On spoilers

Dear readers,

If I had a dollar for every time I've made love with a celebrity in a dried-out Jacuzzi full of American paper currency, I'd have enough to fill another Jacuzzi with American paper currency. But until this afternoon, I never had a chance to make love to a British celebrity in a British Jacuzzi (which, in their cutesy British way, they call a "bubbly-whirl") full of colorful British currency.

That celebrity? J.K. Rowling. My genitals? Well-worn. And stained a multitude of colors. Compared to our own, British money is awfully bright and happy.

But I'm not telling you this to brag. Normally I maintain a modest and question-baiting silence in regards to my sexcapades, but I feel a valuable bit of information slipped out of J.K.'s thin, airtight lips during this afternoon's delight. I don't know what it means, but as I spent my seed upon her left eyebrow, I heard her exclaim what sounded like, "Harry and Voldemort are one and the same!"

The exclamation point, of course, is my own, albeit appropriate, addition.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On lightening up

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Margaret Mikkelsen, executive director, Students Active for Ending Rape (S.A.F.E.R.)
Re: Jerry Seinfeld

Dear Ms. Mikkelsen,

I want to begin by thanking you and your organization, Students Active for Ending Rape (or S.A.F.E.R.) for all you've done to help abolish rape from college campuses across the country. I'm not familiar with your specific accomplishments along these lines, as I can't be bothered to read your website, but I'm sure that with a little more time, S.A.F.E.R. will be able to turn potential rapists' thoughts away from forcible sex and toward a healthier and victimless past-time.

One thing, though. Have you ever noticed that your organization's name is a bit awkward sounding? How often are people described as being "active for" accomplishing something. There is no Committee Active for New Cancer Research (C.A.N.C.R.) or Nebraskans Active for Making Barley a Legitimate Asset (N.A.M.B.L.A.). Frankly, your group's moniker sounds like a poor Japanese to English translation. I hate to think this, but it makes me wonder whether you came up with the name to fit the acronym.

Anyway, I read your statement about Jerry Seinfeld's rape humor. While promoting his family-friendly computer animated film Bee Movie, he made a joke along the lines that bees have the perfect society: no crime, no drugs, no rape. In a comedic aside, Seinfeld then stated that there may be a little rape, but it's not that bad.

While not as universal a humorous observation as his insight into the size of airline peanut bags (they are, evidently, very small), I don't believe Seinfeld's bee rape joke deserves the outrage you've forcibly thrust upon it. I disagree with you that rape jokes are never funny. I'll admit that rape is a terrible practice when committed upon a human being, but Seinfeld wasn't even discussing human-on-human rape. His humor involved rape between bees, which, as you know, are insects. Thus, a joke about bee rape is not only funny but entirely appropriate for children. If a parent can feel comfortable about his or her child enslaving insects in an ant farm, the same level of comfort should be afforded the idea of violent sexual crimes toward bees.

Here are some bee facts of which you should be aware:

1. In May of this year, a swarm of 3,000 bees attacked an American Cancer Society walk in Indiana.

2. In April, the emergency wing of the University of Arkansas Medical center had to be shut down to to an incoming horde of 7,000 bees.

3. Just weeks ago, a phalanx of some 30,000 bees terrorized the British coastal town of Bournemouth, downing a passenger jet headed for Portugal.

4. The monster that took my love, Meredith, away from me was a creature of tentacles and bees.

5. An insect with as large a body as a bee's should not be able to lift itself with such tiny wings. What dark magic is this?

As you can see, I bear no sympathy toward the bee, nor should you. They are a soulless breed of vengeful beasts. There is much humor to be found in their suffering, and I applaud Jerry Seinfeld's courage in taking a stand against them. You might even say that I am active for the ending of bees.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On the rule of law

UPDATED BELOW

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Ken Ham, president, Answers in Genesis
Re: Unbiblicality

Dear Mr. Ham,

First of all, I want to thank you and your organization, Answers in Genesis, for building such a monumental piece of satire as the Kentucky creationism museum. Taking the absurdity of creationism and displaying it in the guise of childish papier-maché "exhibits" and cartoons of men taming dinosaurs is simply comedic genius.

And this most recent row your group is having with its Australian predecessor, Creation Ministries International, is just another exquisite rung on your ladder of parody. How bold of you both to involve yourselves in a public war of words. While the spectacle of accusing each other of acting in an "unbiblical" fashion is funny enough, I believe you have a unique opportunity here to probe deeper with your craft. Yes, the C.M.I.'s claim that your organization stole their mailing lists is an obvious example of biblical lawbreaking. And your counter-argument, that the C.M.I. is committing the sin of brother suing brother, equally plays to the common, ridiculous stereotypes of the genuinely faithful. But how about really casting a satirical light on the crazier rules and regulations of the Bible?

