Sunday, February 27, 2005

Brian made me do it

Mr. Splicea:

Wait, no formalities required.

Big Jim, Jimbo, Senile Splicea, friend o‘ the prairie dog, ignorant bastard:

Thank you for taking the time to express your concerns with the Senator. Unfortunately, and god help you if you never realized….HE DOES NOT READ YOUR LETTERS! Lowly interns are made to sort through daily mail. Largely, a collaboration of conservative concerns about the most minute of legislation, senile requests for more mashed potato days in the nursing home, hate mail from prison and my personal favorite, Medicare’s pathetic attempt to garner more federal funding by mass mailing pictures of “satisfied” elderly customers enjoying the benefits of a Scooter Store provided means of artificial mobilization. Because honestly, who doesn’t love a photo of a “satisfied”, grossly overweight and clashingly dressed, ambiguously sexed, frowning to the point of general contempt, senior citizen? I ask you that.

But Jim, to address your concerns, there is a reason legislation has been introduced to ban prairie dogs as pets. No one knows that reason, and I’m pretty sure you’ll be eternally damned should you question it’s creation in the first place, but so help us, there’s a reason, even if little more than the fact that Teddy hates prairie dogs. Though, judging by the inane manner of such legislation, I’m guessing it was a neo-fascist, mid-western conservative to think up this one. Clearly, ongoing international and domestic terrorism, nuclear threats from everyone’s favorite dictator, Kim Jong-il, and Medicare don’t provide enough of a challenge for the Senate. No, we have to go and create reasons for lowly, prairie dog-lovin’, south westerners to commit suicide. Now, Jim, don’t for a minute think that I don’t agree with you one hundred percent. And by I, I’m supposed to mean the Senator, because the ignorant masses are meant to believe that a man who schedules the Dalai Lama and nuclear proliferation sessions into his daily schedule has time to respond to your requests….oh, and he does, but today, just this one letter, will be written by yours truly. And I’m here to tell you, probably in contrast to anything the Senator believes, because I’m not a forest-destroying, prescription drug hording, unilateralist, that you, my friend, are a complete primordial mistake. Dude, you’re not even from this state. Go write to Feinstein, or better yet, hound down Schwarzenneggar. I’m sure The Terminator could more adequately express the giant slap across the face I’d like to give you, after he beat the living stupidity out of you….which, by the sound of it, would most likely require nothing short of decapitation.

Jim, prairie dogs may be cute and cuddly. They may scurry across the southern plains and instill within you some dream of complete and natural freedom. They may dart their little heads in that funny little manner that always makes you giggle like a pre-pubescent, uniform clad schoolgirl. But, Jim, I’m here to tell you, if you want that kind of freedom, get out of the U.S., for starters. For your sake, for my sake, for the sake of an ever diminishing gene pool which you hopefully won‘t further lessen through procreation. If any variation of the sentence “Prairie dogs are my life” is uttered from your mouth, I hereby grant permission for any member of society to pummel you to death. There are countless hobbies deemably pathetic, taxidermy, for one, ikebana yet another, but even these do not constitute such sheer and utter uselessness as prairie dogs. Jim, they’re called prairie dogs for a reason, they live on prairies…not in your house. Let me reiterate, do you require special attention? Jim, prairie dogs don’t really exist. They just come alive on the Discovery Channel and Animal Planet. There’s probably a grand total of five in the whole of the continental U.S. They’re wild animals, they carry diseases, they don’t even have enough common sense to clean themselves. And you’re fighting for their continued status as pets in your home? Jim, an animal is considered a pet when you purchase it from a pet store. Pet stores don’t sell prairie dogs. Therefore, you’re not keeping prairie dogs as pets, you’re keeping them as hostages. And as such, I’m fully prepared to have you arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder. After all, taking wild creatures out of their natural habitat and placing them upon your plaid sofa in the family room to watch Monday night football and chew through your sidewing covers and a stale bag of Cheetos destroys any sense of normalcy they once held, and, eventually, destroys their livelihood. Jim, you are abducting wild, undomesticated prairie dogs and turning them into lethargic, lifeless, couch potatos…it’s a classic, though somewhat off the beaten track (someone should beat you) wife substitute. My suggestion, mail order bride. You can learn Russian, can't you? Or, mass amounts of therapy. Neither mutually exclusive. And I haven’t entirely ruled out suicide.

Our office also thanks you for the voice mail forewarning of the impending attack at the hands of the Canadian mounted police. I think you’ll find, by tomorrow at the latest, that Canada no longer exists. It was absorbed by nuclear weapons and American imperialism. Bound to happen eventually...I mean, let's not lie to ourselves.

Best regards,

Senator….no, wait. Me, it’s just me. Lauren

P.S. We would prefer if you did not refer to yourself as 'King of America.' Such blasphemy is deemed domestic terrorism and offensive. Bush is fully prepared to mandate a larger than life prison sentence in Guantanamo Bay…and we all know that’s not as tropical island, umbrella-in-the-cocktail, topless swimsuit model paradisey as it sounds. Yeah…fooled me too.

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Dear Mr. “I am not a cop killer”:


Thank you for clarifying. I recommend you get a lawyer. You’re going to need a good one. Your handwriting and general use of poor/worse-than-the-kids-that-ride-the-short-bus grammar suggests you’re not too bright, and, I’m assuming, not too wealthy as a result of that stupidity. So, um, good luck with that whole defense thing. Your grounds are good though. “I am not a cop killer.” Yes, that’s solid. You’re sure to get off now, and then scammed by a faulty pyramid scheme. And when you do, a) god save Indiana or any state you may chose to inhabit b) avoid all cops and law enforcement officials, and my house while you’re at it c) McDonald’s has this new policy that all their employees not kill cops, so feel free to leave that bit of info off your application. Judging by the other fuckwits that grace the counter I don’t imagine a background check is thoroughly enforced, nor is wearing your underwear inside of your pants. So go crazy. Have some fun with your wardrobe, but so help you god if I find pickles.

Best regards,

Lauren

P.S. What's federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison like? Do they serve Jello?

1 Comments:

Blogger Brian said...

It looks like there's a whole underground of prairie dog lovin' folk out there. There are also websites for people who want to hook up with open-minded amputees, but I'll spare you those. Apparently, owning prairie dogs is legal in a number of states, but there is presently a CDC-imposed ban on the buying, selling, transporting, occupational training, and inappropriate fondling of prairie dogs, because they might be carrying the monkeypox. That's an terrible word, monkeypox ...

By the way, I found the following request on an online petition: "please sir bring back family guy and maybe give me a littl booze". Now there's a request worth making ...

6:33 AM  

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