<em>When I was 20 years old, a very different sort of magazine began publishing. A generation that had grown up on the slightly subversive Mad magazine all of a sudden had something that went much further in satirizing life in the '70s -- National Lampoon. I've written before about the Lampoon, but one of my favorite features of the magazine was its Letter to the Editor. Rather than looking for real letters from real readers, they made up humorous ones that often made the (famous) person writing look like a moron. On one of my earlier websites, I used to imitate them. Here's a funny one from 2004, with one or two updates for a little fun.</em>
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Every once in a while, when I don’t feel like writing a column, we go to the videotape.

Actually, that’s just an expression. Since we’re a literary medium – to define the term loosely – we don’t have videotape or audiotape. All we have are words you can read – assuming you can read.

So when I’m not feeling particularly inspired, we go to the mailbag and clean out the letters written by faithful readers. At least those we don’t turn over to the FBI, the Secret Service or Sheriff Lobo.  Then we print them. Here’s the latest batch:

Dear Sir: I notice Mike hasn’t been writing much about me lately. I assume that means he either has gone soft, gotten scared or found Jesus. Now if I could just get those guys at MoveOn.org  shut down, I’d be a happy chappy. <strong> DUBYA, Bushington, D.C.</strong>

Dear Sir: Who is Mike Rappaport? I keep getting phone calls and letters from women who want to meet him. Is he more famous than I am? He sure isn’t better looking, unless that picture was taken on a real bad day. <strong> MICHAEL RAPAPORT, Hollywood, CA</strong>

Dear Sir: I recently discovered your site on the World Wide Web, and I was very impressed by it. Would you be interested in accepting advertising for the service I provide? <strong> LONG DONG SILVER, Used to Be a Star, Ga.</strong>

Dear Sir: Pay no attention to that last letter. It was written by someone who doesn’t love the Lord.  <strong>CLARENCE THOMAS, Uncle Tom, Md.</strong>

Dear Sir: It is easy to see why this website hasn’t been more successful. At least two and possibly three of your first four letters involve cultural references that are at least ten years out of date. Does Mike live on a desert island? Did we vote him off the continent?  <strong>MEDIA CRITICS, Asshole, Ala.</strong>

Dear Sir: This is to inform you that our lawyers will be contacting you unless you cease and desist using obscene names and pretending they are cities in Alabama. Alabama is a perfectly modern 21<sup>st</sup> century state in which people can no longer lynch Negroes, have sex with farm animals or marry their sisters (unless she’s a real hottie).  <strong>GOV. GOMER P. INCEST, Bestiality, Ala.</strong>

Dear Sir: Do you eat with those typing fingers? <strong> BILLY GRAHAM, Still Alive but not Too Spry</strong>

[caption id="attachment_1521" align="alignleft" width="150" caption="Eric Stratton"]<a href="http://mikerappaport.net/onevoice/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/eric.jpg"><img class="size-thumbnail wp-image-1521" title="eric" src="http://mikerappaport.net/onevoice/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/eric-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a>[/caption]

Dear Sir: You fucked up. You trusted us. <strong> ERIC STRATTON, Faber, Pa.</strong>

Dear Sir: You can’t say “fuck” in George W. Bush’s America. Oh, Lord. I mean, you can’t say f***. <strong> JOHN ASHCROFT, A state of religious ecstasy</strong>

Dear Sir: Please inform Mike Rappaport that I no longer wish to appear in his dreams, unless they involve me being fully clothed and driving the Maserati I bought after winning $45 million in the California Lottery. Now if it were Brad Pitt … <strong>DIANE LANE, Hotness, Ca.</strong>

Dear Sir: I have never written a letter to the editor of a respectable publication, let alone some ridiculous little website. So if you ever see a letter to the editor with my name at the end of it, you will know it is a hoax and you will be hearing from my son. <strong> GEORGE AITCH DUBYA, A proud dad</strong>

Dear Sir: Your president loves to compare Saddam Hussein to Adolf Hitler. Let me tell you, we knew Adolf Hitler. we served with Adolf Hitler. Adolf Hitler was a friend of ours. And this guy Hussein is no Adolf Hitler. <strong> KAISER BILL’S ARMY, Gotterdammerung, Ky.</strong>

Dear Sir: Did anybody see my beard before they cut it off? I grew a real cool beard. Bet you didn’t think I could grow a beard that cool. I was ready to pose as a member of ZZ Top when they caught me in that hole. <strong> SADDAM HUSSEIN, Eighth Circle of Hell.</strong>

Dear Sir: Whatever happened to that fellow who wrote a few columns last summer? What was his name? Kersten, Kermin, Curran? I think it was Curran. <strong> PAUL REUBENS, Falling in love</strong>

[caption id="attachment_1522" align="alignright" width="150" caption="Paul Reubens"]<a href="http://mikerappaport.net/onevoice/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/paul.jpg"><img class="size-thumbnail wp-image-1522" title="paul" src="http://mikerappaport.net/onevoice/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/paul-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a>[/caption]

Dear Sir: We love President Bush and we’re going to re-elect him this year, no matter how many times Mike Rappaport calls him “Dubya” and makes fun of him. And oh, yeah. Karl Rove is a god.  <strong>NASCAR DADS, Red States, USA</strong>

Dear Sir: God help me, but I think Mike Rappaport is kinda cute. Do you think it would bother him that I used to be a man?  <strong>ANN COULTER, Adam's Apple, NY</strong>

Dear Sir: I am way too busy finding a cure for AIDS to write a letter like this, even if it is about a guy who still has a crush on me after nearly 40 years. Don’t they have laws against stalking where you come from?  <strong>DR. CHERYL NEWMAN, A serious person</strong>

Dear Sir: Only 138 more days and we’ll be legal.  <strong>THE OLSEN TWINS, Puberty, N.J.</strong>

Dear Sir: The real Olsen twins would never write such a letter as the one that appeared above. Please inform your readers that the above letter is from Fred and Farkas Olsen, conjoined twins who are joined at the pubic area. Yes, it’s every bit as disgusting as it sounds.  <strong>THEIR DAD, Nausea, Ohio</strong>

Dear Sir: Is it true that Mike Rappaport idealizes every woman in his life that he likes and doesn’t get a chance to sleep with? Because there are a lot more of us out here than you might think.  <strong>CHRISTINE MILLER, Crank, Fla.</strong>

Dear Sir: How come “the editor” never appears in columns anymore? We miss him and thought he was the best thing about your website. Please print this letter so we can get our allowance. <strong> THE EDITOR’S KIDS, Curran, Nev.</strong>

Dear Sir: This is to inform you that your four-year contract with us will be up at the end of the month and we will not be renewing it. We need the space for another porno site. <strong> THE WEB HOSTERS, Somewhere in Cyberspace.</strong>