Letter to President Obama #41 | Subject: Baked Goods, the Internet, and The Afterlife

Dear President Obama,



I was using my computer on the Internet the other day and I got a notification from my security program that a website was “attempting to send me a cookie.” Now I don’t know why that’s the name they chose for those little bits of data that help website track their users. Nevertheless, it was a good choice, because I can never resist a cookie, even if it’s virtual.



But really, who refuses a cookie? The only other time I’ve turned down a cookie was in a video game. In the game, you fought all these monsters and got these prizes afterwards, hamburgers, milkshakes, and sometimes, cookies. But sometimes you could only carry so much stuff, so you’d have to leave it behind. Then the screen would read, “Brett decided to abandon the cookie.”



That’s probably the saddest sentence I’ve ever heard.



I do think it’s a little unfair that the computing term is universally known as the cookie. I mean, if I ran a muffin company and my website were sending cookies out to everyone, I’d be mad. Then again, if I ran a muffin company, I’d probably eat breakfast more often.



Given the choice, I accept all cookies, virtual or not. Even if someone gave me a poisoned cookie, I’d probably take it and eat it, because if I died, I could at least say that I got to eat a cookie first, which means that I’d die happy.



And in the afterlife, I’d be beaming and everyone will be bummed because the conversation would go like this:



Recently Deceased Person #1: How’d you die?

Me: I died because of a poisoned cookie. How about you?

Recently Deceased Person #1: No fair. I got attacked by an angry stork.



Of course, cookies are best when served with milk. As a duo, cookies and milk are the superstars of the culinary world. They are inseparable, at least on screen. But I’ve always wondered what their relationship is like behind the scenes. I’d like to know if they are really good friends, or if they had more of a contentious William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy thing going on. In fact, I’d like to see the E True Hollywood Story of cookie and milk. Of course, it’d probably include a lot of less than savory material—I’m betting that Milk is pretty weepy and spills her guts all the time, especially whenever there’s any mention of her erstwhile lover, coffee. And then cookie is probably all macho and tough, but I bet he has some serious chemical dependency issues (there’s a lot of preservatives in there!). I’m pretty sure the E True Hollywood Story’s haunting final shot could be of a pile of syringes and a desiccated clump of stale cookie crumbs on a hotel floor.



There’s only one negative association I have with cookies, and that’s the Keebler elves. Let me put it this way, I ate a lot of cookies as a kid, and I’m short and I have pointy ears and I do not think this is a coincidence. What if cookies are the elves’ recruitment tool? Plus, how can we be sure such food is safe? Are foods that created by magical creatures (Lucky Charms, the Keebler Elves, Count Chocula) inspected by the Food and Drug Administration? If so, by whom? Harry Potter? If so, cool!



I went looking for the Keebler elves once, as I understood that they lived in trees. So I went from tree to tree inspecting the various cavities and holes, but I only found a family of angry squirrels. This got me thinking—are the Keebler elves squirrels? If so, that’s strange.



Thanks for your attention, and take care.



Brett Ortler



This is letter #41 to President Obama. These are jokes. If you like them, please comment and please tell your friends. I haven't had a response yet, but the Prez has a lot of other things to do, so I can't blame him.

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas
Dear President Obama,

I'm writing because I'd like to discuss a pair of topics that don't get much coverage in the mainstream media--romance novels and soap operas.

When I think of romance novels, I think of Fabio (and butter). As you probably know, Fabio was famous for being on about every romance novel cover during the '80s and '90s, and while I developed an inherent distate for him (read: jealousy), I did develop a grudging respect for the guy after reading about an incident that happened to him at an amusement park.

Apparently, Fabio was invited to take the inaugural ride on a Busch Gardens rollercoaster, but the genius who created the ride thought it'd be a good idea to install a full-fledged pond immediately beneath the ride. This was problematic for one simple reason--birds live in ponds, Mr. President. (To my mind, this seems a bit like installing nesting boxes for large birds in the middle of an LAX runway.)

Well, Fabio was enjoying the best part of the ride (where it goes 70 miles per hour) and then WHAMMO, a 20-pound goose hits him in the face.Luckily, he was OK, except for a minor cut. When I heard about it, I was surprised that he survived; I mean, I kind of expected his head to fall off. I credit his surival to the fact that he's got a big head and that geese are essentially flying pillows.

