As I sit here once again 5 hours be-fore we hit the press, two articles yet to be turned in, I wonder… Why do I do it? Is it the cool $300 bucks I clear every month for my trouble? Is it the delusions of grandeur that keep me going? Perhaps I feel it neces-sary to prove that my superiority complex, isn’t just a complex… I think it comes down to this. Corpus Christi is my town. Who cares if you can’ t make a copy after 11pm. If it’s that late you should be somewhere kissing a bottle anyhow. If pissing and moaning is your game, then stay away from me Jack. I live in a town where even atheists have to call themselves Christians, Corpus Christians that is… And maybe it’s a little cornball but dagnabit, sometimes this sparkling city still gives this old man a fat, ripe boner. I love my CC.

xx Letter From Billy xx

x Letters to The Ed xDear Ed, It is me, and by that I mean, it is you. Let me rephrase that… I am the future you, or, if you will, the future us. I have a very im-portant message for me, I mean you about the future, well your future, which is my present. Wait. Let me start again.My name is your name, no, that doesn’t make sense. I am yourself… ourselves. I am the… we are the same person, only I occupy a different… darn, I thought I was on to something there. Okay, you are in the year 2009. I am also in the year 2009, but in my dimension we are already well into the nationally celebrated June-teenth Jubilee. Anyway, the future is, no, will be, a very confusing time for me, and us…now I’m lost… let me get back to you on this.

Dear Ed, This is an attempt to collect an out-standing debt. Any information obtained as a result of this letter will be used for that purpose.The office of Whitmayer, Andrews and Wong, would like to give you the oppor-tunity to close your account with Scabby LLC, for only 60% of the balance owed.

Our records indicate that on Janurary 1st, you were serviced at one of Scabby LLC’s many Corpus Christi locations. The full balance on your account is $37.50, how-ever for a limited time you can close your in good standing for $22.50.Once again, this is an attempt to collect an outstanding debt. Any information ob-tained as a result of this letter will be used for that purpose.

Dear Ed, I heard you were going to the Mayors State of the City address, well whoop-dee-do, good for you. I guess for some of us

$35 dollars actually means something. I guess some of common folk, would like to fill up the old gas tank instead of listen to some windbag mumble on about the city’s deteriorating infrastructure. Excuse me if I don’t wanna spend my day getting an earful of garbage talk about economic development, who do you think I am some sort of brain scientist? Thirty five dollars… for $35 my no good son can go around the world with some Alameda street whore. That’s right, but nooooo, why don’t I make a deposit into the Mayor’s re-election fund, so I can find out that What-a-burger only left because they’re afraid of hurricanes. See if I care.Yours truly, Mama Garrett

Stella StarrMary Wienke

The Vent Daily is a division of The Vent. The Vent is an organization

devoted to enriching Cor-pus Christi through Print, Television, Film, Comedy

and Music. Send all article submis-sions, comments, love letters & naked pics to: ventnation@yahoo.comThe Vent: 361-549-6213

Editor: Nora Gutierrez-Perez

Creative Director:William Henneberger

Writers: Berto Garcia William Henneberger

Stella StarrClaire CavazosMary Wienke

Michael HennebergerMike Skinner

The Daily Disclaimer: The Vent Daily is a

satirical publication and is not intended for read-

ers under 18 years of age. TVD uses invented names in all its stories, except in cases when

public figures are being satirized. Any other use of real names is acci-

dental and coincidental. Any statements made, expressed or implied in TVD are solely those of columnists and do not

represent the position of our advertisers, who do not accept responsibil-ity for such statements.

All characters prod-ucts, and photographs published in TVD are

trademark and © of their respective owners.

page four theventnation.com myspace.com/theventnation

The divorce proceedings of local celebrity Montgomery James Wilcox II, have up until now, been reported as cordial and amiable. However, recent facts have come to light since the final papers were signed that prove otherwise. The divorce was officially finalized on December 20th, 2008, since then, there have been seven instances to which police where called to the millionaire’s address for domestic altercations. In a statement read by Montgomery at a press conference this afternoon, the distraught man pleaded, “For goodness sake, Janie, is there any limit to the nonsense you plan on putting me through? I only get first, third, and fifth week-ends with the children, is it to much

