On star breaking

From: Laurence Shandy
To: A.J. Hammer, CNN's Showbiz Tonight
Re: Owen Wilson's meltdown

Dear A.J.,

First of all, kudos on the stage name. It's not often that two initials and a piece of hardware could so expertly label either a porn star or a hard-boiled private dick.

And double kudos on your expert Showbiz Tonight panel discussion on screen star Owen Wilson's personal troubles. All week, I've been waiting for someone to put Mr. Wilson's wrist slashing in the context of greater Hollywood. When I saw the tease for your piece before the commercial break, I found myself speaking aloud, "Good question, sir. Why do such shining stars fall apart." Unfortunately, one of my semi-legitimate daughters was playing with the curling iron in the bathtub, and my power cut out before I could actually watch your expert discussion.

But my curiosity was still piqued, so I phoned my friend Chandra who does my eyes when I'm on book tour. "Chandra," I said, "why do you think celebrities have such a tough time of their lives?" Maybe she tried to answer. I couldn't hear her clearly for all her crying. Something about her husband dying of cancer. "Pull yourself together, Chandra," I yelled. "I'm asking you a question." She must have run out of antidepressants, because I could hear her tongue licking the inside of an empty prescription bottle. I didn't have time for this. I needed to know what causes such emotional fragility in my favorite film stars, and all Chandra cared about was her baking. I could barely get a word in over the squeaking of her oven door.

I guess what I'm asking is, can you send me a transcript of the show? And could you sign it "to Laurence Shandy from his dear friend A.J."?

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On feeling sexy

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Condoleezza Rice, Secretary of State
Re: Loosening up

Dear Condi,

According to Glenn Kessler's upcoming biography The Confidante: Condoleezza Rice and the Creation of the Bush Legacy, you're quite the firecracker. Case in point: your snarky comment to a jewelry store clerk who stupidly wanted to sell you cheap costume jewelry. "Let's get one thing straight," you snapped. "You are behind the counter because you have to work for minimum wage. I'm on this side asking to see the good jewelry because I make considerably more."

This quote will do nothing to thaw the perception that you're a frigid, icy taskmaster--a humorless overachiever with a vulture's stare and an android's mind. But look on the bright side. At least your biographer takes the time to note the firmness of your superhumanly toned ass.

Look, it's no wonder you'd be so tightly wound. You're feeling left out. You're the man behind the curtain of a crumbling empire. Disgraceful resignations, sex scandals, failing foreign policies--these things may steal the headlines, but who's watching as you're bent over, picking up the pieces of a crumbling administration.

Well, I just thought you'd like to know that I'm still paying attention. Lately, I can't seem to get you out of my mind. If only you could handle me like you handle Middle East peace negotiations--teasing me with your firm, deadly touch. Some may call you a snow queen, but isn't that why KY made warming lube?

All I'm saying is that I'd like to be on you like white on Rice. Is that too much to ask?

Think about it, Condi. That is, if you get a minute.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On catching predators

Dear readers,

Journalism isn't only about international jet setting and fathering illegitimate children. No, sometimes the journalist must wield his power for the greater good. He must take up the mantle of public protector--investigating those dirty and debased facets of human existence so that the burdens of the average worker may be lessened. By waving a black light over a motel bedspread, the masses will know the comfort that comes with knowledge--the knowledge that they are probably sleeping in a puddle of dried semen.

As such, I have taken it upon myself to scour the dregs of the Internet in search of those who would prey upon our most precious resource. Today, I bring you my real, uncensored chat with an actual child predator from IRC's #Man&Boy4Chat channel. Unfortunately, this predator got away before I could discover his real name, but I think I made my point. For anonymity's sake, I disguised myself as Hrny12yo, a horny 12-year-old.

Warning: This conversation may be too graphic for some readers.

Session Start: Wed Aug 29 11:48:03 2007

Me32top4oy: hi

Hrny12yo: Hello there. Are you an older man?

Me32top4oy: 32 ale from spain. you? asl

Hrny12yo: I'm sorry, do you have a question? Is that a typo or some kind of Interweb slang?

Me32top4oy: age sex place you are

Hrny12yo: Oh, I see. Well, I'm a 12-year-old boy. A horny one, to be precise. And I'm currently chatting with you from my father's home office. Being a weekday afternoon, his office is abandoned. Did you know his chair spins around? It's kind of fun, really. And yourself? What is your age, sex, and location?

Me32top4oy: 32 male spain and my chair spins arround too. what are you into?

Hrny12yo: I'm sorry, I don't speak with Spaniards.

Me32top4oy: what is a spainard?

Hrny12yo: A Spaniard is a swarthy gentleman from the former Islamic territories of southwestern Europe. Also, Spaniards really like ham.

Me32top4oy: Swarthy? former? ham?

Hrny12yo: Indeed, all three.

Me32top4oy: indeed?

Hrny12yo: Look, I don't mean to be racist here, but I've never quite forgiven your people for blowing up the Maine in Havana Harbor. I know some might say it was all a set-up, but I knew McKinley and Hearst, and they were both honorable men.

Me32top4oy: ok. 1 i am in spain but doesn`t mean that i am Spanish. and second that nowlege taht a you had reveal that you don`t have 12yo. i am not into r p so bye

Hrny12yo: What nationality are you then? Are you a pedophilic expat on the run? Were you chased from your home country over your baser inclinations?

Me32top4oy: no just move here because had a great weather and you can live with less money than other places

Hrny12yo: By the way, you're right. I'm not really 12 years old. I am, in fact, international literary icon Laurence Shandy, and I am catching predators. Actually, I'm looking for American predators, as I'm unfamiliar with international age of consent laws.

Me32top4oy has left the chat.

