Mark Colomb

Videos, Podcasts, and Junk

Month: April 2013 (page 2 of 3)

A Letter from Golden State Warriors Owner Joe Lacob

I am contributing to a great website called Ballerball which is part of the Truehoop network. Buddies Tim Baltz and John Sabine contribute as well. This week’s piece is about my beloved Golden State Warriors.


A Letter from Apple CEO Tim Cook

Good Day Consumers,

It’s Tim Cook here CEO of Apple. I hope this letter finds you well. Are you working hard and saving your money for a new iPhone 5S or the next iPad Maxi that we plan to release this summer. Our manufacturing partners are working day and night to bring you the the slightest of upgrades on all your favorite devices. Figured I would just drop you a line about some market research we have been doing about our Apple end users.

You know all those cameras on your phones, iPads, and computers? We had them set up to send us pictures of you every two minutes for the last five years. That’s right, we know exactly what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been doing it with almost every minute of every day for the last five years. It’s been a fascinating project for us. Trillions of terabytes of data on how you use your phones and what you do while you use your computers. Let me share some of it with you.

87% of all iPhone photos are of either food, pets, or someone’s dick. The remaining 13% of photos are just your mom taking a picture of her lock screen. It’s safe to say, that if you have a penis in America we have a picture of it. I told the board if we were smart we would create an app that makes your tiny little cocks bigger, but no one listens to me. What do you creeps do with all this photos? Are you sending them to people? Do you think there are any women out there who get a photo of your sad, pale, shriveled, little dick, and think to themselves, “Well, now that is something I need to get in me?” Based on the amount of food photos you folks are taking, it’s a shock you can even find your dicks over your fat fucking bellies.

Looking at the photos of the average iPad user most of our you are using our product while you shit. I know before he died Steve saw some of this data and couldn’t believe that his gift to the world was a digital version of “Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader”. Many of the iPad family of products retail for more than $500 and you people are using them to kill time while you pass last nights Papa Johns. In 2012 we installed a sensor in the iPad that could detect the amount of fecal matter on each unit. I won’t share hard numbers with your but let’s just say the average iPad is covered in more shit than a German shizer film.

Which brings me to the numbers coming out of our iMac family of products. Two decades of industrial design. Technical and aesthetic advances undreamt of, even ten years ago. What do you perverts use it for? Jacking off. We have spent billions of dollars researching and designing what would have been the Sears lingerie catalog 30 years ago. What the fuck is the point? We have a army of essentially slaves in China, making you a box to beat off with.

Do you know they used slide rules to do the math to send a man to the moon? Imagine the things you could be doing with the machines we built? Instead you spend your days looking at , as far as I’m concerned it wasn’t the cancer that killed Steve it was the thought of what you were doing with the actualization of his dreams. When he returned to the company in the late 90’s he dreamt of creating the perfect desktop machine. He would talk about all the art people would create once we gave them the tools. It broke his heart to see all the photos coming back of you fat monsters doing the things you do to yourselves when you think no one is watching.

Maybe we should have told you that we were filming you before today. To be honest we were scared that you would stop buying our products. But at this point what else are you going to do? We have our hooks in you and now you know about all the photos. The things you do when you’re alone. The photos and texts you send at 3AM to some person that you “wnt 2 bang.” So I hope by revealing our rather intrusive research project that maybe I can shame you into being better people. That you can start to use Steve’s gifts to create new and beautiful works of art. That you can stop taking pictures of your dicks for two seconds. But in lieu of that I hope that you line up and buy our next phone. I bet you’re do for an upgrade.

We’re Always Watching.

– Tim Cook

A Letter to my Wife re: Surrogacy

Dear Karen,

Karen, love of my life, mother of my children, my one, my only, my everything. I know times have been tough lately. I know I am not doing my job as a husband and a man. I want to provide for you and the children. I am trying. We need to find some way to cut corners some way to save money. I know you want me to get a job, but sweetie I am an artist. If I can just keep after I know someday we will make a living from my sweet t-shirt airbrushing. And just incase that doesn’t come through I know I can be a competitive Starcraft player with just a little work. Until that time though here are some ways we can cut things back and maybe earn some money.

It’s been three or four months (five, maybe? I lose track of time) since you had little Ralphie Jr. and I think your oven is preheated and ready to go. Obviously we couldn’t afford another mouth to feed but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a child. Think of your womb as a vacation home we aren’t using. Do you want it to just sit there unused gathering dust and rotting day after day? Or maybe we find someone who will pay to spend the summer there and use that money to build an even better metaphorical home? If we time this out you are what, 31 or 32? We could do this nine or ten more times before it would have any long term effects. I looked it up on reddit. A white drug free surrogate mother is good for 40-50K per baby. You are sitting on a gold mine.

Think of all the additional savings we would get. How much do you spend each month on feminine products? Every single maxi pad and tampon is just money being flushed down the drain. Once you are impregnated if my vague understanding of the female body is correct we wouldn’t need to spend that money anymore. That’s money we could be using to buy the latest Starcraft II expansion pack. I need to stay current if my dream of being a Major League Gaming Champion is going to come true. Every nickel we spend on cotton is a nickel we aren’t spending on my gaming. But that’s not the only way we can save.

At almost $5 a gallon we are just throwing money away. Why are we paying for the milk when you can be the cow for free? I think we could just have the boys drink right from the tap. I mean, they have before. Derrick is almost as tall as you these days so he could do it while you are standing there doing something else. I don’t know how you feel about me suckling from you but if it’s an issue maybe I you could just pump it out and I will use it for coffee and cereal in the morning. As long as you are having kids we could be getting free dairy, it’s a win-win.

How hard is it to carry a kid? You’ve already done it four times. And each of those times it just cost us money. Now we have a chance for you to experience the miracle of life every nine months while also supporting the family and my artistic pursuits. Isn’t that everything we dreamed of when we got married after you got pregnant in our last year of High School? Think of it this way, instead of dreading getting pregnant you could celebrate it because you knew that you were carrying someone else hopes and dreams.

Sweetie, I just think it’s irresponsible of you to not want this. You are throwing away good eggs every single month and have been since you were 13. It’s like we have an avocado tree and instead of plucking the fruit we are just letting fall to the ground and rot month after month. It’s like you’re a chicken and you are refusing to let me collect from your coop. As long as I am spending all my time chasing my dream of being a competitive gamer and an awesome t-shirt artist I think that it’s fair that you kick in. I love you so much and that’s why I want to share your womb and our love with the world. Let me take you to Tony Roma’s and we can talk about this.

I Love You,

Richie aka xxZergHunterxx

A Letter to My Neighbor re: Wife Trouble

Hey Sean,

It’s Marty your favorite neighborino. First off big thanks to you and Becky for coming over to the BBQ last weekend. Darla and I sure do love having you as neighbors. I can’t thank you enough for letting our kids swim in your above ground pool. Your potato salad was a real hit at the BBQ, remind me to bring your tupperware back. Well, enough beating around the bush as it were. I think we both have some things to apologize for. I am sorry I touched your wife’s pussy. Let me explain.

Ultimately I guess it was my fault if we want to blame someone. I was the one who started passing around the patron shots after the kids went to sleep. However I think you have some culpability in this whole thing. Look, we were all drinking that night. Shit, Sean, we had been drinking all day. Who’s idea was it to do a shot every time we fired the potato gun at the Henderson’s house? I think that was you Sean. I agree with it in principal cause, hey, Fuck Hank Henderson. I know that son of bitch is the one calling the cops when we race our mini-bikes in the cul-de-sac.

Once the kids went to sleep that’s when we really started boozing. I guess it must have been Darla who suggested we all head over to your place to get in the above ground pool. According to her ain’t nothing sexier that night swimming. Truth be told I could see you eying her up all day. I don’t mind man. We’re neighbors and if I would let you borrow a cup a sugar, I sure as shit would let you feel all up on my sugar’s cups. One thing led to another and we were all swimming around naked as the day I pledged Delta Pheta Beta.

I guess when we headed over to the jacuzzi I knew things were ’bout to pick up. Let’s face it there is only two things that happen in a jacuzzi, pink eye and group sex. So I figured we were about to get down to the business of getting down. Sean, you were there. You know how things got going. Rubbing, kissing, etc. Now here is where I believe it gets troubling for everyone. I saw you reaching over to give Darla a good rubbing in her lady basement. Which, hey, I don’t mind. The girls seemed to be enjoying each other’s company and so I didn’t think much about you coming over into my yard as it were. That’s when I figured I had the green light to head over into your yard.

As soon as I reached over and started poking and prodding Becky seemed to freak out and shut the whole thing down. She excused herself and you two headed inside. Darla and I were left alone in the jacuzzi as the bubbles suddenly stopped. We headed home and you better believe I took care of business.

Yesterday Darla and Becky were having some white wine spritzers on the back deck and she tells Darla that I touched her pussy. Which, sure, yes. I did. But when Darla told Becky that you touched her pussy, Becky said you would never do something like that and called my wife a liar. Then it seems when Becky asked you about it you said you didn’t touch Darla’s pussy. When you did in fact touch my wife’s pussy. Which, I am not at all angered about. We were in a jacuzzi after a long day of drinking, grilling, and firing potato guns, people’s pussy’s were bound to get touched.

I am just distressed about the fact that you lied. Were you embarrassed? Is there something wrong with my wife’s pussy? Or maybe you thought you were going to get in trouble. The thing that really gets me is that you were the one that started all the other wife pussy touching. I wouldn’t have even thought to have done it if you hadn’t gone wandering over. Now I look like the pervert who is touching his buddy’s wife’s pussy and you look like some sort of group sex gentleman. Not cool Sean. Not cool at all.

I need you to admit that you touched my lady’s pink parts, pronto. I can’t have the stain of unwanted pussy touching hanging over me in the cul-de-sac. I’m a youth soccer coach, man. People talk. I don’t need this. Please clear the air so we can all go back to being friends. I just want things to go back to the way they were before we touched each other’s wives pussies.

Thanks Buddy,

Marty Halberstom

A Letter From Meg White

Dear Rock Critics and Sycophants,

Meg White here. You know me as the oft-mocked former drummer of The White Stripes. As the story goes Jack and I were married and living in Detroit when he proposed the idea of starting a band together. I was the childlike naïf to his creative Paige like genius. You know the deal. Meg was just along for the ride banging pots and pans together like a child on the floor of the kitchen. Well as of yesterday my NDA is up and it’s time for the truth to come out. Jack White has never written a song in his life. There is no Jack White. I invented him.

The Jack White you know was born Bruce Dickenson in Grosse Pointe. His family had made their fortune by inventing automatic windshield wipers. A child of privilege without a care in the world. The story of being the youngest of ten children is a piece of fiction I created for him in order to make him seem more hardscrabble and authentic.The tales of a teenage upholsterer, utter nonsense.  It was I who stole him away from his family and created the myth of Jack White.

I met him at a bowling alley in Detroit. He was in town to see Marcy’s Playground. His jaguar had broken down on the way to the concert and he couldn’t reach his parents to come pick him up. He was crying by the nacho cheese pump when I first saw him. I bought him a soft pretzel and helped him get his car running again. My original plan was to get his home address and rob him and his family blind. I let him take me on a few dates in order to case the joint. Back then I was mostly into petty B&E and some check cashing scams. The night before I was going to tie his family up and rob them, I realized that I was falling for Bruce.

A whirlwind romance followed. His family forbade him from marrying me. He ran away and said he would do anything for me. We were to be wed. Without the windshield wiper money things were going to get tough quick. With no money and no jobs I knew we needed a way out. Thus was born The White Stripes. If there is a better racket than playing rock music I haven’t found it. I knew we needed a hook though.

I had been playing drums since I was a child. My heroes were Neil Pert and Phil Collins. Initially I intended to for us to be a prog rock duo in the tradition of Rush or King Crimson. I am a beast on the toms and the gong but there was no way that Jack would be able to play the complicated syncopated rhythms I needed him to.  Then it hit me. Dress him up in red and black pretend to be brother and sister. I needed something simpler than the monstrosities that were on the radio at the time but with just enough credibility that the cool kids would buy into it.

I had him change his name to Jack as my way of letting everyone in on the joke. See Jack play guitar. See Jack play three chords on a plastic guitar. See Meg go right to the bank. It was perfect. I would make his limited guitar playing the center piece of this whole charade. I dumbed my drumming down to the most primal thing I could think of. It was the only way to not expose his extreme lack of talent. He couldn’t play well but he was cute and with a little coaching he could be whatever I wanted.

My friends asked me why I made Jack the centerpiece. The answer is simple. Sadly the male dominated music press wouldn’t accept that a women could have created The White Stripes. We would be taken as a young girl’s candy coated fantasy. By putting Jack out front and having him spout all that nonsense about Robert Johnson and Sun Records the fourth estate would lap it all up.  It was the only way.  Before the band started to take off I divorced Jack without him knowing just to ensure that I was protected if everything went tits up. We couldn’t commingle personal and professional finances. I couldn’t let him know our love was my only way to really control him, that is till the money started rolling in.

Jack became my own little rock and roll Eliza Doolittle. I taught him about the blues and how to speak to the press. I taught him to play the simple songs I had written. Taught him to dance and sing. I created Jack White and put him on stage.  Soon the world came calling. Things went so much farther than I could have ever imagined. I had built this rock and roll monster and I let it stomp its way all over the world. It’s like that movie says. I spent so much time trying to do something I never thought if I should. Hold on to your proverbial butts.

Like Shelley’s doctor it wasn’t long before I lost control of my monster. By the time Elephant came out Jack started going off book. He was trying to write songs and influence the direction of the band.  The money and the fame wasn’t enough. Bruce was gone and only Jack remained. It was becoming harder and harder to get him to do what I needed. He wanted to start acting and release a book of his own poetry. Things were out of control.  I thought maybe I was the problem. I wrote songs for him and set him up with friends of mine. The Raconteurs were a last ditch effort to try and control him. I never counted on anyone liking those songs but low and behold, it was a hit.

I realized it had to end. I revealed that we were no longer married. Jack was crushed. He said that he couldn’t be in a band with me anymore. I was tired of pretending to be the person holding Jack back. I was tired of being mocked. So I blew it all up. We were touring in Canada when I told him I was ending things. I told him I would continue to write songs for him as a solo artist and that I would create a record label for him. I would fade into the shadows. Now I spend my days writing songs for him to record and paying homeless people to wrestle. I realized it was easier to be Colonel Parker than Jack Wilkinson.

The next time you hear Bruce prattle on about art, the blues, life, music, any of it. Know that it’s Meg you’re hearing from. When you hear him release a new record know that it’s my notes you are hearing. I’ll always be there in the background. You see I fell in love with a boy, fell in love once, and almost completely. He’s in love with his myth.

Keep on Rocking,




A Letter From Steve Ballmer

Dear Consumers,

Steve Ballmer here. Head of Microsoft. Yesterday it was reported that PC sales have plunged to record lows. Some are attributing the lack of excitement for Personal Computing to the rather tepid response to our latest product Windows 8. This coupled with the recent negative outcries concerning rumors of our next Xbox product needing to maintain a constant internet connection has made me realize that it might be time to change our business strategy rather substantially. So I present to you our new company wide initiative. GO FUCK YOURSELVES.

Listen up you little creeps. We are Microsoft goddamit you need us. You think you don’t. With your iPads and your google docs. Well where are you going to play spider solitaire at work when you should be using excel to tabulate your latest expense report? On your iPad? Good luck. You think some google doodle is going to be there every single day the way we have with spider solitaire? When you want to look busy at work who is it that you turn to? Microsoft BABY.

Alright maybe I came off a little too strong just now. Look I know you don’t want to use our products. Hell, I don’t want to use our products. I know they stink. That dumb tablet we made? Garbage. We spent a fortune to make a shitty computer and a tablet all in one device. Surface? What a stupid name. The only thing that has surfaced lately is the write off I am going to have to make this year. We have more money than God but we can’t seem to do anything right. Zune? Yeesh. I know, I know. We can’t seem to build something anyone wants. We refuse to innovate because that shit is hard. Look you want something that works go buy an Apple product. You want something that has been rigorously focus tested and vetted by several levels of corporate hierarchy? Come to us.

While I have your attention just a heads up. We are totally going to blow it with the new Xbox. I have already seen it. It’s classic us. Somehow with the 360 we made a machine people wanted in spite of the fact that it was on the verge of melting down if you played it for more than a two hours. We made a thing that people actually wanted? I still don’t know how that happened. I can’t say much about the new Xbox other than you’re going to hate it. I promise. The always on thing? That’s for real. I’m not even sure why we doing that to be frank. It just seemed like the dumbest thing we could do. I did manage to shoot down a plan to require you to keep a finger inserted into the system while it was in use just to ensure that the system owner was the only playing the system. I’m not crazy.

So where do we go from here? Two words. Frozen Yogurt. Microsoft-Serve. We are getting out of this tech nonsense and going where the people are. The world of self serve frozen yogurt. We have been focus testing a ton of great ideas that we think you are really going to enjoy. Look for delicious flavors like Carob, Celery, Ice, and my personal favorite Cool Ranch Doritos. We have a dynamic and exciting partnership with the Doritos folks to bring you everything you like about chips in frozen yogurt form.

Every Microsoft-Serve store will require a monthly service fee on top of you paying for the yogurt at point of purchase. We will also require you to eat the ice cream in store where we can monitor your level of enjoyment. Look for exciting entertainment options in every Microsoft-Serve store from our partners at SPIKE TV. That’s a thing people like, right? Also we have partnered with Nickelback to be the exclusive audio partners of Microsoft-Serve. It will be a treat for your ears. I know you have done your best to stick with us here at Microsoft for the past 30 years and I hope that you continue to tolerate us for another 30 more. Because honestly WHAT CHOICE DO YOU HAVE.

Keep it Sleazy.

Stevie B.


A Letter from the President of the Westminster Dog Show

To The Members of the Westminster Kennel Club,

As president of the Westminster Kennel Club it is my job to reach out to you and explain the recent issue and problems facing our great organization. We run the largest and most prestigious dog shows in the world. Recently some of the dogs have been going on the news and speaking out against our organization. Complaints of misconduct and charges of exploitation are unfounded and as the rest of this letter will answer their baseless pointless charges. I would like to address any and all complaints point by point.

First of all. Charges that the dogs are not paid are 100% correct. We do not pay the dogs to participate in the Westminster Dog Show and we never will. These dogs are amateurs and will be treated as such. The dogs receive grooming, meals, board, and exposure on one of the largest stages in the world. We are providing the dogs the opportunity to showcase their talents and their breeds. When Banana Joe V Tani Kazari won this year your couldn’t find an Affenpinsher to adopt. A victory at the WKC is a boon to any breed lucky enough to be selected.

We cannot be expected to pay them even though we use their likenesses on merchandise and marketing materials. We allow these animal athletes to be featured in prime time television. They are able to go on and sign with agents and take their talents to the professional dog show circuit.
We provide the venue. We provide the television coverage. These animals are nothing without us. There is no other kennel club with even a quarter the reach that we have.

As far as charges that we prefer certain breeds over others this just isn’t true. Have terriers won 45 out the last 103 shows? Yes. Is that a coincidence? Yes. Do we receive a significant donation every year from the Terrier Breeders of America? Sure. Is this related in any way? Not at all and we are shocked and offended by the accusation. We at the WKC strive for competitive balance and a level playing field for any and all breeds. The idea that the WKC could be bought or influenced by outside boosters is without merit. We run a clean program.

Some disgruntled losers have accused our previous champions of using performance enhancing drugs. This cheapens us all. We have rigorous testing procedures that are maintained by an internal committee appointed by the WKC. Who better than us to ensure the quality of our competitors? There is no need for outside testings. It would be harmful to the dogs and cast a cloud of suspicion over the owners. We will police ourselves and that is the end of the story. Do some of the dogs use european treats and over the counter grooming sprays? Yes. This is well within the guidelines we have set down. We have nothing to hide.

Recent talk of imposing the so called “Death Penalty” on our event is a nonstarter. Other dog shows view us with both envy and pride. They continue to spread innuendo and baseless gossip. The National Kennel Accreditation Academy (NKAA) has examined our policies and procedures and has assured us that nothing is out of order. We will continue to highlight the majesty and athleticism of our canine athletes. We will not be stopped and we hope to receive your continued support. All the best.

Never Stop Barking.

Landon Holden Richards III

President Westminster Kennel Club

A Letter From the Child of a Libertarian

Dear Father,

It is with a heavy and tired heart that I am writing you this letter. As my twelfth birthday is approaching I have decided to take leave of you and our home. Initially you were a kind and caring father. I feel that the last few years since you have taken declared yourself a libertarian have ripped our family apart. Though I have no quarrel with the idea of libertarianism in theory, in practice it has made you a very shitty father. You need to apply your (and let’s be honest Glenn Beck’s and Ayn Rand’s) beliefs to the raising of your children has been misguided at best and most likely illegal at worst.

I remember around my tenth birthday when you began to treat us differently. You told my that if I wanted a present I would have to go out and work for it. No free lunches you said let alone a free Playstation. I tried to explain that I was ten and that getting full time employment was not only difficult it was illegal. But you told me I didn’t need to pay head to the laws of an tyrannical government. You kept saying the government was our biggest threat. I just wanted a birthday present father. That if I wanted to work I should go out and work. I was but a ten year old father. I often thought that your switch to libertarianism was mostly about you being cheap. I couldn’t help but notice that it happened shortly after you lost your job.

As my eleventh birthday neared I mentioned to you that my arm hurt after I fell out of a tree. You said that I should set it myself. That I shouldn’t rely on the false prophets of medicine to look after it. You said that the thing to do wasn’t to be scared but to use this experience to learn. Father I assure you I knew that falling out of tree was not something I every wanted  to do before I did it. You should have taken me to the hospital. Though my arm has healed slightly it is still misshapen and I have trouble holding a pencil.

Later in that same year you stopped making us dinner after mother left. You wanted us to learn to find food and cook for ourselves. Where were we meant to find food father? We live in the middle of Detroit. It was the dead of winter, were we meant to steal from the 7/11? Father your need to impart your rather extreme and naive political views on us is had gone too far. I never asked to be born father but I do believe it is your responsibility to raise us and look after us till at least the age of 18. And, yes before you scream it to no one in particular I imagine you find the idea of the government dictating an age of adulthood absurd. But guess what father even when you don’t agree with a law it is still a law.

Do you have any idea how silly your libertarian views seem? What is it exactly that you believe father? That everyone should fend for themselves. Well good luck paving your own road father. I look forward to reading in your self published newspaper how you put out the fire that had engulfed your home and arrested the arsonist that set it. I do happen to wonder father, are you still collecting unemployment and disability? I would hate to think that you were because if the government was just giving you money it had collected from someone else what would would you call that? I guess it might rhyme with mocialism. Fare well father. I tire of you and your silly views and will take my chances on the road. I hope to become a marine biologist and spend my days with dolphins I hear that they take care of their own.

Your Son,


A Letter From Your Dog

Hey Scott,

It’s me. Chewie your dog. First off thanks for rescuing me. You have no idea what life was like at the shelter. I fought a three legged Chihuahua over a blanket, things were tough Scott. So first off. Yea, thanks. Now that we got that out of the way I have few complaints about our current living situation.

We live in an apartment Scott. A studio apartment on the third floor. Why did you get a 70 pound dog when you don’t have a bed? I know I am only a mutt just a year removed from the streets but even I know that your priorities are out of whack. Seriously. There isn’t enough room on your inflatable mattress for both of us. Not to mention the thing deflates over the course of the night so by the morning you and I are both asleep on a rubber mat on the cold ass floor. Scott I’m a dog but I’m not an animal.

The food situation. Look buddy. I like burritos and I know you like burritos but we can’t eat burritos all the time. And your dumb ass acts like it’s some kind off mystery that you have hemorrhoids. You eat nothing but taco bell and sit on the toilet like it’s a lazy-boy. By the way. You don’t have money for a bed but you somehow found the money to buy a leather recliner and a plasma tv? Scott your Dad is right you’re a fucking idiot. Back to the food. Would it kill you to get me some wet food? Maybe mix it with some dry? You spend $120 dollars a week on weed but you never seem to have enough money to buy me pet food. Come on Scott.

Oh, and the amount of weed you smoke is a little over the top. If I have to fall asleep to either planet earth on blu-ray or The Undertaker 20-0 on netflix one more night I’m going lose my walnut sized mind. Scott you’re 29 you can’t smoke weed from the second you get up to the second you go to bed. Look man, if I worked as a bartender at the Buffalo Wild Wings by Depaul I would want to check out as well but you got to get it together. Did you ever think that maybe the weed is what is causing a lot of your problems? You’re smoking away your ambition.

Also on the weed tip. STOP BLOWING SMOKE IN MY FACE. I’m straight edge Scott, 4 Life, like my man CM Punk. I don’t like getting high Scott. It’s not funny. I got things I want to do with my life and getting stoned and eating a DiGiorno at 2AM isn’t one of those things. Don’t drag me down with you. Also, would it kill you to clean the oven? That oven is the only thing in the apartment that smokes more than you.

On to other things. Scott you have to break up with Karen. First off she’s younger than some of your socks. She’s a child Scott, a child. She is going to turn 20 some day and realize you are completely full of shit. I shouldn’t complain too much at least she walks me. As much as we would both like it to happen I am never going to shit in the toilet. You have to take me out. I thought the whole reason you got me was so you could parade me around the neighborhood purporting to be the kind of person that is responsible enough for a dog.

Scott I like you and I don’t want to complain too much. But if we are going to keep living together you have to change. Like I said before I can’t thank you enough for saving my life. But that doesn’t mean you get to waste it. You’re a smart dude and I think if you got some shitty job today in a couple of years you could rise to middle management. Maybe we could get a house somewhere with a yard. I could spend my days outside and you could meet someone and settle down. Maybe have a couple of kids that you would ignore while you snuck off to the shed to get stoned? I hope that letter gets through to you Scott. I love you man.


P.S. I know how to use your computer.

P.S.S. I can type. I can’t talk though. I’m like a four legged Roger Ebert.

P.S.S.S. Too Soon? I shouldn’t have made that joke. I love that man. He did so much for the art of criticism.

A Letter To Michael Jordan From a Young Kim Jong Un

Dear Michael Jordan,

Hello. My name is Kim Jong Un I am a 14 year old student in Switzerland. I am a big fan of your basketball games. My dad doesn’t let me watch them all the time. He says that the NBA exploits the common man and that the workers of the basketball should unite and overthrow their capitalist oppressors. When I do get to watch the games I watch Bulls games and cheer for you, and Mr. Scottie Pippen and The Worm. He dresses like a lady. How silly. I don’t like Tony Kucoc he is slow and doesn’t get back on defense fast enough. If my dad was his coach he would have Tony’s family killed and his friends sent away to a camp to break rocks.

I am writing to let you know someday I am going to grow up and become supreme leader of North Korea. Right now I am going to school in switzerland. I don’t do too good in school but my dad says that doesn’t matter because I don’t need good grades to be the leader of the our great country. He says that everything I need to know to lead is in my bones and that my dumb older brother is no good and that the country will be mine one day. My teachers here are not like the ones back home. If I got a D in school back home my father would make that teacher kill and eat their favorite pet. I always got straight A’s when I was in Korea. I don’t like it here.

When I am leader of the great country of North Korea will you come visit me? We can play basketball at my father’s house. It is big and really nice. I bet it’s not even as nice as your place though. I am really good at basketball when I am in Korea. I play against my fathers guards and I can score 100 points a games and get 35 rebounds. I am not so good when I play in Switzerland. The kids in my school cheat and try and take the ball from me. I laugh sometimes because that is not how you play. If you did that to me back home you would be drug into the village square and shot in front of your family.

I know what your life is like because people worship my father like people worship you. Your championship parades are small compared to the parades we have for my dad. Do you starve the people who don’t go to your parades? My dad says that is the only way that people learn to love you. How many times have you had to kill someone’s child because they didn’t cheer for you or go see Space Jam? Some people will never learn, right?  I love Space Jam. My dad is trying to kidnap the director of Space Jam and make him come here to make a sequel that he would star in. Dad says in the sequel he will not need the cartoon people to beat the aliens because he is a better basketball man than you.

Sometimes the kids in school are mean to me. I told my teacher about it and told him to have their mothers stripped and beaten. He gave me detention for even suggesting this. What do you do when people make you mad? I heard you punched Steve Kerr in practice. You are too soft your Airness. You should have had his children poisoned and then fed to wild dogs. That is the only way you can get through to some people. Oh well. Being great is hard, as you know. You should come visit us sometime. My dad will take you to play golf. I bet you can’t beat him. He got 18 holes in one in a single game. I doubt you are that good. When my great father plays basketball he scores 800 points a game and he could beat you at that too. You better not beat him or else he will have your feet cut off.

See you soon.

-Kim Jong Un

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