to ask that you don’t keep me de-layed for three hours when I come to collect them… and you have to stop phoning me at my place of business about the quarrels with your mother, that’s no longer any of my concern. I just hope that we can both move on in a congenial fashion, and for the last time, NO, I am not sleeping with your cousin Marcy.” Janie Noyola-Wilcox be-gan to publicly comment about the couple’s dealings after seeing her ex-husband having lunch with Jan-ice Rothschild, at the club. She spoke to the press fol-lowing her ex-husband’s statement saying, “If Montgomery so wishes, he can take his sad tale to that dim-witted vixen with whom he’s been

gallivanting about. Oh yes, I am quite aware of the relationship he began with the widow Rothschild. As far as she is concerned, I hope she becomes a widow twice over… and for his information; I sent word for you to collect the children form my sister’s residence. I’m not sym-pathetic if you didn’t retrieve it.” Public opinion on the mat-ter seems to be evenly split among local aristocrats. “I always thought that Montgomery was such a lovely chap,” remarked Delores Chenoweth, of the Southside Che-noweths, “however with the recent tittle-tattle surrounding their unfor-tunate split, I’d liken him to a com-mon trash collector or AM radio personality.

Area Sophisticate Suffers From Child’s Mother TheatricsBy William Henneberger

Kingsville resident, Jim King, 47, lives a real life fairy tale. After decades of wandering through life aimlessly, he has dis-covered the key to happiness. “I have always felt like I didn’t belong, like I didn’t fit in any-where. I was always trying to find my true self. I’ve tried everything, Christianity, the Peace Corps, for a while I even worked the red light district in Hong Kong, and while

several holes where filled, noth-ing seemed to fill the hole in my heart.” For Jim, it all started when he was mistaken for someone else. A woman on the street thought Jim was an old friend from high school and offered to treat him to lunch. Jim cautiously played along, re-alizing for the first time that his purpose in life was to be someone other than himself.

At first Jim resorted to brutal tactics in order to gain a new identity. He would murder innocent old shut-ins, and live for a few weeks as that person. However once the bodies were discovered his bliss would end

and he would move on to the next unsuspecting town. Thankfully this is no longer the case. “My killing days are over,” Jim remarked, “nowadays it’s all about computers. For years I asked, ‘who am I’ now with just a few clicks, I’m… Daniel Marti-nez of 342 Hillcrest, social security number 442-34-5878 and TX DL # 17134283 or Eric von Wade social security number 332-43-5786.” Jim currently resides on the illustrious King Ranch and stands to inherit 46 million dollars as one of Richard Kings, long-lost great grandchildren. With any luck we can all live such a joyous existence. For now instead of searching the ends of the earth for his destiny, Jim King will be searching through bank dumpsters for your account information.

Local Man Finds True Self As Identity ThiefBy William Henneberger

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Don’t Worry It’s Not Crappy

Here’s the damn review I wroteYou might want to check it quote for

quoteDon’t worry, it’s not crappy.

On every track it is a coverAnd you can skank to it with your

loverDon’t worry, it’s not crappy.

Don’t worry, it’s not crappy now.

CHORUS:Don’t worry, it’s not crappy. Don’t

worry, it’s not crappy.Don’t worry, it’s not crappy. Don’t

worry, it’s not crappy.

John Mellencamp is in your headJam a Tom Petty cover insteadDon’t worry, it’s not crappy.

The Eagles or perhaps some SladeThe two tracks from Poison are great

Don’t worry, it’s not crappy.

CHORUS:

(Look at me -- it’s not crappy. Don’t worry, it’s not crappy.

Here I give you my phone number. When you worry, call me,

I’ll play Brown Eyed Girl. Don’t worry, it’s not crappy.)

Ska Punk is back , it is the stylePlay it for your gal and make her

smileDon’t worry, be happy.

Rock Ridge Music put this record outAnd Reel Big Fish is getting down

Don’t worry, it’s not crappy.

CHORUS:

(Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t do it.It’s not crappy.. Put some horns in

your face.Reel Big Fish has got it down

Don’t worry. Im Billy Bass, I’ll tell you how it is.

Don’t worry, it’s not crappy.I’m not worried, it’s not crappy...)

