From Weird Al (Letter 2)
Weird Al - The most unlikely bank robber you are ever likely to meet. His true story of suicide by cop gives new meaning to the power of unchecked depression. His cutting wit would make a stoic monk giggle.
March 7, 2008
You are of course correct in your letter when you proffer, “A letter from you would be more than I deserve.” Well said.
Nonetheless, I put pen to paper in an effort to show magnanimity and to maintain cordial relations with you war-mongering Brits.
Truthfully, I’d have written sooner but I’ve been swamped with legal work. Like venomous lava, legal sarcasms have been flowing forth from me at the rate of two-thousand gallons per hour.
Your seemingly prolonged presence on the dole is depressingly depraved. It must end.
My fellow countrymen and I want you to be aware of the fact that we hold you singularly responsible for our rapidly collapsing economy, the high price of gas, and our current housing-market meltdown.
In an effort to end this misguided charitable travesty, and to properly castigate you, I will shortly be contacting my dear friend/homeboy Jack Straw, the U.K. Justice Secretary, and request you be unceremoniously tossed into a Northumberland debtors prison where you will be waterboarded until you are both compliant and employable. Pack your bags!
On Prison Dorm Living
Sadly, in the mother of all understatements, I can not wholeheartedly recommend prison dorm living. Like a supermarket chicken stuffed full of campylobacter (look it up bloke! Too lazy? Okay, I’ll help. It’s an antibiotic-resistant germ responsible for 2 million cases of diarrhea per year – also about 120 deaths per year), it should be avoided whenever possible.
I pine for my previous single-cell living arrangements like a ten-dollar whore yearns for the ever-illusive hundred-dollar John.
There are only three toilet stalls for 40 prisoners, most of whom share, like kindred brothers, a propensity for long loud multiple movements per day.
Also, the huge amounts of secondhand smoke I am being forced to ingest into my frail, waiflike body at the rate of approximately one ton per hour is making me dangerously homicidal. I will likely be the first nonsmoker to be released from prison with a four-pack-a-day habit and expect to go into violent nicotine withdrawals moments after I’m released.
The center toilet stall, my current favorite, also does double duty as a poor man’s bidet.
Due to some as of yet undiagnosed plumbing problem, the very second I flush, water springs upward onto and into my nether regions as I sit smiling, pleasantly perched on the porcelain throne.
This aberration provides all willing participants the opportunity to both take care of one’s business and be gifted with a high colonic at the same time, however redundant that might seem.
Like ones first sexual encounter, while often not the best, my premier trip to this volcanic toilet will forever be tattooed upon my brain. It’s one of those life-changing moments, not to be missed.
You might gleefully imagine my open-mouthed astonishment when upon first flush a somewhat unwanted, not to mention unexpected, blast of tepid toilet water shot upward like a rocket headed for Mars. It ascended rapidly through my colon, bounced off my spleen, and lodged itself, where it’s now found a new home, nestled snugly next to my left lung.
You’ll be pleased to learn that our beloved President Bush’s approval rating has cascaded upward to that of a bubonic-laden rat.
On Speaking To Youth
You mentioned you were asked to speak with young people about the possible dangers of drugs. Do so. Good karma.
Tell them this: The trouble with trouble is it starts out as fun. This is true with many forms of trouble, but markedly accurate when applied to drug use. This fact often blinds early drug users as to what lies waiting for them. Also tell them, “No” is a complete sentence, “Yes” is not.
Like many of your famous Irish bretheren to the West, I suggest you esconce yourself in a nearby pub and begin to drink heavily.
In that way you can become a drinker with a writing problem as opposed to the opposite.
Seriously, remember these two things: (1) I doubt there’s anything you’ve ever been successful at that you didn’t work on every day. (2) Good luck and hard work seem to follow each other around.
How I Avoided The Plague
Using my formidable clairvoyant powers to sense the oncoming epidemic which swept through my prison dorm like a nasty fart, I quickly changed my diet to nothing but barbecue potato chips and buttered popcorn, an ancient yet still effective curative for these type of things.
In all actuality, I began several months prior to the prison plague to cajole, beg, and threaten prison medical personnel for a flu shot. The less brainy here failed to do so. They were otherwise occupied.
On Kat’s Family Jewels
Your fallacious, aberrant interest in Kat’s genitals notwithstanding, her/his testicles, both of them, send their exuberant best wishes. As Mark Twain once said when told of a newspaper article stating he had died, “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
On Weird Al’s Pending Release
My unjust banishment to this malodorous noisome dorm is almost at an end. In anticipation of my triumphant return to humankind I have rented an apartment here in Tucson and sent out thousands of engraved invitations to my many female fans worldwide who fervently desire to help end my state sponsored chastity by deflowering me once again in a vigorous yet somewhat respectful manner which befits someone of my stature. Unfortunately, since my new place is not yet furnished, I am respectfully requesting each of the many applicants to come with a mattress strapped to their lovely back.
My alternative plan is to have a three-topping pizza delivered, eat the entire thing singlehandedly, and take a long quiet nap.
More on this later.
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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood