My Deepest Sympathies
Dear Barry,
I wanted let me know that I am deeply saddened over your recent news. When I heard, I was heartbroken about what had happened. Marie told me about it before you sent out an email confirming, but I simply couldn’t believe that you got a six-figure book deal. Now, I see it’s true. It just goes to show that life is random and unfair.
It’s hard to imagine someone so young (younger than me even) going through something like this—a bidding war over his first book. It doesn’t make any sense. I can remember just last year seeing your book when you sent it to me for notes. It seemed so young and innocent—undeveloped and naïve, if you will. It’s hard to imagine a book like that ending up where it did. It makes me very sad.
And to add insult to injury, I hear it’s been optioned as a movie, with you slated to adapt the screenplay. With Ryan Gosling slated to play you, even though he looks exactly like me. Fate can be a cruel thing.
If it puts things into perspective for you, the world is a fucked up place sometimes. Please send my deepest sympathies along to you family for having to deal with this tragedy and your huge ego, which I can only assume will get worse as you fully process these events.
It’s hard to believe in a God, when things like this happen. But, please take solace in the fact that you are a conniving prick. I know that knowledge helps me.
With regret,
Andy
Tips to Beat the Heat
Here are a few tips for keeping cool in this summer’s stupid hot heat:
- Place a cold compress on the back of your neck.
- Find a shady area.
- Avoid strenuous activities, like triathlons or World’s Strongest Man competitions.
- Drink plenty of water. Remember: Gatorade is only for teenage boys and hillbillies.
- Light colors reflect the sunlight. Paint yourself titanium white.
- Wear a wide-brimmed hat, like that novelty foam cowboy hat I won for you at Six Flags. Remember? I got three 100-point shots at Skeeball! Three in one game!
- Never leave a pet in a parked car. Unless it’s a potentially delicious pet chicken.
- Wear lightweight, loose-fitting clothing despite it being Comic-Con and you having glued all that rad shit to your unitard.
- Avoid drinking alcohol, which actually dehydrates you. Also, you’re a mean drunk.
- Use your trunk to fling cooling mud onto your back.
- Stay inside someplace air-conditioned, even though the only thing playing at 2:30 is The Last Airbender, which everyone says sucks.
- Carry around a parasol and say things like, “My my, I do believe I’ve caught the vapors.”
- Frozen custard five times a day.
- Make friends with someone who owns a boat. Do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.
- My thirteen-year-old nephew wants me to inform you that in New York State, it is legal for ladies to go topless.
- Put your bed sheets in the freezer. Mattress too.
- Check in on elderly neighbors, who are more prone to heat stroke. Maybe you’ll get a Werther’s Original out of it.
- Cut open a polar bear and climb inside.
That’s it for now. Stay cool, guys. Stay cool forever.
Axe Murderer
Axe murderer is such a weighted term. I mean, yes, when I murder, it tends to be with an axe. But, is that all that defines me? No. I’m much more than that.
I enjoy playing the piano and cooking. I dabble in watercolors. I collect pottery and German medical books and human thumbs.
When people hear the term “axe murderer,” they think of some seven-foot-tall hairy mute, hitchhiking along a desert highway. That hasn’t been me for years. In fact, the more I murder, the chattier I get. Why, that nice newlywed couple I killed last week—I practically talked their delicious ears off.
If I killed people with a gun, would I be called a “gun murderer?” But, you kill one guy with an axe and the media brands you for life. (Alright, it wasn’t just one. But, c’mon!) If I had known people would be so narrow-minded about my work, I would never have sent the newspaper those doll heads.
It’s gotten me thinking; maybe I should try new tools for killing. I’ve always been interested in mining equipment. But, then I think, “Whoa. Who are these people to tell me how to murder? That’s my dog’s job.”
Competitive Napkin Folding
This is an official announcement: I, Andy Ross, am returning to the world of competitive napkin folding.
Many of my fans may be shocked by this. When I retired from competition, I vowed never to return to professional napkin folding. At the time those were my intentions. But, times have changed.
There are still the same problems I spoke out against inside the World Napkin Folding Federation—rampant commercialism, lack of standardized linen thread count, little to no safety oversight. But, today this grand sport faces a bigger danger. That danger’s name is Freddy “Creaser” Plimpton.
We’ve all seen his smug face on the jumbo screen. We’ve watched him prancing around onstage, showboating. Tell me, is a bright red cloth napkin appropriate for a family-friendly competition? Freddy Plimpton seems to think so.
The hubris this man displays—it’s like something out of Sophocles. Not only does he pimp his line of “Creaser Brand Napkin Rings” in clear violation of WNFF sponsorship guidelines, but he dares use the WNFF logo on the packaging. That logo used to mean something noble and pure. I believe it still can.
Who is this “Creaser” Plimpton, anyway? Just some schmuck with a few swans and a napkin crown under his belt. Would he even recognize the great napkin folders of yore? Gus Hedge? Nellie Dinkels? Lon McSundry? These were professional napkinners of honor. These were gladiators.
When I was four years old, I saw Gus Hedge fold a standard white table napkin into a koala climbing a eucalyptus tree. He took one corner, wiggled it, and the koala waved. That’s when I knew this was the life for me. Freddie Plimpton wouldn’t know a koala if it fell in his lap, light-headed from the low nutritional value of eucalyptus.