Nevertheless, if Fabio had lost his head, that doesn't mean he would have been out of a job. Instead, it would have opened up a whole new market of romance novels: Zombie romance novels. (Just imagine it--Fabio is still on the cover, only his body is holding his head while it gives all the ladies out there a smoldering, come-hither look. He'd still be alive and all--sort of like Orpheus, just way less poetic.)

Zombie-themed titles would be a lot of fun too. You could have something like, "A Love That Wouldn't Die" or My Body or My Face: Now You Have to Choose.

In fact, if we chose that last title, we could make the book a choose-your-own adventure book! An excerpt might read like this:

You have forgotten Fabio's head in the other room again, but his sculpted body is ready and waiting. You can hear him sweet-talking you from a distance.

Turn to Page 65 if you choose to ignore his head and ravage his body.

Turn to Page 98 if you choose to go out to the other room and listen to the latest love poem he has composed (in his head!) for you.

(Fun fact: When you throw a romance novel in the fire, it burns with desire.)

Of course, when I think of romance novels, I also think of soap operas. I've always found it strange that some soap operas take place in hospitals, which don't really seem all that romantic to me. (The coffee/antiseptic smell has never really done it for me as an aphrodisiac.)

Then again, the hospital setting does provide some interesting plot devices, and from the few episodes I've seen, soap operas are all about those. (In fact, some of the writing seems a little like mad libs. Seances? Yes! Ghosts? OK!)

Anyway, as far as I know, no soap opera character has ever contracted MRSA (Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus) and that's pretty common at hospitals. I think we should give one of the bold and the beautiful beauties this--let's call her Porsche--she could contract it and we could show her fighting it while receiving high-doses of antibiotics and many visits from her estranged husband, Chet, and then we'd show the illicit visits from her secret lover, the gift shop cashier, Dirk, (who has wooed her with his copius supply of flowers and bears and chocolates).

Then, she could be wooed by her husband's dedication and fall back in love with him, just before he develops skin-eating boils, providing an acid test of their relationship. (The boils, of course, are just a ruse by the husband, who wants to know the true status of their marriage--when he's confident that she's still in love with him, he dramatically tells her the truth, and reproposes marriage to her, just after removing his boils. Unsure of what to do with the fake boils, they put them on the dog. The dog is displeased, but falls asleep and they hold an immediate service in the church chapel.)

(Incorporating the morgue would also be an interesting touch, though that could get really gross pretty quickly.)

In any case, let me know what you think, and thanks.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas
Dear President Obama,

I'm writing because I'd like to discuss a pair of topics that don't get much coverage in the mainstream media--romance novels and soap operas.

When I think of romance novels, I think of Fabio (and butter). As you probably know, Fabio was famous for being on about every romance novel cover during the '80s and '90s, and while I developed an inherent distate for him (read: jealousy), I did develop a grudging respect for the guy after reading about an incident that happened to him at an amusement park.

Apparently, Fabio was invited to take the inaugural ride on a Busch Gardens rollercoaster, but the genius who created the ride thought it'd be a good idea to install a full-fledged pond immediately beneath the ride. This was problematic for one simple reason--birds live in ponds, Mr. President. (To my mind, this seems a bit like installing nesting boxes for large birds in the middle of an LAX runway.)

Well, Fabio was enjoying the best part of the ride (where it goes 70 miles per hour) and then WHAMMO, a 20-pound goose hits him in the face.Luckily, he was OK, except for a minor cut. When I heard about it, I was surprised that he survived; I mean, I kind of expected his head to fall off. I credit his surival to the fact that he's got a big head and that geese are essentially flying pillows.

Nevertheless, if Fabio had lost his head, that doesn't mean he would have been out of a job. Instead, it would have opened up a whole new market of romance novels: Zombie romance novels. (Just imagine it--Fabio is still on the cover, only his body is holding his head while it gives all the ladies out there a smoldering, come-hither look. He'd still be alive and all--sort of like Orpheus, just way less poetic.)

Zombie-themed titles would be a lot of fun too. You could have something like, "A Love That Wouldn't Die" or My Body or My Face: Now You Have to Choose.

In fact, if we chose that last title, we could make the book a choose-your-own adventure book! An excerpt might read like this:

You have forgotten Fabio's head in the other room again, but his sculpted body is ready and waiting. You can hear him sweet-talking you from a distance.

Turn to Page 65 if you choose to ignore his head and ravage his body.

Turn to Page 98 if you choose to go out to the other room and listen to the latest love poem he has composed (in his head!) for you.

