To All My Book Buying Friends

For those of you who have received copies of my book, please take the time to write a review on Amazon or Barnes & Noble's web site. That way, you get published, I get reviewed, and we all contribute a little bit to the digital clutter.

If you didn’t like the book, please ignore this post.

[UPDATE: Thanks. You guys are the best. For those of you who have yet to review the book and would like to be included among "guys who are the best," I think you know what to do.]

Ladies, Please Don’t Fuck the Nazis

I have never been one of those people who makes a habit of telling other people what to do, but this time I feel the need to make an exception; ladies, please don’t fuck the Nazis. Believe me, I know all the reasons why you might be tempted. They’re tall. They’re blonde. They’re chiseled. They have the best uniforms. They’re punctual and they keep excellent records. All of that is true, but please don’t fuck the Nazis.

Now look, I know that people have sex with each other all the time despite having political differences, and I would never tell you not to sleep with a Libertarian, for example. Or even a Republican. But when it comes to Nazis, I really think it’s different. Even if he’s a really nice Nazi.

Look, I know how lonely it can get for you ladies. I know that sometimes a little attention can make you feel special, but when it’s coming from a Nazi, I think you have to ask yourself, “Is this really the kind of attention I want?” My guess – probably not.

What happens when your Nazi lover starts talking about killing the gypsies? How you feel when he shares his dream of creating a master race? Or when he greets friends with a Hitler salute? Is the physical pleasure really worth the aggravation and embarrassment? Again – probably not.

I know that just because he’s a Nazi doesn’t mean he can’t also have many redeeming qualities. Maybe he’s a great cook. Or a fantastic father figure to your children from a previous relationship. Maybe he’s a terrific break dancer. All of that might be true, and yet I still believe that the very fact of his membership in the Nazi party should disqualify him from sharing an intimate relationship with you. Ladies, please don’t fuck the Nazis.

Am I saying you can’t ever have sex with a Nazi? Frankly, yes. Even if it’s just a “harmless” one night stand. Why not? Let me answer your question with a question: What are you doing when you have sex with a Nazi?

Answer: encouraging him.

That’s right, simply the act of allowing him to invade your private Poland is encouraging his behavior, and I’m sorry but I personally believe the last thing we should be doing as modern Americans is encouraging the Nazis.

If I’m coming across as a scold or a nag I apologize. Believe me, this is not about passing judgment on anybody (except the Nazis). Instead, I just feel the need to express myself on this very important subject. Now look, nobody’s saying you can’t have a “good time.” Ladies, it is not my place to judge who you sleep with, and I don’t think you need to go around asking every potential lover what his political affiliations are. But use common sense. Look for warning signs. If he’s wearing a swastika on his arm, or if at any time in your conversation he says, “Hitler was right,” then I would probably wish that fellow a good night and find another potential screw.

Ladies, please don’t fuck the Nazis.

Countdown to Seduction!

One week from today my new book hits the stores. On that day, July 15th, somebody is going to go crying boo-hoo-hoo home to his mommy. That person is David Sedaris. Together we are going to destroy him.

What happens when you combine "Sedaris" and "destruction?" You get "seduction." That's why today marks the official beginning of the Countdown to Seduction!

Events are being planned all over the world. In Geneva, they are having a cuckoo clock eating contest, in which the world's fastest eaters will gather to see who can the most cuckoo clocks. The catch? Each "cuckoo bird" will be a small replica of Frenchy McStink, the nom de guerre of Mr. David Sedaris.

In the North Korean capital Pyonyang, President Kim Jong-il is celebrating by declaring David Sedaris an "Enemy of the Revolution," whereas I will be given the honorific "Supreme Commander of Culture and Part-Time Disc Jockey."

The Vatican will be holding a special mass to commemorate the Countdown to Seduction, and the pontiff himself will read aloud my essay, "Why I Used A Day-Glo Marker to Color My Dick Yellow." He will read it both in English and in the original Latin.

Wembley Stadium in London will be rocking as Bob Geldof and dozens of rocker friends gather to raise money for David Sedaris' pity party, which he will be holding for himself in his little French cold water flat with his boyfriend Hugh and a stale baguette.

Aboard the International Space Station, a David Sedaris effigy will be launched towards the sun, along with a gift bag containing his collected works. Simultaneously, a UFO will land on the White House lawn and aliens will present President Bush with a copy of my book, the secret to interstellar space travel, AND a coupon for one free back rub.

Ten thousand children from every country in Africa will gather at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro to sing a hymn I've written called, "David Sedaris is Too Out of Shape to Climb Mount Kilimanjaro."

Several surprise guests will rise from the dead in a way that isn't spooky at all. They will tell us all about mysteries of the Great Beyond AND host a barbecue featuring country duo Brooks and Dunn. Door prizes will include – you guessed it – copies of my book.

Finally, a procession of mermaids (topless) will escort three lucky winners to the legendary lost city of Atlantis, where the Blue Man Group will perform a free show. This will have nothing to do with my book, but will be awesome, especially if you've never seen the Blue Man Group before.

Let the Countdown to Seduction BEGIN!

Damn You, David Sedaris!!!

Why won’t this man leave me alone??? Over the past few weeks I have done everything in my power to make peace with the malicious David Sedaris. I have gone out of my way to praise him on these pages and in various interviews I have done with very important blogs that I have never heard of. To no avail. Frankly I feel a little bit like Neville Chamberlain. (For those of you who don’t know who Neville Chamberlain was, he used to be the lead singer of Flock of Seagulls. Read about him here.) And yet, despite my best efforts to make peace, he insists on making lemons out of lemonade. Here is the latest insult: I checked my Amazon.com book ranking only moments ago, and discovered that I am ranked #3 in the Humor Category. Tucker Max is number 1, of course, because people like to read about fucking. But just under him, just under Tucker Max, is – not George Carlin, whose literary career has recently experienced a resurgence due to his death – but David Spedaris! Why won’t he leave me alone???

And it’s not even like the book at #2 is his current best-seller. No, to add insult to injury, the #2 book in the Humor Category is “Dress Your Family in Corduroy,” which I believe came out in 1967! The book has got be at least forty years old, and yet there it is, proudly lording itself over my book like some kind of proud lord.

Question: what did I ever do to David Spedaris to make him hate me this much? Yes, I sponsored a contest in which readers were asked to transform him into a supervillain (pictured below), but that was only because he was being such a dick!

I am not one to feel sorry for myself, but I have so little in my life to feel good about. Yes, I have a beautiful wife, two perfect children, a mansion in Connecticut, legions of adoring fans, and prominent cheekbones, but that’s it. What I don’t have is a best-selling book of humorous essays. Shouldn’t it be my right as an American to have the #2 book in the Humor Category? Shouldn’t we all have that right?

This fight is no longer about me. It’s about all of us, all Americans! Because the #2 slot in the Humor Category shouldn’t belong to some wine-sipping Francophile. So what I say is this: let’s send a message to David “I hate America” Sedaris. Let’s all rally behind a single book and propel it to the top of the Humor Category. No, let’s aim higher. Let’s pick one book, it could be any book, and start buying that book in such numbers that it rockets to the top of the “America is the Greatest Country In The World and Fuck Anybody Who Thinks Differently” list. What book should that be? I have a suggestion.

Disappointing News: I Do Not Have Scabies

After spending nearly nine minutes researching scabies, a further eleven minutes writing about scabies, and nearly an hour of my day driving to, seeing, and returning from the doctor, I am disappointed to report that I do not have scabies. Instead, my original diagnosis was correct: contact dermatitis. What is dermatitis? In layman’s terms, it’s itis of the derma.

What this means is that I have an itchy, blotchy rash that is slowly forming itself into the shape of Mickey Mouse across my torso.

How I did I contract this horrible, symmetrical rash? The doctor could not say, but I suspect the poison ivy dreamcatcher I’ve been weaving may have played a part. Honest people may disagree about whether or not creating a beautiful dreamcatcher out of poison ivy is a good idea, particularly when the person doing the creating is highly allergic, but that would be missing the point. The point is that I am half Ojibwa, and one of the many ways I honor my culture is to sleep with a dreamcatcher above my bed. My last dreamcatcher was full, and so I had to make a new one. Was poison ivy the best material with which to weave it? In hindsight, probably not. Were I to do it all over again, I might just use twine.

What To Do When You Have Scabies

Nobody wants to have scabies, but when you do, all hope is not lost. Just most hope. For those of you unsure about what scabies is, it’s caused by a little bug, called an “itch mite,” that burrows into your skin, kind of like that bug that goes into Chekov’s ear in “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.” A little while after the critters get into your skin, little itchy bumps start appearing all over your body. That’s why it’s called an itch mite, because they make things itchy. If they made things chocolaty, it would be called a “chocolate mite.” Scientists who study these things speculate that such a mite would almost certainly cause the most delicious rashes ever.

How do you contract scabies? There are two ways: one is to have skin to skin contact with an infected person. The other is to go swimming in a pool filled with itch mites.  This second way is far less common as there is no such thing as a swimming pool filled with itch mites.



If scabies sounds disgusting, that’s only because Westerners have a bias against any little bugs that lay their eggs under your skin and then crawl around in there laying more and more eggs, which in turn hatch more and more bugs. Similar biases exist against bedbugs and ringworm. Why? They are God’s creatures just like dolphins and panda bears. If a panda bear crawled into your skin, you probably wouldn’t say, “That’s disgusting.” You would say, “That’s adorable,” especially if it was a little panda bear cub (which really would be adorable). In fact, kangaroos and other marsupials literally keep their babies in pouches, which is kind of like having scabies. Does that mean duck-billed platypuses are disgusting? Yes, but not because they remind us of itch mites, but because they are so fucking stupid-looking.

What to do if you have scabies? The first thing you should do is write a blog about it, informing people about what scabies is, and why you’re not disgusting just because you have bugs crawling all over you. The second thing you should do is see a doctor (I recommend Dr. Liebowitz). Normal treatment for scabies includes antibiotics and all the ice cream you can eat. The antibiotics will kill the mites and the ice cream will fill the empty hole in your heart. After that, you need to hire a Mexican girl to clean your entire house for you. If a Mexican girl is unavailable, Guatemalans are also good. Don’t do your own cleaning because that makes you look cheap.

As I said, scabies doesn’t mean the end of hope. It just means you will never be loved again.

Some Advice On Child Rearing

Although I usually don’t talk much about my personal life on this blog, I thought I would make an exception today because so many people write to me with questions about how to raise their children. As regular readers know, I have two children, Suri and Maddox, and they are, as one prominent child psychiatrist put it, “perfect.”

Raising perfect children is a combination of science and art. Some would argue that genetics also play a role, but that would give partial credit to the children themselves, which is nonsense. No, when raising perfect children, the credit belongs to the parent or parents who are actually doing the hard work of molding perfection from witless lumps of flesh; just as you wouldn’t credit the stone for Michelangelo’s “David,” nor should you credit the child for their own fortunate happenstance of being raised by me (and to a much lesser extent, my wife).

Question: how do I do it? How do I manage to maintain a busy professional and social life while simultaneously imparting all of my knowledge, grace, and humility to my offspring? Answer: with a big heart and a firm hand.

First, the tough stuff – punishment, because that’s what everybody wants to know. “How do I discipline my child in a safe and loving way?” Read on.

Announcing the Winner of the First Ever "Transform David Spedaris Into A Supervillain Contest"

It all started when best-selling essayist David Spedaris began an unprovoked literary feud with me. Out of nowhere he completely blind-sided me by taking up not one, but many spots on the best-seller list. Well I don't like being bullied, and I wasn't going to sit back and take it. So I pushed back. I let the world know just what kind of person David Sedaris really is: French-obsessed, diminutive, Michael-Ian-Black-hating. The media lapped it up; here, finally, somebody was challenging the almighty Sedaris. Not since Edward R. Murrow took on Senator Joseph McCarthy has David stood so tall against Goliath. The Goliath of old, however, was simply a giant. Sedaris is something more, something infinitely more sinister. Memoirist, essayist, humorist, commentator: supervillain. But what kind of supervillain? Would it be a voodoo-wielding elf? A saucy sailor? A stinky skunk? Thousands of you entered, millions of you voted, three finalists were named. But only one can be the winner.

David Sedaris, I call you by your true name. You are:

I Just Got a Shitload of "Beta Fireworks"

Happy Fourth of July, everybody. Tomorrow is the day our nation celebrates our independence by eating grilled meat and blowing stuff up. Boy am I excited. I just bought a shitload of firewords and I cannot wait to set them off. Yes, I got firecrackers and cherry bombs. Yes, I got M-80s. Yes, I got dazzlers and whippers and German Schnauzers. I also got some yip daddies, cocobongos, and flashbang wiggle worms. And because I am such a loyal customer to the particular fireworks emporium where I made my purchases, I also got some fireworks that aren’t available yet to the general public. These are “beta fireworks,” which I have to agreed to test out before they hit the market. I will describe some of them for you now:

• Griddle Poppers. This small explosive device launches several McDonalds McGriddles fifty feet into the air. Just as they reach their apex, they explode, leaving a phosphorescent trail of maple syrup lighting up the night sky. Beautiful.

• Whizzing Octosnatches. This is eight, tiny, whizzing vaginas that are sent screaming upwards at nearly the speed of sound. When they blow up, they spell out the word “Christmas.” I’m not sure why.

The First Ever "Transform David Spedaris Into A Supervillain" Contest: FINAL THREE

First of all, my thanks to all of the patriots who decided to take time out of their busy lives to Photoshop flag pins, pirate patches, and Taco Doritos onto photographs of best-selling memoirist David Spedaris. Your efforts were all "great," (I put "great" in quotation marks because some of them were terrible) but there can be only three finalists.

How did I pick my final three? I relied on love, intuition, and alcohol. Those three friends have never let me down me before, and they didn't today. So without further adieu, I present to you the FINAL THREE!!!