Sunday, January 27, 2008
Bad Guys, Inc.
Official Henchman Training Schedule
7:00-8:00 Glowering Menacingly
8:00-9:00 Avoiding Being Killed in the Crossfire
9:00-10:00 Avoiding Being Killed by Your Own Boss
10:00-11:30 Accessorizing With Your Black Wardrobe
11:30-1:00 Hard Liquor and Cigarette Break
1:00-2:00 Ski Masks and You
2:00-3:00 Playing Dead Effectively
3:00-6:00 Afternoon Lecture
“Hey, What Was That in the Bushes?”
How Not to Get Distracted by a Thrown Rock, Giving the Good Guy the Opportunity to Sneak Past You
These electives are also available for your convenience.
How to Shoot Out the Back Window of a Car Without Actually Hitting Your Target
Recognizing Cops for Beginners
Not Falling for the Decoy
Tying Easily Escapable Knots
Why It Is Important to Make Sure Your Secret Hideout Is Free of Makeshift Weapons When You Are Holding a Hostage There
To Whom It May Concern:
It is I, the Mayor of Bethville, writing you from the Bethville Refugee Camp and Houseplant Daycare Center. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose my exact location as it seems I am wanted. Not wanted like one might want a submarine for their own personal use or an automatically self-refilling jar of peanut butter. But wanted like a common criminal. According to the reward posters that Ludwig Von Butterick has seen fit to nail to every tree in what was formerly Bethville County, I stole several ketchup packets from the Von Butterick Casino Hotel and Teriaki Restaurant kitchens. Which is ludicrous because the only use I see fit for ketchup is squirting it into the eyes of intruders who invade the Bethville Mayoral mansion late at night. And since there is now a large casino and teriaki restaurant where the mansion used to stand, I haven't needed ketchup for quite some time. So it seems I've been framed.
While I've been in hiding, however, I've been hard at work cataloging my mayoral correspondence from the past years. I'm attaching a few long lost letters to this, my latest missive, with the hope that Bethville will rise again someday very soon.
Dear Mr. Mayor,
You may have noticed that I recently ceased to communicate with you for the span of over 7 days. This technique is what we mayors call "giving the silent treatment." I hope that this technique has throroughly served its purpose, you have learned your lesson, and are now ready to carry on a discussion in a more mature fashion.
I, the highly-esteemed and quite titilating mayor of Bethville, would like to make a formal announcement. On March 15, at precisely 7:31 PM, I will be entering the Ms. Civil Servant Beauty and Talent Contest, and I would like your support in this venture. When I say "support," I am, of course, referring to the $15,000 entry fee which needs to be paid in full on or before March 7. This amount can be paid in the form of a check made out to me personally or my office, The Office of the Esteemed Mayor of Bethville. If I win the aforementioned contest, the amount of the entry fee will be returned to you in full. If I don't win, which is entirely unlikely since I am (as mentioned above) highly-esteemed and titilating, I will send you $15,000 worth of recycleable items, including milk jugs, soda cans, and newspapers.
As the contest will also include a talent competition, I feel it is my duty to inform you that I will need to borrow your twirling baton as soon as possible. If you are unable to loan me your baton by March 12, I will be forced to utilize my other talent, which is amateur dentistry. In that case, I will need to borrow your hand drill and some nitrous oxide.
The Future Winner of the Ms. Civil Servant Beauty and Talent Contest and Esteemed Mayor of Bethville
My dear Ms. Mayor,
I understand your proposal and do agree with your decision to dish out the silent treatment on your's truly. However, the fact that you ceased to do so makes me quite disturbed. Here I thought you had passed on, so I was enjoying a nice piece of "Mayor of Bethville has finally kicked the bucket" cake when I received your infuriating request for a $15,000 entry fee!
Might I again request that you stick it in your ticket...(ticket to WHOREVILLE that is).
Forgive me for my use of absolutely appropriate language. I ate a lot of sugar.
