Dear Incoming Students,
In this, the "Back to School" issue of the rectum-obsessed scandal-rag that pedophiles and heroin mules fondly refer to as The Stranger, I would like to use my too-few column inches to directly address you, the future of America. I believe that I have valuable information to share with the short-pants-and-knee-socks crowd about how to be safe and smart as you go about playfully paddling each other with lacrosse sticks and sharing egg creams down at the malt shoppe.
The first thing you should know, my little cherub-cheeked enfants terrible, is that you should not read The Stranger. Take this issue's Back to School guide as an example. Here we have the most ill-qualified group of cretins possible dispensing wisdom on "How to Be a Person"—which one would think self-evident—including, apparently, purchasing illegal narcotics, drinking to unconsciousness, and murdering your unborn child at an Obamacare-sanctioned charnel house. Would your parents be pleased to learn that you are celebrating their investment of hundreds of dollars to attend the educational institutions of Seattle by reading a demonic manual recommending the illicit use of your, and I quote, "sex parts," unquote? No, they would not. Look away now, lest you have to confess your sins this Thanksgiving.
And if you need any more proof that these dismal word-molesters are not the people who ought to be providing you with advice on how to live your life, look no further than BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT's review of an illegal speakeasy. Clement toys with words to make it appear as though the bar she is reviewing does not exist (a pathetic writerly "trick" she no doubt learned at the knee of that alcoholic communist windbag Jean-Paul Sartre), but the evidence is clear: She has flouted the law like the wanton woman I have long known her to be, and one day soon she will pay. I wonder if on that day she will review the toilet-water martinis that are so popular among the human wastrels at the penitentiary.
Elsewhere, we have SEAN NELSON—who my private investigators have recently learned was at one time part of a scummy "rock music" ensemble—incompetently extolling the praises of a memoir written by a drug abuser and sexual pervert. Nelson's bloated, meandering prose should only be taken by our youth as a warning sign to avoid both the book and the use of mind-altering drugs.
Speaking of mind-altering drugs, apparently The Stranger has a brand-new column, by one LARRY MIZELL JR., about a form of entertainment called hippity-hop. As near as I can discern, this "music" involves loud and very public arguments between angry people of questionable ethnic persuasions, as well as the frequent use of a new drug called "Jay-Z."
Let this be a lesson to you, children. Stay in school, lest you wind up being codswallop purveyors like the miscreants who squeeze this smear of a publication out onto Seattle's streets every week. I look forward to employing you in one of my many mineral concerns upon your graduation.
A. Birch Steen