When All Else Fails, Let the After-party Roll!

Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs for Hyper-Citation, Inc. faxes a special memo to her wayward brother, Morris Bartlett Crimpanfortis, V, as he languishes in coal country. Noreen previously copied him on the all-network memo, commanding every decision-maker in stations across the country to stay clear of anyone who hints of a Kalabrashion connection. Noreen makes mention of the fact that the after-party for the Silt Ridge Midnight News, when put up on the satellite, has gained worldwide attention. Apparently, no one is watching the local newscasts, but they’re tuning in from all over the world to catch the extravagant after-parties, held in the lot out in back of the towering Graphite County Opera House. Noreen notices that there is a lot of property in back of the opera house, representing a lot of lawn to mow. Morris seemingly has a problem with his sister’s analytics, as the property in back of the opera house is still covered with snow. He wonders how he should respond to this. What if they resort to using snow blowers? The memo slips disconsolately from his cluttered desk to the littered floor, and he just leaves it there . . .  

TO: Morris Bartlett Crimpanfortis, V

FROM: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

RE: You’d Better Start Paying Attention!



I don’t know if you’re going to see this. I don’t know if your fax machine works. I don’t know if the satellites are working. I don’t even know if you look at what comes across your transom. But if you do see this, I urge you to ACT on it and FOLLOW ALONG with what I’m trying to impart to you.

FIRST, you are surely aware that I have rang the ALARM BELL on yet another dastardly Kalabrashion takeover ploy. This one involves the fine folks at Kentucky Power Glide. You may have already seen the preliminary plans. It’s going to be really elaborate, one of the most elaborate ever, with this undulating sod bridge high above the Jersey Turnpike.

The Undulating Sod Bridge: Quite a Sight

Don’t ask me, I don’t what they do to make it undulate. Nor do I fully understand why it even has to undulate in the first place. But I just know it adds to the excitement for motorists of seeing people mowing the lawn high above. Then, you have all the ancillary stuff, including the flying grass blades and dandelions. Well, you get the picture. I’ll be going back there to kick off the launch. I don’t think you’ll be needing to make a plane ticket, though I guess it’s within driving distance for you. C’EST LA VIE, Y’ALL.

Morey, I don’t need to tell you about the games the Kalabrashions play. They’ll smile at your face and shiv you in the back as cool as a cucumber, no questions asked. Their latest sham involves pretending to be friendly landscapers. Has anyone approached the opera house yet to bid on mowing? If so, I need you to REPORT THIS ACTIVITY immediately to me. The same goes if anyone else in that backwater burg of Silt Ridge has received inquiries about placing landscaping bids. Don’t take this the wrong way, Morey, but do people in that sorry neck of the woods even have lawns? Or is it just kind of the slovenly-weed-encrusted-moss bank mentality? Don’t listen to me; that was a low blow.

Diabolical Landscapers with Deep-Seeded Issues

But you, dear brother YOU it seems have a rather large target on your back. My research shows that there’s a substantial expanse of lawn in back of the Graphite County Opera House that you use for parking. How do I know this? Well, it seems that one of your enterprising techies on the Silt Ridge Midnight News has taken to streaming your pre-news tailgate parties and sprawling after-parties on the international satellite network. When, of course, the satellites work.

Don’t Forget about the After-parties

I checked the analytics recently, and there are millions . . .  MILLIONS of people tuning in to your tailgate parties and after-parties. Don’t get me wrong, NOBODY watches the midnight news. Those pathetic efforts are abysmal, by the way. But the parties? Wow Morey! You’re scoring some awfully big numbers. Father would be proud. WRONG! He can’t know a thing about this. How would that make his empire look, having a station known for its after-parties more than for the actual newscasts? NICE GOING, dear brother, your incompetence WINS THE DAY YET AGAIN!

One thing I did notice: the parking lot in back of the opera house is grass. I know it gets awfully beat up in the snow, but this is one more place where the Kalabrashions can score boffo points. If I were you, I’d really be on guard about nice people knocking on your door to take care of the lawn out in back. Can you envision the mayhem they can cause if they get the contract and then run roughshod during an after-party? What makes the whole thing worse is the satellite coverage. The WHOLE WORLD would be looking on as they took it to the Crimpanfortis family on their own territory. Oh Morey, even you must be able to see how detrimental such a scenario would be!

Therefore, dear brother, I ask you, I plead with you, I beseech you to please, please, PLEASE heed my warning and take the proper precautions when total strangers knock on the Will-Call Office door and ask to take care of your landscaping needs. REALIZE that you are staring into the eyes of the enemy, and take immediate action that will make the Crimpanfortis family PROUD OF YOU.