So, I’ve decided leave behind my inspiration speaking tours and my series of napkin-folding mystery novels and return to professional napkin folding. “Creasor” Plimpton had better watch his back, because I haven’t spent these last five years simply resting on my laurels. I’ve been developing entirely new categories of napkin folds.
Next month, you can come watch me at the regional qualifier at the Red Roof Inn in Paramus. I’ll be in Conference Room B putting the finishing touches on my new masterpiece. Prepare yourself for ... The Linen Phoenix.
Cloud Shapes
A list of shapes the clouds look like today:
- Dog
- Top Hat
- Hockey Stick
- Beehive Hairdo After a Nap
- Sideways Teacup
- Airplane (turned out to be a real airplane)
- Deflated Football
- Cotton Candy
- Cotton Ball
- Phylicia Rashad
- Angry Telephone
- Hoosiers (the 1986 film)
- A Cow that Talks Like my Grandmother
- An Evil Genie
- Big Bird with Two Heads
- Music
I should say that I am on hallucinogenic mushrooms right now. Probably should have said that at the beginning.
Kagan Softball Shirt
This past week, the funny folks at Comedy Central's Indecision Forever blog commissioned me to do something for Elena Kagan's confirmation hearings. So, I came up with this softball team logo, since I hear she enjoys the game.
You can go to their blog here to download a pdf of the logo to make your own iron-on, which is awesome.
Health Class
Listen up, class. I know this might be uncomfortable, especially because you’re normally split up between boys and girls gym. But, we’ve brought you together, because health is an important conversation. And, I don’t want you to think of me as Mrs. Archer today; I want you to think of me as Joan.
Now, we’ve all noticed our bodies. By hands, who’s noticed their bodies? Okay, there should be more hands than that. You must have noticed you bodies. They’re those squishy parts underneath your heads. And, that’s what I want to talk to you about--your burgeoning … squishiness.
Girls, I know you all want to dress sexy, like that Katy Perry, but just know that putting yourself on display is a slippery slope. Your bodies are for running and jumping and such. They are not for the boys to objectify.
I understand there’s pressure. In a few years, you’ll go on spring break, and there’ll be thong dancing contests or what have you. Well, you might think that’s okay. But, then it’s wet t-shirts or eating a banana covered in whip cream. And, the next thing you know, you’re in some back room in Tijuana turning a flashlight on without using your hands.
Now, you boys may think you’re in for some great show. But, you be careful, too. Because, you look at these girls with navel rings, and you watch these webcams and everything’s exciting. But, soon, that’s not taboo enough to get you revved up. One minute it’s strip clubs, the next it’s hard core MILF porn. And, before you know it you won’t be able to get an erection without sticking your hand in a bowl of lukewarm macaroni while your wife hums the William Tell Overture. But, don’t think she’ll stick around for that, because teaching gym pays plenty well enough to afford an apartment.
Okay, to sum up: our bodies are a temple, and that temple should be hidden away underground until some brave archeologist--consensually and in college--unearths it slowly with shovels and then those little paint brushes.
Class dismissed.
My Trick Knee
My trick knee is acting up. I tore a ligament in junior varsity, and now it’s feeling sore again. That could mean one of a few things:
Either, it’s going to rain.
Or, it’s going to snow.
Or, it’s going to rain and then change over to snow.
Or, it might snow for a while and then sleet.
Or, it might heat up.
Or, it’s going to get chilly and breezy.
Or, it’s going to be overcast.
Or sunny.
Or, it might mean there’s a hurricane headed our way.
Or, it might just get foggy in the early morning.
Or, it could mean pleasant picnic weather in the afternoon.
Or, a wave of locusts.
I’m not sure. My trick knee acting up could mean a lot of things. I’m trying to figure out the patterns, but it’s pretty inconsistent. It’s almost as if my trick knee doesn’t predict the weather at all. Nah! I’m just kidding. It means it’s going to rain. Take an umbrella to work.
My Fan Club President
Alright, as the incoming president of my fan club, you’re gonna have many more responsibilities than a regular fan. I want to make sure you can handle it. Unlike the last president.
First off, you’re in charge of the convention planning committee. That covers everything from final say on the venue city to pricing out life-size Andy Ross ice sculptures.
Second, you’ll need to monitor the fan sites. And not just the official ones. Stay constantly active in the chatrooms, even those in other time zones. Please make sure no one has too old a photo of me as their avatar.
I’ll be relying on you to ghost write my next memoir. The previous president just strung together a bunch of my tweets. In this one, I want something new. Maybe say I once fought a lion or something.
Oh, and you need to check my fan mail for stalkers. If someone sends in a portrait of me, that’s fine. If it contains any human tissue, that’s a red flag. Also, only pass along the female underwear.
The archives are your responsibility too. It’s mostly ephemera, so wear acid-free gloves.
You’re welcome to sign any headshots to send out, but I did buy a machine for that. It holds ten Sharpies at once. It’d be a shame to waste it.
Ummm … starlets. There’ll be a lot of starlets coming in and out in the mornings. So try to familiarize yourself with their names. Especially, because I might need help remembering.
What else? What else? Oh yeah, please don’t hide underneath my bed to listen to me sleep. Your predecessor was terrible about that.
That’s it really. I’m so excited you won the election for fan club president. I know it was a tough race, especially because the incumbent tried to murder you. But, I really think the t-shirts you silkscreened made a big difference in the campaign. Kudos for that.
Before you ask any questions about day-to-day, can you run out and get me some Perrier? Thanks a bunch.