Here's the plan: draw up a press release asking the C.M.I., as "true people of God", to answer in the affirmative to any of these questions:

1. Do you have separate grazing areas for each kind of cattle you raise? (Leviticus 19:19)

2. Do you only wear clothes made of a single fabric? (Leviticus 19:19)

3. Do you refrain from cutting your hair and shaving? (Leviticus 19:27)

4. Do you execute all adulterers? (Leviticus 20:10)

5. Do you execute anyone who has cursed his mother? (Leviticus 20:9)

6. Do you banish any couple who has sex while the woman is on her period? (Leviticus 20:18)

7. Do you ban anyone who is disfigured, blind, or lame from entering your churches? (Leviticus 21:17)

8. Do you kill anyone of a different religion? (Deuteronomy 17:2)


Notice how I threw one from Deuteronomy in? No one ever checks there when looking for crazy laws, plus it has the added bonus of sounding funny. Deuteronomy.

Anyway, I know the last thing a seasoned comedian wants is advice on how to be funny, but I think this is an idea you can't afford to pass up. Unless, of course, you can think of a better one. Frankly, calling yourself "Ham" has to be the funniest part about your whole scam. Not only was he the son of a guy who managed to fit every animal on Earth into his boat, but his kids were cursed because he gave his dad a blowjob! Christ, that stuff is crazy! (Genesis 9)

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman


RESPONSE
From: David Wright, answers representative, Answers in Genesis
To: Laurence Shandy
Re: Unbiblicality

Dear Laurence,

Thank you for contacting Answers in Genesis. Given your arguments against the Creation Museum it is apparent you have not truly researched what we believe or what is actually in the museum. So are you suggesting the exhibits are made of paper machines (i.e. “papier-mach”)? Actually, the exhibits are of top notch quality and use some of the latest technology (hence they are not made of “papier-mache” nor are they childish as you unsubstantially claim). And what is “absurd” about creation? Proclaiming your opinion does not make for a logical argument. Did you have any arguments? I pray you will take the time to read the many articles on our website and consider that without God and His Word (the Bible) scientific inquiry, logic and reasoning and morality and ethics would not be possible. Because in a world where there is no God and everything exists by random chance then there is no basis for any of the above.

Kind regards in Christ,
David Wright


REBUTTAL
From: Laurence Shandy
To: David Wright, answers representative, Answers in Genesis
Re: Unbiblicality

Dear Mr. Wright,

I see you insist on maintaining this deadpan front as an actual creationist. I'm consistently amazed by the commitment to craft I've seen in the various religious and social satirists with whom I've corresponded. Though my letter was meant for Ken Ham, I see that you are also a valuable member of his comedy team. Still, I have a few nits to pick with your latest presentation.

While an actual creationist would most likely pretend to grasp the intricacies of Latinate logical fallacies, I think that even someone observationally challenged enough to believe the Earth is only 6,000 years old would know that I did not, in fact, present any ad hominem attack in my letter. Indeed, it's not the personalities of the creationists that I (and, let's face it, you) are parodying. Instead, it's their lack of critical thinking skills which is in question. It is, in fact, childish to reject scientific knowledge in favor of a world view which does nothing but make one feel better about his or her ignorant beliefs.

Creationists can ignore layer upon layer of geological evidence in the same way that they ignore the brutal and petty rules supposedly set forth by God in Leviticus. Similarly, a child can ignore the authority of his wiser parents and insist that there are monsters under his bed which will eat him if not for a night light's protection. However, once the child grows up, he is forced to confront the fact that there has never been any sign of monsters under his bed. The evidence is considered, and a fantasy is abandoned. The creationists' inability to move beyond this elementary, pubescent stage of reasoning is what I'm pleased to find so expertly lampooned in your museum. When faced with the reality of dinosaur fossils, creationists are forced to admit the existence of giant reptiles. But instead of following the logical conclusion that these beasts walked the Earth before humanity, thereby nullifying their own plagiarized creation myth, they instead grasp at logical straws to fit said dinosaurs into their existent, comforting legends. Such is the genius of your museum's exhibit on Noah's Ark and its insistence that dinosaurs were somehow squeezed onto the boat with every other animal on Earth. There's a movie coming out this summer which reportedly spent $170 million on computer effects to make this Ark believable. Judging from the commercials I've seen during Project Runway reruns, the filmmakers have failed.

I quote from your hilarious letter: "What is 'absurd' about creation?" I agree that the simple posing of such a question is enough to elicit a chuckle, but I think you could take this further, comedically. Instead of referring to it as "creation", why not break the concept down into its literal parts, thus shining a brighter satirical light on them? Why not phrase it this way: "What is 'absurd' about believing that a supernatural being built a planet out of nothing, sculpted humanity from clay and ribs, and forced the inhabitants of this planet to worship Him for fear of eternal suffering?" You see how the question answers itself now? You and I know how ridiculous the idea of "creation" is, but there are others who may need it spelled out more clearly. After all, your museum will be dealing with people primarily educated in Kentucky's public school system.

