisible omniscient being supposedly decreed it. But only for individuals with opposable, interlocking genitalia, not for fags or lezbos.

That’s why I love this film. It teaches us that no matter who we are - heterosexual firefighters, heterosexual nurses, heterosexual parents of heterosexual firefighters – the answers to our interpersonal problems do not reside in our mind, but in an ancient tome purported to be the unquestionable “Word of God,” though it was in fact written and compiled thousands and thousands of years ago by various disjointed committees and injected with bias, before being heavily edited and forced down the throats of the uneducated by theologically vested governments.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Is Russ Martin Gonna Have to Choke a Bitch? No? Then What if He Threatens a Bitch With a Semi-automatic Pistol?

Dear Russ Martin,

Hello and good day to you. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast, and staunch feminist activist.

First, I would like to congratulate you on your recent evasion of a felony assault indictment, instead being charged with lesser misdemeanors, in connection with an alleged altercation with your girlfriend on July 14th of this year.

Now, I am getting my information from various media sources and your arrest warrant, both moderately reliable sources at best, so please forgive me if I fudge the particulars.

According to the warrant, you ordered your girlfriend to follow up on the delivery status of a parcel related to an I.R.S. audit of your financial dealings. When she did not perform this simple task, you relayed in a phone conversation that you would beat her until she evacuated her bowels, then you went home and proceeded to do just that, eventually brandishing a Glock, no doubt as some sort of symbolic surrogate for your perpetually flaccid, subatomic-sized penis.

Well, kudos to you, angry dickless twit! So many women demand equal rights and treatment in our society. Then when we physically assault them like we would a fellow male, they run crying to law enforcement. It just goes to prove the old adage: "Women! Can't live with 'em, can't threaten 'em with a gun."

This must be a very trying time for you. I can see how it would be easy for the general public to pass unfair judgement on these most private personal affairs. After all, you are a popular local media figure with a well known penchant for idiotic rage and misogynistic behavior. And it certainly does not help that you have been known to proudly sport the physical hallmarks of a wife-beating hick; be it your now-retired mullet or your sleazeball goatee.

Some would suggest that perhaps you should not be involved with women at all, since your infatuation with dead policemen and fallen firefighters borders on necrophiliac homoeroticism. Then again, seeing as the charity you've set up to honor these individuals is rumored to be under scrutiny as part of the aforementioned I.R.S. investigation, one might speculate that your interest in them is perhaps not wholly sexual.

Stay strong, my friend. I know that these have been trying times, but luckily you have not let it adversely influence your inexplicably popular radio programme. Despite the turmoil that surrounds you, your daily on-air antics have remained mind-meltingly dull. Keep up the good work!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Thursday, September 25, 2008

One Ticket to Paradise

Dear Senior Corporal Rene Dominguez,

Good day to you, creative barterer! My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast, and, like you, someone who occasionally enjoys swapping goods and services for sex acts. Allegedly.

First, allow me to welcome you back to the Dallas Police Department. Dallas' Finest certainly need every good man they can get and this reinstatement proves that you can't keep a good man down. Nor can you keep a good man from changing out of his uniform before offering to buy a homeless woman a bus ticket in exchange for some anonymous sexing. Allegedly.

Far be it from me to judge the merit of what occurs beneath the warm, gentle buzz of a parking structure's florescence, but the exchange rate that was (allegedly) in effect during the aforementioned interplay does not seem to equally favour both parties.

The devil is in the details, I suppose. And the details available are a tad contradictory, if super duper nasty.

What has been documented is a transaction of fellatio with a teeny bit of in-and-out in exchange for a one-way ticket to the armpit of East Texas. That whole package is a little unsavory, even for me. So, let's redraw the entire picture for the sake of argument.

Let's assume the bus ticket helped the woman reach a more exotic locale, such as Zanzibar, Minsk, or Thunderfucker Island. Then it would be well worth her while to sex your loins accordingly.

