February 2006 (v8 i4)
Hiding in the bushes since 1997!
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SPCA PET ADOPTION AD
As a lover of animals (and the Travesty!) I wanted to personally thank you. When I saw that absolutely adorable eight-month-old terrier made entirely out of meat looking up at me with his eyes made out of marbles, I knew I had to have him. Now Bones and I go everywhere together! So not only do I have a lifelong pal, I also have hands that smell like an old hamburger. Thanks Texas Travesty!
Frank Davidson
Pflugerville



HIP-O-METER
Why do you insist on insulting hipsters? We’re people, too. Except, unlike you, we have feelings. And cool haircuts. And . . . more feelings. I can only hope that in the future you will stray away from mocking us and start mocking another group of people — like the poor. Hope McPherson San Marcos


CLUELESS DAD TELLS HORRIFIC BEDTIME STORY
Stephen Short suggests in his article that telling an innocent child terrifying, life-scarring bedtime stories is something to chuckle at. Well, it’s not. I know this because my father used to put me to sleep with his favorite story, “Leprosy Kingdom.” And, much like Katie Ackerman — the offensive and unfunny character Mr. Short created for a cheap laugh — I too could only be “comforted by the warmth of my own urine.” No, I am not proud that I used to wet myself. No, I am not proud that we have a bad bedtime story teller in our family. But, Mr. Short, sir, you should not be proud of the fact that you exist. Karin Seeger
Columbus, Ohio



MR. POPULAR
Your advice on picking up women is singlehandedly the worst advice I have ever used. I took a girl out last night and used many of the tips in your column. You told me to insult her friends so she wouldn’t think I liked them, so when I met her roommate I told her she smelled like the inside of a rectum. BIG MISTAKE! Later that evening, I decided I would take your counsel and show my sensitive side. After crying for 30 minutes straight about how my mom drank instead of giving me hugs, my date stormed off and told me to never call her again. Thanks a ton, Mr. Popular — you’ve ruined me. Insincerely,
Bill Woody


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