You also repeat the rote creationist argument that without God, there would be no morality. Again, I believe you could more effectively cut to the quick of this absurdity by perhaps adopting a character who follows this belief to its logical conclusion. This character could set up a kind of conference at the museum during which he'll tell the children all about how every day he has to stifle the almost unbearable desire to rape and murder for fear of God's wrathful judgment. The children will be forced to consider the fact that they are naturally averse to the idea of rape and murder simply out of concern for themselves and their community. Later, when they read in their history books about the countless civilizations who have raped and murdered in the name of God, the full force of the satire will finally be felt.

What do you think, Mr. Wright? I doubt you'll need it, but if ever you want to call upon my consulting services again, feel free to do so.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, fan

On making a decision

Dear readers,

The next election for president of the United States is only a year and five months away. With so little time between now and then, several of you have been frothing at the mouth to know which candidate will receive my king-making endorsement. My instinct tells me to keep you in the dark. To draw out the anticipation and, thus, intensify the pleasure of revelation. It's the same instinct that tells me to tie a rubber band around the base of my scrotum during coitus -- tearing it off only after my partner's voice has gone hoarse with begging.

Truthfully, though, I've simply had a very difficult time deciding which of the candidates to throw myself behind. All of them have their pros and cons. For instance, there is America's first viable black candidate, Hillary Clinton, who, through no fault of her own, happens to be a middle-aged white woman. To wit:



And then there's veteran Senator Joseph Biden, who is not afraid to embrace all colors and races into America's workforce.



But what about Mike Gravel? With a back-to-basics style of campaigning, he's standing up for the fundamentals of human civilization. For example, the harnessing of fire.



With all these fine choices, it was hard to come to a decision. But when I saw this video from candidate Al Goldstein, I finally had to rip off the rubber band and let my support come spewing forth. Good luck, Al. I'm behind you.

On averting catastrophe

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Planning and Urban Development, St. Paul, Minnesota
Re: Scientologists

Dear St. Paul city government,

Thank you for ruining my breakfast. I won't tell you which Hollywood starlet was fellating me under the table this morning (we'll just call her S. Johansson), but suffice it to say, my routine was abruptly cut off when I read the newspaper and discovered that your city is selling an abandoned dinosaur fossil warehouse to the cult of Scientology. I was so livid, I could barely reach my fourth ejaculation in S.'s mouth.

What a stunning lack of foresight! Don't you realize what a blight on the greater St. Paul area this building will now be? I can't think of a more potent recipe for mysterious chicanery and insidious plotting. You might as well have raised a Victorian style home on an old Indian burial ground and murdered a set of sextuplets inside.

An abandoned warehouse full of dinosaur fossils in the middle of your city wasn't enough to raise the creep quotient? Your urban planners weren't content with the high risk of misty, living tyrannosaur bones terrorizing the low-income housing projects and interstate bypasses? How many bloodthirsty cavemen could have thawed out and launched a killing spree on the downtown strip?

It's like you people have no brains at all. I'm so mad right now, I just came in S.'s eye!

And now you've handed the deed over to a celebrity-addled science-fiction cult. You've traded talons for Thetans. Come November, I only hope the electorate remembers who's responsible for the robe-clad, money grubbing personality auditors terrorizing the streets. How many power lines will be clipped when John Travolta lands his jets on your highways? How many people will be driven insane with curiosity when they pass a wandering Jenna Elfman and are left to wonder which show she used to be on?

Pray those meddling kids in their mystery machine put a stop to this before it becomes too unwieldy. Your only hope is that the alien prince inside the cult's inner sanctum turns out to be crazy old man Hubbard in a rubber mask.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On silver linings

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Robert O. Mendelsohn, Yale School of Forestry and Agricultural Studies
Re: Canada's future

Dear Mr. Mendelsohn,

International literary superstar Laurence Shandy here. Much has been made of your recent comments on the benefits of global warming on the Canadian climate. Like Walt Disney taking the world for a ride in his Future-mobile, you've painted quite a rosy picture. Drastically reduced heating costs. Drastically increased agricultural yield. All the milk and honey locked up in Arctic glaciers and frozen tundra will finally melt and flow across the greater provinces. And though you cite it as a downside, the population of deadly polar bears will be all but extinct. Finally, humanity will once again reign atop the Yukon food chain.

However, I've noticed a suspicious chink in your credibility. You may work for Yale, but where is your doctorate, sir? Have the ivy league's standards so lowered that they would hire a faculty member without so much as a string of abbreviations after his name? Or is the truth more in line with my hypothesis? Is Yale's School of Forestry and Agricultural Studies nothing more than a pamphlet filler program? Who in his right mind would pay for a forestry degree from Yale? In a bit of undercover research, I paid $50 for a two-week associate's degree in forestry from the University of Phoenix Online, and the National Park Service says I'm overqualified.

