Manhattan Infidel

In a shocking act of senseless violence, a harmless, gentle young boy named Aaron who loves nothing more than playing his drum while his pet lamb, donkey and camel dance was savagely attacked and beaten by this man, former Beatle drummer Pete Best.

Witnesses report that the gentle young lad was drumming his signature tune, “ba-rum pa-pum pum” when a brutal, vicious, out of control and irrational Best punched the child, knocking him to the ground.

As the injured Aaron was comforted by his animal companions Best grabbed Aaron’s drum and said, “No, no, no!  It’s not “ba-rum pa-pum pum” it’s “pum-pum-pum-pum.”  Fast.  Use the kick drum on every quarter note!”

As a bleeding Aaron begged Best to give him back his drum, “Please mister.  My animals like to dance while I play!”,  Best started screaming at the gathering crowd.

What the hell is everyone looking at?  I’m Pete Best dammit!  I was in the Beatles for two years!  You’re all working for Ringo aren’t you?  Admit it!  You’re Ringo’s spies!   Well I’m not afraid of Ringo anymore.  I’m smart.  Not like people say!

The gentle young lad then picked himself up and again entreated Best to give him his drum back.

Mister.  Have a heart!  I’m an orphan.  Bandits stole my family’s sheep, killed my parents and burned down their farm.  Then I was captured by Ben Haramed and forced to perform in his caravan.  Please mister.  I have nothing left in life but my drum.  And my lamb, donkey and camel.  And if you use the kick drum on every quarter note you might push the beat to fast for comfort.  Just saying.

Best became even more enraged by Aaron’s advice and shouted, “You’re a Ringo spy too, aren’t you?”  

He then broke the little drummer boy’s heart by putting his foot through his drum.

“That’s what I do to Ringo’s spies!” said Best as the crowd pelted him with garbage.

Police soon arrived and, fearing for Best’s life, arrested him.

Best is currently being held in protective custody, charged with assault and rushing the beat.

Best’s lawyer promises full exoneration for his client.  “As long as Ringo has no spies on the jury.”

As for the little drummer boy, Aaron’s broken heart was healed when sympathetic citizens chipped in to buy him a new drum.  He was last seen leaving town playing on his drum, accompanied by his loyal lamb, donkey and camel.

When asked to comment on the shocking incident, Ringo Starr told reporters, “Excellent.  Excellent.  My plan is working.”

I ended part III of my interview with Santa by visiting a local establishment and showing my support for single mothers.  I now present my fourth and final installment.  You know, I don’t mean to brag but I smell a Pulitzer.  And if anyone from the networks is reading this I’m ready for my closeup.

MI:  Where am I?

Doctor:  You’re in a hospital.  The good news is we were able to save one of your testicles.

MI: What happened?

Doctor:  You were found in an alleyway outside a strip club beaten pretty badly.  What did you do to piss off a stripper that much?

MI:  Well I -

Doctor:  I mean the hatred that went into your beating.  You didn’t tell them you were a blogger did you?

MI:  Yes I did.

Doctor:  That explains it.  Never tell a stripper you’re a blogger.  In fact never tell anyone you’re a blogger.  It’s like advertising the fact that you are a broke loser who’s never known the touch of a woman.

MI:  But I am a…..oh never mind.  What day is this?  I have to finish my interview with Santa.

Doctor:  Well you’re in luck.  It’s Christmas Eve and Santa will be visiting us soon.

Santa:  Ho ho ho!

Doctor:  Here he is now!

Santa:  Ho ho ho [sees Manhattan Infidel] Ah crap.  You again.

MI:  Santa!  I have just a few more questions to ask you.

Santa:  Listen punk.  I’m tired of you.  You’re cramping my style.  Do you know how long it took me to convince those four 19-year old strippers that you weren’t my friend before they agreed to tie me up, pour chocolate-flavored nipple licker drops on me and slowly lick me to orgasm?  Do you? Well it wasn’t easy let me tell you.  And these weren’t just any 19-year old strippers.  They were Greek 19-year old strippers who were on the Olympic gymnastics team.

MI:  But my interview?

Santa:  What interview?  I should never have agreed to sit down with you.

MI:  Santa!

Santa:  Look if I give you a present will you quit whining and leave me alone?

MI:  Yes.

Santa:  OK.  I found this in the alley.  I think it’s your other testicle.  No wait.  Sorry. That’s Peter Falk’s glass eye.  He gave it to me at a Christmas party once. Here it is.  Anyway.  Enjoy your testicle.  Not that it’ll do you any good.