The Most Absolutively Fabulous and $15,000 richer than the mayor of bethville (lowercase on PURPOSE) Ruler and Mayor of All of Benville
Dear Mister Mayor,
Notice that I am still referring to you as "Mister" Mayor despite your rumored recent sex change operation. Let me just take a moment to congratulate you on your new-found identity! Now, if only you are able to rid yourself of that pesky back hair you will be a complete woman.
The reason for my very timely and grammatically-correct letter is to inform you of a very unfortunate situation. Yesterday, while out for a ride in my oversized perambulator (I am trying to relive my babyhood), I unfortunately ran over your pet Guinea pig. While this was not a deliberate act of murder, I must admit that I was unable to swerve due to being taught early on in my driving training, that swerving to avoid an animal can be detrimental to the driver. Therefore, I did not swerve and crushed your adorable, vermin-ridden Guinea pig. I apologize profusely.
The Beautiful, Talented and Winning Mayor of Bethville
Monday, January 21, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Dear Unseemly Mayor of Benville,
Greetings from the most fabulous teriaki restaurant and casino of all time! I hope my letter finds you well, Mr. Mayor. I am enclosing a coupon that will get you a free dessert at the Von Butterick Casino Hotel and Teriaki Restaurant with the purchase of an entree. Do come by and try the stewed raisins in ham gravy with buttered onions. It's our chef's most special dessert.
I am also writing to cordially invite you to a very special event. Our first annual Ludwig Von Butterick Look-Alike Contest and Inseam Measuring will be taking place this Saturday from 7 AM until 7 AM on Sunday. Bring your appetite! Julio's House of Celery Tacos will be catering the event. And there will be lots of delicious things to sip as well, such as pickled garlic margaritas and sausage daiquiris. The open bar lasts from 3:45 to 4 AM, when I will personally be making an appearance as guest bartender! This is a formal event, so please dress your best.
I do apologize for demanding scratch-n-sniff stickers from you when I first arrived. That was terribly impolite and I have since burned the evidence I have against you. I want to build bridges between your community and my casino and teriaki restaurant. Literally, Mr. Mayor. Since I hope to provide employment to some of the citizens of Benville, I have plans to build a footbridge that starts in downtown Benville and leads directly into the hotel kitchens! If you will just sign the enclosed paperwork, I can get construction underway as soon as possible.
See you Saturday!
The Bridge Building CEO and Entrepreneur and Runner-Up for Butterick Times' Man of the Year,
Ludwig von Butterick
Monday, January 14, 2008
Think about it. If you enter a room and there is cake, people are generally happy. Isn't that somewhat magical? You turn a year older, you get cake. Have a baby, you get cake. Get married? Cake.
Cake is happiness.
So why don't we bake funeral cakes? I suspect that a nice funeral cake would make everyone a lot less sad about the passing of Uncle Pete.
What about divorce cakes?
"I'm sorry your boyfriend cheated on you" cakes?
"So, you lost your job" cakes?
This is why people get depressed. They don't get cake when something bad happens to them. Just flowers if you're lucky, and you can't eat flowers.
That said, I've decided to start the Sad Cakes Rehabilitation Program. With just a few cents a day, some milk, eggs, and flour, you can bake a cake for a sad friend. It doesn't have to be anything elaborate. Buy a mix. Buy the frosting. Here is a little recipe to get you started.
You will need:
Devil's Food cake mix
heart-shaped cake pan
cherry pie filling
a big, scary butcher knife or meat cleaver (your choice)
Prepare the cake mix according to the directions on the back of the box. Pour into greased heart-shaped cake pan and bake until toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. (You don't want to give your sad friend a half-baked cake. It will make him or her further depressed, and you don't want that, now do you? Do you?) Let cake cool throughly and then flip over onto a sheet of aluminum foil. You'll need to put this half of the cake into the freezer for a while because it will make it easier to decorate. Now, at this point, you may or may not realize that you've used up all your cake batter baking the first layer of the cake. You may mutter mean things about me under your breath as you walk back to the grocery store to buy another mix. I hope that makes you feel better. Or you may have used the correct size of heart-shaped pan to begin with and still have exactly half of your batter. If that's the case, pour the other half of the mix into the pan and bake until blah, blah, blah....you know this.