By Big Mouth Billy Bass (to the tune of Don’t Worry Be Happy)

Reel Big FishFame, Fortune and FornicationRock Ridge MusicRelease Date: Jan. 20, 2009

myspace.com/theventnation theventnation.com page nine

Before I get started, I would first like to offer an apology to all of the people who continuously sac-rifice their time, energy, and ideas to the production of this paper. I would also like to thank all of the advertisers who have stuck with us, going into what will be our third year of publishing. Also, if there are any actual readers out there who hap-pen to enjoy the hackneyed drivel that infinitely spews forth from be-tween my liar’s teeth, well then I suppose I missed you too. My hia-tus (not that any of you are inter-ested) was essentially brought on by a physically painful feeling of mediocrity that had begun to per-meate everything in my world. Early in the fall of last year, it was brought to my attention that I was offering a less-than-average product, comparatively speak-ing. My editor was quick to let me know that my submissions were very clearly not in top form, or even middle form for that matter. In retrospect, I believe that this was probably due to the fact that I had been consistently using the space provided to quip almost entirely about myself. I had steered away from the original idea of this col-umn, which was to discuss current, relevant events from a subjective-ly honest point of view. Instead, I took the easy route. I actually took the road more traveled. Why wouldn’t I? Most people simply wait for their turn to talk anyway. However, in my case the obvious difference was that I had access

to a medium that would allow me to ramble to my heart’s content on a regular basis without the be-ing bothered by someone else’s opinion. I took advantage of that

fact and then I be-came lazy. Life as I knew it had be-came heated and numb and my con-tributions suffered as a result.

As I’m sure most of you know, you don’t need to work very hard to feel as though you have nothing relevant to contribute to the universe. Especially when you live in such a disappoint-ingly predict-able city, like we all do. Anyone who has ever read my column knows full well how I feel about Corpus Christi. Around these parts, it’s easy to fall into the clichéd routine of the young adult. You work without passion. You drink without merriment. You fuck without feeling, and then you do it again. Now, I’m not imply-ing that this isn’t the case in every city and every town all around the world, it’s just that I live here so I am literarily obligated to discuss matters that lay closest to home. It seems as though every time I feel like this sparkling city has broken me down to my most basic of ele-ments, she goes right on ahead and surprises me with a taste of popu-lar culture that sets my heart free. In case you haven’t guessed it, I’m talking about Corpus Chris-ti’s Sexiest People 2009. Up until this weekend, I was

unaware that this contest even ex-isted. I accidentally caught a brief portion of a local sports talk radio program on my way into work and I was informally introduced to what was left of the “celebrity” contes-tants. From what I can tell, the fe-male group is comprised mostly of young (ish), attractive (ish) women who work in Public Relations and a half-dozen or so television news anchors. The male group is a touch more eclectic. There is an interest-ing mix of the young and the not-so- young, running the gamut from the tattooed hipster to the middle-

aged business owner. I call these choices interest-ing because I don’t feel comfortable calling them sexy.

I mean, Lee Sausley? Really? The more I look at this contest, the more it looks like a stroke job. There isn’t one downtown bartender on the list, male or female. There are two city council mem-bers and Juan Garcia though. Is the city council sexy? Did I miss something? I will say that I was pleasantly sur-prised to find Hobo Fred from the band Hobo and Tina Martinez from The Golden Meanies advanc-ing through the rounds, although due to my cynicism I am forced to believe that they are being kept in the race due to the un-vote, which is to imply that people are vot-ing for them simply to take votes away from the other contestants. This whole fiasco simply reminds me how much this city lacks in

creativity and culture. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the downtown scene or “D-Town” as nobody calls it, is little more than a hollow shell. These same real-tors and city council members and lawyers and property managers that are being idolized by the local community are also responsible for the current state of affairs in the downtown area. I’m not sure if any of you have noticed but 50% of the buildings are not only vacant but also decrepit. There’s no reason to even bother going down there un-less you like to drink or you need to catch a bus. It should come as no sur-prise that in today’s disposable, Us Weekly society, people will take time out of their day in order to cast their online votes to decide who is sexier, a conservative radio talk show host or a member of the city council. When in fact, these same people didn’t even contemplate ac-tually voting for the city council. I

suppose this is the world that we live in now. When Billy first asked me to come aboard,

he said that he wanted to start a revolution. He said he wanted to change the way people in this town think and after two years, I still be-lieve in that concept. I just need to try harder. We all need to try harder. This city could belong to us. This city should belong to us. If you keep on reading, I’ll keep on writing and hopefully, someday we will affect change. Until then I ad-vise you to pay attention.

Social Distortion: Corpus Christi's Sexiest People 2009by Mike Skinner goldncow@yahoo.com

Instead, I took the easy route. I actually took

the road more traveled. Why wouldn’t I?

The more I look at this contest, the more it

looks like a stroke job.

