From the desk of Alibaster K. Abthernabther

If Only Boyz 2 Men Had Written a Song About How Difficult it is to Say Goodbye to the Past

2009-04-01T12:55:00.002-05:00

Not a Good Day

2009-02-27T12:48:00.008-06:00

Dear Tim Ryan,

Good day to you, early morning news broadcaster. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, bestselling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and "news junkie." Also, I am quite severely addicted to illegal narcotics.

It is a sad, sad, moment indeed, not unlike slavery, forced child labor, the Holocaust, and the final episode of After M*A*S*H all rolled into one. Today is a day that will live in sorrow-soaked infamy, as the FOX Good Day family wishes a fond farewell to your co-anchor and friend, the lovely and talented Megan Henderson.

Everyone has their favorite "Megan Moments" and I am no exception. Who didn't love the time she donned a string bikini, slathered herself in cocoa butter and challenged CBS-11's Kristine Kahanek to a wrestling match in a kiddie pool full of tapioca pudding?

Who couldn't help but smile as they watched Megan and NBC-5 reporter Susy Solis doing body shots off of each other until they both collapsed to the floor of a Dave & Buster's game room in a sexy, sweaty heap?

And how about the time she engaged in a giggly, playful water balloon fight with WFFA's Alexa Conomos, then called Gary Gogill a "walking queef machine" and kicked him square in his dick?

Sure, none of these things ever actually occurred in real life and are only erotic fantasies of my own concoction. Nonetheless, they are vivid memories that I will hold near and dear to both my heart and my penis for years to come.

Fabricated or factual, all we have now are these memories, as Miss Megan is off to La-La Land, where she will deliver morning reports on the latest diarrheal diet fads and luxury house pet accessories to the fine, orange-tinged populace of Los Angeles.

Now we must move on without her. Having heard tell that FOX-5 will not immediately replace Megan, instead supplying you with a rotating cast of co-anchors, I wish to offer my services to you in that regard. Sure, I don't look as hot in a hobble skirt as your old partner. But my inability to harvest boners over the North Texas airwaves is dwarfed by my journalistic professionalism and mastery of pretending that an overtly biased delivery of the news is, in fact, objective reporting.

Nowadays, isn't that what television journalism is really all about? Please allow me to leave you with a little taste of the goods...

Chef Jake shows us how to make dolphin eyeball soup. We'll review the latest frighteningly realistic talking dog movie. How to set a Democrat on fire without leaving any trace evidence. And take our brand new "Are You Fucking Retarded?" quiz. All this and more, tomorrow on Good Day!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Alibaster K. Abthernabther's Search for America's Next Huge Douche Hole Tool

2009-01-30T00:20:00.003-06:00

Dear Club Purgatory,

Good day to you, fabulous nightclub. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, bestselling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast and executive producer of high quality, basic cable reality programming.

I just wanted to thank you for allowing us to hold our casting auditions this weekend at your fine establishment. I believe this arrangement will be of great mutual benefit.

Rest assured, your association with my groundbreaking new reality show "experiment" secures your spot in pop culture history for centuries to come. Alibaster K. Abthernabther's Search for America's Next Huge Douche Hole Tool is destined to be the hottest show on the television dial, that is, if televisions still had dials on them.

Deciding to launch Alibaster K. Abthernabther's Search for America's Next Huge Douche Hole Tool (heretofore AKA's SFANHDHT) at Club Purgatory was no easy task. There was a huge pool of viable contenders to choose from; hundreds of asininely named lounges, clubs, and bars within the greater DFW area, each brimming with male clientèle possessing absolutely radioactive levels of assfacery and dickholishness.

How will this apply to AKA's SFANHDHT, you ask?

Shut the fuck up, I reply.

First, these gentlemen will face a gauntlet of skanky, skanky skanks rife with venereal disease. Then they will rent out shoddy North Dallas apartments and furnish them with saggy foutons, decorative samurai swords, and ceramic coffee table pumas. They will then be supplied with a bottomless bin of shiny button-up shirts, mega-ultra extreme stiff-hold hair gel, stressed denim jeans, and brightly colored, slatted sunglasses. They will ritually bathe in Axe deodorant body spray. They will be, in a word, irresistible.

We will chose the seven finest dick wrinkles - the creme de la shitty, the douchiest of the douchey, the kings of all cock-facedness - and cast them into a 20-foot dirt pit. Then I will personally douse them with space shuttle fuel and light them on fire.

And they will burn to a crisp and die, their fevered screams unheard, their hollow dreams unrealized.

Then I will pee-pee on their smoldering ashes.

Frankly, the only budget we could secure for this show covered two episode's worth of expenses. So, we figure we do the inital introductory round-up and pick the top, I don't know, 20 or 25 guys in the first episode. Then for the second episode we light them on fire and videotape them burning to their deaths. And I pee on them. It's a budgetary concern more than anything else.

If we secure a decent ratings share with this go-around, we can expect to have the second season of AKA's SFANHDHT airing within about 6 weeks. And, with your blessing, I hope to hold the 2nd annual auditions in Club Purgatory, in recognition of the club's undying dedication to the subhuman chauvinistic desires of the average, everyday douche-whistle.

Kudos to you, douchey nightclub!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

However, it Would be a Wonderful Name for a Wesley Snipes Film.

2009-01-28T19:07:00.003-06:00

Dear Casey E. Thomas II,

Good day to you, president of the Dallas National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, Branch # 6169. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and concerned Caucasian.

It gives me no pleasure to bring to your attention a vile new addition to the meteorological lexicon. They call it “Black Ice.” And this morning it had the entire city in its frosty clutches.

That is, black ice’s frosty clutches had the entire city by the balls. So, you can only imagine how cold those balls were. They were really cold, frosty balls.