Hrny12yo: Hello? Spaniard? Consider yourself caught!

On the benefit of doubt

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Sen. Larry Craig, (R) Idaho
Re: Public restrooms

Dear Sen. Craig,

Internationally beloved figure of American letters Laurence Shandy here. Oh, how quickly the times can change. Just yesterday you were an anonymous legislator from the nation's third most boring state, and now you're just another wrinkled carcass on the man-pile of sexually scandalous Senators from the Grand Old Party. You'll be pleased to hear, however, that I have not passed judgment against you. Frankly, this story smells fishy to me. Sure, I can believe that a few of the Republican party's most loyal Bible-thumping homo haters might be dipping their toes in the enemy's juices. A few red-tied overachievers in the congressional page program are going to have their tallywackers tickled by the old guard. That's just the law of averages at work. But if the charges against you are true, I'm afraid the statistics would be tipped to the edge of the unlikely. Could it be that every opponent of civil rights for homosexuals is, in fact, a secret virtuoso of the rusty trombone? I think not.

I believe you when you say your initial guilty plea was just a matter of discretion. Who needs a lengthy court proceeding? Better to just pay your fine and be on your way--confident in the knowledge that the media would never sink their stinky talons into such a non-story. "Conservative Republican Senator Pleads Guilty to Lewd Conduct in a Public Restroom". Who would have thought such an innocuous headline would be worth anyone's time?

Still, the media have unearthed your misfortune, and they intend to drag your name down the Hershey highway just like all the others. But if they would simply close their salivating jaws long enough to ask your side of the story, you'd disappear from the public consciousness in half a news cycle. So what if you peeked in at the undercover officer through the crack in the door of his bathroom stall? I find myself peeking in such a way almost every time I use a public lavatory. It's simple human curiosity to want to put a face to a stench, and is anyone bold enough to suggest you're anything less than human? We all live in glass houses on that one.

And what of the fact that you took a stall next to the cop and barricaded it with your carry-on luggage? The police suggest this was meant to block the view from outside of your lewd and lascivious roaming hands. I say this is simply evidence in your favor. Not only do you keep your silky fingers off of any stranger's genitals, but you risk the safety of your own personal belongings to create a barrier between you and any randy door-kicker who might want to take your mouth virginity by force. Kudos to you, sir, for keeping safety at the top of your mind during these times of uncertainty.

So you moved your foot under the stall's partition and gently touched the officer with it. As you said, you need "a wide stance" when going to the bathroom. You're an old man, for Christ's sake. What's left of your colon has been subjected to years upon years of fecal stretching. Your bowel movements are like squeezing a kielbasa through a soda straw, and you need the widest berth possible. I understand that.

So we're left with the provocative hand gestures you allegedly made to the officer. Why won't anyone believe you when you say you were simply retrieving a dropped piece of paper? A senator's work is never finished, and I'm actually reassured that you would take every opportunity to finish the complicated paperwork which is the lubrication of our legislative system. And if the officer says he saw no piece of paper when he escorted you out of the restroom, doesn't that mean you succeeded in your endeavor to pick it up? Would he rather the alternative--that you left the document on the bathroom floor like so much spent semen?

Keep a chin up, senator. I'm sure in a few days someone else from the Bush administration will resign or Britney Spears will kill her children or Pakistan will launch a nuclear war against whomever. This will all blow over, and you can get back to your important patriotic duty--helping elect Mitt Romney as the next president.

Oh, he fired you? Don't worry about it. The Mormons hate everybody.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman


RESPONSE #1
To: Laurence Shandy
From: Sen. Larry Craig, (R) Idaho
Re: Resignation

Dear Laurence:

You were frank in expressing your views, and I appreciated it. In fact, I reviewed every letter and contact from Idahoans -- both letters like yours urging me to resign and letters of support from throughout the State.

As you know, I have decided to serve out my term and complete the initiatives for Idaho that are currently underway in the U.S. Senate. When I returned to Washington, D.C. in September, it became clear that I could still work effectively for the State; many of my Senate colleagues have even urged me to remain in office. Resigning would have cost Idaho the seniority and committee assignments that serve key State priorities.

Let me again apologize to you for the mistake I made in pleading guilty to a crime I did not commit. I deeply regret the cloud that has been cast over Idaho because of my actions. I will do all I can to lift that cloud through continued service to our great State.

In the months ahead, I will be voting and working on your behalf in the U.S. Senate. It may not be possible to regain your trust, but I hope you will still continue to give me your input, so that I can do my best to represent you on the issues facing our State and Nation.

Sincerely,
LARRY E. CRAIG
United States Senator

On memories

To read Laurence Shandy's past letter to Mr. Gonzales, click here. To enjoy more hot south of the border action, click here.

On McAnniversaries

Happy 40th anniversary, Big Mac!
If you would like to advertise on ShandyLetters.com, contact Laurence Shandy here.

On recognizing a threat

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Principal Craig Gilbert, Payne Junior High
Re: Gun drawing

Dear Principal Gilbert,

Widely published intellectual Laurence Shandy here. Recently, the administration of Payne Junior High has been criticized for suspending a 13-year-old boy over his crude drawing of a giant, anime-style gun. It's the kind of gun that in no way exists in reality, but may instead be conceivably wielded by a trench coat-wearing, androgynous cartoon character with spiky hair. Consequently, your school district's spokesperson's referring to the drawing as "a threat" seems, at first, a bit hyperbolic.

However, I must applaud you and your staff for cracking down on teenage fans of Japanese animation. I am sick to death of their tight pants and shiny bangs. I can barely make it through the door of my local public library without tripping over their Yu-Gi-Oh cards or their Pokemon balls. Do you know what's in those balls, sir? Monsters. And these kids have got to catch them all. If that's not a threat, I don't know what is.