...these same people didn’t even contemplate actually voting for the

city council.

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Why is it ex-tended breaks f r o m school a n d w o r k , instead o f

making me feel rested and revived, invari-ably make me long for death? Two weeks of being shut in with my tots, spending way too much money on pizza and Thai delivery because I just can’t seem to find a clean pot to boil spaghetti in, being sub-jected to repeated screenings of Kung Fu Panda and WALL-E (and repeated tugs at my shoulder with a little voice shout-ing in my ear, “Look, Mommy, isn’t EVE cute when she sneezes?”), not being able to walk two feet without stepping on a piece of Lego or skidding on some glitter-encrusted artwork, waking up with said glitter all over my body... it’s enough to make any mom want to slit her wrists. You’d think a change of scenery would be just the remedy for the Winter Break Blues. But, alas, the flight from the damp, rainy, not-cold-but-not-hot drudgery that is the South Texas winter season wasn’t as rejuvenating as I though it would be. I’ve just returned from a week-long ski trip with my children and several other family members, and now I really feel like I need a vacation. We went to a small resort that my brothers and sisters visited many times during our childhood. The place is renowned for its children’s ski program, and since it would be the first time my kids hit the slopes, I knew they would be in good hands. I did have a little apprehension regarding my son. Both my kids are very athletic, but my son is going through a moody, too-cool-for-you stage (he’s 12). He also gets dis-couraged easily. I said several Hail Marys when I forked over the $400 for three days of ski school and hoped for the best. As it turned out, my son was a demon on the snow. After just two days of les-sons, he was zipping down blue trails like Alberto Tomba. He had no fear and loved the icy conditions. His lips were chapped and cracking, his cheeks were pink and numb. He looked like he’d grown up in

the mountains, and he was loving every minute of it. My daughter was fabulous, too. Because of her age (she’s 6) her group did not go all the way to summit like my son’s did, but she did master the most difficult green runs. Unfortunately, she developed an ear infection and had to stay in for a couple of days. All in all, my and my kids’ experience was, for the most part, positive. It was the other players in the production that nearly turned the whole exercise into a horror film. Traveling with my children and me were my 30-year-old sister Liza and her 4-year-old son Damien, my little sister Jill (22), my parents, and one of my aunts. When we met at the airport, everyone was smil-ing and bright eyed. It felt just like the trips we’d taken so many years ago. Ev-eryone was ready to have fun. Everyone except for my nephew. Tiny and blond, with huge green eyes, he looks like a Gap-Kids model. He’s gorgeous and probably has an i.q. of 170. Worst of all, he knows he’s smarter than any adult in the room. As I and my kids breezed through the slid-ing doors, trailing our bags behind us, I smiled down at him and said, “Hello, gor-geous! Give your auntie a kiss!” “You’re not sitting next to me on the plane!” he snarled, his bitty little arms crossed. “Oh, someone’s tired!” cooed my moth-er. “Poor little guy,” concurred my aunt, beaming down at the hellion. “He’ll prob-ably sleep on the flight.” The only adult who wasn’t trying to pooh pooh my nephew’s behavior was his mother, who crouched down next to him and swatted him on the bottom. “You say you’re sorry to Auntie Stella!” The child said nothing. He simply turned around and started to walk down the ter-minal. Fortunately, our seating assignments were such that I did not sit next to Damien. Since I sat several rows away from him and Liza, I wasn’t sure if the flight had gone well for them. But when we arrived in Denver and stood up to grab out carry-ons, one look at Liza’s face told me she was ready to blow. “I feel like getting on another flight right

back to Houston,” she hissed as we inched our way out of the plane and into the ter-minal. She said that Damien had kicked the seat in front of him incessantly, tossed his sandwich at the flight attendant’s head, farted loudly several times and giggled, and repeatedly said, “I HATE that wom-an,” pointing at a passenger sitting across the aisle. “This is going to be a long week,” she sighed. “It’ll be okay,” I tried to reassure her. “Maybe the cold weather and altitude will tire him out, and he’ll nap a lot.” But I was secretly hoping she would turn around and go back home. The next five days were a flurry of rent-ing equipment, signing up for lessons, purchasing lift tickets, and multiple cell phone calls to meet here and there on and off the mountain. My kids were unchar-acteristically well behaved. On most trips, security usually shows up at our hotel door a few times, and I end up shelling out for three or four movies ordered while I was in the shower. But apparently the frigid weather and full days on the slopes wore them out, and they had no pluck left to bash each other over the head at the end of the day. Except when Damien was in our room. Gummi Bears, corn chips, and uncapped lip balm tubes were used as projectile weaponry. Fistfuls of hair littered the floors. Everyone was hopped up on Mars bars and soda. Days that should have ended with us sipping hot chocolate and watching the silently mes-merizing snowfall outside our chalet usually ended with at least two children howl-ing, usually my two. Liza pretty much spent all of her evenings weeping as well, bewildered as to why she ever agreed to spend six days in hell. It had been a while since I’d traveled with my family. For the first few days I wondered how my even-tempered sis-ter could have birthed such a monster. Then, on our fourth morning, my daughter woke up with

