Many of you have decided, for whatever idiotic reason, to send in fan-mail and questions to the Lampoon offices. On my way up to the trampoline room from a nice soak and sauna in the Lampoon baths, I just so happened to come across one of these bags of mail. I suspect someone meant to throw these letters out along with the stack of bills from the trampoline cleaning service and the dead freshman they were next to. Nonetheless, after an invigorating bounce, I’ve decided to take this bag into the Deep Writing Bunker. With me is the trusty Lampoon servant and funnyman Jingles the Monkey, to whom I am dictating your awnsers.
Q: This is the thirteenth letter I have sent you know, I demand that you cancel my subscription. I never even subscribed in the first place there is no way you can legally charge my credit card.
A: Dear Sir. Thank you for your subscription. I ask you to give us one more chance: I think this issue will make up for the last 20 years or so of real horseshit writing. We thank you for supporting us here at the Lampoon, it’s subscribers like you that pay for Jingles’ extremely expensive video game habit.
Q: First time writer, long time fan of your work BWM. My friends and I are thinking about getting into comedy, what is your writing process like?
A: First of all, don’t get into comedy writing unless you love fast cars, money, and all the sex you can wish for. It takes a certain kind of person to live the college comedy writer lifestyle, to live la vida loca. To your second question: my writing partners and I, we rise at 5 with the sun. We wish for good weather and good luck.
Q: This last year, for the first time ever, the average American spent less on comedy magazines than they did on clothing and healthcare. As the comedy magazine market shows signs of shrinkage, do you envision a new direction for the Lampoon?
A: I see us moving into cheap plastic gags: things like a calculator that squirts water whenever you try to divide or Legos that catch on fire.
Q: You’re a famously relaxed guy, but there must be some things that get you extremely on edge. What are you most worried about?
A: The new members of the Lampoon, their number is growing faster than resources can provide. Save a real revolution in farming technology—these rubber rakes I purchased from the gypsy who calls himself Wile, well… they are next to useless—I’m sure that years of famine lie ahead.
Q: What’s it like being a Lampoon Comp Director?
A: An excellent question. With little to no mind of their own, the Comp Director depends on the colony for purpose; through special glands, Comp Directors can release an irresistible pheromone cocktail; as if all that wasn’t enough, a Lampoon Comp Director can lift up to three times their body weight. Oh wait, I’m thinking of a bug.
Q: When you came to college did you know that you wanted to leave college a virgin?
A: Excellent question! I am not leaving college a virgin so much as graduating college with a 2.8 GPA.
Q: I’m a freshman thinking about entering my ‘bid’ for a position on the Lampoon staff. When you were a freshman did you know you wanted to write for a comedy magazine?
A: Call me crazy, but it was actually Martian communications beamed through the Ibis on the top of the Castle that convinced me to comp the Lampoon.
Q: Favorite class taken at Harvard?
A: It was a Government class, my Sophomore year, “Gov 301: Henry Kissinger Rides Again,” or something like that.
Q: Favorite college memory?
A: Acid, nitrous, T.V. Acid Nitrous and T.V. at the same time… and, uh, meeting my classmates. Oh! and that time the Lampoon was invited to guest star on Sesame Street and I stabbed the number 7 in the heart.
Q: Worst day of your life?
A: November 8th 2016: the day they banned shiny black tophats in Loker reading room.
Q: Hello guvnors’, writing to you from across the pond. Names Johnny Lennon, and I was wondering if you had any advice on getting the birds to go to the big dance with you?
A: Jesus, stupid fucking Brits. Jingles, get a load of this Limey: ‘The birdsgo to the dance’ … ‘Ay me teef are cattywompus an’ all that,’ ‘Queen’s knickers! The colonies are revolting!’ Miserable little island people they are Jingles.
Q: As a member of the last bastion of truly creative and innovative humor, does the impending Lampoon-Disney merger worry you?
A: Jingles, help me will you, I’ve gotten my writer’s sash stuck in the porg slurpee machine.
Q: If you could give one piece of advice to your readers, what would it be?
A: If you roll this magazine up you can use it to view the eclipse.
Q: How vas eest in ein lampoon. Heard vu zrow zee best parties. Me ant Klaus, ve vere vondering if ze list for Back to School ees still open?
A: Dear sir, thank you for writing to the Lampoon. Unfortunately neither Jingles nor I speak Spanish.
Q: Can you speak on the controversial Supreme Court case in which the Lampoon is currently embroiled.
A: It’s staff policy to not speak of current cases, but I have can say with assurance that we will win The Harvard Lampoon vs. All Animals.
Q: As a writer for the Lampoon, how does it feel to be the stupidest person alive?
A: The second stupidest, I remind you that we have subscribers.