Letters To Leann


Leann was my absolute stunning fucking knockout neighbor. She moved into my old building a few years back and I found it very difficult to speak with her outside of a stuttered greeting or a "how are you going?" One day we crossed paths in the laundry room and she asked if I could throw her stuff in the dryer when it was done, as she was late for work. I obliged and left a note. Thus began the Leann letters:


My Dearest Leann,

I just wanted to convey what an enjoyable time I had putting your things in the dryer, in what I consider to be our “first date”. I’ve been reeling in severe depression ever since you stood me up for our last “first date’, when you suggested we might spend a lovely afternoon carrying heavy boxes from the back of your truck, an event I prepared for with a regimen of rigorous exercise with a personal trainer who had me lifting his own heavy boxes for weeks until it was obvious you no longer needed me. Now with this whole “dryer’ thing I will once again sleep comfortably knowing our relationship is on solid ground. Though, as you know, I’m not the type to shower the ladies with romantic gifts (hell, I rarely shower at all), it so happens that today I received the master for my CD “Sicko,” a copy of which I have enclosed. Enjoy it free for thirty (30) days. If not completely delighted, simply return the CD to the laundry room. Or keep it and every month receive new and exciting promotional items such as The Doug Stanhope Action Figure or The Doug Stanhope Lunch Box. Never any obligation to buy. Cancel at any time. One other thing, I’ve noticed that occasionally it sounds as though you are being brutally murdered in your bedroom, a sound I can hear quite clearly even though your Hole CD is playing at top volume, and that worries me. Therefore I’ve asked David the manager to install a doggie-door between your hall closet and mine so that I can check on you in these rare instances. God Bless,

Leann, I hope you’re not hurt that I’ll be out of town on Valentine’s weekend. I fear that with all the time I’ve been spending on th road that you’’l feel that I’m taking you for granted. I’m not that kind of stalker. A lot of stalkers are just out for a good time. Rifle through your trash, a couple of prank calls and Bang! onto the next girl. I’m not like that. But with all this road work I’ve been doing, I’m afraid I’ll come home one day to learn you’ve found a new stalker, one that has more time to devote to you. The thought of returning from a grueling week on the road only to find another man suspended from the roof by a bungee cord over your bathroom window, naked but for a football helmet and a butt plug like I used to do is a terrible thought, indeed. I won’t let that happen. So, although I can’t be here in person this weekend, I’ve signed my interest refund check from the landlord over to you. Use it to buy something we might both use together, like Windex or pepper spray. Remember, nothing says “ I love you” like $8.61.


Your Valentine,

Doug, the guy in the apartment next to you on your right





Dear Tenants,

On Sunday, May 28th, we will be spraying every other apartment for bolweevils, chiggers and silverfish. The duration of this fumigation will be three to four months during which we advise you to stay with your neighbor to your left (as your standing in the kitchen with your back to the sink facing the street). Once we have completed this very necessary de-lousing, we will then begin the process with the other apartments while your neighbor to your left (as you stand in the shower with your back to the Russians facing the street) stays with you. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. On the bright side, the management will be implementing some new amenities for our tenants to make living here even better! Beginning Monday we will be starting a brand new service... Proofreading your mail! No more bothersome typos or tax refunds! Also, sometime after 4th of July weekend we will begin Surprise Forced Random Pap Smears that many of you have requested. Remember, a healthy tenant is a happy tenant! Other events planned include Doug Stanhope show at the Mint on June 27th, 9pm. Your attendance will not only insure that you dont come home to a street full of scab riddled homeless folk wearing your clothes you left safely in the dryer but it also guarantees you Reenies parking space when she dies. Thank you. The Management





Today I overheard Mother chastising you for the volume of your music. You were very kind to turn it down but there are a few other things that have been upsetting to her peace of mind. For instance, she’s noticed that when you move around your apartment you have a tendency to use your feet. This can create a “walking” sound that tends to interrupt her long conversations with the cats, forcing her to start over and further annoying the cats. Rather than all the boisterous “walking”, maybe you could try slithering belly-down like an earthworm. Another thing that sticks in her craw is your extremely impolite habit of getting phone calls. You don’t hear anyone calling Mother, now do you? No, you don’t. Also, and I hate to sound nit-picky but you’re chewing is getting a bit on her nerves. The constant smashing of your teeth against one another is disturbing her Home Shopping Network. Maybe you could buy baby food or foods that were pre-chewed by caring others. Thanks. Mother understands that you’re young and will occasionally do things like bathe. Perhaps a membership a the YWCA would benefit all parties. The sound of running water can make Mother incontinent. And any more of this breathing while you sleep will force Mother to bring in the police. It’s unneccessary and mean-spirited. Please try to keep these things in check so we can all live together peacefully.


Doug, the guy two down from Mother

PS. When you throw this letter out, try not to crumple it. Mother hates crumpling sounds.




Leann or current resident,

I just wanted to say that - yes, I may not be the greatest catch for a lady - I’m short, balding and out of shape. I am soft in the middle like baby shit, I smoke too much, I drink to excess to the point where my liver is sore to the touch. Yes, my ambitions in life are weak at best and I am not one who can easily pick himself up by the bootstraps. Sure, you could say that I live like a pig, that my hygiene is lacking on the on good day and my teeth are chipped and stained from a constant diet of coffee and nicotine.

You wouldn’t have a hard time gathering that I am insensitive and certainly not a good listener. I am self-centered, possibly borderline meglomaniacal. You could look simply at the squalor I have my own Mother living in to gather how much I care about even those closest to me. You might even say I’m morally reprehensible for my lack of concern for others.

I may be a sexual deviant like some people have branded me. Yes, I need a veritable buffet of niche gutter porn and dangerous latex implements before I even can even achieve mild arousal. No, I am no stranger to erectile dysfunction, some stemming from my use of non-prescribed anti-depressants and black market hair-growth products, some stemming from years of sexual practices that range from vulgar to gray-area illegal.

If someone told you I was a tragedy waiting to happen, I couldn’t tell you they were wrong. A smart person might say to keep a wide berth from me, that I could only make trouble for you. Yes, I have tax problems and no respect for money. I may spend frivolously and God forbid you find me gambling. I’d go til I lost everything and then borrow from you.

It’s true, I have no culture. I have no appreciation for music. I don’t like television or films and you wouldn’t find a book in my hand if I were using it to prop up a wobbly chair. Nature is annoying to me and the beach just seems uncomfortable. Fine cuisine is wasted on me and I wouldn’t notice your new perfume from a strong chemical smell.

You may say that I have no respect for women, that my series of failed relationships that have left me a bitter hermit are no ones fault but my own. You could even say that I had it coming. My breath might be that of 1,000 unwashed asses and I sometimes I may break out in tears in public places for no apparent reason. Children are aborrhent to me and I believe abortion should be mandatory. Some may fault me for my so-called "mercy killings" of barking neighborhood dogs through blow-darts and poisoned meat.

Others still could intimate that my hatred of God and country makes me a threat to society, that I am a sociopath with no chance of rehabilitation and that anyone associated with me will be dragged down into the muck with me and rot in a fiery Hell.

I can’t remember my point.


Douglas from across the way




Dear Leann,

While the events of September 11th were horribly tragic and somewhat annoying, they have proven to bring out the best of the charitable spirit of Americans nationwide. Nowhere is this more glaring than your selfless act of putting my shit in the washer today. For that, I thank you. America thanks you.

As you know, later I removed your laundry from the dryer so that I could put mine in and was stunned to find a 20 dollar bill amongst your fine washables. My first thought was that it was the same 20 dollar bill I gave you not long ago when you were soliciting money for breast cancer ( in my own opinion the worst kind of cancer behind vagina cancer, ass cancer and mouth cancer). I thought perhaps my reputation for courting unwashed immigrant whores gave you the fright and you washed my money for the sake of sanitation.

After some thought, I realized that you must have anticipated that I might remove your laundry before you got to it and left the twenty in there as a diversionary tactic to keep me from again rummaging through your under-panties. My gracious, are you a sly one! A lot of people would have grabbed the money and run. We call those people "minorities" and shun them accordingly. The reason I was not distracted and went on inspecting all of unmentionables is simple. I was checking for anthrax. These troubled times call for all of us to be hyper-aware of our surroundings. A vigilant American is a safe American. The terrorist threat comes not only in the form of hijacked planes. President Bush reminds us all that domestic terrorism could come from any direction, from serin gas in your panties, small pox in your panties to anthrax in your freshly laundered panties.

Who would do such a thing, you ask? Our enemies do not all wear long beards and turbans. Sympathizers from right here in our own country are everywhere. Maybe even in your own employ. Maybe even your boyfriend Todd. In fact, probably even that goddamned Todd. Think about it. Terrorists need money to finance their campaign of death. Doesn’t Todd have TWO jobs? Hmm. Terrorists are fond of car bombings. Funny that Todd would drive a big SUV when he’s a single man with no children! See how it all adds up? Osama bin Laden has 13 letters in his name. I don’t know Todd’s last name but I’d bet a Buffalo nickel it’s got 9 letters in it. And if it doesn’t, all the more reason to be suspicious.

Don’t feel bad, I was fooled too. Sometimes when I’d stand for hours in that bunny suit with the sandwich board just to watch through the restaurant window as the two of you dined, I’d sometimes think maybe he really loved you like I do. Now we both know better. The best thing for you to do now is to come over here where it is safe (wear latex birthday suit and gas mask) and I will continue changing my voice and leaving messages on the FBI tip line regarding our Todd and his evil-doings.


God Bless America

Your one neighbor,


Dear Better Business Bureau,

Several months back I ordered and received a video from a company called Leisure Time Products that was supposed to feature midgets involved in different acts of shame and sexual heathenry. The video that I got only had one midget engaged in one sexual act for a duration of about five minutes total. For a movie entitled “Sexual Experiences With Midgets”, I think this fell well short of the mark (no pun).

The very fact that the words “Experiences” and “Midgets” are plural leads a consumer to believe that there are at minimum two (2) midgets and at least two (2) experiences. Fact is, there is but one little fella engaged in one tepid sexual act and the act he was engaging in is debatably, according to our President, not even sex. I’ve written to the company as well as a consumer advocate from the local news station but, so far no one seems willing to help.

My rights as a consumer will not be trampled upon merely because that product in question happens to be a film in which freaks of nature frolic naked and create sodomy. I know you, with your fine reputation for defending the little guy, will not turn your back on me.

Please let me know what course of action we can take to save the next guy from the disappointment saddled upon me by these fast-talking charlatans. Let’s bring the porn industry back up to the high standards of yesteryear.

Caveat Emptor,
Doug Stanhope


PS: My friend Stoolie is a jailhouse lawyer and he has reviewed stills from this video. He says that the one “midget” in question is actually a dwarf and says this may be grounds for a civil suit as well. Is this correct?

Dear President Clinton,

I know you are probably busy packing and stuff but I really need a hand with something. A ways back, I slapped down $11.95 plus s/h for a midget-oriented shuck-flick from mail-order porn conglomerate, Leisure Time Products.

I’ll spare you the details but the bottom line is I got banana-piped on the deal and have used every means made available by our forefathers to right this wrong, short of a long, ugly court battle that would most certainly become a media circus of which I want no part. I’ve written the company in question, a local consumer advocate, the BBB, the LPA, as well as my congressman (The Honorable Henry Waxman) and was given the silent treatment on all fronts, leading me to believe in a conspiracy theory the likes of which have not been seen since The Warren Commission, Area 51, and Gallagher II.

You have done wonderful things as President of these here United States in every capacity and your legacy will make Lincoln look like Van Buren, but not until a small man with small hopes and dreams can puke out his credit card over the Internet without getting squeeze-bagged into buying a half-rate anomaly of the midget porn triumvirate he was expecting and then spin his wheels for months fruitlessly to find redemption, we certainly cannot call this country "FREE". I’m sure that one stern word from you or even your powerful and lovely wife Hillary would make these cowards at Leisure Time scramble like the rats that they are.

Many men, in order to bolster one argument or another, are quick to interpret what George Washington had in mind when creating the Declaration Of Independence. Who can say for sure? But one thing I’m sure of, is if Mr. Washington ordered a film called “Sexual Experiences With Midgets”, he’d expect a hell of a lot more than one midget in the goll-dang movie and would start whipping fannies if it were otherwise. Good luck in the future and if you need any help moving give me a buzz. If you could also place that call to Leisure Time Products and tell ‘em to knock off with the hubbub, I’d appreciate it. Their number is 1-800-874-8960. That’s toll free.


Doug Stanhope

Dear Little People of America,

Let me start by saying that I’ve always been a big fan of little people. They are really funny and cute and they don’t give you dirty looks at red lights. I have run into a problem that I think you should know about.

Several months back I ordered a spank-flick from a mail order smut house that alleged to show little people in the art of carnal shindigs. Entitled “Sexual Experiences With Midgets," I assumed that it would have an all-little person cast. Not the case. In fact, there was but one little person in the whole film. One girl was small in stature but not what anyone would call a little person. I find that type of casting to be a slap in the cherubic faces of little people everywhere.

I’m sure there are plenty of you who would love to break into show business but how can you if someone who is just plain short takes all the “midget” roles? Why couldn’t they use a full-fledged little person, someone bonded by your fine organization? I’m surprised Lou Diamond Phillips didn’t squeeze into the cast.

I’ve written to the company, the BBB, my consumer advocate from the local news and my congressman. This may have to go to court, so what I need to ask you is, what defines a “midget”? I know you find this term offensive but, technically, is there any type of height requirement? I’ll need to show in a court of law that this girl, while petite, does not constitute midgetry and therefore puts the amount of alleged little people down to one. The title being plural would therefore be considered false advertising and we can clean up on these scallywags.

Please help me defend our tiny cousins to the human race and porn customers everywhere.


Your Friend,
Doug Stanhope

Dear Mr. Boguslawski,

I’ve always been a big fan of your consumer advocate segments on my local CBS affiliate and now I need your help.

Some months back I ordered an adult film from Leisure Time Products that was supposed to contain midgets involved in the act of love. It arrived in a timely fashion but, to my dismay, it only had one midget in the whole movie.

In the first vignette, a woman brings a male midget to his glory through oral love in an inordinately brief period of time. The second vignette features a woman that, while somewhat petite, is certainly no midget.

This is as insulting as the old practice of using Italians to portray Native Americans in old spaghetti-westerns. The rest of the film is nothing but filler segments from average, run of the mill porn with nary a dwarf to be had. I’ve written to the company but have received no feedback. Obviously the customer is not coming first at Leisure Time.I think this is not only deceptive to the customer but also a slap in the face to little people everywhere who are having their good name tarnished by having it attached to shoddy products such as these.

Please get in my corner on this one, Bogey, and let’s put the midget back in midget porn.


Thanking you in advance,
Doug Stanhope

Dear Honorable Mr. Waxman,

I am writing you, my congressman, in an ongoing attempt to find justice. Several months back I ordered a film from a mail order house in Indiana that was supposed to be chock full of midgets having sex. I receieved the film in question and was shocked to find but one midget in the whole film. I’d been hoodwinked, bamboozled, waylayed and otherwise led astray. That was just the beginning of this terrifying oddessey.

Since then I have contacted the company, the Better Business Bureau and even a consumer advocate in an attempt to rectify this travesty of consumer rights.

I have nothing but the empty sound of silence on all fronts.

Maybe the nature of the product casts me in an unfavorable light. Maybe folks are reluctant to standup for me because of the perceived pornographic nature of midget love or maybe they just hate midgets, I don’t know. But I know my rights as an American. I know that if you sell me a video entitled “Sexual Experinces With Midgets”(plural), there had better be, at minimum, two midgets or everything that our forefathers fought the Bloody British for in 1776 is as good as swirling down the toilet.

Please get behind me on this, Honorable Waxman, and together we can make these people see what American Pride is all about.

The company in question is: Leisure Time Products P.O. BoxM827 Gary IN 46401-0827 800-874-8960


Thanking you in advance,
Doug Stanhope


PS. Be aware that this company does NOT take C.O.D. orders.

Dear The Fine Folks of The State of Wyoming,

I was recently driving through your lovely state and was simply dumbstruck by the natural wonders and awe- inspiring landscapes encased within your borders. Time just seems to stop when in Wyoming and I felt like a child with Downs Syndrome visiting Coney Island for the first time. Unfortunately, as I lost track of time I also lost track of my speed and before you know it I was seeing flashing lights in my rear window. At first I had to assume it was aliens, being that I hadn’t seen many car models in your state later than rusted-out 70’s muscle cars and the occasional backfiring Dodge Omni but I eventually realized it was an actual officer of the law and I yielded.

Having lived in Los Angeles for the last several years, I just assumed I would be taken torn from my automobile and flogged within a hair of my very existence and I prepared for the beating. Imagine my surprise when your very handsome officer asked me how I was doing and flashed a smile that revealed what may have been teeth! It was like being in another era altogether! He informed me that I had been travelling at a rate of 86 miles per hour in a 75 mile per hour zone. I gave him my license and registration and was again amazed as he sounded out all the words on the paperwork with his mouth, only getting stuck on the ones with multiple syllables or silent letters. He retreated to his car walking upright and returned moments later with a pink ticket and a remorseful expression, explaining that he had no choice but to cite me. He seemed like a sad monkey but cheered a bit when he added that he was able to take ten dollars off the cost due to me wearing a seat belt. I could have kissed him and may have, save for my fear of being taken out to one of your famous deserted fenceposts and pistol-whipped. I thanked him and he bid me farewell with a long look like a boy seeing his abusive alcoholic father being taken off to a state facility against his will, a sense of shame and justice all in one.

It wasn’t until later when I pulled into a Kum & Go in Evanston to evacuate my sniffling bowels that I realized the horrible breach of justice that had occurred. I noticed my watch and realized that I had only completed 51 miles of my trip in the previous hour.

Prior to my being stopped by your beautiful keeper of the peace, I had spent time in the far toilet at a rest area with a smooth young vagrant/rough-houser named Jorge who had showed my what its like to be a man through two vicious sessions of oral indiscretions. Between the face-rape and the traffic stop, I had come nowhere near travelling 86 miles in an hour! How could I possibly be cited for going 86 miles in that time period? I was tempted to go back and try an find him to explain basic math to him but I must have got a bad corn tortilla somewhere on the trip and my ass was spitting fire-water and Death’s oatmeal so I decided to try and make it to Salt Lake as soon as possible.

I am sure you people can see the error this sweet but feeble and, in all probabilty, horribly inbred man has made and make it right. I have enclosed a check to show good faith in the meantime, including the extra ten dollars he had told me he’d forgiven as I had to later take off my seatbelt so I wouldn’t mud-wash my jockey-boxers.

Please get back with me as soon as time permits.


Douglas Stanhope

Dear K-Mart,

I just got done restocking my galpal's entire wardrobe with your fashionable yet sensible clothing line and let me tell you, am I going to sleep better at night! Why, you ask? I'll tell you why.

Almost a year ago, after a long night of drinking and carrying on to celebrate her sisters recovery and remission from lymphoma, my ladyfriend Maura was brutally raped by a group of Kiwanis conventioneers. Last week a jury found the three men accused "not guilty" on all charges. The jury had agreed with the defense suggestion that she had led the men on and was, in fact, "asking for it by the way she was dressed". Our hearts sunk when the verdict was read as we desperately sought closure and redemption in the whole affair, yet none of us could really say that we disagreed completely.

