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| 12.15.2008 - P.Net Mailbag #15 | 1:26 PM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| What's shaking, internet website readers? It's your boy, Art "Painted Black" Dodger and I am back with another update centered around the time-honored tradition of pulling letters out of a bag and lighting them on fire. Afterward, I pretend to have read them and then make up some kind of witty reply that has nothing to do with the original point of the letter. Or at least that's what the manual said to do. This is the "Special Year End Wrap-Up" edition of the P.Net Mailbag, aptly named because it was written by a complete retard and it also happens to be the last month of 2008. See Dr. Jennings? I can be clever without my medication.
Actually, I'm just kidding. I'm not really retarded and by jokingly saying that I am, I'm doing a huge disservice to real retarded people everywhere. People like my boss -- and hand job activist -- Randy "Kung Fu Grip" Pollestad. I'm actually not required to talk about him disparagingly in every update, I just choose to do it because it's really fun. It's also a neat game that you and your family can play at home. Just think of the absolute worst insult in the world and then add his name at the end. This valuable diversion can provide hours of entertainment to even the most hardened of ADHD individuals.
Speaking of diversions, look over there! I see letters on the horizon! Let's get to them before it's too late!
Dear Mailbag,
With all that is going on in the world today, I am finding it really hard to get motivated and to be a positive person. Everyone I know is losing their homes, unemployment is crazy high, and with so much violence taking place on a daily basis, I'm finding it difficult to have hope for humanity. I want to provide lasting contributions for the planet but it's hard to find the stimulation. Can you offer any advice?
- Rick
Dear Rick,
Thank you so much for taking the time to write to us with your problems. I know what you mean about it being hard to find stimulation. The effect that other people and their actions have on you can sometimes be overwhelming. For example, this one time, I was watching this porno. It was really top class stuff and I was just starting to get into it. I mean, I'm sure the chick had like 50 diseases but she was smoking hot so my brain was able to ignore that part. Anyway, this guy was going at it with her and he kept yelling out "Who's the boss?" at the top of his lungs. While this might not bother some people, it was very distracting to me because I kept yelling "Tony Danza, you idiot!" back at the television. It kind of took me out of my element. I eventually finished my task but I will admit that for a while there, it was extremely hard for me to get motivated and complete the job at hand.
The point is, I didn't give up and you shouldn't either. Of course, I guess it helps that I find stimulation in erotic thoughts of Tony Danza so maybe I had it easy but even if I didn't, that doesn't mean that I would have thrown in the towel, either. I would have just found some other hunky 80's sitcom reject to fantasize about. Find your own Tony Danza and save the world. If you need any more motivation than that to help humanity, I can arrange to kidnap your child or something. Whatever lights a fire under your ass. We need people like you out there fighting the good fight because I'm damn sure not going to do it. I'm too busy watching porn.
Dear Creators of Filth,
I would first like to start out by saying that I am by no means a reader of your site. I couldn't bring myself to stoop down to your level of filth and perversion. I was directed there by a friend of mine and, to be honest, I am appalled at the blatant disrespect that you and your writers show women. This is not the 1950s and women today are more than just housewives. We're a powerful force in the workplace and recognition of that is long overdue. Please do the world a favor and clean up your acts.
- Diane
Hi Diane,
I would first like to start out by saying that I am by no means a fan of yours but I will admit to being more than a little surprised while reading your letter. Not necessarily because the criticisms you raise are false but more the fact that you used a lot of big words in a somewhat correct order and managed to use two kinds of punctuation. That's 100% more than most of the sluts I hang out with know how to use. While I can freely admit that women certainly have made progress in the workforce over the years, it really all boils down to how you define progress. I mean, world records at the Special Olympics get broken all the time, which is progress, but even if you walk away with the gold medal, you're still retarded.
That's not to say that women don't have a role in the workplace but rather that not all women are suited for it and by claiming so, you're doing an injustice to working people everywhere. Jobs come with requirements for a reason and just because you're a women doesn't make you able to be anything you want to be. For example, if you're obese, have c-section scars, or bullet wounds that are still healing, maybe a position as an exotic dancer isn't right for you and you should look into seeking employment as an auto mechanic instead. Granted, you might not be qualified enough to actually fix my car but in the event of a shop accident, the only casualty would be a women versus an actual, skilled repair person. I hear they are in short supply and it would be a shame to waste them.
Equal rights for all means the right to be equally discriminated against. As an employer, I don't have to hire you just because you have a vagina. Chances are good that I will, however, because I am long overdue for a sexual harassment lawsuit. Also, I like big butts and I cannot lie.
Dear P.Net,
I am Jewish and very much looking forward to celebrating the upcoming Hanukkah holidays. Since I live in a mostly Christian neighborhood, we often get groups of carolers that stop by the house during the month of December. Even though I don't celebrate Christmas, I honestly don't mind the songs but since I don't know the traditions, I'm generally at a loss on what to do when they are done. Can you provide me some etiquette tips for dealing with carolers?
- Alissa
Dear Alissa,
While I can't rightly claim to be Jewish, mostly since I have a debilitating disease that causes my genitals to swell whenever I am near dreidels or latkes, I can still totally side with your people and their indifference for Christmas. Truth be told, I'm not really a fan myself. Any holiday that strongly recommends to people that they should don their gay apparel is not cool in my book. It's not like we don't have enough problems with hipsters and idiots wearing pink every other day of the year, so I don't think that we really need to encourage them to do so on Christmas and ruin the fun for everyone else.
Not to mention that I have to put up with Jesus constantly blowing up my cell phone every five minutes and blabbing like a spoiled 13-year old about his upcoming birthday party. I like the guy but I could deal without the constant reminders. I don't even have any idea what to get him, either. The guy has practically everything and with the recent economic downturn, I can't really afford to get him anything really nice. If you've ever been to one of Jesus's parties, you know that you can just walk in with a gift card or some bauble you picked up on sale at Target. He knows. Plus he's not shy about telling you what's on his mind.
"Really? A sweater? I got freakin' gold and myrrh from strangers before I was even born and you try to pawn off this ugly ass sweater on me? I am Jesus, man. I don't get cold. I mean, seriously, where the hell would I even wear this? It's not like I can totally show up on Judgment day and rapture everyone wearing this piece of shit. No one would take me seriously and I have a reputation to maintain. You better have a gift receipt or something because I am seriously thinking about not admitting you to heaven right now. I thought that we were friends, man, and you go and pull this shit. A freakin' sweater. Jesus Christ! Oh look, you got me so mad I used my own name in vain. Yeah, Dad, I know, tolerance and forgiveness but, seriously, have you seen this thing? It's like he didn't even try! OK, OK, I'll calm down but you're not getting any cake. You better represent properly in 2009 or else."
After that, he usually gives you a menacing glare and kind of does that finger across the throat move when his Dad isn't looking. It's really powerful stuff. This year, I'm thinking about going with an electric beard trimmer or maybe just a travel grooming kit. I'm not implying anything -- I'm just saying that maybe he looks a little shaggy for being our lord and savior. You have no idea what kind of shit is hiding in that scraggly mess of facial hair.
As for carolers, I have no idea what those are and I will simply assume that you just made that word up to try and fool me. You sound hot, though. Holla at me for a hookup!
Quick Answers to Quick Questions
Dear PNC,
With the economy sliding downward like it is, am I better off renting or owning?
- William
Dear William,
Rent. Owning is stupid. Everyone knows that girls go for guys with huge bank accounts, not for a guy who spent $500,000 on a piece of paper that has his address on it.
Dear Art,
I smoke weed like once a week and I'm really sick of people telling me it's so bad. Please tell me why it's soooo bad and why should I stop?
- Kevin
Dear Kevin,
It causes you to lust after white women.
That's all the time we have for letters and I shall officially stamp this edition of the P.Net Mailbag closed. If there is a problem, yo, I'll solve it, but I will probably do so in a way that a) is funny and b) doesn't really solve your problem. I just hope that you're not using us as a last resort because that would be really, really stupid. Kind of like betting real money on hockey games only not really anything like that at all. Until next time, keep those letters coming and I will keep the home fires burning. |
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| 02.28.2008 - P.Net Mailbag #14 | 1:50 PM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 5/5 (1 Votes) |
| Greetings and salutations to my internet fan base, it's your boy Art "Skinny Dip" Dodger back
with a very begrudged edition of the world renowned P.Net Mailbag. After the
corporation was shut down in late 2007, I took that as a sign that I should move on and do
better things with my life. While I suppose that reading and responding to people's
letters is worthwhile cause in itself, I hold the pertinacious belief that I was born to be
something better than a Mexican version of Ann Landers. A good thing too, considering
that I am not Mexican, so I would have my work cut out for me in that scenario. After
faking coming down with a debilitating brain disease, I was able to make my escape from the
confines of the PNC basement and steal a zebra from the petting zoo to transport me to
Hollywood!
Hollywood is the place of legend; where dreams can be realized and fortunes can be had if
you're willing to sleep with the right person. Trust me, I'm more willing than
most. Forced sex is kind of a side hobby of mine so I figured that would give me a
little bit of an advantage when dealing with these scummy agent types. Besides, I had
in my hand an iron-clad ticket to greatness: a movie script with a plot, the likes of which
hadn't been since Bill Cosby starred in his thrilling epic, "Leonard Part 6." My story,
while untitled, was centered around a transvestite koala struggling to overcome a life of
poverty and a crippling addiction to horse tranquilizers but he eventually realizes that he
can never succeed because the world is a very cruel place. He is eventually killed in
London by an estranged banana farmer just days shy of his 23rd birthday -- the birthday in
which he would have inherited a fortune from his great uncle. Really, about as
uplifting a story as you could possibly find. Sadly, the movie execs turned it down,
saying that drug addicted koalas were "so last year" and that they had moved on to
entertaining script ideas involving cannibalistic bald eagles instead.
I took the news in stride, mostly because I was already being escorted from the premises by
two armed guards, and secretly vowed my revenge -- a revenge which would probably have to
wait because I didn't have any money and my stomach lining had begun to feast on itself due
to lack of nutrition. With much regret, I placed a call to Randy "Cool Ranch" Pollestad
and asked if it would be possible to resume my old duties as "the mailbag guy" but, you know,
maybe with a desk this time instead of being chained to a radiator. Amazingly, he put
his irascible behavior aside and in a rare display of level-headedness, actually agreed to my
demands. So, here I am and here begins another edition of the P.Net Mailbag.