MI:  Thank you Santa.

Santa:  Well, I’m off.  I have to deliver presents to all the strippers. I mean all the boys and girls.  Ho ho ho!

And so ended my interview with St. Nick.

And if any of my female readers are wondering I have both my testicles back so look me up.  And no the fact that you recently spent time in prison doesn’t matter to me.

As part II of my exclusive interview with St. Nick ended we had exercised our minds and our bodies in wholesome physical activity.  I  now present part III of my interview with this rather remarkable figure.

MI:  This is a nice place. I’ve never been here before.

Santa:  It’s a bit above your kind.  Just don’t mention you blog.  Hey, there’s my favorite dancer.  Come over and give Santa a lap dance honey.

Desiree:   How my favorite big hunk of man?  Would you like your Christmas present?

[The exotic dancer known as “Desiree” sits on Santa’s lap and proceed to gyrate against him.]

Santa:  Oh yeah. That’s what Santa likes.  You know what Santa wants?

Desiree:  A private lap dance?

Santa:  A private session with you and a few of your dancer friends.  I  have a couple thousand in cash burning a hole in my pocket and it’s all for you baby.

[Santa pulls out a couple hundred dollar bills and slips them down Desiree’s G-string.  He then slaps her on her butt.]

Santa:   Oh yeah.  Look at that flesh.  So smooth. Did you hear the tone when I spanked her?  So tight.  

MI:  Yeah nice.  Manhattan Infidel wants some of that.

[Manhattan Infidel pulls a dollar from his wallet and tries to give it to the exotic dancer known as Desiree.]

Desiree:  What the hell is that?

MI:  It’s a dollar baby.  Come to papa.  This dollar is going down your G-string.

Desiree:  Are you serious?  A dollar?  Are you homeless?

MI:  Um.  It’s your tip.

Desiree:  You disrespect me by trying to give me a dollar?  Don’t touch me moron.  Is he a friend of yours?

Santa:  Ho ho ho. No! 

MI:  I was interviewing Santa.

Desiree:  You’re a reporter?

MI: I have a blog.

Desiree:  Security!  Security!

Santa:  Now you’ve done it.  Didn’t I tell you not to mention you’re a blogger?

[Two security guards come over.]

Guard One:  What’s the problem?  Is this punk bothering you?

Desiree:  Worse than that.  He’s a blogger!

[The two guards pick up Manhattan Infidel and carry him towards the exit.]

MI:  Wait a minute.  I’m Manhattan Infidel.  I’m universally beloved.   My blog brings joy to millions.  I mean hundreds.  I mean dozens.

Guard One:  Shut the hell up. We’re tired of you blogging types coming in here.  You buy one drink.  Spend maybe ten bucks and whine that you’ve never known the touch of a woman.

[They throw Manhattan Infidel into the alley.]

Guard Two:  Let’s rough him up.

Guard One:  The testicles?

Guard Two:  Great idea.

[They proceed to beat Manhattan Infidel up.  Santa walks past Manhattan Infidel to his limo. He has a dancer on each arm.]

Santa:  Ho ho ho.  Looks like you’re screwed fella.

MI:  Help me!

Santa:  Yeah, right pal.  Kick him in the groin once for me will you?

Guard One:  You got it Santa!

End of Part III.

As part I of my interview with Santa ended we were discussing over-regulation and how it is killing business.  I now present part II of my interview with the most popular person among boys and girls around the globe.

Santa:  You want a piece of me?  You want me punk?  Here I am.  Come on punk.  Come at me!

MI:  You’re going down fat boy!

[Manhattan Infidel upends the table separating them.  Grabbing his handy switchblade he motions to Santa to come closer.  Santa breaks off a table leg and swings it over his head.]

MI:  Aaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!! 

Santa:  I’ve been waiting for this for years you….blogger!

[Manhattan Infidel and Santa collide.  Santa  grabs Manhattan Infidel’s hand and starts hitting it repeatedly with the table leg.]

MI:  Not my hand!  Jesus not my hand!  I need that to masturbate.  I mean I need that hand to write my witty blog posts that keep up the spirit of America!

[Manhattan Infidel grabs Santa’s leg and flips him onto his back.  Manhattan Infidel plunges his knife into Santa’s foot eliciting a blood-curdling scream from St. Nick.]

Santa:  Not my foot!  Not my foot!  I need that foot to power my sleigh!

