Every day it seems, I get another chummy “zap” from Senator Al Franken. I like Al. I think he’s as close to being an ethical creature in the Senate as one may find in these scurvy times. But he’s not my Senator. He doesn’t appear on national television. He has Franken-circuits—his own cyber festival of happy hoplites. And I’m glad for him. Glad he has national followers. Why shouldn’t he have loyalists? even Pee Wee Herman has loyalists. I’m all for Franken. But I’ve grown to hate his unsolicited and relentless emails. I dislike them because they’re buddy-buddy, over-familiar, and just a wee bit spitty—like the dentist who nearly phlegms you when your mouth is filled with cotton and he’s leaning close and talking about fishing. I don’t know how I got on Al’s air command radar. I must have signed a petition or something. That’s how it is. You try to save the boundary waters and then you’re in Al’s coffee klatch. Dear Al: I’m the Santa Claus of loneliness. I like it that way. I wish you well. You’ve got plenty of work ahead of you. I understand. But we’re not friends. I won’t be coming down your chimney.
Planet of the Blind 