Dear Editors,
I know the whole man rule about doing shakes at the urinal and how you're not supposed to do it more than twice or you're playing with yourself. But what the hell? No matter how fierce my two shakes are, I am constantly getting piss all over myself after I zip up. I don't think that I am especially leaky. What can I do about this? Any advice or rules on how to fix it?
-- Terry
Dear Terry,
First, I'd like to thank you for writing to us with this problem as opposed to seeking out more professional or reputable advice from such places like WebMD or a hospital. Those guys are simply out to steer you wrong. We here at the PNC are experts in all things Man Law so you've certainly come to the right place.
One time, I was at the urinal and I was wearing this really long shirt. I thought that I had tucked it up properly before I began but before I knew what happened, I had pissed all over the bottom of it. I tried my best to wash it off but all day long, I knew what had happened. I knew it was there. I'd be in a meeting and someone would start sniffing the air and asking everyone if they smelled that odor. "Smells like piss" one guy would say. So I'd be the first to chime in that it did and look around the room accusingly so that no one thought I was the culprit. After that, I involuntarily passed gas and threw up at the same time as a means to distract people from the piss conversation. Then I began crying and speaking about my dead fish as a means to take people's minds off the vomit smell. Then I wrapped my hands around my neck and choked myself until I passed out so that everyone would panic and run out of the room to call 911. I was fine after they revived me and everyone had forgotten about the pee smell or why we were even in the meeting in the first place. Mission accomplished I'd say.
As for some parting advice Terry, go ahead and shake that thing more than twice if it makes you happy. Unless you're peeing at a gay disco in San Francisco, I highly doubt any one is counting your shakes besides you. However, if you are in some place where the guy at the next urinal is counting your shakes, feel free to hit him in the head with a brick because he is infringing on your straight rights.
Dear Art,
A few years back, I was making out with this girl and I got a boner. I wasn't sure how
she would react to this so when we were finished with kissing, I thought up a clever way to
leave the room so she wouldn't see it. I got on all fours and pretended to be a
cat. I said "meow" and made paw gestures before eventually crawling around the corner
to fix myself. I talked to a friend of mine recently and he said that he used to
pretend that he was a monkey when he would his and jump around until he was clear of the
room. I have since received mixed reviews to people I have told this story to. Am
I weird? Is this abnormal behavior?
-- JS
Dear JS,
Let me put your fears at rest: your behavior is anything but abnormal. Science has
proven to us time and again that girls are allergic to boners and that any girl who is
exposed to a boner during a make-out session is especially susceptible. You did the
right thing my friend and probably wound up saving the poor girls life. I personally
used to hide my boner by screaming "I DO NOT HAVE A BONER" while punching her in the face
until she passed out but, yeah, I suppose the cat thing is a good idea too. Here are
some other great ways to hide your boner:
- Hide your boner in a little lockbox under your bed or bury it in the garden.
- Cartwheel out of the room, screaming maniacally about how great Led Zepplin is. Bonus
points if you manage to knock something over in the process.
- Suddenly spring from the couch and onto the floor. Get as low to the ground as
possible and sneak out of the room like you're crawling through the trenches in World War
I. Be sure to sing the Mission: Impossible theme song as loudly and out of key as
possible while doing so.
- Tell her that she has a little dirt on her cheek and then hit her in the head with a frying
pan.
- Pretend that your boner is a magnet and let it lead you out of the room. For good
measure, flail your arms wildly and try to hold onto things while exiting but ultimately
fail.
- Dress up like Mustafa from the stage version of "The Lion King" and sing "Can You Feel The
Love Tonight" as loud as possible while break dancing and doing boner spins. No woman
can resist the hypnotic allure of bonerspins. When you are done, ask her if she will be
your lioness and when she agrees, beat the shit out of her with a bible while shouting
"REPENT, WHORE OF BABYLON!"
- Hide your boner in an elaborate network of shell corporations and blind trusts.
But all joking aside JS, let us recap what you just told me: you made out with a girl; you
got a boner; you used the word "boner" and were serious about it; and you ran out of the room
making cat noises. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you and why the hell would
you think that is normal? Additionally, why would you think I care? Do me a favor
and go drown yourself in laundry soap.
And now for a new feature called "Quick Answers to Quick Questions" where we finally find a
place to put all of those letters that don't demand long, drawn out answers.
Dear PNC,
I fail at everything I do. I feel like a no-talent hack. Is there any hope for
me?
-- Ian
Dear Ian,
Sure you have a talent -- it's just that your talent happens to be the ability to write
letters to people who don't give a shit. Sadly, this isn't a very marketable
skill yet.
Dear Mailbag,
My husband is addicted to playing video games and I need advice! What should I do?
-- Renee
Dear Renee,
One up him by becoming addicted to crystal meth. Lose weight and feel great at the same
time!
Dear P.net,
My boss at work thinks that he is all that and constantly asks me to hang out with him after
work. I pretend that I like him for the sake of my job. Any tips on letting him
down easy?
-- Alan
Dear Alan,
Sometimes I wear cock rings on my fingers and pretend that they are really expensive jewelry
pieces so I definitely know what you're going through. Trying asking your boss if you
can wear his cock rings. You probably won't need to pretend much after that.
Having said all of that, this bring the record 14th edition of the back and forth letter
answering to a close. I'll be here for another episode soon since I have nothing better
to do than to sit at my new desk, read letters, and plot revenge against Hollywood.
They'll get theirs... and it'll be cold. I'm having it flown in from Iceland as we
speak. Also, I'm trademarking the word "bonerspins." Call me for royalty negotiations.
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| 07.12.2007 - P.Net Mailbag #13 | 10:39 AM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 5/5 (1 Votes) |
| Like clockwork, a new month dawns on us like stupid ideas dawn on the Republican party,
which is to say all too frequently. Why, it seems like just yesterday I was
spending my free time writing erotic fanfiction starring me and Playboy's Miss
June centerfold. All that time, it seems, is wasted because with the new
month comes new adventures with a new centerfold, whom I am convinced will also
fall under my lustful spell with minimal effort. (I do seem to have that
effect on paper women.) But with the coming of a new month also comes
something else aside from airbrushed love and I'm not just referring to the
hepatitis shot I get at the free clinic. Rather, I'm talkin' about bags
of mail and the letters contained within!
You might look at this and laugh but that's because you're stupid. It's really not that funny.  | |
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It's been just over a year and a half since I took over the mailbag duties from
Randy "Norway Whore" Pollestad and even though I'm more than a little
disappointed at myself for being unable to move on, I don't let that get in the
way of continuing to provide you with the same low quality feedback/response
updates that you're used to. Oh sure, I still hold on to my dreams of
becoming a superstar just like parents hold onto ransom notes in the foolish
hope that they might actually see their child alive again but we're both just
kidding ourselves. I'm still stuck doing the same old schtick that I have
always done. Skip Walker keeps telling me that I should be thankful that I even
have a "schtick" to be stuck with because some third world countries don't even have
clean water. He then made some kind of Christmas analogy which I tuned out
because they don't pay me enough around here to listen. I think he might be
off his medication anyway. But, silly me. None of this has anything to
do with why you're here, which is a cheap way of saying that we should get on with
the letters.
Dear P.Net,
Today I did something stupid, and you're the only one I can turn to. Over the
weekend, my friend Chris gave me the Tuna Odorant challenge, and... I accepted.
Long story short, I am getting paid two hundred of your US dollars to use
canned tuna in lieu of deodorant for three consecutive days at the office, and I'm
only allowed one shower per day. I've been here for twenty minutes and I feel
fucking disgusting. Now I feel like I have to go through with it, because I
already bought the tuna and I could use $200. What is wrong with me?
- Leonard
Hello Leonard,
They say that when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade.
However, I find this advice in horrible taste considering the percentage
of the population that is allergic to citrus. I mean, what are they supposed
to do when life gives them lemons? Sell them? Sure, they could do that I guess,
assuming that we still live in a perfect world and not some dysotopian future
where the citrus haters amongst us haven't been cordoned off because cans of
Sprite rule the day and our carbonated overloads dictate society. But you
weren't given lemons so you don't have to worry about making lemonade. You
were given cans of tuna. And what did you make out of those cans of tuna,
Leonard? A gigantic idiot of yourself.
See how all of the kids have turned their back on you? Using tuna for deodorant isn't cool.  | |
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You see Leonard, I already hate you and I don't even know you. In my book,
you're a grade A retard, the kind of retard that kids with Down syndrome point at
and think, "well, at least I'm not him." You're a worthless empty soul who
idolizes the idea of prostituting himself out for the amusement of others in
the small hope that you might gain some sliver of recognition from your peers and
a little cash to go along with it. You'd probably eat your own feces if
someone was willing to pay you $50 to do so. Hell, I'll pay you $50 if
you never, ever write another letter to anyone ever again. Do the world a
favor and go experiment different inhalation techniques with deadly chemicals
in a very small, confined space. If you manage to survive, the brain damage
you incur can only improve your current situation. Think about it.
Dear PNC Mailbag,
While I am by no means a professional writer, I have written a number of articles
for my local paper and had a number of short stories published in small circulation
magazines. However, I feel that I'm not getting my fair shake as an author
due to my limited audience and am looking for ways to expand my readership.
The internet is one idea I had. You guys over at PNC seems to be
doing ok so I'm curious if there is any advice or suggestions that you can give
me to help me along my way. Thanks in advance.
- Walter
Hello Walter,
Holy shit, you're a writer, too? Oh man, we totally have something in common!
How cool is that? We should totally get together and hang out. We
can drink fruit punch while bouncing zany ideas off of each other until we hit
comedy gold. Or until my mother says that I need to go to bed. One of
the two. How awesome would that be? We could be the next literary tag
team; the next Trey Parker and Matt Stone!
