Ask Mister Fun Returns!

Mister Fun, that baron of the zeitgeist, the mojo of alpha, omega and all of that other stuff that doesn’t matter anymore has been waiting, listening, recording. Now he feels it is the time to pay the forces of infamy back in blood or rhythmic gymnastics, whichever has the better alchemy. (Rhythmic gymnastics certainly has the better outfits.) He has heard the fleeting calls of “mother” and “father” and “no one here cares about your vagina.” (Really? Ralph said he cared very deeply, in that creepy way of his.) Since the master of all last spoke much seems to have happened, but little transpired. Numerous Republican debates have taken place. The electric car has come and seemingly fled the scene dead and on the back of a flatbed. Gas prices have risen—and, more importantly, a retail floor price of $2.50 has been set. Though he does not wish to comment further, to continue this chain of hatred, there is no going back. You all are in Mister Fun’s way. Besides, with Rush Limbaugh on the way out, Mister Fun sees an opening. Mister Fun can rustle papers and spew mildly entertaining venom with the best of them. Maybe not for three hours a day, though. Not without writers and staff and whatnot. Mister Fun would need help. How the hell Rush was able to pull that off for such a long time, essentially working on his own, is beyond Mister Fun’s comprehension. Walter Winchell was just as much as a hate monger as Rush and he was up and done in ten years. Rush has been at it twenty years, with the same act. I don’t care how passionate you are, after twenty years anyone’s act would wear thin. At the twenty year point, Winchell was reduced to doing a Las Vegas nostalgia reenactment in some seedy show lounge. Winchell routinely ruined people’s lives, too. Rush didn’t do that. Doesn’t do that. He just spews on politics. In the end, it wasn’t Winchell’s enemies that got him, it was that he got old, became a parody of himself. Rush has been a parody of Larry Lujack since he started: sort of a take off—what if the mean spirited Lujack actually had any political views? Add snide with right wing and cycle topics—that’s Rush’s act. Winchell actually had paid informants and went after the entertainment industry—the lamestream media of its day Of course Winchell was anti-liberal before there actually were liberals. And Winchell was on radio back when radio really mattered. Who listens to mid-day radio, anyway? Prior to Rush, not much of anybody. Rush did take a non revenue spot in the broadcast programming day and made it economically viable. And now it’s gone.

Come to think of it, the whole being Rush Limbaugh thing is much more work than Mister Fun thinks it is worth. (It is more work than Mister Fun can do, to be honest.) Mister Fun is not capable. Mister Fun is invalid, as in not valid to the task. So Mister Fun will do what all great men (tyrants) do and limit the task and declare whole-hearted victory, much like Ron Paul. Mister Fun basks in the reflected glory of his achievements before having taken step one in the long journey to seeing them to fruit. This is called visualization. That Mister Fun never takes any step beyond this is what keeps Mister Fun under a viaduct blowing the same saxophone note over and over again. AND MISTER FUN DOES NOT HAVE A SAXOPHONE!

Mister Fun once knew a man who had a saxophone. (Not Bill Clinton.) That man once left his saxophone in the unlocked back seat of his car. When the man returned to his car, he discovered there suddenly were two saxophones in the back seat. Or was it accordions? In any case, it was a scandalous waste of the word “suddenly.”

Mister Fun does have the internet, and he has been scanning it. And Mister Fun does have access to the Wonderblog and its attendant HIL-GLE.com website. And except for his propensity to not do anything whatsoever but bleat one reverberating mournful note via inexplicable mechanism—not at passersby, but just in a circumambient manner—he could access this blog, if only to comment on the passing scene as he has parsed it during his long lurkings. But he wouldn’t do that. So we just started randomly emailing him things instead. We left an open can of beans and a laptop (neither of which we will ever see again) in his general proximity and this is what we got:

“I'll answer your question in an entirely irrelevant way if I so choose,” written on chewed tinfoil. Which seems hardly worth the investment of a laptop, much less a can of beans, even if such weren’t literally “ours” to begin with.

Then we opened out own email—the non African prince with an investment scheme portion of it, at least—and discovered, somewhat to our dismay, that Mister Fun had responded to each and every email snippet we sent him. Perhaps we failed to explain that these were items “clipped” off the interweb for his commentary and not actual letters to him. Given that he’s again bathing regularly, perhaps we don’t actually want to set him straight. Having succumbed to the intellectual illusion that emails sent to him are actually messages to and for him (as opposed to just random things copied, pasted and sent) Mister Fun has delusionally responded in kind. Which is amusing in itself (at least to us), especially the parts where Mister Fun takes everything sooo personally. One man’s suffering is another group of people’s plentiful source of diverting derision. Or so we hope!

Dear U.S politicians,

I feel ashamed to even have to write this, but I cannot but feel that you need a reminder. You were elected to lead our country, not the world. You were elected to serve our citizens, not people in any other nation. You were elected to look out for our citizens, not for your own interests. Funny how you are miserably failing us on the first things, and grossly overachieving on the second ones.

Dear Emailer:

Good God, what have I been elected to? In looking through my business cards here, I have yet to come across one which has any sort of official title on it, unless “Licensed Vagina Inspector” is now valid. If it is, I can only deduce two things:

1) Obamacare went through and now the whole medical rationing regime has trickled down to me.

2) The Republicans got in and now Vaginas must be inspected to detect potential boy and girls.

In either case, I feel it incumbent on myself to officially retract any negative or nasty evaluation I have ever made about black people or right wing nut cases. Or liberals. Never bite the hand that feeds you.

And don’t kill the job. May I assure you, dear taxpayer, that whatever vaginas I am duty bound to inspect shall foremost be of the domestic variety. I can only hypothetically conceive of the foreign kind, either those wandering extraneous to women or belonging to foreigners. Unless I am ordered via UN Mandate to wander further as part of some sky blue helmeted task force, my striking figure of a man jutting heroically from the hatch of a tank, I will keep my inspections to those districts covered by my license. Wherever they may be. As long as it does not violate my parole.

To Mister Fun @ Misterfinsaddress:

The simple fact is, if you’re eating cheap shrimp today, it almost certainly comes from a turbid, pesticide- and antibiotic-filled, virus-laden pond in the tropical climes of one of the world's poorest nations.

Dear Emailer:

You really know how to kill the enjoyment one obtains from consuming a can of cat food, don’t you? Ditto Taco Bell’s new shrimp tacos and the all you can eat shrimp meal at Red Lobster. Why don’t you go pick on tofu?

To Jack Fun @ Funinspections.net:

Perhaps at no point in recent American history has the country's politics been less capable of dealing with serious challenges. Certainly, when one party basically rejects any role for the federal government in providing health care, improving educational opportunity, or strengthening the social safety net, the chances for compromise appear even slimmer.

Dear Standard & Poors Ratings Agency (CC: Fitch Ratings, Moody’s.)

It is not the political system’s fault that there are only two rational philosophies: the deontological and the utilitarian. Either you want to do the right thing (or the most right thing for most of the people) or you want to do what seems to work best. Either you are duty bond to take care of the lesser of your fellow men (deontological) or you just figure that a rising market will shoot off enough cash to take care of everyone, so don’t get in the market’s way (utilitarian). Anything else, any mixture of the two, is ‘moderate’ and no one wants that. In short, do not blame the political parties. Blame God. I do, every waking moment.

PS: Perhaps you will restore our credit rating if we adopt strict Sharia Law?

Mr Fun:

I would rather chew on a jumbo roll of tinfoil than sit and listen to Romney talk about anything. After Romney's Costanza joke, I'm doubling down on my snickers-with-a-fork theory.

Dear Emailer:

First, give me back my tinfoil. Second, given the guidelines regarding caloric intake recently issued by the FDA, not only should Snickers be eaten with a fork, the fork should be no less than five meters long. By the way, if you should ever desire to share a Snickers, let us say in exchange for a swig of Ripple backwash, having a fork ready isn’t bad practice. Because you don’t want to get that close to Toby.

To MRFUN@ prisonerdatenet

The best thing about the Koch crooks and their powerful rich white cronies, men who have kept Americans enslaved since they got off the boat and started killing native Americans for fun, is that they will die, decay and get eaten by worms just like the rest of us.

There is a special spot in hell reserved for these powerful, rich men who have ruled America and walked on the backs of our poor and downtrodden.

Dear Emailer:

Sadly for you, and the American Indians, the place in hell reserved for the Koch brothers is exactly the same as the one they enjoy on Earth. As you will find out, in due time.

Mister Fun:

The Volt was never really there to sell in great quantities. It is what is called a “halo” car, designed to boost the image of the brand and draw the attention of buyers who would normally spurn anything with that particular badge on the bonnet. In America GM’s cars sell well in the Midwest but are rejected by many buyers in the big coastal cities, who typically prefer foreign brands. However, urbanites curious to take a peek at the Volt have been enticed into GM showrooms, only to drive away in one of the company’s conventional petrol-engined small cars, like the Equinox or Cruze.

Dear General Motors:

Not to be too picky here, but why don’t you make cars people want to buy at a price they can actually afford? Just a thought.

Jack Fun:

Statements like yours make me very happy to have shot my TV 20 years ago.

Elvis:

Long time no hear. Are there any other shootings you would also like the opportunity to confess to? Mister Fun needs a scoop.

To Mister Fun and 41 others:

I, for one, feel as though there is a concerted, well-financed WAR against civil rights, the middle class, and decency and common sense as a whole, and it's now or never in terms of defending against it. This fight is for all the marbles, so it's not that the left's rhetoric finally matches Fox Noise- it's that we actually REALIZE that the stakes are literally everything. We truly are on the brink, so don't be surprised if we start sounding a little like zealots ourselves.

Dear Joe Tea Party Six Pack:

Captain Midnight and the Secret Squadron made their ominous return. Like a distant, early warning, squealing in hushed voices “Heed our warning: learn or burn.” They cast their jaded eyes at everything, scanning forth from sea to see. They found deficient in all places, primarily inside you and me. After bashing plates and banging pots, they too lost but now refuse. They now land back in their hangars. They await the next excuse.

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Mister Fun awaits his next excuse only here on the HIL-GLE Wonderblog!