Nevertheless! “Black ice” is, in fact, transparent – not black. But who would be afraid of driving on “clear ice” or “invisible ice” or “transparent ice?” No one, that’s who. White America needed a term that would keep drivers on their toes, in fear of a shadowy menace that is out to steal their cars.

But “black ice” isn’t out on a carjacking spree so he can get accepted into a street gang and listen to the new Heavy D & the Boyz compact disk. This “black ice” causes nasty traffic accidents. Well, then why didn’t they just call it “Old Korean Lady Ice?”

I don’t know, sir. I do not know why they didn’t just call it “Old Korean Lady Ice.”

So we shamefully add the phrase “black ice” to a constantly growing heap of ignorant faux-Euro-intellectual garbage verbiage, such as “blackball” and “blacklist,” as otherwise innocent, average words are made evermore sinister when prefaced with the word “black.”

What did the words “ice,” “ball,” and “list” ever do to deserve being saddled with such a devastating prefix? And why did their credit scores each drop 100 points immediately after being blackened-ed?

Sorry, I forgot the rest of that bit. It was either Chris Rocks or Martin Lawrences or Byron Allen or Byron Nelson or one of those other Def Comedy Jam guys.

The pasty underbelly of the extreme Caucasian media underground has deftly inserted the “black ice” phrase into common conversation in a subversive psychological ploy to breed racist ignorance in our nation’s motorists and cross-town commuters. It sickens me. Though it brings me hope.

This bittersweet chocolate irony occurs as our country celebrates the historic inaugural year of President Barack Obama. And I am so sick, but I can only vomit hope.

To quote Heavy D; “Now that we’ve found love, what are we gonna do…with it?”

Yours,

Alibaster K. Abthernabther

...In A Galaxy Far Up Your Ass

2009-01-20T22:53:00.005-06:00

Dear Bishop T.D. Jakes,

Good day to you, famous local holy man. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, bestselling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and Starfleet Academy graduate.

You will need to excuse the forthcoming tirade. However, I am exasperated beyond explanation. I have heard all manner of idiotic pablum in my day. I thought that I had, as they say, heard it all. But, oh no. You set that bar to a staggering new low, Bishop Jakes. I am absolutely seething right now.

Everyone - and I mean, everyone - knows that "May the Force be with you" is a quote from the Star Wars films and not, as you stated, a catchphrase from Star Trek. So, I have a few questions for you, good sir.

Were you the victim of a Vulcan mind meld gone awry? Did you have the sense knocked out of you by a Wampa? Or are you simply out of your motherfucking mind?

Had it not occurred to you that you may want to fact check your pre-inaugural church sermon for science fiction factual inaccuracies? Seriously. Get it fucking together.

I'm so upset right now, I could shit Tribbles.

This is a new day, a new age, a new chapter in American history. And you would be hard-pressed to find someone - anyone - who does not know the difference between a Jedi and a Romulan. It is so ingrained in our collective American psyche that I'm not even going to bother hyperlinking the words "Jedi" and "Romulan." Why? Because no one needs to look up either of those things! That's why.

You make me so mad, Bishop Jakes. If you were standing in front of me right now, I'd render you unconscious with a nerve pinch. I would reach over, collect a small swath of your shoulder between my thumb and fingers, and BAM! You would be out like a light; a light that wouldn't know the difference between a Klingon Bird of Prey and an Imperial Start Destroyer if his life depended on it.

I mean, seriously. Fuck!

Even my great grandmother, the sainted Aloise Abthernabther, could tell you that Gene Roddenburry dreamt up the miracle of transporter technology, while George Lucas was the one who popularized the concept of spacecraft hyperspace trajection. Of course, Star Trek did explore the possibilities of subspace travel, which is similar to the theory of hyperspace, only it involves navigating through layers of spacetime using "warp speeds" of varying degrees, while the inhabitants of Lucas' Star Wars universe make lightspeed jumps within preprogrammed hyperspace routes that send them hurdling through the galaxy at a near unfathomable rate.

But I digress. The question remains: Are you mentally deficient or just motherfucking retarded in the brains?

Get it together, T.D. Jakes. I am so motherfucking angry at you right now.

Motherfuckfuckfuck!!!

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Dog Will Hunt

2009-01-15T00:29:00.003-06:00

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.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Me Yell!!!

2008-12-29T13:23:00.003-06:00

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

Art From the Heart

2008-12-01T12:46:00.009-06:00

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

Alibaster K. Abthernabther vs. The Internets

2008-11-13T21:39:00.004-06:00

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

Stop the Vote!

2008-11-04T15:21:00.003-06:00

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

The Ron Natinsky Brand

2008-10-27T21:58:00.004-05:00

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

2008-10-13T22:28:00.002-05:00

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.

Go Puck Yourself

2008-10-07T00:01:00.002-05:00

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

Logicproof

2008-10-02T08:55:00.004-05:00

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

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

2008-09-30T00:01:00.002-05:00

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

One Ticket to Paradise

2008-09-25T00:01:00.011-05:00

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

A History of Dallas Music Douchebaggery

2008-09-23T00:01:00.019-05:00

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

James Reza's Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

2008-09-18T10:32:00.010-05:00

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

This Week's Edits

2008-01-14T17:07:00.000-06:00

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."

A Joke In Yo Town/Wears The Late Crown

2008-01-10T15:50:00.000-06:00

...

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.

This Week's Edits

2008-01-07T10:40:00.000-06:00

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.

I'm Livin' On The Air

2008-01-03T22:16:00.000-06:00

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

New Year's Eve Edits

2007-12-31T15:42:00.000-06:00

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

"December is a slow news month" was replaced with "the bottom portion of page 18 in the recent issue of D Magazine."
Recent lull in interweb log posts due to "long hours of charity work at local children's hospitals" was originally and more factually attributed to "days upon days spent playing Cello Hero III: Masters of Chamber Music."
All references to Jaleel White were removed.
The lyrics to "Auld Lang Syne" were replaced with those of Digital Underground's "The Humpty Dance."
"Humorless, self-important dick whittler" was changed to "Gary Cogill."