[As Santa attends to his bleeding foot Manhattan Infidel searches for a gun.]

MI:  Where the hell is your gun?  I know you have one you fat bastard!

[Santa grabs the table leg again and slams it into Manhattan Infidel’s chest.]

MI:  Not my nipples!  Not my nipples!  I need them to…..um……what are male nipples for anyway?

Santa:  I’m not really sure.  I read in a book once they were an evolutionary holdover, like the appendix.

MI:  Really?  Cool.

Santa:  Now prepare to die you blogging bastard!

MI:  What a minute.  What are we doing?  I am not the enemy.  The enemy is out there!  Out there!  Millions of bratty kids around the world demanding presents they don’t deserve.

Santa:  I guess you have a point. [Throws down his table leg.]

MI:  Let’s call a truce.

Santa:  I suppose I can agree to a truce.  Hey, I know a good strip club not far from here.  You want to go?

MI:  A gentleman’s entertainment venue?

Santa:  Don’t push it.

End of Part II.

With Christmas fast approaching we here at the Worldwide Headquarters of Manhattan Infidel are pleased that the man himself, St. Nick has agreed to stop by and talk to us.  I thank Santa Claus for taking time out of his busy schedule to sit down for an interview.

MI:  Santa. Thank you.  I know you’re busy this time of year.  Christmas is right around the corner

Santa:  Yeah, five days.  We’re in the home stretch.

MI:  What’s it like delivering toys around the world?

Santa:  It’s difficult.  It gets more difficult every year.  It’s not very profitable.  My business model just doesn’t work anymore.

MI:  Why is that?

Santa:  Well for starters too much damn regulation.  Do you think it’s easy owning a business now?  I have so many regulations I have to comply with I don’t know them all.  God forbid I forget one.

MI:  Must be difficult -

Santa:  Don’t interrupt me punk.

MI:  Um.  Okay.

Santa: Last week I had some people from the EPA visit my factory.

MI:  Why?

Santa:  I said don’t interrupt me punk.  Anyway, they wanted to check if the run off from the factory was melting the ice cap.  They were concerned that the polar bears might be drowning. Let me tell you about polar bears.  Big f#$#ing nuisance.  The come around digging into our garbage cans - I had to invest in bear-proof garbage cans - and they frighten my elves.  I lost one to a bear.  I heard these screams and I ran out and a polar bear was attacking an elf.  It was like that scene in Jaws where Robert Shaw buys the farm.  There was lots of kicking and screaming and blood.

MI:  Wow.  That must have been - 

Santa: Are you deaf you jackass?  I said don’t interrupt me.  You heard about the light bulb ban?

MI:  Yes.

Santa:  I run a business.  Part of that business is an assembly line.  That’s dangerous work.  I keep it well-lighted.  But I had to remove all the 100 watt bulbs and replaced them with these squiggly shitty things.  Now I have no light on the floor.  Do you know how many accidents I’m having now.  People are breaking arms, losing legs, getting pulled into conveyors and squashed.

MI:  I can see how that would be difficult -

Santa:  Alright punk you and me.  We’re having it out.  I told you not to interrupt me.

MI:  Jesus ain’t we a prissy bitch

Santa:  You want a piece of me?  You want me punk?  Here I am.  Come on punk.  Come at me!

MI:  You’re going down fat boy!

End of Part One of my Exclusive Interview with Santa Claus.

Former Governor and Senator from New Jersey and head of the now-bankrupt  MF global, Jon Corzine recently sat down with me for an exclusive interview.   Among the topics of conversation:  How could MF Global have gone bankrupt?  Were no lessons learned from the 2008 financial meltdown? As we walked down Broadway on a brisk December afternoon we stopped by a hot dog vendor.

JC:  Two dogs please.

MI:  Put relish on mine.

JC:  Two dogs, one with relish. [Receives hot dogs from vendor.]  Thank you.

MI:  As I was saying many people wonder how MF Global could go bankrupt.

JC:  It’s a complicated process.

MI:  Where’s my hot dog?

JC:  What?

MI:  You asked for two hot dogs.  He gave you two hot dogs.  Where’s mine?  Did you eat my hot dog?

JC:  I have no idea where your hot dog went.  I honestly, sincerely have no idea where it went.

MI:  You ate my hot dog!

JC:  I an neither confirm or deny this.  All I know for sure is it’s gone.

MI:  I’m sorry.  I guess I’m just being jumpy, what with the economy and all.  But that brings me back to my original question.  What happened at MF Global?  It is now estimated that over one billion dollars is missing.  How can one billion go missing?

