Letters to the Editor

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Advertisements for myself A hilarious collection of self-deprecating personals from the London Review of Books illustrates the gulf between high-minded Brits and Americans looking for love.
  • Midway Between the LRB and the NYRB, Floundering Desperately...

    [I sent the aftgoing reply to some 20 ads in the South German Times at the end of January, 2005. I got one nibble that petered into nothing under the forces of mutual economic desperation. Maybe I’d have had better luck (ha, ha) with women from Seattle, my homeless hometown. I’ll be returning there probably in January after a decidedly unromantic visit to the eternal resting places of Frederick Douglass and Susan B. Anthony in Rochester, New York. Write me if you’re interested and you reside within the city limits of Seattle. My mailing address is 5267 University Way NE, #224, Seattle, WA 98105. Thanks. Brett Landgraf, The Pink Nigger]

    Don Lawn Plunders German Womanhood

    42 year old, 178 cm tall, 59 kg heavy, $3,000 per year salaried, 7 years relatively comfortably homeless male American coward is fed up with 4 years of Nastiism (i.e. National-Christianism under Adolf Bushler) and 7 years of the Democratic Party’s mean-spirited powerlessness, dreams of a 3 month love, work, security, and (looked at relatively) relaxation escape to the political home city of Adolf Hitler (because in all of Germany today only this city offers a good personals market – defend me, please, my 6 stupid gods, from the deadly comedy of human history). I’ll produce the airplane ticket, the $7.07 hourly wage, and 275 to 415 hours of work – you produce the 5 square yard plot in the back yard, twice daily access to the bathroom (at 6:00 and 22:00 o’clock), and $1,800 to $2,225 (65% for me, 28% for the German people, and 7% for you for the mini-lot rent). Would like to sleep in as many female yards as possible (16 – 20?) to achieve the title “Don Lawn”. The title “Don Juan” probably remains out of reach: have slept with 3 women in my life, had only one girlfriend, received an HPV infection from the latter as a birthday present in 1997, and am still badly haunted by the ghost of a pitiful unrequited love for a Frankfurt witch from 1981 to 1990. Haven’t read much German literature, but liked already the magical megalomania of Friedrich Nietzsche, “Strange Traffic” by Irene Dische (both in English), “The Wall Jumper” by Peter Schneider, and “Learning to Rest” by Frank Goosen (both in German). Politically in the radical middle – oppressed by the right, shat on by the left. Work resume resembles the national history of Italy since 1945, romantic resume the national history of Belgium since whenever, and artistic resume the national history of East Germany. IQ slightly above average, but SQ1 (Survival Quotient), S2&LQ (Sex and Love Quotient), S3Q (Society Quotient), EQ (Economy Quotient), FQ (Friendship Quotient), and S4Q (Soccer Quotient) all in the mentally retarded realm. Not completely certain what is being sought in the object of a feeling that doesn’t let itself be so easily tamed or caught, and indeed produces its own measures of desire, but theoretically nice would be: sincerity, a nice ass with hairy genitals and good connections to heart and brain, irony, self-confidence (because the woman who seeks her success in me must live in deepest, most embittered and lasting disappointment), moderate enthusiasm for life (unjustified on my part since I live under a gray heaven of light depression, but one can ask), curiosity, a joking challenging manner whose goal, however, is not to drive the object over the cliff of absolute necessity, and a good bullshit detector. Or do I seek the legendary Volume III of “Don Quixote”? Every work contract most joyously received and in best petit-christian manner evaluated and/or dispatched. Every love application not necessarily satisfied, but none exploited. Discretion in all cases guaranteed.

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