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Separated at Birth???

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[sic] - your letters



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[sic] - your letters



SECRETLY LOVES GIRDLES

Dear Taibbi,

I agree that corporate America is always on the lookout for ways to convince us that we need more products (be it a Hummer or hair gel) to make life liveable.† There have been stories for a few years now, for example,†by "industry experts" that male cosmetics are the next big thing.† I'd like you to play Jimmy the Greek: tell us†your ideas about some of the new, useless consumer goods that await us men.† Like girdles, perhaps?† Or panty liners, maybe, for that†delayed post-pee†penis drip (especially after a few beers)?† If I ever went back to America, I'd like to know what kinds of stupid shit I'd have to buy to be considered fuckable or eligible or whatever Cargo calls it.† Thanks.

Best,

Jeff

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Dear Jeff,

What you need to do is buy a subscription to The Beast, the hottest publication to hit the streets since Highlights magazine. When a woman sees that fantastically current issue of The Beast mounted proudly upon your coffee table and asks, “Oh, you read The Beast?” You can proudly respond, “actually I have it delivered.” We guarantee the next thing to come out of her mouth will be you. If you act now, your “fuckable” status will be of “A-list” caliber, not to mention the dramatic improvement in your street cred. E-mail subscription@buffalobeast.com --do it now, dick!


BUT WE FORGOT MADONNA!

Seamus,

Excellent piece. You guys said what I've been thinking. The absence of dissenting artists in these times is disturbing. Years of timeouts and Ritalin must have sucked all the righteous indignation right out of the kids. I can't wait for the new Ministry CD coming out in June but what does it mean when an angry middle-aged man is doing my ranting for me?

Again, I enjoyed your piece and look forward to reading more of your work.

--Mary Jane Fields

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Dear Mary Jane,

When an angry middle-aged man is doing your ranting, it usually means you’re in another dysfunctional relationship due to the fact that your dad screwed you up so bad.


FUTURE EX-WIFE

I would like to pose a question to that douche bag named “Bill from Columbus”. The question is this: Why do you care? By this I mean, for someone who loves Buffalo so damn much why did you leave to go to Ohio of all fucking places?

I was born and raised here in beautiful Buffalo, and I can no longer take all of you assholes who move away and still act like Buffalo is the best place in the world. I have a Bachelor Degree and with all that work my big fancy job with my big fancy degree is a BARTENDER…in LACKAWANNA! FOR FUCKS SAKE! People like you piss me off. “Blah, blah, blah Buffalo Rules…blah, blah, blah fuck the Beast for telling it like it is.” If you love this city so much with its corrupt leaders and shit jobs then why don’t you live here? Oh shit wait, that’s all we need, one more South Buffalo fuck bag making this city worse than it is.

I myself am working on saving what few tips my patrons can afford and getting as far away from Buffalo as possible. But, until then I would appreciate it if you would just SHUT THE HELL UP about how wonderful this city is when YOU DON’T FUCKING LIVE HERE! Why don’t you just jerk off to pictures of Masiello and leave the Beast and its numerous reader alone?

By the way, I really don’t appreciate being called a “nut-so” reader. I am a well educated woman who (OH MY GOD) has a sense of humor. I also find it extremely hard to believe that you not only know 95% if Buffalo’s population, but their reading habits as well.

Why don’t you just go to hell and worry about how shitty Columbus, Ohio is and start fixing that shit hole instead of worrying about what a bunch of people think of your “hometown”. You are not part of this town, and we don’t want you so just keep your ignorant thoughts to yourself and stop polluting the Beast with your uneducated judgment.

Thank you,

Meg in Buffalo

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Dear Meg,

“Educated?” “Employed?” “Bartender?” Might we ask—single? Are you by chance attracted to overweight smokers who stay up until the wee hours of the morning writing penis jokes and hemorrhoid anecdotes? If so, please send in a full color photo (if black and white it must be artistic) along with your phone number to The Beast. Soon after, you will become the lucky recipient a series of late night hang-up calls from a select few of our eligible staffers, along with some of their friends. Perhaps you will even be photographed in your bathrobe! Sweet Meg, we just want you to know that chivalry is not dead; lets make scrambled eggs together. Our shared hatred for Bill from Columbus is alone enough to keep us together.


SUGAR FAGGY

Dear Beast,

I'm straight. A gay friend of mine tells me he has fallen in love with me. Thing is, I'm middle-aged, not getting any younger. The guy is nice, he owns a nice house full of antiques, a great sound system and HDTV, a pool which he keeps well maintained, he's a great cook, and he has money. He's also a bottom, which means I wouldn't have to do anything sexually that I don't want to. He tells me he just wants to "please me" and that's all he wants. Fact of the matter is, he would make a hell of a wife.

This one has me thinking.

Sincerely,

Fred R. Melon

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Dear Fred,

Mayor Anthony Masiello is a great guy, and you’re right, he would make a hell of a wife. Those of us in the inner circle know that Tony is not one to recklessly throw his love around (unless Nathan Lane is in town), so you must be one special guy. Yes he is a bottom, and while it’s true you might not have to do anything sexually that you don’t like, you should acknowledge that liking it does indeed make you gay. Also, Tony will expect you to dress up like Mr. T on occasion and play “Pity the Fool.” Before you rush into anything Fred, look past the nice house, antiques and pool. Tony has a heart, try not to break it.


