When first notified of my inclusion on the list of the Most Illustrious Denizens of Dallas (p.98), compiled by the staff of this incredibly adequate periodical, I composed in response a heartfelt epistle of abounding elegance regarding my gratefulness at having been honored as the single greatest citizen ever to reside within the borders of this second Eden we’re privileged to call our home. Only after submitting my dispatch for publication was I informed that I—the founder of the greatest city ever to grace the face of Earth—had been ranked at the lowly No. 11 spot. With the D Media Elite uninclined to address this atrocity, it falls to me to expose the vast conspiracy that has stifled what is obviously the popular will.
We must begin by asking: who benefits most from this distortion of reality? It cannot be mere coincidence that two prominent representatives of the National Concussion League—Messrs. Landry and Staubach—are the lead pretenders to my rightful throne. Is this, then, revenge for my hard-fought personal crusade against the horrors of football? The tight pants, the dog piles, the barbaric man-on-man action in front of thousands of cheering spectators—have they no shame when children are watching?
Or perhaps it’s the promoters of a more soporific sport who have sought to keep me down. How else to explain Byron Nelson (a man who strolled grassy meadows for a living) or Nolan Ryan (famous for standing motionless on a dirt hill for hours at a stretch) supposedly out-placing me in the hearts of Dallasites?
Also, D Magazine’s attorneys have asked that I not cast aspersions upon the Teutonic heritage of Herr Nowitzki, but you can fill in the suspicious blanks yourself. Likewise the real estate lobby remains too powerful for me to imply that just because Ebby Halliday made a fortune helping herself to a percentage of her clients’ hard-earned assets, it’s absurd to see her fifth-place finish as legitimate.
Still, there remains the possibility that these far less worthy competitors are as much victims of the cabal as am I. In fact, having cogitated upon the matter for several hours, I can say with assurance that I have uncovered what the Powers That Be would prefer remain hidden.
The fullest extent of these dastardly deeds came into focus when I recalled a recent luncheon I shared with an ink-stained wretch to whom I have served, lo these many years, as an anonymous source for his many pieces exposing the ways in which the machinery of Dallas has time and again run roughshod over the proletariat. I cannot identify this reporter by name, so I shall refer to him instead as Schim Jutze.
As it happened, on this particular day, I was expounding upon my knowledge of the reasons that Mayor Michael Rawlings and his associate, Mr. Walter Humann, were so hard pushing for a private takeover of Fairest Park by a secretive foundation. As you’re doubtless aware, I have authored several monographs regarding the heretofore unrealized side effects of the consumption of meal-battered sausages. Among my countless areas of expertise is therefore the identification, at a glance, of corn dog junkies. I’d brought along for Mr. Jutze’s inspection my research demonstrating that Messrs. Rawlings and Humann display all the signs of the affliction: trust in top-down management of governance, impatience for answering questions, a propensity for carrying everywhere a squeeze bottle of French’s mustard.
So passionate had I become in detailing my findings that I initially failed to notice, skulking in the shadows at a corner table, Mr. Carlos “Chuck” Norris, the magnificently bearded top enforcer of the dangerous Fletcher’s Corny Dog Syndicate. Though my post-corporeal existence made it quite impossible for Mr. Norris to physically bully me into silence, it’s clear now that that was the day he and his masters hatched a scheme to discredit my influence and lessen the effects of my revelations by fixing the vote to place their chosen lackey above me in D Magazine’s list.
Expect any day now that former President George W. Bush will come out in favor of Mr. Humann’s group winning the contract to run Fairest Park. And, when that happens, look carefully for the subtle but unmistakable stain of yellow condiment upon the edge of his jacket’s lapel.
—As told to Jason Heid