However, if the bus ride you afforded her only took her as far as, say, New Braunfels, then I would clearly declare you to be the trade's out-and-out beneficiary. Unless, of course, you also bought her tickets to Schlitterbahn, in which case I would call the entire affair an equitable draw.

Allegedly.

And then there is the question of the "sex" in question. Was it, in fact, a throat toss followed by actual coital tumbling, or something far less involved?

I think we can all agree that there exists the kind of sex that is merely worth a bus ticket and then there is a wholly other type of ferociously incredible fucksplosion that is worth losing one's job, if only for about 6 months, and then the Dallas Civil Service Trial Board reinstates you, sans back pay.

To avoid possible shortchanging in future swaps, I have drawn up the following reciprocal sex-for-travel scale. I hope you find it informative, useful, and infusefultive.
  • subway token = 30-minute makeout session under a bridge or highway overpass
  • guided Segway tour = sensuous testicular massage
  • piggyback ride from a unicyclist = yell into rectum
  • three-legged sack race = a "Three-Legged Sac Race"
  • bus ticket = limp, yet lengthy handjob
  • DART pass (one month) = firm, forceful handjob while yelling into rectum
  • rickshaw carriage ride = repeated, nondescript sexual penetration of the nasal cavity
  • taxi service to airport = reach-around
  • taxi service to and from airport = reach-around with full release
  • round trip airfare = weekend-long reach-around with super extreme mega release
  • chartered helicopter = something I like to call "The Reverse Chicken Dinner"
  • oceanic cruise = urinate on foot
  • space shuttle trip = an "Around the World" followed by a handshake and a letter of recommendation from an Ivy League University

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

A History of Dallas Music Douchebaggery

Dear aged scenester Jeffrey Liles,

Good day to you, sir. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther; best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast and, up until a few moments ago, one of your many friends on the Facebooks.

On Friday, I sent messages to a number of my Internets acquaintances, thanking them for the gracious gift of their virtual cyber-friendship. As one of said recipients, you know I did this by appropriating the introductory verse and refrain from a popular 1980's television theme song.

Some of my cyber-friends replied in kind. Most offered no response. But you, ever the rebellious trailblazer, what with your natty blonde hairstyle and your criminally derivative artistic endeavoring, deemed it necessary to vomit forth a coolly detached retort. Below, in its entirety, is your well worded rejoinder:

“Whatever.”

California Grapes of Wrath of Khan! That is so, as the kids say, “cool.” Ever so cool. An Arthur Fonzerelli kind of cool. And as a 50-year-old gentleman who frequents nightclub establishments catering to people who are quite literally half his age, I assume that a comparison to the Fonz is the highest compliment you could be paid.

Whilst your adorable "participation" in and documentation of the local arts and music scene is something to be genuinely commended, your hipper-than-thou reply to a legitimate, if silly, appreciation of on-line camaraderie belies any sense of creative community you pretend to encourage.

I know you must be very busy with your innumerable duties as a booking agent / manager / doorman / MC / DJ / spoken word artist / writer / contributor / A&R representative / producer / director / crusty, twatish 50-year-old never-was. So please accept my apology for wasting your precious, precious time. I'm sure you could have better spent it penning another Toadies piece for the Observer. However, might I suggest you start contributing to some more age appropriate publications.

Nevertheless, I wish to thank you for taking time out of that hectic schedule to type out the word “whatever” and click ‘send;’ an action that, if you think about it, completely negates the intended sentiment.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Thursday, September 18, 2008

James Reza's Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

Dear James Reza,

Good day to you, sir. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast, and longtime fan of your wonderful web-based writings.

I am writing to congratulate you on yet another deliciously veiled racist rant, wherein you dissect the complicated issue of race relations with equal part down-home folksy wisdom and disgruntled Caucasian naiveté. We certainly don’t have enough of this sort of misguided, antiquated rationalization in the greater American discourse. Thank you for saying what needs to be said, what dare not be spoken in mixed company, what is usually heard tumbling out of the mouths of drunken neo-Nazi carnival workers.