Popping A Cap In The New Year

2007-12-31T12:50:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas Residents Who Insist on Discharging Small Arms Into the Air to Celebrate the Induction of the New Year,

Greetings and a good New Year to you, fellow citizens. I know that you are excited to usher in the New Year with a fantastic exclamation of rebirth and renewal. Most of us will do this by popping a champagne cork or two, exchanging a romantic midnight kiss, or partaking in an indiscernible inebriated chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” with a group of dear friends. You, on the other hand, choose to mark the occasion by firing a handgun or low caliber rifle into the night air, despite being enclosed within the crowded urban environment of a major metropolitan cityscape.

Kudos to you, reckless caveperson. Your asinine display of Wild West enthusiasm has the potential to harm, maim, or even kill an individual with whom you have no personal ties. I salute your inventiveness despite your underdeveloped brainpower and tragically warped chromosomes.

While I am sure that this activity is exhilarating for you, might I suggest some alternatives that will not adversely affect the well being of innocent individuals while still providing the thrilling element of danger required of your subhuman intellect.

Swallow a live road flare.
Wear a hornet’s nest like a turban.
Place a lit M-80 firework into a slingshot. Set up a trampoline so that it sits on its side and directly faces you. Aim slingshot at trampoline and release M-80.
Heave an enormous boulder over your head and then let go of it.
Apply soldering iron to nipples. Repeat.
Soak dental floss in hot sauce overnight. Insert dental floss into left nostril. Remove through right nostril. Punch yourself in the face for good measure.
Eat a dozen pinecones.
Stomp on the tail of a wild puma.
Give yourself a “Prince Albert” with a Bedazzler.
Steer your pickup truck towards the end of a very high cliff. Drive off of it.

Happy New Year!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Christmas Eve's Edits

2007-12-24T11:52:00.000-06:00

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

"Santa Claus" was changed to "Jesus Christ."
"Frosty the Snowman" was changed to "Jesus the Snowman."
"A Very Brady Christmas" was changed to "A Very Brady Jesus."
"Good King Wenceslas" was changed to "Good King Jesus."
"A Charlie Brown Christmas" was changed to "Jesus Christ, It's Christmas."
"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was changed to "Jesus the Newborn Christ Child."
"How the Grinch Stole Christmas" was changed to "How Jesus Got His Groove Back."
"Jesus" was changed to "Jesus Jesus."

On The Seventh Day He Wiped Off His Chin

2007-12-20T15:27:00.000-06:00

Dear Institute for Creation Research,

Good day and God bless. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther, best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, substitute Sunday school teacher, and true believer in the proven science of creationism.

Congratulations on the recent approval of your request to teach creationism to science teachers. For far too long, educational systems have been constrained by bureaucratic pandering and political correctness that confine scientific teachings to a prospectus that has been thoroughly and scientifically confirmed or, at the very least, clearly defined as practically accepted theorem. I applaud the efforts of your organization as it seeks to pervert developing young minds with unverifiable beliefs rooted in religious faith masquerading as true science.

Might I suggest that you consider extending your curriculum to include other teachings based on works of imaginative literature and pass those off as scientific fact, as well? If the improvable assumption that our physical universe “was supernaturally created by a transcendent personal Creator who alone has existed from eternity” can become inarguable science simply because it is stated as such in the Bible, then why can’t it also be factually stated that without a shadow of a doubt “there once was a man from Nantucket whose dick was so long he could suck it,” as illustrated in the dirty limerick of the same name? In this scenario, it is avowed as actuality that his reproductive organ is of such self-suckable length. The only capricious element is the possibility that he could have intercourse with his ear if it were a vagina.

Yours in Christ,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Let's All Go To The Movies!

2007-12-18T23:24:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas-Fort Worth Film Critics Association,

Yearend greetings to you, good sirs and madams. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, ascot designer, and devout cinema buff.

I am writing to your organization with regard to your recent list of the best films of 2007. Please excuse the frankness of my query. However, after reviewing your selections I would be remiss if I did not ask, “Are your minds stifled by irreparable retardation and drastic developmental erosion?”

No Country for Old Men? More like, No Country for Stupid Dummies with Dumb Faces.

The Kite Runner? I think you mean, Too Lazy to Buy the Book at Starbucks? Here’s the Movie.

There Will Be Blood? How about, There Will Need to be Some Sort of Explanation Since This Movie Hasn’t Even Been Released Yet?

I have to say, I was quite disappointed with your collection of paramount motion pictures. And of course, when I say “paramount” I am not referring to the film studio of the same name, but am using the word as an adjective meaning “supreme in rank, power, or authority.” But I digress.

As a service to your woefully misrepresentative organization I have included my personal picks for the year’s best films. I suggest you review them carefully and make the necessary adjustments to your inferior list accordingly.

Norbit
Eddie Murphy illustrates his expert range as a master thespian in his portrayal of the titular character, a hapless awkward orphan. It’s an enchanting and timeless tale of nerds, the morbidly obese, and bawdy ethnic insensitivity. Enchanting!

Me Having a Sexual Encounter with an Unconscious Hobo
Sometimes I film myself having sex. Sometimes I have sex with destitute street people. Sometimes I combine these two leisure pursuits. Often this results in movie magic.

Norbit
Eddie Murphy shows that he can efficiently offend fat people, black people, women, and fat black women with his stunning performance of Norbit’s femme fetale fatty, Rasputia. A bonus point for utilizing the hit Pussycat Girls song “Don’t Cha” not once, not twice, but three times in the course of the film’s running time. Delightful!

2 Girls, 1 Cup
Clearly, one of the year’s best. This is the romantic story of two young women's shared affection for an excrement receptacle. Guaranteed to become a heartwarming classic for generations to come.