(Fun fact: When you throw a romance novel in the fire, it burns with desire.)

Of course, when I think of romance novels, I also think of soap operas. I've always found it strange that some soap operas take place in hospitals, which don't really seem all that romantic to me. (The coffee/antiseptic smell has never really done it for me as an aphrodisiac.)

Then again, the hospital setting does provide some interesting plot devices, and from the few episodes I've seen, soap operas are all about those. (In fact, some of the writing seems a little like mad libs. Seances? Yes! Ghosts? OK!)

Anyway, as far as I know, no soap opera character has ever contracted MRSA (Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus) and that's pretty common at hospitals. I think we should give one of the bold and the beautiful beauties this--let's call her Porsche--she could contract it and we could show her fighting it while receiving high-doses of antibiotics and many visits from their estranged husband, Chet, and then we'd show the illicit visits from her secret lover, the gift shop cashier, Dirk, (who has wooed her with his copius supply of flowers and bears and chocolates).

Then, she could be wooed by her husband's dedication and fall back in love with him, just before he develops skin-eating boils, providing an acid test of their relationship. (The boils, of course, are just a ruse by the husband, who wants to know the true status of their marriage--when he's confident that she's still in love with him, he dramatically tells her the truth, and reproposes marriage to her, just after removing his boils. Unsure of what to do with the fake boils, they put them on the dog. The dog is displeased, but falls asleep and they hold an immediate service in the church chapel.)

(Incorporating the morgue would also be an interesting touch, though that could get really gross pretty quickly.)

In any case, let me know what you think, and thanks.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #37 | Subject: The Fourth of July and Parades

Dear President Obama,

As you’re well aware, it was the Fourth of July a little more than a week ago. I forgot the holiday was coming up, as I was pretty busy moving into my new digs. For a while there, I thought I’d moved into the wrong neighborhood, as my first week here was full of inexplicable bangs and booms and pops. Let me tell you, from a distance it’s pretty hard to tell the difference between a rifle retort and a black cat firecracker. And I live in a pretty rural area and since many people (my parents!) have told me that I look a lot like a deer, I wasn’t about to take any chances. (Admittedly, it doesn’t help that my favorite hat looks like a pair of antlers.)

Anyway, it took my girlfriend and me a week to realize that we were hearing fireworks, not gunshots, so it was a while before we stopped cowering on the floor. (In retrospect, that time was pretty productive; we have really clean floors now.)

You probably think that I’m exaggerating, but in my first few days here I met my new neighbors and one of them of had a HUGE confederate flag in their garage. I’ll admit, this was a little spooky. When I saw it, I wanted to mention the 1^st Minnesota and Gettysburg, but I figured that wouldn’t exactly be neighborly. Then again, referring to the Civil War as the “War of Northern Aggression” isn’t exactly neighborly either. (Especially in Minnesota!)

Anyway, I digress. So I wanted to express my patriotism for the Fourth, as I love this country. So I attended a 4^th of July parade, but when it ended I didn’t feel particularly patriotic. To be honest, I felt pain more than anything else—Mr. President, when Jolly Ranchers are thrown at you from a float moving at twelve miles per hour, they really hurt. By the time the Marching Band and the VFW and the Lions Club floats all went by, I had welts the size of nations. Everyone else was ready to stage readings of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence but I needed a nurse.

So I went home and tried to teach my family (my cats) something about patriotism. In short, my cats aren’t patriotic, as they don’t understand the concept. I tried to explain it to them by defining freedom in terms they could understand: I asked them how they would feel if someone tried to take away their right to sleep. They didn’t understand this, as the only English phrases they understand have to do with food, water, and of course, get-the-hell-out-of-the-refrigerator-you’re-not-produce. (Seriously. Every time I open the fridge my cat Xerox tries to get in. I don’t know why.)

To help them learn, I tried to be more direct. Every time they fell asleep, I walked up to them with one of those marshmallow roasting skewers (the kind with the metal fork on the end) and I poked them in the stomach until they woke up. Naturally, they weren’t pleased by this development, but I wanted to drive the point home, so every time I poked them, I said a word that I associate with a lack of freedom—to help my cats develop a Pavlovian association of sorts. For a few weeks, I woke them up and then screamed FASCISMO! The next week, I’d jab the skewer at them and start singing “the Internationale.” Finally, for the last week of their training, I’d jab the cats and immediately make references to Evildoers while continually referring to myself as the Decider. Of course, the training had no effect; they’re cats. On the plus side, they did develop an inherent distrust of marshmallow skewers, which I suppose is good.

