Mad Atoms

In recent months I have been the recipient of a practical joke. Someone has challenged the judgment of data entry clerks by submitting business reply cards for magazines subscriptions to my house under unthinkable names. Now, if you ran a magazine would you first send it to Peanutbutter Pussynuts and bill him/her later? How about Registered Sex Offender? Or Leaking Anus? Well if you are the publisher of The Nation, Smithsonian or Vanity Fair, the answer is yes. Every day I get half a dozen magazines that I didn’t order to names I can’t believe got printed on an invoice.

Today, things took a turn for the even more absurd when I received a credit card for Irritable Bowel. This wasn’t a credit card offer; it was a credit card with a $3,000 limit with the name Irritable Bowel stamped in it. Now I understand that if Irritable Bowel was an actual person, his rights would have been violated by me opening his mail. I say his because I assume the bowel to be masculine. Real or not, using Mr. Bowel’s credit card to fuel a pre-depression shopping spree probably constitutes some kind of crime. Lucky for me, the Apple Store never asked to see ID. Unless they mail a policeman to arrest me, I think I'll be fine.