Christ, man, what happened to Hanna-Barbera and Filmation? Why can't kids these days be contented with barely-mobile cutouts of their favorite superheros and racial stereotypes fighting it out with evil on Saturday mornings? I've seen Dragonball Z. I've seen Sailor Moon and Cowboy Bebop and Bleach. This isn't the kind of wholesome entertainment I'm used to. Gone are the laser battles between the jingoistic G.I. Joes and the serpentine Cobra terrorists. Instead, these new imports are full of watery-eyed angst and seizure-inducing power-up sequences. Did you know there are entire episodes of Dragonball Z devoted to characters absorbing Chi energy into their solar plexi?

Kids like the 13-year-old punk you so rightly suspended should be ashamed of themselves. Animated heroes should be traveling through time with their hyper-intelligent canine companions, not floating around with their gravity-defying guns and effete ribbon accessories. Look at that thing hanging from the trigger guard in this kid's doodle. What the hell is that? Oh, I know. It's a threat.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shany, gentleman

On race baiting

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Gov. Mitt Romney, presidential candidate
Re: Illegal immigrants

Dear Mitt,

Some have accused you of flagrant race baiting in your recent radio ad denouncing cities with "sanctuary" laws protecting illegal immigrants from deportation. And by "some", I mean me. But others will follow. These ads are running in the campaign states of Iowa and New Hampshire--not the most ethnically diverse of states. With a 96% white majority population, the only illegal immigrants Iowans face are corn-eating beetles. "Immigrant", as you well know, is simply a political euphemism for "Mexican", which, in the minds of the conservative base, is a euphemism for "darkie". Middle America no longer fears the anonymous black man released from prison by a Democratic candidate soft on crime. Instead, they tremble at the thought of a brown man doing their jobs for less money and becoming the toast of the company picnic with his homemade fajitas.

I'm no Karl Rove (and I also happen to be an Obama endorser), but I think I can help you spin this. Painting yourself as a Mormon was a smart move. Americans find Mormons adorable--all dimples and singing. With their magic underpants and aversion to caffeine, the Mormons come across as quirky and harmless as the Smurfs. I won't even mention the polygamy except to say it's the stuff dreams are made of. Since you have a college degree, I'm sure you don't actually believe any of that crap, but you can make it work for you.

Instead of coming across as a cynical power-grabber willing to play to your constituents' basest bigotry, why not play up the Mormon card. After all, according to the angel Moroni in his revelation to the prophet Joseph Smith, the Mexicans are actually descendants of the wicked and warlike Lamanites. Due to their inherently evil nature, God cursed them with dark skin, "that they might not be enticing unto my people" (2 Nephi 5:21). Blame your racism on your religion, Mitt, and you're scott free. It's against decorum to question a person's beliefs.

And if the anti-Mormon set still keeps pushing, simply tell them how the church finally lifted its ban against baptizing blacks in 1978. However, this may be hard to prove since, according to the Book of Mormon, the darkness in a person's skin lightens once he accepts the gospel.

Tell you what, I'll get back to you on that.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On stretches

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Sen. Barack Obama, presidential candidate
Re: Electability

Dear Barack,

Laurence Shandy here. I must say you've impressed me in these early days of the presidential campaign. Your endorsement from Oprah gave me pause, as she has also endorsed neo-spirituality, half-assed lasagnas, and John Travolta. But she has also lent her stamp of approval to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, an old friend of mine and the best partner one could hope to have if one were to engage in a tag-team with the young Fidel Castro. (By the way, one shouldn't.)

You say envisioning yourself as president is a "stretch", but I beg to differ. Indeed, I would much prefer you to the other crop of Democratic candidates. Hillary Clinton is of a piece with her husband--a disingenuous capitulator, a lousy leader, and owning a wide, pasty ass with a permanent 'for sale' sign. On a lark, I took the entire three weeks worth of funds from my Vanity Fair expense account and offered Sen. Clinton a lump sum to go on the record stating that I was her personal lord and savior. My editor disapproved at first, but who needs a substantive article when you've got a headline like that? Besides, they could always just fill the space with more photos of Leonardo DiCaprio posing on an ice flow. And they did.

I do, however, understand your point. You are a new commodity in the political sphere. You speak candidly. You look like you could have descended from slaves instead of slave-owners. You have big ears and a bigger smile. You're like a modern Jack Kennedy without all the crippling STDs. I'd like to make love to you, and I think you could take it. Sure, if we're going on looks alone, I wouldn't kick John Edwards out of the shower either, but I have a feeling a conjugal visit with him would quickly devolve into tears and shameful wailing. You, on the other hand, evoke a cosmopolitan can-do America needs in its highest office.

That said, I feel comfortable throwing my endorsement behind you. Previously, I have been an Al Goldstein man, but I'm beginning to think America may not be ready to embrace a Jewish libertarian pornographer as its president. You, on the other hand, are just what the doctor ordered--a half-black liberal with no executive experience. In other words, you're the reform candidate.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, supporter

On Christian teachings

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Father Jonathan Morris, Fox News commentator
Re: Bill Maher

Dear Father Morris,

International literary icon Laurence Shandy here. It's been a while since I've written to a priest. Back in '68 I got into a bit of a word war with Father Winston Babcock of Wisconsin when I said in an interview with Life magazine that I was "bigger than Jesus". Father Babcock misunderstood me as claiming that I was more popular than Jesus, which is undeniably false. I wrote him to clarify that I was only speaking in terms of height. Jesus, being a swarthy Judean man, would most likely have been quite short, whereas I achieve a virile European grandeur of 6'2" (in heels). We eventually agreed to agree that there is no actual evidence that the Biblical Jesus even existed, so there was a happy ending.