Obviously, your tenure is a case of perfunctory nepotism. I'm sure some wealthy ancestor of yours paid to re-marble the Whiffenpoof house's foyer, so the administration feels they should saddle his semi-retarded grandson with a fake position and a nice monthly stipend.

So, since you don't have any real scientific credentials, then why are you trying to stir up interest in Canada's agricultural futures with all your climatological mumbo-jumbo? Is there, perhaps, an investment opportunity on the horizon?

If so, I want in. Don't try and shut me out, Mendelsohn. I know your secret, and I'm sure there are even more retarded grandchildren of even wealthier patrons who would like a nice corner office and his choice of nubile co-ed overachievers.

In fact, that sounds pretty good. Put me down for a quarter million in soybeans and a Kia Rio full of Freshman design majors.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On wizardry

Dear readers,

Sometime before my late wife Meredith and I were married, we were on a Saturday evening date at the old Studio 54. That night, Andy Warhol took over the second floor lounge as he attempted to see how many Campbell's soup cans full of semen he could drink in one sitting. Meredith and I found a quiet corner and folded ourselves into what we thought was a leather sofa, but was actually a prostrate Lou Reed.

I looked deeply into Meredith's dilated pupils and produced a fresh rose from my refrigerated tuxedo jacket. Before she could gasp in awe and rub the flower on her MDMA-enhanced skin, a mysterious figure plucked the stem from my fingers. He was a tall man. Well-built and chiseled. The disco lights glared off his bald head.

"Have you ever dipped a rose in a bowl of liquid nitrogen?" the man asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he lowered the flower into a metal bowl heretofore unnoticed on the balcony railing. When he removed it, the rose steamed and stiffened -- a thin wash of crystals spreading across its petals. Then the man shattered the rose against Lou Reed's head.

As if such a wondrous feat weren't enough, he tipped over the bowl, spilling a stream of liquid nitrogen on William Katt's dancing body below -- hardening the Greatest American Hero into a living statue, where he still stands today.

It wasn't until years later, flipping through the cable channels, that I saw the mystery man again. He appeared to be instructing a child how to build a robot out of a trashcan and a remote control car. His name was Don Herbert. Mr. Wizard.

Mr. Herbert died yesterday. He was 89.

On image

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Katie Couric, CBS Evening News anchor
Re: Tarting it up

Dear Katie,

Laurence Shandy here. It's been a while since we last met. I was on the Today show promoting my latest memoir, Shandy Do, Shandy Don't, and you and Matt weren't speaking. I forget what your quarrel was about. Something to do with the attention his body was getting at the time. I was chattier than normal, having downed a pint of crystal meth-laced orange juice to wake me up. I remember the commercial break when I reached between the buttons of Matt's shirt with one hand and grabbed a handful of your golden thigh with the other. I completed a circuit that morning. I felt an alternating current flowing from his abs to your gams and back again. Remember you asked me not to touch your leg, so I let go? But there was power there, Katie. I felt it.

And it's that very power of which Mr. Dan Rather is grossly unaware. His recent comments about how your move to CBS has "dumbed down" and "tarted up" the Evening News are both irresponsible and unfounded. If anything, your arrival in that hallowed chair has added just the right touches of ass and class that CBS so desperately needed.

Rather is a jealous, lonely old man. His liberal bias got the better of him, and now he's been shuffled away to the wild frontier of HDNet, where those with high definition televisions can finally see into every soiled pore on his pockmarked face. As a standard definition broadcast network, CBS gently ensconces you, Katie, in a soft, beautiful focus. All your blemishes and wrinkles, though few, are safely tucked away in the invisible folds between scan lines.

How dare Dan Rather accuse you of "tarting up" the news! Have you seen his gelled-up new hair style? It's pathetic. In trying to appear young, he's just betraying his slow decay into a gerontological puddle. He might as well smear his mouth with lipstick and offer to orally pleasure his tiny, dying audience.

Do you know why the Evening News' ratings are now the lowest they've been in twenty years, Katie? It's because of those toothless baby boomers who've jumped ship. Don't worry about them. Their social security will dry up soon, and when they can't afford to pay their heating bills, they'll all die of exposure. Let them flip the dial to ABC or NBC or Fox News. Let those networks court the advertising dollars of blood sugar detectors, arthritis medicines, and Matlock DVDs. Right now, you and your network should be focused on cultivating sponsorships with compact cars, student loan providers, and Taco Bell. When the old and enfeebled finally whither away, guess who's going to be on top?

I do have one suggestion, though. Remember when you guest hosted The Tonight Show and they cut away Leno's desk so we could see your silky, electric legs? You've successfully toned down your Good Humor Man-esque wardrobe from Today, but I miss catching a peek of those getaway sticks.