JC:  Well, let me just postulate.  And without saying this happened.  Let’s say a beloved ex- senator and governor had an addiction to gambling.  He might take a gamble on say, European debt.  Buying up tons of European debt on little to no margin.  Or let’s say a beloved ex- senator and governor took a couple million down to the track and bet on a 100 to 1 long shot.  Well, these things happen don’t they?  And obviously any missing money that results would be the fault of congressional Republicans.

MI:  Oh come on.  You don’t obviously expect the public to - hey, what the?

JC:  What’s wrong?

MI:  My wallet.  My wallet is missing.  Did you take my wallet?

JC:  I have no idea where your wallet is. Your driver’s license photo is really awful.

MI:  How would you know that unless - hey!  What the -

JC:  Something wrong?

MI:  What happened to my shirt?  I was wearing a shirt. It’s gone.

JC:  I have no idea where your shirt is.

MI:  Well if you say you have no idea I gues - hey, what the?

JC:  Yes?

MI:  My pants.  I was wearing pants.  Where’d they go?

JC:  I have no idea where your pants went.  Well I’m off to the racetrack.

MI:  Wait.  You just can’t leave me here without a shirt, pants or wallet!

JC:  I have lots of friends at the Fed.  They might be able to help you.  Bye.

And so ended my interview with former senator and governor Jon Corzine.  I’m still waiting to hear from someone at the Fed.

In my continuing series of posts designed to better the lives of my readers I now present your daily horoscope.  Yes, I know that I don’t have to better the lives of my readers but I consider it my duty.  And all my readers have to do in return is send me photos of Olivia Wilde. They can be photoshopped.  She can be naked.  But the important thing is:  photos of Olivia Wilde.      

SAGITTARIUS (Nov 23 - Dec 21)

Your energy levels are very high.  Almost as high as you are.  Your drug addiction has cost you your job and family.  Now divorced and friendless you spend most of your time in a lawn chair in your front yard wearing nothing but tighty whities and shouting, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn!” Your lucky number is seven which coincidentally is the same number of bags of cocaine you have you in your house.

CAPRICORN (DEC 22 - JAN 20)

You are very popular.  Everyone at the “Home” likes you.  You are so popular in fact that the nurses have made you a “trustee” enabling you to move around the grounds without your ankle monitoring bracelet.  You even get to choose the time you want to take your “medication.”  The nurses only concern is that sometimes you like to hang out on the front lawn and shout “Hey you kids get off my lawn.  Except for you.  You’re attractive and I’ve never known the touch of a woman.”

AQUARIUS (JAN 21 - FEB 19)

You prefer to be blunt and honest with people, like the time you told police to come back with a warrant before they search your house because you “need time to move the bodies.”  Or the time you told the judge at your trial “Temporary insanity?  Please I knew what I was doing.”  Or the time you told the parole board that “I consider myself fully rehabilitated and would like my freedom because I haven’t killed anybody in years.” Justin Bieber, making his acting debut, will play you in the TV movie. You will begin to reassess your policy on honesty. Your lucky number is 15.

PISCES (FEB 20 - MAR 20)

Something will happen today. But it won’t happen to you.  You’re boring.  No one notices you which will explain why your body will lie on a lawn chair in your front yard for a week before neighbors notice you are dead.  A neighbor will tell the police that “I knew something was wrong.  He wasn’t yelling at my kids to get off his lawn.” You have a lucky number.  Not that it matters.  You’re dead.

ARIES (MAR 21 - APR 20)

Ignore your critics today.  They are just jealous of your front lawn.  Your grass is so thick, so lush, so green.  Your secret? Human blood as fertilizer. The final shootout at your home will involve three SWAT detachments and will be covered live on TV from helicopters hovering overhead.  Finally taken down and captured you will tell police that “I told those kids to get off my lawn!” You don’t have a lucky number but your lucky word is “more” which you will continually scream during late night sessions with your cell mate.

TAURUS (APR 21 - MAY 21)

If you stop worrying for a moment and analyze the situation you will realize that the chances of you staying on the run from authorities in this internet age are probably nonexistent.   Give yourself up.  This is your first ninth violent felony and no state has a “nine strikes and you’re out” law.  Consider yourself lucky it wasn’t your third violent felony. If it were you’d be sent to a maximum security penitentiary without a front lawn.  As it is you’ll probably do minimal time in a “work camp.”  Your lucky number is three.  (Ironic isn’t it.)