However, I'm writing you today to discuss your recent editorial regarding the truth behind statements made by former c-list actor Bill Maher about the insane teachings of the Christian religion. Putting aside Mr. Maher's and your insistence on speaking of Christianity as if it were some kind of unified dogma (I mean really, when one group dances with snakes on Sundays and another believes in magic underpants, Christians fail to present any kind of unified front), I would like to address some of the points you raised. Mr. Maher, I'm afraid, is probably too busy scrubbing sexually transmitted bacteria from his remaining hairs to get back to you in a timely manner.

You say Mr. Maher is incorrect in maintaining that Christians believe the Bible was written by God and passed down to man. You claim that the Bible is a human work, though divinely inspired. Belief in the divinity of its message, according to you, is an act of faith. I fail to see the distinction between the two. Whether a semi-literate sheepherder claims to have received the word of God from His cloudy, moist hands or claims that his contradiction and absurdity-filled scribblings came to him from the Lord's inspiration, he is still a complete nut. Whether or not God told someone to say every animal in the world could fit on one boat doesn't take away from the fact that such a story is less plausible than a Roland Emmerich movie. I've even tried the faith route, but no matter how much I believe they can fit, there's no way I'm loading a herd of camels onto my yacht. Life, unfortunately, is nothing like Peter Pan. Save, of course, for the occasional pederastic subtext.

You also say Maher is mistaken in his claim that Christianity teaches God causes tragedies such as cancer, earthquakes, and child abuse. You counter by saying that the world is "out of whack" due to a misuse of humanity's God-given free will. First of all, if God is omniscient, then he knows a person's fate before he is created. Knowing that a soul will end up suffering for all eternity--even if God Himself has no hand in the suffering--why would He choose to create it? To put it another way, if I lived in a house made of chocolate and decided to adopt a dog that is deathly allergic to chocolate, aren't I responsible for that dog's inevitable demise? And wouldn't God be even more responsible, considering he also created chocolate and chocolate allergies? And just how are cancer and earthquakes a result of our mismanagement of free will? Are you suggesting they are punishments? Are you suggesting that the recently deceased rescue workers in the mines of Utah and White House Press Secretary Tony Snow are all somehow culpable for their own afflictions? If so, please spill the beans. As an occasional gossip journalist, I'd love to get some dirt on Tony Snow. Or at least something in which I am not also implicated.

You also take Maher to task for claiming Christians are taught to kill in God's name. However, there are numerous passages in the Bible which call for the stoning to death of adulterers and homosexuals, to name just a couple. How does this teaching correspond with your Church's stance against capital punishment? Were these sections of the Bible less divinely inspired?

Perhaps the answers to these questions would seem more evident if I were a member of the faithful, but I'm afraid my brain has evolved as a thinking machine. Try as I might, I just can't make it stop being inquisitive. Unlike the faithful, I have not mastered my free will enough to force my brain to shut off.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On seeking advice

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Dan Savage, Savage Love
Re: Dana Perino

Dear Dan,

For several months now, I've been sexually entangled with a certain deputy White House press secretary. Let's just call her Dana Perino, since that's her name. You may have seen her razor-sharp cheekbones during her stint as a fill-in for Tony Snow during his colon removal surgery. Tony may have lost his ass, but America sure gained a piece of ass. Watching her from my musky seat in the press room, I felt something I'd never felt before. Kind of like someone reached into my groin and sheathed an icepick in my penis. I fell to the floor in convulsions, but I'd never been harder. David Gregory, that pituitary nightmare from NBC news, tried to help me up and had to be treated for multiple puncture wounds.

Like any good Bush administration official, the sight of blood set Dana's juices flowing as well. In the commotion, I stalked her down to the White House kitchen, where we took each other's dignity atop a thawing mound of frozen peas. We did things that afternoon only David Attenborough could describe.

So here's my question. Am I risking my moral and journalistic integrity by repeatedly pumping my seed onto the lower back and upper throat of someone I've been sworn by my editors to criticize? I must admit to an embarrassing slip-up already. Concerning Alberto Gonzalez's congressional testimony, I asked her if his memory might have been banged out of his head like I banged the bottom out of her the night before. Fortunately, most of the press corps had dozed off after about ten minutes into the press conference, but I felt bad all the same. Especially since Dana had to immediately change into a dry pair of slacks.

Help me, Dan. My mind and my training tell me one thing, but my loins and my cellphone and my friends and my fax machine tell me something else. If she doesn't stop calling me, I'm afraid we'll both end up before a House investigative committee, and all those flash bulbs will just make us hornier.

Anxiously aroused,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On laying low

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Sen. Ted Stevens, (R) Alaska
Re: Anchorage Daily News

Dear Sen. Stevens,

Laurence Shandy here. I understand you're under federal investigation for something or other, so I'll keep this brief. In times like these, it's easy to lose any sense of home -- to feel exposed and left out in the cold. You'd expect your local newspaper, the Anchorage Daily News to be on your side. After all, in your home state, civilized people must learn to band together against the cannibalistic Eskimo hordes. But instead of coddling or comforting you, those dastardly newsmen have been hellbent on your "assassination".

You're no spring chicken, Ted. In fact, your kind of a late-autumnal grouse. So, you're no match for the tycoons and robber barons behind our nation's press. They can pool their subscription money -- dolling it out willy-nilly on technologically advanced resources like horseless carriages and portable talky wands. They can afford to hire scores of typesetters who will pump out up-to-the-minute editions detailing your every move. They have taken sand from the Earth and fashioned it into hard, clear lenses through which they might see farther and cannier than any eagle.

