Dear Doctor Down-Down,
So out of the corner of my eye I see our cat sliding these envelopes into the stack of bills I’m planning to mail on my way to work. I wait until the cat goes out the pet door, then carefully steam them open. Every one is exactly the same. This is what I read:
This letter comes to you from Rags. Good eating to you, and a warm place to sleep. Great things will happen to you after reading this letter, but only if you keep the chain intact by sending it on.
This isn’t the old catnip mouse or fetch the stupid stick trick. Send copies of this letter to ten domesticated animals of your acquaintance. This letter has traveled around the pet kingdom seven times and has brought happiness to every animal that kept the chain intact. Do not be the animal that breaks it.
While languishing in the humane shelter, Fluffy received this letter and was adopted by a loving family the very next morning. But she broke the chain and one week later was spayed and declawed.
Skipper was a good bird. Good bird. He read this letter and two days later his human forgot to latch his cage. Free at last, he stretched his wings and headed south for Mexico, forgetting in his haste to make copies of the letter. Five days later a Cooper’s hawk coughed up a ball of bone and feathers, Skipper’s mortal remains. Dead bird. Dead bird.
North’s Trump read this letter and followed the instructions faithfully, mailing copies to ten other thoroughbreds. Two weeks later he won the Triple Crown. A month after that his owners put him out to stud, and he got nookie every day for the the rest of his long life. Such is the power of this letter, if only you will be a Good Boy or Good Girl.
Hippety Hop thought he had it all. Loving children, plenty of food, a clean hutch, and 200 feet of plastic interlocking Habitat run. Hippety Hop scoffed at this letter and did not pass it on. Today he is the glue in the joints of a cheap frame holding a Red Skeleton “crying clown” print on the wall of a bankrupt cafÃ© in Rancho Cucamonga.
In 1950 this letter found its way to a well-meaning young collie who put it aside, meaning to copy it later. He was soon abandoned at a highway rest stop, nearly eaten alive by coyotes, and taken in by Gypsies who whipped him just to hear him whimper. At last he remembered the letter, copied it, and sent it on. Today we know him as . . . Lassie.
Remember: in order to benefit from the power of this letter you must copy it and send it on to ten other animals. Do not break the chain!
Shit, I don’t know whether to call David Letterman or the exterminator!
Thighmaster, Aloha HHH, Hawaii
I’ll never put a chain letter on the bottom of my bird’s cage again!
Dear Dr. Down-Down,
I was wondering – do you do dream interpretation? I had a dream last night that is perplexing me in my waking hours.
I dreamed I had this huge party and invited my ex-pond-scum-sucking-attorney-turned-political-boyfriend, whom I conventionally ignored most of the night. When I finally decided to be nice and go chat with him, he’d split (hmmm, wonder why?). The next morning I was speaking with a male friend who said the party was great but there was this one weird guy who sat on his lap then lost control of his bladder – this weird guy pissed all over his lap! (this is beginning to sound like Camp Hedon, eh?). Later, some dude stopped in (who I think was really Cums With Suds) to pick up something for a friend and asked to use the restroom. I showed him the way to the toilet and decided to call the ex and apologize for ignoring him the night before. Just as I finished dialing his number, CWS comes running naked out of the restroom trying to pee on me! I was very upset and was screaming at him calling him asshole and motherfucker and every curse word I could think of (after all, he was ruining my carpet). I could hear my ex on the phone saying “Laura? What the hell’s going on? Uh, hello. . ?” I then woke up because the thought of somebody peeing on my bisque carpet was sooo scary.
Dr Down-Down, what does this mean?
Pee Pee View, White House H3
What a month it’s been! It started with foot fetishism and ended with watersports! And not one word from that guy in Colorado . . . have I died and gone to heaven?
But back to your question. Dreams are pretty much what they seem to be, in spite of the twaddle those Freudians want us to believe. You dream about snakes, you’ve probably got snakes on the brain, that’s all. I’m afraid you’re going to have to face facts, “Laura.” You’re abnormal . . . that’s why you’re a hasher!
Dr. Down-Down, DDS
(Disgusting Deviant Scum)
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