GEMINI (MAY 22 - JUNE 21)

A partner or loved one will do or say something today that makes you realize there is a lot about them you don’t understand.  Perhaps they will say something like “Put the gun down I don’t want to die” or “I’m sorry I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to walk across the front lawn.”  In either case you will not understand why they have said this.  The sound of shotgun blasts coming from your basement will startle your neighbors but not as much as the fact that you think George Lazenby was the best James Bond ever.

CANCER (JUNE 22 - JULY 23)

You don’t have to do everything yourself.  Spread the load today - get others to help you.  They will if you ask them nicely.  Okay, I lied.  No one will want to help you bury that school bus filled with hostages but the cops are playing hardball so you have to up the ante.  Just remember to leave air holes for the children to breathe.  This time.  You have a nice lawn.

LEO (JULY 24 - AUG 23)

Why are you even still alive?  Your front lawn sucks.  Get a shotgun and end it all.  Your  lucky number is zero.  As in you are a zero.  After your house is sold people will discover why your front lawn sucks.  All those school buses filled with children buried under your lawn didn’t allow the fertilizer to work.

VIRGO (AUG 24 - SEPT 23)

Minor disagreements could easily get out of hand the next 24 hours, so promise yourself that no matter how provocative certain people may be you won’t rise to the bait.  Perhaps if you camped out on your front lawn with a shotgun people will know you mean business.  Question:  Are they provocative or are you just touchy?  Remember, do not rise to the bait.  Shooting neighbors in the groin will leave you less time to fertilize your front lawn.

LIBRA (SEPT 24 - OCT 23)

You may be tempted to blame someone else when something goes wrong today but if you’re honest you will admit it’s your fault.  You should have left air holes in those buses you buried and now all the hostages are dead.  It’s no big deal.  Everyone will happily forgive you because they wish their front lawn looked as good as yours.

SCORPIO (OCT 24 - NOV 22)

No one cares about you.  You don’t even have a front lawn.  I won’t waste my time giving your horoscope you troglodyte.  Your lucky number is go to hell.

In an unprecedented move to calm world markets, major central banks including the Federal Reserve, the Bank of Canada, the Bank of England and several other central banks no one cares about launched a joint action to provide cheap U.S. dollars to banks in Europe and other parts of the world no one cares about.

Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke (pictured here) told reporters that the decision to provide cheap, emergency U.S. dollars to Europe and those other parts of the world no one cares about was “good economic policy.”

You have nothing to fear.  Remain calm.  All is well!  Remain calm!  All is well!  A financial catastrophe is not imminent!  Remain calm………thank you sir may I please have another?

Bernanke also stressed that while another round of bond buying, known as quantitative easing, was possible the Fed has limited options.

Remain calm!  All is well!  Mommy!  Mommy!  Mommy!  All is well!  Remain calm! Invest in gold!  Mommy!

The Bank of Canada Eh? Governor (pictured here) echoed Bernanke’s sentiments.

There is nothing to fear, eh.  Remain calm, eh. The basic financial structure is sound.  Your retirement savings are safe eh.  Mmm.  Love this Brador’s  beer you hosers.  Yes, technically I know it’s a malt liquor hosers.

The Bank of England Governor (pictured here) told reporters that he fully supports the Fed’s decision to lend cheap U.S. dollars to overseas financial markets.

Remain calm.  All is well.  There is nothing to fear.  Do unto others then run.  I’m not against half naked girls.  Not as often as I’d like to be.  Remain calm.  I have a wild bunch of coconuts.

The European Central Bank President (pictured here) addressed the European Parliament in these words:

Remain calm. All is well.  There is nothing to fear.  Any alliance whose purpose is not the intention to wage war is senseless and useless.  Demoralize the enemy from within by surprise, terror, sabotage, assassination.  This is the war of the future.  Oh, and remain calm.  All is well.

Meanwhile in a far-flung corner of the globe that no one cares about a care package filled with U.S. dollars has arrived at a local village. Villagers, at first ecstatic because they believed the package might contain iPods were bitterly dissapointed to find nothing but U.S. money.  Angry villagers burned the package while chanting “Useless. Useless!”

Editor’s note:  The Manhattan Infidel would like to apologize for any factual errors in this story.

When 38-year old David Johnson arrived home from work he was frankly exhausted.

“It had been a rough day at work.  I was tense.  I need to relax” he told reporters.  “I was hoping to have a few beers and watch the game.”

