Subject: Your recent e-mail
Dear [Your Name Here],
Thank you for your [informative] [humorous] [spite-filled] email regarding [the identity of the woman in the snake poster] [penile enhancements]. I was delighted to receive your correspondence.
In response to your comments about [the recaps] [my mental health] [my girth], you'll be pleased to know that I'm [hard at work on the next one] [calling the cops] [hung like a lobster]. Thanks for asking!
The sheer volume of email I have received on the subject of [the identity of the woman in the snake poster] [penile enhancements] unfortunately prevents me from responding to you individually. However, please accept [my warmest regards] [the attached restraining order] [$49.95 + shipping and handling] in lieu of a personal reply. I look forward to hearing from you again in the future.
P.S.: Eight and three quarters.
Nastassja Kinski. Check. Richard Avedon. Check. This link. Check. And it certainly is refreshing to know that such a large percentage of the TWoP readership consists of horny snake fetishists who reached sexual maturity in the early 1980s. Advertisers just love knowing that sort of thing. And so as of 7:00 PM on Friday, November 7th, I have now received 324 e-mails in response to a throwaway question that I had almost forgotten about asking by the time I turned that last recap in. Three hundred and twenty-four, people. I got seventeen in the first twenty-four hours, eighty-two in the first forty-eight, and they just kept on coming day after day after day. Our official winner in this little contest, by the way, is one Jim M, who posted a mind-bogglingly low StINK (Start to Identifying Nastassja Kinski) of 412, which means his answer hit my inbox less than seven minutes after the recap was posted. Damn! Nice work, Jim. You StINK! And just because I'm a big giant stats nerd, here a few other interesting tidbits about the responses I received: more than 65\% came from women, Ms. Kinski is significantly more popular in England than she is in the United States, and the only person in the entire bunch to supply an incorrect answer had a return address at MIT.edu. I've also gotten at least one more response in the time it took me to write this paragraph. NK = 325.
Immediately after the billowing dust of the opening credits reveals that this episode was penned by Daniel Knauf himself, we fade up on the image of a blood-soaked man we've never seen before lighting a cigarette. Wow. Thanks, Dan. Don't mind if I do. Flick ahh. Smokey McBloodstain's refreshing nicotine interlude is cut short, however, by the appearance of a young nurse dressed in a white nun's habit with a giant red cross emblazoned on the chest. The Photoshop filter motion blur distortion that some bored editor has chosen to apply to this scene has the effect of making that red cross look like well, a red cross. But a crossier sort of cross than the normal red cross, if you know what I mean, and I doubt that you do. Regardless, that'll be mildly important later. Following the nurse's lead, Dr. McBloodstain ditches his cigarette and enters the swirling confusion of a surgical tent at the M*A*S*H 4-3-7-7. Just so you know, that last joke is a lot funnier if you happen to be a dyslexic Alan Alda fan that spends way too much time playing with calculators. And while Doc McBloodstain's patients are no doubt grateful that he's decided not to keep puffing away while he works, I'm thinking that maybe they should be a little less concerned about the perils of secondhand smoke, and a lot more worried about the fact that Doc isn't wearing gloves and just washed his hands in a bowl filled with other men's blood. Oh, yeah. That's sanitary.