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