Norbit
Eddie Murphy proves there is no racial stereotype he cannot effectively portray as Chinese restaurateur, Mr. Wong. Wonderous!

Thank you,
Alibaster Abthernabther

* UPDATE : 12/19/07 *

WFAA's Gary Cogill responds:

It's so refreshing to see your mean cynical email first thing in the morning. Thank you for being so mean to people you have never met.

This Week's Edits

2007-12-17T10:26:00.000-06:00

The deleted scenes from this week's Quick column.

The term “laundry bin sex” was replaced with “hamper action.”
“Indian burn” was changed to “Native American abrasion.”
The phrase “interpersonal proximity anxiety“ was replaced with “Christmas shopping at NorthPark.”
All references to It's a Living were removed.
“Sloppy rainbow kiss” was changed to “casual handshake.”
“Lactating octet” was replaced with “eight maids a-milking.”
“Speed boat-sized penis” was changed to “rhino wang.”

Jumping the Shark

2007-12-13T23:08:00.000-06:00

Dear Cycle Stuff USA,

Greetings. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request construction of a custom racing suit.

The suit will need to be a one-piece jumper that is water resistant, fire retardant, flexible, and fashionable yet functional. Also, it will need ample pockets to accommodate my car keys, billfold, cellular telephone, monocle case, hip flasks, ankle flasks, and elbow flasks.

My season color analyst has determined that I am a summer, which you may know is the most delicate of the four color seasons. My racing suit would need to adhere to this tint scheme, perhaps using swaths of powder blue with dusty pink accents.

This will need to be a rush order, as I will require the racing suit for Christmas day. Also, I will need a matching multi-impact helmet emblazoned with a TCB lightening bolt.

Please let me know if this request can be met in the allotted time and I will have my tailor provide you with my specific measurements.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Sewell Hummer of Dallas,

Hello. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request the construction of a custom Hummer H2 to be modified for a particular purpose.

The vehicle will need a 6.0L engine with a polished intercooled Vortech supercharger, triple quantum fever posts, Beru spark plugs, rescinded aluminum gap traps, Nology wires, and Gibson headers and exhaust. I will need the stock hardware removed and replaced with a 14-inch bulletproof suspension kit, dual 2.0 shocks with chrome-plated reservoirs, and solid gold billet clamps. Please install brand new Centerco 49” tires onto 17x14-inch Volcano Crusher wheels and bolt them with diamond tipped tugger stacks. The braking system will need to include Guttenberg reversible slot rotors, armored stutter pints, and Shrieking Eagle brake pads.

I would like the interior to be upholstered with baby ostrich leather and the seats filled with goose down. The exterior paneling will need to be reinforced to withstand extreme heat and rocket impacts. I will also need seventeen firing canisters capable of holding and releasing timed mortar charges mounted to each side of the vehicle.

Also, the vehicle will need to be altered significantly so that it will fit comfortably through a passageway that is approximately 10-feet wide.

I will need this ordered rushed so that the vehicle is available by Christmas day. Please let me know if this is possible and I will send my driver to retrieve the modified H2 no later than December 24th, Christmas Eve.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear North Texas Pyrotechnics Productions,

Salutations. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request a custom made close proximity pyrotechnic package.

I am in need of several short-range airborne explosives that can be affixed to and released from a moving vehicle’s exterior while being remotely triggered from within said vehicle. Also, I will need flash illumination and concussion rounds that will line an enclosed passage of approximately 40 feet in length.

I will need this pyrotechnic system designed and installed no later than December 24^th to be used in a Christmas day event. Please let me know if this is possible and I will have my personal assistant Reggie Part Two follow up with more particulars.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Ker’s WingHouse,

Good day. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request catering services from your fine hot wing establishment.

Your catered service will be part of an event scheduled to be held on Christmas day. I can’t even begin to fathom a more fitting feast for the season than genetically mutated chicken wing sections that are deep fried, slathered in a vinegar-based cayenne butter sauce, and served by a gaggle of walking eating disorders.

I would like to order 30 tubs of chicken and sausage gumbo, 30 tubs of clam chowder, a truckload of chili cheese fries, a truckload of Brew City onion rings, 1,000 buffalo chicken strips, 3,000 buffalo shrimp, 6,000 poppers, and 1,000 orders of your world famous Belt-Bustin’ Nachos.

I trust this order can be fulfilled without incident. Please inform me of the full charges and I will have my personal assistant Reggie Part Two provide you with a cashier’s check and delivery instructions.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Great White,

Hello and happy holidays. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to you to request your musical services for a Christmas day event that I am planning to take place in downtown Dallas.

I keep a web log that I am sure you are familiar with. There are many readers who rightfully believe that my wed log has “jumped the shark,” as it were. I would like to have your band perform in honor of their expert summation.

I should warn you that the event will feature an abundance of pyrotechnics and staged fireworks. I hope this will not be a distraction.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

***

Dear Dallas World Aquarium,

Greetings. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am writing to request the use of your facilities for an event to be held on Christmas day.

In tribute to the authoritative assessment that my web log has “jumped the shark,” I would like to drive a Hummer outfitted with pyrotechnic explosions through your shark tank tunnel. I have already made the appropriate arrangements to realize this spectacular vision and presume that your organization will be on board.

The event will be catered by the world famous Ker's WingHouse and musical entertainment will be provided by the hit 80's cock rock outfit, Great White.

I will, of course, cover all costs and expenditures personally. I thank you in advance for your cooperation and look forward to working with you on this project.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Nau'to twibaounme

2007-12-11T17:10:00.000-06:00

Dear readers,

That this web log’s quality and consistency has been in steep decline recently is a reality not lost on me. Nor has it been lost on you. The comment sections of the world wide webs are peanut galleries where cruel truth and infallible personal opinion merge to become one. This is where I hear cries of shark jumping. This is where I meet accusations that the joke has worn quite thin. This is where elegant and thoughtful critiques of my work are so eloquently phrased: “Zzzzzzzzzzzz.”

