Dear Avi Adelman,
Good day to you, fierce neighborhood watchdog. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, bestselling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and concerned citizen.
First, allow me to congratulate you on your Barking Dogs website, an invaluable local resource for persnickety voyeurism and all-purpose nosiness. For years, I was forced to physically transport myself to the Lowest Greenville Avenue area in order to witness the debauched displays of human intoxication that you so dutifully catalog. Now, thanks to your sly implementation of home video recording technology and internet broadcasting, I may enjoy such ribald people watching from the comfort of my home office.
However, I am writing not only to praise these efforts, but also to make you aware of a disturbing new scourge that demands your immediate attention. I am sure you are already quite aware of what I am referring to.
In a word: Minotaur. Part man. Part bull. All attitude. This fantastical creature of Greek mythology has been running rampant all over Greenville Avenue, from Belmont to Ross, for the last few weeks. Once housed in the confines of King Minos' vast labyrinth, this ferocious beast has now staked his claim to one of Dallas' most historic neighborhoods and nightspots and he shows no signs of stopping.
Trouble began during the Christmas holiday, when the Minotaur got into a lethal confrontation with several members of the East Side Chicken Chimichangas street gang in the Taco Cabana parking lot. Words were exchanged and threats were tossed about. Before law enforcement could arrive, the mighty Minotaur brutally beheaded several cholos with a single swing of his bloodstained battleaxe, and then returned to his cave in an enchanted forest where he bedded an El Centro interior design major by the name of Ch'Lise.
Two nights later, dressed in pre-stressed denim jeans and a shiny, striped shirt with a fleur-de-lis graphic printed asymmetrically across the left shoulder, the Minotaur was spotted at the Sugar Shack downing Jägerbombs. No sooner had the lounge's P.A. speakers begin blaring a fantastic mash-up of "Do Da Stanky Legg" and "Unskinny Bop," when an SMU fraternity boy started heckling the dapper beast. Within mere seconds, the Minotaur tore off one of the fraternity fellow's arms and planted it firmly in the lad's rectal cavity. He was later seen in the alleyway next to the Billiard Bar, going down on a University of Dallas interior design major named Shon'Royale.
These are just two incidents out of dozens that have occurred, quite frankly, on your watch. And while you were neither elected nor appointed to this watchdog status that you seem to enjoy so much, you deftly nominated yourself. And now true duty calls. No longer will you be able to simply videotape drunkards, harlots and thugs, mocking their inebriated rage from behind a video camera. Now you will have to take action.
You must battle the Minotaur, Avi. Unsheathe your broadsword. Don your walrus tusk helmet and your trusty loincloth fashioned from unicorn pelt. Behead the Minotaur and defiantly urinate into his severed esophagus. Smite the beast with pure might and carve his gargantuan skull into a victory goblet.
Then, and only then, will the proud people of Greenville Avenue be able to reclaim the night.
Alibaster K. Abthernabther