My Name is Nathaniel Little-Sparrow, and I am writing to complain about your recent bicentennial sidewalk fair. You see, I filed my vendor application for your event last fall. Being the first applicant, I was told I would have the exclusive right to be the only purveyor of Native American crafts and music.

When I arrived to set up my booth on the morning of the event, I was shocked and appalled to see ANOTHER PURVEYOR OF NATIVE AMERICAN CRAFTS AND MUSIC and only seven spots away from me!

Our people have been oppressed for hundreds of years and it is not something we take lightly. It is hard enough to compete with overweight white men selling tie-dye wolf t-shirts and cheap sweatshop dream catchers, but now I am forced to compete with my brothers over which tribe produces higher quality replica tomahawks or yarn finger puppets.

What gives, Cornwall? Seriously.

When I approached the PTA member who was in charge of merchandising, she told me having two similar vendors created a “healthy, competitive atmosphere.” Is that so? Then how come I didn’t see two tables of early television sitcom commemorative plates? Where was the second table for the handmade NASCAR pillows (Handmade? I can go to Wal-Mart’s craft section right now and buy ten feet of Dale Earnhardt print. Let’s see Maryanne Bakersfield slay her own cattle to make the leather that holds your authentic Apache hand drum together.)

I’m sure don’t feel any guilt about what you have done and I’m sure you feel that white man’s burden has been lifted of your shoulders for letting two savage Indian tradesmen into your beloved bicentennial Celebration. You have showed the virtues of diversity to the common people and I’m sure in the future you children will grow to host their own street fairs- complete with seven homemade empanada stands for every one hardworking, white girl scout troop. Enjoy your capitalism and polluted rivers.

Yours truly,
Nathaniel Little-Sparrow

Also, if it’s not to early, I’d like to reserve my spot in front of the pet shop again for next year. Thanks.

Barack Obama’s cabinet selections have been dominating headlines. Many being chosen are Washington insiders, and Obama has received criticism for practicing the same old politics. Here is your chance, Mr. President Elect, to choose a common man qualified for the job: Me. Here are my reasons:

1. I am a good listener

Any ex-cabinet member will tell you that more than half your job is just listening to the president figure things out. You need to smile and nod when he’s bitching about congress or whatever. I’m really good at engaging people and just hearing them out.

2. Heart disease is not common in my family

Obviously any good cabinet member needs to stay alive. That’s the most important part of the job.

3. I live in a nice big apartment and the neighbors won’t care if we need to have late night brainstorm sessions.

Seriously, everyone here is really cool and as long as we aren’t playing music, we can go til whenever. Need to develop a stimulus package at the eleventh hour but Michelle needs her rest? Come on over, literally any time. What’s mine is yours.

4. I am experienced with an electric shaver and can give a pretty good fade.

I used to cut my own hair when I was younger, and I used to give my friends haircuts too. Why spend $50+ of the taxpayers money when I can shape it myself? Hell maybe I’ll get creative and get your initials in there. Just give me some practice dummies.

5. I am good at making split second decisions, like in the game Goldeneye.

Say you need to make a call on whether to drop a smart bomb on Afghanistan, but you don’t know where to turn; I’m your man. Although I have more direct experience in dealing with proximity mines or cougar magnums, it’s all the same principals.

6. I own an air hockey table.

So in those late night jam sessions we can blow off some steam. Seriously, air hockey seems a little retro, but it’s addicting. And you need a cool cabinet member with some fun toys to listen to you talk about how stiff and regular everyone else is.

Seriously, I really need a job.

I’m writing to you because you have a familymember or friend buried within our haloed grounds. We here at Carlwood honorand respect your difficult lose.

However, times change, and we have decided toshift some things around.Let’s not kid ourselves; single graves are a hugewaste of space. Not to mention a hell of an eye sore.

Our plan is to transport all of the remains fromthe thousands of individual plots into one large grave, upon which we willplace a shit load of soil.

This will save space and time. And that savingswill be passed onto you. Now, some people, especially the elderly membersof our board of directors, have voiced concern over this proposition. They claimthis would be a “crime against God” and would “draw comparisons to mass gravesfrom various genocides.

”But I think you’ll agree they are just beingdramatic. I think we can also all give up this charade about people havingsouls. I mean come on. A misty mass which embodies your essence andmind and goes to up to heaven and such. Jesus, let it go. It’s 2008 for“God’s” sake. Grow up.