I would not dispute these claims, as I could not agree more. You are right, wizened internet commentators and I wholeheartedly apologize. What at first may have seemed like a merry romp is now a tired exercise in increasingly commonplace absurdity and scatological reference-by-numbers.

Farewell,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Workplace in the Diversity

2007-12-11T04:54:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas Business Journal,

Good day to you. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, folk dancer, and diverse employer.

I am writing to you regarding your upcoming “Diversity in the Workplace” conference and to offer myself as either a guest speaker, guest panelist, or high profile guest of honor. I hire African-Americans. And I'm not afraid to admit it.

I engage in several professional endeavors in a variety of industries and therein I willfully employ a great many individuals; people of every shape, size, and hue. I also hire Asians. Therefore, I would be an ideal addition to your seminar and would have much to contribute to your “frank, interactive discussion on the topic of Diversity and Your Business.” Did I mention that I hire Hispanics? I do, but I pay them in cereal. Boo Berry is their favorite.

Here is just a taste of what I can offer your event by way of lengthy public address: “Business is diverse. People are diverse. Business requires diverse people and people require diverse business. Diversity.”

My expert advice is not solely limited to the simple assemblage of empty buzz jargon that, while incredibly moving, is utterly vacant of any actual coherent meaning. I have hired Jews but almost always end up firing them shortly thereafter. I can also share with conference attendees the methods I have developed to execute precision diversity in my workplace and how it can be applied to any workplace. I hire Middle Eastern people, then report them to federal authorities for reasons I later fabricate. Over the years I have perfected a winning stratagem for hiring and positioning my workers in a manner that celebrates cultural diversity by blindly associating job skills and workplace responsibilities with stereotypes and xenophobic assumption.

Diversity.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

This Week's Edits

2007-12-10T13:12:00.000-06:00

Occasionally, I will turn in a piece to the Quick that for one reason or another must be editorially fettered prior to publication. In an effort of full disclosure to my loyal web log readers, I will post what has been changed whenever such revisions occur. Think of it as the deleted scenes bonus material for that week's column.

"Rat hammer" was changed to "dog cannon."
The recipe for "Grandma Abthernabther's Chinchilla Soup" was omitted due to word count limitations.
"Sunny bunny fluff" was changed to "lava snot."
All references to Hitler were removed.
The phrase "Korean people like to steal cars" was replaced with"Korean people do not like to steal cars."
"Jerk wad" was changed to "putrid festering dickface."
All references to the Richard Marx piano ballad "Right Here Waiting" were removed.
"Dick York" was replaced with "Dick Sargent."

Don We Meow Our Gay Apparel

2007-12-09T19:38:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas Symphony Orchestra,

Greetings and good day. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther; best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, recreational life coach and DSO season ticket holder.

I am quite literally soiling myself in anticipation of your forthcoming annual holiday concert series. Much like garnishing belt buckles with mistletoe to encourage spontaneous fellatio, spiking figgy pudding with model airplane glue and rohypinol, and setting fire to unsuspecting quiescent vagrants, attending this concert is a Christmas tradition I spend most of my year looking forward to. That is not to say it leaves me wholly satisfied.

Each Christmas I attend the concert and each Christmas I come away from the performance with an efficient sense of seasonal wonder tinged with the slightest inkling of nagging disappointment. Something is painfully absent. While the program includes several Christmas classics reproduced with stunning symphonic splendor and luxurious choral brilliance, it always seems to be somewhat undersupplied, lacking a certain je ne sais quoi. However, I now believe I have figured out what has been missing lo these many years: vocal accompaniment performed by three or four dozen house cats.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Death Be Not Proud

2007-12-07T15:10:00.000-06:00

Dear Jill "J.R." Labbe,

My name is Alibaster Abthernabther, best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, Hummel figurine collector, and staunch proponent of court-ordered lethal punishment.

Kudos on your recent commentary in defense of the death penalty which was recently broadcast over the airwaves and the world wide web waves of our local public broadcasting radio affiliate. It surely brightened my morning drive to the gym. Nothing prepares my stomach for a series of merciless crunches like a disjointed and condescending argument in favor of terminating the miserable, twisted life of some mentally deficient beast.

I agree with you wholeheartedly. Yes, once an accused murderer or child molester or rapist or murdering child molesting rapist has been sufficiently "tried in a court of law and found guilty of their earthly actions" - a process which is infamously free of fault, flaw or mishap - the accused should then be put down like the diseased creature that they are. Any right-thinking, blue-blooded, God-fearing, Larry the Cable Guy Christmas Spectacular-viewing American can get on board with that. However, I personally believe that the means of execution at our disposal are in fact too humane and thus equating the painless, chemically induced death of, say, a fiendish serial killing cannibal to "justice" is somewhat of a misnomer.

To be, as you so put it, "society's just and symmetrical response to the premeditated act of murder," I personally believe the punishment of death should be precisely and exactly symmetrical, perfectly fitting the crime like an Yves Saint-Laurent Croc-Embossed Glove. If a murderer is accused and convicted of turning their victim's skull into an ashtray then the criminal's skull should meet the same posthumous cigarette butt-filled fate. None of this namby-pamby lethal injection pampering.

Conversely, I believe that the proper way to abort an unwanted pregnancy is to sex it to death. Call me old fashioned. That’s how I was raised.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

The Event of the Season

2007-12-05T19:44:00.000-06:00

Dear PaperCity,

Fashionable greetings to you. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, "Gallagher Too" understudy and official AVN Awards Show seat filler.

