The Correct Way to Write Your Congressperson

Election Day looms tomorrow. In this locale, we’ll be picking the next slate of county commissioners, state supreme court justices, and a handful of seat warmers for other, more esoterically named local offices. Not ever wanting to work in politics myself, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to work as an aide for someone in Congress. Specifically, I always wanted to be the person who has to sift through the mound of mail received by any given congressional office.

Most letters received would be quite boring, I suspect, being passionately pro or con any given issue of the day, but there are bound to be some gems to keep you going in the herculean task of reading them. Any congressional district is bound to contain at least several cranks barely tethered to reality who spend their days composing misdirected missives to public officials, probably resembling the following:

* * *

Dear Sir, Madam, and/or Alien Being of Uncertain Parts Down There:

Antonin Artaud was right: It is possible to fuel a modern economy entirely on prunes! Wrinkled like brains, they are brain food and therefore food for your car, boat, heater, and blender. They all think like we do. They’re watching me right now, under orders from the Social Security Administration. STOP LOOKING AT ME!!!

The chicken dance was invented by Satan, who was himself invented by the John Birch Society. Their secret handshake is this: those who can, do. Those who can’t, Duchamp. Wake up! Maya Angelou and Mary Lou Retton are themselves old Birchers and in on their old conspiracy to steal our precious sunshine. Well, they can’t have it; it belongs to the trees, who are organizing against the threat as we speak. The trees are Leninist in orientation. Strange days, indeed. Most peculiar, momma.

You must enact legislation now to stop the trees from organizing. If you let the trees organize, the plum trees will establish a cartel and will be able to charge whatever they want for their wares, and then we will be OUT OF LUCK when we need prunes to run our cities! THIS IS BAD, PEOPLE!!!! If we can’t use the prunes, the Social Security Administration’s accountants won’t be able to sacrifice goatees to Moloch to keep their network of blender spies sentient. They won’t be able to drive across town to get them in the first place, duh!

If you don’t believe me, read issue #42 of the Fortean Times. If the blenders can’t report back, the SSA will crumble, my check will stop coming every month, and I will become a body without organs. Don’t let that happen. Stop the trees now!!!!!!

With love and a bucket of chicken,

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

P.S. — Ewige Blumenkraft!

* * *

In the interest of full disclosure, while I have sent many letters to elected officials over the years, none of them even remotely resembled that . . .

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One Response to “The Correct Way to Write Your Congressperson”

  1. sandrar Says:

    Hi! I was surfing and found your blog post… nice! I love your blog. 🙂 Cheers! Sandra. R.

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