You see, Maura frequently wore clothing purchased from the Gap and we'd warned over and over that she looked like a floozie, that her sexy outfits were going to find her in a heap of trouble. She never would listen. She's listening now. We purchased several fancy ensembles from your fine store that are quite dashing without revealing any unnecessary femininity or revealing any shape or form. Your sport-yet-thrifty looks prove that you can look snappy without inviting the temptation of cruel sodomites. We all wonder why you don't use this as more of a marketing tool? "Wear Kmart clothes! Look great without being violently raped and maybe stabbed!" Imagine how effective an advertisement that would be. Or maybe you could target the Gap outright, as in "Kmart Clothes! You may not see these styles at the Oscars, but at least they won't get your lady friend viciously accosted sexually by boozing miscreants like the Gap will!". It would be as much a public service message as it would be an advertisement (which, btw, I pronounce ad-VERT-is-ment, not ad-ver_TIZ-ment).

Please let me know what you think about these ideas and also let me know if you'd be interested in having Maura and myself as spokespeople for the ad campaign. We'd be happy to do it for only 1,200 dollars or best offer.

Thank you,
Doug Stanhope


PS: Would you be willing to have Kmart's attorney's represent me in a civil trial against the Gap in this matter? Let me know.

Dear Doug,

Thank you for your inquiry regarding a possible business relationship with BlueLight.com. We are delighted by your interest in our company.

As an up-and-coming new company, BlueLight.com is growing and changing rapidly. Over the next year we plan to expand both our website and our strategic business partnerships. We are always looking for potential partners. Your correspondence has been forwarded to our business development team and will be kept on file. As our plans come into focus this year, we may contact you to explore working together.

The BlueLight.com website is full of information to assist you. You may find the answer to your question by browsing through our Frequently Asked Questions. If not, we are always here to help! Just call (800)355-6388 for assistance.

Once again, thanks for your interest in BlueLight.com.


--Your BlueLight.com Customer Care Team

Dear KMart,

Thank you but my letter was not about a business partnership. It was about my galpal being violently raped and brutally sodomized. I'm glad to see you confuse that with business.

Doug Stanhope

Dear Mr. Boyardee,

I recently purchased a can of your rich and creamy Beefaroni and read under “Nutrition Facts” that it was supposed to contain 7 grams of fat and 3 grams of saturated fat. Having been put on a strict diet by my physician, I pay careful attention to these details. So, while I was stirring it in my Teflon frying pan, I counted but was only able to find 2 grams of saturated fat and five and a half grams of fat overall.

I checked to see if there may have been some fat left in the bottom of the can but it was scraped clean. You may suggest that some might have spilled out during transfer to the pan but I checked that as well. All signs point to me getting canoodled out of a gram and a half of fat that I paid for, fair and square. I’d assume that you’d have some kind of quality control department that would assure against these type of oversights. I also found what I thought to be a morsel of E-coli but my wife assured me it was gristle. Let’s hope so.

Please let me know how I can obtain my missing gram and a half of fat ( One full gram saturated) so as I can finish my meal.

Doug Stanhope


PS. Our daughter is getting married this fall and we were wondering if Mr. Boyardee was available to cater it. October the 15th is the date and money, of course, is no object. Please let us know as soon as possible.

Dear Mike Tyson,

I watched your fight Saturday night over at my friend Erica’s house and man did you take a thumping. That British character really put the gloves to you. I watched some of the instant replays and I think I could give you some pointers on how to handle the situation if it ever happens again.

First of all, it’s important to remain calm. Speak to your attacker in a soft and soothing tone. Say he tells you “You’re going down!”, you could respond quietly by saying “OK, my friend, I will go down.“ or “Where would you like me to go down?”. Keep in mind that he’s as afraid as you are. Whatever you do, don’t go out there swinging your fists like a crazy person. Let’s face it, you’re no fighter.

If you find it impossible to avoid violence, don’t try to fight his fight. He’s obviously been down this road and you trying to slug will just make him testy. My advice is to play crazy. Just start bawling and pounding your hands on your head. Then start defecating on yourself and speaking in tongues. It worked for me when I was approached by two women soliciting donations for the Jaycees, it may work for you.

Another thing to remember is that there is strength in numbers. I noticed early on a line of security men in yellow shirts forming a line across the ring. Why in heck did you let those guys leave? Certainly they weren’t nearly as imposing as that Lewis fellow but the sheer numbers might have dissuaded him from physically pummeling you like an eight dollar whore. Next time maybe you could pal it up with them and see if they’d walk you home.

What was most baffling is that after each time he beat you half silly you’d go to your corner and then come back for more. What in St James were you thinking? I have seen this before with lady friends in abusive relationships. They go and get the tar knocked out of them by their husband, run to Mother’s house crying, get some good sound advice and a hug and the next thing you know they go right back to the man to suffer another whipping. Stop making excuses for his behavior. You say he’ll change, you say he’s only like that when he’s been hitting the lager but the truth is that he’s an abuser and always will be unless he gets help. You deserve more, Mike.

I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but you should really pay more attention to what you wear when you go out. I’m not saying you were asking for it by the way you were dressed but to walk around in shorts and no shirt on a Saturday night is almost begging for trouble. When he beat you til you couldn’t walk anymore I quite honestly thought he was going to fuck you in the mouth right there. Anyone who could abuse you that mercilessly in front of all those people wouldn’t hesitate to drop his trousers and paste you a dirty one right in the ass for good measure. Next time wear a windbreaker or maybe a light sweater.