Think about it.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On setting the record straight

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Gov. Mike Huckabee, G.O.P. presidential candidate
Re: Guantanamo

Dear Gov. Huckabee,

Laurence Shandy again. Rarely do I write two letters to the same person within a week, but I can't let slide another gross misunderstanding of your words. Last week, the press jumped on your statement that you don't know whether the Earth was created in six days by a supernatural sociopath named God. I saw your comment for what it was: a parody of the unthinking religious base to which you so refreshingly refuse to pander.

But there must be some kind of media conspiracy against you, Mike, because the rabid bloggers are barking again. This time it's in response to your interview with CNN's Wolf Blitzer concerning Colin Powell's statement that our terrorist prison in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba should be shut down. In reply, you said that inmates in Arkansas' state prisons "would love" to be in Gitmo. This, unfortunately, was again misconstrued as some kind of underinformed, borderline retarded political gaffe.

You can't win with these people, Mike. For once you drop your delicious satirical verbosity and make a sad, straightforward point. You've been to Guantanamo. You know what conditions are like there. You know that those terrorists are kept under the perpetual buzz of fluorescent lights in chicken wire cells. You know that they're blinded when moved from place to place in the camp and forbidden to talk in groups of three or more. You know that they're sleep deprived, beaten, chained in the fetal position on concrete floors, gagged with duct tape, flashed with strobe lights, and held for years without access to lawyers or a fair trial.

Your point wasn't to paint Guantanamo in some falsely rosy hue. Indeed, your point was to highlight the utter horrors of the Arkansas state prison system. As bad as the Guantanamo detainees have it, the prisoners in your home state have it much, much worse. At least the terrorists are waterboarded with actual water. Arkansas' prisoners are strapped down and showered in cow piss and horse semen. Guantanamo's most wanted may have had their faces smeared with hookers' menstrual blood, but isn't that preferable to having your face smeared by a guy named T-Bone's "menstrual" blood? T-Bone doesn't even have a vigina! So, where did the blood come from?

Of course Wolf Blitzer would never ask such a question. He's too busy grooming his beard and counting his paychecks to do any real journalism.

We're a dying breed. If you're elected president, remember who understood you in your time of need. And for God's sake, try and do something about Arkansas' state prisons.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On facing racism

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Alberto Gonzales, United States Attorney General
Re: No-confidence

Dear Gonzo,

So, on Monday the Senate is going to vote on whether to pass a no-confidence resolution against you. I'm sorry to see partisan politics come to this. There hasn't been such an obviously political parliamentary procedure in the congress since Bill Clinton's impeachment trial. They created a witch hunt out of nothing. Sure, all you did was fire politically unsympathetic U.S. attorneys and replace them with unqualified cronies. Someone has to keep an eye on activist judges. And sure, you lied to congress and said you didn't recall making any of those decisions. Well, that's positively Reagan-esque, if you ask me.

In the same way, an independent prosecutor violated every one of Bill Clinton's civil liberties and rights to presidential privacy simply because he got a blowjob in the oval office. So what if he bombed a Sudanese medical factory when Kenneth Starr started snooping around the West Wing? So what if he killed a few civilians while pretending to bomb Osama bin Laden when an impeachment trial was on the horizon? And so what if he arbitrarily bombed Iraq after his testimony was made public? These weren't abuses of power. These were simply uses of power. And as attorney general, you were just using your power to shore up some political support. Hell, at least you didn't kill anybody in the process.

Frankly, I believe that this congressional outrage is nothing more than a pose. They're after you because of your race, Gonzo, not because of your actions. Remember when you told Wolf Blitzer that your grandparents were illegal immigrants? Well, so do those racist, Mexican-hating Senators who killed Bush's immigration bill. They can blame as much crime on illegal immigrants as they want. Lord knows how many times I see a hazy sketch of a vaguely Latino suspect on the local news' crime blotter. But the simple fact is that these lawmakers are in the pockets of big business, and big business wants to hold on to its cheap, easily blackmailed illegal labor force. Those who would try and bring you down don't see your grandparents and people like them as huddled masses yearning to breathe free. No, they see them as their brownish lawnboys yearning to breathe through one of those dust masks. If this congress had been in session when your grandparents crawled across the Texas border, you may not even be here now. And then who would "abuse" the power of the justice department? Who would be playing politics with terror alerts? Who would be authoring torture plans?

You think that WASPy John Ashcroft could have done any of those things? That pussy called it quits over a little illegal wiretapping. But you? You know when the illegal can be overlooked for the greater good. It's in your blood.

And you'll work for a third of the salary Ashcroft did.

