Because of my very Catholic father who has put me on some crazy list—probably by subscribing me to this My Daily Visitor prayer book thing, that arrives every month or so—my postman now thinks I am some rabid pro-lifer. Today he looked sideways at me while handing me my mail. I looked down and saw this American Pro Life League thingy, addressed right to me, with my name on it and everything. I wanted to yell out—the book you’re handing me—it’s the Playboy Gourmet Cookbook from the 70s that I just won on Ebay! Doesn’t that say anything to you??? See, being on a Catholic list is not unlike being on some “!XXX GROW YOUR PENIS XXX!” list because you have hotmail.

Yes, my friends, I receive snail spam from the Catholics. I get catalogues that sell t-shirts with pictures of fetuses on them. I get all kinds of nunneries and seminaries asking for my moneys. I have medals of St. Cecilia and the Blessed Mother coming out the wazoo (I’m not Catholic anymore but throwing that away with last night’s vindaloo still fosters some good old guilt).

I got one thing I actually liked—an invitation to join the Sacred Heart Auto League. Enclosed was a little plastic thing with a picture of Jesus looking over the highway with the words “Sacred Heart Auto League Member” in gold. I didn’t give them any money but you know I damn well put that in my car. They, of course, wouldn’t understand the kitsch factor. Hell, Jesus Himself is probably embarrassed. He’s all, “Dude—I’ll protect you in your car, but Jeez, do you have to make it look so goofy?” It’s like how they’re putting Dostoyevsky on lottery tickets now in Russia. His family is up in arms because he struggled with a gambling addiction his entire life. Don’t mess with Da ‘Stoy, Holmes.

PS. I’d like whoever wrote in my guestbook, “You should pay less attention to my business and more to your own. Grow up. from Your Father” to know that my father would never say that. In fact, your silly voice is so strong and your hatred is so palpable that I know who you are. My dad is happy that I give a shit about his life. In fact, we get all up in each other’s business all the time. This week alone he sent me about six cassettes worth of song suggestions for the club act I’m putting together. You should be so lucky to have had such a relationship with your father when he was alive. Also, my father is fully aware of how I feel about this woman and didn’t marry her in the first place in part because my siblings and I talked to him about her. Why I am gracing your sorry narrow ass with a response? Oh, right, because you suck and I just can’t help it. Why don’t you try taking some of your own advice—You should pay less attention to my business and more to your own. Grow up. From YOUR DAD. BTW, Dad doesn't have access to computers at Harvard--although, he could if he wanted to now since I'm a member of the alumni association.

Hey, kids, go immediately to iTunes and download Serge Gainsbourg’s “Sex Shop: Sex Shop.” Don’t be confused—there are several songs entitled “Sex Shop” this or that, all of which are good. Enjoy.