July 3, 2013

From: The desk of Lance Martin

To: The National Security Administration

Dear NSA,

I hope this letter finds you well and your spying efforts on innocent American citizens going swimmingly.

I just wanted to assure you that any conversations of mine that you or your associates at the Internal Revenue Service may have listened to have no bearing on national security and really no bearing on anything of any importance at all.

Outside of work, my conversations are typically of no value at all, especially when I talk to my friends about inane topics like men who choose to wear Capri pants.

Men wearing Capri pants is not code for you or your IRS buddies. It’s just weird.

I saw a man wearing Capri pants a few years ago and wished I had my camera with me. I would swear under waterboarding this was true.

When you hear my cousin and me talking about soymilk it’s not code for some explosive material. My cousin says it’s soy juice because you can’t milk a soy bean and I say it’s milk because it looks like milk.

Inevitably, you have heard me talk countless times about fantasy football. Again, fantasy football has no hidden meaning, and I’m not talking about the nuclear football that is seen close to the president’s side — I’m talking about the kind of football you play on the field so don’t send your henchmen my way.

You might have heard in some of my telephone conversations with my college friend in California the topic of Postum, the master burger and KR’s Place. Postum is merely a funny-sounding drink. The master burger has nothing to do with creating a master race — it’s a vegetarian burger made at the Campus Kitchen in Collegedale, Tennessee — and KR’s Place is simply a casual alternative to our Alma Mater’s cafeteria, not code word for communist resting place.

I have to be honest, however, in my spare time I have been watching The X-Files reruns on Netflix, as I’m sure you already know. I must confess, too, that I want to believe in life beyond our solar system. I will admit I do believe.

I think you all believe, too, so you shouldn’t think of me as crazy and send your shadow government counterparts my way to put a chip in the back of my neck.

I must admit, dear NSA, lately I have been dabbling in Libertarian politics, which weakens the need for your existence, as well as the need for your cohorts at the IRS and the Federal Reserve.

I know this puts me on shaky ground with you and at any minute the Men in Black will come rushing to my doorstep and put me in lockdown at Area 51.

But I have to be completely honest with you, I believe you are bullying your own people and I believe a national sales tax could easily replace your beer-drinking buddies at the IRS.

Oops, dear NSA, I think I may have said too much and see a predator drone coming my way. I deny ever writing this letter.

Sincerely,

Lance Martin

Editor and publisher

rrspin.com

Cc: IRS, Federal Reserve and White House