Feedback borders on frightening

It’s not called March Madness for nothing.

Some readers are sending their hallucinations in verse. Another misguided soul wants to copy my “look.” Then there’s the reader who wants me naked.

I just hit the Loon Lottery. It’s time to share the winnings.

Brace yourselves for another installment of Reeeaaader’s Windbaaag, the irregular forum that allows my fans to pop off without fear of being verified, vilified or vaporized like an Italian hostage rescue team.

The stuffing of Doug

K.H. sent this as an entry in our annual limerick contest. (Deadline for submissions is Friday!) This, however, is more an epic poem worthy of Homer. Simpson, that is.

The Idaho poet was inspired by a column where I professed a desire to be preserved via taxidermy.

There are so many ways that they park us,

After death, when they deal with our carcass.

Cremation, a casket, a crypt…

Or a box to be cross-country shipped;

These ways need a new revolution,

And our Doug has the perfect solution.

In short, as he recently huffed,

“I tell you, I want to be stuffed!”

Very clever. But the only poetry I want expressed after my demise is…

“Doug was so much fun when he was alive.

And he looked so young – for 105.”

Number One with bullets

A funny thing happened to Spokane’s J.C. while reading of a local drug-related crime linked to SoCal gangs.

“The American folk classic, ‘Camptown Races,’ cued up on my brain’s jukebox,” he wrote.

Compton gangstas, here they come.

(To) Spokane. (To) Spokane.

Compton gangstas, here they come.

All the do-drugs day.

All the do-drugs daaaay.

All the do-drugs daaaay.

I’ll spend my money, buy their nickel bags.

Or maybe some crack cocaine.

Dude needs glasses, all right

The following voice mail message is real:

“Hi, my name’s Lucille. A friend of mine just came over this morning and he just bought glasses and he said he bought them because they look like Doug Clark’s. So he’s wearing Doug Clark glasses because he wants to look like you.”

He’ll need hair removal products and a forehead buffer to complete the look.

Rossi’s next campaign song

Washington’s tug-of-war governor’s race between Dino Rossi and Christine Gregoire gave P.R. a burst of creativity. “There were three counts and Rossi won two,” he wrote. “So it seemed natural to do a ‘Two out of Three Ain’t Bad’ parody.

Even those not familiar with Meat Loaf’s 1977 hit will find the lyrics hilariously on point.

And all I can do is keep on telling you,

You want Gov, you need Gov.

But there ain’t no way you’re ever gonna be Gov.

Now don’t be sad,

Cause two out of three ain’t bad.

Wrong on so many levels

“In simple terms,” wrote C.R., “I think you are pretty awesome.”

Sweet talk all you want, sister. It won’t get me out of my duds.

In the weirdest request yet, C.R. suggested I pose nude for a ‘Spokane Naked’ calendar to be sold to benefit local children with cancer.

I know. Some frumpy English women did that a few years ago. They made a movie about it.

But even with my liabilities and assets artistically covered, any glimpse of pudgy pale Dougness would only cause more sickness.

A moment of Spokane Zen

“It’s said that Seattle is like a combination of San Francisco and Minnesota,” J.V. told me. “And Spokane is just like that, too. Except without the San Francisco.”