Laughing Matters: Readers Speak Up

By Ryan G. Van Cleave | Illustrations by Darcy Kelly-Laviolette

June 2021—It’s that time again, folks—a Special Edition of “Ryan Responds to Fan Mail.”

Is it because I don’t have an actual topic to write about this month? Maybe.

Is it because the volume of incoming mail about this column is sizable enough to crush six full-grown Smurfs? Perhaps.

Is it because our favorite non-planet, Pluto, is taking a retrograde turn? Who can say?

All I know is that these readers have asked world-impacting questions, and they deserve knee-jerk answers. Given that, I’ve donned my Dear Abby costume (a strip of masking tape on my shirt upon which I’ve Sharpied “Hi, I’m Abby!”) and I’m ready to dispense wisdom. Hooyah!

Letter One

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

—“Bucky”

I can’t speak to the specific woodchuck scenario you’ve outlined, but perhaps this might prove enlightening in all the ways that matter.

Beaver poop looks like sawdust.

Go figure.

Thanks for the headscratcher, Buckster.

Letter Two

True or false—C.S. Lewis flunked his driver’s license test 17 times.

—“Mensa Mike”

I pretty much know just three things about Clive Staples Lewis. Thing One—his first name was “Clive.” Thing Two—his middle name was “Staples.” Thing Three—his last name was actually “Ivanovski.”

Supposedly, he changed his last name to “Lewis” to avoid his initials (CSI) confusing him with the popular TV show on CBS. I feel his pain. Prior to Shonda Rhimes getting all popular as a TV writer, my name used to be “Grey’s Anatomy.” What bad luck for both of us, right?

Happy trails, Mensa Mike!

Letter Three

George Washington’s false teeth were stolen from the Smithsonian in 1981.

—“Mr. Smith”

If that’s a question, then yes, that there’s a true fact.

If that’s an accusation, then it wasn’t me. I was washing my hamster, Little Mike Tyson, at the time.

If that’s an offer to sell me said missing teeth, I’ve got a five-spot burning a hole in my pocket. Just saying.

Let’s talk later, Mr. Smith.

Letter Four

I’m putting together a D-list celebrity Dungeons & Dragons tournament via Zoom. You in?

—“Stabby McStabberson”

Some years ago, I was camping in at the Dunton River Camp in Dolores, Colorado because I needed to get some work done on a writing project whose deadline was looming. And by “camping,” I mean “glamping” (a blend of “glamorous” and “camping). Basically, if I don’t have free access to a mountain bike on demand or there’s not a soaker tub readily available 24/7, I’m out. Anyway, I was enjoying some crown roast of pork with mushroom dressing in a porch hammock, and one of the grazing cattle let out a fart. And by fart, I mean “thunder boomer” that curled my nostril hairs from a half mile off, ruining my meal and giving me a week of writer’s block.

Which is to say, I’m in for D&D so long as I can be a six-armed halfling barbarian with a laser sword, the power of invisibility, and unlimited hit points. Plus, a sentient cube of sugar-free watermelon-flavored Jell-o as a sidekick.

Thanks for asking, Stabby.

Letter Five

I think I found your iPhone at Urfer Park. Is there a reward?

—“Swift Fingers”

A reward? Sure as Dave Thomas working at Kentucky Fried Chicken before founding the Wendy’s burger franchise, there’s a reward. You just leave my phone on my porch and take the unmarked brown box there in return. Just wait until you get inside your car before opening it. And ignore any hissing you may or may not hear.

Thanks in advance for returning my phone, Swifty.

Letter Six

From time to time, I find your SCENE articles laugh-out-loud funny.
Not the humor column, but the other ones.

—“Ironic Ike”

Well, that’s a humdinger of a compliment if I’ve ever heard one. And by way of thanks, I’ll answer the question I know is your unwritten follow-to this glowing endorsement. The answer to “If I had to choose an animal to help me win a fight, what would it be?” is clear as anything—

the tasseled wobbegong, of course. For obvious reasons.

Rock on, Ike!

If you want to be part of future Ryan Responds to Fan Mail columns, you’re out of luck. I’ve stopped payment on my PO box, shut down my email accounts, and put back up the FOR SALE sign on the Sarasota lakehouse I’ve been squatting in.

But if that doesn’t dissuade you, go ahead and send me your fan mail c/o Mickey Mouse. No address or stamps needed—the mail people and I have an arrangement. Your notes will get exactly where they need to go.