I
want to set the record straight. First of all, in the ten months that I have worked here at Yellow Dog, I have at no time been caught in the copy room photo copying certain parts of my body. The editor of this magazine is mistaken. And he should be ashamed of spreading such rumours. I would never stoop to such low life levels of human indecency. I never said a word about his disgusting habit of prancing around the office in his Superman underoos when the staff has gone home.

The facts are as follows: I have fulfilled my role as staff accountant and color coordinator of Yellow Dog to the best of my ability. As far as Mr. Rice's allegations that the blues and reds of this magazine don't mix and cause him to want to throw up every time he reads the latest issue, I dare remind him of the color coordinator who worked with us at the now defunk, yet still amazingly a cult favorite, New York based Bottoms Up, Shawn O'Dougal. Yes, Shawn O'Dougal. It took three months of ads in The Times do undone that demon's foul work. Imagine, mauve and burnt hazel on the same page! And that retouched photo of Nancy Reagan! Who authorized the printing of that? If Mr. Rice feels like throwing up, it is the tarnished legacy of his publishing company's past color coordinators that have done this. Not me.

As for my accounting skills, it should be made public knowledge that I saved this company the Howard Johnson accountant as well as the Bounty accountant. There shall be no talk of stolen accounts while I am on staff. And I want a key to the ladies' room as well!

I also want to touch on the matter of renegade writer Gonzalez. Certain unidentified sources have led me to believe that Mr. Rice has also been spreading rumours in the company coffee room as well as the Gainesville bar he frequents, The Salty Dog Saloon, that I am Gonzalez. It is true that while a youthful girl studying accounting at the Fisher School of Accounting, I once proclaimed myself Gonzalez during a drunken free for all at the Purple Porpoise bar on University Avenue. I never forgave myself for throwing that half full bottle of Dos Equis at Bill Raftery. But I am not the writer Gonzalez! It is well known that he is a sordid type who believes in voodoo, is addicted to Gilligan's Island, and worships Barbara Striesand. I hate that damn song, "Guilty."

I hope that I have made things clearer for this magazine's readership as well as Mr. Rice. I have already written up my letter of resignation and the very moment Mr. Rice makes these allegations again or attempts to call me at my Atlanta office where all of my calls are monitored (a fact he knows well having once worked for the Mossad), I will sign said document and deliver it Federal Express.

I also hope that we can put this matter behind us and get on with our work. I do agree with Mr. Rice that this magazine has a reputation to live up to, a reputation of being the finest source of pop culture journalism in the Western hemisphere. And we are the only pop culture magazine to ever win a Tony. To this day, I am extremely proud of the accounting work I did on "Touch Me, Touch Me, Touch Me."

So, as Mr. Rice would say (when he's not drunk that is): On with the dog.

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