By far, this is my favorite passage:

“As I continued to hear Father Flanagan appeal for help for his black congregation I suddenly began to think of the many times I’ve seen white religious ministers and charitable organizations on TV asking American viewers to help them with their donations to feed, heal, and clothe people from all corners of the world. On the contrary, of all the years I’ve viewed TV, I’ve never seen a Hispanic or black minister or Hispanic or black organization soliciting to help other people of different races other than their own. Again, and I’m assuming here, that they think their respective races are the only ones deserving assistance from others, including white people."

Absolute wonderwork. As we all know, it is best to derive our opinions of other cultures and religions based on what we see on television. It’s the only way to efficiently harbor an insecure, fearful worldview in the ever-broadening global village that is our great nation. Also, good job sidestepping the fact that most of these televangelists are glorified grifters, manipulating their faithful flocks for personal wealth and gain.

Furthermore, the way you juxtaposed the colorblind charity of my fellow whites with the insidious efforts of organizations like the United Negro College Fund was pure genius. Who do these people think they are, trying to encourage higher education in an ethnic group that spent centuries being ignored and restrained, the psychological and economic effects of which are still felt to this day?

The world requires garbage men and automobile thieves, too. Someone needs to tell them that not everyone need attend college and better themselves. And by “someone" I obviously mean “James Reza,” the whitest Hispanic man the world has ever known.

And the way you took those filthy media vandals Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton to task for their myriad incendiary comments is to be dually commended. The way they run their craws, one would think they were given the right of free speech or something. I guess that’s what happens when you liberate them from the confines of the plantation. Am I right or am I right? No need to answer. I can distinctly hear the sound of your scruffy ivory beard scratching against your fleshy neck pouch as you nod in agreement.

Kudos to you, old chap. Keep disguising your ignorance as empathy. Persist in your clumsy articulation of contradictory theorem, clenching a bible whilst passing blanket judgment on the work of others. Continue blathering on about the plight of the frustrated, downtrodden white man. You clearly are the Malcolm X of the misinformed.

Yours,

Alibaster K. Abthernabther


Monday, January 14, 2008

This Week's Edits

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

  • "An" was changed to "a."
  • "They" was replaced with "them."
  • "He" was changed to "she."
  • "Woof" was replaced with "meow."
  • All words were omitted, then reinserted.
  • "Hyphen" was replaced with "-."
  • "..." was changed to "ellipse."

Thursday, January 10, 2008

A Joke In Yo Town/Wears The Late Crown

...

911. What’s your emergency?

Greetings. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and recording artist.

Yes, what’s your emergency?

Well, I don’t mean to trouble you. I’d rather just forget the whole horrible affair. However, I do believe I was just assault by two of your peace officers.

What was that?

Two policemen. I believe they were off-duty. But they behaved quite boorishly, brandishing firearms in my immediate direction.

Where are you located, sir?

I am a recording artist.

Ok, where are you right now?

We were playing horseshoes on my front lawn when out of the ether appear two plainclothes policemen. They were yelling and pointing fingers and before I knew it they were pointing their handguns at me.

Can you tell me where you are?

I am a recording artist.

Sir, I need to know where you are so I can dispatch an officer to the scene.

You’ll have to speak up. You see, I’m a recording artist

Where are you, sir?

A recording artist.

I’m not asking who you are or what you do. I’m asking you to tell me where you are. Where are you located?

Oh, I understand the question now. I’m sorry; we must have a bad connection.

That is fine. Where are you?

I am a recording artist.

Sir, you will have to ---

Recording.

What?

Artist.

Sir, please ---

Recording artist.

I'm going to have to release the call if you won't ---

If I won't record a song for you? Well, that should be simple seeing as I am ---

Sir!

