Last week, after watching highly respected City Council candidates Doug "Shin-Kicker" Bruce and Ed "Not Really Counting On the Black or Jewish Vote" Bircham appear together to discuss their planned Reform Team takeover of our village government, I did what most of you did.
That's right, I curled up in the fetal position under my psychiatrist's couch and sucked my thumb for three days.
But we're not here to write about the angry and volatile Bruce-Bircham ticket (official campaign motto: "Tippecanoe and #@%* You, Too").
Instead, we'll visit the ol' mailbag to see what you, the loyal readers, are thinking. And just so you don't have any big expectations for this column, I'll tell you right now that none of the recent notes rival last year's "Dear Butthead" letter from reader "YS," who called me, among other things, a "lazy, wothless (shitbrained liberal" [sic] and closed by asking the ages-old philosophical question: "How's that bear bite you in the ass u dumbass liberal?"
By comparison to that eloquent dissertation, today's e-mails appear to have been written by people who did not stick a butter knife into an electrical outlet when they were little.
Take this actual note about the aforementioned candidate Doug, from reader Bill: "I am convinced Mr. Bruce's problem is that he needs to get laid. I have been asking my female friends to lie down and take one for the team, but so far have found no takers. Maybe with your larger circle of friends you could have greater success. Not fooling around here. This is serious."
Note to Bill: You make a good point. And I'll ask around. I'm sure there are people who consider being kicked in the leg a type of foreplay. But enough about the women of Nebraska.
Here's another interesting note that arrived as a letter to the editor: "Clearly, Rich Tosches must have slept through the unit on satire in journalism school."
To which I would say, in all seriousness: journalism school?
My No. 1 fan went on to demonstrate a Harvard-worthy knowledge of finance and business when he wrote: "It's a good thing the Indy is free, or they couldn't afford to print your waste of trees."
The note was signed: Rock Chasko, La Mesilla, N.M.
(I don't know if Rock is his actual name or just a nickname based on the most popular children's toy in New Mexico.)
Another note came after I announced my candidacy to become the next mayor of our village, via a column in which I confessed to having 11 toes (nine of them on my right foot) and some other stuff that I don't remember.
From reader Studmuffin: "You go from talking about your toes to some obscure Ted Haggard reference to running for mayor. Does anyone take anything seriously anymore?"
To which I'd say sure, some people do. I just find my group of people, called "idiots" or "loons," to be more fun. Oh, and by the way, Mr. Studmuffin, if your wife gave you that nickname, it's possible she's in a third group of people. They're called "sarcastic."
Reader "Ronnie1" reacted to a recent column about UFO Phil, a fellow who wants to build a flying saucer-refueling station atop our very own Pikes Peak (that old idea again), by saying there are millions of aliens whizzing across our skies in spaceships all the time, causing gamma-ray flashes.
"These Terrestrial Gamma-ray flashes," the reader informs me, "send beams of anti-matter arcing through the Earth's atmosphere in thunderstorms ... and are sometimes referred to as Blue Jets."
These so-called Blue Jets of light should not be confused with another natural phenomenon often demonstrated back in the 1970s by George, my college roommate. He called his scientific displays — which involved a cigarette lighter, a burrito and him lying on his back in his underwear with his legs over his head — Blue Darters.
Some notes contain medical information, too. Following a column about the Gazette, which used to be a newspaper, "gregR" offered this informative snippet: "My bird gets the squirts when I put the Geezette in the cage."
Which is, quite frankly, startling on two fronts. First, the guy has a bird that can read. And even more surprising, somewhere in our village there's a guy who still gets the Gazette.