Dear “The Best!”,
Last issue sure was optimistic. You might have high
hopes to succeed by wrapping your journalistic lips around the corporate
cock, but I’m sorry to say you’re hopelessly outclassed as a prostitute
in this town. While the $1,000 hooker rides in Warren Buffet’s limo
and gets wined and dined by the rich tricks, you’ll probably end up
as a toothless crack slave doing donkeys to entertain bikers on meth,
until one day they find your hacked up torso in a dumpster. Maybe
instead of trying to take the high road to Shamelessville, you could
change your name to “The Breast” and take the low
road again. I hope you stop being “The Best!” and bring
back the good old-fashioned bestiality. As always, next issue will
be sweatily anticipated.
Mr. P. Lake
Dear Mr. P,
You’re the kind of guy that violently masturbates
while listening to a Matchbox 20 album over and over, then later sits
amongst a group of fellow “intellectuals” and expounds upon sophomoric
theory as to why modern music sucks. When your charm starts to wear
off and the people around you slowly begin to realize how uninformed
and full of shit you are, it suddenly becomes time for a trip to the
twenty-four hour store for beer. The over-priced Heineken you purchase
is enough to distract your victims from your unusual number of bestiality
comments with the mass media-crafted status of “Heineken Man.” That
is what you are, smoke and mirrors, and that is exactly why you didn’t
get the joke. With that said we have other more important things to
do. Besides, didn’t your new Counting Crows album arrive from BMG?
Hey fuckers just wanted to let everyone know that last
name attached to my stellar writing was false, it is not Brian Duffy
and I do not want anyone getting credit for this amazing criticism.
And secondly, i think you mistook my urge to spray semen on Riodans
face for a homosexually inspired act. Believe me, i want to dump
my jism in his eyes and make him do the zombie stomp all over my room
while i whip his ass with a belt in the MOST heterosexual of ways.
It’s called plutonic man-love. cmon beast, get with the times .And
this is me talking after masturbating for a full 12 hour cycle so
you know its not pent up urges speaking anymore. I was really just
reminding you of who he is, and wondering: why? why, beast, why?
seriously, just read his past stuff and you’ll have weeks worth of
material. Or, wait, why dont you just keep on letting him write stupid
pointless shit and maybe try to drag some more jokes out of this little
piece of help i offer . yeah sounds like a better plan instead.
Dear Mr. Duffy
If we were to seek a very conservative adjective
with which to describe you it would probably be “Bi-Curious.” We could
be honest to the point of being crass and suggest that you have a
rather robust hobby involving discreet encounters with men from internet
chat rooms and Taxidermy but we will err on the side of caution. If
you want to hook up with Mr. Riordan that badly just send him an e-mail
at firstname.lastname@example.org. Given his economic status and fondness
for Crack Cocaine any “request” you may have is certainly within the
realm of possibility.
I’m a major conservative, politically and fiscally,
and one of the reasons I am this way is because I think that strong
values are good for the development of kids. That being said, I found
the cover with Reagan accepting a position in hell really funny, because
it just is. However, your paper is really like most of the liberals
in general, in that they criticize constantly, but don’t have any
answers at all for anything. They should name the liberal left “The
Gadfly Party.” Anyway, who is the guy above Reagan on the cover?
He looks familiar as hell, but I can’t place him. Were you one of
the folks who wanted Frank Reich to start ahead of Jim Kelly back
in the day?
Of course the Reagan cover was funny. The truth often
is funny, just like you. That’s right, you’re funny. How you ask?
Well as you stated above, you are a “conservative, politically and
fiscally,” and that you believe in “strong values.” To us that means
that politically you are willing to shit on ninety-eight percent of
the population and are a shitty tipper. As for your “strong values,”
this simply means that for you it’s bad to abort a fetus but perfectly
alright to kill a middle-aged abortion doctor while he does dishes
about ten feet from his family. Liberals do have answers, Mr. Republican,
but you simply don’t want to imbibe a single one for fear that it
might put the Apocalypse off schedule. Not to mention that you would
have to find a new minority to carry the trays at your golf club.
As for the mystery man on the cover…We are not going to tell you because
it gives us pleasure.
BETTER LIVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY
how long does it last in your system.
