Howdy from the mailroom!

A few weeks ago the writers of this blog asked you, the readers, to submit questions that would be answered in this, our first ever Behind the Scenes Week. Since then we have received, literally, several questions, most of which have little or nothing to do with what goes on in the daily operations of the McDougal empire.

Since we here in the mailroom have nothing better to do besides thumb through McDougal's issues of Hustler Magazine and fashion crude hockey pucks out of wads of junk mail and duct tape, the writing staff has asked us to answer a few letters. Actually, they asked the editorial staff. But the editorial staff, apparently, thinks it is more important to do things like pass out in the elevator or spend the day in the hospital getting their stomach pumped because they tried to kill themselves by drinking a gallon of eggnog from 1998 or get arrested trying to get through customs in Miami with 17 pygmy marmosets taped to their thighs. But if anyone asks we're supposed to say they had to take the day off for a family emergency. Fuck them. If there are no editors, who the hell is supposed to stop us from printing that? It says a lot about an organization when its smartest employees are the wage slaves in the mailroom.

Oh, and for the record, we would probably be the Blogger league softball champions, but the mailroom staff refuses to be on the team with those other douchebags.

Here are the fucking letters.

The first one comes from Damnsle, who writes:

Recently I tripped over a fallen branch from a pine tree that was part of a blow down from a wind storm. Why?

The short answer is that you are going through your life not paying any attention to anything. The tiniest amount of awareness of your surroundings at any given moment will prevent this sort of thing from happening. Your inattention will someday kill you. Hopefully you do not take dozens of innocent people with you.

The long answer is that several years before your trip over the branch, a small butterfly somewhere deep in the Amazon flapped its wings a single time. This tiny puff of air rode the currents of Earth's atmosphere, combining with other puffs of wind, eventually growing into a gale capable of shattering the branches of all but the mightiest of trees. The particular branch this gale was fated to break happened to rest above a sidewalk. The timing of the branch breaking also just happened to coincide with the passage of a Hollywood casting agent, who received a very minor injury to his brain as a result. This explains the career of Ashton Kutcher.

More important, from a personal standpoint, is the question I have... Why did you not include a naked picture of yourself with your letter? McDougal receives lots of fan mail from men, but letters from women are few and far between. The letters from men often include photos, seldom clothed. Just once I'd like to open up a letter and find a picture of a beautiful woman in the nude. Your envelope smelled faintly of perfume. I keep it under my pillow while I sleep.

Speaking of obsessive male fans, our next question is from Josh Williams. You might have noticed that we answered one of his questions yesterday. This freak sends in so many questions that we could have a "Behind the Scenes Year" and still not answer them all.

As a child upon my beloved Grandfathers orders I sprayed DDT on a fishing pond to kill the mosquito fern (that's what they called it) so far as I can tell I am an endangered species who could die within this century, quite possibly from my contact with DDT, what will McDougal do for my cause?

Actually, maybe that explains the career of Ashton Kutcher. You don't happen to work in Hollywood, do you Williams?

I asked McDougal's campaign manager about this. He seemed to think that DDT had been banned sometime in the 1970s, but he might still be able to track down a barrel or two in storage somewhere. He says in the mean time, the canned aerosol roach spray that is available in any hardware store packs a similar kick, so you might try huffing that to get your buzz.

A message from the Editor's desk.

Greetings faithful readers, and welcome to the first ever Freinds of McDougal Behind the Scenes Week!

Sorry it's a bit late, first of all. We had every intention of starting Behind the Scenes Week yestereday morining, but in hindsight this was an unrealistic goal. Sunday mornings are reservered for hangovers. Everybody knows that. The revised goal of Sunday afternoon was also unrealistic, as sunday afternoons are reserved for league softball. (We played the writing staff from that "Lonelygirl" blog yesterday. It was a squeaker, we ended up losing 9-8, which drops us below .500 and pretty much destroys all hope of capturing a wild card spot) Afterwards we were really in no condition to write a blog entry, which is perfectly understandable for anyone who has ever played league softball. I mean, what would softball be without beer and peyote, right? I had high hopes for sunday night, since there would be no football this week. But sports betting is a longstanding tradition here at the office and McDougal wanted to use the off weekend to work everyone up to a pre-superbowl frenzy by staging, right in the office, a cockfight between roosters named "Bear" and "Colt." For the record, Colt won, but lost his left eye in the process. Place your Superbowl bets acccordingly.

Anyway, here it is, Monday night, and we realized that we should either delay the start of Behind the Scenes Week, or someone had better write something. Personally, I was in favor of another delay, but the guys in the mailroom are sick of answering angry letters from someone named "Carl Spackler." There are more employees in the mailroom than on the editorial staff, so they managed to carry the vote. McDougal abstained, which is to say he is still passed out, and the writing staff has used "Behind the Scenes Week as an excuse to take a week's vacation. I think that's bullshit, by the way. Ever since they added the screenwriting division they;ve been taking more and more time off. Everyone else had to work over the holidays, but they all skated out somehow, which was a bit hit to the quality of this blog in my opinion. Last year's Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's segments were some of our most popular ever, but this year the website sat idle for all three. Not a peep from management about it either. Too busy getting sucked off by the writing staff I guess...

Oh, I guess I'm supposed to answer some letters too. OK, our first letter comes from alert reader Josh Williams, of Indianapolis, India.

Josh writes:

When McDougal bitch slaps you and humiliates you in front of your friends for doing or not doing your job do you pray to God that you are fortunate enough to have a job in retail?

Retail? Josh, I am an editor, with twelve years of experience. I do not work in retail. OK, yes.. I do also maintain the website that sells Starbox Productions t-shirts and McDougal trinkets, but I don't consider myself to be a "retail worker." I have a master's degree. As for the beatings at the hands of McDougal, they are frequent and severe. During them I often pray to God, Josh, but mostly I pray that the beating will end. Failing that, I pray that I will black out before the sodomy begins.

Our next question comes from the aforementioneed Carl "Hot Carl" Spackler*:

which does mcdougal prefer...coke or pepsi?

Coke, Carl. Kilos and kilos of coke. Without McDougal the economy of Columbia wouulld collapse overnight. McDougal does like Pepsi too, though. Sometimes he wil mix the two. He will mix them into an enema, for quicker absorbtion, which I will then be forced to inject into his anus. He says the bubbles tickle. The whole time he giggles and kicks his feet. It can be quite dangerous. I've had my jaw broken before.

Well, that's all we have time for today.** Join us again tomorrow when we will be answering more reader questions on Friends of McDougal: Behind the Scenes Week!

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* As far as I know Carl Spackler does not go by the nickname "Hot Carl," however, as this is a popular internet nickname for anyone named Carl, I have included it here. This is what editors do.

** This is a baldfaced lie. I have all the time in the world. Truthfully, when I started writing this I was still a little drunk form last night. But as time wore on, my buzz wore off and now I can feel the iron grip of a massive hangover imbeding its jagged fingernails into my skull. My left eye is twitching. I have nothing but contempt for you all.