Instead when he entered his house he was promptly fellated by his wife.  “Imagine my surprise.  Now I’m relaxed!”

Mr. Johnson was so happy and grateful that he immediately went out and bought his wife a new pair of shoes.

“That’s when the trouble began” he said.

Mr. Johnson’s wife told all her friends about her new pair of shoes.  Soon wives and significant others everywhere were demanding the same:  Shoes in return for fellatio.

It was soon after this that many men reported being stressed out at work because of the new arrangement.  Mr. Johnson’s male co-workers now no longer talk to him.

“I’m on a budget” said one.  “Now I have to buy shoes?  You’re kidding.  Johnson’s a jerk.  He’s ruined it for all of us.”

“It’s bad enough I had to buy her shoes” said another.  “But now she’s reversed the order. I Have to buy her shoes FIRST. And there’s no guarantee she’ll fellate me.  They have to be shoes she LIKES!  No wonder I’m drinking more.”

The nonprofit group “Fellatio Without Pressure” warns of the danger to society from the new arrangement.  Said the founder:

Society is based on a contract.  A social contract if you will.  Favors are done with reciprocity in mind.  Except for fellatio.  Men need this to survive.  If we have to start buying shoes in exchange for fellatio or worse buying shoes to get fellatio society will collapse and we will revert back to a stone-age environment.  Look at me!  My wife won’t touch me.  I’m weak.  I bought her shoes but she threw them at me and said she didn’t like them.  Now I’m sleeping in the garage.  My blood pressure is sky-rocketing and the dog’s beginning to look pretty damn good to me. Who am I kidding?  Society is doomed.

He may be right.  Contact has been lost with several cities on the coast. Large fires are reported.  Cars have been overturned to act as makeshift barricades.

“All hell has broken loose” was the last message from Portland, Maine.  “This is worse than the zombie outbreak of ‘07!”

The only segment of society not affected by the breakdown of the social order are shoe manufacturers.

“Business is booming!‘ said one.

This correspondent will brave conditions and continue to report on the story.  I ask male readers to stay strong!  And don’t buy any shoes!  The line must be drawn here!

As readers of my blog may well know I love teenage girls and am legally barred from within getting 100 yards of a high school recently Alec Baldwin deactivated his Twitter account following his controversy with American Airlines.

Being a fair-minded person I hate everybody especially women who won’t let me touch them I asked myself were Baldwin’s tweets about American Airlines an anomaly or are they representative of Baldwin?

Even though his account has been deactivated his tweets still exist. Thanks to my contacts and technical skills I like to make shit up especially when I’m naked I now give my readers a sample of Baldwin’s tweets.

Alec Baldwin

@Daniel Baldwin.   Hey Daniel.  You suck.  I’m embarrassed to have you as a brother.  I’ve slept with Kim Basinger.  Who have you slept with?  Get your fat ass back in rehab.  Oh, and tell mom I said  hello.

Alec Baldwin

Took my car to the shop today.  Uptight jackass told me I needed a new transmission.  Me?  Need a new transmission?  I am Alec Baldwin!  I can buy and sell this mechanic.  He didn’t even give me a complimentary donut!  Oh, and hi mom!

Alec Baldwin

Hairless vagina tried to sell me some girl scout cookies  but told me I couldn’t buy the combo back unless I spent $15 dollars.  Who does she think she is? You may be a girl scout and have a hairless vagina but I’ve slept with Kim Basinger.  Do you know who I am?

Alec Baldwin

Aliens landed on my front lawn and anally probe me.  They also asked me to turn off my electronic devices. Don’t they know who I am?

Alec Baldwin

I ask all my followers to boycott aliens who want to probe them.  I’ve been  letting aliens probe me for years.  Very loyal.  But when they ask me to turn off my electronic devices!

Alec Baldwin

I am not insane!

Alec Baldwin

Turns out I am insane.  Tests prove it.  Doctors and their electronic devices.  I bet no one asks doctors to turn them off.

Alec Baldwin

You call this a rubber room?  I’m Alec Baldwin!  I deserve a better rubber room that this!  I’ve slept with Kim Basinger.  Who have the doctors and orderlies slept with?  I am not turning off my electronic devices.

Alec Baldwin

My medication tastes like alien tongue.

And so readers these are just a sampling of do you like older men honey? Alec Baldwin’s tweets.  I think the evidence shows that is not my semen! that Mr. Baldwin’s controversy with American Airlines is pretty representative of his Tweets.