Which is why you should maybe stop granting their interview requests. I spend most of my day spelunking the pipes and tubes of the Intra-Nets, and I keep coming across quotes given by you to the Anchorage Daily News. Instead of answering their questions by saying you aren't going to answer their questions, why not refuse to take their questions in the first place?

For example, here's a quote from the most recent interview you chose not to dodge: "[The Daily News] has caused me more difficulty...than anything else. You've created me as the senator-for-life. You've been hanging me weekly." You only serve to weaken your position by making such preposterous statements. While the paper's fleet of winged chariots and whirligigs may seem indistinguishable from magic to you, it doesn't mean the Daily News is all-powerful. They did not create you. They are but men. And check under the decaying flesh hanging from your chin. Neck still there? They haven't even hanged you once, Ted. You're slipping in and out of consciousness.

Why not take a nice, long vacation in the Bahamas? Remember, it's where Nelly went to treat her consumption. Remember Nelly, Ted? That looks like her on the horizon. Her dress is opening for you, Ted. That's the light of paradise inside. Go ahead. Follow the light. The Anchorage Daily News will never find you there.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On healing wounds

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Kia Vaughn, Rutgers' Lady Scarlet Knights
Re: Imus

Dear Ms. Vaughn,

Just when I thought I'd never have to wake up and see Don Imus' cadaverous, drooling visage ever again, you have to go and ruin it by suing the guy. Seriously, it's tough to keep my Lucky Charms and whiskey down in the morning when I'm trying to pleasure myself to Ann Curry's cherry blossom lips and I have to see another stock clip of Imus in his cowboy hat and denim shirt stumbling out of a courtroom and into an SUV. I mean, the guy looks like a melted, AIDS-ridden Robert Redford, and his haircut looks like the one on Thomas Jefferson's corpse. As you can tell, I'm no Imus fan, and neither are you. He called your basketball team a bunch of "nappy headed hos", and, in so doing, caused you to be "humiliated", "embarrassed", and "publicly mocked".

Look, Kia, I know your attorney says this lawsuit is about protecting your "good name", but let's face facts. You didn't really have a name before Imus never once mentioned it. No one knew who you were. You have to understand that the American public doesn't understand what's going on here. They don't realize that when Imus said "the Rutgers women's basketball team", he actually meant "Kia Vaughn". All they see is a no-name college athlete who wants to get in on some undeserved cash by falsely claiming imaginary damages that even a third-grader on the playground would shake off and forget. You and I, we know better than that. We understand the medicinal qualities that only money has. Whenever one of my novels or operas receives a negative review, it hurts. And the only thing that can quell that pain is a dip in my money pool. It's a kidney-shaped pit of greenback relief.

The poor commoners of America can't afford money holes, so they choose to judge those who would mend their emotional wounds with cold, hard cash. All I'm saying is, your case probably isn't going to go anywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if Imus gets off on the technicality that he never ever mentioned your name in any way ever at all. And if that happens, where are you left? You'll just be another in the long line of hilariously frivolous litigators cordoned off in the back of America's collective mind.

On the other hand, if you could somehow claim Imus' comments gave you whiplash, I've seen a couple of attorneys on TV who might be able to get you a check.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On causing offence

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Peterborough City Council - Peterborough, England
Re: Offensive slogans

Dear Peterborough City Council,

International literary celebrity Laurence Shandy here. I recently read about your town's harassment of American expatriate David Pratt over his novelty t-shirt. Being a cultural relativist, I will not criticize your hamlet's rules of law. In America, as you may be aware, citizens such as myself (i.e. rich and white) enjoy the freedom of constitutionally protected speech. For example, I could stop a wandering English tourist on the sidewalk in front of my opulent apartment building and, with no fear of legal recourse, proceed to berate him for his home country's bestial predilection for boiled meats and neglected dental hygiene. In your community, this kind of behavior would saddle me with an eighty-pound fine, but here, it's simply called patriotism.

I understand why you would ban David Pratt from wearing his shirt. Its slogan, "Don't piss me off; I'm running out of places to hide the bodies", is clearly harmful to the disposition of the average Englishman. Only a citizenry bereft of ironic understanding could possibly tolerate a taxpayer-funded royal family, so it's no wonder that a passerby who might glance at Pratt's shirt would become frightened for his life. Humor is a subtle and slippery animal. For all a commoner knows, Pratt may be eying his next victim -- ready to snap at any moment. Sure, he offers a public warning of his murderous ways printed across his chest, but such brazen insanity may just be another symptom of his sociopathic psychosis.

Those who would walk about on the public sidewalks of Peterborough have a responsibility not to offend the half-wits and water-brained who hold no grasp on sarcasm or any other form of comedy. The sheepish, neurotic police force, likewise, have a responsibility to warn and, if need be, fine any public offenders. And you, the complacent, subservient, passive-aggressively fascistic Peterborough City Council, have jobs to justify.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On paying respects

On keeping a leg up

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Katie Couric, CBS Evening News
Re: Hatchet job

Dear Katie,

Laurence Shandy here. I want to begin by apologizing for my inappropriate comments at last year's CBS Christmas party. I'd had a little too much eggnog, a few too many pills, and at least twice my normal dose of PCP (which might as well stand for "Party! Come on, party!"). You and I were having a nice conversation about skiing, and if I'd stayed on track with you, I'm sure I would have had a shot that night. Instead, I told you I'd always wanted to slalom down your thighs on a stick of butter. I obviously made you uncomfortable, and for that I'm sorry.

