Dark Pretentious Lighting, and Manila Envelopes

At 10:09 P.M. last night, there was a knock at the door.

The type of knock that asked the question, "Hi, it's danger, anybody home?"

I opened the door.

There, before me, stood a tall man, in a black duster, dark sunglasses, and oddly enough donning a Shriner’s fez.

With his gaze affixed upon mine, I took a swig of my Rose, a deep drag off my cigarette, paused, exhaled into his chiseled face, and uttered:

“Can I help you, man of film noir characteristics?”

The stranger was not amused.

He grunted; thrust a manila envelope to my chest, and exited.

Holding the envelope, I watched him walk away as I shouted to the stranger’s back, “Say Hi to Otto Preminger for me.”

Once back inside the Bagwine digs, I opened a fresh fifth of Wild Irish Rose as well as the envelope. It contained a hand written note.

What follows, is the contents of said note…

Dear Matt-Man,

It’s been a long time since last we spoke. I hope your life is going full bore, because I have always kind of liked you.

I hope that Schmoop is well and your cat, Corky, is still full of life. They are both so cute…yes indeed, damn cute.

Though you are my dear friend, I have been reading your blog of late with some consternation. Why are you trashing Sarah Palin?

Why are you lashing out in a tasteless and gratuitous manner towards her young, nubile daughter Bristol, with such vile and ill-conceived blasphemy? Okay maybe “ill-conceived” was a poor choice of words in Bristol’s case, but you get my point.

I know you enjoy poking fun at people, and typically, I laugh. This time, however, your pokes are hitting too close to home for me to simply laugh them away.

If you were making fun of any other candidate for Vice-President I wouldn’t be upset. But, Matt-Man, Sarah Palin is my daughter…Bristol Palin, my granddaughter. I feel the need to protect them.

I fathered Sarah Palin in a Sandpoint, Idaho motel room the night of May 11th, 1963.

It was a night of passion involving myself, Sarah Heath, and a pan full of twice baked potatoes. Charles Heath, her husband had, and still has, no clue.

In fact other than myself, Sarah Heath, and now you, nobody is wise to this clandestine copulation.

Here’s the deal, Matt-Man. If you continue to attack Sarah, Bristol, or any of the Palins, I will have to take decisive action against you.

What is the action of which I am speaking? I can’t answer that, but I can impart to you, a couple of questions.

I mentioned earlier that Schmoop and Corky are so damn cute…I know that they mean the world to you.

Do you really want to receive a phone call saying that Schmoop has been run over by a bus or fallen down an elevator shaft?

Do you want to come home one day and see Corky boiling in a pot on the stove with potatoes, carrots, and onions?

I didn’t think so…The ball is in your court, funny man.

Sincerely,






John McCain
Senator, GOP Prez Nominee, Potato Eater

Wow…just wow.

Cheers!!