Feed a former Foxie

Wow, big day here at the Goodtimes household. First, exclusive news from inside Haiti. Now, I have received a letter from a former employee at Fox News. Now, a man who only wanted to mock an Alzheimer's sufferer is starving and needs your help. Here's his story. If you have any decency whatsoever, you will send me money and job tips (no sparring partner jokes accepted) and I will send them to him.

Dear Mr. Goodtimes,

Hello. I am a former employee of Fox News Corporation, and I needed a forum to tell my story, and beg for spare change and hamhocks. Please do not use my name. You see, my tenure with Fox News recently came to a tragic end. You probably remember my searing commentary on Kobe Bryant, Laci Peterson, and the inalienable rights of unfertilized ova.

I got my start there 12 years ago as Sean Hannity's personal hairdresser. He was immediately struck by my xenophobia and ill-informed analysis of unimportant events, so they began grooming me to be Alan Colmes' successor on that hard-hitting jewel of the Fox News crown, Hannity and Colmes. They immediately began weaning me off of my hunger for books, insight, and knowledge in general. Everything was going swimmingly, and everyone loved me (Rupert Murdoch even taught me ballroom dancing): I was the inarticulate liberal they will willing to put up with, as long as Hannity's hair was impenetrable and their opinions went unchallenged.

Everything changed a couple of weeks ago when Laura Ingraham and I were gently teasing Ann Coulter for having fat thighs during a particular edgy episode of Fox and Friends. We will all laughing and having a good time until I accidentally blurted out, "Oh, Ann, you couldn't even get Ronald Reagan to drool over those gams!" The metaphorical needle metaphorically scratched the metaphorical record and the metaphorical music stopped. A terrified E.D. Hill sent us straight to commercial and, next thing you know, I am being beaten with a sock full of day-old meat while they read passages from "Who’s Looking Out for You?" Luckily, I passed out within an hour.

I woke some time later in an alleyway, carefully wrapped in an American flag. I wanted to beg for Rupert's forgiveness, but by the time I got back to the building my passcard had been changed, and I wasn't allowed to come in. In fact, all evidence of my employment at America's Favorite News Channel had been erased. Now I am just a lost soul wandering the streets, waiting for someone to teach me how to make molotov cocktails, or at least feed me a hot dog.

Probably more than you wanted to know. Anyway.

Fair and balancedly,
B.J. Smegma (not my real name)

If you want to give, go here and follow the instructions.