Long enough for you to get into that pick-up truck
and lead the police on an exciting chase through the city and possibly
suburbs before crashing into a private residence. If your injuries
haven’t crippled you, be sure to make a run for it. Cops are fast,
dogs are faster, but Meth can keep you moving even after your heart
LOG CABIN REPUBLICAN
Like your bretheren over at ArtVoice, you are all a
bunch of liberal pussies. However, I have a deep appreciation of
your hate for Jamie Moses - keep up the good work.
If there is one thing we here at THE BEAST know,
it’s that hate brings people together. Just watch “The 700 Club” for
a verification of that fact. We could go off on an extended rant,
but instead refer you to our correspondence with “Major Asshole.”
Just for the record, James, we have no “brethren” over at ArtVoice,
just a bunch of people who hate us because they are told to. And a
couple of spies.
Ich ben eine fraushlander frucken bacher und Ja nein
keiner fahrfungnugen necht. Gesprechen auch meine kampf sclanger banger
(heh-heh) und munder bander frucken scluchen badfest in zeiner Volkswagon!
(!!!) Ich das spiegel wolfhunds und ein frauclein bitte sich arbeitern
auto bahn club knickerbockers BUFFALO BEAST schlugen barfen und shlen
crappen in zie toilet! HA!
Guten Tag Otto,
Wenn Sie Deutsches wirklich sprechen
konnten, wissen you'd, da wir Sie eine sinnlose Vergeudung von ho-hos
anriefen. Stattdessen sitzen yopu, verkratzen Ihren Kopf und Schlagmann
sich, bequem in der Illusion, die wir canÃ‚'t sehen, da alles Sie
alles tun und hren, das Sie sagen. Sie werden hoffnungslos gebumst.
Look. You fucking guys know everything — right?
Can you answer a question that has tested man for at
least 25,000 years?: How can you lose your stash, fifteen lighters
and a bong without ever having moved your ass, even so much as to
go the fucking head. Where does all this shit go?
ps When you guys gonna’ do that ALL REEFER ISSUE that
I’ve heard about?
A guy so wasted and useless that he doesn’t notice
his coffee table being stolen while sitting in the room is concerned
about when we are going to get around to doing something? Now that’s
rich. Your stash is gone because you smoked it all with people pretending
to be your friends and you smashed the bong on the wall when the Bourbon
kicked in. As for your missing lighters, there is about nine of them
stuck to your sweaty couch ridden back. Just used a prod of some kind
to pry them out of your bedsores. You had better hope your legs haven’t
atrophied too badly because the batteries in the remote are about
Okay, here goes! Get ready for random thoughts and
verbal abuse inflicted upon a fat chick, Reagan, and long-haired Bon
Blow-Me rejects with personal ads***Fuck! Idiot, do you not know even
Lars Al bitch cut his hair, stopped wearing frayed- leather ripped
jeans, and Winger jerseys? I thought ass pumpers like you died in
86 . At least I had hoped. God, I hate when hope is shattered! It’s
okay you’re almost an antique. Maybe you’ll be worth five cents and
a bottle of Poland spring. So don’t cry, Strawberry, there’s hope
for you . And don’t get smart***I don’t want him. I prefer pudgy,
self-involved slightly dysfunctional jerks. Now to the reason I picked
up your paper (cough, cough). I think it was the hell-beckoning Reagan
front page that grabbed me. Gee golly, you forgot to thank him for
increasing ketchup sales. I want to point out that chick wanting to
care for sick children, that Twinkie-guzzling fatty, is trying to
hoard your cabinets. People, don’t let her in! Get a real job, Fatty.
The kids need food to get better. Last, but not for shits sake least,
thanks Norah for giving me the inspiration to have my cat put to sleep
and give up my spinster bingo-dabbing dreams. I don’t want to grow
up to be a cat molester. You’ve saved me from a life of shitty litter
and puffing cat nip. I read this newspaper cover to back and found
everything in it quite interesting. I’m sorry I missed the last 50.
I’ll gladly trade a dozen Krispies for them. Thanks for the giggles!
Usually one would have to hang around bus stops in
order to get this level of pontification. We would like to take the
time to address your commentary line by line but we ran out of Thorazine.
We would be glad to provide you will all the back issues you want
if you promise never to approach any of us publicly, especially at
night while we are trying to unlock our car doors. There is a sneaking
suspicion amongst THE BEAST staff that putting your cat to sleep did
not involve illness or a veterinarian but simply you a bathtub and
schizophrenia. Please see a doctor and let the paperboy go.