All in all, it was a good, if painful, Fourth of July. I hope yours went well too.

Take care, and thanks for reading.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #34 | Subject: Food-scented shampoos, cleaning products, and shopping

Letter to President Obama #34 | Subject: Household Products and Consumer Protection

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because I’ve heard a lot of talk about consumer protection in the news recently, and I’ve got a few questions about consumer items myself. First of all, I’ve got a general question about shampoo. I’ve noticed that a lot of shampoos for women smell like food—you name it, strawberries, apples, coconut. This doesn’t make a lot of sense; shampoo isn’t even edible (believe me, I’ve tried). It smells good, but tastes terrible, like a snack Willy Wonka was making just before he totally lost it.

Food-scented shampoos lead to strange encounters at the store too—for instance, I’ll be at a store somewhere and a woman will walk by and I’ll catch a whiff of her hair. Then I get hungry! Subconsciously, I’ll follow her for a few seconds before realizing that the object of my hunger is a human being. That’s a pretty disconcerting situation, Mr. President; there is a lot of self-guilt and shame involved when you realize that, for a moment, you were some sort of hair zombie or in the movie Alive.

Food-scented shampoos can also lead to misunderstandings at home. My girlfriend uses this crazy strawberry shortcake like shampoo; she washed her hair one night and walked into the living room and I smelled what I thought was dessert; the conversation went like this:

Me (excited): Did you make a surprise dessert for me?

Girlfriend: Um, no.

Me (still excited, thinking she was tricking me but really had made food after all): Oh. Well, why does it smell like strawberry shortcake in here? (coyly smiling)

Girlfriend: I washed my hair.

Me (confused, less excited, no longer smiling): Wait, what?

Girlfriend: The shampoo was strawberry-shortcake scented.

Me (sad, angry at the Unilever corporation): Oh, darn.

Needless to say, hair shouldn’t make me feel hungry, Mr. President; I’m already hungry enough as it is. I mean I have enough to contend with at most Targets and Wal-Marts; there’s that terribly addictive rotisserie chicken that they put right by the checkout (I bet that’s another wonderful product from Philip Morris), the veritable phalanx of Little Debbie Snacks (why is Little Debbie not fat?), and the array of candy bars within arm’s-length of every checkout.

In addition, I also have a general question about cleaning products. Whose idea was it to use sponges as cleaning implements? The idea of using an animal (and one from the ocean!) as a household product is strange—I’d never consider using a flounder as a doormat or a pickerel as a pitchfork. Part of me wonders what sponges would say about this; I guess we will never know, as we have no way to communicate with them. Then again, maybe they are more intelligent than we think. Perhaps they can read; they do spend a lot of time near elementary school room chalkboards.

Anyway, if we are going to continue the using sea-creatures-as-household-objects trend, I’ve always thought that squids and octopi would make good (and fun!) mops, and I’ve always thought we should give starfish a chance at astronomy.

In any case, let me know what you think about these ideas.

Take care,

Brett Ortler



This is letter #34 to President Obama. No response yet, but I will let everyone know. If you like them, please let your friends know and tell them to tell their friends. Also, feel free to leave comments and join my Letters To the President Facebook group here.

Letter to President Obama #31 | Subject: Cats, The Transportation Security Administration, and U.S. Customs

Dear President Obama,

As you know, I’ve been writing you letters fairly often, once or so a day for about a month now. But I’ve slacked off the last week or so, as I’m pretty busy, as I’m moving into a new house soon. As you can imagine, I have boxes all over the place.

Unfortunately, I also have cats. This means that my cats keep investigating every box I have, and by “investigate,” I mean they tip them over. Then they spread all of the contents over the floor and then hide in the box. They usually do this at night, so every morning I wake up, I find that my “kitchen” box is halfway down the hallway and it looks like a culinary hurricane passed through the living room in the night.

This has some unexpected consequences—because when I’m in a rush to get to work, I sometimes miss a few items. Then I’m at work and I get a phone call from my girlfriend, who reminds me (again) that it is less than pleasant to sit on the couch and then realize you’re sitting on a spatula. I always tell her that it could be worse, it could be a whisk, or something, but apparently that’s not much consolation.

In any case, I haven’t gotten that much packing done yet. In any event, to prevent this from happening again, I’d like to get my cats temporary jobs. That’s where I need your help, Mr. President; I think my cats could be a great fit for one of several government positions.

