E-mails, Comments, Clarifications and Random Complaints From Readers

I’m happy right now, because I'm sitting here eating a La Crescents apple (that's the name of the variety of apple I'm eating). You see, it's apple country down near La Crosse, Wis., and it just happens to be apple season right now.

The apples here are good and crisp. They don't turn soft and squishy after two days, or turn brown on the insides 10 seconds after you take a bite, like the ones in the supermarkets do. They're quality. I mean, come on, look at this friggin' apple!

So I'm happy, because I don't have to buy apples at the crap-tacular supermarket, where they buy nothing but the Red Delicious variety of apple (one of the worst-tasting apples you can buy). Unlike the supermarkets, the apples here are actually in season. It makes all the difference.

But enough of this happiness! Let's put me back into the bad mood I enjoy so much. Let's open some letters.

Our first e-mail is from Nikki in St. Paul. Nikki enjoyed the column where I created my own brand of cologne (Column 106, August 8, "Eau de Paul Ryan: A Whiff of Success"). In fact, she enjoyed it so much that she decided to confuse us all with big fancy words. Thanks, you Ivy Leaguebastard.

I laughed my ass off. Awesome. Incidentally, several of the couches at Salvation Army and Goodwill seem to have been owned by men sporting eau de paul ryan. These discerning men are also diligent philanthropists! Good for them!

Okay, just a minute . . . I'm looking up "discerning", "diligent", and "philanthropists" in the dictionary. Hold on a bit.

(45 minutes pass)

Nope. Sorry Nikki, but I still don't understand what the hell you just said. To hell with your upscale words and fancy non-pocket style dictionaries. Go snort Lemon Pledge every day this week,, and then come back and talk to me.

But hey, we didn't come here to talk about cologne letters. We came here to talk about the highly offensive Diff'rent Strokes column/screenplay I wrote (Column 111, August 15, "Diff'rent Strokes, Column Two: The Most Offensive Episode Ever"). Nancy Reagan, Barbara Bush, and even the great Orson Welles were a part of this sick and twisted piece of literature.

How about we just take a look at a sample from each of the e-mails sent to me.

"What the fuck was with the Orson Welles bit?"
-Mike, from Richfield, Minn.

"You sick, sick bastard."
-Adam, from Richfield, Minn.

"That was fucking wrong."
-Nikki, from St. Paul, Minn.

Oh, thank you all! And to answer all of your questions, yes, I did have to kill Orson Welles at the end of the script. The man who's not wearing pants always dies before things are over. You just can't have a happy ending if Orson Welles is walking around without pants on. Work with me here, people.

Our next reader–one of possibly three people who actually still visit this cursed website after reading the Diff'rent Strokes column–is Aaron, from Hibbing, Minn. Aaron came to this site one day and found that there was no column. It turned out that it was because I neglected to update one of the pages that link to the column. But at least he remained calm during the short crisis period.

You hook me on your cheap, lousy columns like some kind of discount crack and then fail to write one! With no explanation at all? For shame.

Aaron ended his e-mail by saying, "Nice shaved priest, by the way." I wish I could say his comment was in reference to something clean and innocent within this website, but then I'd be lying to you.

In closing (a phrase which is a horrible cliché, as well as a terrible way to end any piece of writing), here's a message from Paul Lundgren, the writer of the column which you all enjoyed so much (Column 117, August 23, "Paul Lundgren's Lost Ripsaw column").

Quite a few of you wrote in and mentioned the "Look at my picture! I'm the Scandinavian James Dean!" portion of Lundgren's column as your favorite. I couldn't agree with you more. So here's the story behind the James Dean portion of that column, straight from the writer himself.

Actually, I plagiarized the James Dean remark. Anna Owens (of "Ask Anna" fame) told me once that I looked like the Scandinavian James Dean in that picture. I've been quoting her ever since, because she's right.

That's all writers really do is find the truth and repeat it, right?

Thank you all for reading. We now send you back to your regularly scheduled day, which I'm almost sure involves large amounts of masturbation.