Tipper Gore on a Hardwood Plaque

Dear Reid,

I read with interest your response a few weeks ago to “Ignorant about Clip Art,” and could not help but think that you could shed some light upon my current dilemma. You see, I’ve been hearing voices over the past week or so. I don’t think they’re coming from inside my head, but no one else seems to hear them.

They don’t even sound like me, so I just don’t see how they could be inside my head. I mean, you’d think it’d be pretty hard not to hear these loud voices screaming about how I need to kill President Clinton and how Tipper Gore would look nice mounted on a polished hardwood plaque above my fireplace.

I mean, these voices, whoever they belong to, are just constantly shrieking this sort of stuff, so loudly that when I’m talking to my friends or something I can’t even hear what they’re saying because the voices are so loud, and I just start shrieking myself, yelling “Why are you still talking to me? Can’t you hear? Isn’t it obvious that they want me to assassinate the entire executive branch of the federal government?” But no, they just keep talking about how much they’re attracted to their latest crushes.

And I think I heard, what with all the screaming and whatnot, that they were very seriously physically attracted to these men and women with what they called uni-brows. I could only assume that they meant individuals with a single long eyebrow, rather than the standard detached set of eyebrows. Perhaps you’ve also heard of this known as the mono-brow syndrome (not to be confused with the mono-bra). What I guess my question is about is, are these friends of mine sick and twisted wackos or what?

Stumped in Stevens County

I know how you feel. You’ve been listening to a lot of Suicidal Tendencies’ albums lately, haven’t you? Sometimes when I listen to too much Suicidal Tendencies, I will actually wish that I had a uni-brow. But, while the source of your troubles seems quite obvious to me, simply cutting your dosage of hardcore, angry-white-boy music will not offer a cure.

You see, Suicidal Tendencies’ music has been proven to contain a hidden frequency which when induced into the brains of laboratory animals, caused them to rant unceasingly about the need to kill President Clinton and how Tipper Gore would look nice mounted on a polished hardwood plaque above a fireplace. Quite odd behavior for laboratory animals, that.

Stranger still, these laboratory animals—mostly white mice, but some tests included chimpanzees—exhibited an undeniable tendency to masturbate around certain members of the laboratory staff. An immediate investigation was launched into what these staff members might have in common.

The major breakthrough was made when, as a last ditch effort, the animals were placed in front of a television for hours at a time. The abnormal behavior surfaced during two distinct time periods: during “The Incredible Hulk” reruns on the Sci-Fi channel and during Bert and Ernie sketches on “Sesame Street.” Believe it or not, every staff member which elicited the strange response from the animals had very thick eyebrows, and in two cases, uni-brows.

A second group of animals was fed Olestra, the new fat-free fat substitute found in a wide variety of products in your local grocery store. These animals, surprisingly, showed no abnormal response to staff members with uni-brows. When interviewed later, however, four in five laboratory mice said they would prefer to see Tipper Gore mounted on a polished hardwood plaque above a fireplace, rather than eat any more Olestra potato chips.

That’s all well and good, you say, for the white mice. But what of the chimpanzees? Actually, the chimpanzees quite enjoyed the Olestra potato chips. In fact, when this separate group of chimpanzees was set down in front of reruns of “The Incredible Hulk,” they only reacted with about 70 percent of the enthusiasm of the Suicidal Tendencies group (of chimpanzees—the band itself was not studied).

But back to your problem. In order to beat down your affliction, you will not only have to sever all connections with your former life—especially listening to Suicidal Tendencies—and move to a remote island in the South Pacific, but you will have to completely forget what your problem even was. With you it will be necessary to bring a large supply of Olestra potato chips, and a rechargeable razor with which to shave off your eyebrows every day. Only this combination of sun, Olestra and a bald forehead can possibly cure your desire to wear corduroy pants.


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