THESE LETTERS ARE TOO LONG

 “Where your mama hides the cookies.”  How I miss these words and wonder if there is anyone at ESPN or in the sports coverage industry in general that is capitalizing on the current hockey lock-out situation by fostering relationships between “old-school” hockey announcers and broadcasters for other sports…there is something to be said about a broadcaster that can call the game and also bring a tangible approach that enhances the excitement on the ice/court/field/track for the fan.

It’s a basic and simple and old idea, but one that has always made listening to the game on the radio (usually while doing some chore or activity) more exciting than watching it on TV.  So here is my awkward segue into an analogy to hopefully describe my current disenchantment with hibernation without hockey…

All the recent talk of Howard Stern and the FCC and the endless lawsuits and the-future-is-not-so-far-away super-space radio options have made me realize that while I, a slave to the technological transfer of information like so many of us, do not have any great stake in all of this, I am nonetheless affected by it, and care about it, and want to contribute positively to it so it can reach its potential…Go Howard.

Potential for space age radio….perhaps. Potential for NHL Hockey as we know it…not good. Potential for NHL Hockey to resume and be covered exclusively by space age radio….now we’re getting somewhere.  (This is where Erie County comes in, because here, apparently, the best way to solve a potential problem is to pair it up with another potential, yet risky in a different kind-of way, problem and worry not because everyone ends up magically happy.)

Here’s another smooshy analogy:  the “Bermuda Triangle Effect” has somehow lost its way in the weather patterns of the world (global warming, perhaps) and ended up parked next to my very own black cloud above Buffalo New York…This triangle is made up of three equally dangerous, yet differentially powerful beings…King Joel Giambra, Sir Gary Bettman, and Blessed Mother Nature.

You see, private sector companies have lost thousands of jobs here in WNY with only an Iraq War level of concern in terms of coverage (please read this as “page eleven news”…and yes, your government and your media are feeding you Spinal Tap inspired “but these go to eleven” babyfood and you are drooling it all down your chin) but the downsizing of the County Government is the ONLY thing worth talking about in this town.

Gary Bettman, well, let me start by falsely claiming that I harbor no ill will, and cut right to the chase on this one…Fuck Gary Bettman.  Fuck him for what he has allowed to happen to hockey on his watch.

And Mother Nature…oh, where do I start with her?  Stupid bitch gave me the flu.

Sick For Real

Dear Sick,

What’s a hockey?

WOUNDED KNEE-JERK

Add to your list of despicable types, Dr. Joyce Brothers, who, in an article in this Sunday’s Parade on the value of shame, and the difference between good and bad shame, as if it were like cholesterol, exposed herself in public as senile.  To see the front page of Parade devoted to celebrities in different celebrity poses, including Madonna in iron ice cream tit covers (Avert your gaze, children, or you’ll turn to stone!) gets me a-wonderin’...

Far cry from Wounded Knee.  No shame allowed there.  Too long ago. Same with slavery.  Anyway, Indians ain’t oppressed today.  Shit, they get more tax breaks than GE.  And look at ‘em, still livin in trailers.  Meet me at the casino!

Anybody here remember feeling ashamed of our wonderful troops coming home from the rape of Vietnam?  Or maybe you lost a few brain cells during the disco era.  I’ll bet a new standard for TV advertising was set by the newscast with pictures of that little girl running naked down the road after nearly becoming burnt toast with a gasoline nose and a diesel aftertaste.

No reason to doubt ourselves in Iraq.  Everybody knows Saddam was in a position to invade Washington and take over the 700 Club.

Shame?  Just because a bunch of towelheads got their asses handed to them?  Shit.  You don’t know.  You ain’t been there.  These people stink like their camels.  And I wouldn’t turn my back on a one of ‘em. You know each and every one of ‘em is a fanatic.  They just want to put the screws to the whites, the Euros, the Americans.  Even the li’l old ladies have the potential to do harm to us and our interests. Hey, what’s that lump in your pocket?

And as all the precious, innocent, holy embryos are nestled down in their beds at the fertility clinics, somewhere on the south side of freezing, on the bottom shelf, labeled “discard next garbage day”, our naked emperor struggles with the “destroy life to preserve life” conundrum.  If that wasn’t true, it would be hilarious.  In the meantime, millions of ‘unclean’ wait for their pittance of healthcare from the hoarding scumbag insurance companies.  Hey, you people with Parkinson’s, MS, spinal cord injuries and the like:  fuck all o’ y’all.

I’m supposed to look at some basketball player, whose head is about as empty, and has been bounced around about as much, and is at least as pressurized, as the roundball itself, kind of like our naked emperor, and feel shame that he got mad at some asshole fan, in New Jersey of all places, (or was it Detroit?  Fade in Jackson Brown song) after he was assaulted both verbally and with a flagon of mead?  What would you do?  Appeal to the league?  I think not, sir!

I’m supposed to look at this world full of cruelty, injustice, genocide, prejudice, and fear, and blame it all on the commies in Hollywood and the hippies in Haight?  “If only we had some sense of propriety, some limits on our behavior.”  Tell that to the elder Bush’s cronies and their Howdy-Doody boy, emperor Dubya.  He’s just a figurehead.  What’s in his head?  Go figure.

As for Joyce...Give her a ticket on the same boat with Billy Graham.  Yeah that’s it. The double-decker ferry in Bombay.

Rick McGirr

Dear Rick,

We’ve never donated plasma, but thanks to your letter we know what it feels like.

PUSSY

To the fine staff and readership of The Beast:

These are trying times for Buffalo and her suburbs in Erie county. With The District attorney’s and Sheriff’s departments being weakened by budgetary losses and layoffs, and the city’s fiscal health at least as unsound, I know you are feeling unsafe and worried about your future. To you I say, take heart! I am here for you!