NOW! After you've baked the second layer and have put it into the freezer for a decent amount of time, take both layers out and put them on the counter in front of you. One of them will serve as the bottom layer. And in order to stack the cakes properly, you'll need to do a bit of cutting. I use a bread knife. Hack away at the top of the bottom layer until it is generally flat. Pour 1 cup of cherry pie filling over it, spread evenly, and top with other layer. Now frost the whole thing with the chocolate frosting. (It helps to dip your frosting knife in warm water to keep the surface of the frosting smooth.) Then, very, very carefully stab the cake ruthlessly with the large, scary knife or meat cleaver. If done correctly, your cake will appear to bleed. Now carefully deliver this to your heartbroken friend and stand in her doorway until she agrees to give you a slice of it. Then, rave over its deliciousness until your friend compliments you and thanks you for your thoughtfulness. Go home, eat the scraps you cut off the bottom layer of the cake. Wash down with booze.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
(This was originally posted in the Cubicle 3-10 CEO Newsletter, now defunct. Enjoy! In the meantime, I'm working on some fabulous new things in Bethville...stay tuned.)
I have recently taken it upon myself to seek out prejudices in our society and expose them for what they are. Television host and supermodel Tyra Banks inspired me recently with her day spent wearing a fat suit, fighting prejudice against the obese in Los Angeles. I, however, will venture forth onto the streets of Astoria, New York, as a large-breasted vixen and experience the prejudice that faces women with large breasts and long legs.
Those who know me personally are aware that my legs are rather short and plumpish and my breasts are medium to sizeable, depending on the day. And since implants and some rather shapely stilts are out of the question, I must rely on a change of wardrobe to provide the illusion of larger breasts and longer legs.
According to Glamour magazine, knee-high heeled boots and an A-line skirt give the illusion of elongated calves. I donned these and a heavily padded push-up bra. I then put on my slinkiest lace tank top, smeared my lips with Hellcat Red lip gloss, grabbed my purse, and took to the streets.
I returned within two minutes, remembering that it was below freezing and a bit snowy. I put on my mittens and a scarf and went back outside. Still a bit cold, I returned again and traded my knee-high heeled boots for more slip resistant and insulated winter boots. Again, I headed outdoors. I returned one last time for my coat and walked downstairs and across the street to the closest bar. Finding it closed, as it was only around 9 AM (I’m a morning person), I slinked to the closest Starbucks.
Starbucks was full of morning coffee drinkers. I ordered what I thought a busty vixen might; a skim cinnamon latte with two shots of espresso. Sipping it ever so sexily, I noticed a particularly good looking man staring at me.
“Do you have the time?” he asked, casually.
“Why, yes,” I said lustily. “It’s spank me o’clock.”
“Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all, cowboy.”
We exchanged very lusty stares for the next ten minutes.
“What do you do?” he asked me.
I licked my lips. “I work in children’s publishing.”
His face fell. “Oh,” he said, “I was hoping you did something a little more vixen-like. Like investment banking.” He looked hastily at his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to leave. I think I may have contracted a food borne illness from my scone.” He dry heaved rather unconvincingly and left. I shook my head at the blatant prejudice I had just witnessed and went to the bathroom to touch up my makeup. There, I faced my first real challenge.
Upon applying another coat of Fabulash, I poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand and was forced to remove my right contact lens. With my right eye bloodshot and flowing with tears and my left eye a little squinty, I considered my options. After a moment, I found a simple solution to my problem: Sexy librarian. I donned my glasses, poufed my tresses, and continued to the next phase of my investigation.
To Be Continued...