Heightened Alert for Smarmy Landscaper Bids

Instead of bombarding me with your constant and useless barrage of weak pitches, I seriously recommend that you focus the majority of your efforts on thwarting the enemy, thus keeping Silt Ridge pure and pristine, and free of the ravages of the cabal of Kalabrashion vultures.

But don’t, and I repeat . . . DO NOT produce a public service announcement warning fellow citizens about the imminent threat posed by the evil pack of landscapers. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Morey, but if there’s a way that a simple PSA could coalesce into a scalding hot mess, something tells me you would FIGURE OUT A WAY!

Grass-slaying Hyenas Get No On-air Love

Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs for Hyper-Citation, Inc., orders this dictate for the higher-ups at the various TV stations across the country owned by her father, the legendary Morris Crimpanfortis, IV: under no circumstances are they to give any airtime, or mention any names of the salivating hyenas who want to take their empire down. In a scathing all-company memo, Ms. Crimpanfortis warns stations along the line to turn a cold shoulder on any requests for commercial airtime or news features. The Kalabrashion crowd will stop at nothing to get their evil brand of malice front and center in the public’s mind, so this will serve as a notice to be on the lookout when these seemingly innocent businesspersons who come knocking on your pristine corporate doors. If you have a lapse of judgement and hire one of the crews, it’s all on you; Hyper-Citation will try coming at the problem from fifteen different angles, but at the end of the day, if you ignore this memo, it becomes fully your deal to figure out . . .

TO: All Network Personnel Including General Managers and News Directors

FROM: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

RE: Shutting Down the Kalabrashions


Read this and react at your own peril. I am requesting you – no, check that . . . I am ORDERING you to refrain from giving the Kalabrashion jackasses one MINUTE of mention on your TV stations, including all broadcast, streaming and social media platforms. That means no mention in newscasts and definitely, NO SPOT BUYS.

Here’s the deal: it’s not like this has never happened before. Every time Hyper-Citation rolls out a new display, these arrogant jackals feel the need to throw their two-cents into the mix. Case in point: remember what they did in response to our spider web in Music City? They went on a multi-city tour and poured out dump truck after dump truck of live roaches into crowded movie theaters, concert venues and jam-packed shopping malls. Big joke, right? Hah-hah. I’m still laughing myself silly over that one. WRONG!

High-minded Cockroaches Dealing with Co-op Dollars

Those louse-ridden cretins are it again, counterfeiting another one of my father’s glorious testimonies to commerce, art, advertising and magnificent visual splendor. My family’s plans call for an undulating sod bridge high above the Jersey Turnpike to showcase the stellar qualities of the Kentucky Power Glide lawn mower line. You may recall airing multiple flights on your stations in the past. You scored some nifty co-op dollars off that little lash-up right? That paid the electric bills, and handsomely padded someone’s commission check. I’m not being smart here, I’m just reminding you where your loyalties had better lie. Where your bread and buttocks are buttered. You CATCH MY DRIFT?

The Kalabrashions have found a new way to draw attention to their devilish enterprises while attempting to drag us down in their malicious undertow. My sources tell me that they have galvanized a desperate campaign to turn lawn mowing into a horror show. Here’s how it works: they worm their way into a town, undercutting the competition – and you better not call me on the fact that I just made a pun – and act all cheerful and polite. They keep this mealy M.O. up for a few weeks, for three or four quality cuts – and then BLAM! It’s lights out.

Making Mincemeat of Lawn & Garden Parties

What do I mean by that? Well, they’ll show up uninvited and unexpectedly at lawn parties and outdoor weddings and they’ll turn on the charm in the most bizarre, disconcerting of ways: in this case it means heavily supercharged lawn mowers that have been distinctively customized to bring out the greatest levels of fright in the intended victim – meaning the stunned and frightened customer. It gets worse, because after tearing up the lawn and peoples’ sanity during precious outdoor events, they then take it to high school stadiums while actual GAMES ARE BEING PLAYED! I don’t have to tell you the mess that results when they take out their venom on artificial turf. It’s a blizzard of stems, with whirring blades converging RIGHT ON THE PLAYERS!

Free Airtime Going Forward a Definite No-no

So listen up people – and I’m especially talking to you, GMs, GSMs, AEs, News Directors, social marketers and brand managers – do not, and I repeat DO NOT give these salivating jackasses one IOTA of free airtime during the news or as advertising clients. They relish making their antics into news events. DON’T GIVE THEM THE SATISFACTION. If you must report these landscaping travesties, do so in a vague way. Make it seem like small-time antics, like this is kid stuff. Don’t – and I repeat DO NOT attribute these putrid indiscretions to ANYONE. And do not, DO NOT NAME NAMES! No harm, no foul – NO BIG DEAL, right?

I’m glad that’s all understood. But let this serve as sufficient warning: if I get wind of any of you attaching the Kalabrashion name to one of these grass clipping fiascos, your job status in the vaunted CRIMPANFORTIS TELEVISION GROUP will be severely in jeopardy. Coppice?

Now that we’ve cleared the air on this score, carry on. Please.

Cheesy Supercharged Lawn Parties

We are given a queasy glimpse into the despicable motives of the Kalabrashion crowd as they prepare to invade the depressing town of Silt Ridge. Toby Klabenschattz, local beat writer for the Times Herald Chronicle, outlines the band of jackals’ desperate game plan. They will smile in your face while pretending to be respectable landscapers. Then, the minute your back is turned, the hooliganism explodes into “Full-Jackal Frenzy.” Instead of showing up before your garden party, they show up DURING the affair. You think they have mufflers on those thundering air-cooled, supercharged power plants? Think again. But the deafening racket is the least of the homeowners’ problems. Then we have the cold-blooded proposition of the mower blades. They are horrendously prominent on the front ends of these customized contraptions that are designed to do more than cut grass. And then there’s the issue of artificial turf. Word has it they’re hatching a vile plan to invade the town’s stadium during the middle of a high school football game, where they are guaranteed to make mincemeat of the down markers, and everything in between . . .

Lawn Mowing to Make Your Armpits Pucker

Shades of Evil Invade Lawn Mowing Proposition

It has come to my attention that we have some real hard-bitten shenanigans afoot, and the whole kit and caboodle might be coming to the idyllic shores of Silt Ridge. By that I mean the Kalabrashion crowd, and their reckless brand of hooliganism that will make your armpits pucker and your toenails curdle.

Somehow, these spiritless heathens have figured out a way to pervert the age-old pastime of mowing the lawn. I’ll give one for you, and I’m sure a lot of you out there can relate. Remember as a kid, going to a night game at the pro baseball park? Remember going up the steps and then looking down the main part of the stadium onto the field? Remember how magical the whole thing looked – the verdant, manicured grass bathed in incandescent brilliance? Well, take that precious vision, and then besmirch it with the onerous antics of the Kalabrashions.

Lawn Mowing Advisory – Watch the Jackals You Hire

The jackals’ latest stunt (and I mean stunt in a childish, awful and perverted way) is in direct opposition to the purity of a new display being mounted by the folks at Hyper-Citation, Inc. Being from Silt Ridge, you should know that Hyper-Citation is the proud owner of WXX-TV, as well as the Graphite County Opera House. The legendary Morris Crimpanfortis IV is still, to my knowledge, calling all the shots. But we in Silt Ridge are privileged to have the son, Morris Crimpanfortis V, as General Manager of the television station. I have found Mr. Crimpanfortis to be more than generous with his time in discussing the various affairs of our fair community.

But here’s what you need to watch out for: do not, and I repeat . . . DO NOT, under any circumstance, outsource your lawn mowing needs to strangers. My sources tell me that the Kalabrashions are literal wolves in sheep’s clothing as they infiltrate other communities across this great country. They appear all sweetness and light at first, and sign up customers like they’re the friendliest chaps you could ever do business with. And they maintain that sunny disposition for the first couple of cuts. Then LOOK OUT! The tide will turn, and not for the best. Instead of affable, likeable landscapers, they will don the typical fright gear, including the menacing masks, and their lawnmowers will sprout fangs. I mean LITERALLY SPROUT FANGS!

No Sissy Riding Mowers for this Crowd

Don’t think for one minute the Kalabrashion cabal goes in for riding mowers. No, they accomplish all of their treachery on foot, behind push mowers. What better way to sneak up on unsuspecting souls than with a push mower? Huh? Try that one on for size.

Listen to me while I tell you how they operate. They finagle their way into your life, they get you feeling all warm and fuzzy about their existence, and then WHAM – here they come to make your life a miserable pit of despair. Do you have a garden party coming up? How about an outdoor wedding? Maybe your high school is having a homecoming football game. Leave it to the Kalabrashion crowd to work its bubbling cauldron of despicable treachery into every last crack and fissure of your pursuit of good times.

Their machines of destruction will appear as the heads of ravenous beasts as their grinding blades, sharpened beyond any measure of well-intentioned reason, are poised to make you think twice about ever going OUTSIDE AGAIN! Hear me people as I warn you, this pack of wolves is out for your complete, wholesale destruction. And if you give in to them the first time, they will come roaring back for more and MORE AND MORE!

Artificial Turf Need Not Apply

Finally, woe to any of you high schools with artificial turf. The band of blistering jackasses will put the blades down low and shower the premises with ersatz grass blades, not stopping even if there’s a play going on in the middle of a football game! And here these babbling cretins are running ruinous lawn mowers through your peace-loving lives and leaving a swath of devastation that has no right, no rhyme or reason of being part of our communal vernacular.

Do I make myself abundantly clear about keeping this horrific band of landscapers from taking over our beloved American towns?