Who am I? Late last year while gathering pinecones for a fall craft project on a crisp September morn in West Valley, I was attacked and ravaged by a radioactive kitten. When I came to, I found my five senses heightened, and discovered that I was developing an eerie precogniscence. And talk about cat-like reflexes! Downside, he shedding is a little disconcerting, and I’m easily distracted by shiny or jingly things, and a recent trip to the pet store’s bird room nearly left me in an orgasmic mess.

But any-hoo, since my metameowrphosis, I’ve just been sitting curled up on the sofa, wondering ways to benefit society, and now I’ve heard the call. I think, with my new found super powers (boy, I can’t believe I’m using that phrase seriously), I could be good backup for police and fire departments across Erie County. I’m not one for glitz and show, and I’d hate for this to be taken as pretense, but I really think it would be good for all concerned if I’m referred to as Captain Meow. Oh, and please don’t call me a “super hero.” Yuck! That’s a little high falutin, methinks. If you need to describe me, I’d say “Good SaMEOWritan” works damn fine.

So, Western New York, if you get into a real jam, call 911. For everything else, from barking dogs to kids playing hookey, you call me, Captain Meow. You can reach me by opening a can of tuna outside your windows, or just e-mail me at CappyMeow@AOL.COM. And when my nap is over, I will spring into action. And I will update you from time to time on my adventures.

Licking Crime (and myself), I remain,

CAPTAIN MEOW

PS: This whole cat thing has taken some getting used to, and until I can get a handle on certain functions and habits, you may want to keep the kids out of the sandbox this summer. Apologies in advance!

-CM

Dear Captain,

We had a cat like you once. Then we stomped it to death and stapled it to a telephone pole, just too high for anyone to reach, so people had to watch it decompose slowly, attracting flies and vermin, and befouling the neighborhood with the unforgettable stench of rotting death.

Just kidding; we would never really do that to an innocent, cuddly mammal. But we hope someday to do it to you.

CAPTAIN THESAURUS NEEDS DICTIONARY

the beast is a veritable fest of informed yet vaguely eschatological cacophony of either self absorbed narcissism or existential activism im not sure which any way if just one zombie from 28 days later just ponders in a offhand manner you guys and youre epistemiological fallacies itd be a more improved city --- maybe or maybe not for there having done so keep putting fire on our “leaders”  feet

don  w.

Dear Don,

Let us guess: you went to Buffalo public schools? No? Stroke victim?

THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GONZOS BEFORE ME

To paraphrase the late Hunter S.Thompson, what in the name of a crippled half-mad jesus was Chris Crawford thinking when he claimed “We the People” murdered Gonzo?(“Who Killed Gonzo?” issue #69).

It was a great article up until the sixth paragraph.  Then he lost it.  As if he stopped typing, leaned over to toke a couple hits of crystal meth, then picked up where he left off. (“...his eyes could see beyond the words and the robes and through to the reptilian hue of the high priests skin.” [?])  Or, as if some secret neocon religious operatives had planted a microchip in his brain which randomly tweaks his otherwise coherent thoughts.

To claim “We the People” murdered Gonzo is to do HST a disservice.  Yeah, I understand C.C.’s rage at the apathy of the average U.S. citizen.  But for chrissake, give Thompson some credit.

He knew the bulk of U.S. citizens were shitheads.  He also knew the American Dream has been dead or dying for years now.  And, even though he knew Bush was a slimier piece of feces than Nixon ever dreamed of being, and was no doubt horrified that, for the first time sinse Calvin Coolidge, the GOP had gained control of all three branches of government - not to mention their efforts toward the total abolition of our First and Fourth Amendments,(which he so famously fought for,) -  if he had been 37, not 67, would he still have blown his brains out?

I don’t think HST would want to be remembered as some martyr, dripping the blood of our betrayal.  His ability to “laser through the fat and expose the raw meat of our humanity” must have applied to himself also.  He’d been suffering from a broken leg and hip-replacement surgery. (What smells more like old age than a hip replacement?)  And yes, his writing was becoming less of a force than it had once been.  As his son said, he was neither desperate nor depressed. He’d had a good run of it for 67 years and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome.  He died on his own terms.

In other words, his suicide (which he’d been planning) had more to do with how he felt about himself, not “We the People”.  Although the sins of the American people are numerous, please don’t claim  HST died for them.  The last thing he would’ve wanted was to be remembered hanging from a cross.  In fact, his final wishes were to be shot from a cannon into the night sky.

I was going to say, “Fuck Chris Crawford and his Gonzo-Worshipping ilk.”  But I guess we all need our heroes. Especially these days.

So –I don’t know.

Just knock off the religious hyperbole.  It’s weird.

Beastly Yours,

J.Ann

Dear J,

The Great Gods of Gorgon condemn thee! You are damned for eternity to suffer torment at the hands of the Warriors of the Underworld! The Great Lord Gonzo shed his rear skull for your journalistic sins! Et cetera, and so forth!

GUY VS SPY

Dear Matt,

I spotted that Kurt Anderson piece in New york magazine too [“I Spy a Sellout,” issue #69] and remembered him from SPY magazine, and finished reading the article wondering where his brain went during its writing.   Obviously, on vacation since he devolved the piece into a formulaic  bit of mental masturbation that should be an embarassment to him. Let’s hope it was just an off-off day for him.

Nice job with your article. I appreciate any writer who puts hard work into the craft.

Alan Wrobel

Dear Alan,

Might wanna read Matt’s thingy about the Pope in this issue before you go endorsing him like that.

POOR BRIAN DOESN’T GET IT

Crap for the most part!

I have never read more crap in my life!

You people have too much time on your hands!

Get a real job! Get a life!

Brian Krivit

Dear Brian,

No.