I'm sick and it's been one of those days; days where I can't think up anything original and I've stolen all the material I can from sites far funnier than mine. You'd think that on an internet as big as this one, there'd be at least one original gag that I could steal and profit from. As you find yourself nodding off to sleep during todays production of poor humor, you'll realize that this is not the case. You have let me down, internet.
So, it's times like this that I either turn to feeding my heroin habit by jabbing a rusted syringe into my tongue or I open up the old letter mailbag and get busy on answering some questions. I realize that I hate choosing the latter but it does help meet some of my parole requirements and keeps me out of the big house. I don't know why they insist on sending me to the big house instead of jail where I belong, but I've come to realize that I do not like the pancakes that they serve there. Not enough syrup. Speaking of syrup and poor segues, bring on the fan mail.
Dear Smartass,
I hate you and I hate your site. Normally I wouldn't even take the time out of my busy schedule to lower myself to your level and write you, but I've had just about enough. You continually write poor, shoddy humor, often at the expense of immigrants, homeless, and handicapped people. I find it deplorable that you often joke about blatant drug use and wonder how you can wake up and look at yourself in the mirror every day. You disgust me and I hope you die.
-- Name Withheld
Dear Name Withheld,
What a fascinating letter! I'm not sure if I am more impressed with your penmanship and literacy or your name. What kind of name is Name Withheld anyway? Polish? If I had to guess, I'd mark you as a product of Poland. That's so great! Anyway, I am really glad that you enjoy the site and all the time I put into it. It's thoughtful comments like yours that really make it all worthwhile. Now, to answer your question concerning the status of my vision as related to glancing in the mirror, I am glad to report that I have no such problems. You see, I don't own a mirror anymore.
One night, during a three-day coke binge, I decided to chop up some lines on it because I needed a larger surface area than what I was currently using. Well, I'm a pretty clumsy guy by nature and wound up breaking the mirror before I could even use it. I was pretty sad because my grandmother gave me that mirror while she died. As I was cleaning up the glass, my doorbell rang. It was some guy selling magazine subscriptions and it just so happened that he was a handicapped homeless immigrant. Scared, I stabbed him with a shard of glass and threw myself out the window. And that's why I have no mirror.
hi randy,
hey i just wanted to say that i check out the site whenever i can. i was wondering how you come up with the stuff you write about. thanks.
-- lisa
Howdy Lisa,
Before I get to answering your letter, let me fill you in on a little secret: God invented the shift key so people could capitalize their letters more efficiently. Maybe you should look into it? You really don't know how easy you have it. Before the advent of the shift key by God in 47 BC, most writers had to carve capital letters into their chest (or a neighbor's chest), often using nothing more than a dull spoon or the neck of a giraffe. Things are much easier today thanks to the shift key. Please don't ignore it.
Now, about the letter. A common misconception about the site is that everything I write is made-up fiction. This is entirely untrue. In fact, everything I write about on the site is 100% true. Sure, I may embellish a little here and there but who doesn't? A good example is the one story I wrote about how I woke up in the bathroom covered in vomit, having passed out after eating 200 sheets of toilet paper. The truth is that I only ate 190, but the number 200 simply rolls off the fingers easier. It might be hard for you to grasp that I spend most of my time hopped up on drugs, hanging out with celebrities, and getting into more drunken brawls than Russell Crowe, but it's true. Ok, so the time I said that the movie "Scarface" was about me was a lie. The truth is that the book the movie was based on was about me and my connections to the Columbian cartel. And I have only died twice, not three times like I said in that one update where I was kicking the crap out of Will Smith. Trust me, I couldn't make half this stuff up.
hajy,
kcan u till me abot gerls thx
-- dd
Hey dd,
I don't even know what the hell you just said but since I deal with idiots like you every day, usually in the sense that I am beating them unmercifully and stealing their ice cream, I'll try to make heads or tails of your letter.
Reading phonetically, it sounds as though you want to know a little bit about girls. I'll take a wild stab in the dark here but I am really not the person to go to for advice with women. You see, I couldn't get laid in an all female prison with a handful of pardons in my back pocket. Seriously, prostitutes turn me down. I've only been on one date in my life -- a blind date no less -- and it didn't turn out so hot. I thought we were getting along great; there was wonderful conversation and she was a very intent listener. It turns out that she was deaf and couldn't see. Her seeing eye dog bit me in the crotch. Well, I got the last laugh. I stole her walking stick and sold it on ebay. In short, women suck. My advice to you is to go gay. I don't really have that option but it sounds like it's not too late for you.
That'll just about do it for this session of P.Net Q&A. The office is getting cold and my high is wearing off. See you next time if the price is right.
So, it's times like this that I either turn to feeding my heroin habit by jabbing a rusted syringe into my tongue or I open up the old letter mailbag and get busy on answering some questions. I realize that I hate choosing the latter but it does help meet some of my parole requirements and keeps me out of the big house. I don't know why they insist on sending me to the big house instead of jail where I belong, but I've come to realize that I do not like the pancakes that they serve there. Not enough syrup. Speaking of syrup and poor segues, bring on the fan mail.
Dear Smartass,
I hate you and I hate your site. Normally I wouldn't even take the time out of my busy schedule to lower myself to your level and write you, but I've had just about enough. You continually write poor, shoddy humor, often at the expense of immigrants, homeless, and handicapped people. I find it deplorable that you often joke about blatant drug use and wonder how you can wake up and look at yourself in the mirror every day. You disgust me and I hope you die.
-- Name Withheld
Dear Name Withheld,
What a fascinating letter! I'm not sure if I am more impressed with your penmanship and literacy or your name. What kind of name is Name Withheld anyway? Polish? If I had to guess, I'd mark you as a product of Poland. That's so great! Anyway, I am really glad that you enjoy the site and all the time I put into it. It's thoughtful comments like yours that really make it all worthwhile. Now, to answer your question concerning the status of my vision as related to glancing in the mirror, I am glad to report that I have no such problems. You see, I don't own a mirror anymore.
One night, during a three-day coke binge, I decided to chop up some lines on it because I needed a larger surface area than what I was currently using. Well, I'm a pretty clumsy guy by nature and wound up breaking the mirror before I could even use it. I was pretty sad because my grandmother gave me that mirror while she died. As I was cleaning up the glass, my doorbell rang. It was some guy selling magazine subscriptions and it just so happened that he was a handicapped homeless immigrant. Scared, I stabbed him with a shard of glass and threw myself out the window. And that's why I have no mirror.
hi randy,
hey i just wanted to say that i check out the site whenever i can. i was wondering how you come up with the stuff you write about. thanks.
-- lisa
Howdy Lisa,
Before I get to answering your letter, let me fill you in on a little secret: God invented the shift key so people could capitalize their letters more efficiently. Maybe you should look into it? You really don't know how easy you have it. Before the advent of the shift key by God in 47 BC, most writers had to carve capital letters into their chest (or a neighbor's chest), often using nothing more than a dull spoon or the neck of a giraffe. Things are much easier today thanks to the shift key. Please don't ignore it.
Now, about the letter. A common misconception about the site is that everything I write is made-up fiction. This is entirely untrue. In fact, everything I write about on the site is 100% true. Sure, I may embellish a little here and there but who doesn't? A good example is the one story I wrote about how I woke up in the bathroom covered in vomit, having passed out after eating 200 sheets of toilet paper. The truth is that I only ate 190, but the number 200 simply rolls off the fingers easier. It might be hard for you to grasp that I spend most of my time hopped up on drugs, hanging out with celebrities, and getting into more drunken brawls than Russell Crowe, but it's true. Ok, so the time I said that the movie "Scarface" was about me was a lie. The truth is that the book the movie was based on was about me and my connections to the Columbian cartel. And I have only died twice, not three times like I said in that one update where I was kicking the crap out of Will Smith. Trust me, I couldn't make half this stuff up.
hajy,
kcan u till me abot gerls thx
-- dd
Hey dd,
I don't even know what the hell you just said but since I deal with idiots like you every day, usually in the sense that I am beating them unmercifully and stealing their ice cream, I'll try to make heads or tails of your letter.
Reading phonetically, it sounds as though you want to know a little bit about girls. I'll take a wild stab in the dark here but I am really not the person to go to for advice with women. You see, I couldn't get laid in an all female prison with a handful of pardons in my back pocket. Seriously, prostitutes turn me down. I've only been on one date in my life -- a blind date no less -- and it didn't turn out so hot. I thought we were getting along great; there was wonderful conversation and she was a very intent listener. It turns out that she was deaf and couldn't see. Her seeing eye dog bit me in the crotch. Well, I got the last laugh. I stole her walking stick and sold it on ebay. In short, women suck. My advice to you is to go gay. I don't really have that option but it sounds like it's not too late for you.
That'll just about do it for this session of P.Net Q&A. The office is getting cold and my high is wearing off. See you next time if the price is right.
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