An Open Letter to Klyde Warren
That's grass in the middle there. Eventually it will be replaced by trampolines.
Welcome to Alice Column, in which Alice Laussade writes stories about things on (roughly) the same day of (roughly) every week, making it (roughly) a column. Got an idea for a column? Start your own blog and write it up, you lazy shit.
Dearest The Klyde Warren,
It's my hope that you do not become a total douchebucket, since your billionaire dad named a park after you.
Wait, are we still calling it a "park"? It has pingpong, a reading room and, soon, a fake ice rink. Next I hear they're adding a Jerry Jones Plastic Surgery Mart, waterskiing and, for your 18th birthday, a Pig/Stripper Farm. This isn't a park. It's a theme park. It's gonna need a mascot. How about a big-boobed succulent? People like succulents.
As I was saying: You will probably grow up to be total douchebucket because this park was named after you for no reason other than "Because: rich, bitches!" But being The Kid Klyde Warren Park Is Named After does afford you a few unique Choose Your Own Adventure life options.
Option 1: Get old as soon as possible. Nobody understands why a park would be named after a 10-year-old. Everyone hears that name and assumes you're 100. So tell people you're 60. Likely result: Hot chicks want to bone you because you're rich and they think you're closer to death.
Option 2: When people ask why a park is named after you, tell them you invented something significant to Dallas. Like The Popped Collar, The Amuse Bouche or Bitches. Likely result: You're revered as a god until you die, at which point Klyde Warren Briskets and Blow Jays Day will be celebrated yearly in your honor.
Option 3: Tell people they named the park after you because you did some amazing charitable act for Dallas, like you told Mark Cuban he has awful face, or you told an entire class of SMU freshmen that scarves are for winter. Likely result: 200 book deals, nominated for Sainthood, ladies errywhere.
Option 4: Only hang out with people who have stuff named after them. Good candidates: Ross Perot, T. Boone Pickens, Lyndon B. Johnson, Dickey. (Note: Most of these people are dead -- that's generally how people get things named after them. See: Option 1.) Likely result: You create a gang of mostly geriatric rich dudes and eff ess up in this town. Awesome ensues.
Option 5: Move far, far away, never tell anyone the park is named after you and change your name to the opposite of Klyde Warren (Greg Montopolous, Grundle Perkins or DJ Beef Tips, obviously). Likely result: Anal warts.
Good luck and Godspeed, friend. Your dad really screwed you with this gift.
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