Not to get all California Closets on you but...

… it’s time for a little organization around here. Henceforth, Mondays shall be home to the Monday Caption Challenge, wherein readers (for instance, you) submit comedy-based cutlines of advanced hilarity. The first Monday challenge has already been posted. It involves Stephen Harper on water. Why? Because I care about you and I want you to succeed. (And please don’t think the Prime Minister is trying to be all cool or manly by not wearing a life jacket, even though members of Canada’s Navy are wearing life jackets. Harper is merely respecting the fact that his hairpiece doubles as a class-three flotation device.)

Wednesdays, meanwhile, will be home to the revived Tuesday Mailbag, which used to be the Monday Mailbag when it appeared on Tuesdays, but is now the Tuesday Mailbag because it will appear on Wednesdays. The original joke had something to do with procrastination, I think. Or possibly I had a stroke.

You can submit your queries on any topic in the Comments below or email them to me directly at sfeschuk@sympatico.ca.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Whateverdayitis Mailbag, I include below a few questions and answers from previous incarnations:

Scott. I know this question has been on everyone’s minds but are too afraid to ask. … If you could have dinner with three people, dead or alive, who would they be and why? – Rachel

Dear Rachel –

You probably think I’m going to say Jesus Christ, right? People always say Jesus. But would Jesus really be a good dinner guest? It’s a question worth asking.

On the positive side, yes, his presence would help keep costs down. Oh, darn, we’re out of wine and bread and – whoa, no we’re not! And look – now we’re got thousands of fish for dessert. Thanks, Jesus! I mean, don’t worry about the mess or the smell or anything. But wow, cool, fish. Fish everywhere. [Doorbell rings.] I wonder who that could – oh, it’s lepers. Jesus, it’s for you!

Let’s be honest – Jesus is great and tall and everything but this is supposed to be MY dinner and there’s Jesus Christ hogging the limelight with his stories of dying for our sins and pioneering the sandals-without-socks look. I probably wouldn’t even be able to get a word in edgewise with my other guests – Ace Frehley and Batman.

The key to a successful imaginary dinner that will never happen but is somehow supposed to be revealing of your character is to not overreach. You want a trio of guests who are less interesting and successful than yourself so YOU can be the centre of attention. So to answer your question, Rachel, I’d invite Hanson.

Scott: How do bicycle couriers decide what to wear on casual Fridays? –Kevin, Ottawa

Kevin –

Casual Fridays do not apply to bicycle couriers. They wear the same thing to work everyday: a look of irritation and a fully extended middle finger. (This does not apply to unicycle couriers, who wear suspenders and clown shoes.)

Dear Scott: Are you watching the men’s final at Wimbledon? Because I am, and it’s awesome. – R.R., Calgary

I’ll admit it: I kinda lost interest with tennis a while back, roughly right around the time it was invented. But over the years there have been periods when I’ve paid attention. McEnroe was pretty entertaining. Every time he came to Wimbledon there was always a sense of possibility in the air – a feeling of optimism that finally, after so many years, Johnny Mac would totally snap and do us the favour of jamming a Dunlop Maxply racquet into Bud Collins’ noisehole. Plus there’s the enduring entertainment value of hearing American announcers overuse the word “fortnight.”

I gave up on tennis when the sport insisted on trying to coax the wider world into believing that Andre Agassi had charisma. But I did catch some of Sunday’s final and was pleased that they actually squeezed some pretty excellent tennis in between the 1,847 cutaways to Bjorn Borg clapping half-heartedly. Still, what lingers in my memory is not the epic duel between Roger Federer and Raja Nadal but the new television commercial for the Gillette Fusion, which features Federer, Tiger Woods and soccer star Thierry Henry (or, as he’s known in America: who?) wearing dark suits and walking very manly.

I confess to being puzzled by the ad. I mean, Tiger Woods is, by any reasonable measure, a very wealthy man. He earns tens of millions each year, and has long-term endorsement contracts and personal appearance deals that will ensure he continues to make tens of millions each year for many years to come, and all he has to do is to continue pretending to drive a Buick. And yet he apparently agreed of his own free will to come to a television studio, remove his shirt, smudge on some shaving cream, have the shaving cream fluffed and sculpted by God knows how many cream wranglers, and then repeatedly take a bold stroke with a Gillette razor while a director encouraged him to be more aggressive with the blade and make the next take “seem more real.”

Bad news, Tiger: By sinking to do an actual shaving commercial, you have entered a terrifying world of erectile dysfunction, feminine freshness and teeth whiteners. You will now officially do anything for money, and the industry knows it. Mr. Woods: it’s the All-Bran people on line two! They’re ready to kick William Shatner out the door if you just say the word. I’ve read the script and you only have to mention your colon twice! Also, Nike says they’ll give you an extra hundred bucks to name your next kid Swoosh.

Hey, here’s an idea, you voracious money-hungry shill: maybe stop devoting all your time to making TV commercials and start earning money the way you used to earn it – by humiliating Phil Mickelson and every other professional golfer. You’ve finished second so many times recently that you’re sure to be getting a call soon from Avis. I know, I know – it’s a call you’ll be happy to take.

Scott: Inspired by the Aboriginals, I’m planning a White Guys’ Day of Action. You in? W.W., Brampton, Ont.

Damn straight. At long last – a way to draw much-needed public attention to our centuries of affluence, good fortune and ever-increasing prosperity! Instead of blockading VIA trains, we shall board them… after purchasing first-class tickets at full fare. Then we’ll have a glass of Scotch and goddamn it people will pay attention and give us what we want, starting with a second glass of Scotch. I see things wrapping up noonish.

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