Inside Joke Entry #2; or, I am so tacky for posting this

My brother and I share an illicit love – a love which, today, must be forced out into the open due to some weaselly blackmailing on his part (“You know that favor I did? Well, here’s how you can repay me.”). The sick little monkey. I was happy to have a subtle reference or two on my site – mentions which did not reveal the extent of stalking that mon frere and I have so far employed on our subject: anonymous livejournal entries, server-pinging, and maps with colored tacks and corresponding yarn strings outlining Mr. L’s movements. But no, my obsessive compulsive mama’s-boy sibling has now decided its time to go public with our love.

To speak briefly of Mr. Levin, there is something so sweet about a comic with burgeoning mainstream success who will take time to reply with small, witty handwritten notes if you send him a letter. Never mind those cordial little missives say, “Quit contacting me or I’m calling the police”, or that our emails keep bouncing no matter how often we reregister addresses (currently “”). No, it’s the personal, tenderly devised gestures of our favorite comedian-slash-writer that count. Mr. Levin – or “Toddkins” as my brother and I refer to him at our weekly Croquet Luncheons for the Appreciation of New York Jewish Entertainers – has built a solid and promising career in comedy, comedy writing, and cat-loving essays (which only cat-lovers will appreciate and, hey: guilty!) that are sure to land him briefly in some Todd Phillips film where he plays the uptight roommate who is revealed to enjoy anal play while huffing ether.

One day – soon I hope – the Fisher siblings’ love will be recognized by the world and we will finally get our accolades for helping Toddkins to a resounding worldly success. And hopefully this will retroactively nullify the restraining order (and subsequent violation thereof), as well as justify our purchases of the plane tickets, 150 feet of nylon rope, and matching ski masks.

Comments are closed.