Truthfully, I'm a big admirer of yours. On the Today show, you always provided a silky-legged counterpoint to the brusk, hunky manliness of Matt Lauer. Plus, you read the news pretty well. Which is why it came as no surprise to me that CBS courted you and your gams for Dan Rather's venerable chair. Rather never struck me as a particularly good newsman. He seemed to be of the establishment -- the old guard. His legs were just like Cronkite's and Murrow's before him -- pasty, wrinkled, and riddled with pustules from all that sitting. You, on the other hand, brought something new to the table. Two things, actually. And they glowed with a kind of feminine power the Evening News had never seen before.

So, there's a new book coming out about your "dark side" and your "erratic and unprofessional behavior". Please. I usually watch you frame-by-frame on my TiVo at night, so I'm confident I've seen you from pretty much every side, and they're all the same beautiful golden honey color. Not a dark side to be found. And this claim about your erratic behavior is simply a joke. Back in 1992, I personally saw Tom Brokaw shoot a producer in the face over a botched profile on M.C. Hammer, and that wasn't even the lead story. So what if you've slapped a couple of people around?

Here's the thing: don't let this upset you. I need you to be cool and collected. It doesn't matter what people think or how many people are watching your newscast. Brian Williams has been working overtime on his legs. You've got to give it to him -- those things are damn impressive. But America will tire of him. They're just used to seeing your getaway sticks in the morning. Slowly tanning under the sun of Rockefeller Center, those things were like a shot of espresso before work. It's just a matter of time before America discovers them again, and treats them like a nice, warming afternoon swig of scotch. And if you're ever feeling down, you can call on me. I've got a stick of butter with your name on it.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On laying blame

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Waymon Hudson, UNITE Ft. Lauderdale
Re: Homophobia

Dear Mr. Hudson,

Cultural icon Laurence Shandy here. I must admit my surprise upon reading that the mayor of your fair city, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, is a gay-hating, gun-toting redneck. I always assumed the mayor of Ft. Lauderdale was Mickey Mouse. But I suppose Floridians aren't quite ready to elect an openly gay rodent to their highest municipal office. Maybe one day.

Regardless, I'm behind you on your quest to muzzle Mayor Jim Naugle and his hate speak. It was bad enough when he suggested lynching as an environmentally friendly alternative to the electric chair. Doesn't he realize that trees can get rope burn, too? And does he really expect us to believe that homosexuals meet in public restrooms for late-night trysts?

Okay, he may have a point about that. Cruise through the city park near my opulent penthouse after one or two in the morning, and it's like Studio 54. Except most of the people there are undercover cops. Still, not every homosexual has gotten a hummer in a toilet stall. The very suggestion is obscene.

But I must pause to question a comment you made to CNN. In regards to Mayor Naugle, you are quoted as stating: "He has demonized a group of people. He should be held accountable for any hate crimes committed against gays." Since I have class and money, I've never lived in Florida, so I'm not incredibly familiar with the average intelligence of its people. If the general public is so easily incited to mass gay-killing sprees after hearing their mayor suggest homosexuals like to dally in the dark, then I concede your point. But if you do, in fact, live in a community of gay-killing zombies, may I ask why you don't simply up and move? I'm all for fighting the good fight, but I've seen Dawn of the Dead. This is a battle you can't win.

Unless, of course, the general public of Ft. Lauderdale is normally capable of making considered decisions and are only being controlled by some black magic device beaming hypno-rays from atop City Hall. In which case, perhaps a referendum is in order?

Whatever the case, let me offer any service to you and your organization that I can. Short, that is, of actually flying down to Ft. Lauderdale. My body has been covered in a permanent sub-dermal layer of dried semen since the late '70s, and I'd hate to become another homophobic zombie statistic.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman


RESPONSE
From: Waymon Hudson
To: Laurence Shandy
Re: Mayor Jim Naugle

Dear Mr Shandy,

When a public official such as Naugle uses stereotypes and hate speech to demonize and dehumanize a group it makes it easier for hate-filled people to use violence against them. The mayor's comments (which include "gays are unhappy so I call them homosexuals", "homosexuality should be a criminal act", and "we should not invite gay tourists because of the HIV/AIDS issues") are instigating violence and hatred towards the gay community. If you look at the comments left on some of the news stories, they are very violent and go as far as to say that "we should line up the gays in the streets and blow them all away."

This is not, nor has it ever been, about a few isolated cases of illegal activity in restrooms, which everyone opposes and is rightfully handled by the police. This is about using stereotypes and demonizing a group of citizens in a personal crusade for publicity, which seems to be the mayor’s way of doing business. By dehumanizing and attacking an entire community, Naugle only inflames and encourages hate crimes and violence. It is a public safety issue, pure and simple. Violent words too often lead to violent actions.

Thank you for your clever and amusing letter.

Best Wishes,
Waymon Hudson, gentleman


REBUTTAL
From: Laurence Shandy
To: Waymon Hudson
Re: Mayor Jim Naugle

Dear Mr. Hudson,

Congratulations on your insightful and accurate comments regarding the cleverness of my letter, but I must take issue with your characterizing it as "amusing". There's nothing amusing about an entire city full of mindless automatons -- especially if they can be so easily coaxed into following the murderous whims of your mayor, Jim Naugle. Clearly Mayor Naugle is a douche. We can tell that just by looking at him. He looks like the football player who used to call me a faggot while anally raping me in the locker room shower. Actually, "rape" really isn't the right word, since we were 69ing. Also, we lived together for several years after graduation. It was an open relationship that ended amicably. He left with the toaster oven, and I left with his sister's virginity. Now that I think of it, Mayor Naugle is nothing like Bryce.

Anyway, that's beside the point. There's no excuse for the hateful comments left by anonymous bigots writing from their bedrooms before their moms make them turn out the lights. Thankfully, we live in a nation where gay people will never be lined up in the streets and blown away, nor will they be lined up in the streets and p0wned away. These are the pipe dreams of the sexually confused Halo players of the world and not the wishes of mainstream America.