--- blessed with an inherent knack for song.

I thought you were going to say you were a recording artist.

Funny you should mention that. I am a recording artist.

Monday, January 7, 2008

This Week's Edits

This week's Quick column is about my genitals, exercise equipment, and the painful combination of the two. This was actually a replacement piece, as the column I originally turned in was politely rejected due to certain concerns regarding the litigious inclinations of the column's subject. As a treat for you, dear web log reader, I present the column below...

My good friend and standing gin rummy partner Prissy has received more than her fair share of flack in recent weeks. You may know Prissy from the recent media attention that has fallen upon her since it was discovered that her daughter may have fudged some facts in a silly little letter writing contest to procure tickets to a music concert of some sort. The details escape me.

The story has since ballooned to international proportions and much has been made of Prissy’s questionable maternal influence. However, I believe this belies the true matter at hand. As usual, the media is all too focused on what people are doing and saying, and not paying enough attention to what they are wearing or how they are presenting themselves physically. This is my point. My good friend Prissy is not just an unforgivably malevolent, disgusting troglodyte on the inside; she is also a hideous, foot-faced monstrosity of a woman on the outside. I can say this because she is my friend.

My friend Prissy (a nickname I gave her while we were both attending Yvonne Littlebutter’s Finishing School for Filthy Heartless Charlatans) has always had a way of bending reality to her whim and while doing so has always looked like a powdered balloon animal frog with eyebrows that have been penciled in by a prison tattoo artist.

Once she was caught shoplifting scratch-off lottery tickets at a gas station and was somehow able to evade criminal prosecution by stating that the lottery tickets had no visible price tag on them and therefore no monetary value. Another time she was stopped by a highway patrolman after commandeering a truck full of velour tracksuits, but avoided arrest when she pointed out that the truck’s license plate depicted three of the eight numbers that made up the full calendar date of her birthday and thus granted her some obscure type of birthright ownership. And just last week she murdered an elderly woman but circumvented the law once again by portraying herself as an angel of merciful euthanasia.

Very little can detract from the wisdom and insight one gleans from simply glancing at my good friend Prissy’s outward appearance. It just goes to prove the adage by which I live: You may not be able to judge a book by its cover, but you most certainly can judge putrid people by their vile visage. She really and truly is a horrific hell beast constructed from the taints of a thousand demons. I can say this because she is my friend.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

I'm Livin' On The Air

Dear J.D. Freeman,

Hello and good New Year to you, sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, recreational botanist, and loyal KDGE listener.

As you are the DFW market manager for Clear Channel Radio, I’m directly propositioning you to take over the vacant time slot that will be left behind once the immensely talented and underrated Lex and Terry duo move from the Edge to the Eagle next week. I must say that their show is a delightful and introspective part of my morning routine. Each new morn brings about another deliciously subversive and satirical take on sexual stereotypes and the deeper societal ramifications of the fairer sex’s objectification in popular media. Also, they talk about titties and snatch a lot.

To be quite honest, my own personal brand of entertainment might be a tad on the sophisticated side of the commercial radio spectrum. However I would be more than willing to compromise, combining my own urbane sensibilities with the brand of humor and on-air techniques that the average Lex and Terry listener has become so accustomed to. For example:

  • Ask former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher why she dresses like such a “prick tease.”
  • Interrupt a telephone interview with opera singer Ashley Putnam to play a quick game of “Would You Stuff Your Penis into It?”
  • Make Mother Theresa an honorary posthumous member of the “Queef Brigade.”
  • Ask Tom Wolfe why he dresses like such a “cock tickler.”
  • Find out from Meryl Streep if her lady parts look like a split peach or a sideways roast beef sandwich.
  • Daily visits from pranksters extraordinaire Garrison Keillor and the Gotcha Squad.
  • Ask Dame Judi Dench why she’s making my balls all blue by wearing that short skirt.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther