Hello-dee-o-do-do!! Gracious! It has been too long, FAR too long since Aunt Betsy spent time with her adoring readership. During my long absence, nary a day went by when I couldn't psychically detect your legion of pathetic voices, all clamoring...nay, BEGGING yours truly for a tasty wedge of down-home common sense pie, fresh from the oven. Speaking of "fresh from the oven," a little bird tells me that Agnes O'Malley (the nubile Cathy-lick girl whose distastefully large family inhabits the split-level faux tudor bungalow catercorner to Aunt Betsy-stan), recently celebrated her graduation from Our Lady of Perpetual Misery by hoisting her plaid skirt over her head, getting impregnated by the intramural badminton team (bringing new meaning to the word "shuttlecock"), and subsequently defying the Pope by having the misbegotten womb booger hoovered from between her thighs down at Planned Parenthood. Her alcoholic parents are distraught, and rudely rebuffed my suggestion that we should throw a baby shower for the little slut, forcing her to open gift after gift of onesies, rattles, and squeaky-toys. After which we could stone her like the whore of Babylon and have coffee.
In news from abroad, the neighboring Cornhole Emirates (the lake-of-fire bound household next door, helmed by Princess Lance and the Duchess of Bruce) has taken the provocative step of training closed circuit surveillance cameras on Aunt Betsy-Stan. You'll be pleased to hear Aunt Betsy seized the opportunity to re-enact the destruction of Sodom for the cameras, using an all-stray-cat cast of thousands and a drum of kerosene. Mr. Sillypants was cast as Lot, natch. Tonight I plan on digging out my semaphore flags and spelling out explicit instructions on how to kidnap an insufferable Shih-Tzu and transform the ghastly beast into savory Korean dog sausage (faithful readers are well-acquainted with Aunt Betsy's new-found talent for that very thing).
Speaking of Yahtzee, we had an unfortunate bit of drama unfold at last week's Yahtzee league quarterfinal tournament. Fern Block, the suspiciously unmarried physical education instructor was (against regulation) still chewing on some Lorna Doons as she began to shake her Yahtzee cup on a third (and doomed) attempt at a four-of-a-kind. Unfortunately, a half masticated Lorna Doon apparently became lodged in her adam's apple, because she began to choke and released the dice. I forbade the implementation of the heimlich maneuver until the score mistress recorded a "zero" on the mannish woman's card. Fern's brain suffered a debilitating lack of oxygen and she's currently producing dazzling fingerpaintings at Happy Barn, the discount retard home on the outskirts of town. I, however, have advanced to the Semi's!
And now, here I sit...cozily ensconced in my House Beautiful faux provincial chintz settee, wondering which letters to answer. As you may know, the cantankerous sodomite who runs this distasteful blog is just emerging from an "icky" (his word) bout with the flu. And today, upon returning to work (at a beleagered firm that rhymes with Pear Burns), he learned the company has decided to show him the door (not unforeseen, but nevertheless annoying). With that in mind, yours truly has decided to devote this column to letters that address our collective impending doom. Enjoy!
Dear Aunt Betsy: I am a decint Christian woman who live in a trailer court, I homeskool my childrins and I go to church evry sundee. Last week the preacher man got hisself all worked up bout earthkwakes and cycloans and all the stuff God's sendin at the folks he don't like. Like the earthkwake he done send to Chiner was punishmint for bein all chineezy and commie. And the cycloan he done sent to Burmie cause those folks be all chineezy and commie too. But this weekend when we was havin a weenie roast and kegger, God done send 35 tornadies thru our trailer court and all are houses got sucked up into the sky! How come God done that? My family ain't no chineezy types. And we don't got no commies neither! I gots "Love it or Leave it" and "WWJD" bumper stickers on my El Camino! Signed, Dang! Even Bobby-Ray's In the Sky!
Dear DEBRIS: While all experts agree that Yahweh does indeed hurl natural disasters at us like darts in order to punish those whose lifestyle/beliefs/fashion sense He finds offensive, He also uses twisters and floods to reward those He truly favors. For instance, when a twister swept through my subdivision last year, it wisely spared my bungalow but completely decimated a Jewish home, a negro home, a Democrat home, and (the sweetest of all), toppled an oak onto Lance and Bruce's his-and-his purple Miatas. So now, as weary commuters speed past your forlorn patch of wasteland, they will be treated to a freshly scrubbed vista; as if God, in his Wisdom, sprinkled a little carpet fresh on your quaint little enclave and sucked it up in a giant hoover. Think of it as a cosmic courtesy flush.
Dear Aunt Betsy: I'm a preacher man from God's favorite state (Texas). A few months back, a Presidential candidate begged me to give him the reach-around by throwing my considerable weight behind him and thrusting my biblical endorsement at him. Since then, he's been a fickle old coot, denouncing my endorsement because I preached that Hitler created Israel. But whatever. He didn't seem to have a problem when I said we should go all nukular on Iran, cause only then will armageddon finally arrive and all those damn jews will finally face the music for getting killy with Jesus. And me and the rest of Texas will be all raptured up to The Lord, where we can dance the achey-breaky and listen to Merle Haggard and Barbara Mandrell all day. Signed, Hark! A Great Eternal Ecstasy!
Dear HAGEE: I'm not sure there's a question in there, but I'll answer it nonetheless. As I recall, you famously declared that Katrina was sent to New Orleans to punish the homosexuals for gallivanting about in the French Quarter with their shame-hoses on display. When Katrina destroyed every ward in the Big Easy but the gay one, it spoke ill of God's once reliably surgical aim (see: Sodom, Pompeii, Love Canal, JFK, et al). With that in mind, I understand there's a sinkhole in your home state, sucking cows, pigs and Baptists into the bowels of hell. Since presumably you remain unsucked at time of writing, you should get down on your well-calloused knees and give thanks. Where do you live again?
Dear Aunt Betsy: I am a devastatingly attractive homo who leads a double-life. Batman-esque, I have a dark alter-ego who authors a hilarious (and universally ignored) blog and always speaks in the royal "we" whilst unleashing vicious cans of whup ass on whomever has it coming (and often those who don't, if I'm in a mood). By day, however, I'm a mild mannered employee of a firm that rhymes with Stare Burns. Today, having spent the weekend feeling sick as a dog (last night's "Andromeda Strain" came close to depicting it), I arrived at work to discover the axe has fallen on my noggin. What's Batman without Bruce Wayne? Spiderman without Peter Parker? Whatever shall I do? Signed Whup-Ass Master
Dear WAM: Heavens, Joan of Ark did less whining on the stake! I suppose you could find a widely adored celebrity (aka, moi) to shill for your dreadful blog, encouraging folks to click on the "tip jar" and order something from your vast array of t-shirt designs. To spread the word about your ill-fated online endeavor. I, however, am not that person. Aunt Betsy does not whore herself out for non-Christian or non-Yahtzee-related causes like a common three dollar whore. I might suggest Foxy Brown.
HOLLYWOOD -- A bizarre, creepy star suddenly appeared in the skies over Los Angeles, and it wasn't Travolta darting about in his private jet. A UFO exploded over Vietnam. A nation went insane overnight, briefly finding Denise Richards interesting. Oprah felt disturbances in her gravitational field. All omens and portents had maliciously aligned; there was no escaping the diabolical fulfillment of beelzebub's darkest plan. Clay Aiken had reproduced.