I know none of this is any of my business but I have been a big fan of your work since you were on Court TV and I think your impressions are hilarious. My favorite is the one you always do where you sound like a semi-retarded park fairy with the IQ of a meatball. As much as you do it, I never stop laughing. Just try to stay out of fights and get back to making folks chuckle


Your fan and friend
Doug Stanhope

Dear Carl's Jr. Restaurants,

From what I remember, you guys make a heck of a sandwich. It’s been a while, as I’ve boycotted you since you started running the “Get All Over” commercials.

Who told you that the amplified sound of people chewing and spilling food out of their pig mouths would make for good advertising? Could you find anything more vulgar? How about people vomiting? Possibly you could show the actual slaughter of the cow and the removal of his vital organs.

My father recently had a colostomy and I had to wipe off his feces-ridden stoma, the part of the exposed intestine that connects to the bag. That was more appetizing than your commercials. And you’ve run them for years.

I’m a nationally touring stand-up comedian and every time I mention how nauseating your commercials are the crowd goes apeshit in agreement. Before you think “Hey, that just gets our name out there even more!” know that I go on to tell stories of your employees taking runny flu-shits into the fryer, masturbating into tarter bins with penises black from rot and coughing AIDS blood onto undercooked meat. How long are you going to make me keep up this vigil? Knock it off, it’s really fucking gross and nobody likes it, no matter what some blowhard at the agency tells you the focus-group said.


Thank You in advance,

Doug Stanhope

Dear Supercuts,

I am an 87 year old narcoleptic and I have my hair cut at your store every four weeks. This last time, I had an experience that was very hurtful and wish to share it with you. I was laying back in the chair while having my hair washed and managed to doze off as I often do. Narcolepsy is a condition that leaves me prone to nod off at any given time, uncontrollably. While I was sawing logs, though, your employees had some fun at my expense.

They made me up with garish lipstick and eyeshadow and painted my fingernails in several bright colors. They also filled my hand with shaving cream and tickled my nose you I pie-jobbed myself right in the kisser with the cream. My other hand meantime, had been placed in a glass of warm so as to make me incontinent all about my new trousers. All my hair had been moussed straight up in the air and I was sporting unfashionable clip-on earrings and a garter with lacy stockings. I woke the shrieking laughter of some 10-15 patrons and employees. Seeing myself in the mirror, I began to cry and ran out.

I returned shortly thereafter when I realized I hadn’t paid, only to find them passing around Polaroid pictures they’d taken of me with my pants down in several suggestive positions. It wasn’t until then that I noticed my pubic region had been shaved into a little heart shape. I asked the man who’d been cutting my hair what in hells bells he thought he was doing and he told me to “get over myself” and called me a “homophobe”.

I don’t know if this behavior was due to my familiarity with the staff but, frankly, I do not see the humor in it. I’d like an apology from the persons responsible. I also want to know how I can retrieve those photos before the wind up in the hands of some shifty pornographer.


Thank You,
Doug Stanhope

Dear Naples, Florida Police Department,

I recently read that you arrested an 89 year old woman for assaulting an officer. Every time I hear about an officer risking his life and well-being for the sake of the community, I am immediately brought back to the memory of those heroic officers who perished in that World Trade hijinx. This story was no different. My heart sank a beat to think that this elderly woman, probably high on that methamphetamine and out for trouble, would try to cause harm to one of our proud protectors of the peace. And then to use the old cornball excuse that she was just trying to retrieve the pen that belong to her dead husband. Likely story, crackhead! Maybe I am just angry but I think that they should hang all 5 feet and 80 pounds of her from the tallest shrub. While the story gave no report on the condition of the officer after the attack, my family prays that he will pull through and eventually defend justice again.

These hooligans are running roughshod all over our great America and not enough people are willing to stand up to them like your officer. Recently I was babysitting my 7 month old step-nephew Willis, who the family calls “Stoolie”. While waiting for his formula to warm, he went berserk in my arms and began flailing, cracking me in the ear with a roundhouse left. I immediately fled the house and called 911 from the florist shop at the corner to report the battery and asked for as many units as were available. Did they respond? No! They actually hung up the phone on me! I am now considering civil action against both the police and the baby.

I had a similar problem getting charges filed against my wife for forging my name on a graduation card to our daughter. Had I lived in Naples she’d still be in a dark cell instead of at her mother’s house and not accepting my calls.

Please keep fighting the good fight and know that our prayers and support are with you. Every time I read about a cop falling in the line of duty, I will think back to this brave officer who fought to uphold the law and a tear will fall.


Douglas Stanhope


PS. Do you have any literature that shows how to properly put a choke hold on an infant? I have been asked to take care of Stoolie again next weekend and rumor on the streets is that he’s colicky.

Dear Zyban,

I’ve been a smoker for nearly twenty years, smoking upwards of three packs of non-filtered cigarettes each and every day. I knew it was time to quit a few years back when it really started to hinder my ability to ski, my favorite pasttime. I’d tried everything without success until about two weeks ago when a friend reccomended your product. I took it as directed and the I’ve just begun to notice small changes.

Here’s my quandry. Your product effects the part of the brain that controls addiction. My problem is that I am also a legendary heroin addict and have no desire to stop or even slow down for that matter. In fact, I can’t imagine why the whole world, from children to senior citizens, aren’t loading up the spike while I type this. As badly as I want to quit smoking, I would be horrified to think that your product will take away my thirst for junk. Smoking, sure. It wears you down and kills without even any euphoria as a payoff. But you break off some Grade A skag into a huka or even straight in your neck, well nothing else in the world matters. Not laundry day, not election fraud, not even the crying baby on the couch. And don’t even get me started on the beautiful art that it helps you create.

I would assume that if this product were capable, even in the slightest way, of harming my love affair with horse that there would be some kind of warning on the side of the box. In the meantime, a note from you to verify that would help me sleep easier, even easier than I do anyway with a bloodstream full of dreamy toxic love.


Doug Stanhope

PS - I am also a fledgling sexual predator and would like a heads-up if that is going to be in anyway but on a back burner due to your product.


Dear Mr. Stanhope:

Thank you for your inquiry. Since we have not conducted studies using Zyban® (bupropion hydrochloride) with heroin, we have no information to give you. Further questions about your treatment should be directed to the physician, pharmacist, or healthcare provider who has the most complete information about your medical condition. We encourage you to seek his or her advice.

Again, thank you for your inquiry to Glaxo Wellcome. If you should have further questions concerning our company or our products, please feel free to contact our Customer Response Center at 1-888-825-5249 during our normal business hours, Monday through Friday, 8:00 am to 8:00 pm Eastern Standard Time.


Dear Zyban,

Thank you for your prompt response. I consulted with the gentleman who procures my heroin for me, a knock-kneed, diminutive chap we call "Tip-toe" and he intoned that my addiction to skag would not be hampered by your product. His quote was "fuck all dat shit cuz this is the shit right here. I don't give a fuck about what that shit is, this shit still gonna knock a motherfucker down!". He pronounces "down" in two syllables as to sound like "dow-in". Regardless, we all took this to mean that I could quit smoking using your product without it being at the expense of my social life.

The question you did not answer was as to it's effects of my sexual predatory behavior and unquenchable thirst for young boys. Have studies like this been done and, if not, when do you plan on doing these studies? I would like to be considered for such an experiment and will keep you informed of any dysfuction.

Please let me now ASAP as the holidays are a big time for me, what with my Mall Santa job and everything.


Thank you,
Doug Stanhope

Dear IHOP,

Yesterday morning I ate breakfast at your Los Angeles location (Sunset Blvd.) and I think there might have been something wrong with it because this afternoon, while sitting on the toilet, I passed a fully grown, living woodchuck. I can only assume that it had something to do with the Rooti Tooti Fresh and Fruity breakfast and now I'm terrified to go to the bathroom again. Not only was it terribly uncomfortable and messy but it really scared the bejeezus out of the plumber. Please let me know if you've had problems like this in the past.

Doug Stanhope

Dear Ralph's,

I was recently shopping in your supermarket and decided to join your Ralph’s Club so I could show my allegiance to your store, as well as save 41 cents on a turkey pot pie. I filled out all the paperwork and received my Club card but was given very little information about the club otherwise. Sure I was told about the points and the savings, but what about the club? Who’s in the club? Who runs this club? When does this organization meet? Is there a secret hand shake or a club motto? On which occasions should we don the traditional fez? In short, what is our objective? I spoke with some other club members in the parking lot who were equally confused on these matters. We’ve been meeting privately and have decided to take things into our own hands. A club without leadership is a club doomed to failure. Unless you can show me some pre-existing hierarchy, we are the new leaders of Ralph’s Club. I’m overseeing all operations.Joaquin is going to handle all of the cash operations, loansharking, payoffs, and of course the numbers racket. Zoe will take care of party planning and decorations and Clarence will be the muscle. Trust me, he’s good. Two Thursdays ago we were at the Coach and Horses Tavern when two punk bitches come in and sit at the bar with a Von’s Club tag on their key ring. Clarence put the beat upside their heads like a crazy man. That’s my point, we need to represent or any of these second rate supermarket savings clubs are gonna be all up in ya’ ass. Now we need to talk to you about all these “double coupons” and “big savings”. Who is deciding who gets to save on what? If we are a club, then the club should decide together what the discounts are and who gets them. We can’t just go pissing away all the profits. Tell this Ralph guy to get ahold of me as soon as possible so we can get this shit squared away.


Semper Fi,

Doug Stanhope


Dear Canadian Airlines,

I flew on your airline from Edmonton to Vancouver on my birthday, March 25th, 2000. I was seated next to a man in his mid-fifties with matted hair, hideous boils on his face, neck, chest and eyelids, and a wild, wirey grey beard that at one point I saw a bee crawl out of and then back into. He was wearing cut off shorts with suspenders and I'm not sure if he realized it but the better part of one of his "hoo-hoos" was squeezing from out of the leg of his shorts. I tried not to pay any attention, which was difficult, not only because of the unnaturally large size and purple discoloration, but also with the fact that he kept striking up conversation with me, most of which I could not understand. He muttered something about going to Vancouver for an operation and, having recently been hospitilized myself for extended piles, known as "swollen turnbuckles", I showed some sympathy and wished him the best. Maybe that was my own undoing, as this led him to show me his affliction. He calmly removed his "La-di-da" from his trunks and carefully pointed out a series of fissures, nodules, burns and geek marks around his package. Then he told me that he "needed to milk it, doctors orders."He began to put pressure on it and wrestle with it in a way that I'd normally think to be self-gratification were it not for his terrible condition.

I went back to my newspaper and tried to ignore him but soon I felt hot syrup shoot across my hand and pantleg. I could not tell if it were liquid from an abcess or the unthinkable but I knew I wanted it off of me. I rang the call button for the attendant and asked for one of those hot steamy towels to wipe off with but she said that those were reserved for the first class passengers and without a first class ticket there'd be no hot, steamy towel for this birthday boy. I tried to explain, in a polite manner, that I may be covered in another man's spink-dibble or other matters, to which she responded with disgust as though I were the one that had gone to far, and she walked away.

Maybe this gentleman was just alleiviating some awful pain with good medical reason to do so. I'm no doctor nor am I Canadian. This was only my second visit to your lovely country and , who knows? This may very well be a common affliction and practice for your people and I was certainly not going to be the Ugly American by accusing some invalid of having had impure acts onto my nice sportcoat. I just think that in the future, you could give the hot, steamy towels to everybody, not just those with most capital.

Please let me know your feelings on this matter, and a belated Happy Birthday would be kind, too.


Doug Stanhope


Dear Albertson's,

While shopping in your store in Tulsa recently, I came across a woman who was handing out free samples of a new brand of sausage. She handed me a large piece on a toothpick that must have come straight from the fryer because when I popped it into my mouth it scorched half the flesh from my tongue. I swear I could almost hear it sizzle. Panicking, I looked for anything cold to ease the pain. I grabbed a 16lb frozen turkey from the freezer and rested my tongue against it for close to fifteen minutes. When I finally stopped crying, I headed for the checkout stand only to be stopped by the assistant manager who demanded that I purchase the turkey. I explained what had occurred and showed him the blister on my tongue. He said that the blister was probably just herpes and that they had a strict “You lick it, you buy it.” policy. By now a crowd had gathered so I simply bought the turkey and left the store humiliated. I don’t think that a man should be forced into purchasing items simply because he pressed his mouth against it in a time of need. Please let me know your feelings.


Thank You,

Doug Stanhope


Dear BMG Music Club,

I’ve seen your advertisements and have been tempted to take advantage of your “6 CDs for a penny” deal. The one thing that always holds me back is, no Aryan skinhead hate metal! How can you run a record club and not carry the grooviest new music on the scene? I understand that you may have problems with the music’s point of view. As a full-time Rabbinical student and an intern with the Anti-Defamation League, I could never condone the message that these bands promote, but when it comes down to plain and simple dancibility, these Nazis are the rockinest! Just because I’m Jewish doesn’t mean I can’t get up and boogie with the Goyim to the infectious chants of “Sieg Heil! White Power!” as the feedback tortures the amps! If you get too caught up in the words, sure you could be taken aback, but, heck, this isn’t a book club, now is it? If you’re going to scrutinize the music for a few chancy lyrics, well we could go all the way back to the glorification of a remorseless killer in Bobby Darin’s “Mack the Knife” to the blatant animal cruelty promoted in Rick Dee’s controversial “Disco Duck”. Let’s stop judging these fine artists as Jew-hating, gay-bashing, killers of our colored cousins and see them as what they really are, guys with swastikas tattooed on their faces that know how to get down and shake their groove thing! Until then, I’m keeping my penny right here in a tax-exempt IRA at a 6.9% interest rate.

Please let me know your feelings on this matter.


Thank You,

Nathan Titlebaum


Dear Abby,

I’ve been a fan of your column since I was a little girl. Like my mother, you always knew exactly the right thing to say. Now I’m a mother myself with 11 month old twins and I only wish I always knew the answer the way you did! Here’s my pickle. We order pizza quite often because it’s just to doggone hard to cook every night and eating at a restaurant is a nightmare. I will usually give the girls a pizza crust with some ranch dressing and they will dip the crust in the sauce and lick it off. Well just a few minutes ago, Mandy, the feisty one, managed to somehow break off a small hunk of crust and tried to swallow it. She couldn’t get it down and now she’s choking on it. She can’t seem to get any air at all and I’m terrified. I was going to try that squeezy-chesty thing that was on ER but I’m afraid that might only be for adults. I don’t want to break her ribs but at this point she’s bluish-purple and has been that way for 5 or 6 minutes. I can’t get to it with my fingers and I’m a little flustered. I thought about dialing 911 but I’m afraid there may be some surcharge for that. What’s a penny-pinching mommy to do?

I’m waiting patiently for your response...


Gagging and Near Death,

Doug Stanhope