SNOT A PROBLEM

Greetings mortals,

I love the Beast. You are Buffalo's own sailor-talking, crack-smoking, more-likely-to- piss-off-a-corrupt-politician, smaller-but-nastier brother to The Onion. I just had to write and say thanks for your great “journalism”.

Last issue's story about the snot bag and the Bush protest made me puke and cry. You really tickled my filthy bone with your account of what must be the most concentrated evil that could ever be held inside an ordinary ziplock bag. Ounce for ounce, it might only be rivaled by a bag of pureed kitten.

The story brought back gooey memories of one time I had one of those nuclear sinus infections I catch about once a year. This particular infection got me so bad I was delirious and immobile. So, instead of running to the sink every 90 seconds to drain my face, I leaked it in a bucket. After a while there was a few inches of slime accumulated, but I'm sorry to say I wasn't as creative as Mr. Riordan was to consider using it for terrorism. I just poured it down the drain. An observation I must share is that my personal mucousoid product had much more of a chunk-style consistency than the photo of Chris's smooth and creamy phlegm.

If that doesn't revolt you consider this. After a while the infection had me so plugged up that it wouldn't come out the front door any more, and it impacted in my head, throbbing and occasionally releasing a choking green lava flow down my throat. After a day or two of feeling like Mount St. Helens, I was happier than hell when the dam finally broke. I felt it coming, grabbed a tissue, and blew and blew. The mass slithered out in a rubbery rope. I unravelled it from the depths of my nasal cavity, cranking it around and around a spindle of tissue like winding a bucket out a snot well (faster and faster, to avoid letting it droop and spill on my chest.) Soon I had harvested in my hands a fist-sized snot knot. If my kitten was still around, I would have tossed it at her like a ball of yarn, for a gluey surprise.

Which reminds me of George Bush. I myself was also present during his recent visit to town. On that day I had an appointment to drop by a downtown office, as a prospective buyer of bookshelves for my book dealer business. Coincidentally, I crossed paths twice with the presidential caravan on the way there and back. Although I had no chance to communicate my dislike for that oily pig and the corporate-fascist powers he represents

in as articulate a manner as the Beast so often does, at least I got to flip him a one-finger salute.

Speaking of books, please visit my new book stand, STRANGE PAGES, specializing in used/collectible sci-fi, fantasy, horror, movies, art, and culture with a carefully selected stock of a few thousand titles. It’s at Expo Center Co-op, 10995 Main St., Clarence, open daily except Wednesday. Print this plug, and I can make sure some Beasts get dropped off there for you, if you want. Thanks again.

Best wishes, and keep up the bestiality,

Mr. P. Lake

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Hey P,

With the level of booger-related events in your life, we are not sure if running a bookstand was the best career choice. Boogers can be funny, but not when they are being chipped off the pages of your new copy of “I, Robot.” That’s just an aesthetic issue, not taking into account the infectious nature of your frequent illnesses. When we want a new copy of “Macroscope,” we don’t want to have to wear Haz-Mat suits to get it. Please see a doctor, and if you want an ad, just give us a call, we’ll take good care of you…over the phone.


BUBBLING BREWMEISTER

On the phone:

Hey, I picked up a copy of The Beast today--I work for a local beer company, and the reason why I picked it up was that you made mention of one of the beers that we sell. I didn't get past the first page; that "Holy Shiite" article was fucking fabulous! I'm hooked, I'm a fan for life, and I will make sure that everybody I know knows about The Beast.

Great mag, great article, good job.

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Dear Good Friend,

Beer is our friend; there is nothing to get you through the sad times like a barbiturate. In fact, we are drinking beer right now, warm beer but beer nonetheless. By our estimates, you have access to vast amounts of that noble golden libation; therefore, we offer ourselves as the official local beer company mascots. If you pull your car up to the back door of your company, fill your truck up with various cases of beer, and bring it to us, we will drink it. From then on we will refer to you as our official “hookup.” As you can well see, it works out for everyone.

Oh yeah, thanks for the Kudos, let us know about the hootch.

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LOATHESOME LAUNDRESS

On the phone:

Yes hi, my name is Carrie, and we own a Laundromat called the Laundry basket and also the Laundry lounge. Some of our relatives are in your paper, and we just don't like the content of the stories about them, and we would just appreciate if you guys could just refrain from putting The Beast at those two locations. Thank you, bye bye.

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Welcome to the Shit List Carrie; your shitty Laundromats have now joined ranks with some elite Buffalo establishments who also fear freedom of expression and the right to have an opinion. Maybe you and the other business owners on the list can get together and burn books sometime. After all, words are bad. On a side note, if your relatives were shit on in this paper, then you can be goddamned sure they fucking deserved it. The whole shit eating lot of them. You too.

See you at church, Carrie.

 




Letters to the Evil Editors should be addressed to:
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