Letter to Vanity Fair, September 2017
Hi Cullen Murphy, I never knowwhattowrite until the moment. This time at least. Military Intelligence. As I columned through your cartoon county article, Vanity Fair September 2017, I did not find a smart point until you wrote “dirty sock.” I stood up from my cartoon tonal plastic bubble chair in custody on a 5250 psychiatric hold. I stood around for a moment sipping coffee and not wondering what the big dam deal was about dirty socks. But, why now? G.raham C.rackers. Pringles. I have a terrorist in my midst, he showed me a painting. And I had sat down to read your article and kept getting columned. It was early, coffee had not been offered. Then I looked up to see Mister Pringle. Yesterday he approached me seeming to offer me a can of potato chips, and after attempt number seventy one, Alexander accepted the interaction as social. Upon acceptance Mister Pringle changed his offer to one potato chip. And thus he got the name Mister Pringle. I took the chip, made him watch me throw it away and then I offered him a spiritual on friendship. This morning when I put the periodical down and looked up I was focused with intent. There was Mister Pringle. More evidence of mental warfare as the basis for understanding Jihad. And true to form Mister Pringle has a new whole can of crisps to proffer. I past and said something in the realm of “My socks are clean and I moisturized my feet this morning.” How grand it would have been to have taken the whit from my pencil to that conversation. Whatever tool I possess to write, that is my G.angster C.ard. Always The Best, Alexander