Mis mejores deseos,
Laurence Shandy, caballero

On peace of mind

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Gov. Mike Huckabee, Republican presidential candidate
Re: Faith

Dear Gov. Huckabee,

Last Tuesday's G.O.P. presidential debate on CNN was quite a hoot. I invited my society friends over to the penthouse for a drinking game bonanza. We played the Rudy Giuliani drinking game, wherein a shot is taken every time he mentions 9/11. We played the Mitt Romney drinking game, wherein one looks into a top hat and pretends to translate golden tablets, but is instead taking a shot of Schnapps. And we played the immigration hysteria drinking game, wherein one of my illegal manservants is punched in the solar plexus every time the word "amnesty" is uttered. Ten minutes in, and we were already drunk, sore, and laughing our hors d'oeuvres right onto the rhino skin rug.

And then came the creationism question.



When Wolf Blitzer asked you if the Earth was created in six days, and you said "I don't know; I wasn't there", I almost pissed myself. Okay, full disclosure. I did piss myself. Luckily Enrique was there to sponge it up before I could punch him again in the solar plexus.

"I don't know; I wasn't there."

Such pithy and succinct satire in that phrase. Not only does it deftly lampoon the argument from ignorance that is creationism itself, but it also parodies the dearth of critical thinking skills among creationists.

But in the middle of my laughing fit, Dominick Dunne grabbed my shoulder and shook me violently. "It's not a joke, Laurence," he screamed in his high-pitched squeal. "The madman means what he says!"

Silence. Broken only by the sound of Miguel, the massage therapist, dropping to the floor in pain.

I spent the rest of the evening chalking up Dunne's outburst to his usual sloppy journalism. Of course it couldn't be true. A man who's lost as much weight as you can't be that stupid, can he? What kind of short-circuited logic could make a man hold out the possibility that a supernatural being wished the Earth into existence just because he wasn't there to see it never happened? By that rationale, how could the men who made up the Bible know that the creation story they plagiarized wasn't fictional if they weren't around to see it never occurring?

Do you see where I'm having trouble with this, governor? Look, my vote isn't at stake here. Even if those felonies are stricken from my record, I still wouldn't enter an unsterilized voting booth. But someone of my status needs to be on good terms with any potential president. I have expensive and diplomatically questionable habits, and I need the safety net of a presidential pardon. Frankly, I'd like to know how easily I can manipulate you. If you are the deft satirical genius I think you may be, then I welcome the challenge of dealing with you for four to eight years. Please tell me Dunne's wrong again.

And please make sure my illegal help stays illegal. I hate to miss a bargain.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On knowing your enemy

Dear readers,

You may have heard about the plight of pornography mogul Max Hardcore. Mr. Hardcore has been indicted on obscenity charges for shipping videos of people urinating on each other. Christopher Hitchens and I are off to Tampa to dig deeper into this story, and I'll let you know what we come up with.

In the meantime, here's a letter from the Shandy archives to Mr. John L. Harmer, chairman of the Lighted Candle Society, one of the most vocal and buzzkilling of America's ubiquitous anti-pornography organizations.


From: Laurence Shandy
To: John L. Harmer, president, Lighted Candle Society
Re: Pornography

Dear Mr. Harmer,

It has come to my attention that you are on the front lines of a forty-year battle against the ravages of pornography in American culture. As an enthusiastic practitioner of A2M lovemaking (go ahead and Google it if you're curious -- or just stop by my Manhattan penthouse any Tuesday, Thursday, or Sunday evening), I am no prude. But I must admit that when I'm online at three in the morning trying to order discount OxyContin from Mexico and I keep getting pop-up ads for "sweaty, diarrheal midgets" or "lasso-long labia majoras", my stomach starts to turn a bit. It's one thing to get hopped up on vintage Quaaludes and pay an illegal Vietnamese immigrant a couple cans of Vienna sausages to make your darkest sexual fantasies a gooey, delicious reality. But finding my e-mail box filled to overflowing with unsolicited images of emaciated German women engaged in coitus with any number of wild animals? Well, that's an entirely different animal.

Still, many of the movers and shakers in the world of pornography are just as much my friends as they are your sworn enemies. I know you think that they make you and your children do horrible, sinful things with your wing-wangs and hoo-hahs, but I prefer to think of their relation to your genitals as more in line with that of Michelangelo to his slabs of marble. My pornographer friends are only releasing those horrible, sinful urges from your mind and hands -- not creating them. And if you can accept this fact, then you may be open to befriending some of these wonderful Americans yourself. Let me tell you a little bit about them.

Jackie McMillan is a beautiful mother of four. She enjoys cheering on her children at their many soccer games and attending First United Methodist Church, where she sings in the choir. Jackie is also the editor of Wet Set, a men's magazine specializing in pictures of women urinating on themselves and in each other's mouths.

Houston native Jack McNenny was a struggling mill worker and family man before hard times forced him into the publishing business. After she finally succumbed to a brave struggle with breast cancer, Jack was able to pay all his wife's medical bills with the profits from Jack's Number Two, a magazine devoted to helping single men find partners who enjoy anal sex and eating feces.

