No humor, no taste for sarcasm, and no ability to see a chuckle in even the most serious of moments is a good indication you need to lighten up.

Men prefer to reserve humor to other men? What is this: Funny Guys on Brokeback Mountain?

Funny chicks are happening. They're titillating, and they're challenging.

Then again, chicks who scoff at your humor are twice as challenging. Are they laughing inside, and scorning on the outside, just to mess with your head?

That's actually pretty funny.

Death and destruction over cartoons is ludicrous.

The Islamic fundamentalists may have had the world's ear when they were simply shooting guns and voicing threats of decapitation and amputation, but now people have died. The militant Muslims are no longer the victims. A political cartoonist's freedom of speech is to expose absurdities in the world culture, yet the Islamic fundamentalist freedom of speech is to kill those who don't believe in their beliefs?

Director van Gogh was left with a message knifed to his chest. A French editor was fired. Dutch politician Hirsi Ali is on a Muslim most-wanted list.

The Islamic fundamentalists are merely reinforcing their own stereotypes. Perhaps a mediated discussion between all parties would help? Or maybe not: Zealotry is generally void of reason, let alone humor.

The semantics of Rumsfeld and the blatherings of Rice leading the U.S. and our military allies into an economic and military chess game with China can only get worse. The true question, and forgive me if this is a repeat of any previous letter, is why would China attack the U.S.? They don't need to. By the time Bush is done drilling America into the ground and the minimum recruitment age is raised to 59, we'll be so demoralized and anti-government China won't have to lift a finger—we won't have anyone left in the military willing to follow orders. Besides, they already process all of our steel; we'll go into debt buying their steel to make our tanks and ships, and won't have any money left over to fuel the things because China will own the oil companies we had to lease to support our steel costs.

I wish I could have stated the issue as eloquently as this article. Iran's president is taunting Bush and his quacks. Our military is paper thin, and we would have nobody at our back if we go in to Iran. We're still dealing with insurgents in Iraq, and we want to hop on over and begin an entirely new campaign?

The propaganda in hyping Iran as the next bad guy is exactly the same as it was for Iraq, except that the hype machine has improved. I like the idea of a coup. Think about it, all of our military is engaged--we have no national guard. Let's storm the White House.

Ssshh. Big Brother's listening to my key strokes.

All three of these submissions are perfectly edited. The stories are quite nice, as well. Some of the acting I could do without, but I especially like it when the girl gets halved by the car: I've always wanted to film a scene like that.

Thank you for reminding me. I recently forgot my mom's birthday. I called her a week later, simply to call and say "hi." We chatted amicably, as sons tend to do with their moms, and then she dropped the bomb.

"You forgot my birthday."

In my head was the sound of an ellipsis. There was nothing I could say. I couldn't even remember the actual date. To top off the humility of forgetting my own mom's birthday, she pointed out that my brother, too, had failed to call her on the day.

So I will faithfully write her a sonnet, and hearken back to my days of debauchery, as my brethren and I raged beneath the full moon in an open field, drinking as much alcohol as possible, and she showed up unannounced with homemade cheese sandwiches.

My friend, a devout carnivore, ate the simple sandwich, which consisted of nothing more than a slice of cheddar cheese, a leaf of lettuce, a slice of tomato, and some dijon mustard, perfectly applied on two hearty slices of wheatberry.

"This is the best sandwich I've ever eaten," he said, wide-eyed and staggering.

I looked over at her as she got into her car, and told her that even though I was drunk, I loved her, and meant it.

"I know you do," she said, "but it's still good to hear you say it."

I believe AC/DC coined it best when they asked who had the biggest balls. They were apparently quite prophetic in their 1981 release, because the song is an obvious past reference to the future genius that is Colbert.

Perhaps even bigger balls rest upon those responsible for booking Colbert in the first place, but like one letter mentioned, it's most likely the Bushies showing just how self-effacing they are. This may be true, except for the squint-lipped Bush sitting mere feet from the podium looking like he was handed a big steaming pile of truthiness.

I wonder if Bill Maher's jealous.