Mayor Naugle's comments, while emotionally retarded and ironically telling of his own sexual proclivities (in a few years, don't be surprised when we see security camera pictures of Naugle with his lips around Jeb Bush's penis while they both wear the skins of disenfranchised black voters), are, in fact, protected speech. He can say he hates the homosexuals all he wants. He can dredge up images from Reconstruction-era lynch mobs. He can say the name Jim J. Bullock and make a cutting motion across his neck with an index finger. That's as American as two rednecks jacking each other off in the back of a pickup truck after a Tampa Bay game. You and I may not like it, and it may be the straw that broke the homicidal, homophobic camel's back, but it doesn't make him a murderer. It just makes him an asshole, which should provide some comfort seeing as how assholes are the things he hates/desires most in the world.

As a form of protest, why don't you and I engage in a little constitutionally-protected man-on-international literary celebrity in the restroom of the Ft. Lauderdale Chuck E. Cheese's? That is, of course, unless you're afraid of a few Internet commentators.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, sodomite

On punching it up

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Scott Kelly, NASA astronaut
Re: Boozing

Dear Commander Kelly,

Globe-trotting celebrity journalist Laurence Shandy here. I read your recent editorial letter criticizing the release last week of an unsubstantiated report claiming unknown number of astronauts have flown while intoxicated. I understand your apprehensions. I wouldn't want anyone casting aspersions upon the integrity of my job either. Which is why I will one day hunt down and destroy Nancy Grace. However, as an astronaut, you must understand your own ignorance as to the ends and outs of spinning a good yarn. You may be an expert on spinning yourself around in circles, using screwdrivers underwater, and consuming dried ice cream blocks, but you're no reporter.

Jesus, the space program has been boring the last few decades. What happened to all the excitement? The adventure? The moon turned out to be a bust. Might as well land in the middle of New Jersey. The Mars rovers? If I wanted grainy pictures of a lifeless desert, I'd point a camera at Rue McClanahan's vagina. Sure, there have been a couple of explosions, but it's probably best not to mention those.

Finally this year we have some intrigue coming out of NASA. They've caught up with our current psycho celebrity obsession. Who cares about Britney's breakdowns or Lindsay's lapses when there's a diaper-wearing killer astronaut on the loose? No publicity is bad publicity, and NASA figured out how to get noticed. You think they'd dump that gravy train just because they don't have any "facts" to support their claims? Hardly. Who cares if evil technicians are really sabotaging space station computers? It's a great story. Old school. Like something Roger Moore would have to solve with punches. Boozy rocket jockeys, while admittedly duller than poopy-pantsed psychopaths, make for headline-grabbing copy.

Look, why don't you take a break from the media criticism and crack open a few dozen beers? The storm's passed anyway. We finally have a few disasters on our radar. The bridge collapses, the earthquakes, the trapped miners. Those'll hold over Wolf Blitzer for at least a week. And when things quiet down again, why not strike with your own whopper? Wouldn't it be interesting if you came back from orbit possessed by Anna Nicole Smith's ghost?

Just an idea.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On protecting our children

Dear readers,

This week, California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger vowed to appeal a federal court ruling which overturned a ban on selling violent video games to children. All the blood and destruction with which our nation's youth are bombarded, including the salacious tripe known as Iraq war coverage, has done nothing but desensitize them and strip away their innocence. How are we to train the next generation of professional sadists if a stiletto heel to the scrotum isn't in the least titillatingly taboo? To that end, I commend Gov. Schwarzenegger on his efforts and offer this heartfelt tribute to his patriotism and sensitivity.

On warnings

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Dr. Bernd Schierwater, evolutionary biologist, Hanover University of Veterinary Medicine
Re: I told you so

Dear Dr. Schierwater,

Remember what I told you about your twelve-headed jellyfish? The pain and suffering it would cause? Well, look what you've done! Three hundred innocent Florida beach-goers have been brutally stung by your monstrous creation! Read the story, Dr. Schierwater. I'm not making this up. For the love of god, man, the lifeguards ran out of vinegar! Do you know how much vinegar that must have been? Do you know how lucky you are that they had any sting-easing vinegar available at all? A photo of three hundred people pissing on each other in public, while not at all scandalous in your native land, would become a media circus in this great nation. Sooner or later, the press is going to sniff you out. They'll know what I know, Dr. Schierwater, and soon you'll be shackled in the Hague.

There's still time to end this. Track your mutant jellyfish spawn down. Devote your life to finding it, and there's a chance you can make this right.

For all our sakes, Dr. Schierwater, I hope you're man enough to do the right thing and destroy the beast you've made.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On psychic animals

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Dr. David Dosa, geriatrician
Re: Oscar the death predicting cat

Dear Dr. Dosa,

Like the rest of the world, I was intrigued by the media onslaught concerning Oscar, the cat who predicts death at Steere House nursing home. Admittedly, I was skeptical at first. After all, this nursing home is a veritable death factory, where patients drop like cold, wrinkly flies on an hourly basis. Plus, those patients closest to death are covered in comfortable, cat-attracting heated blankets to ease them into the nihilistic void that awaits. This seemed like a classic case of folksy misunderstanding wrapped up in a pervasive and unscientific need on the part of the drooling public to find some inexplicable spark of magic in what is otherwise an uncaring and mundane life of pain. But upon second thought, I realized that I, too, have experienced the supernatural prescience of the animal kingdom.

