More Letters from a Nut
Ted L. Nancy
Bantam, 1998
The Joyful Mystery, Bound in Three Volumes
Many dedicated readers return to a classic, re-reading every season or two their dog-eared leather-bound edition of Moby Dick or The Return of the King.
Once per year I return to Ted L. Nancy's Letters from a Nut. Specificly, whenever my wife and I visit my parents. His collected correspondence is my favorite book in their house.
"Humor is like a frog," critic and author E. B. White observed. "You can dissect it but it tends to die on you."
So allow me to communicate why I find joy renewed anually by excerpting Nancy's epistles:
Ms. Barbara Ramey
RALPHS SUPERMARKETS
PO Box 54143
Los Angeles, CA 90054
Dear MS. Ramey:
Thank you very much for answering my letter concerning the haunted sponge I bought from a Ralphs store. Ralphs has been and always will be the only store I shop in for my food and sponge needs.
In your letter to me you said that I would be hearing from the supplier of this sponge. I have not heard from them. And this sponge is bad.
Can someone from Ralphs come and get this sponge from me? This sponge is out to get me. I am afraid.
After I got your letter I went down to my basement and locked that sponge in a steel box and put a chain around that box. Then I wrapped that box in tape and put a shackle around that. Then I boarded up the basement door with over 1000 nails. Then I put a manacle on that door. Then I went upstairs to my room to get a good nights sleep.
At about 3 o'clock in the morning I woke up and looked down. That sponge was right by my bed. I am scared. Please help me.
Also, do you sell Brillo at your store?
When will I hear from the supplier? I need to know. Thank you for your reply.
Sincerely,
Ted L. Nancy
Eager to better understand the author (and, thus, the nature of our modern Western mind) I determined to learn more about his background, influences and beliefs. To my frustration, attempts to better know this scribe resulted only in pages of conjecture that Ted might be Jerry Seinfeld. No one seemed to have pressed the quest for Ted's identity further.
I vowed to exhaust my investigatory powers uncovering the truth.
So:
Ted L Nancy
Rearranged:
CADET LYNN
DENTAL NYC
DANNY CELT
My contribution to literature now in place, I retire to the fireside armchair where I may be surrounded by old friends, their names gleaming gold on bound volumes stacked from floor to the shadows flickered by flames in the vaults overhead. Perhaps Bullimore himself will pay an evening visit, his turtleneck rolled dashingly up against the wintery gale biting down from the heathered slopes of the Wicklow Mountains. He'll reveal, with a chuckle, a powerful, newly-arrived poetry review and the bottle of 12 year old Jameson which provides more warmth and comfort than any Samuel Beckett sweater.
I believe I will share my peer's laugh, yes, and selecting a tome of Stevenson from the nook by the cupboard, club him and steal the whiskey.
Party Midget! Party Midget! Party Midget! Sorry, Herman Melville devotes. Like I say in mt FAQ: I'm a bit of an idiot.
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