Aunt Julie or Grandma Mary are just decomposingcorpses. Flesh and bone. Headstones and flowers are just delusional. One biggrave, covered in nice Kentucky Blue Grass will make a beautiful picnic spot,replacing our old gloomy graveyard. So, please respond with a Yes or No onProposition 1 asap.

– Harry Larson

Helping you be the greenest of everyone you know. (Part III in an occasional series)  

Today we begin with a question from one of our readers: 

Dear Greener than you,

Your column has provided advice on the matters of green post-apocalyptic living and dog waste management, but conspicuously, not a word yet about cocaine. Is it true that using cocaine destroys the rainforests?

Jake from Europe

As it happens, I was already planning on devoting this column to the subject of cocaine prior to receiving your missive. While this renders your time in writing me poorly spent, thanks for the question!

Now then: Yes, using cocaine destroys the rainforests. I gather you have heard Columbia’s vice president claiming that 5.44 million acres of Colombian tropical forest have been cut down to grow coca in the last twenty years alone. Not green! Sure, a key bump makes it more fun to take out the recycling, and a quick line usually helps you stay up late to write columns about how to be green, but dude if you keep buying your eight balls every night, everyone in Europe is going to know that you’re anything but green.

That said, don’t get down Jake; one good thing about cocaine is that it’s not addictive– even someone like you, with a dangerously extreme habit going, should be able to quit without experiencing withdrawal. Then – because you clearly have an addictive personality – you can switch over to a drug that’s nice and green. I haven’t heard any vice presidents accusing crystal meth of destroying the environment…

Have a question about being green? Ask away.

Dear Barack. I trust this guide will find you as it is the only tip sheet of its kind.

Before I begin, the most important thing to realize, Barack, is that you only have a first first 100 days in office. Yes, subsequent measures of 100 days will follow, but unfortunately only these first 100 days are examined under a microscope. After it people just expect shit to be done

Foreign Policy 

Meet with Iran without pre-conditions. A lot has been made of this pledge during the campaign. And keeping your word about this will let people know you’re serious about diplomacy over muscle-flexing as the path to conflict resolution. Setting an agenda ahead of time could be interpreted as a condition. Actually setting a time to meet could be interpreted as a pre-condition. So this is probably going to have to be a surprise meeting. Just make it seem like you were in the area — the world’s largest security detail in tow– and wanted to drop by. 

The Economy

This current crisis has been the death blow for deregulation and trickle down economics. At some point in the last few years the trickling becomes a slow drip and then nothing at all. Usually when something doesn’t work it’s a good idea to try the opposite — trickle up.

Give everyone a free taco. With the $1.50 they save on lunch they can use the money to invest in responsible mortgages and other economically sound things like war bonds. If it doesn’t work after one taco, try another taco. Maybe a burrito will do a trick. I like Chipotle. 

The War

Withdraw from Iraq. Experts would have you believe this conflict is a highly complex quagmire. But experts just like to use the word quagmire. Here’s what you do. Order a lot of planes — the exact amount of planes to fit all the troops. (Roughly 300 people can fit on a plane.) Once you have the planes, make sure all the troops stationed in Iraq get on the planes. Close the plane doors. Tell the pilots to fly from Iraq to the United States. You have just withdrawn from Iraq.

Your Administration

Establish the roles of your first lady and vice president. Past administrations had some creative restrictions and expansions of these respective jobs. The Easter Egg Roll is an event of understated nuance. Before a first lady can move on to other duties like fighting world poverty or promoting the good will of our country, she should master the nuances of this age-old ritual. With your vice president the world has grown used to a base level of evilness. Even though the election was a mandate for change, a gradual transition is always preferable. Start by giving Biden some mediocre evil tasks: such as loosening the air valves on people’s bicycle tires and replacing everyone’s deodorant sticks with the aerosol-spray variety.

Dear Cannibal Steve,

My mom is just impossible! I hate her! Look, it’s just like, she doesn’t get me. I’m 17 now and she can’t control my life. I mean I’m not unreasonable here, I just want to be able to stay out past 11 on weekend nights. None of my friends, not Sarah, not Melissa, nobody has a curfew that harsh. And every time I try to talk to her about it, My mom is just like “You’re only 17, you don’t need to be out partying all night.” I’M NOT EVEN DOING THAT! GOD! Can you help me please?

Jane

Jane:

First off, you have to understand that your growing up is hard for your mom to deal with too. She’s spent 17 years raising you and now all you want to do is spend time outside the house. So here is my advice… spend some quality time with her. Show her that you care about her feelings. Take her out to a movie, buy the tickets, the popcorn, and become that mature kid that can stay out late. Then, while she’s enjoying the film, basking in your new found connection, smash her head with a lead pipe, take out her brain with your bare hands, and then take a bite… in order to consume her soul. It’s as simple as that.

Steve the “Cannibal”

Dear Cannibal Steve,

I know you’ve probably gotten a lot of this… it’s just; I don’t know where to turn. I’m one of those millions of Americans who is about to lose my home to the mortgage crisis. I’ll admit, I took out a mortgage I couldn’t really afford, but I thought I’d find some way to manage… somehow. Anyway, I have a family to support, two little girls, and my career as an electrician just isn’t paying the bills. Should I go back to school? Can I risk it? Or am I just too late? I don’t want to end up renting some shitty house in the south side of town. Can you please help me?
Gary

Gary:

Well, you’re in a tough place right now, and like you said, so are most Americans as a result a real lack of oversight and responsibility on the part the real estate investment and financing industries… but the real question is, what should you do? After some discussion with close friends, my advice is this…you’ve got to avoid falling into debt… That’s where real trouble starts. So, first off, you need to speak to the issuer of your mortgage, or the owner, and get them to agree to a reasonable payment plan. Chances are, they are hurting too, so cut a deal. And then, after a hearty handshake, follow him to their car, pull out a knife and insert it into his back. Stab as many times as you feel you need to… then, use your knife to cut his throat and dig his brain out from the base of his skull. I’d recommend you eat it (so you know what he knows,) but, to each his own. Then, get yourself into school; enroll in a community college close to home. See if your town or state has any programs that will subsidize your education… chances are they will. If not, go to the next city council meeting with your favorite metal baseball bat and you know… consume some souls. Good luck.

Steve the “Cannibal”

Now that I have hit the last week of my freshman studies, I think its time that I say what I would do if I was on the other side of the lectern. Certainly, many professors do what I believe to be a stellar job in teaching me about fractals, but I have a few ideas that I would use if I was a professor.

If I was a professor, I would start out every class by saying “Welcome to Class X!” If I was teaching a class on psychology, I would say “Welcome to PSYCH!” and run out of the room. I would do this every day.

If I was a professor, I’d have fewer assignments, and give out higher grades.

If I was a professor, I would play favorites, but instead of playing favorites I would play least favorites, and fail all of the people I don’t like. This is called playing the numbers, and it is fairer than playing favorites.

Not enough of the faculty have nice cars. If I was a professor, I would have the most bitchin car ever, and I would paint flames on the side, just so my students would know it was my car. I would also name it after my favorite students (changing the name from year to year).

Once when we were kids it was fun to watch movies in class. Now we have to watch all of this PBS bullshit. If I was a professor, everything we watched would have to have a rotten tomatoes rating above 70%, and had to be in color, because black and white sucks.

Some professors are very old, which is quite distressing to many students. When I turned forty, I would retire.

Lots of professors have syllabuses. I would have the class requirements tattooed on my ass. I am very proud of my ass.

There are a lot of historical figures that we remember because of their titles, like Alexander the Great, and Catherine the Great. Lots of other historical figures don’t have such titles, and thusly are hard to remember. So, if I was teaching a history class every single name I would give some sort of title. From George Washington the Awesome to Cotton Mather the Slightly Remembered.

Lots of professors wear glasses. I would wear contacts, the types with the crazy designs, and if I didn’t like a student, I would stare at them and say that I would destroy them with my magic eyes. Since most students are stupid, they’d believe it.

I would have a trophy wife, and have her come into class all the time, because I think it would improve student morale, knowing that if they got a PhD in some bullshit liberal arts degree, they could still rail some bimbo.

If I was a professor, if a female student was doing poorly in my class, I would flirt with her to make her feel better.

If I was a professor, every book we would read, we’d read together and out loud in class, so I can make fun of the retards that screw up words like “obfuscate”.

To motivate students not to fail, I would call whoever got an A “awesome” B “alright” C “okay” and anyone who had either a D or F would be a “cocksucker”. (To wit, ‘All of you cocksuckers better study hard for the next test.’)

I would end every class with a prayer, because students don’t have enough morality.

Ever since I got this tattoo, I’ve been sporting it every chance I get: photos, trips to the beach, the gym. This tattoo of Ghandi Xtreme snowboarding is the perfect conversation starter. It’s the best depiction of what I think is great in life: peace and adventure.

When I got it, friends and strangers would say how I’ll be sorry when I’m older, predicting it will become a stain on my aged body. But I was fine with that; what’s cooler than a cool grandfather and his tat?

But then, I started to think…really think…about my future. What if it follows me everywhere…like everywhere I go?

What if this tattoo stays on my spirit when I die?

If there is an afterlife-and I am a firm believer in life after death-then do I want this image remaining on my left pectoral? How permanent is this, really? I don’t know what I’m going to be doing in heaven-or who I’ll meet. I mean, sure I love showing this thing off now, but who knows what my detached apparition will find amusing?

It’s not only a first impression, it’s a first impression for the rest of eternity. Who’s to say I won’t want to try something different? Maybe I won’t be all that into Ghandi when I enter my next level of consciousness.

And what if I meet Ghandi up there? Oh God, that’d be so embarrassing. Nothing screams “fan-boy” like a novelty tattoo of your idol. That’s a definite turn off, and ruins any potential I have of creating an actual friendship with the guy.

And maybe there’s no way of covering it up. I don’t know, I’ve never been to the permanent bliss that follows death, maybe they don’t allow clothes. That’s the good thing about having a tattoo now: you can hide it when you don’t want people to see it; but if I’m in heaven and anything goes, I’m in the spotlight and Ghandi competing in the X-Games is shining bright on my chest.

Just the thought keeps me awake at night.

Remember how at first, your mom didn’t want to learn how to use email? And then when she finally got her AOL account all figured out, suddenly she was on it constantly? She realized that email was her friend, that she could write you whatever and whenever she wanted without having to call or prepare for your responses. In a mom email, all the elements are in place to give hilarity a good chance of ensuing most of the time.  

Fortunately, there is a place where people can anonymously share the best of mom’s emails; it’s called Postcards from your Momma. A “repository of modern day maternal correspondence,” the site is made up of submitted emails that were received from moms, occasionally with a short backstory where necessary. Here’s an example: 

“hi 
hope you are excited about campers coming tomorrow. good luck. you shouldn’t of asked me to look in your closet for your hat because i found a box of condoms. 
love, 
mom” 

Some are hilarious, some are pretty unremarkable, and some are just bizarre. The reoccurring theme in most of these is the extreme amount of nonsequiturs. Apparently, when it comes to emails to the kids, moms feel little obligation to any show of cohesiveness; they can be sweet, then totally disapproving, and then talk about which episode of “The Office” they watched, all in the same run-on sentence. 

Mom emails are funny, but this makes you think twice before convincing her to get that iPhone.

This week’s feature member is presently the third funniest person on Comic Wonder. At least according to our Sense of Humor Index, a rating system that rewards those who tell funny jokes, find funny jokes before everyone else, are positive members in the community, and win stuff.

Yes, Skez63 is truly funny. He has the hardware to prove it to. Hailing from Indiana, his midwestern drawl is a trademark on his winning performances. He’s pulled in Comic Wonder of the Week nods four times:

• “Breakfast at the White House” on July 21st, 2008
• “Foreskins and matzo balls” on July 7th, 2008
• “No Monkeys Allowed” on May 19th, 2008
• “Gator Shoes” on Cinco de Mayo, 2008

His most famous joke is “No Monkeys Allowed” which received Comic Wonder of the Month honors for May, and is in the running for the Comic Wonder of the Year announced in December.

Skez is one of our best community members, and it shows. He has started this trend of putting “(JL)” in his joke titles for any jokes he rescues from Joke Limbo. By our count, his is our most prolific missionary. Both Skez and Comic Wonder invite you to start tagging your jokes with (JL) in both your joke title or your joke tags.

So thank you Skez for giving us some of our best jokes (and best voices of drunk people and blondes!), and being our finest missionary saving jokes from Joke Limbo Comic Wonder has ever had!