First, as a member of local band involved in the emergenza
contest finals, I agree completely with the notion that the contest
was a complete financial scam, and somehow we involved were somehow
were drawn into this whole ridiculous mess by unfulfilled promises.
I do believe all of us realized too late that we were being fed crap
all these weeks to sell tickets and to prepare for what we thought
would be some unbiased, somewhat intelligent, and respected people
in the music industry. Most of the bands in this contest didn’t think
they would be picked for the finals in Boston, but we fought threw
they apparent farce of a contest to make the finals, expecting what
emergenza had said about having out of the area record industry people
as our jury, hoping to catch some break that way. But to our great
dismay, we were judged by a group of local nobodies partaking in the
musical rat race just like the rest of us. Regal Tip Drum Rep, did
you hear his bands? With all you said about no originality, we ironically
have a drummer judging us who partakes in a run of the mill punk band,
and some other stone temple pilots / BAD alice in chains rip off.
And you, Jony James BLUES BAND. Hey, apparently no
one told you, but there is nothing remotely original about fast pentatonic
scales and 1-4-5-1’s
Oh, who else do we have, Righteous Babe Records, oooh-
you complain about us looking to be commercial, did you listen to
the sell out crap ani difranco turned to, guess what - it sells records
for her little record company.
Sorry to put you through so much trouble, and to take
you away from your busy, important life of writing 6th grade whiny
music reviews for Buffalo’s 2nd rate magazine—The Beast.
You all settled for a second rate city like Buffalo,
NY to live in. expect your local bands to give you the reassurance
that you did indeed deserve your second rate life by being what we
all apparently know we are- rip offs, hacks, and no talents. Try
listening to our music and give us a real opinion, not some bull shit
complaints because we wasted your Saturday night. All the bands in
emergenza put a lot into this contest because of false hopes and untrue
promises, and we all love what we do, and love music- and an ass
like you didn’t deserve to sit there and judge us, because your
pissed off you live in a shitty town, with a shitty job, and no one
like what you write, and why didn’t I get hired at the Washington
Post You say, I am such a good writer and music reviewer, my grammar
is perfect and I have accurate sources, and I can do a bibliography
just greatly, and all my teachers just loved my work. FUCK YOU.
We would rather work for a “2nd rate magazine” (newspaper
actually) and live in a “second rate city” than spend even five seconds
listening to quite possibly the shittiest band to have ever existed.
I must be tough being hot shit around the Bar mitzvah circuit and
then find out that outside of the fishbowl you’re just another guppie.
Matt, your band would be lucky to make the cut as an opening act for
Pauly Shore. Do us all a favor and start shooting massive amounts
of heroin into your jugular vein; the gurgling sounds you make just
before you bless the world with your absence will be the finest sound
you’ve ever produced. Now that would be a bootleg worth having.
Perhaps you can answer my questions.
1. Professor Kurtz: wife dies feds swoop in e coli grows
feds spew bullshit everywhere educated world laughs at america again
but prosecution continues. What the fuck?
2. Mary Kunz of the news writes ignorant coomentary
saying we should follow her abusive father's advice and "sit
down and shut up" because there's a war on and gets paid to write
this rancid shit while probably wallowing in e coli herself the pig.
What the fuck?
Did I mention Mary Kunz who is e coli smeared snout
to stern reserves the right to deem parts of the constitution "petty".
What the fuck?
3. I blame you i blame you for this very much i do what
the fuck i said we need to do something but no what the fuck you said
let's drink and whore what the fuck and seek slender sleek gazelles
on chippewa what the fuck and i said i'll have scotch and you said
let bush be bush what the fuck we'll protest tomorrow look at the
flock of amherst angels that just came in what the fuck and they know
all about periscopes in amherst what the fuck and i said what the
1. See page 8 of this issue.
2. Mary Kunz. Just sound out the name. Quite the
punchline, really: Q: “What do weak-willed lonely bachelors do?”
A: “Mary Kunz.”
3. Your snot-green, scrotum-tightening prose reminds
us of something; something particularly...boring. We seem to have
blocked out the memory, but it had something to do with using barely
decipherable symbolism as an excuse not to have your characters do
anything. Enjoy your freedom from punctuation.