First of all, I think my cats would be a great fit for the Transportation Security Administration. As I mentioned, my cats love all varieties of packages, boxes and luggage. Sitting by the conveyor belt with all that luggage would be perfect for my cats. Dogs would be a poor choice for this position. For instance, my dog’s pretty selfish; he just investigates every plastic bag we bring in the house because he thinks there is a toy in it for him.

My cats are also really, really crabby, which I’ve concluded is a necessary requirement for candidates at the TSA. Even better, my cats are also quite suspicious, but unlike their human counterparts, they don’t discriminate on the basis of race. In fact, my cats don’t discriminate whatsoever; my cats are suspicious of me all the time. More than that, sometimes my cats are outright contemptuous. (To tell the truth, sometimes I think my cat wishes I didn’t exist. Especially when I try to make the bed when he’s sleeping on it.)

Now, there is a downside to employing cats at the TSA. There is the problem of catnaps.

Even if the TSA thing didn’t work out, I think my cat would be a great Customs Agent. I mean, other than the general curiosity and grumpiness, my cats are also very clever; I mean, there’s no swindling a cat. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I could get my dog to bite his own tail if I gave him enough treats. Not so with a cat.

I think this characteristic would be a benefit for the Customs Agency. For instance, if someone were trying to sneak a few dozen cases of Labatt’s Blue Beer across the U.S.-Canada border without paying the required taxes, my cats would see right through that. Once, I tried to trick one of my cats, Xerox, into thinking that I’d put extra food into his dish, but I’d really just moved some from his sister’s dish (Peanut) into his. He looked at both dishes, back at me, and then he literally shook his head “no” three times. If he could have reported me to some sort of authority, he would have.

Finally, my cats also have the chutzpah to stand their ground and turn offenders and rule- breakers in, if necessary. I have personal experience with this—I was coming back to the States from Canada, and I was bringing a whole bunch of fruit back from Vancouver. I didn’t know that certain foods weren’t allowed across the border, so according to the rules, the Customs people had to seize it as contraband.

If that were me, I wouldn’t be able to do this all the time; I’d probably be too nice about it and let them go. Instead, the border control person, who looked a little like a cat, seized my food. For a moment, I thought she was going to eat it in front of me. She didn’t, but I’m still pretty sure they never have to bring in lunch to work. Jerks. To be sure, I have no doubt that my cat would have done the same thing.

So please consider my cats for the TSA or the Customs Agency; if they have jobs, maybe I can get some packing done.

Thanks, and take care,

Brett Ortler

This is letter #31 to President Obama; I was writing one a day for about three weeks, but slowed down the pace a bit because of the problems listed in this letter. I'm sending all of these letters to the President; I'll let you know if I get a response. If you like these, please let me know and tell your friends. Thanks.

Letter to President Obama #28 | Subject: Public Education

Letter to President Obama #28 | Subject: Public Education

Dear President Obama,

I attended public schools for my entire life and overall I think the public schools I attended served me admirably. Nevertheless, I've got a few things I'd like to ask/suggest about the system.

First of all, I know there’s been a lot of talk about standardized tests in the last few years, but I’ve got a question of my own that has never been asked. As a kid, I usually did pretty well on standardized tests, but on a few occasions I didn’t, because I was transfixed by the possibility that there might be an underlying code on the test sheet, like those crazy numbers on Lost. And if I managed to figure out the code and filled in the bubbles correctly, I’d get a secret prize, like ice cream or getting to skip the fifth grade. Anyway, on a few occasions when I got bored (the math sections of the tests, usually) I tried to spell out that secret with my answers, but it’s hard only using A through E. The best I came up with was A BABE CEDED ABE A BEE. Is that correct? If so, I’ll still take the government up on the free ice cream. Please send it, you already have my address.

I also have a question about school funding priorities. I know that school budgets are quite tight these days, but I think we should retain as many music and art classes as possible. I know music classes can be an especially tough sell—I mean, let’s face it—they’re often noisy, chaotic, and disorganized. I mean, the other day I was down the hallway from a room full of fourth graders with recorders, and for a moment I thought I was overhearing a flock of poisoned, deranged birds. (Or healthy loons.) And then I got into the classroom and found that many of the kids were armed with those padded xylophone mallet things and they were whomping each other on the head like in Whack-A-Mole. This reminded me of the music class at my elementary school: A lot of clashing and a sugar-crazed kid with the cymbals, then the teacher trying to sing over the top of all that noise. Eventually she gave up and just started screaming along with the music. I’m pretty sure that this is where death metal originated.