Seriously, speaking as a real writer for a real website on the real internet
(not those fake internets that they advertise on late night television), writing
in this vast universe isn't quite as easy as you make it sound. You can't
just jump online and start spreading your inane dissertations. It takes
years of dedication, meditation, a cow to sacrifice, a keyboard, spare parts in
case that breaks, and lastly, $7.95 for a domain name. Even if you manage
all of this, you're still not guaranteed success on the vast internets. Look
at what society considers an accomplished writer and then compare that with what
they have done on the internet. Take Shakespeare, for example. English
majors all over the world still have masturbatory fantasies over his prose but
what has he contributed online? Nothing. Do you want to know why?
He couldn't hack it. The internet is too hardcore for Shakespeare
so he stuck to his parchments and his sonnets and cried like a little baby
whenever AOL told him that he had new mail. Not to say that his work couldn't
be adapted, just that he's not the right person to do it. I have taken the
liberty of doing what Shakespeare can not and making one of his more popular
stories a little more internet accessible:
"Oh Romeo, oh Romeo, what art thou e-mail address?"
"Why? Doth thou wish to spamith me with advertisments for dick drugs?"
"Heavens no, Romeo. I am just a lonely teen who is horny. Thou
shoud checkith out my webcam. LOL."
"I accept thine proposal. Please allowth my trojan horse into your backdoor."
"Of course, but first thee must pay $9.95. These goods doith cost money."
I don't know what's worse: the fact that someone took the time to draw this or that I am using it because it supports what I am talking about.  | |
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Sure Walter, I know I make it look easy but that's only because I'm good. Damn
good. And I don't care how many articles you've written about Farmer John and
his huge pumpkin crop or that sizzling expose uncovering how the state government
of North Dakota spent their money, none of that matters on the internet. I'm
sorry kid, you just don't have what it takes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have
to go see how many hydrocodone pills constitute an overdose and then take twice
the amount.
Hey Guys,
I'm in a bit of a quandry here. I share a house with three other guys, since
we all go to college right around the corner. The other night, after a kegger,
I was totally wasted and passed out. I woke up a few hours and found out
that one of my room mates had stumbled into the wrong room and passed out next to
me on my bed and his arm was draped over me. I want to chalk it up to the
alcohol but I'm also thinking that maybe I should confront him. What do
you think?
- Dwayne
Dear Dwayne,
Don't worry about confronting your room mate. Alcohol aside, all men get one
free gay pass. This is a one-time use only card for whatever strange,
accidental, or curious gay experience they may choose to experiment with be it
a touching of the balls, an accidental grope in a bar, or wandering into the
nail salon by chance and not immediately running out. Any further abuse or
line crossing and they can be officially branded homo and are under the rules of
Gay Man Law. For now, your room mate is still quite securely in the former
catergory of "experimenter" and has not yet crossed over, so we will simply chalk
this up to a one-time thing. As stated above, should his behavior continue,
it's quite obvious that he wants to mount you and you can use this fact to
embarass him in front of hot sorority girls at parties. Then you can
totally bang one of them just to prove that you're straight. Or something
like that.
With that, we bring a close on this the 13th edition of the mailbag. We
here at the PNC sincerely hope that you have enjoyed the ride and wish you well
for the rest of your day. Please be careful when exiting the vehicle and
try not to fall and hurt yourself. We don't really care enough about you
to call 911. |
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| 02.02.2007 - P.Net Mailbag #12 | 10:30 AM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 4/5 (3 Votes) |
| What is up my peoples? It's your old pal Art "Renaissance" Dodger
here with the oft-delayed twelfth edition of the P.Net Mailbag. I
know that I have been a little lacking in my duties and for that I
sort of apologize, partly because I really enjoy forced sentiment but
also because it's not my fault. You see, I was walking down the
street minding my own business when I suddenly tripped, fell, and came
down with a chemical imbalance. Also, I skinned my knee. Anyway,
it was a rare kind of chemical imbalance, the kind that makes you forget
how to read. You can't exactly do a mailbag update if you can't
read, right?
I caught this guy trying to steal your letters.
| | |
But let me just say that it wasn't a total waste of time. You see,
I was pretty busy during the mailbag off-season befriending a few
handicapped people and joining a barbershop quartet that sung songs
about the homeless. Eventually, my chemicals righted their balance
and the wave of words came flooding back to me. I was finally able
to read again, which is great because I was pretty damn tired of getting
lost. So, what does all of this mean to you? Nothing. I
just wanted to share a little something before we lost each other in the
bounty of the mailbag. I know that you don't care about me or my
problems but if pretend to act interested, I won't tell all of your
friends about your night in Iraq with that camel. You sure showed
science that a camel can handle more than two humps!
So, yeah, I suppose we probably ought to get down to the letters, huh?
I mean, that's why you're here, right? I'm just making sure
because you totally have that creepy look in your eye, a 40 year old
hitting on a 15 year old kind of creepy. Please stop. So,
without any further delay, let me reach in and wrap my hands around some
letters for you all to enjoy. Today's theme is all about people who
are unhappy with the content we so proudly display. For some reason,
it doesn't seem to stop them from reading it though.
Hello P.Net Writers,
I was pointed to your site by a collegue of mine and, while I think that
what you write is nowhere even close to funny, that's not why I am
writing you today. After painfully reading a few updates, I noticed
that you seem to thrive on taking serious situations and making fun of
them. You reference midgets and mentally handicapped people,
drug abuse, and even go so far as to condone violence and murder. I
find your light-hearted approach to some of these topics simply appalling.
Of course, you're probably some 12-year old kid who lives sheltered
in the suburbs and you have no idea what living in the real world is like.
I hope that one day you can experience just a fraction of the pain
that some of these people face everyday and then perhaps you won't be so
smug in your writings. I can only hope.
-- Dr. Jeff Bramley, Professor, UNLV
Dear Dr. Jeff Bramley, Professor, UNLV,
My, what a unique name! I have to admit that while I haven't seen a
whole lot of the real world (the basement doesn't have any windows), I
have never come across a name like yours. I didn't know that it
was proper for people to put punctuation in their names. Those kinds
of things are only reserved for sentences I thought. How weird would
it be if you became a doctor or some kind of teacher at a college? Then
your business card would read "Dr. Dr. Jeff Bramley, Professor, UNLV, Teacher."
Crazy, huh? Anyway, enough about your name. Let's get down
to the business of answering your letter.
I find it almost insulting for you to assume that I haven't experienced pain
and suffering in my life. Why, just the other day, I was on my way to
the grocery store to pick up some hemorrhoid cream because I was hungry when
this van pulls up next to me and I'm snatched from the curb, kidnapped by
muslim extremists! At first, I start laughing a little because I
figured that it was just a joke put on by some of my christian
friends who also happen to excel at staging fake kidnappings. However,
once I found out that they were real extremists, I started to get a little
scared. Not a lot scared, mind you, since I am no sissy but just
enough scared for them to know that I knew that things were serious. I
think nerds and perverts call it roleplaying. I even urinated in my
pants to really sell the acting job.
"Hey guys, I'm googling to see how to get urine stains out of a van."
| | |
There was like 50 of them all packed in the van and in addition to being
very cramped, it smelled like sand and body odor. They were all wearing
vests made of dynamite and talking in what I presume to be street slang or
ebonics because I couldn't understand a damn word of it. Also, I didn't
have a dynamite vest. I felt like that guy who can't decide what he
wants to be for Halloween but decides to show up to the costume party anyway.
I mean, someone letting me in on the whole "we're all wearing our
dynamite vests" thing would have been nice. Seriously, would it have
killed them to plan ahead?
So, there we are. They're driving all over town and I can't really
see where we are because some guy is hogging all of the window space.
We've been at this for what seems like hours and I'm still hungry.
I ask if maybe we can go through a drive thru or something and
get some grub but all that netted me was a slap in the face. Really,
what kind of grown man slaps these days? Well, now my cheek stings,
my ass has more bumps than a teenager's face, and my stomach lining is
eating itself. This sucks worse than the time I walked in on my
grandparents having intercourse and they asked me if I wanted to join them.
But aside from college, Art Dodger is no quitter and I wasn't
giving up that easily. I asked that if food was out of the question,
perhaps we could stop somewhere and get a drink? I was thirsty.
Can you guess what they did next? The driver stopped the vehicle
and they kicked me out of the van. Well, it was more a throw than
a kick but there were a lot of guys in that van so anything is possible.
They said I wasn't good enough to be kidnapped. They said
that I "didn't fit in with the theme they were looking for." Can
you imagine that? Can you imagine the feeling after getting
rejected like that? On top of everything else, then I had to walk
home! Uphill! And I was on the other side of town! So, don't you tell
me that I don't know the pain that life deals, Mister I have periods and
shit in my name. You don't know me!
To The Editor,
I'm not sure what kind of operation you're running over there but it makes
me sick to my stomach to know that sites like yours exist. As a
recovering drug addict, I find your cavalier attitude towards narcotics
in very bad taste. A quick search of your site revealed more than
50 written pieces that joke about drug usage in one form or another.
I'm curious, are you guys drug addicts yourselves or do you simply
get a thrill out of poking fun at other people's problems?
-- Conrad
Dearest Conrad,
First, I'm not the editor so I hope you don't mind me reading his email.
I'm pretty sure he died quite some time ago and the broom that we
hired as his replacement hasn't exactly been productive lately. Second,
with regards to your last question, I wonder why that has to be an either/or
scenario. Is it not possible that we could at once be both addicted
to drugs and still like to make fun of other people? You don't seem
terribly thrilled about the idea but I'll admit to being a little intrigued
at the prospect.
However, in all seriousness, I think your problem with the site is simply
that you're not reading deep enough into the material. Just because
we write about drugs frequently doesn't mean that we ourselves condone using
them. For example, have you ever seen one of those old black and white
sports clips from the early 1900's? They're supposed to be about
people playing baseball or football but nine times out of ten, it's really
just a bunch of half-naked guys running around spanking and kicking each
other. Now, to someone who just skims the surface of life, these clips
would come across as some kind of homosexual recruitment film when in reality,
they are what they are: clips of the greatest athletes of that era doing
whatever it is great athletes of that era did while simultaniously looking
like that aren't doing much but spanking and kicking other great athletes.
