Dear Sher,

There once was an Indian who had only one testicle.

Dear Forward Person,

Stop that. I mean it. The word "forward" was not meant for you. It was never meant for you. Unless you and Bill Gates have figured out how to forward a 6'2" firefighter in an email, I can promise you I don't want it in my inbox. Really. I mean it. Don't make me come over there.

Dear Sher,

Happy Birthday, Gorgeous!

Dear Confused,

You do realize you sent that to me, right?

Dear Sher,

I just wanted to send some Happy Birthday wishes your way today. I hope your special day is the best one ever.

Thanks so much for all the laughter you share with others. You really are a special person.

Have a wonderful day and God bless.

Dear Nice Lady,

Now, when you say special, you don't mean "special" as in "Sher is special, so we keep her locked in the attic", do you?

Dear Sher,

Well Happy Birthday Ms. Crazy. I'm damn glad you made it this far and am lookin' forward to the future rantings and observations.

Dear Damn Guy,

I'm glad you're damn glad. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm damn glad. By the way, you're only looking forward to my future rantings because you don't actually live with me. Mr. Man not only DOES NOT look forward to them, I have reason to suspect he often secretly medicates me by grinding industrial strength Midol over my Wheaties.

Dear Sher,

So. What did you get for your birthday?

Dear Email Stranger,

Let me tell you instead what I didn't get. I did not get a monkey. Not even a little one. Even though I've asked for one every year since I was three. A couple rogue monkeys in a zoo throw their poop and one or two make the news because they bit off the thumbs of a few random people and it ruins monkey ownership for everyone.

Remember, kids. The OCD Chick no longer posts new columns to this blog. (But I still post "Dear Sher" emails here.) To get the good stuff, you have to sign up to get them delivered piping hot to your inbox. And yes...I might sell and/or rent your email address, home phone number and weight to pretty much anybody who tells me I'm pretty. It's worth the risk, though.



Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.

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30 bazillion firefighters beats 70 virgins anyday

Dear Sher,

Funny column, I however can't relate, not having one of..um..those. (I can't write Vagina in an e-mail, my wife disaproves)

I have had many awkward moments though. A doctor took a possibly malignant mole off my backside while his female assistant observed. The mole was benign, Yay. I was horrified.

Oh, and I was once shot at by the Amish. True story. But I like to think that was an accident.

Rich
(not a wealthy jackass)

Dear Rich who is not a wealthy jackass,

I have never, ever....not once in my life, not even in the throws of passion, had these words said to me, "I was once shot by the Amish."

That's awesome.

Sher (not the kind that married a tiny, old man who couldn't sing.)


Dear Sher,

Just wanted to let you know that I was in Indy this past weekend, and while that may not send shivers up your spine the fact that there were 30 bazillion firemen from all over the country in Indy this past weekend may.

So, neener neener neener!!!!!

Dear Triple Neener,

Thirty bazillion firefighters. Sweet lord, sweet lord. What exactly are you doing in life that makes God believe you deserve something like that? Homeless sock knitting? Taking in stray wolverines? Telling ugly people they are pretty?

I hate you. And not in a good way, either.

Sher (I still hate you and not like I hate lima beans, either. It's more like I hate those disgusting Croc shoes. Yeah. That kind of hate.)


~*~*~*~*~*~

Fresh, hot, new columns are no longer posted to this blog, but "Dear Sher" questions and emails are. To join the elite group of men and women across the universe that get to read new Wiping the Crazy off My Face columns, you only need to do one thing.

Go here.

If you've subscribed, but are not receiving columns, make sure "humorwriter@gmail.com" is added to your safe list. Don't worry. I've been sanitized for your protection.






--
Sher
www.Wiping-the-Crazy-Off-My-Face.com
http://ocd-chick.blogspot.com





Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.

Blogroll Me!

Dear Sher

I have an etiquette question.

This weekend my fiancee surprised me with tickets for us to see Michael Buble (!!) on April 29th. My fiancee is extremely sweet but I think he doesn't realize how much he overestimated his position here.

Is it considered bad etiquette to capture Michael at the concert, dump fiancee (only after the Buble capture is deemed successful, no reason to burn bridges you don't need to) and take Michael home with me to live forever and ever?

If it's not considered bad etiquette, would you be willing to share your recipe for Buble chow so I can take some along to assist with the luring away part of the plan?

Either way, your advice is greatly appreciated.

Thanks!

kjax


Dear Stupid, Awful, Loathsome Woman Upon Whom I Have Placed a Dastardly Curse,

How lovely of you to write. I'd be ever so happy to answer your questions with regard to My Michael and the kidnapping of him.

First of all, your fiancee thinks you look at My Michael the way he looks at a stripper. Incredibly exciting, but nobody you have a chance to actually go home with. Therefore, his motives in getting you the tickets are purely selfish as he thinks in the absence of an actual Michael encounter, he's gonna get some by default.

Second, I have a special Super Secret code created by a Russian scientist during the Cold War attached to my Gmail account. It allows me to track potential Buble-nappers so that I might hunt them down and do truly illegal and pretty painful things to them. In much the same way the Federal Goverment is hiding in my driveway right now because I just used the words Russian scientist and Gmail in the same sentence, I'll be watching you.

Wherever you see a bush moving, that'll be me. Whenever you feel like someone is right behind you, that'll be me. Unless you're in the bathroom, then I'll be waiting outside like in a chair or something. I'm not following you in there. That's just weird.

(Although I no longer post new columns to this blog, I thought it would be fun to post your Dear Sher questions and emails here from time to time. If you haven't subscribed to get new columns in your inbox, feel free to do that any time and if you have questions or comments, fire away!)

Get a little crazy in your inbox.

Copyright © 2004-2008, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.

Blogroll Me!