Young paralegal Candy Apples tried to break the world gangbang record in 1999, but her efforts were brutally quashed by the interference of the notoriously racist and bigoted Los Angeles police department. She had only sexually serviced 743 partners. But even though she didn't break the record, she still put her Gangbangus Interruptus video on the Internet, where it continues to inspire men and women of all ages to reach for the stars -- no matter how painful and disease-ridden those stars might be.

And then there's Lisa Sparxxx, who celebrated Black History Month ("February" to you and me) by deep-throating any underprivileged African-American youth who passed a VD test. Never has an act of charity been so arousingly inspirational.

So, Mr. Harmer, I hope you now have a better understanding of just who these people are that you've chosen to chastise. Their faces are woven into the very fabric of America. You can see them at the grocery store. You can see them at the mall. You can see them at PTA meetings.

And, for just $29.95 a month, you can see them fellate a horse while sitting on a broomstick.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On straightening the curtains

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Fiona Godlee, editor in chief, British Medical Journal
Re: Designer vaginas

Dear Ms. Godlee,

My name is Laurence Shandy (yes, that Laurence Shandy), and I'm writing to you about a recent article in your medical journal. As an advocate of science in all its dirty forms, I browse the journals regularly. I'm consistently awed by the faculties of the human mind. We are living in a time of unprecedented medical advancement. Global life expectancy is the highest its ever been, so it stands to reason that our chins, faces, buttocks, and breasts should also be as elevated as possible. As the old proverb goes: beauty is in the eye-lift of the beholder.

Which is why I was so appalled to read the hateful and borderline slanderous article in your most recent edition that lambastes the current designer vagina movement. Notice I use the word "movement" instead of the flippant "trend" that seems to be so popular an identifier of this scientific breakthrough.

The article in question posits that due to some psychologically dysfunctional negative image of a big, floppy vagina, women are undergoing unnecessary genitoplasty that may have unwanted and severe side-effects. Frankly, any hypothetical side-effect of a labial tightening would be necessarily secondary to the primary effect these procedures have -- specifically, a firm, nubile, prepubescent mons de Venus.

We may not know exactly how many cosmetic crotch surgeries women in the United States and Britain are having, but we definitely know the reasons why. There is no unreasonable, media-driven mangling of a healthy self-image that's driving these lucky ladies to the knife. Indeed, an engorged set of meat curtains inhibits women from wearing tight clothing, feeling comfortable at the beach or in communal showers, and riding bicycles. Not to mention the fact that no one wants to part a pair of gams and be staring straight into Droopy Dog's face.

What is your problem with women, Ms. Godlee? This article's hysterical claims that a lack of testing and rigor in these procedures could result in permanent genital damage are nothing more than misogynist propaganda. Tell you what, the women of the world can keep their hands off your genitals if you keep your hands off theirs. This is a free society in which we live, and I'm sorry to break the news to you, but everyone's included. And when I'm faced with the choice between a vagina that hangs lower than Henry Kissinger's jowls and one as tight and narrow as a credit card reader, I know which one I'll choose. I'll pick the vagina attached to a woman who won't bow to the British Medical Journal's opinion -- the one whose camel toe doesn't look more like a camel's mouth.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, feminist


RESPONSE
From: Dr. Fiona Godlee, editor in chief, British Medical Journal
To: Laurence Shand
Re: Designer vaginas

Dear Laurence Shandy,

Thank you for this. I have no strong opinions on the matter, except that I hope to get through life without surgery to my genitals and think it appropriate for a medical journal to point out the potential dangers of surgery and the alternatives, at a time when reliable evidence is currently lacking. But I will pass your comments on to the authors of the paper, who will, I am sure, find them diverting.

All best wishes,
Fiona Godlee


REBUTTAL
From: Laurence Shandy
To: Dr. Fiona Godlee, editor in chief, British Medical Journal
Re: Designer vaginas

Dear Dr. Godlee,

I appreciate your response and feel I owe you an apology. As it tends to do, my reason was overcome by my love of vaginae. I am sorry your genitals were dragged into this debate, and I appreciate your passing along my comments to the authors of the original paper. I hope they find my position something more than "diverting", though. Unless, of course, they are inspired to divert themselves from pursuing a world of strictly au naturale muffs.

Here's to your continued success in the field of publishing ethically questionable papers on the vaginal sciences.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On standing tall

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Vladimir Putin, president of Russia
Re: Missiles

Dear Put-Put,

Laurence Shandy here. First of all, it's obvious you're not taking my advice and assuming the identity of a Russian celebrity in order to serve another term as president. Fine. If you're not going to take my advice, then I suppose I shouldn't give it. But I just don't know how to stop with you. Jesus, man, I'm smitten! Maybe it's that Scythian musk, but I just can't seem to stop offering you my expert council. And do you ever need it, P.P.

