Atomic Dog

I'm not going to waste the space of this fine magazine elaborating on how this is Yellow Dog's final issue for the millennium. I'm not going to spend a minute talking about the return of Jesus, how I've stocked up on tampons (Not for me! For all of those women who will be without once Tampax's computers break down. I stand to make a killing! I swear they're not for me), or why from behind is better than missionary. Instead, I want to discuss something that often eludes me here on the editor's page. I want to comment on the contents of this month's issue.

A scandal has broken out at Yellow Dog. Our intern, Jessie Joe Rashika Greenberg, had a six year affair with Bob Hope before his death. Recently, while snooping through my employees' mailboxes and desk drawers (I was looking for my Incredible Hulk fountain pen. Ishmail Alexander is always taking it without premission), I came across a bundle of letters marking the passionate correspondence between the two which took place without my even knowing it. At the risk of another law suit, we bring you a few excerpts from these letters. We intend to publish all of the letters with Malcolm X Press as The Road To My Bed: An Intern's Hot and Sweaty Romance with Bob Hope. Catchy title.

It's a tragic tale. Romance. Greed. Betrayal. Toilets. Golf. It would make a great movie. I'm trying to get my agent to get Spike Lee involved. Chris Farley would have been perfect as Hope, but I'll have to think of someone else.

Yellow Dog's newly developed film division is also proud to bring out a new release in cooperation with Miramax films. While our first effort, the Austin Powers follow-up which we highlighted two issues ago, is now the focus of a law suit, we are confident that I Married My Mother will be a smash. Look for L.L. Cool J in a supporting role.

Finally, but of course not inclusive of all of the features in this month's issue, we have secured permission to print excerpts form the F.B.I.'s notorious case against my pet monkey, Mr. Whiskers. I've had Mr. Whiskers since the late '70s. While vacationing in Texas with a woman we will now only refer to as "that bitch," he was left outside my Motel 6 door without a note, without food, without a diaper. What a mess. Dressed in Spider Man underoos and with a pacifier in his mouth, I thought he was a baby. But no, he was a monkey. It took me a couple of days, but I finally figured it out. Since then, we've been inseparable even though he has never fully understood the concept of toilet training. Nevertheless, the F.B.I.'s suspicion of his legal status, birth mother, and ties to alternative medicine groups resulted in a vicious smear campaign that has only recently been resolved. We bring you highly classified documents from the case.

It's a 2000 style issue. We apologize for the delay of our Prince interview. It seems Prince thought we were going to meet at the local Howard Johnsons when we specifically said The Holiday Inn. We have plans to speak with the purple wonder soon in Miami and will bring out that piece in the next issue.

Until then...we bring you a new year of Yellow Dog.

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