I got tired of waiting around for people to email me so I decided it’s about time for our first (and with my “ratings” maybe last) installment of IMAGINARY MAILBAG!

Much like how my UFAQ answers the questions you don’t frequently ask me, IMAGINARY MAILBAG will finally do the polite thing by replying to all those emails I haven’t been getting lately.

Todd from San Fernando, CA writes:

Duuude, your site rocks! Is there anyway I can donate to like, keep you going/not dead?

Unfortunately the capitalist pigs – I mean, fellow (future) Americans – over at Paypal declare my location as (financial) “Hell on Earth”, which means the only way you can get money to me right now is to actually post it and I’ll be damned if I trust any of you (albeit imaginary) people with my postal address lest I wake up with….well nothings scarier than waking up with myself every morning but umm you get the idea.

Sally from Fremont, WY writes:

Why’d you decide to live in Africa anyway? Isn’t that a little dumb?

Well Susan, can I call you Susan? I’ll wait a couple of days till you tell me if it’s okay.

My name’s Sally.

Right so Susan, as I was saying, during the whole birthing process when a strange little man pops up and asks you where you want to live (as it did all of us who had lsd abusing parents) it seems I made a rather silly choice. How was I to know that my days in Africa would be spent running desperately from lions, giraffes and worst of all…..liraffes. Have you ever even seen a liraffe Susan? I sure hope to god not, or else you’re on the same meds I am and that clearly can’t be a good sign for anyone.

Don’t be fooled by my clever title for this week’s entry, there is in fact very little I have to reveal to you in the secrets of pudding. Not because I don’t know it of course, oh no, I’ve studied pudding extensively, but because I just don’t think the world is ready to realize the true magnitude of what they’ve been eating for centuries now. You see, revealing it to your untainted minds now might bring upon…..Armagelatan.

So instead of rambling on and on about how awesome pudding is (and truly the temptation is great) I’ll give you guys a little heads up.

A LOT of IE users have complained about the buttons going Tetris on them when you place your mouse over and I am pleased to report that, after hours upon hours spent perpetually begging the guys on the wordpress forums and stilist for support, they’re now working 100%!

Last and certainly least, I got evaluated at work the other day and somehow someway (with my knowledge equivalent to an illiterate pip) I scored a 94% on customer service. Do you people have any idea what that means? It PROBABLY means they need to start rethinking how they do evaluations but it MIGHT just mean I’m making my customers happy in that power surge waiting to happen I call my work.

Look out world, it’s customerhappyboy!

Imagine you’re standing at the edge of a great ravine, the watery breeze filling your nostrils, the wind blowing through your hair, the wonder of what you stepped on 5 minutes ago and the hope that it wasn’t jungle dog doo-doo. Now imagine you’re reading an entry about my life. I don’t think you’ll need to imagine the being bored part though.

Refreshed? Probably not, but I was out of intros and that one really touched me in ways even a catholic priest wouldn’t approve of.

So let’s get right to it. You want the low-down. The deelio. The doodaddykabizzle-weinerschnitzle as it were and I’m about to lay it all on you.

Remember the disturbing reality of my discovery that I am infact the Christmas Carebear? You know, the strange hair formation of a perfect Christmas Tree on my Belly? Well low and behold that puberty decided to slap me with a high five to the face and grant me a disturbingly appropriate accessory to the tree.

I now am the (un)proud owner of a STAR forming cluster of black chest hairs just ABOVE said Christmas Tree. That’s right people….I’m turning into Santa Claus.

Oh this is no joke or fable but a situation most dire, for I believe I am the victim of …Santamata.

What to do? What if we loose Basjohn as he transforms into an overweight man with a clear eggnog problem?

I’m afraid I don’t have the answer this time my (barely) loyal readers. We can only hope and pray that they’ll keep me out of the workshop for fear of me sending far too many little girls “vibrating hairbrushes”……but seriously…..arn’t those things just awesome???