For years I have been plagued by a certain family of pubic lice (also known as "crabs") that seem to be able to predict my sexual partners. I know it sounds crazy -- almost as crazy as a death predicting cat -- but hear me out. After almost every one of my sexual encounters, the tangled knots of my pubis become colonized by these crabs. What makes my crotch so desirable a vacation destination, I have no idea. Perhaps it's the drops of whiskey and Krispy Kreme crumbs that inevitably fall into my nether regions during naked breakfast. Anyway, I eventually flush these crabs away with a mixture rock salt and hydrogen peroxide, but they always come back. Somehow, they are able to sense which men and young ladies I will coitally conquer next and hitch a ride upon their loins.

I am no scientist, but I take it from your honorific that you've at least completed some form of higher education. Perhaps we could set up an experiment to test both your psychic cat and my psychic crabs. We could find four old people on the brink of death, lock them in separate rooms, and give the cat only one key. Simultaneously, I will bait the crabs by making love to the subjects. May we discuss this over dinner? I'll pay you generously for your expertise, of course. And if you feel a little itch down there before I arrive, well, you'll know a tip is in store.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On science abuse

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Dr. Bernd Schierwater, evolutionary biologist, Hanover University of Veterinary Medicine
Re: 12-headed jellyfish

Dear Dr. Schierwater,

I recently read of your attempts to genetically manipulate jellyfish to produce a twelve-headed variety. You talk a good game about how studying a multi-headed jellyfish might help scientists learn about the processes of evolution and mutation, but who do you think you're fooling? Is there really any other purpose for a twelve-headed jellyfish than to tell people at parties that you made one? Aren't you just abusing your research position to make some kind of sick name for yourself?

Look, I understand how a novel anecdote can up your sex quote. I once slid a third of the way down Mt. Everest on only a couple of grape jelly-soaked sponges (for my work), and I couldn't keep the snatch away for at least a month afterward. Sure, you can coax a confused coed back to your apartment by serenading her with the terms of your tenure, but she'll cook you breakfast in the morning if she thinks you're some kind of man-god commanding the very laws of nature for your own perverted whims. Chicks dig power, and nothing says power like your own pet twelve-headed jellyfish.

But you made a big mistake in releasing this information to the press. Now you're going to have PETA on your tail. You don't want to mess with those bastards, and I should know. Their mercenaries assassinated Georges, my monkey handler, in his sleep. He wasn't the one taking bets. He didn't dig the fighting pit. But they don't care. So much as look at an animal viciously or lustfully, and they'll hound you to your grave. And their leader has the nerve to use animal-produced insulin for her diabetes. The balls on that woman!

So, you're not going to be able to just flush this thing down the toilet once its novelty wears off. No, you're going to have to release it into the wild. Maybe give it a few bucks and a slap on the back as you do. Oh yes, this will have to be a photo op, Dr. Schierwater. And though having your face plastered all over the 24-hour news networks for the release ceremony might draw out your sex appeal a few more precious weeks, can you really live with the consequences of your own monstrous creation roaming the seas?

Think of how many people come home from beach vacations every year with swollen, itchy jellyfish stings about their thighs and groins. Now multiply that by twelve! There's no amount of soothing urine baths that could quell the pain from those tentacles.

Science can be a gift, Dr. Schierwater, but careful that you're not slapping a bow on Pandora's box. I know you Germans are into kink, but your sexual pleasure is not worth the thighs and groins of the rest of the world.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman

On sin city

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Oscar B. Goodman, mayor of Las Vegas, Nevada
Re: Our town

Dear Mayor Goodman,

Congratulations on winning another four-year term. Historically, the mayor's role in a town like Las Vegas has been negligible. He's the crazy old man who haunts city hall, or he's the retarded nephew of some gambling tycoon/mob boss who might find some simple-minded pleasure presiding over ribbon cutting ceremonies at the new Arby's or Panda Express.

And why should the mayor of Las Vegas have any real power? The powers that watered a little stink hole in the middle of the Nevada desert until it grew into a gaudy, glitzy empire of murder and profiteering have done a fine job of running the place all by themselves. The mayor's office is really just a side-effect of turning Las Vegas into an official municipality with an official police force that can do the really dirty work the whores and hitmen can't handle. No thanks to the mayor, Las Vegas floats atop an oil well formed from the remains of stool pigeons and hangers-on who couldn't pay their debts. The streets are swept clean by the dragging feet of the downtrodden running only on the fumes of their broken dreams.

Or, should I say, that's how Las Vegas used to be. It's a wonder what a few decades and an uppity city government can change. The last time I visited Las Vegas, Frank Sinatra was still young enough to get an erection, and I have the scars to prove it. But what did I find upon my triumphant return this past weekend? A faded shell of what once was. The air burns the moisture from your loins and smells perpetually of a $4.99 all-you-can-eat buffet. It's a sickening potpourri of stale snow crab, sausage links, and chicken fingers. The streets themselves seem to sweat a constant stream of shitty easy listening, as if 1987 were on a loop. I couldn't purchase a rusty trombone in a back alley with a veteran prostitute and her eager daughter without damming my ears against an onslaught of Bon Jovi and En Vogue.

Las Vegas used to be home to the kinds of shows that required a Hepatitis shot and a rubber poncho, but what's the biggest attraction there today? Fucking Carrot Top, sir. That's the kind of entertainment I expect on a Wednesday night at a Boca Raton retirement village, not in the town that used to serve me caviar with one hand and fist me with the other.

I don't know what you've done with the real rulers of Las Vegas, but you should really consider ceding your new found power to one of the old guard. At this rate, people like me will never return. Do you really want to base your town's economy on the American middle class and their tax break money? "What happens here stays here" is a laughable slogan for a town where the most sinful thing one can do is forget to tip the beef carver on the buffet line. How about this instead:

"Las Vegas. What happens here will cause internal bleeding."

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman