Sir, let the truth ring out from mountaintop to mountaintop, and the desperate vagrant valleys between those mountaintops, too: Some secrets are better left secrets.

A few weeks ago my brother, Gay, made some snide comments about me, and as you might guess, I railed against them and called him a liar. And he is a liar, he’s the first to not admit it, but he insisted these particular claims of his were accurate. Since he’s a liar, that would have been enough to convince me they weren’t true. But he produced pictures, which complicated the matter.

With my resident Chief Debunker Gordon Chumway on hand, I proved the photos were not faked. But were we faked? Replaced with gullible fools who could no longer tell the difference between fakes or legitimate pictures? It seemed possible, and Gordon and I argued with each other, going in circles until we accidentally went back in time, changed history, and erased the existence of our favorite commune correspondent Penny Priddy. This was getting us nowhere. I sought ought professional help.

My usual hypno-regression therapist, Dakota, put me to the ultimate test, and scoured my brain to find deeply repressed memories. And what she found was the worst of all possible conclusions: For a short time, I was a member of the College Republicans.

Oh, hideous fate, readers! It’s far worse than the uncovered repressed memories of my multiple molestations by celebrities and alien abductions. In fact, those occasionally gave my life some meaning. But this…! Sir, I have been duped or railroaded or convinced with sheer logic to join nearly every political organization over the years. I have had flirtations with the Democratic party on numerous occasions, and a nasty dry hump with the Green Party throughout the 1990s; I have supported Libertarians, Anarchists, Communists, Eco- and Social-focused parties over the years. I am a proud Sandwich-Socialist, leading back to the grand old days when I invented the party. But a Republican? I shudder to think.

Not that I deny the horrible truth. Dakota has never led me astray on repressed memories before. Besides, if I dwell on it too long, I’m worried I will eradicate other commune staffers, and we’re overworked as it is. No, I believe it’s true, especially considering the context it was all placed in. The mid 1950s, attending an ivy league school I’m court-ordered not to name-drop anymore, just off on my own from my father and my unhappy childhood. I had sworn off the smoked buffalo meat business and had my permanent falling out with dear old dad. I needed belonging, conformity. I needed ascots and blazers with emblems and golf courses and yachting clubs. The small stipend father sent to me was enough to make me a rich young man, and I found solace in the inbred classes. And, much to my regret, I did like Ike.

To make it clear, this is not who I am. It’s who I was at one time. I fell out of the good graces of the well-to-do by the time the 1960s started, and I found my true calling in developing ghost divining equipment. I rejected father’s money and made my own living working in various odd jobs and odd journalistic magazines, like The American Journal of Sand and Bi-Curious. Somewhere, in the midst of making my old life, I must have repressed the old one.

And frankly, I was happy with things the way they are. If anyone provides a re-repression therapy service, please contact these offices immediately.

Roughed Up by an Angel
Come to think of it, I’m not really sure what the angel wanted to impart to me. He didn’t say much. More of the “talks with his fists” type. But you can’t really make a point that way, not a coherent one anyway. He growled and ranted and muttered things here or there, but they mostly concerned some guy named Donnie and the money Donnie owes him.

Iraqi Politics Made Simple
Let’s look at a simple breakdown of Iraq’s political factions: Al-Dawaa, or the Islamic Call, one of the oldest America-hating parties, who also hated Saddam Hussein. Now he’s gone, so they’re back to hating America again.

Star Wars as You Know it No Longer Exists
The possibilities of this might confound you, as they easily confounded me, and occasionally still do when I approach the problem not expecting an ambush. I have a friend who is well-versed on time-travel and film history, and for the sake of this article let’s call him Steven Hawking.

History Reaganed
It’s no secret I’m a liberal, good sir, and I like to wear ladies’ undergarments. At least it’s not since I wrote that. But just because we differed politically, and my spite for the man was limitless, doesn’t mean I can’t recognize he was a premiere statesman and a beloved icon of America.