Letters: Your Questions Answered

Dear Spank,
How’s everything going?

Max
Boston, MA


Dear Max,
Everything’s going great.

Spank

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Hey,
You guys don’t seem to be doing a lot of reporting lately. What’s up?

Cleo
Bar Harbor, ME


Hi Cleo,
Funny story. I was on what I thought was an enjoyable bender a couple weeks ago when I started having paranoid delusions. It seems I thought Rupert Murdoch was plotting to buy us out and fill the site with wacky, talk radio-inspired anti-immigration propaganda. So I fired everybody. I don’t really know why, and I don’t remember any of it. What I do remember about that day is kind of beautiful: lying on the floor, eating Cheese Puffys, and watching Tom and Jerry. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise when I showed up at an empty office the next day to wade through a load of nasty e-mails from staffers, each of them threatening to expose all sorts of my myriad indiscretions.

Long story short is that I patched it up with everyone, but the incident put a damper on the newsroom. It can now be said that we have “trust issues.”

With abundant love,
Spank

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Spank,
So where do you stand with regard to Hillary Clinton?

Winston
Washington, DC


Winston,
I stand at the back of a crowded and oppressively hot auditorium while her horrifying voice blares through the PA system. After weaving my way through her army of supporters I’m overjoyed to find a pair of exit doors, but distressed to find them locked. I struggle with the handles and try not to attract attention, but before I know it I’m slamming my body against the doors, shoulder first. A few onlookers grow annoyed at my ruckus, and a moment later two black-clad security guards take hold of my arms--one of the guards advising, “This way, sir. Calm down.”

The guards don’t threaten or manhandle me, they just deposit me in the middle of the crowd and command me to stay put. Meanwhile, I’m sweating buckets. Hillary is honking on about how the Iraqi government has failed miserably, but I’m feeling like I’ve swallowed hallucinogenics. I’m not normally claustrophobic, and maybe it’s just the beer, but I’m having a hard time tamping down a sense of panic.

I decide I’ve got no choice but to make another break for it. I duck down and move swiftly to my left, almost weeping at the sight of an open door along the side wall. I dart through the doorway and think I’m mere steps from fresh air and freedom. Then I realize I’ve just escaped to a darkened coat closet. I lie down in the fetal position and try not to punch myself in the face.

Hope that clears things up.

Spank

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Mr. Mickelson,
This letter is to inform you that your BMG account has been suspended. Despite repeated attempts to contact you regarding nonpayment for your initial order and your subsequent failure to uphold the Terms and Conditions Agreement you signed in March, we have no choice but to report this matter to appropriate authorities.

Morla Truman, Sr. BMG Accounts Officer
Boring, IN


Morla,
Stop stalking me. Stop writing to me. Stop threatening me. I explained this to you when you called the first time but you still don’t get it: “15 FREE CDs” equals SPANK DOES NOT HAVE TO PAY. For the last time, I am not calling you about this and I am never going out with you. It’s not going to happen. I’m MARRIED.

Respectfully,
Spank Mickelson