Jockey Up – Letter 4

Dear Samantha,

Perhaps I should have expected it, but my experience on Ivan and The Shark was not (to steal a line from your show intro) “The Morning Experience That Will Tickle Your Dick.” And yes, you did warn me about the possibility of pudding-based antics, but I certainly did not expect to be seated in the “Pudding Chamber” while I was being interviewed. Take it from me – it is quite difficult to discuss your P-47D Thunderbolt model with cold pudding splashing around in your trousers. I could barely focus on my preferred gluing methods and I fear I may have mislead some of your listeners.

I also took issue with how frequently they mispronounced my name. During my 15 minute presentation, Mr. Shark addressed me as both “Greg Farterson” and “Schmeg Splatterson.” Perhaps you need to speak with the show’s script writer and request they use a less ornate font.

Thank you for pulling me aside afterwards and providing me with a change of clothes. And I very much enjoyed your inquiries on other planes I didn’t have an opportunity to mention. It was very pleasant speaking with you, even while I wiped pudding from the various crevasses of my body.

With that said, I’m glad this experience is over and I can continue on with my life, as I know full-well I will not be moving on to the next round. Hopefully the pornographic magazines will stop appearing at my doorstep (apparently fans of the show have taken to sending me these, as well) now that I’m no longer a topic of discussion.

It was a pleasure meeting you, and hopefully our paths will cross again when I’m pudding-free.

-Craig Patterson

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Jockey Up – Letter 2

Dear Samantha,

I’m afraid there must be some sort of mistake. I do not know anyone named “Ivan” or “The Shark”, nor do I recall writing an essay for any contests. Not since I tried winning a Dakota DC-3 model airplane from PilotMall .com of course, but that was 3 years ago, and I’ve long since constructed that gorgeous plane and displayed it next to the wedding photos of my children.

If I had to guess, I’d imagine someone submitted this essay in my name, and I’m 95% sure of their identity. My nephew Benny has been playing pranks on me since he was a pre-teen, and judging by how rude Ivan and the Shark appear to be, I could see Benny being quite a fan. One time, Benny stole my credit card and subscribed me to at least 3 dozen pornographic magazines. By the time I figured out how to cancel them all and who was behind it, I was up to my knees in “Glorious Gazungas” and “Roasted Rumps.” Another (admittedly less creative) time, Benny drained the brake fluid from my car. I keep insisting my brother get this child some help, but I’ve yet to be heard.

You seem like a nice person, Samantha. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss or Ivan or Mr. Shark so here is the response you’ve requested. I don’t expect it will get me into the next round – we can move on from this inconvenience and let someone else co-host this radio show.

“Listen up, you buffoons! I should be the co-host with Ivan and The Shark because I definitely do not give you any frigs whatsoever. I give so few of them that I used my credit card to purchase an ABSURD AMOUNT OF PORNOGRAPHIC MAGAZINES, many of them containing BREASTS!

And don’t even get me started on politics! I DON’T LIKE discussing it with ACQUAINTANCES because it can be somewhat AWKWARD! Seriously please, let’s just move on from the politics discussion. What’s your favorite BOOK!?

In closing, I am very RUDE, so please select me as the co-host with Ivan and The Shark.”

-Mr. Craig Patterson

Old Mates – Letter 7

Dear Vinny,

I’m embarrassed.

Mostly for you of course, but I suppose I should feel a little bad for assaulting my political opponent and getting dragged out of the debate in handcuffs. I GET THAT. 

It bears repeating however, that you should definitely feel more embarrassed than me. That point should really be driven home.

To be honest, I was feeling pretty excited going into the debate. We had more than our fair share of “Gotcha Cards” up our sleeves, and I had slept a solid 18 hours leading up to my big confrontation with Nancy. I really felt like we had this one in the bag.

BUT YOU JUST COULDN’T CONTROL YOURSELF, COULD YOU?!

I mean sure, I may have  sounded a little out there when I suggested we take 80% of our funding for rebuilding our roads and putting it towards building “The World’s Biggest Carousel,” but seriously, think of all the tourism revenue we’d take in! Not to mention all the tire repair small businesses that would see a huge uptick in business. I still believe “The Carousel of Titan” is Fort Scott’s best chance at achieving international notoriety.

She was reeling Vin, I could feel it. I could TASTE it.

Until of course, you stormed the stage to profess (reiterate?) your undying love for THE ENEMY.

And called your wife on speaker phone to tell her you wanted a divorce.

And then proposed to Nancy.

And the weeping. For Christ’s sake, the weeping. Even a little tact would wouldn’t hurt.

I’m almost positive that was the turning point of the debate.

You should really be counting your lucky stars that I had the wherewithal to catch Nancy in a Sliding Collar Choke From The Back Mount before she maimed any other parts of your body. Who would have thought she still had that violent side in her after all these years? Granted, I may have overdid it when I switch to Side Mount and started dropping elbows on the bridge of her nose while screaming “LETS! GET! DANGEROUS!” with every strike, but I was just trying to help you like you helped me distribute all those foldy-birds. I feel like we’re even now. You may even owe me one.

And oh boy, your son was something else, huh? I haven’t seen someone cry and vomit like that since I left my pregnant wife while she was having morning sickness. He’ll probably be scarred for life, huh?

So, back to the owing me one…

Now that this election is over, is your company hiring?

No Longer Legally Allowed to Run for Mayor,

Lou

 

Old Mates – Letter 5

Vinny,

So, you’re going to have to send me more foldy birds. I completely forgot you were sending me a package and in my haste to see what arrived, I went a little nuts. You see, I kind of go into a weird package-opening fugue which usually results in completely destroying anything between me and the mystery present. I mean I doubt you’ve experienced this, considering how poor your parents were. Needless to say, my hedgehog has bedding for the next few months.

GREAT job digging up dirt on Nancy Abrams. Send HoneySmack my regards as well as a “Lou’s Lips Sink Ships” pin. This is exactly what I need to knock my opponent down a few pegs. According to the polls (I’ve been polling some random women at bars), I’m trailing Abrams by a fairly significant margin. I’m going to need a heck of a showing at the debate to pull this off.

Speaking of debates, IT’S ONLY 10 DAYS AWAY! I’ve been doing a whole lot of Bar-Campaigning and Sleeping and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in preparation. I haven’t done much “policy-wise”, though. I figured when I get up behind that podium I’ll just do what I do best: talk at great length about myself and belittle the person in front of me. Any suggestions on when I should whip out our Masked-Waterfowl Secret Weapon?

Come to think of it, why don’t you come home for the debate? I’m sure you miss your old stomping ground and it’ll give you a chance to get away from your wife for a little while.

OH RIGHT, THAT REMINDS ME! THE WIFE THING!

You certainly came to the right guy for wife-related problems, considering I have so much experience arguing with wives. In a situation like this, I’d just tell her that you choose your best friend over her, storm out of the room, and then wait for her to apologize. This method has worked at least once with each of my wives. She’ll be a Lou-ette in no time!

-Mayor Lou (That has a pretty nice ring to it, huh?)

 

Old Mates – Letter 3

Skinny Vinny,

It’s funny you should mention the Lon Ury Museum! They just added a wing dedicated to “Old Sleep’s” Major League hit. They have the boxscore from that day and everything. Really enthralling stuff!

I’m happy to hear you’ve accepted my most generous offer of allowing you to run my campaign. There’s no way to sugarcoat it – it’s going to be a grind – but with your hard work and long hours and my ability to turn an afternoon nap into a full night’s sleep, we’ll most certainly have Nancy Abrams shaking in her boots.

Yes, that Nancy Abrams.

That Nancy Abrams who beat you up in front of the entire lunch room for inviting her to the Freshman Formal. Boy, I’ve never seen a girl give a boy such a whooping. I’m sure you’ve long forgotten that life-altering humiliation though, and I’m positive you have no more lingering feelings of resentment or unrequited love.

Which brings me to your first assignment as my Campaign Manager: dig up as much dirt as you can on Abrams. Dirty money, family problems, relations to former Third World dictators – I want it all! At some point I’ll have to debate your former crush, and I’m going to need to lay into her real hard.

Also, if you can find some way to make it seem like I haven’t been married a bunch of times, that would be great. At the very least, figure out a way to spin that into a “Family First” message. Those are quite popular these days, apparently.

While you’re handling that, I’ll spend time thinking of catchy slogans. “This Lou’s for You”. “He Puts the ‘Lou’ in ‘Lousing (pronounced like “Losing”) Incumbent’” (may need to work on this one). Those alone took me three weeks so you see I have my work cut out for me.

Now, off to my Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu class. I’ll have my sensei take some promo photos we can use during the campaign! Get crackin’, Skin Vin!

-Lou

Old Mates – Letter 1

Dear Vincent,

Hey! It’s sure been a while, huh? By my count, I’d say it’s about 18 to 20 years since we last spoke. Boy, have I missed you, Skinny Vinny. You remember why they called you that, right? It was on account of your calves being about as thick as pool cues! Man, we just laughed and laughed at that nickname. Those sure were the days.

Anyway – uh – what’s new?!

ACTUALLY WAIT LET ME GO FIRST! After high school I eventually finished my degree in Business Administration at Brookdale Community College (home of the Fightin’ Unpaid Interns!), then moved back to Kansas, where I’ve worked for about 7-8 different sales organizations. I’ve been married 3 times (I’m still technically married to the third one), and in my free time – and believe me, there’s plenty of that these days – I like to cook, do Mixed Martial Arts, and follow politics. I happen to be in-between jobs at the moment.

Which leads me to why I’m writing to you today.

I’d like to formally offer you the position of Campaign Manager as I run for Mayor of Fort Scott!

You remember back in high school, when you ran my campaign for freshman class President? Boy, did we ever give the eventual winner a run for their money! You did such a wonderful job with my last campaign, I knew you were the only man I could trust with something so important. We’re 20 years older with 20 years more experience, so we’ll definitely win this time. I know all sorts of political terms now, too. We’ll gerrymander these poots right in the voter-fraud!

And don’t even try to tell me no. I know what “self-employed” really means. You’ve got plenty of time for an ol’ high school chum.

You and me, Skinny Vinny. Fort Scott has seen some dark times as of late, but together we can make a GREAT (fort) SCOTT! (Remember? Back to the Future?!)

-Lou

The Providers – Letter 1

Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill,

Dude, dude, DUDE.

I’M SO DRUNK. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

HONESTY-TIME, HONESTY-TIME, man. I’m from the future. No no no no no, wait… seriously. YOU STUPID SHIT, LISTEN TO ME! This writing back to the past is serious business. Me and Greg – Greg from the future who don’t know yet – have been drinking a serious amount of Cuervo at his parents peacock farm. It is some f’d up s, man. They have this weird idea that peacock-dancing is the entertainment wave of the future – well, after SURGE BALL, of course.

Then me and Greg had this idea. CHECK IT OUT! We tell someone in the future to start the peacock-dancing trend, so by the time we come around it’s mega-popular and Greg’s parents (and us, of course) can reap the benefits – and by benefits I mean a dick-load of CASH MONEY.

So here’s what you basically need to do: If you’ve got 2 peacocks, bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. If you’ve got just one peacock, get another one, then bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. If you are 100% sans-peacock, acquire two peacocks, bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. IT’S THAT SIMPLE.

In return, we’ll give you tiny hints about the future so you can maybe possibly benefit from them.

Dude, this is going to be SO SICK. I LOVE YOU DUDE, I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MAAAAAAAAAAAN!

Eat my balls,
Dom