That’s exactly my point; the end product doesn’t always seem all that important (or even melodic) but these classes can be productive in really surprising ways.

Of course, the same could be said of most art classes—but I think our kids do a pretty good job of depicting the human form. I mean, really, if I were forced to choose, I would rather take my six year old cousin’s drawing of a woman out on a date rather than either of the women depicted in Pablo Picasso’s painting Femmes devant la mer (Women before the Sea), because my cousin’s figure, while sporting a serious unibrow and really disproportionate features, was not some sort of human-triangle hybrid.

So please do consider retaining funding for such courses. If we need to cut back in other areas; I’d suggest cutting math. And if, as I suspect, we won’t be cutting math classes, I’d like to spruce them up. I’ve always thought the music triangle should have been incorporated into math class somehow. Then maybe math class would have been fun. (In retrospect, it seems like a perfect fit for trigonometry.)

In any case, that’s another topic altogether. Please let me know what you think, and thanks.

Brett

This is letter #28 to President Obama. I'm sending one-a-day, or thereabouts. I haven't received a response yet, but will let everyone know if I do.

Letter to President Obama #23 | Subject: Board Games and Economic Recovery

Letter to President Obama #23 | Subject: Board Games and Economic Recovery

Dear President Obama,

I know we’re in the throes of an economic downturn, so I’ve been trying to think up some ways I could help contribute to the economy and the economic recovery. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I learned a good deal of information from board games—and this information spanned a wide variety of subjects—how to manage a war on several fronts (Risk), the basics of a cutthroat capitalist economy (Monopoly) and that a wide variety of implements can be used in a homicide, and such homicides can occur in any room of the house (Clue). I’ll give you a few examples of what I mean.

For instance, consider the national security environment of the last eight years. Since 2001, we’ve been engaged in the War on Terror—a fight that knows no particular country; Mr. President, that’s like fighting everyone at once! It’s pretty clear that such a strategy won’t work; just try it on the Risk board! There aren’t enough armies, even if you team up with your sister and try to take on the world together. All this does is incite your opponents and thins out your military and pretty soon your enemies win some battles and then they’ll have reinforcements and then they set up a stronghold in one of your former territories, like Alberta. Instead of attacking everywhere at once, you have to focus your efforts.

(By the way, given the popularity of the game Risk, I’m quite surprised that no would-be conqueror of the world has ever attacked Australia first. Instead, it’s always Poland or somewhere in Asia. This doesn’t make sense to me—the game of Risk makes it clear, if you invade Europe you have to fight everybody; if you invade Australia you just have to fight some wallabies and a few ex-cons, which doesn’t sound all that tough, though I admit that wallabies would look imposing with epaulets and hats.)

Other board games taught me a great deal about the business world. For instance, thanks to Monopoly I now know that I should always be on the look-out for theft, especially when family members or close friends (especially children!) are involved. My little cousins were notorious thieves—they’d not only steal money from the bank, they’d steal the occasional property too! It’s a sad fact that family often steals from family, but one need only watch such documentaries as the Maury Povich and Jerry Springer shows to see (graphic!) depictions of this depravity. Monopoly also taught me to be an assertive, vigilant landlord (or else my tenant—sister— would get away without paying rent!)

I’d even say we could go farther with this concept—how about creating a U.S. Government version of Monopoly. Could you help make this happen? First of all, it wouldn’t be unheard of, as I know that Star Wars versions exist. Of course the game would have to be altered somewhat. For instance, the appearance of the “Chance” cards could stay the same, but “Community Chest” could feature a busty intern. And the text on the cards could be changed too—instead of the “Chance” card instructing you to pay every player $50, a card could read, “Oops! You bugged a hotel and got caught! Skip your term.”

The properties could be arranged differently too, but like in the original game, we could arrange them from the least valuable (Nebraska would be the Baltic Avenue of this board) to the high-class. Even better, Park Place wouldn’t even have to change!)

We could also use this as a civic educational tool. For instance, the “Income Tax” square on the board could feature actual miniaturized tax forms that you’d have to fill out before taking your next turn. This would help our young people get acclimated with the complexity of taxes early. (Mr. President, can you make those forms a little easier? Right now, tax forms are a lot like a choose-your-own-adventure book with no happy endings.)

We could also use this opportunity to clear up a few mistakes in the original game. First of all, I don’t know about you, but when I played Monopoly with my family, you got $500 if you landed on Free Parking. So naturally I was pretty disappointed when I found free parking in real life for the first time and I didn’t get any money at all, except for this dime I found. Later it turned out it wasn’t free parking at all, and I got a ticket. I was tempted to send this ticket to the Milton Bradley company and have them pay it, but I never got around to doing it.

While I’m talking about board games, I’ve got two other brief questions you might be able to answer for me, Mr. President. First of all, you’ve met Bill Gates, right? Do his kids get to play Monopoly? I’ve always wondered about that.

Also, if you think that changing Monopoly is a good idea, then I think we should make a general change to the game Life. Now, I won’t get into the details, but I do think the game is a little too cheery, generally. Life should certainly have a harder edge. To that end, I’d like to take a page from the Oregon Trail video game (which was a pretty harsh game) and have a few squares like, “Wife gets dysentery. Spend $2,000 to pay for hospital bills,” or “Cat eats pet bird. Be sad for six spaces.”

Let me know what you think about these ideas; I think they could help.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Brett Ortler

Letter to President Obama #22 | Subject: Code Names and The Secret Service

Letter to President Obama #22 | Subject: Code Names and The Secret Service

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because I have a few questions about the Secret Service. First of all, I understand that the Secret Service issues codenames for the First Family and for important members of government. Now, I know that I’m not a member of the government, but I’d really like to have a codename.

I’ve put a lot of thought into my secret codename options. Of course, I don’t want it to interfere with any of the official business at the White House. And really, the Secret Service folks wouldn’t have to memorize it or even use it; I’d just like them to call it over the earpieces once.

Really, this is my attempt at a footnote in history. I’d like my name to make it in on Wikipedia, with a short note saying, “was once referred to as _____________” by the Secret Service.

So I’ve got a few options lined up. My first choice would be “Rabid Wombat.” I know it sounds silly, but there’s no way you’d mistake it for anyone else’s codename (unless that name is already taken by Dick Cheney), and think about how cool it would be to hear Roger that, the Rabid Wombat is entering the Library of Congress. If that name is already taken, “The Do-Gooding Pirate” would be a good one for me too; I think it’d be great to hear, The Do-Gooding Pirate Is in the Capitol Cafeteria. (Wait, does the Capitol have a cafeteria? If so, do they have those little chocolate milk things like in Elementary School? And do they have lunch ladies, or do they have really attractive scantily clad 20-something co-eds as lunch ladies?)

In any case, if the codename doesn’t work out, I’d like a little help obtaining some Secret Service gear. Don’t worry, I’d like to do this for entirely benign reasons—I’d like to go as a Secret Service agent at Halloween next year.

To that end, I’d like to know: Do they sell those Secret Service earpieces anywhere? And by the way, what do Secret Service agents listen to on their earpieces? Is it just a running update on the status of the situation, or can they tune into radio stations? I ask this because one time I saw a Secret Service guy on TV and he was dancing, or at least bouncing around a bit as he scanned the crowd, and I swear I heard a really tinny rendition of a Bob Marley song in the background. Of course, I could be wrong, but this was during the Bush Administration, and I don’t know why they would have been playing Bob Marley. Ever.

Anyway, if Secret Service Man was listening to music, I’m not saying this is a bad thing. On the contrary, I think relaxing music would probably help those guys focus, and I’d encourage this. But whatever you do, don’t let the Secret Service guys listen to New Age-y music—in my experience, that stuff either puts me to sleep or makes me really, really angry. I’ve never wanted to suplex someone more than when listening to the supposedly relaxing music of Yanni or John Tesh. Either scenario could end badly if it occurred on the White House lawn.

In this respect, New Age-y music is sort of like those motivational posters. Both have noble intentions but utterly fail. An example: Once, my boss bought a motivational poster with a picture of the Great Wall of China on it and the word “Teamwork” in big letters. I started laughing when she showed it to me, thinking it was some sort of absurd joke. When they didn’t say anything, I frowned, and told them that I’d read that the Great Wall of China was built largely by slaves and it was rumored that some of those folks were buried in the wall when they died. Now it was my boss’s turn to frown, mutter something about demotion, and then she made it quite clear that the stupid thing was going above my desk. I don’t work there anymore.

Anyway, if I can’t get all of the Secret Service agent gear, maybe I could combine costumes; I could dress up like a Secret Service guy and then double as the guy who has that briefcase handcuffed to his arm all the time. But in order to make my costume as accurate as possible, I need answers to a few questions. First, is the whole briefcase thing in his job description, and what is his job title, by the way? Is it something simple like Nuclear Code Briefcase Man or something more grandiose, like The Protector of the Codes? In either case, I’m pretty sure there’s a comic book superhero in there somewhere, Mr. President.

And what happens if that briefcase handcuff chafes his arm a lot, it gets infected, and he has to take medical leave because of it? I imagine that’d get pretty awkward, especially if he had to specify on some form that he was missing work because of handcuff usage on the job. In this respect, I can empathize with The Protector of the Codes. Once when I was a kid, my sister handcuffed me with those fake kid handcuffs and then broke off the latch. I had that thing on my arm for a week. There’s nothing weirder than explaining that you have a handcuff on your arm because your sister handcuffed you to the deck. That story gets even worse—my neighbor friend, who was ten at the time and thought he was MacGyver, wanted to use an ax to get the handcuff off. Let me tell you, it’s not as easy to do as on TV.

Thank you for reading Mr. President, and let me know what you think.

Thanks,


Brett Ortler

Letter to President Obama #21 | Subject: Food, and the Food and Drug Administration

Letter to President Obama #21 | Subject: Food, and the Food and Drug Administration

Dear President Obama,

I’ve got a few questions about food and food safety.

First, I read online the other day that a cook at a California diner spotted the Virgin Mary in a griddle. This surprised me for a few reasons. First, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be that concerned who was in the griddle; I’d just try to get them out of there! But the folks at the diner didn’t think to do this; instead, they left Mother Mary in there and featured the griddle in a shrine. Maybe they couldn’t find a spatula.

Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing. I’m writing because I’ve read stories like this on a number of occasions, and it got me wondering—isn’t the Food and Drug Agency on the look-out for this sort of thing? If they’re not, they probably should be.

I’m also a bit confused—I only seem to read about these stories at the grocery store, often while I’m in the checkout line. The tabloids there will have a picture of Mother Mary in a muffin, or a headline proclaiming that a likeness of Jesus was found in a jar of jam, and so on. Is this some sort of weird grocery marketing scheme?

If so, please tell the grocery lobbyists that their plan is a failure; it doesn’t make me want to buy more food. On the contrary, it makes me a lot more careful when I’m cooking. I mean, I’m not a very good Catholic (I’m aiming for Purgatory), but I know I’d be going to gehenna if I accidentally made a member of the Holy Family extra crispy. So now I cook my food more slowly and I eat less. If this isn’t all a grocery conspiracy, I wonder why the less obscure bible characters hardly make an appearance. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Amminadab being found on an apple or Gad on a gumball. Then again, maybe they are there and we’re just not noticing them.

I also have a question about fruits and vegetables. They don’t have rights, do they? As I understand it, if I buy an orange, I can yell at it all I want, right? I know these are weird questions, so let me explain: Something strange happened to me at a Minnesota Twins game I recently attended. During the pregame festivities, all sorts of stuff was going on, and all of a sudden, the field was more or less empty and there were only two people on the field. One guy was dressed up like a banana. The other was dressed up like a strawberry. There was no explanation over the loudspeaker; the announcer guy was too busy trying to tell us about the official milk of the Minnesota Twins. (Only a team in Minnesota would have an official milk. Wisconsin’s baseball team doesn’t even have one—apparently, the official milk of the Milwaukee Brewers is beer.)

Anyway, this strawberry and banana thing made me really mad, because I was thinking about fruits and vegetables for the whole game. And Mr. President, that is NOT what I want to be thinking about at a baseball game. I want to be thinking about malt cups, hot dogs, beer, and my impending obesity, in that order. Anyway, in order to get back at them, I really want to attend another game, dress up in a costume of my own and chase the strawberry and banana around. To terrify them, I’m planning on dressing up as a blender. Ideally, I’d like hire a guy to wear a kiwi costume, catch him, and throw him into the blender, kicking and screaming. Then I’d chase the other two around screaming SMOOTHIE, SMOOTHIE, which I hope would scare them enough to never attend another Major League Baseball Game.

This wouldn’t be illegal, would it? I thought I should ask if it was first before renting the costumes, so please ask the folks at the FDA about this and get back to me.

Thanks,

Brett Ortler