Jockey Up – Letter 5

 

Dearest Greg Farterson,

Ivan and The Shark here to personally give you two boners WAY UP for surviving THE PUDDING CHAMBER. You looked like such a fart. It was great. The delicate orchestra of your passion for constructing model planes set against the backdrop of Scorpions’ 1984 hit, Rock You Like a Hurricane–all while pudding was thrown at you from every angle–that is what dreams are made of.

As Pasternak said, “Gregariousness is always the refuge of DICKFARTS.” By which we of course mean that you are obviously the winner of this contest. All the other losers who entered are trying way too hard. You’re not trying at all. In fact, you don’t even enjoy our show which makes us almost as excited as when we treated our listeners to that stripper-marathon. Now THAT’S radio!

We’ve taken the initiative to declare you legally dead, so if you had a job before this feel free to never go again. You will find also included with this letter your new social security card, birth certificate, marriage license, and property deed and title. Greg Farterson lives! And he is our new co-host every Monday and Thursday! Yes, we decided to make it permanent. No, we don’t care what you do those other days.

Oh, you mentioned you had a nephew that liked porn. Bring him with you on your first day. Faulkner said “a man is the sum of his misfortunes.” Get ready to grow your total, baby!

Ivan and The Shark

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Jockey Up – Letter 3

Dear Mr. Craig Patterson,

While I am sorry to hear of the hardships and of the pornography that you have had to endure from your nephew Benny, I am pleased to announce that it has saved you from this round of eliminations!

When I read your letter to Ivan and The Shark, they laughed themselves to tears. They then asked to see the envelope you sent your letter in and subscribed the return address listed to many additional pornographic magazines. Please be on the lookout for the following circulars in your mailbox:

  • Knave
  • Razzle
  • Swank
  • Sharkboobs Quarterly (an Ivan and The Shark publication)

The next round of eliminations is an “in-person” round. Ivan and The Shark have invited you to spend 15 minutes on their show this upcoming Monday to explain in vivid detail the methods to success behind constructing model airplanes. Please feel free to bring some finished examples with you to the studio. Arrive at 6:30am and ask for me at reception.

I am looking forward to meeting you in person, Mr. Patterson. You also seem like a very nice gentleman, so I will warn you that your clothing may get stained with pudding during the broadcast. I will see you on Monday.

Ivan and The Shark also wanted to answer the question in your previous letter. Ivan’s favorite book is Doctor Zhivago and The Shark’s is Sharkboobs Quarterly.

Sincerely,

Samantha Robinson
Social Media Manager
Sharkbite Broadcasting, LLC

Jockey Up – Letter 1

Dear Mr. Craig Patterson,

I am writing you today to inform you that you have been selected as a semi-finalist for Ivan and The Shark in the Morning’s DJ-For-A-Day contest! Your essay submission was one of thousands of entries, but one of only 10 chosen by staff here at 96.5 KSBB to head to the next round.

The official rules state that next, Ivan and The Shark will read each entry themselves and select a winner. However, in their typical “Lewd Crude Dude” fashion, Ivan and The Shark have decided to “shake things up.”

Therefore, you and the 10 semi-finalists will undergo a series of additional elimination rounds. The ultimate victor selected will sit in with Ivan and The Shark as a co-host for their popular morning show, and receive a cash prize of $10,000.

Assuming you would still like to participate, please reply back with your entry into the next challenge: a letter to Ivan and The Shark explaining the following (their exact words follow and I apologize for the language):

If you want to co-host with us for a day, PROVE IT! We need someone who isn’t afraid of telling it like it is: politics, boobs, farts…zero fucks must be given at all times. Don’t hold back, DICK!

Sincerely,

Samantha Robinson
Social Media Manager
Sharkbite Broadcasting, LLC

Old Mates – Letter 6

Dear Mayor Lou,

I can think of no greater pleasure than heading back home to Fort Scott to be there on the front line when you battle with Nancy “I Smell” Abrams. Standing offstage while you dish out a slanderous attack would put a huge smile on my face. It should also help ease some of the pain of being beaten up by her all those years ago. I never understood how asking a girl to the Freshman Formal brings about that much disgust. When all’s said and done, I don’t care…I still think wearing nothing but a dozen roses romantic. It’s how I proposed to Tracy!

On another note, while HoneySmack appreciated the pin, he was very demanding in his expectation of payment in cash. I assume an invoice will be mailed soon, as he told me to “watch out” for something coming my way.

The good news is that he did dig up a little bit more dirt. Apparently when Nancy was a sophomore at Wichita State University, she violated page 23 of the Housing and Residency Life handbook which states that refrigerators may not exceed 4.9 cubic feet. According to a former roommate, Nancy had a fridge that was at least 5.2 cubic feet! Perhaps we can get her degree revoked!

I told my wife exactly what you said, and it did lead to a fight. I can see why you have so much experience in that field! She claims that I become an entirely different man whenever your name gets mentioned. She’s just never had a chance to see the real Lou in action. Do you have any videos of yourself performing Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu that I can share with her? I imagine she would be so outstandingly impressed with your natural joie de vivre that she would book her own flight down in no time!

She did ultimately come around to the idea of me cancelling all current work projects and being there to support you for the debate…under one condition: I will be bringing my son Jake along with me. In the end, I think it will be a great opportunity for him to see a man on top of his game vanquish a foe.

During the debate, I say keep this Darkwing Duck thing close to the vest. When the moderator comes out with a question that you don’t know how to answer, or contains words you don’t understand, interrupt and let the audience know the shocking secret. If she fights back, hit her with the fridge comment. By then, she should be CRUMBLING WITH FEAR and I will be LAUGHING AT HER STUPID BEAUTIFUL FACE.