This guy just might want to play sports with you. Or possibly spank or kick you. Or both.
| | |
Our updates are a lot like that. If you just skim the surface, all you
see are frequent drug references and talks of midget circuses. But if
you really dig below the surface, well, I guess you still see frequent drug
references but they're usually followed up by some kind of biting social
commentary on the state of the union or perhaps the state of North Dakota.
And that's only the second layer! However, I wouldn't recommend
that you try reading any deeper than that. Rumor has it that somewhere
around layer four are naked pictures of Randy which include a subset entitled, "The
time I had that rash down there." Yeah. Also, one time someone
wrote an update about My Little Pony so I think that really qualifies as
diversity. Besides, you've only written one letter to us and all you
did was talk about drugs. That's like 100% right there. Maybe it's
you who should be looking to diversify. Just a thought.
And with that, we draw the string closed on yet another mailbag edition.
This one was short on letters but long on answers, like a dwarf who
stars in adult films but with words instead of all that rated X crap.
Anyway, I hope it won't be months before we meet again, so I am
going to try my best to keep hydrated and not fall victim to a violent,
but senseless, murderous rampage that would claim the lives of hundreds
of innocent people. I love you. |
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| 10.05.2006 - P.Net Mailbag #11 | 9:24 AM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 4.8/5 (4 Votes) |
| Those of us who are lucky enough to be called the staff of the P.Net Corporation like to think that we make a difference in the world. We don't, but we've never let silly things like facts get in the way of our delusions. We'd also like to believe that what we do really matters, that each written word touches the youth of America in
ways that Rep. Mark Foley never dreamed of. Also, unlike Foley, we'd like to believe that we also touch adults as well, hopefully in some way which won't land us in court on rape charges or net us a flag for unsportsmanlike conduct. See, I threw the sports reference in there so that the guys didn't feel alienated. Not that I would ever touch a guy. Unless he paid well.
Knowing this, it's why we always take great pride everytime we venture into the PNC mail room. The fact that any of us can even find it at all is a testament to our humanitarian strength and desire to do
wonderful things for people we don't know anything about. Either that or it means we got some bunk shit and our high is starting to wear off. Whatever color you say the sky is, it all boils down to the
letters. Some make us cry, some make us laugh. Some even make us touch ourselves in spots normally reserved for priests and dirty uncles. We're more than happy to offer a helpful hand or some sage advice to those in need; to our fellow planitary inhabitants who write to the PNC because they are idiots with nowhere else to turn and they actually think that we can help. We love you guys. But don't let me get in the way, let us let the letters
speak for themselves! On to the mailbag!
Dear PNC,
I'd like to consider myself a fairly healthy guy. I mean, I try and hit the gym at least twice a week, run when I can, and all that. I am extremely careful about what I eat, avoiding fast food and junk food for the part when I can. But this recent spinach scare got me really worried. Now I am afraid to eat things like salads because I can't be sure that it's really good for me. What do you
guys think?
-- Reginald
Hello Reginald,
First, and if you don't mind me saying so, you sound like a pretentious douchebag. Fruits and vegetables are for sissy hippie people who care too much about the environment to eat a cow's leg or half a shark.
You probably were an art major in college who smoked cigarettes to fit in but thought that you were being clever by only smoking the thin ones and that it made you more eclectic. In reality, it made you look like my sister dressed in men's clothing, ready to give a handjob to the first guy who offered you boxed wine.
But just as with everything in life, results can vary from day to day and topic to topic. You see, there was this one time that I really had to go to the bathroom. I did, but it turned out to just be a false alarm. As I was leaving, I felt an odd rumble in my stomach
and really thought that I had to go this time. It turns out that that too was a false alarm. In fact, I don't think I actually used the restroom for at least another five hours. Spinach is a lot like
that. You just never really know when it'll make you go to the
bathroom but you should be prepared for the eventuality that it will occur. Besides, you shouldn't be so stuck up. There are a million AIDS patients who would simply die for a case of E. Coli. Ok, so those million people would have died eventually from AIDS but, hey, as long as Magic Johnson is still alive, there's hope.
Guys,
Hey, I really like the site and though I wouldn't call myself a big fan, I certainly enjoy it on occasion. Some of the jokes are a bit too tasteless or just plain unfunny but you can't be expected to strike gold all the time. However, the poor journalism aside, I have noticed a
trend among most of the writers and that is the overall tone of anger in everything that gets written. Why are you guys so angry all the time? Is it steroids or something?
-- Joanne
Dearest Joanne,
We wish our problem was something as simple as steroids. Steroids is something you can quit. Sure, you might not be able to do it on your own so you hire a fat man to beat you with a baton everytime you think of popping one in your mouth, but you can break the addiction. No, you see, what fuels our anger is something far more complex and light years more sinister than any drug in circulation. We
simply hate the fact that white men can't jump. You see, despite what history has shown us, white men aren't inherently bad. Sure, we've enslaved entire nations and wiped out populaces across the world but that is largely because we feel the need to compensate for our lack of true jumping ability. Throughout the course of known time, white men as a whole wanted to do nothing more than to jump; to frolic and play like the rest of the races. We have dreams of becoming good
at sports and even write songs such as "Jump Around" (House of Pain) to help live out our dreams. Sadly, this will never come to pass. White people as a race are doomed to be "ground bound" due to our acute lack of vertical lift. In fact, we have to resort to space travel just to get our kicks, which is why you never see any
black astronauts. I mean, if you could jump around any time you
wanted, why risk going up in space and dying? We invented the
Reebok pump because we honestly thought it would help. It didn't. So, we're left with little more than a dream of one day being able to self-elevate at will, without relying on toys and gimmicks but rather true, natural ability. Until then, however, we're going to continue in politics and big business, selfishly locking out the
minorities because we're secretly jealous. That's why we're angry.
To P.Net Editors,
Hey, I recently heard from a friend of mine that you can find all kinds of stuff on the internet. You know, stuff like at-home bomb making, how to make explosives, and other cool stuff like that. I don't know much about computers but you guys seem hip, edgy, and knowledgable. I don't want to make them myself, I'm more interested in the science behind
it. Is this true? Where can I find such things online?
-- Jacob
Hi Jacob,
We really don't care what you plan on doing with the information -- you simply can't go around asking questions like that. It's like asking someone how to get blood out of the carpet or semen stains out of your child's clothing. You're presumed guilty just by bringing the topic
up. Sure you don't plan on using the information, "Jacob." That's probably short for something sterotypically middle-eastern like Jacob Al
Fresco Recycle Bin Muhammed. Still, even if we actually gave a damn, we couldn't be of much help in this matter. You see, we've heard similar things about the content of the internet and have tried many times to find such things ourselves. Unfortunately, the PNC computer
network is locked down and only lets us browse the pollestad.net website. I'm not sure why that policy is in place but presumably it's so we don't get used to looking at sites that don't suck. But rest
assured that we will keep trying. If anything, we'd like very much to blow up that Burger King that screwed up our order this morning. Have it your way, my ass. We'll keep you posted. Oh, I realize it's a bit off-topic but you wouldn't happen to actually know
how to get semen stains out of, say, a garment not meant to be worn by an adult, would you? Not that we really need to know -- it's strictly for informational purposes.
With that, we slam the lid shut on another round of mailbag fun. If you'd like to be in the studio audience for the next taping of the mailbag, please send some cash along with a topless photo of your sister/girlfriend
(please include two if both terms apply -- yeah, we're talking to you, Kentucky). We're pretty sure you know the address already. If you don't, how did you plan on getting here to pick up the tickets? Stupid. |
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| 06.09.2006 - P.Net Mailbag #10 | 1:46 PM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that this looks awfully familiar. I know that you're thinking this because I was a part of the top secret military unit that implanted the brain chip in the back of your throat. I'm still not sure why we called it a brain chip as opposed to a throat chip given that it's situated nowhere near your brain but we didn't exactly have the marketing budget we hoped for. ' Also, I know what you're thinking because I know some people who know Santa Claus and he knows whether you've been naughty or nice which, really, is just a mere offshoot of the whole "reading your thoughts" thing. That bastard can't keep a secret to save his life.
That's right, another month has crept upon us which means that we're throwing yet another mailbag edition right smack in your face. I am normally pretty good about getting these things out at least once a month -- hey, it beats coming up with any original ideas -- but sometimes I go on benders with a few farm animals and promptly lose focus of whatever it was that I had to do. In case you're new and not knowing, these are real letters from real people who ask real questions about real things using real words with real skill. Our responses on the other hand are written by imaginary people in a fictional place with words as fake as the average breast size in Beverly Hills. So, without much more in the way of an opening statement, let's get on with the show. You folks wanted letters, you got letters!
Dear Pollestad.Net Writers,
I was pointed to your website by some friends in my church group and, while I won't argue with the ideals of free speech and people being able to say what they want, it's quite clear to any sane person that you are abusing that power. Your jokes about religion, the homeless, and people with disabilities is simply appalling, not to mention your references to national tragedies such as 9/11 and people being murdered. Have you no social decency? As a fine, upstanding Christian follower who is strong in faith, I urge you to reconsider your social responsibility and take steps to help instead of hurt.
- Mary Beth
Dearest Mary Beth,
I am simply in shock that you consider us such heathens as to have no social morals or decency whatsoever. Why, just the other day I was walking down the street and I found this hooker who was down on her luck. She wasn't particularly attractive and she looked hungry so I decided to strike up a conversation with her. It turns out she only charged $10 per session ($15 if I brought a friend). Do you know what I did? After she was finished, I gave her $15 anyway and I didn't even have a friend. I mean, come on, she wasn't even that good! And you say I have no morals. Shame on you lady!
As for cleaning up the site, I'd really like to but I am already committed to another appointment this afternoon. See, me and my friend, who just so happens to be a eunuch (another point for morality!), like to go and sit outside of the hospital. I wear a sign that says "Before" and his sign says "After (and to think, I only came in for a check-up!)". Sometimes we throw pig blood on the ground to really sell the idea. You know, not many people laugh but I'm pretty sure that they get the joke.
Hola P.Netters!
First, just wanted to say that I love the site. Huge fan and all that. I was just curious if you guys traveled around and did like seminars and stuff or like put on shows and stuff. I'm in Boston so if you guys ever come through, I would love to party it up. I bet you guys have a lot of fun!
- Jacob
Jacob,
First, I think you get bonus points because I seriously doubt anyone in their right mind would ever say the word "P.Netters" to our face. If you did, we wouldn't be held liable for the jar of acid that we just broke over your head. As for partying, whoo boy, let me tell you a tale. This one time we were over in Paris, right? Guess who shows up? Bette Midler! She's high as a kite and just loopy as all hell. She can't even remember the words to "Wind Beneath My Wings!" Anyway, she comes over with a crate full of Everclear. We're not the type to say no, so we didn't, but I don't remember the rest of the evening. Anyway, we woke up the next day with a dead giraffe in the middle of the room and half of a palm tree in the toilet. They don't have palm trees in France so I have no idea where that came from. Anyway, it turns out that we also discovered a new strain of DNA which we decided to call Jackson. Man, shit was wild that weekend. Oh, and Boston sucks.
Dear Mailman,
Help me! I know this isn't exactly your purview but you mentioned a few mailbags back that you're willing to help with any problem and I am desperate. Anyway, I'm being investigated by the FBI and I don't know what to do! I'm kind of guilty, I guess, but it was so long ago. What can I do?
- Scared
Dear Scared,
What an unusual name! I really wasn't going to write you back because you kind of lost me at "desperate." I mean, I've seen some kinky stuff on the internet and I just figured you were one of those weirdo types that was looking to have intercourse with a tiger or something. (And Steve, for the last time, no, we really have no idea where you can get a tiger!) But it was either fate or out of sheer boredom that I kept reading and to my surprise, you actually had a real problem. Well, aside from the fact that you're obviously desperate, lonely, and turning to a humor site for serious advice. Thankfully, you're in luck. It just so happens that we have plenty of experience in dealing with the FBI. Hell, I've had an open warrant since 1998, but it's on some bullshit charges about transporting controlled substances (and one child) across state lines or running over a cop with a forklift. Truthfully, I don't even remember.
Anyway, the point is that we've been ducking the law since we were old enough to crawl. Unfortunately for you, you didn't actually tell us what you did to get in trouble in the first place, only that you were probably guilty of doing it. Yeah, just like my uncle was probably guilty of touching me in my bikini area and calling it "play" time. Anyway, such as it is, we can't really give you any ironclad advice because we don't know the true nature of the situation but we will let you in on a few little facts that the FBI doesn't want you to know.
- They are impervious to being harmed by bullets but they are absolutely terrified of squirt guns.
- If you feed an FBI agent after midnight, he multiplies.
- Sticks and stones may break their bones but names will never hurt them.
- The country of Kenya once tried to set up their own FBI division but failed because they were not a part of the United States and because there is no Swahili word for bureau.
- FBI agents don't talk about fight club.
I hope these tips help, Scared! Best of luck to you on your quest to do illegal things and get away with it. Oh, and if you do get caught, ask the arresting agent to read you your rights over and over again. Man, that's hiliarious.
And with that, I pull the drawstring closed and yet another mailbag has come to an end. Given the enormous amount of letters that we receive on an hourly basis, it's actually a little unfair that we only do this once a month but them's the rules. Of course, since we made the rules, we could always break the rules. Who knows? Maybe the next mailbag will sneak up on you like some kind of internet Pearl Harbor, except without all the bombing and the death. People will remember though. Oh yes, they will. |
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| 04.25.2006 - P.Net Mailbag #9 | 3:34 PM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 5/5 (1 Votes) |
| Hey peeps, it's your old pal Art "I Don't Play For LA" Dodger here, keeping it real, gutter, gully, and all those other slang terms that rappers like to use. I don't know what any of them mean but I once heard an MC Hammer song and I feel that makes me qualified for massive amounts of "street cred." I'm fresh off parole and that means it's time for me to get down and dirty and represent with a new mailbag update in this piece. If you don't understand a word of anything I just wrote, that's ok, neither do I. I just pulled random words off urbandictionary.com and made a go of it. Kind of like playing Scrabble with a bunch of criminals. Still, it's a new month, which means a batch of new letters pulled out of the same old mailbag for your reading enjoyment.
This time around, we've got hate mail, fan mail, air mail, and hotmail. We've got so many letters, Vanna White and Ann Landers combined couldn't stem this tide. Also, I've been working hard on my very first non-mail update. I've also been saving my lunch money up too since it'll probably take a sizeable bribe in order for Randy to let me post it. See, it was going to be this fantastic story set in a post-apocalyptic future where horses can talk and everyone uses candy as currency but then I thought about my target audience and changed it to a bunch of midgets who sit around and tell jokes about gays and retards. But enough of this shuckin' and jivin' -- we got mail to answer!
Dear Schmucks,
You know, I used to be a pretty loyal reader. I enjoyed the varied updates because they were fresh and new. Well, I don't know what the hell you boys have been smoking up there, but the last handful of updates have really sucked. Even Skip couldn't come through and save your sorry excuses for humor. Hell, I bet my grandmother could come up with better jokes than you guys have been these past few weeks. Shape up or you're bound to lose more than just one reader.
- L.J.
Hello L.J.,
First off, we feel the need to apologize. Things just haven't been quite the same around the P.Net Offices ever since they officially called off the search for the poor, lost white girl in Aruba. She's presumed dead and our theory that she turned into a mermaid and is living out her days under the sea didn't pan out. This has, of course, had an adverse effect on the output that we normally generate around here, which has left both the email and website updates a little lacking. Frankly, we blame the economy and the fact that butter prices are down in Germany. It has always been a rather unstable commodity.
Second, we passed your letter along to your grandmother and after reading it, she told us that your words "make her moist down there." We presume that she is not talking about Australia, either. She followed up that statement by saying that if you weren't her grandson, she would love nothing more than to have a three-way relationship with you and a orangutang. Her reasoning was that she's always had a life long dream of having sex with a big, stupid monkey and an orangutang at the same time. Hey, don't shoot us -- we're just passing along the message.
Third and finally, if you really want to leave, go. We won't try to stop you. However, those large burly men by the door dressed in nothing but speedos and armed with taser guns will try to stop you. They will try very hard to stop you and resistance only gets them more excited. It's best just to take the beating and apologize, rather than to put up a fight. Seriously, they would force themselves upon you quicker than the entire lacrosse team at Duke University. Plus we invented crop circles, so we're still patting ourselves on the back for that one.
Dear PNC,
My dad, whom I love dearly, has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and is not expected to live out the rest of the year. I want to do something nice for him but I'm at a loss for ideas. I saw your website address scribbled on the toilet seat at a subway station and figured that I would give you guys a try. Can you help?
- Rebecca
Dearest Rebecca,
I am so sorry for your soon-to-be loss. We here at the P.Net Offices had no idea that you could catch cancer from being inside an airport terminal. I mean, I once knew this guy who caught the bird flu from eating a rabid coyote but I thought that that was just a fluke. I guess diseases can really be weird like that. Still, since we don't really know your father -- and if you're not married and pretty good looking, we'd really like to get to know you -- we can't rightly suggest the ultimate gift to make his passing easier. However, knowing his condition, we can suggest some things NOT to get him.
For example, since he contracted cancer from the airport, buying him anything with planes on it is not a good idea. Even showing him pictures of Kansas might send him into shock. There are a lot of plains there, even if they are spelled differently. We definitely don't recommend playing any of the Jefferson Airplane songs that you know and love. That probably won't do his morale any good. Lastly, don't try giving him any high-fives. It'll remind him of altitude and the small fact that giving someone a high-five has never in the history of life made anyone feel any better. It's just one of those unwritten rules of life. Oh, and one last thing. When you're around him in those final days, try not to talk about all the great things that are going on next month. He won't be around to see them. Hope this little bit of advice helped!
Dear P.Net,
I'm a novice hobbiest who has recently come into some money. It has been a life-long passion of mine to get into art collecting. However, due to financial constraints, I could never really afford it. Now that I have the money, I realize that I also have no knowledge of anything art-related. Sure, I've been through a few galleries and coffee houses, but it doesn't really mean squat to me. Can you know-it-alls provide me with some tips on where to begin? Much appreciated.
- Des
Des,
They always say that life imitates art. Well, maybe it does for some but not for me, not for the art I look at. If it did, my life would be filled with three Japanese midgets simultaneously beating down a unicorn while wearing nothing but roller skates. I don't know whether this kind of thing appeals to you or not. If it does, I got a boatload of bootleg anime episodes at my house. Maybe you want to come over and watch it some time?
Ok, ok, maybe that was a little too forward. Perhaps we can start off with something a bit more mundane? Maybe you can just come over and shave my toes? Or what about tattooing the inside of my thigh with a picture of Rick Moranis in that classic scene from "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids?" Sure, fine, ok, I get it. No touching. Well, I do impressions! Maybe you could just sit around the fire drinking cherry Kool-ade while I do my stand-up routine? Hell, I just realized that I don't know whether you're a guy or a girl. Well, does it matter? True love, like art, knows no limits. Funny, I know nothing about either. Sorry, maybe try Barnes & Noble?
Anyhoo, that makes three letters and, oddly enough, three letters is just about all that we have room for. Better luck next time, future letter writers! If you want our free guide on how to write better letters, please write a letter to the address below and be sure to include a self-addressed stamped envelope so that we can return the finger of your sister whom we just kidnapped. We're only asking for a few grand in ransom. Come on! Have a heart. I'm out! |
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| 03.13.2006 - P.Net Mailbag #8 | 8:18 AM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 4/5 (2 Votes) |
| Hola! That means hello in Spanish. I'm not actually Spanish myself, but Randy sent out a corporate memo that says that we should try and appear more internationally-friendly. I quietly said, "Screw that" and set one of his favorite pairs of socks on fire. Unfortunately, he found out about it, covered me in Ben Gay, and then proceeded to throw Skittles at me until I cried. Oh, and he also demoted me back down to the mail room again.
Now, some of you more astute readers and cult followers may be aware that my first and only other update was also about mail. So, you ask, how can that be a demotion? I suppose it's not, really, but I was trying to work up the sympathy angle with you. You see, I have cancer. And not the good kind either. I have cancer of the left elbow and they don't think they'll be able to save it. I'm on the list for an elbow transplant but the line is long and the elbow supply is short. Perhaps I can construct something out of hardened macaroni. Well, at least I have my letters; good, clean letters sent in by people with real problems, people who need the help of the P.Net Answer Staff. Without further ado (or rambling on my part), let's get down to business!
Dear PNC Crew,
I have a pretty serious issue that I hope you can help me with. See, I think I am addicted to going to church. I don't know what it is -- I don't even particularly care for religion -- but I often find myself going at least six times a week. Sometimes I don't even stay that long, you know, just a couple of minutes or whatever but I have to go. Recently, my wife found out and has threatened to leave me if I don't get it under control. I love my wife, but I think I love feeding this addiction more. What can I do?
-- R. Rodgers
Dear R. Rodgers,
Wow, that does sound like a pretty serious issue. First, I have to ask whether your wife is hot or not. If she isn't, and it's just strictly about this "love" thing you mentioned, dump her. From what I have read in some of the pamphlets that I stole from a bible salesman, there are some hot caged bitches that go to church. I don't know if they go to your church -- the pamphlet didn't specify. Sure, they put on this front about how they're all goody goody and they respect their bodies, but that's just a ploy to fend off the stupid among us. I once paid a priest $5 if I could listen in on confession. Apparently it turns out that Ed is sleeping with Jane, but that's really not applicable here. Anyway, if none of those choir girls wants to hit sheets with you for some naked rodeo action, we also suggest kidnapping. However, if you decide against our advice to dump your wife, maybe you can try dry humping a crucifx or something. It works for us.
Yo P.Net,!!!!!!!,
Man, I am soooooo wasted right now. it's awesome. like, HEY, man, I, you know, man, I drank a lot. Whooooooo!!!! Party.!!!
- Greg
Dear Greg,
One time, in a lab, I created a new strain of the AIDS virus and named it after Sinead O'Conner. I kept it in a little petri dish and made sure to pet it every day. Eventually, it died -- HIV I think -- but not a single day passes that I don't think about that little guy. Honestly, you and it were a lot alike. Also, this one time at the store, I thought I saw someone who looked like Jay Leno. Only it turned out to not be Jay Leno, but the guy was staring at me. It really creeped me out. I think he was buying bananas or something.
Dear PN Staff,
Hey, they know. I don't know how they found out about it but now they know I know. I have to go into hiding. I don't know what I am going to do. I wish I could tell someone but I would only be putting that person in danger too. Crap, I was so careful. They must have been tracking me for a while. Like maybe a chip in my brain or something. Do you think they could do that? They got all kinds of resources. I know that my phone is tapped so I am sending this from a coffee house. Wait, there is some guy in the corner who keeps looking in my direction. He's been there a while, taking a little too long to drink his coffee, you know? I better get the hell out of here. I will contact again soon... assuming I make it that long.
- Anonymous (sent via the internet)
Hello Anonymous (if that's your real name),
Just so you know, I'm not supposed to be writing this reply. "They" stopped by the PNC Campus today looking for you. I told them that I didn't know who you were and that I have never spoken to you before. "They" didn't buy that one bit. Do you know what "they" did to me? They hooked electrodes up to my testicles and let me really have it. I mean, they fried enough unborn children that I'll be sterile for years. And you know what? It hurt like hell. Do you think that they stopped there? Nope. I won't go into details, but let's just say that it involved multiple cattle prods and me not being able to go number two for the next few weeks. So, thanks a lot mister Anonymous guy. Thanks for involving me in this whole thing. I'll be seeing you at Guantanamo Bay.
That's a wrap folks! No more letters today! You've all been bad boys and girls and it's time for you to sit in a corner and think about what you've done. Also, you should buy some girl scout cookies and send them to me. I love those things. I'm out! |
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| 12.07.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #7 | 3:05 PM | | Author: Art Dodger (artdodger@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| As is only proper whenever you meet someone new, I'd like to take a moment to introduce myself. My name is Art "Don't Call Me A Draft" Dodger and I'm the new guy here at the P.Net Campus. It's not often that they let a new guy take care of the daily update but it seems that everyone else is off doing something else and it's my turn to step up to the plate. Before I got hired here, I was panhandling in New York City, living in Central Park and getting sustenance from dead squirrels. A freak home invasion accident left me paralyzed from the waist down and it was all I could do to get by. Actually, I'm just kidding. The worst thing that has ever happened to me was once I broke a nail while fleeing from a rabid mule. I secretly think that Randy only hired me to gain access to that mule.
So, as for being the new guy around here, I don't really get the choice assignments that all the other writers get. In fact, I don't really get much of a choice at all. When you're staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, you pretty much do whatever the boss says to do, even if that means write nasty poems about your sister. Anyway, given that it's been nearly three months since someone last read the mail around here, I pulled mailbag duty this time around. Even though the other writers don't seem to like it, I really enjoy corresponding and interacting with the fans. It gives me a glimpse into the thought process of the everyday man and puts me on a mental pedestal because deep down I know that I am better than they are. But look at me prattle on like some kind of old maid, let's get on to the letters!
Dear pollestad.net,
I could really use some of your sage advice right about now. You see, I am stuck in a dead end marriage and I hate my wife. I've entertained the thought of a divorce but I just know that my wife will bleed me dry if I do. What should I do?
-- Aaron
Dear Aaron,
Thanks for writing in. You say that your wife will bleed you dry? Really? Is she some kind of vampire? I only ask because I dated a vampire once. We got along great but she wasn't much of the outdoors type. Real pale too. She used to scare the crap out of me when she would appear out of nowhere and try to bite me. Her idea of fun I guess. Thankfully, my pimp hand remained strong and she got none of my precious plasma! Unfortunately, I took her on a surprise trip to the beach one day and she died of exposure. How was I supposed to know that she tanned so easily? So, long story short, if your wife really is a vampire, just take her to the beach. If she's not a vampire, take her to the beach anyway. All kinds of accidents have been known to happen on the beach. Drownings, shark attacks, martian landings; you name it.
Hallo!
I am Bulgaria student studying in Middle East. I learn english there so I can come one day to US! I very much like US! I ask my teacher about US and he say it full of infidels. Where I come from, infidel mean friend so I am glad that America is full of infidel! I read website every day to help improve my english! I have learned many thing about drug and homeless people! Haha, homeless people! Homeless people not my infidel! My teacher also say that when I go to US, I blow up! I am excited to blow up because I heard rap song where the man say that he "blew up and it's all good" and I very much like that Biggie guy. I can't wait to blow up with some of the infidels from the US! I will hopefully see you soon!
-- Roman
Hello Roman,
Wow, it sounds like you'll fit right in here in America! After you land in America, you should go visit the White House in Washington D.C. It's a restuarant full of infidels. But you have to tell them that you are a muslim extremist at the door or they won't let you in. Tell them that you are here in America to blow up and then yell "Jihad!" at the top of your lungs. Then they will know that you are truly a friend of the US and they will welcome you with open arms. I wish you success my friend. From one infidel to another, jihad!
Dear Mail People,
I'm having a awful lot of trouble getting my DVD player to work. Can you help me?
-- Nathan
Dear Nathan,
No.
And that wraps up what I am prematurely calling the most successful P.Net mailbag ever produced. Sure, there is a chance I could be wrong but there's also a good chance that you're just an idiot. Life is all about chances and nothing is ever 100%. Like that one time I thought I got this chick pregnant, but I didn't. That was a chance I took. See you at the top, baby! |
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| 09.21.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #6 | 2:27 PM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 5/5 (1 Votes) |
| I'm sick and it's been one of those days; days where I can't think up anything original and I've stolen all the material I can from sites far funnier than mine. You'd think that on an internet as big as this one, there'd be at least one original gag that I could steal and profit from. As you find yourself nodding off to sleep during todays production of poor humor, you'll realize that this is not the case. You have let me down, internet.
So, it's times like this that I either turn to feeding my heroin habit by jabbing a rusted syringe into my tongue or I open up the old letter mailbag and get busy on answering some questions. I realize that I hate choosing the latter but it does help meet some of my parole requirements and keeps me out of the big house. I don't know why they insist on sending me to the big house instead of jail where I belong, but I've come to realize that I do not like the pancakes that they serve there. Not enough syrup. Speaking of syrup and poor segues, bring on the fan mail.
Dear Smartass,
I hate you and I hate your site. Normally I wouldn't even take the time out of my busy schedule to lower myself to your level and write you, but I've had just about enough. You continually write poor, shoddy humor, often at the expense of immigrants, homeless, and handicapped people. I find it deplorable that you often joke about blatant drug use and wonder how you can wake up and look at yourself in the mirror every day. You disgust me and I hope you die.
-- Name Withheld
Dear Name Withheld,
What a fascinating letter! I'm not sure if I am more impressed with your penmanship and literacy or your name. What kind of name is Name Withheld anyway? Polish? If I had to guess, I'd mark you as a product of Poland. That's so great! Anyway, I am really glad that you enjoy the site and all the time I put into it. It's thoughtful comments like yours that really make it all worthwhile. Now, to answer your question concerning the status of my vision as related to glancing in the mirror, I am glad to report that I have no such problems. You see, I don't own a mirror anymore.
One night, during a three-day coke binge, I decided to chop up some lines on it because I needed a larger surface area than what I was currently using. Well, I'm a pretty clumsy guy by nature and wound up breaking the mirror before I could even use it. I was pretty sad because my grandmother gave me that mirror while she died. As I was cleaning up the glass, my doorbell rang. It was some guy selling magazine subscriptions and it just so happened that he was a handicapped homeless immigrant. Scared, I stabbed him with a shard of glass and threw myself out the window. And that's why I have no mirror.
hi randy,
hey i just wanted to say that i check out the site whenever i can. i was wondering how you come up with the stuff you write about. thanks.
-- lisa
Howdy Lisa,
Before I get to answering your letter, let me fill you in on a little secret: God invented the shift key so people could capitalize their letters more efficiently. Maybe you should look into it? You really don't know how easy you have it. Before the advent of the shift key by God in 47 BC, most writers had to carve capital letters into their chest (or a neighbor's chest), often using nothing more than a dull spoon or the neck of a giraffe. Things are much easier today thanks to the shift key. Please don't ignore it.
Now, about the letter. A common misconception about the site is that everything I write is made-up fiction. This is entirely untrue. In fact, everything I write about on the site is 100% true. Sure, I may embellish a little here and there but who doesn't? A good example is the one story I wrote about how I woke up in the bathroom covered in vomit, having passed out after eating 200 sheets of toilet paper. The truth is that I only ate 190, but the number 200 simply rolls off the fingers easier. It might be hard for you to grasp that I spend most of my time hopped up on drugs, hanging out with celebrities, and getting into more drunken brawls than Russell Crowe, but it's true. Ok, so the time I said that the movie "Scarface" was about me was a lie. The truth is that the book the movie was based on was about me and my connections to the Columbian cartel. And I have only died twice, not three times like I said in that one update where I was kicking the crap out of Will Smith. Trust me, I couldn't make half this stuff up.
hajy,
kcan u till me abot gerls thx
-- dd
Hey dd,
I don't even know what the hell you just said but since I deal with idiots like you every day, usually in the sense that I am beating them unmercifully and stealing their ice cream, I'll try to make heads or tails of your letter.
Reading phonetically, it sounds as though you want to know a little bit about girls. I'll take a wild stab in the dark here but I am really not the person to go to for advice with women. You see, I couldn't get laid in an all female prison with a handful of pardons in my back pocket. Seriously, prostitutes turn me down. I've only been on one date in my life -- a blind date no less -- and it didn't turn out so hot. I thought we were getting along great; there was wonderful conversation and she was a very intent listener. It turns out that she was deaf and couldn't see. Her seeing eye dog bit me in the crotch. Well, I got the last laugh. I stole her walking stick and sold it on ebay. In short, women suck. My advice to you is to go gay. I don't really have that option but it sounds like it's not too late for you.
That'll just about do it for this session of P.Net Q&A. The office is getting cold and my high is wearing off. See you next time if the price is right. |
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| 08.03.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #5 | 3:47 PM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| Greetings fellow readers and American Idol hopefuls, it's time to once again rob the PNC mailroom and force small children from the Philippines to answer each letter in hilariously broken English. Seriously, for the price of a few loaves of stale bread -- which is free considering we stole it -- we are able to churn out quality answers in previously unforeseen amounts. Normally, we'd fret and become furrowed long before we ever actually got anything accomplished. And that damn dog kept barking and stealing our shoes. Bad dog.
So, gather around as we crack open this bag of mail. At least, the bag better contain mail. We fell for that trick once already as the police politely informed us that the white substance we were putting up our noses was in fact not mail. Imagine our surprise! By politely, of course, I mean roughing us up with their wooden nightsticks and dropping us off in rival gang territory. Thankfully one of us knew kung fu. But look at that, you got me all distracted. Talking about mail tends to do that to most folks. I'm wet, how about you? Enough foreplay! To the letters!
Dear PNC Gurus,
I recently had intercourse with a chick who had split personalities. Does this count as having a threesome?
-- SRoss
Dear SRoss,
Only in Indiana. Seriously. Those Indianians are really screwed up people. They run around all day eating mushrooms and convulsing in the street. Hanging out there on a Friday night is like being on the set of "Dawn of the Dead" except that it stars people from Indiana instead of real, live dead people. Often people mistake Indianians for being dead but dead people shower more often and dress a lot nicer. But even then, say you did sleep with this chick and it took place within Indiana, there are still some additional requirements before it can actually be called a threesome. These kinds of things vary from situation to situation and there isn't a Cliff's Notes available to outline the "I slept with this crazy psycho schizophrenic and I'm curious how many notches I need to carve into my bedpost" scenario. So, let's pull an MC Hammer and break it down, shall we?
The first and obvious thing to determine is how different her varied personalities were. Sure, she may have been schizophrenic but if one personality is good at math while the other likes flowers, you're not really doing much to up the ante here. No, in order to qualify, you need two varying behaviors, preferably one normal and the other completely psycho, like some kind of knife-wielding leprechaun. That one was just for example, however, and we honestly hope that you didn't sleep with a leprechaun. Not only is that dirty and wrong, but you probably have herpes now. So, if the two behaviors are like night and day, give yourself a point. You're one step closer to that beloved threesome. The next factor is, unfortunately, how pretty she was. Hey we don't make the rules; we just enforce them to our fullest capability. The rule of thumb for the looks portion is that her two personalites have to bring her "looks" number over 14. For example, say that she's normally a 7. If her other personality is some kind of wild, non-psychotic side and she gets a little rough, maybe that knocks her down to a 5 while in the "other" mode. This would bring her total value for all behaviors to a 12. In this case, you did not get a point and your threesome hope is lost. However, if her other behavior bolsters her appearance, feel free to increase the base value. This may or may not launch you over the top of the threesome high jump. But don't cheat! We know how tempting it is to knock her up a few notches because you really want to impress your friends and your dog but, really, your dog knows. Don't lie.
If you've followed the guidelines above, you can start making your own determination as to whether you just had a threesome or spent all night with some psychotic alien who was out to control your brain and eat all your cereal. If you wake up after a one-night stand and have no cereal, you were not successful in having a threesome. Or you were simply lazy and forgot to pick some up last time you were at the store. Really, we're not mind readers over here.
Dear Mailbag,
I'm a bit ashamed to admit it but I suffer from severe sleepwalking. I'm constantly being awoken by others and find myself in the living room or elsewhere. I've tried all kinds of cures and remedies but I can't seem to shake it. I'm afraid that I am going to get hurt. Can you help?
-- Fran
Hello Fran,
First off, do you sleep naked and are you between the ages of 21 and 26? If so, you may qualify for our "Home Observation" program. This would help our scientists by allowing them to observe you and your behavior first hand, giving us the raw data that we need to make an educated and scientific prognosis. We would, of course, have to take a lot of pictures for careful lab study and thoroughly check your body for lumps. It's widely known throughout the sleep investigation community that prolonged sleepwalking causes tiny lumps to form around the breast and buttocks. Observing these closely would greatly benefit our diagnosis.
But going on the assumption that you're probably old and ugly, you don't qualify for any of that. Sorry. It has to do with the medication we prescribe. It, uh, doesn't work on old people. Fortunately for you, we have a backup plan. We're not about to leave you and your problem stranded like some painted volleyball suffering from a severe case of Tom Hanks' affection. Throughout our time at the world renown PNC Sleepy People's Care Center, we have had the opportunity to observe some of the worst cases of sleepwalking known to science. We also talk with a lot of crippled people. Since we passed basic math and can put two and two together, we've formulated a sure-fire way to stop sleepwalkers in their tracks. It's a little procedure that we like to call "a polio injection." Lots of famous people have had polio in the past, including presidents, so you know you'll be in esteemed company. After a painless injection, your leg functions will begin to deteriorate over the course of a week with the eventual goal of you not being able to walk at all! You'll sure have a hard time sleepwalking then! Oh sure, you'll probably still try and watching polio recipients flop around half asleep on the floor still provides us with humorous laughs. It's either that or amputation and no one likes that. Maybe because we stopped using anesthetic. Who knows.
Call today to schedule a consultation with whichever one of our doctors isn't high on paint chips at the moment. Results are guaranteed.
That's just about all the time we have for letters today. Our parole officer is here and wants us to let the kids go home now. We tried to explain that we smuggled them into the country illegally and that they have no place to go but that only further enraged him. What a moron. I'm not too worried though. I just covered myself with invisible ink so I'm just waiting for the effects to set in. Then I will sneak out the back way and make a clever run for the border. After lunch, maybe I will go to Mexico. |
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| 06.24.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #4 | 1:03 PM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| Ah, summer is officially here and we're opting not to do a whole lot around the office these days. Hell, half of us don't even bother showing up unless it's payday. Given that, we're all a bit lazier than usual this week, something we blame alcohol and rampant drug use on. (Note that we didn't say "addiction." Being addicted to drugs is for fools. We simply prefer frequent, recreational usage.) Anyway, given that it's Friday and we couldn't connect the dots or walk a straight line, we figured how better to fill the void between acid trips than to answer a letter or two. Our readers love writing in, asking us all kinds of crazy questions, despite the fact that ignore or burn over 3/4 of the mail we get. It sure saves on heating in the winter time. But look at me prattle on like some kind of elderly person with untreated ADD. Let's get down to business!
dear randy,
why don't you ever talk about dragons? i see them all the time.
-- timmmy
Dear Timmy,
That's because dragons, unlike giant moth people and talking dogs, do not exist. If you have been approached by a dragon, you should exercise caution, unless said dragon is offering you candy. No one is able to resist the temptation of sweet dragon candy and you should do whatever the strange dragon says in order to get some of it. It should be noted, though, that dragons cannot drive cars. If you see a dragon driving or if a dragon is trying to coerce you into a van, that's probably the PCP acting up again and you should proceed with caution. We're not saying don't go -- the dragon may have candy -- but try to use your best judgement. Also, if you ever find yourself inside of a fairy tale-themed park, you may run across dragons. These dragons are not real; they are portrayed by minimum-wage imposters who think it's fun to poke you. Kicking the crap out of these dragons is considered acceptable social behavior.
Hello P.Net,
It's been a life-long dream of mine to become an astronaut, but I have no clue as to where to begin my search for work. I've just graduated college with a degree in Engineering and I'd really like to go into space. Can you help?
-- Craig
Craig,
Our receptionist once took a vacation into space, some kind of Mars fly-by or something. After she returned to work, we had to put her in special quarantine because we feared that she had caught some crazy alien space virus. We later had to issue her an apology because it turned out that she didn't catch any alien virus -- she was just ugly and we never really noticed. We would have blamed it on the decompression if that were us. Unfortunately, you can't fire anyone for being ugly so we had to move her into the basement. We don't go down there much but last I heard she had given birth to a demon spawn and together they terrorize the sub levels of the P.Net campus. That's some strange shit. As for actually getting you into space, we tried out once. We didn't make the cut because apparently it's a space crime to check "yes" on the application where the question says, "Have you ever slept with a Mongolian hooker?" Furthermore, it's also apparently a big no-no to check yes to any of the subsequent questions in that section of the application, such as "Does it still burn when you pee?" and "Is homoerotic literature a turn-on for you?" So, really Craig, we're drawing a blank here. Sorry.
Warm Regards,
After becoming an avid reader of the website, I have become overly fascinated with the P.Net Corporation. I am just finishing up my college degree and am interested in possible employment or intern opportunities. I didn't see anything listed on the website concerning this. Can you provide me with more information? Thank you for your time.
-- Abby
Dear Abby,
First, you sound hot but cut it out with that "warm regards" crap. You sound like a hippie. Second, we are constantly launching all kinds of intern programs around the campus. We recently enrolled Craig in our new space/astronaut intern program. It really doesn't have anything to do with space or becoming an astronaut but he doesn't know that. We figure we can milk him dry for a few weeks before he catches on, becomes bitter, and probably comes in to work one day planning to kill us all. Hey, it's the cost of doing business. On that note, we would love to get you enrolled in our "Accelerated Executive" intern management course. As before, this really doesn't have much to do with you bettering yourself but we do have a lot of boxes that need to be moved around. Plus you can hop across the border and go fetch illicit substances for us when we need it. That's what really counts.
And that wraps up this edition of the mailbag. If you have a dying question or some sort of burning sensation, feel free to drop us a line. Sure, we'll give you a lot of crap and not really answer your question, but that's just what experts do. If you were an expert like us, you wouldn't be asking so many stupid questions. |
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| 06.01.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #3 | 10:04 AM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| Ah, the start of a new month is upon us, bringing the winds of change, the beginning of new things, and a chance for the P.Net Accounting department to cook the books from last month in an effort to hide the fact that we purchased a small coastal island for tax evasion purposes. But what it also means is that it's time for another edition of the P.Net Mailbag, letters written by real people using real words that we mostly can't understand. People seem fond of asking us all kinds of things from personal problems to questions about space. We're like camp counsellors without the inappropriate touching and threats. So, once again the talented staff at the P.Net Bureau Of Answers is here to help.
Dear P.Net,
I'm in my late thirties and recently divorced. I'd like to get back into the dating scene again but I've lost a good amount of my hair and am going bald. I was wondering if you could provide me with any advice that might help?
-- Richard
Richard (or can we call you Dick?).
Having courted a number of phillies in our day (and discounting those that filed charges), we think we have a pretty good idea of what makes women tick and the solution to your dating problems can be summed up in two words: comb over. Little known fact: chicks dig guys who cling to their last vestage of dome follicles by carefully combing hair from the back or side of the head until it reaches the other side. "Why did the hair cross the head?" "To get lots of women, of course!" We're glad you came to us first with this question because we don't beat around the bush. You won't find this kind of secret advice in Maxim or Playboy. They don't want you to know! Short of a comb over (should it not be possible), we suggest wearing pink. Pink is in these days. Fashion magazines are proclaiming that pink is the new pink. Use these tips and ride the wave to a newfound promiscuous lifestyle.
Hi,
I love the site. I was wondering if it's dangerous to eat paper. Because I eat a lot of it and was curious.
-- P.J.
Hello P.J.,
You remind us of an intern we used to have here. He would always do stupid things like eat paper and scissors. One time, he came to the company Halloween party dressed as a gothic leprechaun. All black suit, grayscale clovers, and a pot full of Cure albums. Classic. He also liked Robocop. Do you like Robocop? Anyway, he got all mad at us for firing him, not so much for the fact that we fired him but that we set him on fire first before we told him. We really do miss him around here. Oh, and stop eating paper dumbass. Go out and get some real food.
pollestad.net,
I would really like to get into the sport of car racing. Do you have any information on how I can do that?
-- Jake
Hi Jake,
No. Ok, seriously, no. The only experience we have with racing cars around here is when we get all hopped up on PCP and drop acid. We then proceed to drive around the parking lot. Who would have thought that elephants could drive cars so good? They beat us everytime!
Hello,
I recently started seeing this really nice girl and we've been getting along really well. The only problem is that her music tastes are way different than mine. She likes Jazz while I prefer rocking out to Iron Maiden. What should I do?
-- Bill
Bill,
Have you tried using violence to get your way? We generally suggest that people try physical abuse as a first solution to any problem. Unless she's bigger than you. Like that one time that Paul from HR was dating that bodybuilder. That was pretty funny. Should violence not be an option for you, we suggest that you both simply try to listen to a new form of music together. Something like, say, N'Sync. We love N'Sync around the office. Those guys can do no wrong. Who needs radio when you can simply put their greatest hits on endless loop? Either that or date her sister.
And that brings yet another mailbag edition to a close. We always feel a little better after mailbag days, knowing that we helped those who could not help themselves. Kind of like that guy who's crutches we stole this morning. Oh man, that was funny. See you next time! |
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| 03.01.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #2 | 10:34 PM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 0/5 (0 Votes) |
| Once again, it's time to dig deep into our vault of mail and pull out random letters by written by real people. Yes, we've got loonies, wackos, assholes, nutjobs, homophobes, adulterers, thieves, and criminals -- and that's the just the mail we receive from elected officials! Eh, well, moving on.
hi
perhaps you can settle a bet for me and my friend. i contend that there is only one true way to place toilet paper on the roll while he says either way is acceptable. which is it?
- t.p.
Well T.P., hopefully you were smart enough to wager a lot of money on this bet since every sane human in the universe knows that there is only one true way to hang the toilet paper from the roll. That way being so that the paper rolls over the top and not from the bottom. I once had a friend in Florida who liked to defy logic and put the toilet paper on backwards just to spite me. He would send me pictures of his misdeeds and they would cause me to throw up in my mouth. I think he got eaten by an alligator.
Dear P.Net Romance Dept.,
Ok, I consider myself a pretty average guy but I so totally scored at the bar the other night. I got the number of this chick who is easily a 10+ on the scale! Even better, she returned my calls and we have a date for tomorrow night! The downside is, I am not much of a dater and have no idea how to impress her. I really want this to go over smoothly so I am turning to the experts for help. Help!
- Bryan
A 10+ did you say? You wouldn't happen to be exaggerating now, would you Bryan? Fret not. Whether she is the winner of the "Ugliest Nordic Alive" Pageant or she really is as beautiful as you say, leave it to the professionals here at P.Net to make sure your night goes extra smooth. Now, you might be thinking about which fancy restaurant you're going to take her to and how many flowers you're going to buy her but stop right there. Those won't get you any action. After many years of romantic research (and the notches on our collective bed posts to prove it), we have come up with a surefire way to literally knock the socks off your prospective partner: tv dinners and boxed wine. Firstly, every Don Juan knows that nothing screams class like a case of boxed wine sitting atop your lovely dinner spread. The smell of cheap Wal-mart candles is a good accessory but not a requirement if you are running short on time. In fact, you may not even have to get around to making dinner once she sees that you are a man of culture. Your box of wine will likely already solidify your position as a future husband. Still, if she is the least bit resistant, dinner never hurts. And here is where you can pull the coup de grace: a salisbury steak tv dinner cooked to perfection. She'll go wild for your bits of still frozen corn and that artificial applesauce/pie combo thing that always winds up being three times as hot as the rest of the meal. Trust us, with these solid gold steps, you can't lose. Just send us a wedding picture once you two get hitched!
And that's all the time we have for answering letters this go-round. There is always a never-ending supply of letters because there is always a never-ending supply of stupid people that write to us! Keep up the good work Earth! See ya next time. |
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| 02.02.2005 - P.Net Mailbag #1 | | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 5/5 (1 Votes) |
| Each and every day, we here at the P.Net World Headquarters receive over ten thousand pieces of mail. This may seem like a lot to the common layperson (you!) but we have a highly trained and dedicated staff whose sole duty is to sort, process, and respond to these letters. When you're as world reknown as the P.Net Institute is, you're bound to attract a lot of correspondence attention. In today's segment, we decided to share with you some of the very letters we receive as an ongoing effort to make you feel not so worthless, to really make you feel like you're a part of something. Hey, it's the least we could do. Bring on the letters!
Dear Randy,
The prescription that you ordered for that genital warts breakout has been shipped and should be arriving at your home in a few days. Thank you for your purchase.
- Dr. Fargai, M.D.
Err, wrong mailbag fellas. Why don't you try looking in the "Correspondence that is not marked private, personal, or confidential" bag. Sheesh, so hard to find good help these days.
dear pollestad.net,
my friends and i realy like the new kelly clarkson album. maybe you like you it too. i think its the graetest. also i like chocolate.
- tiffany
Thank you for writing in Tiffany. Of course we've heard the new Kelly Clarkson cd. The industrial folks over in the P.Net Center For Musical Excellence have done nothing but flood our internal memo system with rave reviews and praise. We fired all of them. Plus we heard that Kelly Clarkson ate out of the dumpster one time. Pretty gross. You should be careful about eating all that chocolate Tiffany. Kelly Clarkson won't like you if you get fat.
To: P.Net Graduate Institute,
I am writing you in hopes that you can help me. My son, Ron, is in the 10th grade. He used to get really good grades but his academics have suddenly taken a turn for the worse. He stopped showing up at school and he gets in fights with other kids all the time. I truly am worried. What can I do?
- Mom Needs Help!
Hello Mom Needs Help! We are very troubled to hear about your son. From what you describe, it sounds as though he either fell in with the wrong crowd or started using all kinds of illicit drugs. He might even be sleeping with men. We're kidding! Well, about the last part. Hah! Got you again. None of those things are likely the cause of this new behavior. And really, you shouldn't blame yourself. It really isn't your fault. The truth of the matter is, your son is probably just an idiot. There really is nothing you can do for him except hope that natural selection weeds him out before he becomes too much of a burden on the rest of us. If that's a little too harsh for you, try this: next time you stop for gas, let him get out and pump. Let him get a feel for how the pump works and make him keep trying until he gets really efficient at it. Why? Because that is probably what he is going to be doing for the rest of his life! Now you've taught your son a valuable skill lesson which he can use in the marketplace. Good for you!
Well, that's all the letters we have for today. We'll be posting more letters from our glorious fan base in a future installment. |
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