Since the first couple of weeks of the new year usually offer little in the way of hard news, columnists have a tradition of using this time to correct some of their errors. This is a problem for me as, of course, I made no errors last year. However, executives at MultiNatCorp’s Satire, Commentary and Miscellaneous Polemics Division – in the body of Vice President Ned Feeblish (and there’s a body joke in there somewhere for enterprising young comedy wannabes) – have demanded in a sternly worded interoffice memo that I be humble and repent the (non-existent) errors of my ways. So, here you go.
Alert reader Anna R-R wrote that Nathaniel Fisher could not have been the person who prettified the corpses of Uday and Qusay Hussein so they could be shown on national television since Fisher is a fictional character. Good point, Anna, but have you considered the possibility that Uday and Qusay were fictional as well? I mean, did you ever run into them at your local Wal-Mart? Were they your husband’s tennis opponents? Did your children go to day care together? It’s letters like this that bring a tear to my eye and make me wonder, not for the first time, if my alert readers have far too much time on their hands.
Many readers of the Jewish persuasion wrote to complain about a column in which I portrayed Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon cheerfully building a wall through the Oval Office with the compliance of President George Bush. I agree that this was a simplification. To accurately portray the situation in the Middle East, I should have added that Sharon authorized the targeted assassination of low level White House staffers, and that he claimed control of the building’s water supply and other resources.
In the column “If Auto Assembly Was Like Screenwriting,” the following clunker of a sentence appeared: “This would result in fierce competition for jobs on the assembly line, which would require that aspiring auto workers would have to prove themselves outside the industry before they were hired.” The sentence should have read: “In the absence of other information, put your right hand behind your left ear and try not to bother the conductor, an amiable old fart in over his head.” I trust everything is now clear.
Many astute readers wrote to complain that the idea of The Death Network was offensive. Uhh, hello! Satire, here, people! If you want satire that does not cause offence, The Royal Canadian Air Farce is still available in your area.
One reader, Ann C., wrote to tell me that she had, in fact, posted a message to the Les Pages aux Folles message board without first reliving a past life, as I had recommended. Of course, it’s possible, Ann C., but if you had returned the next day, you would have found that karma parasites had reduced your post to unintelligible gibberish, much like your newspaper columns.
Another reader, Franz K., pointed out that piston engines are not a fruit. Of course not. However, they do take on fruitlike qualities when soaked in linseed oil for 24 to 36 hours, and can, under the supervision of qualified taxidermists, make an excellent jam flavouring.
In a column on the Gulf War, I stated that “President George W. Bush’s head should be used as an example for children of what happens when you let cheese sit out in the sun for too long.” I obviously regret this statement. For one thing, there is no scientific evidence linking President Bush’s head to cheese that has been allowed to sit out in the sun for too long. For another, several readers complained that the comment scared their young children. Clearly, this was a case of metaphorical overreach. I do, however, stand by the statement that the President’s head is proof that nature does not, as is commonly believed, abhor a vacuum.
In a similar vein, some readers complained that my constant satirical jabs at Secretary of State Donald Rumsfeld were “not balanced.” Not true. I balanced them with satirical jabs at Vice President Dick Cheney every chance I got.
In my coverage of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s ascent to the governor’s mansion in California, I did not make the obligatory “talk to da hand” joke when accusations of him groping unwilling women were made. If it’s any consolation, many other columnists stepped in to fill this void.
Finally, in December, I quoted Lenny Bruce, commenting on his posthumous pardon for an obscenity conviction, as saying, “I’m dead. Why should I give a shit?” Actually, what he said was, “I’m dead. Why should I give a fuck?” The original quote was relayed to me by an angel who watered it down because s/he was worried American authorities would storm Heaven. With good reason: I understand a warrant is already being prepared.
What have we learned from this exercise? Damned if I know. But, rest assured that I will be getting an interoffice memo on it really soon.