Buffalo BEAST - Buffalo's New Best Fiend
 

Oct 19 - Nov 2, 2005
Issue #86

  ..Buffalo's Best Fiend
   
Grand Perjury
A Miller's Tale
Allan Uthman

Disrobed
Are Female Genitals Enough to Qualify for the Supreme Court?
Paul jones

Getty Some
Hot Movement Action
A Monkey
Jurassic Dork
Michael Crichton's Science Fiction
Kit Smith
Harold Who?
Ode to Pinter in 1 Act

Alexander Zaitchik

Theatre of War
Inside the Psy-Ops Studio
Matt Bors

Drown Together
On Katrina & Disaster Fatigue
Jeff Dean
FAUX-TURES
After terror threats, New York begins efforts to clean shit out of pants
Clayton Byrd
An Open Letter to Jessica Alba
Irresponsible Mayoral Speculation:
What do Bflo's candidates have to do to win/lose?

Shop for Porn Like a Pro!
Hyman Bender

BOOKS
The Assassin’s Gate
America in Iraq
by George Packer
Review by John Freeman
The Big Wedding
9/11, the Whistle-Blowers and the Cover-Up
by Sander Hicks
Review by Russ Wellen
LOCAL
Buffalo Soldiers
Hutch Tech's New Program: Forcible Conscription
Allan Uthman
Another Corporate Psycopath
The Barnacle at Delphi
Chuck Richardson

The BEAST Blog
Irresponsible vitriol on a near-daily basis

[sic] - Letters
Wide Right
Bills Football & other sports
Ronnie Roscoe
Kino Korner: Movies
Michael Gildea
Page 3
Separated at Birth?
Beast-O-Scopes
 
 Cover Page

COMIX:
Idiot Box
Perry Bible Fellowship
Bob the Angry Flower

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Last Issue: (85)

An Open Letter to Jessica Alba

Dear Jessica,

I send to you this open correspondence with purest intentions, in the hopes it will find you better than the letter I last sent you attached to the string of a helium balloon that I prayed would find its mark. I can only reason that, since I have not heard back from you by now, the fated balloon was downed by enemy fire.

It wasn’t two weeks ago, sitting in the theatre relishing in your masterful performance in Into the Blue, when I was faced with the tragic and unbearable reality that a real woman like yourself would never go out with a mere child like I. Surely I thought, every man in Hollywood must be banging down the door of this woman, this vision, this Goddess! This painful epiphany, however, feels to have occurred eons ago, for now, as my recitation of the Haftarah confirms, my dear, sweet Jessica, I am officially a man according to Jewish law and in the eyes of God.

Last Saturday, as my Bar Mitzvah was drawing to an end and the caterers where disposing of half eaten hors d’ouvres, my uncle Morty took me aside, slapped a c-note in the palm of my hand, gave me a wink and said now that I am a bona fide man, I am going to need a real woman to satisfy my manly urges. Who else could I turn to but you? The brace-faced, pubescent little girls from school? I think not! You are that real woman, my one true hope, my objet d’affection, my “dark angel,” if you will.

It’s hard to believe from my picture that a measly fortnight past I was a child, doing childish things and thinking childish thoughts. Now past the threshold of manhood, my sights are set on the business of masculine endeavors, fixing cars, pumping iron, shaving the beard that should arrive any day now, and wooing the most divine woman to have ever graced the pages of Maxim.

Just as you impeccably played Sue Storm of The Fantastic Four, I entreat you to play the part you were born to play, Jessica Alba of the “Fantastic Two.” This dynamic duo will consist of you and I, and the super powers we will enjoy will be the power of love, as once described so masterfully by Huey Lewis and the News. As a relationship is a big step for anyone and should not be entered into lightly, I implore you to look upon my picture and see your destiny alive in my gaze.

The way I see it, you can come live with me at my parent’s house until I’m done with school. I have already consulted my mother and father about this arrangement and they have agreed to it, contingent on your conversion to Judaism, of course. I hope leaving the goyim won’t be a problem for you. Also we will have to go to bed at 10pm, as this is my bed time.

My room is in the basement, away from my pestering sisters, where we could have our privacy. I have a spare futon if you insist on playing coy while we are getting to know each other. When I am at school, I suppose you could use my Playstation or hang out with my mom (she is a really good cook and will make you whatever you want). After school, you could pick me up and we could go to the mall together. All my friends would want to talk to you and touch you, but I would be all like “back off, that’s my lady.”

Then, once I turn 18, we can be married in a lavish ceremony, replete with celebrity guests and wall-climbing paparazzi. Then we can move to your estate in Hollywood, where you can continue your acting career. Mrs. Jessica Goldstein: it has a certain ring, no?

I hope in my heart of hearts you come across these paragraphs and consider my offer of eternal, undying love. Please get back to me as soon as possible, already. I am not trying to rush you of course, but be warned; though you are my first choice above all, there are surely to be many gorgeous shiksas waiting in the wings. After all, I am now a real man and, as wise uncle Morty said, I need a real woman.

-Your Beloved, Zack

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