I booked my ticket back home. My son and I will be arriving shortly after you receive this letter. Let’s do this!

– Vincent “Skinny Vinny” McCarthy III

Old Mates – Letter 4

Mayor Lou,

I have tried for years to block Nancy out of my mind. Nancy Abrams. The name pains me to think about. And although it’s been many moons since I have woken myself up shouting “NANCY,” or since I was the recipient of many scornful stares by screaming her name while my son was at bat in a little league game, it is still a daily struggle to forget.

Sometimes I hear her name as a train passes by, and I wonder which far away land the sound, clutched to the caboose like the lime cardigan she would wear, is heading off to.

But, that’s all in the past, like you said. Now, I must focus on CRUSHING HER, the way a broken heart crushes a man’s soul!

I made a few phone calls to some old colleagues at Kellogg as a start. They’ve got a great consumer insights group who had no interest in digging up dirt on someone. So, I tracked down a guy they fired in disgrace, and he has been more than happy to help. I figure since this is the world of politics, we should use code names, right? So let’s call him HoneySmack. I always loved that cereal!

So HoneySmack did some digging around and found out that Nancy Abrams was involved in a scandal…

In 1992, Nancy Abrams swindled the Kellogg corporation by mailing in upwards of TWELVE proof-of-purchases under fraudulent names to receive multiple Darkwing Duck fanny packs!

I’m sure you remember the Corn Flakes offer in the early 90s: mail in a proof of purchase, and get a free Darkwing Duck fanny pack (or “Hip-Pouch” as it was officially named). The fine print prohibited a single household from getting more than 2 fanny packs. Nancy “I’m too good for Skinny Vinny” Abrams mailed in proofs with names of family, friends, and even one as People Magazine’s 1992 sexiest man alive, Nick Nolte!

I hope she kept those fanny packs. She’s going to need a place to HOLD ALL OF HER REGRET because she is going down for this one! Lou Sampson for Mayor!

Send over all of those campaign slogans as they hit you. I’ve mailed a package your way of 100 origami birds with your name on the wings so you can start scattering them around town. A little guerrilla campaigning to get things started.

– Vincent “Skinny Vinny” McCarthy III

P.S. I told my wife the great news of being hired as your campaign manager and she was extremely unsupportive. You’ve always had a way with the ladies. Any good advice on how to make her a Lou-ette?

Old Mates – Letter 2

Dear Lou,

I have to say that I was excited to get your letter! It has been 19 years and 20 days since we last spoke―the last day of our freshman year of high school. I remember the last words we said to each other. You shouted “Skinny Vinny, this is all your fault!” And I tried to get the words “I’m sorry” out through my sobbing, but you had already walked out the school doors and out of my life.

I must say your life is very interesting. All those various jobs and hobbies and marriages. Sounds like you achieved your goal: to wander without a goal.

You’re right, as usual, in that I don’t have much going on. After getting my Bachelor’s and Master’s of Finance from Penn State, I took a job at Kellogg’s corporate headquarters in Battle Creek and moved to the town of Hastings, MI about 25 miles north with my wife and 2 children. I now run my own consulting firm that partners with Fortune 100 companies to manage high-level strategic initiatives.

BORING, RIGHT?

I can’t say that I haven’t often thought of the good old days when I would stay up all night meticulously crafting oragami birds to paste onto your campaign posters while you got your beauty rest. “A true politician needs time to DREAM OF THE FUTURE” you’d say as you put the sleep mask over your eyes. In the world we live in now with all its expectation of immediate solutions, I think about how right you were. Those fat cats in Washington should be getting in a solid 13 hours of sleep a night, “The Lou Special,” to dream up a better direction for this country!

I couldn’t think of a better man to run for Mayor of Fort Scott. Gosh, I miss our hometown. I haven’t been in 8 years, when I took my wife to the Lon Ury museum on West 15th. But she has declined any offer to go back, citing it as “too depressing.”

I am honored and graciously accept your offer to be your Campaign Manager! I’ll tell my wife and kids at dinner tonight. You’re gonna be the next Goldie Wilson, Lou (like in Back to the Future! Our movie!).

– Vincent “Skinny Vinny” McCarthy III

The Providers – Letter 2

B-Fuckin-Ill,

If you’ve got 2 peacocks, bring ‘em out round the yard and teach ‘em how to dance!

Do you even know what that means? Probably not because you’re too busy BEING LAME.

Man, we are from THE FUTURE. We are here to totally HARASS YOU via the Postal Service!

That’s right. It’s super-antiquated in our era. People only really use it to splice through time itself and send people junk mail and bullshit pranks. Where do you think all those stupid letters come from that promise you credit cards, discounted insurance, and larger penises? The effin’ future, that’s where.

Do we have a bigger purpose, you ask your STUPID self?!?!?! I will answer you with a whispered “perhaps.”

Dude, it’s like this: I just dropped some mad flim on some honey chilies.

You stupid past assholes don’t even understand how AWESOME that is. That means I just bought myself some great socks. In the future, we call socks “chilies.” Why? Because we are so much better than you and can do whatever we want!

MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So, you got a letter from Dom. That is not my name. My name is Greg. Both of us want you to shut the hell up, break up with anyone you’re currently going out with, and focus all of your time on us.

Oh, and bran. Buy a whole truck-fuckin’ lot of bran. Eat that shit. Love that shit. And write letters to your government about the importance of bran and bran research & development.

I will leave you with some lovely words from the greatest non-presidential vocalist of your generation: Mr. John Travolta

Look at the rain and look at the stars tonight
All fallin´ down on me
See them tumble through my door
I look at your face
The light is in your eyes
And there´s something there I need
I long to hold a little more

FUCK YOU,

– Greg