Dear Corporate Comedic Outlet

Dear Corporate Comedic Outlet,

This was a day for talent, this was a day for dreams, this was a day for originality, THIS was a day for OPEN MIC NITE! But you CRUSHED our talents, our dreams, our originality, our OPEN MIC NITE just to fulfill your own heartless advertising with your comedic contest. This was OUR nite, and you stole the show. Your comics were tasteless, unoriginal, and offensive; all except for one. A friend. A colleague. A damn funny man. Now if there is any justice in the world he would have won. In fact, he DID win. Justice has been served with a side of fame, because that's what he is going to get. London Town look out! There's a storm rolling your way, and its name is Edwin Porter-Daniels.

With an overjoyed disgust,
- The Betrayed Kazooist.

!@#$

Dear Flogging, Cocking, Fucking, Bristle Faced, Butter Nutted, Cranberry Flavored Drizzle Berry,

What the fucking, freaking, fag-shazzled, marg-o-wartizzling, ramshackled, grahzny, callish, forsaken, watershed, bone-shanked, crank-shafting, grizzlebee, goddamn, rednecked, bluethumbed, greenfaced, and cum-shellacked bastard (and you have gangrene). You motherfucking, grandstand, last calling, frizzle fried, beach whaling, ass bagging, broken elbowed, kneeless, flucking, bright-eyed, starry-skied, wee-ninny of an Amsterdam breadhouse that can't sloshy the backwooded, no good, mint flavored, dick-skewering, Alcatrazinationacariononion edification of the black ghost that never fucking, Christ-knifing even wanted your help in the first fucking, god-forsaken, back-breaking place. Now eat shit, die, regenerate, copulate, opitulate, fornicate, be irate, investigate, sleep with Nate, reiterate, cook the tate, flam-boilate, masticate (the shit, of course), ninja-icate, fight with fate, show up real late, throw the bait, and then finish it off with some smooth masturbation that is well deserved after a hard day's work.

Remember to have some fucking, plee-making, rain-checking manners, why don't you!?,
- !@#$ with the ^%#$ in the &^#!!!

Breast Fed

Dear Obligations,

Have you ever been fulfilled to your utmost extent? Ha, don't fucking lie to me, bitch! How does that good ol' conventional wisdom go? "You our obliged to have obligatory obligations and I promise you they will be redundant." Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe I am too tired. Maybe I am full of excuses. But what's your excuse for all the harassment? Oh, is that so? Well you can shove that chivalry of your up your momma's cratchny you grahzny bratchny. What the cal?

Wretched little thing thou art,
- Estudy the Estudious

Driving Off Cliffs

Dear Hedgecock/UC Shuffle,

Let's count this as a suicide note. I've had a good life, full of laughs, and I just wanted to share the laughs with the NMU campus. I don't understand why, if we were approved for sweet sweet funds, I have to visit at least five offices with mutliple forms, steal fax privileges from my workplace, make multiple calls to Austin, Texas, and prepare cyanide to kill myself. I'm sorry I've never organized an event. I'm sorry I don't know how this fucking run around works. I'm sorry I didn't realize it would take at least ten hours of my time to get the funds I was told were mine. I used to tolerate you with good humor, but now I am too stressed to enjoy the humor I have worked to bring.

You'll regret this when I'm swinging from the rafters,
- Co-producer

PS - What the hell is with the monkey-like ladies hiding out in the basement, typing stuff and giving out mystery checks!?