Todd Invenig of Vienna, Austria writes:
I am an avid fan of your blog. A while back you told the story of blowing up your house in “Things That Go Whump In The Night.” Did this really happen? If so, that must have been a traumatic experience for you. Aren't you emotionally scarred from the experience?
Todd, believe me, that event really did happen. I know that the veracity of the story seems questionable in the context of this web log – a nice way of saying that I make shit up all the time, how are you supposed to know that I didn't make that up as well – but I guess you just have to trust me on this one. Please do not do as some have done and sneak up behind me and pop a paper bag to see if I really scream like a girl – I do, okay, and it's an embarrassing affront to my manhood, plus I'm tired of being peeled off the ceiling. However, as far as emotional scarring, I think I've finally developed a pretty good attitude about the whole thing. My theory about having a near-death experience is, let it go. If it really wants to kill you it will come back.
Justin Mundhenke of (Unintelligible), Arizona writes:
I am an avid fan of your blog. Recently I had an unfortunate accident where all my fingers were broken due to slow payment of some high-interest loans. Now, I find that typing on my laptop with my nose is time-consuming and hurts my eyes. Any tips?
Justin, you're asking the right guy. I had a similar accident a few years ago, back when people would still lend me money. I found that you can save yourself considerable eye strain by closing your eyes right before your head smacks the keyboard. That way they don't cross before impact. Another useful thing I discovered is that these days no one cares if you don't capitalize words, so you no longer have to bother holding the shift key down with your tongue. Although you might also want to consider that, as a result of doggedly continuing to capitalize words in spite of my handicap, I received several blatant and intriguing propositions from reasonably attractive women in the coffee shop where I wrote at the time.
Golden Lovejoy of Savannah, Georgia writes:
I am an avid fan of your blog. My cute twenty-something girlfriends and I are going to be in the Twin Cities soon for no reason we can think of. Since we know that you're a total sex dog, while we're in town we're thinking about dropping by your coffee shop to see you. What do you look like, so we can recognize you?
Ms. Lovejoy, it would be a pleasure to meet you and your succulent flock. Besides carefully studying the picture in my blog profile sans hot chick, here's a description of me that may help:
Imagine Ed Bradley from 60 Minutes.
Now imagine a white Ed Bradley.
Now imagine a white Ed Bradley crazed on Viagra, cheap scotch and crack cocaine, laughing hysterically and waving a still-smoking Uzi in one hand and feverishly blogging on an ancient laptop with the other.
I look nothing at all like that. I look like Johnny Depp; everyone says so.