Sunday, 29 November 2009

326: You Can't Lick Dick 1

from "Letters to the Editor"
in "National Lampoon" August 1971

click - be with you in a second, Bebe, as soon as I figure out how to work this new Dictaphone and record a letter for my idiot secretary to send out. There, I think it's on now. Ah, Miss Conklin, when you play this tape tomorrow, please transcribe it as a letter and send it to the National Lampoon, and let me make it perfectly clear that there are to be no accidental omissions this time, or your services will no longer be needed here in the White House.

A trusted advisor of mine had brought to my attention that your recent Pornography issue does not meet the minimum standards for decency as outlined by recent Supreme Court rulings. Because of this - ha, Miss Conklin, change that to "For this reason" - an injunction against your magazine is being prepared by the Attorney General specifically citing your obscene assertions that Mr. Rebozo and I habitually engage in - Bebe, cut that out - unnatural practices. These libelous and false assertions - c'mon Bebe, at least let me finish this letter - will also be brought to the attention of the postal authorities - Hey! You'll simply ruin my new pants. Now I mean it! - for proper disposition.

You are hereby directed to cease publication of such - oh, please stop - ridiculous and -oh oh- offensive material or face the legal consequences. Look, Bebe, will you stop fooling around? At least wait until we're in the car. Somebody might walk in. Now where was I? Ah, yes I must add that I, personally, find your publication - mmmmm - disgusting and degrading to American youth and a sign to our enemies that our moral fibre is in serious - faster, Bebe, oh faster! - question. I can, promise that if you keep up this sort of -oh oh oh oh - filth, none of you will even be able to write home for money - ooooh God! - oops! Who's there? Oh, heh heh, hello Pat. Funny I didn't hear you come in. I seem to have, heh heh, dropped one of my contacts in my lap and Bebe was kindly, ah, helping me find - er, Miss Conklin, please type this up and sign it for me. Why, Pat, I've always worn contacts, didn't you - click.

Richard M. Nixon
President of the United States
Washington, D.C.

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