I would like to extend to you a formal invitation to the annual Holiday Gala at Abthernabther Manor. As you are probably already aware, this is the most exclusive and important social event of the year. This is where Dallas' mega-famous, ultra-mega-famous, and super-ultra-mega-famous meet, mingle, schmooze, and schmingle with the lithe ferocity of a zillion Ecstasy-riddled debutantes. Friendships are made, coalitions are formed, previously made friendships are then betrayed, coalitions are unceremoniously disbanded, all culminating in a frothy orgy of champagne-stained cocktail dresses and gin-drenched cummerbunds.

Guests will include renowned fashion designer Jean-Jacque St. Fleuff, celebrity chef Randy Castle-Court, flamethrower artist Chaka Chaka, Miami Dolphins kicker Jay Feely, pubic hair sculptor Durty LaBouche, supermodels Isabella Smirsh, Duumaz, and Jennifer Jenniferson, and the law firm of Rosenwitz, Mengele, and Rosenwitz.

This year’s theme is “Do They Know It’s Christmas? No, Of Course They Don’t. They Are Quite Poor.” Alibaster Manor’s walls will be adorned with gigantic black and white prints of impoverished third world children. Guests will be encouraged to point and laugh at their suffering. New and unwrapped toys for disadvantaged inner-city youngsters will be collected at the door and then promptly burned in a massive toxic bonfire.

This invitation is open to all PaperCity society photographers plus one guest. Cocktails, hors d’oeuvres and barbiturates will be served. Both formal evening attire and breathable swimwear are required.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Viewers Like You

2007-12-04T21:40:00.000-06:00

Dear KERA Pledge Drive,

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back. Ain’t much an old country boy like me can’t hack. It’s early to rise, early in the sack. Thank God I’m a country boy. Well, a simple kinda life never did me no harm. A raisin’ me a family and workin’ on a farm. My days are all filled with an easy country charm. Thank God I’m a country boy

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle. Thank God I’m a country boy.

When the works all done and the suns settlin’ low. I pull out my fiddle and I rosin up the bow. The kids are asleep so I keep it kinda low. Thank God I’m a country boy. I’d play "Me So Horny" all day if I could. But the lord and my wife wouldn’t take it very good. So I fiddle when I could, work when I should. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle. Life aint nothin but a funny (thank you, Bryce) funny riddle. Thank God I’m a country boy.

(fiddle solo)

Well I wouldn’t trade my life for diamonds and jewels. I never was one of them money hungry fools. I’d rather have my fiddle and my farmin’ tools. Thank God I’m a country boy. Yeah, city folk drivin’ in a black limousine. A lotta sad people thinkin’ that’s mighty keen. Son, let me tell ya now exactly what I mean. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well, my fiddle was my daddy’s till the day he died. And he took me by the hand and held me close to his side. Said, live a good life and play my fiddle with pride. And thank God you’re a country boy. My daddy taught me young how to hunt and how to whittle. Taught me how to work and play a tune on the fiddle. Taught me how to love and how to give just a little. Thank God I’m a country boy.

Well I got me a fine wife, I got me a fiddle. When the sun's comin’ up I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle. Thank God I'm a country boy.

Thank God I’m a country boy.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Amo A Muchachas Slutty!

2007-12-04T21:11:00.000-06:00

Querido 12 Corazones,

Hola. Permita que se introduzca. Mi nombre es Alibaster Abthernabther, el mejor autor vendedor, corredor del yate, entusiasta del globo del aire caliente, amante fanático y candente de la demostración del juego de la realidad.

Déjeme comenzar diciendo, yo no tienen ninguna idea cuál es dicho en su programa de la televisión. En cualquier momento dado, estoy totalmente en una pérdida en cuanto a qué se está encendiendo. Sin embargo, a Penélope Menchaca me enamoro absolutamente, especialmente cuando ella usa las faldas del dril de algodón y los cargadores de cuero altos de la rodilla. También, muchos de los contestants femeninos visten como prostitutes comunes de la calle. Esto que tengo gusto mucho.

Continúe el buen trabajo.

Sinceramente,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Straight As A One Dollar Bill

2007-12-03T23:16:00.000-06:00

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

Heal Thine Penchant For Ripping Off A Chevy Chase Movie

2007-12-03T23:06:00.000-06:00

Dear Benny Hinn,

Good day to you, sir. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, and true believer in the healing power of Christ.

Let me say firstly and foremostly that I am a longtime fan of your work. From your salad days as a sex obsessed, marshmallow-shaped English comedian to your more recent enterprise as a babbling televangelist healer of indeterminate ethnic origin who wears brassy discards from the Steve Harvey Collection, I have charted your illustrious career with great interest.

I have a request to be cured by your healing hand. What with the
U.S. Senate’s request that you turn over evidence of your ministry’s financial standing this week, I assume that time is of the essence. Before you are sent to a federal prison for tax evasion and fraud for many, many years, please consider laying hands one last time. More specifically, please consider laying hands on me. Even more specifically, please consider laying hands on my rump cheeks, as they have been possessed by Satan’s will.

Fissures, hemorrhoids, unstoppable gastric discharge; you name it and my anus is afflicted with it. Every other inch of my body is pristine, healthy, and fully functional; alas my hind quarter has a diseased mind of its own. If we could meet for a mere moment so you could lay your warm, wonderful palms on my quivering, pockmarked ass, I know in my heart of hearts that all its painful suffering would be undone by the Lord’s transcendent mending power.

Also, this premise is nothing like that one scene in Fletch Lives.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Kudos to me for selling out like a filthy, filthy whore!

2007-12-02T19:24:00.000-06:00

Dear readers,

It is with a mixture of spine-tingling excitement, heart-shattering fear and mild embarrassment that I make the following pronouncement. Starting tomorrow I will be a contributing columnist for the Quick DFW.

