Stalker?
Dear Mr. Sarcasm,
1)I have rust orange shag carpet in my bedroom and pumpkin orange walls. It’s like sunshine inside. What does that say about me?
2)Tell me one thing about:
a)Doctor Will Magnus
b)Anthony Ivo
c)Star-ro.
d)King Tut(Batman villian not the fancy one)
Please.
3) Did you find that Alfred Hitchcock sounded like Winston Churchill? At all?
4)Have you ever been kicked out of a masonic order?
5)What’s the last thing that made you spill your coffee?
Sincerely,
— Mrs. Silvertongue
Dear Lyra,
Boy, you certainly do enjoy asking me things, don’t you?
You put me in mind of a groupie I had once, back in the mid-90s glory days of Sarcastic Voyage. For months, she would send me six or seven questions a day, constantly thirsting for the knowledge that apparently only I could deliver. It delighted me at first, then irritated me, then frightened the bejesus right out of me. (Seriously, even now, my personal physician says that my bejesus levels are a good 20% below those of a normal person.) But then, we experienced a breakthrough in what was fast becoming the second most disturbing relationship I’ve ever had. (The two and a half weeks I spent trapped in an elevator with a certain cosmetics tycoon would be the first, but that’s a story for another time.)
The breakthrough came when, entirely on a whim and with only a few hours’ notice, she bought herself a first class plane ticket and flew approximately 2500 miles to spend about eight hours with me at my home in Maryland. I promised her I’d be discrete about the particulars of that relationship, so I will say only this: I found it just the tiniest bit unsettling that, as we lay spooning together in the gloriously unique afterglow that can only come from the consummation of a stalker/stalkee relationship, the very first words out of her mouth were dear Mr. Sarcasm, was it good for you?
What am I trying to say, exactly? That you’re a stalker? Nah, not really. You just know quality advice and wisdom when you see it. That you see fit to regularly consult me for guidance and facts is simply a reflection of your refined tastes. Few people can truly appreciate the level of genius that this column represents. One can hardly blame you for wanting to keep digging into the salted snack product that is my brain. Crunch all you want, dear reader. I’ll make more.
Am I saying your questions seem a bit on the random side, leaving me with no real path to a cohesive essay that unifies the various themes, allowing you not only to laugh at my response but also to learn? (As a child of the eighties, I remain highly influenced by NBC’s series of “One to Grow On” public service announcements, and try to live my life as a writer as closely to those principles as possible.) Perish the thought! Nobody appreciates randomness more than I do. Except perhaps most of the rest of planet earth. And probably any other intelligent life that may exist in the cosmos.
Am I saying that I want to soothe the loneliness and isolation of being the internet’s first and greatest sarcastic advice columnist by knowing you, carnally? Well, that would be highly inappropriate, wouldn’t you agree? This is a sacred relationship we have here: you, with your desire to know that which is only known to me; and me, with all the answers.
No, I’m afraid we must keep things on a professional (or at the very least, business casual) level if this thing is ever going to work between us. I just couldn’t bring myself to take advantage of a reader that way. Except that time with the aforementioned groupie. And eight or eleven other times. But seriously, that’s where I draw the line.
I bet you’re a total hottie though.
I hope this answers all your questions, and encourages you to continue asking.
Thanks for writing!
