Dear ET’s,

A professional athlete apologizes to the world for the indiscretions most men would kill to enjoy given half a chance to walk in his shoes for a day.  With nuclear proliferation becoming a significantly real possibility it’s no wonder that what’s troubling most people is the latest engineered scandals surrounding American Idol.   People go to jail in China for trying to speak freely, warlords in Africa spend money on guns and ammunition to subdue starving populations, American citizens are flying planes into IRS buildings and yet Canadians are the bad guys for respecting the rights and traditions of an indigenous people to hunt seals.  If these aren’t the signs of an impending apocalypse I don’t know what would classify as such.

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Dear the Late Billy Mays,

I hope this letter finds you in infomercial heaven, where the couches are comfy and the Oxi is Clean.

I know it is technically too late, but I still feel that I need to express my feelings.

First I would like you to know that I still think you are the best infomercial pitch-man that has ever interrupted my TV program. I have always hated commercials, especially those that try to sell me something. However, ever since the first time you yelled at me about how my stains could be lifted and my whites could be whiter, I was hooked. After you moved from OxiClean, onto Kaboom, then to Mighty Putty, I knew I had stumbled across something special. Let’s just say, when you yelled…I listened.

Secondly, in regards to who some people would call your competition, that being “Vince from Sham-Wow” or “Vince from Slap Chop”, I don’t think he’s even in the same league. First of all, when you passed it was a sad occasion, however, Vince’s time in the sun, was due to the issue he had with a hooker and some assault charges; a situation made worse by him saying “you’re gonna slap your troubles away”. That right there is what I would call a poor choice of words. Vince just doesn’t do it for me in the infomercial world, he wears a useless and idiotic looking head-set microphone and he looks like he may have had a stroke at some point, one side of his face looking slightly paralyzed. Vince couldn’t sell me water in the desert. I dare say he would have a hard time selling me the antidote to a flesh eating bacteria I was infected with because if I bought it from him and lived, I’d still have to see and listen to him…Tough choice.

In summation, I would like to thank you for the hours of enjoyment you have provide me, even if I have never bought any of your products, though I would like to try them all. I just wish the doctors had caught your health issues earlier, and then maybe they could have fixed your arteries with Mighty Putty…

Wishing you the best in the infomercial afterlife,

Kyle

by Kate Russell

Unamused, he sat in the easy chair, stiff with dogma, eyes burning a hole in the television.

The godless comedy and the laughter of the theatre of people who watched it, prodded the caged rage in his heart. By his birth certificate, he was nineteen, but the drawstring-like lines around his taught, disapproving mouth, gave the impression of someone far older. Blob would not find this sinfulness funny. Where was their shame?

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