Those of you unfamiliar with this free weekday publication may recognize Quick from its more common use as makeshift bed linens for the area’s homeless. But this is not its sole purpose of publication. Say you were forced to ride the DART system; perhaps your luxury sedan was in the shop and they were unable to assign a rental vehicle to you. Or you bludgeoned your driver with a marble salt shaker without first hiring a replacement servant. Or maybe you were kidnapped, knocked unconscious, then freed in a remote part of town and forced to take public transportation. However you ended up on the DART you no doubt came across this newspaper. The Quick is what you will see insane perverts pretending to read while they are being sexually aroused by the mass transit vehicle's centrifugal momentum.

I urge all of you to pick up a copy of the Quick each Monday and enjoy my enchanting whimsy over breakfast, brunch, lunch, coffee, or the carcass of a recently murdered enemy. My column is designed to fill most of your emotional voids and compliment your psychosomatic foibles. Then communicate to the Quick editor via digital correspondence, postal parcel, or carrier pigeon how much you love my work, finding it to be the literary equivalent of an awkward yet affectionate dry hump.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Pretty On The Inside-Out

2007-12-02T12:40:00.000-06:00

Dear Nu Image,

My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, temporary amnesia sufferer, and best selling author.

I was leafing through your Winter 2007 issue and was wondering if you could provide me with a referral based on a specific procedure that I have been interested in for some time. I am sure this can be done without compromising your objectivity as a member of the free press, seeing as you are not an actual magazine but a collection of advertisements for vanity practitioners masquerading as lifestyle journalism.

I would like to have a fully functional vagina grafted to the tip of my penis, then I would like this vagina to undergo laser vaginal rejuvenation, followed by a lip enhancement utilizing the new Perma Facial Implant procedure. Please let me know if there are any plastic surgeons in the Dallas-Fort Worth area who can facilitate all of this under one sterile roof.

Also, kudos on the article "Are You Overdoing It?" which offered tips and suggestions for those of us who may be abusing or over-indulging in caffeine, food, alcohol, sleep, etc. I could not help but notice that "obsessively reconstructing your natural physical traits" did not make that list, though I assume this was for good reason.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Sweet Charity

2007-12-02T12:28:00.000-06:00

Dear Victoria Snee,

Good day to you, good lady. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, champion yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, pastry chef, and vintage mitten collector.

I am pleased as punch – or should I say, pleased as egg nog - to see you once again teaming up with Starbucks for your Holiday Angels Toy Drive. It is in the truest sense of giving --- I’m sorry. I’m going to have to stop right here. I can’t go any further. I need to get something out of the way first. I’m sure you will understand.

Are you seriously married to FOX 4’s Jeff Crilley? Seriously? Now, I am quite aware that he is an Emmy award winning reporter because right there on his website it says in big bold letters, “Emmy award winning reporter.” I am sure he’s a lovely person and a real upstanding fellow. And don’t get me wrong, he’s not a bad looking gentleman. But, I mean, c’mon. Seriously.

I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and completely out of line. Who am I to question the love and attraction between two people, especially when it is a bond conjoining two local media personalities? Since when was I voted mayor of Compatibility City? Please forgive me and allow me to continue.

As I was saying, your annual Holiday Angels Toy Drive benefiting Cook Children’s Medical Center and Children’s Medical Center of Dallas is a wonderful endeavor that combines the --- Jeff Crilley? I mean, really. C’mon. Seriously. Again, I’m not suggesting that he’s an ugly man. Perhaps he’s a little on the toothy side, but by no means could he be considered downright physically repulsive. But, c’mon! Look at him. Now look at you. Now look at him again. Now look at you again. Do you see what I’m getting at? Don’t make me come out and say it. Please do not make me come out and say it.

I am truly sorry. That was very rude of me. I am embarrassed beyond reproach. I will try to get back on track here so I may address the --- Jeff Crilley? Really? Seriously? It’s just extremely difficult to fathom that a gentleman of his design is allowed to be acquainted with you in a Biblical manner. Excuse my frank description, but it is really and truly astonishing that an individual of such mediocre corporal makeup is permitted access to your various regions on a regular basis without some sort of bribe or fiscal compensation or a deep amount of pity on your part. Is it pity? It must be pity. Was he shamed or dishonored in front of you by, perhaps, a clan of evil kung fu masters or a street gang of some sort?

It is quite obvious that your charitable nature is a major driving force in your life and deed, as well as your choice of life partner and involvement with the Holiday Angels Toy Drive. Good show, my lady. Good show.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Whatever That Was.

2007-11-30T13:15:00.000-06:00

Dear readers,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

I-Like-A-Look-A-Likes

2007-11-28T19:05:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas Look-A-Likes,

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.

I would like to order one Jonathan Lipnicki, an Alan Alda, an overweight Jay Leno, the cast of Caddyshack, both Austin Powers I and Austin Powers II, and the lady from The Weakest Link.

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.”

Yours,

Alibaster Abthernabther

An Instant Christmas Classic

2007-11-27T22:03:00.000-06:00

Dear Uncle Barky,

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.”

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

The Day the Laughter Died

2007-11-27T18:43:00.000-06:00

Dear Andrea Grimes,

It is indeed a sad day for Dallas. It is as if scientists reanimated JFK only to re-assassinate him, then the Cowboys and Mavericks and Stars were all killed in simultaneous yet completely separate bus accidents. It is truly that tragic. This is the day the laughter died.

It pains my soul and pangs my heart to read of your impending departure from the pages of the Dallas Observer so that you may immerse yourself in Austin-based academia. I do not know how I will carry on. I do not know how we as a city will persevere without your hackneyed estrogen-infused wit and your perfunctorily developed punchlines. Even now as I think back on all your fanciful exploits, I am quite literally urinating on myself, a physical reaction no doubt due to the odd mixture of impenetrable sorrow and joyous nostalgia that so overwhelms every fiber of my being.

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.

Yours,

Alibaster Abthernabther

Pop-Up the Ante

2007-11-27T04:09:00.000-06:00

Dear DallasNews.com Webmaster,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Thank God for Dale Hansen

2007-11-26T15:55:00.000-06:00

Dear Dale Hansen,

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"

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Prepare To Have Your Mind Blown Forever

2007-11-26T11:23:00.000-06:00

Dearest readers,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Rude. Not Cool.

2007-11-26T10:54:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas City Council,

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.

Bravo!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Without You I Am Slightly Less Than Everything

2007-11-21T11:08:00.000-06:00

Dearest readers,

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,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Till You Drop

2007-11-21T11:06:00.000-06:00

Dear NorthPark Center management,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Not Funny.

2007-11-20T15:21:00.000-06:00

Dear Mike Orren,

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!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Filth Mongers Gone GaGa

2007-11-18T19:59:00.000-06:00

Dear Mr. John Eckerd,

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

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

"Envy eats nothing but its own heart."

2007-11-17T23:33:00.000-06:00

Dear ENVY,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

RE: I Need Someone On My Side

2007-11-16T19:40:00.001-06:00

from: Saul.Garza@foxtv.com
to: alibaster.abthernabther@gmail.com
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?

Thanks.

Mr. Garza,

I thank you for your interest and your prompt response.

Normally, I would dispatch my assistant Reggie to retrieve the video footage you've requested. However, Reggie met an untimely demise earlier this week after being struck by a garbage truck while cleaning a swimming pool.

In the interim I will be trying to teach myself how to use the VCR in tandem with my personal computer to provide you with the video evidence you have requested.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Garbage. It's What's For Dinner.

2007-11-15T21:33:00.000-06:00

Dear Professor Ferrell,

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?

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

You Can Count On Me

2007-11-14T22:28:00.000-06:00

Dear Dr. William Boothe,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Bip-A-Bap-A-Bip-Bip-A-Bap-Bip-A-Bap-Bip

2007-11-14T22:23:00.001-06:00

Dear Slap Happy Bass Player Who Performs With the Jazz Band That Plays at Central Market,

Enough!!!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

The Reason for the Season

2007-11-14T22:01:00.000-06:00

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

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Your Dream Police They Live Inside of Your Head, DMN

2007-11-13T15:27:00.000-06:00

Dear Dallas Morning News,

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!!!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Up To Your Neck In Fabulousness!

2007-11-13T11:30:00.000-06:00

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

That Our Flag Was Still There

2007-11-13T09:20:00.000-06:00

Dear Congressman Louie Gohmert,

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 United States flag that has been flown over the U.S. Capitol. I understand that it is in fact every American’s right to purchase such a flag at cost so long as it is procured through the appropriate local congressman or senator and cared for in a proper manner.

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Enough of the Hot Stuff!

2007-11-12T19:08:00.000-06:00

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,

Alibaster Abthernabther

*** 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."

Hang Up & Drive, Please

2007-11-12T16:21:00.000-06:00

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
felching
praying the rosary
making origami swans
smoking the drugs
leaving a cake out in the rain

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Jena's Story: A Journey of Privilege

2007-11-12T10:14:00.000-06:00

Dear Texas Monthly,

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, Texas Monthly.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

"Dedicated to the faithful and presented to the false-hearted"

2007-11-10T11:50:00.000-06:00

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

I Need Someone On My Side!

2007-11-09T06:55:00.000-06:00

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.

Yours,

Alibaster Abthernabther

PS – I am copying Saul Garza on this request on the off chance that you are presently unavailable. Thank you.

Every Toll Road Has Its Thorn

2007-11-08T22:27:00.000-06:00

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 Trinity River toll road proposition.

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 Dallas commuters and me festering in congealed traffic from now until the end of all recorded time. Also, why do you hate babies and puppies so much?

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 Korea. And ever since then you have all but lived, breathed, slept and defecated Prop 1.

So now what? I would say you are due some well deserved downtime. Please allow me to suggest some leisure activities that might help take you mind off that pesky Trinity debacle.

Masturbate.

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.

Enjoy some delectable Nestlé’s Toll House cookies.

Masturbate.

I know that these stress relievers have always helped me overcome all manner of defeat and dejection and aided in my overcoming a great many vices and addictions. Except for that one time when I tried to stop masturbating so much.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Kudos to you, Duncanville City Manager Kent Cagle!

2007-11-07T20:15:00.000-06:00

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!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

*** UPDATE: Duncanville City Manager Kent Cagle responds! ***

Message from "Kent Cagle"

I recognize from your email address that this is the first message I have received from you since City of Duncanville began using Sender Address Verification (SAV).

Your message is very important to me. Like you, we are very concerned with stopping the proliferation of spam. We have implemented Sender Address Verification (SAV) to ensure that we do not receive unwanted email and to give you the assurance that your messages to me have no chance of being filtered into a bulk mail folder.

By pressing REPLY and SEND to this message your original message will be delivered to the top of my Inbox. You need only do this once and all future emails will be recognized and delivered directly to me.

When replying to this email, please make sure that the following email address appears in the To: field of the reply:

kcagle-verify-[REDACTED]@ci.duncanville.tx.us

If you are unable to respond to this authentication request within 2 weeks, or if your reply is not sent to the correct email address (as indicated above), your message may not be delivered.

Thank you!

Kent Cagle

Kudos to you, Gordon Keith!

2007-11-06T19:55:00.000-06:00

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Fancy This!

2007-11-06T19:48:00.000-06:00

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!

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

RE: Rumors of war

2007-11-05T21:54:00.000-06:00

“Without the threat of the big stick, the Iranians would be quick to tell us where to stick it.” – Charles Blank, Dallas

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

Kudos to you, D Magazine!

2007-11-05T21:51:00.000-06:00

Dear D Magazine,

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.

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther

RE: Fashion Week Canceled Again

2007-11-05T21:41:00.000-06:00

Dear Park Cities People,

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?

Yours,
Alibaster Abthernabther