So, you say you might point your weapons at Europe if the U.S. goes ahead with its missile defense plan. Frankly, I saw this coming months ago. Whithering relations aside, you and your American counterpart, G.W. Bush, aren't all that dissimilar. Both of you are power hungry. Both of you have stolen civil liberties from your people faster than Custer could steal land from the Indians. Of course, the similarities fall apart where looks are concerned. I've been to my fair share of White House orgies, but there's always been something off-putting about Bush's beady monkey eyes. I just can't bring myself to stuff my penis in his mouth. Anyway, it's been just a matter of time before your paths crossed. Like two high plains drifters in the world saloon, you're at a stand-off -- each of you fingering your holsters.

I get where you're coming from Put-Put. Another arms race would do wonders for your country's social order. Let's face it, democracy hasn't been kind. The power has gone from the secret police and the bureaucratic élite to the gangsters and the bureaucratic élite. Russia just isn't fun anymore. I can't even play a game of Tetris without feeling a pang of nostalgia for arms-folded kick dances and cold, gray, communist office blocks. Russia today is like an S&M club where all the shackles are lined in fur. I want to feel the hard steel of state control against my naked flesh, Put-Put, and I'm sure you do to.

Russia's always been good at totalitarianism, and totalitarians always run a race in style. You took the money that could have been used to feed the hungry and used it to build thousands upon thousands of deadly intercontinental explosives, thereby feeding their natural pride. Whoever invented Jesus put it best: If you feed a man food, you feed him for a day; but if you feed a man irrational patriotism, you feed him for at least a week and a half. Hell, even the deified J.F.K. took a cue from your forefathers when he fed an American public hungry for answers over the Bay of Pigs with the delicious nugget of space domination. And even in the space race you guys outclassed us! We burned a few astronauts up in a capsule, but you sent a dog into orbit. With accomplishments like that under your belt, it's no wonder you brushed off the moon.

But what I'm missing from these latest threats against the U.S. and Europe is that familiar Russian swagger. Don't just say you might point your missiles toward western civilization. Just go ahead and do it. Hell, launch a couple at some bombed-out Eastern European dive. Take out a couple sod farmers and get the world's attention. This is no time to pussy out, P.P.! You've already murdered half your nation's journalists and killed an ex patriot dissident with fucking radiation! Find your balls, sir.

If you need any help, you have my number.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On customer service

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Wendy's restaurants
Re: Chili sauce

Dear Wendy's

By now I'm sure you've heard the story. A customer at the drive-through window of a Miami Wendy's demanded ten packets of your delicious chili sauce, though he was only allowed three. The manager of said Wendy's tried to explain the corporate chili sauce policy to the enraged customer and was shot in the arm over his chili sauce hoarding.

The Associated Press treats this story as some kind of novelty -- a "kicker" for print in the odds and ends section of the newspaper. But as a frequent Wendy's customer, I feel I have a right and an obligation to inform you of this story's gravity. Not only does a bullet wound impede the heroic manager's bulging chocolate bicep from performing at its assuredly sensual peak, but it's also a red badge of larger issues.

Some might say that a few packets of delicious Wendy's chili sauce isn't worth the trouble -- that no condiment is equal to a human life -- and they would be right. Still, there are corporate interests at play. There are floodgates to barricade. If all it took was a little gun brandishing to make Wendy's managers across the country give up their sauces willy-nilly, then pandemonium would be the order of the day. The blame does not lie with an overprotective manager or a penny-pinching corporation. The blame lies with the sauce itself.

The ingredients listed on a packet of Wendy's chili sauce are as follows: water, corn syrup, salt, distilled vinegar, natural flavors, xanthan gum, and caramel color. Taken individually, these ingredients wouldn't seem to amount to much. What the hell is xanthan gum anyway? But when combined, they become something new. The Wendy's alchemists hit upon a dark secret that day in the labs. The hot truth is this: Wendy's chili sauce is too delicious for its own good.

Is there any other condiment that could drive a man to murder? Is there any other condiment that packs both the pleasure and the pain of a second-degree chemical burn? Is there any other condiment that I keep in my nightstand, spread between fleshy mounds, and scrape off my sex partners with the back of my teeth?

The answer to that last question, actually, is yes. I also keep a liberal supply of ranch dressing in my nightstand. Perhaps ranch dressing isn't considered a condiment, but shouldn't it be? How about this, Wendy's: have you ever thought of keeping squeeze bottles of ranch dressing on the tables at your restaurants? It might be worth a try. That stuff's good on everything.

Anyway, my point is this: you got lucky this time, Wendy's. No one has been killed over your chili sauce yet. But the attention this wacky story of the day will no doubt receive may well spark a mad rush on delicious chili sauce. Are you prepared, Wendy's? Chiligeddon is coming.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman