So this happened.

Back when I was a relative newcomer to these environs, I penned a bilious screed in response to some stupid shit Donald Trump had disgorged from his Vesuvian Ding Dong-hole.

It was after a long holiday journey from Wisconsin, and I was peeved with pretty much everything, so I was a virulent little mofo, to be sure.

That original open letter to Trump started out like this:

Dear Fucking Lunatic,

I read with interest your recent interview with The New York Times. I couldn’t get past the bit about your being the most popular visitor in the history of fucking China — a country that’s only 2,238 years old, give or take.

Do you know how fucking insane you sound, you off-brand butt plug? That's like the geopolitical equivalent of “that stripper really likes me” — only 10,000 times crazier and less self aware.

You are fucking exhausting. Every day is a natural experiment in determining how long 300 million people can resist coring out their own assholes with an ice auger. Every time I hear a snippet of your Queens-tinged banshee larynx farts, I want to crawl up my own ass with a Union Jack and claim my sigmoid colon for HRH Queen Elizabeth II.

Etc., etc., etc. …

I was angry and fed up, and it showed.

While I feared the gratuitous profanity and ribaldry might earn me a reprimand from the DKos powers-that-be, I figured, hey, I’m at a boiling point, and the only thing left to do is boil.

But no one scolded me, and the diary kind of took off. It got tweeted out by Chelsea Handler, Judd Apatow, et al., and was shared far and wide on Facebook.

So hoping to capitalize on a lifetime of repressed anger and painful angst, I wrote a book based on this letter … and then another … and then another.

Fast-forward to just a few days ago. I was minding my own business, browsing through social media, when I stumbled on something that tickled me ol’ brainpan — an open letter by Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee that began “Dear Fucking Lunatic.” Hmm, I thought. A coincidence? Perhaps someone else (namely a legendary rocker) took my salutation and, in a flourish of sincere flattery, ran with it, writing their own letter to BLOATUS.

So I read further. The first paragraph was not what I had written so, yeah, I figured it must be a coincidence.

Then I read still further and — plagiarism alert! — I recognized every jot and tittle.

Yes, it was an original Pennyfarthing. And everyone thought Tommy Lee had written it. Weird, right?

It gets weirder. 

Yesterday, a sister of an old work friend messaged me and said she saw that Bette Midler and Rosie O’Donnell had tweeted out a letter that sounded like it had been written by yours truly.

Sure enough, it was “Tommy Lee’s” letter. Apparently, it had circulated widely between Thursday and Sunday. In a follow-up tweet, the Divine Miss M corrected the record, saying it wasn’t Tommy Lee who had written it but … Craig Alan Wilkins.

I still don’t know who that is. I can only assume this is the person who tweaked the letter to make it apply to the current state of insanity. And after the tweaking, Tommy Lee shared the letter on his Facebook page, compounding the confusion over its provenance.

So … thank you, Craig Alan Wilkins, whoever you are! I’m not mad. Really. I couldn’t be more delighted that my bile has spilled like a Deepwater Horizon oil rig all over the internets.

But, of course, I rushed to correct the record, and then — lo and behold — this happened:


And this:



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So there you go. I’m what you might call temporarily almost famous.

Don’t worry, I’m sure it will fade. And meager, fleeting fame will not change me. I promise.

Of course, if you ever saw me in real life, you’d wonder how anyone could ever mistake me for Tommy Lee. 

I smoke way more weed than that dude. I mean, come on.

Is Trump still chafing your arse-cheeks? Then Dear Fcking Lunatic: 101 Obscenely Rude Letters to Donald Trump and its boffo sequels Dear Prsident A**clown: 101 More Rude Letters to Donald Trump and Dear F*cking Moron: 101 More Letters to Donald Trump by Aldous J. Pennyfarthing are the pick-me-up you need! Reviewers have called these books “hysterically funny,” “cathartic,” and “laugh-out-loud” comic relief. And they’re way, way cheaper than therapy.

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