Once again, it’s time to —
Here comes yet another installment —
(Okay, no sense gussying this thing up. The Big Guy
is in a really pissy mood, but deadlines are deadlines, so. . . .
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
Illustration © Todd Shearer
I am requesting your advice regarding a slight problem with
my rubber ducky. Very recently it disappeared from its normal
spot on the tub, at least during the day. At night it returns
but I swear it grew fangs during its absence and watches me
with an almost hungry look. . . .
What should I do?! I am afraid to use the bath at night.
I DON’T WANNA BE A VAMPY RUBBER DUCKY
I would suggest you stop bathing. In fact, perhaps
you should stop leaving the house. Or even your room. You incredibly
Oh, and don’t call Us, We’ll call you,
if you get my drift. . . .
Thanks for inspiring my soon-to-be mega hit "Riding
the Crotch Rocket." You've been a long and faithful supporter
of the heavy metal genre, and those of us in the business
bow our horned heads to you infernal will.
Unfortunately, Wal-Mart is refusing to stock our latest
CD because they believe the name of our band, "Bladderfeast,"
might offend certain consumers. As Wal-Mart is obviously a
product of pure evil, I'm wondering if you'd be willing to
act on the band's behalf. We'll happily add more pentagrams
to the album cover if that makes a difference.
Yours in bile,
STONE COLD MULLET, Austin, TX
Dear STONE COLD:
Let’s get something straight, shall we? I do
not, in any way shape or form, endorse heavy metal music. It
is insufferably juvenile, generically stupid, and offensive
in the same way one might regard suppurating cold sores or oozing
blackheads. The practitioners of said music have as little connection
to the Dark Side as Glinda the Good Witch — they are,
to put it bluntly, incredibly pathetic losers.
Now, Barry Manilow, on the other hand. . . .
Thank you for reading this letter from a stranger. I am
Nfutu Habubu Hakuna Matata Smith, the widow of the recently
deceased President of the Liberian National Bank and Bait
Shop. He left me a large sum of money in a secret account
and I would be willing to share TEN MILLION DOLLARS with you
if you would send me your account information so that I can
transfer it out of the country safely.
P.S. Give my late husband my love.
Okay, let Me get this right. Ten million dollars,
hmm? Oh, I’m sorry — TEN MILLION DOLLARS!
My, my. . . . Yes, that is certainly
a lot of money, Mrs. Smith (deceased). Why, with that sort of
money I could redecorate the office, buy new asbestos drapes,
maybe even get Cerberus some new chew-toys (a change from the
miserable Damned he usually teethes on).
But something about this offer bugs Me, for some reason
. . . I can’t quite put My talon on it. . . .
Oh, wait! Now I know! You see, the ex-president of the LNB&BS
is here! In fact, I recently chatted with him between his hourly
disembowelings. Nice enough fellow for a rabidly genocidal government
official with tendencies toward cannibalism.
Funny thing, though — he swore to Me that he
killed and ate his wife (and several mistresses) before his
untimely death from lead poisoning during the last coup.
Which leaves Me to believe that you are not, in fact,
Nfutu Habubu Hakuna Matata Smith, but instead a fat, pimply
moron with a CRT tan. Nothing more than a common, witless thief.
Probably a virgin, too, you incredibly pathetic loser.
To The Abyssal Lordship:
What is your favorite work of literature?
My fav —
Hold on. I’m sorry, I’m just taken aback.
You’re asking Me a question about Myself? I mean, showing
interest in My opinion without actually trying to find some
personal gain in it? You . . . you care about Me,
the real Me?
What is this, a trick? You trying to pull some scam
like that last yahoo? I’m on to you!
You incredibly pathetic loser. . . .
Send the Abyssal Lord your insignificant queries!
Just fill out the form below.