an earache. After taking her temperature, I told my sisters and my dad that I was stay-ing in for the day. “Well that’s just swell,” said my father with a scathing glare. “You know I put your ski rental fee on my credit card? And you rented the performance skis! Those are 80 bucks a day! And now you’re wast-ing a whole day...” He stalked off to find his gloves, muttering angrily. I stared at my mom. “What does he want me to do? Annie’s running a temp of 102!” She rolled her eyes. “Just ignore him. He’s on the rag.” When my father left the hotel room, he slammed the door. But that evening, he brought me a small box of Godiva choco-lates and some throat lozenges for Annie. After dinner he opened up the trail map on the table and told me he wanted us to go to the summit the next day and ski the 17 miles down all together as a family. “But only if Annie’s feeling better.” “Sure, Dad,” I smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

I just got an e-mail from my father. He wants to take the kids on a safari in Kenya for spring break. “Let’s ask Liza if she’s free so she and Damien can go, too,” he wrote. I’ve already found 3 family-friend-ly resorts that are sure to be a fucking blast.

Stella Starr: Mommy On The EdgeBon F***ing VoyageStella takes a holiday en famille & puts the “fun” back in her family’s dysfunction.

Peanut Butter Candy

A stash of these in a ziplock in your handbag will keep the kiddies quiet while your flight gets bumped back again

and again.

1 cup natural peanut butter (smooth or crunchy)1 cup honey

1/2 cup powdered sugar, plus extra for dusting3/4 cup powdered milk or powdered soymilk

Beat peanut butter and honey in a large bowl with a wooden spoon until smooth. Sift in powdered sugar gradually, and beat until smooth. Add powdered milk. Roll mixture into small egg shapes and coat in powdered sugar. If you’re

keeping these for a few days, put them in the fridge so they won’t get gooey. But they’ll

keep for several hours at a cool room temp.

theventnation.com myspace.com/theventnation page eleven

D iscount Shopp ing Is Not A S in I was raised by very frugal parents. I was taught from a young age that Wal-Mart was a very good place to find most of your household and personal necessities; that the thrift store is like going on a treasure hunt; and that finding a bargain is often an extreme sport. I guess maybe that is why now that I am in my twenties I do not under-stand the appeal behind designer clothing, lavish sunglasses, and name brand tags. I find myself con-fused, confounded, and generally cynical when someone mentions their new shoes or makeup, citing that they paid hundreds of dollars for something impractical that no one really cares about or should care about. Really, how often do you notice what someone else is wearing, unless it is outrageous or obscene? If your answer is often, I have to say to you friend that you need to find another hobby. I have been cited by many of my close acquaintances as being an extremely observational person, trust me it is much more interest-ing to watch someone pantomime a story from a distance than it is to point out that the girl standing next

to me has expensive lip gloss. Oh, and if you think that men care, let me break it to you, they don’t. I am sure no one ever pointed this out to you, men only care about how short your skirt is, not what label is on it. And I am also sure any man could care less who made your shirt as long as they can get it off of you. For those of you that want to emu-late your favorite celebrities, well that’s cool, I guess, considering that those fashionable celebrities are typically drug induced and riddled with alcohol. I’m just pointing out the facts. Since we are living in a nation of debt right now, you should maybe consider (and this is just me talk-ing) not perpetuating the cycle and instead get yourself ahead in life. I am not trying to put you down I am just curious. What does spending a crap load of money get you in life? I really think the answer is nada, for those of you who don’t speak Span-ish, nothing. So if you that think discount shop-ping is taboo maybe you should take a better look at your life; find that hole you are trying to fill; and stuff it with your designer scarf, be-cause fashion can’t buy you love, fame or financial stability.

By Mary Wienke