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Dear Aby
© The Abyssal Lord
September 29, 2005

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

Dear Aby,

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.



Dear VD:

I would suggest you stop bathing. In fact, perhaps you should stop leaving the house. Or even your room. You incredibly pathetic loser.

Oh, and don’t call Us, We’ll call you, if you get my drift. . . .

Dear Aby,

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,



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. . . .

Dear Aby,

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.

In Peace,

Nfutu Habubu

P.S. Give my late husband my love.

Dear Nfutu:

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.

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