| POST A QUESTION |

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Dear T,

Can’t find my bike. Do you know where my fucking bike is?

Signed,
Sal

Dear Big Sally,

Thank god there’s people out there like yourself, Sal, that add to the growing populace who are convinced that this here periodical gives the Atlantic Monthly and Harper's a run for their money. It’s grand soul searching queries like this one that speaks of transportation in a new millennium, that reveal to us our truest selves, of our spiraling south of sea level greedy culture batting an eye, letting greed step in instantaneously. Many pages, a full-length novel actually, could be dedicated to your cosmic and ballistic bewilderment. I think I speak for, well, thousands, when I say, truthfully, that after looking in all those places I believe a bicycle of yours might have been hidden or left believe a bicycle of yours might have been hidden or left behind etc., I have, alas, come up 'fucking empty'. I can suggest that you rent 'The Bicycle Theif' and further, I propose this to you: invest in a girl's pink tricycle with full-on-loopy-banana seat and those dangly things that droop wistfully off the handlebars for your brand new roadside companion. What be the point here? It's all about getting from point A to point B. Isn't it?

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Dear Mr. Timber Masterson,

On September 3rd, 1999 you rented the following movies from our College and Grace location:
-Howard the Duck
-Air Bud II: Golden Retriever

According to our files you have failed to return these videos and as a result, the following charges have been applied to your account:
$80.21...Replacement value of unreturned tapes
$112.00...Late Fees (maximum penalty)

Please pay these fees as soon as possible, or call me in person to discus this matter further.

Signed,
Drew Baird
Accounts Re ceivable, Blockbuster Video Head Office, Toronto

Dear Drew,

I can see how a matter like this would really stick in your groin; especially for the length of time such an atrocity of justice has remained in your company’s files. I can't say if I would have been so patient with a client such as myself. Again, my hat is off to you and I appreciate, no, I’m WARMED, by your touching words of concern for your misplaced cassettes of gross-below-board-mind-numbing, soul-violating, carnage-like entertainment cartridge rentals that you feel more than just in charging a pretty penny for prick. Look, you fire-suited-sale mini-minded human snafu cretin, I’ve never even BEEN to your store, clearly, you’ve failed to comprehend just what’s gone on here: some malcontent fraudulent ass has assumed my persona, and falsely rented these decrepit modules of useless and icky mind-bogglingly-unentertaining-slack for their own good, not caring what it would do to a tender and responsible upstanding fellow of such sensitive nature and disposition such as myself. So kindly, eat my muffin. I will NOT be instructing any of the people here at the TimberMedia office to write you a check for any of this ignoramic nonsense that you plague me (and my lawyers) with. DO NOT bug me any more okay? Oh, and by the way, would you happen to have a DVD copy of that really funny flick, Weekend at Bernies 2? Let me know.

T.M

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Dear Timber,

Is it okay to fantasize about other women while having sex with my girlfriend? I should mention that she is awesome in every way, except for the fact that, well, she is not someone else, which is why I end up thinking about other women.

Helpless Larry

You know Larry it's a funny thing: those occasions when one (me included) sees those unbelievably slinky ladies that just ooze sex appeal, them there lasses with their curves and sultriness, those elusive high-heeled kittens that we as men would just about die for; it has been my experience over the years that for every one of those Brazilian Coppertone fabulously curvaceous and edible female specimens, I can also present to you a male counterpart for each of them that is entirely bored to tears with having sex with them, I mean, like, totally over the whole deal with having intimate relations with this godly creature of creature of all-too-quickly-revealing ballistic and darn right staggeringly nightmarish high-maintenance that drives fellows such as us just plain nuts. I'm not angry, I just want some treats... which is quite another story. Here's what I mean: Think of whomever you want when you are having 'relations, with your special someone. Myself? I’ve been known to conjure images of Bob Newhart’s earlier comedy routines when I'm all moist and in the act, sometimes even visualizing limbless couples in credit card debt-counseling-offices, doing it dressed as jumbo-thighed flying squirrels, which is again, entirely another story. So, Larry, consider yourself providential you’ve got a female to endure your dribble and self-absorbed selfisms and the countless other problematic male ego crap we machismo, Xy-chromosomers carry around. I leave you with a question: just who (or what) do you think SHE is fantasizing about while you are 'doing it' with her?

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Hi Timber,

My brother says that chocolate is bad for dogs, but you wanna hear something crazy ... our dog Jeffers loves Kit Kats! Do you think that I am wrong to feed him chocolate, even though I may be killing him?

Jake

South Dakota

...Look, Jake, my boy, Pups go belly up all the time. Why would you deny Jeffers some of that good old devilish sugar? Near death experiences are what makes canines good pets; it's that immediate-gratification-through-stomach-pleasure that gives him that "Hey, what can I do for you?" glazed-over look, we've come to expect in a four legged partner. I'm betting you stuff far worse morsels down your gullet that are killing you just as quickly as Mr. Jeffers. I'd only worry if you start lacing the Kit Kat bars with razor blades, as that's just purposefully rude and unnecessarily messy. You're doing just dandy, give yourself a break.

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Hello Timber,

I am trying to start a grungy punk band with some friends at school but we can't think up a good name. We are a punk band, like early Sabbath and Deep Purple, but with a girl singer.

April

Utica, NY

...By "Punk", do you mean sickening acne that lurches out at a crowd, like creepy and overbearing? Like, enormously loud and unlistenable. And unnerving? There are enough "bands" in the world. How about banding together for a really bitchn' car wash with your feisty Ozzy-sloth pals and then donating the money to the relief fund that puts cover bands out of business for good. (Call me, I have the address). An act so unselfish might seem like hideous hieroglyphics at this point, but think of the experience you'll gain in "interior automobile vacuuming", "Rear suspension mop and glowing" etc. Those are some marketable skills.

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Dear Timber,

I used to be a punk rocker but now I teach grade 8 at a public school. I have a minivan now, and I wear cords and shirts that require ironing. Lately I have been feeling like I totally sold out. Have I?

Yours,

Mr. Foster

...Word has it around the hallways that you command a cosmically bitchin' lesbian lacrosse team. Just transfer that punk rebel energy into pointless trigonometry and photosynthesis that the peckerheads will be sure to forget months after the fact anyway. Bring your axe and amp to class and let them see the empty anthropoidal shell you have become, soft warbly and spineless - jelly-like, and hopefully the sympathy card will win you some votes. But don't bet on it, Mr. Foster. Shirts that require ironing? Is this something new?

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Dear Timber,

If you are lost in the forest, can you eat tree bark? I think I saw on The Learning Channel that you can.

Dane

P.S I am lost in a forest.

...Dane. It baffles me and I have to say it's more than alarming how you can manage to put together a stamp, envelope, adequate saliva and the wherewithal to hunt down either a courier or a big red and blue mailbox, yet are stifled when it comes to the big meal choices. If you're lost, do anything and I mean anything to save yourself. Eat other campers, their kids, gulls, picnic benches, used straws, just survive and get the hell out of there, safely back to us!

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Dear Timber,

I have a painful itch. I don't know want to go into much detail, but suffice to say: it's really painful. How do you deal with, uh... a painful itching?

Anonymously,

Brian from the Greater Niagara Falls region

...First off, I get the day going with a bath full of Vagisil, Gin and Ajax crystals. I then tie 4 hair-dryers together and whip them around my naked body at the highest heated interval and play a little Dodge the Machines. It's all about being dry, fresh, and being lubricated in the weirdest of places. This will take your mind off uh....the itch. Also, grow your pubic hair to a startlingly long length, like freak show capacity, projects will just start coming up. Let me know how it works out.

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Dear Timber,

This one time, this girl swore at the teacher. The same girl, this other time, was in the school play but quit and later that day, I saw her smoking at the bus stop. Crazy, eh?

Diane

...I see. I think. Whether you're trying to link up "bad girl persona" in modern day culture with the hypocrisies of self destructive behavior, or just commenting on how all school plays should have a hell of a lot more smoking in them, or if even one is offered the coveted lead in the aforementioned play, that if given an opportunity to smoke at a bus stop, with other mendacious addicts and n'er do well malcontents, it all makes perfect sense. On some other planet.

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Hey Timber,

What should I get my husband for his birthday? I should mention that he loves The Raptors and has never been to a game. All he talks about is basketball and meeting a Raptor. I'm really lost here, ideas?

Rachel

...Um, just what is a R A P T O R ? I'm curious. Get him a gift certificate from Triple A Escort Service. How about a starlit stroll around the deck. If you have no deck, send him away to fetch one and tell him not to come back until he reappears with something resembling a deck. That'll teach him to have married such an emotionally draining, duplicitous, morally vacant, full-on bar car train wreck with the accumulative emotional baggage dating back to when Mummies walked around. But, then again, I'm just saying.

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Dear Mr. Masterson,

I am thinking of basing a film on the last few hours of the life of The Wizard of Oz. I am trying to create the most realistic version possible and I have the rights to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. What should I do?

Best Regards,

Mel G.

...MMMMMMmmmmmmm you clandestinely-challenged-man-without-a-face-goonbag, are you asking if it would be a great idea to focus on the actual Wizard i.e. The Pay-no-mind-to-that-man-behind-the-curtain-handlebar-mustachioed-velvet-suit-carnival-wackadoo filled-with-promises-he-couldn't-keep-fella? Why don't you make a Wizard of Oz Part Deux? It can star you playing this guy named Riggs, (who's really crazy!!!!!!) you ride around with a guy who calls himself The Wizard. You fellas solve crimes at night and in the daytime THINK about solving crimes. (Sort of Kafka castle-ish kind of stuff, real deep). Of course whenever you are in this myelan-sheath-of-an-inviso-crime-car, Pink Floyd and REO SPEEDWAGON blast on your Alpine Stereo. To boot, The Wizard (?) and you carry in the glove box a heart, a brain and courage - really bourbon in a bottle - and think you're really really funny guys. You both wear leotards, but tied around your head. AND really gay-like Jimmy Connors-ultra-1970's American red white and blue fuzzy sweatbands on your wrists. I can't wait for it to be released.

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Dear Mr. Timber,

I think I may like elderly females ...

M. Jackson

...Um, I think you have more immediate problems, like how you seem to think overnight at freak land with little boys means "everybody get in their cowboy pajamas time" (tops only). Tricking kids into your own personal petting zoo doesn't really wash on this planet. You have turned into a dark and ominous tragic figure, looming amongst the debris in the doorway of societies' subconscious. Go Away. You are in moral ruin and ensconced in grotesqueness, and as far as your desires for "elderly females", Liza and Liz called and they want their gargantuan underpants returned pronto. Your condition does not work like a get out of jail free card, whatever your monumentally queer disposition might be. There are names for what you've become, though at this moment I couldn't begin to conjure any of them.

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Dear Timber,

Don't you hate it when people say "over exaggerated" instead of just "exaggerated"?

Dan

...Yes Dan, It's serendipity "ironical". I, alas, am the wrong one to ask about the world of words. I once dated an etymologist thinking she would be able to write me quickie-prescriptions for high quality schedule 2 pharmaceuticals. The tragedy unfolded when I realized etymology is the study of words, or something like that. We called it quits. Or she did, I should say.

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Dear Timber

I stuck a bean up my nose and now I have a really bad headache. Suggestions?

William

...What kind of bean was it Willy? What kind of a name is Will anyhow? I hope this has helped. If it was a Lima bean or anything else in that family of miniature legume you're royally screwed. By the time this letter has gotten to me, you've already got kind of an "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" theme majorly sprouting in your large intestine. Should be only a matter of time before you can walk around impersonating Donald Sutherland. Green beans and yellow beans are helpful to stick up ones nostrils, especially when the party gets slow and you run out of cute quips and feel a socially grand ineptitude coming on. Beans in the nose get the conversation going, I always say. I actually have never said this, but in sad social situations one must be creative.

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Hey Timber,

I loved you in Disney on Ice. I have a science question for you: How come some restaurants serve fried ice cream? I mean, doesn't it all just melt?

Craig

...I'm terribly pleased you caught me in that Disney escapade. Things went down hill quickly when I was apprehended for trying to escape the freak show with a good chunk of their costumes. When restaurants say they serve "fried" ice cream, it isn't really ice cream at all. It's French fries. Just chalk it up to the system trying to screw with you.

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Hey Timber,

If I drink while I am on medication, what will happen?

Shandra

Dear Medicated,

...I assume when you say "drinking", you are referring to alcohol. The mix makes for a wacky combination, it makes people you would never normally give the time of day to entirely intriguing. Things get hazy and you should always, always operate heavy machinery while on your psilocybin hayride cocktail or serotonin inhibiting elixir, as it makes the work go b y swiftly. I have a doctorate in Spiritual Befuddlement (my minors, Comedy Routines and Magic Tricks), so I'm well qualified. I only prescribe certain medicines that absolutely must be taken WITH alcohol. Where did I put that diploma?

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Dear Timber,

My roommate and I are having an argument; which weighs more, a pound of lead or a pound of feathers? I hope you prove me right!

Doris

Dear Doris,

...You should be glad your roommate isn't considering just where to store a pound of flesh. Perhaps you have bigger issues if there's a pound of feathers anywhere in this fabulous abode that sounds pound-a-creepy! (Both weigh the same, genius)

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Yo Timber,

Why you gotta be acting all bling bling an all dat now that you got your own column? You ain't nothing but a wankster, biotch.

...Mom I know this is you. I can tell by the font. Ridicule and a sour judgmental presence is one thing, picking at me in a public forum is just uncouth. I WON'T be home for dinner.

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Dear Mr. T. Masterson,

Thank you for your interest in Canadian Idol. Unfortunately, at this time we do not feel that your audition places you in the top one hundred, which would make you eligible for a second audition.

Thank you for your interest and best of luck.
Cecelia Cannon

Dear Miss Cannon,

...I thought I should get back to you and say that I think you are making a grave error in judgment regarding, well, my vocal talents. My 2 hour rendition speaking the lyrics from Cats may have been alarming, and as my vocal coach put it, "Astonishingly talent free", but you should see past it, my innovation and creativity are staggering. I also apologize for spilling scalding hot coffee on 2 of the junior judges. I guess that didn't help my chances any. I will practice and gear up for the next one.

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Hey T,

I am a young man in my first year of university. I am buying my first Xmas present for my girlfriend of two months. What should I get her in order to send her the right message. You know what I mean...

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,

...Strangely enough, I have no idea what you mean. I'm lucky if I can keep a girlfriend through the holiday season and extract any good gifts from her. Most often she's stunned to learn that I have a petting zoo in my basement and is frightened when I chase carolers from my yard from a rake and power drill. Stop trying so hard to send a message. Get her a frying pan, or a wok, maybe a can opener, girls love that.