Monday, April 25, 2005

The Strange Mailbag

Here at The Strange we receive literally thousands of emails and letters every day. Although our stable of writers, experts, and commentators is exceedingly impressive, we simply don’t have the time to respond individually to every single person.

To expedite the process of replying to your laudatory missives, we’ve decided to respond to a few of them at a time here on our site. We’ve chosen letters that not only answer specific queries but also address broader issues expressed by other members of our ever-expanding and seemingly limitless audience.

Let’s begin, shall we?

To Annalee in McMinnville, Tennessee:

Thanks for writing in! We’ve got a lot of fans in Tennessee, and we’re proud to add McMinnville to that list. The next time we take our armored vehicle column on the gun-show circuit we’ll be sure to let you know so we can personally give you a tour of the special improvements we've made on the lead tank, Mjollnir.

To address your main question regarding our favorite movie featuring Rowdy Roddy Piper (which we get a lot): most people would automatically assume it to be They Live!, that masterpiece of masterpieces which finds itself as an integral part of social commentator John Carpenter’s cinematic oeuvre.

But The Strange goes back just a little earlier than that, citing Piper’s jaw-dropping performance as the title character in 1987’s Hell Comes to Frogtown as our favorite. Who knew explosives attached to genitals could be so funny, and yet still so subtly thought-provoking?

Hell Comes to Frogtown tackles a number of complex social issues that we at The Strange take very seriously, not the least of which is explosives attached to the genitals. It also puts an amphibian in a prominent role of power, something rarely seen in today’s prejudiced and discriminatory Hollywood machine.

These are things we care about, like we care about you. Again: thanks for writing!

To Adam (in the electronic ether):

We’re glad you took our commentary on coffee so seriously. We do take our coffee seriously, but pride ourselves on not being snobbish about it. True, we enjoy a robust cup of Sumatran Elderberry with our truffle-caviar omelets and watercress tea sandwiches each morning in our parlor, which is totally encrusted in pearl. But if we can’t get that, we’ll settle for a Dunkin’ Donuts French Vanilla, light and sweet. It’s all good.

We have to admit, however, that we’re concerned you may be actually trying to physically consume our humor. We advise against this. But please feel free to continue reading it every day. That’s the best way we’ve found to “consume” it.

To Claudette in Chàteau de Chambord, France:

Thanks so much for sending that delicious cheese sampler and all those erotic photographs. You’re quite an attractive young woman. Unfortunately, Mark is both lactose-intolerant and has a girlfriend.

Michael, on the other hand, gorges daily on cheese and is quite single. Overly single, one might say. He’d be glad to send his private luxury jet, the Olympus Missile, to retrieve you from the hellhole that is central France and deposit you squarely into his virile and Adonis-like American arms.

PLEASE NOTE: We will have to charge you for the jet fuel, as well as exact a modest cleaning surcharge for the bison pelts upon which you will recline during your trip, but the deviled eggs served in-flight are 100% complimentary.

To Bono:

We considered writing back to you, as we’re big fans of your band’s music (at least, we were up until Zooropa; and certain songs on All That You Can’t Leave Behind are OK) but after hearing you refer to the late John Paul II as the “funky pope,” we just want you to stop. Stop what? Basically everything.


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