Friday, May 2, 2008
Over here at the Von Partypants house we seem to be literally drowning in fan mail these days. Letters, e-mails, postcards and something that seems to be a blow-up love doll (?) have all been shoved through my mail slot (that's what she said!). It seems you all have so very many questions that demand answers when it comes to all things Whiskey-related.
Today, as my brain is fried from an unusually busy week where I actually find myself working eight hours at a stretch each day (feel free to weep for me), I thought I'd give some of them a shot.
#1 comes from a fan living in Minnesota's farmy neighbor, Iowa. I've been to Iowa. Yup.
Well Wendi, first off- I refer to them as my "big-assed mitts", thank you very much. Second, when I was born my doctors discovered that I carried the gene known as BAH-34. BAH-34 is a rare gene mutation found in one out of every 2,567,348,298 females born in the world. BAH-34 causes females, normally known for their dainty and delicate hands with nails painted in lively colors, to develop what are called "man hands". These women are able to crush more delicate hands in seconds with their vice-like grip and thumbs that resemble big toes.
In many lesser-developed countries, women born with this mutation are revered as goddesses and are allowed to enjoy a stable of their villages' finest young men for potential procreation. We here in the U.S. that have this mutation are currently lobbying in Washington to have the same rights that our third-world sisters enjoy extended to us.
Letter #2 comes from what appears to be a long-lost relative of mine on the East coast:
Well, Percy- you may have noticed that I'm already married. That being said, I guess I would entertain the idea of marrying a relative if the money were right. From the sound of it though, you are looking to hitch your wagon to a sugar mama, and unless you count a really big jar of nickels and a relatively impressive collection of fine velvet paintings as a "trust fund" you, my man, are S.O.L. Godspeed in your quest to find a questionable mate, Percy. Godspeed.
Um, I guess this one isn't so much "fan mail" as "angry notes left on my windshield". Oops.
#4 comes from what I believe to be my first fetish stalker:
Shorty, I know I let you do it once, but letting you do it twice would be unseemly, at best. While I revel in the ugly appendages that reside at the ends of my legs and regularly post photos of them (much to the delight of my readers, I'm sure), letting you lick them again is out of the question. Go find yourself someone who likes to squish doggy poo-poo between their toes and marry them. Seriously. One more letter and you sir have a restraining order in your future. Don't be this guy.
Letter #5 comes from one of my incarcerated fans. Turns out I'm big in maximum-security prisons- who knew?
Earl, I'm a bit confused here. Do you wish you had a monkey, or do you wish you had a monkey's butt? Both are desirable, but perhaps you could clarify. I looked Earl up on the com-pu-tor, and it turns out he's serving 14 consecutive life sentences in Alabama for taking an ax to a busload of members of the Mannheim Steamroller fan club. When asked why he did it, Earl said "I owed it to the rest of the world to take these monsters out".
Fair enough, Earl.
Finally- some of you have asked me for cooking advice over the years. I give out recipes, helpful hints, and useful suggestions in order to help you be better cooks. I like to think that I know what I'm doing, this being my "profession" and me being a "professional" and all.
I'd send you a bundt cake as an apology, but since you don't seem to have a house anymore...
Happy Friday, my little quill-wielding, letter-writing balls of white-hot rage. Happy Friday.