for 17 March 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.

Subject: Um, I don't get it.

Hi Polly!

I'll try to be a little more
coherent this time; they've
stopped putting beer in the
vending machine here at work,
so my writing has gotten a
little more lucid. I guess
that's a sure sign I must
have been a pretty crappy
writer to begin with.

After reading today's Filler
I can't help feeling a little
double pang of guilt:

a. Geez, I would hate to
think we (that is, me plus
the other losers who don't
call in sick on Wednesdays so
we can come in to read your
little column) are kind of
preventing you from achieving
personal growth.

Remember Paul Westerberg? I
mean, when he was a mess, I
loved his music; when he
straightened out, I wouldn't
buy one of his records if my
life depended on it (and in
1993, it did). I guess that's
unfair, but so true.

b. I would hate to think you
were being pushed into
irritability by your editor
and that large rabbit simply
to produce an interesting
column. I mean, it's almost
exploitative ... well, not
quite, because they're both
probably pretty irritating to
begin with.

I guess it's not exploitative
if you keep working there.
But still, if you want to be
less irritable, in better
shape, and Marlboro and Ho-Ho
free, I can't blame you.

We'll - sniff - miss you!

Jon Frank

I appreciate your concern,
but please, let's refrain
from using the words
"personal growth" in the
future. It makes me want to
remove any unsightly personal
growth I might have thus far
acquired with a huge wax
strip ("For Face, Legs,
Bikini Line, and Psyche").

After all these years of
cashing in irritability for
food pellets, I've come to
the conclusion that
bitterness is vastly
overrated. And yet we, the
many, the humbled, the
bitter, seem to keep our
bitterness close to our
hearts, as if our identities
might crumble if someone were
to yank all that bitterness
out of our shaking,
nail-bitten paws.

Why must we be such sad
little animals? Why must I be
a teenager in love? Bunghole,
who are you, to take these
many forms?

Tender, tiny pleas,

Polly

Ms. Esther,

More Evil, Giant, Canadian
Rabbits on Crack, please.
What can I say? I love that
joke.

Losing your edge? Could be.
But it's sort of a refreshing
change. It could also be the
dreaded "getting older"
syndrome. I used to have
annoying, cynical opinions
too. I outgrew them. Stopped
caring about television. Now
I have to move away from
those annoying, tiresome,
cynical people at cocktail
parties. Oh sure, I still
have some bitter, edgy
friends, but now, at 30, I
think to myself, "How funny
is that gonna be at 40? 50? I
mean, sure it'll be funny at
80 or 90 - you gotta love
those curmudgeonly old people
- but there's nothing sadder
than some 40-year-old crank."

Which end of a Ho-Ho do you
light, anyway?

Pablo Vetter
<PAVetter@lbl.gov>

My coffee tastes like
Murphy's Oil Soap. Do you
remember that commercial for
Murphy's Oil Soap where a
mother, a son, and a
grandmother all sing in
Broadway-quality voices,
"I've been using Murphy's Oil
all around this house of
mine, 'cause the dirt is
finished, but the finish is
fine!"? There's even a
compelling, triumphant
bridge. Once I think of that
song, I can't get it off my
mind.

So wait, where were we? Oh
yes. We were discussing how
I've become soft and old and
decadently self-involved. All
paths lead to Cathy.

At least we can still be
cynical about cynical people.
I went to this party awhile
back and ended up listening
to some guy read Rimbaud at
the end of the night. Welcome
to preteen rebellion,
dipshit. Not like I read
anything but Beverly Cleary's
'50s-style smoldering,
unsullied lust as a preteen
(Jean and Johnny is like soft
porn for frustrated virgins
with big delusions of
grandeur in the love
department). But still.

Feeling superior about my
inferiority, as usual,

Polly

Dear Nonconforming, Gen X
Scum,

I am getting so sick of your
complaining! For over a year
now I have been reading your
daily missives, but today you
went too far. Finally, it
looks as though someone is
going to break from the mold,
when she suddenly gets sucked
(pardon the pun) back into
the fold. You preach the
gospel of questioning
authority and going against
the grain, but you are coming
off like all the other
privileged, downtrodden
whiners. In your efforts to
be different you are only
imitating the masses. Try
looking at life for its
potential. You might find
yourself a little less
self-involved and happier at
the same time.

Patiently,

A persistent sucker

P.S. If you are getting paid
to do this, I applaud your
entrepreneurial spirit; keep
up the good work. If not, you
really are pathetic!

Communication is not your
strong suit, friend. But
that's OK, we can still be
friends, friend.

The only gospel I preach is
the Gospel According to Me. I
don't really care what you
do. Question authority, tell
authority you're behind it
100 percent, look at life for
its potential, look at life
for its cream-filled horns,
whatever. In fact, the Gospel
According to Me has a whole
psalm about this, Psalm 36,
entitled, "Song of Whatever,"
which is second in power of
prosody only to Psalm 24, "Do
What You Gotta Do,
Motherfucker, Just Leave Me
out of It, OK, Motherfucker?"

I'm not a good friend; I'm
not a friend at all.

Gratuitously irritating,

Polly

Subject: I had a dream

I had a dream a couple of
nights ago. I dreamt I went
back in time to 1982. I went
into a record store and
started looking for early
dance/electronic music
tracks, figuring that in 17
years I'd be the coolest DJ
ever. I started talking to
the guy who worked at the
record store, telling him
about all the music to come.
I told him about how all this
Flock of Seagulls new wave
stuff would pass. He politely
nodded, so I continued to
ramble.

I told him about how rap
would be the shit in about
four years and to watch out
for Run DMC. Then I told him
how all this glam rock would
get big in the late '80s, but
not to worry. Then Carol
Burnett showed up (go figure)
and she started to agree with
me. But I knew she was full
of shit; how would she know?
Then I told him how all this
grunge music would come out
of Seattle, and he was like,
"Seattle? Yeah, whatever." I
told him about Kurt, and
Carol said, "Yeah, I know
Nirvana," but we just ignored
her. Finally I told him about
electronic music and all
that.

It's late and I'm a bit
drunk, but I really had this
dream, and I'm 38.

Douglas Miller
<dmiller_5@hotmail.com>

That's a great dream, and it
may actually have an
antecedent. There was a very
weird skit on The Carol
Burnett Show once, in which
Carol herself couldn't get
anybody to pay attention to
her. Very Twilight Zone, with
Carol shouting in people's
ears, causing a ruckus in a
restaurant, etc., but unable
to get anybody to acknowledge
her. In fact, I'd say this
was definitely the seed of
your dream, except you don't
mention the part where Tim
Conway and Harvey Korman
start laughing hysterically
because the bit is so funny
and spontaneous that even the
performers themselves can't
keep from laughing, no matter
how hard they try!

Oddly enough, someone else
recently sent me her dream
journal, in which Vicki
Lawrence made an appearance.
Just more proof of my theory
that The Carol Burnett Show
has always been the secret
subconscious of America. Lord
knows I've had some red-hot
dreams about Lyle Waggoner.

yr pal,

Bartel

Planet Blair

If anyone on this planet
deserves a kick in the ass,
it is you people!

Do you really think I read
your stupid column? What is
the point of sending this
garbage to me? I do not read
it, so it takes up your
computer time - that is an
unproductive system.

Ron Skrobutan
<ronskro@gbd.com>

Good opener! What a zinger.
And who wouldn't agree with
the premise you set forth?
Absolutely breathtaking.
Pulls the reader in at the
first possible moment.

Unfortunately, we run into
some problems of logic in the
second paragraph. Because you
do not read our column, it
takes up our computer time?
Thus, "that" is an
unproductive system? We don't
follow you.

Confusion ensues. And
disappointment, after such an
enticing lead-in. Try making
some edits and send us a
revised copy. We've got total
faith in you - we all agree
this piece is really gonna
break new ground. It just
needs some minimal work. A
little tweaking here and
there, no big deal.

Best of luck!

Editors of Suck.com

Dear Suck

all right mate i would just
like to say hello to the 8th
year at the OPS

keep on sucking

from God
<pupils.ops@mail.rmplc.co.uk>

God!

We were hoping you'd write.
Boy, we've waited long
enough. Remember how we used
to put a piece of toilet
paper on our desk and request
you rip it in half, just so
we'd know you exist? We'd
even leave the room so you
could do your good work in
private. Why didn't you ever
rip the damn toilet paper,
huh? What's the big deal? We
realize you had hurricanes
and mudslides to supervise in
some Godforsaken place
(irony, ha ha!), but come on.
What's more compelling or
urgent than small, privileged
white people with big,
existential questions?

You've always really liked
us, though. We can tell.
We're so special and clever,
aren't we? We always knew you
thought so.

Anyway, praise be to you or
whatever. Peace out,
motherfucker!

(You know we mean that in the
best way, right? Of course
you do. You understand us.
And you think we're clever
and special just the way we
are.)

Basking in your love for us,

Sucksters