I recently received this letter in the mail. I would like to point out that -- you guessed it -- I have completely made this letter up.
Dear Jimmy,
Hi there. I would like to know how in the heck you come up with your humor columns. It often appears that drunk Martian squirrels are writing them. Then, I look at your mug shot, and it scares the hell out of me.
Sincerely,
Hortense P. Smigglewoofer
Thank you, Ms. Smigglewoofer, for that fine letter. I will pretend that I did not notice the drool stains all over it.
Anyway, you pose an interesting question regarding my column-writing technique. My technique varies greatly from that of other highly esteemed humor columnists (Editor's note: We're unsure who told him he was highly esteemed. We'll talk to him about this. He's imagining things again).
About a month ago -- and I am not making this part up -- I had a chance to interview Dave Barry, my humor-columnist idol, and he told me that he spends hours and hours every week on his column, which appears in hundreds of publications, including This Fine Newspaper. He has such time because his job, primarily, is to write that one column a week. And then -- I am just making an assumption here, because Mr. Barry did not tell me this -- he spends a great deal of time swimming in the tons of money that he makes.
I, however, do not have such a luxury. While Mr. Barry can spend oodles of time analyzing a sentence and pondering how to make it funny, I barely have time to check for schpellinge errurs. As an example, Mr. Barry and I may initially write the exact same sentence in a column:
The pink poodle piddled on Tony Armstrong's shoe.
(Note: I realize Dave Barry would not have any reason to write about Tony Armstrong, the mayor of This Fine City. But then again, neither would I, because he is as boring as the inside of Dotty's Casino compared to the last mayor we had, Bruce "Cell Phone Daddy-o" Breslow." I am merely using this as an example, so lay off, OK?)
Anyway, I would have to leave this sentence as-is, and go on to my other tasks, such as selling tools, writing for my other newspaper, making trips to Super K-mart to find bargains, explaining to my friends from church why I used the phrase "grab ass" in a column, etc. However, Mr. Barry could write the sentence, then go for a swim, Scrooge McDuck-style, in his cash, and then come back and make the improvement:
The pink poodle piddled on Tony Armstrong's shoe. "Booger!" Armstrong said in response.
See! Isn't that more hilarious than the original sentence? I mean, the word booger... and picture Tony Armstrong saying it. "BOOGER!" HAR HAR HAR hee hee.
The point here I am trying to make is I have a limited amount of time every week to write a column. Here is a typical timeline of my column-writing process:
10 p.m. Monday: Sit down to write my column (after an entertaining episode of "Ally McBeal").
10:04 p.m.: Decide to check my e-mail after realizing that I have no idea what to write about.
10:12 p.m.:Harass my roommate in hopes of getting a column idea.
10:14 p.m.: Harass my cat, Beavis, in hopes of getting a column idea.
10:15 p.m.: Start brushing cat hair off of all my clothing, deposited there by the long-haired Beavis. Reject column idea of "Why all kitties should be shaved."
10:21 p.m.: Read through Dave Barry books in hopes of finding an idea to steal.
10:43 p.m.: Start writing randomly, as if I were a drunk Martian squirrel.
And the result of this frenzied process is an award-winning "sick and twisted" column, I hope. And then, when I get my $15 check for writing the column, I cash it and try to swim around in it. So far, I am not having that much success. I keep getting pennies up my nose. I then yell, "Booger!" and start laughing hysterically. Eat your heart out, Mayor Armstrong.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who has never been drunk and has never been a Martian, although he has been called "squirrelly" at times. His column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org. He encourages real people to write him once in a while, so he doesn't always have to make up letters.