Q: How long did they stay on the moon and where did they land?

A: Details are scarce. Most of our equipment malfunctioned during take-off when Mitchell spilled his can of Jolt on the control panel. Radio contact was limited; we had no way to monitor their health, nor their progress. The giant electric map we commissioned to track their approach to the moon took D batteries. Would have been nice to know that when we picked it up from the cartographer. Someone won't be getting his "I Helped Put a Multicultural Team of Americans on the Moon and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" T-shirt. Actually, no one will be getting them. The manufacturer left town with our down payment. I'm sure people will enjoy a hastily scribbled Post-It with the same message just as much. Remind me to make those.

Obviously, we have no idea where they landed, but we can assure you it was on the moon. We suspect somewhere near the top and around toward the back. That's were Frank threw the dart on our scale model. He's got pretty good aim. According to the flight plan, they will drive their moon rover, a converted golf cart loaded with dumbbells, directly to the Sea of Tranquility, where they will destroy all traces of previous moon expeditions and claim the moon for our county. This all depends on the moon rovers, but we assume they'll work fine. We spent all last weekend on them, tying down the weights and covering them with decals. Gene could barely lift it once we were done, and he's the strongest guy in the space program.

Earlier, you asked "How long did they stay on the moon?" Your question, being in past tense, makes me think you believe the team is back on Earth, their mission completed. Such a belief is mistaken. They're still up there. We can't really say how long. All the clocks in here stopped working once we pulled out the D batteries and everyone had their cell service shut off due to non-payment. Those are the kind of sacrifices you make to send a man into space. The weekly celebratory keg parties don't pay for themselves. That money has to come from somewhere.

Don't worry though. Our team will be back soon enough. They have everything they need to get back home. Parts. Fuel. Instructions. Everything. All they need to do is build a new rocket from the spare parts of their lunar module, find a heat source, and, using Professor Bernheimer's formula, convert moon rocks into rocket fuel. The only way the plan could fail is if they damage some of the parts or lose the formula. And there's no way they would be dumb enough to -

Oh boy.

Heh. Heh.

How about that? While  answering your question, I reached into my pocket for my grocery list - after our conversation I'm going to the grocery store - and I couldn't find it. But I did find the slip of paper with Professor Bernheimer's formula. Which means our team on the moon will try make space fuel with a list of toiletries and fruit.

Man, that is a gutbuster.

Don't tell anyone about this, okay? This could be a real black eye for the Berkshire County Space Program. And we'd been doing so well.

Q: What are the Kroger opening hours on Christmas Day?

A:  They're open all day! Come on, son, let's have a Holiday Shopping Spree!

Huh, that's weird. It's locked. And it looks like no one is here.

Good thing they gave me this key. On Christmas Day, Kroger hands out tire irons as keys. It's a tradition. One good swing ... There we go.

That's candy glass, son. All part of the tradition. DO NOT EAT IT! Sorry I yelled. That candy glass is for the, uh, poor children who have so little during Christmas. Leave it for them. And be quick about it.

That's not an alarm. It's a heavenly choir. They're singing a new song, one you are unfamiliar with. It's a song about a child who asked his father too many questions and didn't get any presents from Santa.

I have some buddies on the police force and I know they love to do all their shopping at the last minute. They're usually grumpy, having to work on Christmas and all.  Let's get out of here before they show up.

We'll just grab a few things that Mom forgot to buy for Christmas. Like ham. And eggnog. And whiskey. And large bags of cash.

Q: How do you make a Christmas greeting card?

A: I take a child's birthday card, right out of a child's hand. This method saves a lot of time and money. Why should I have to drive all the way to the store, spend minutes wading through row after row of sappy, unfunny cards when I can just wait until someone else does it, wait until the child opens it and then seize the card from his feeble hands?  Children are not as strong as some might think, and are rarely prepared for sneak attacks.

I cross out all the crap about birthdays and numbers and balloons and Garfield. Cash in the card goes in my pocket. My time's not free.

On the front of the card, I draw a picture of Jesus, a huge smile on his face, giant candy cane in his hand. Sometimes there's not enough room to draw a proper happy candy Jesus because the balloons or Garfields were too big, requiring me to draw a Garfield Jesus or a Savior with Balloon arms. This is not easy work, but it does  makes me feel less guilty about pocketing the money. I have to draw fast, as by now the child is usually crying, in only the way a child ca cry, deep sobbing breaths, eyes squeezed shut, streams of tears cascading down their face and onto the floor, alerting nearby adults.

I cross out the focus-grouped platitudes inside the card, or the heartfelt message from grandma, or any mention of birthday money - I wouldn't want to confuse the child - and  write: "Thousands of years ago, Jesus was brutally murdered by Romans because of his beliefs. Today you get presents. Congratulations!"

I hand the card back to the child. At this point I am usually asked to leave.

Q: How did Kim Jong-il die?

A: Since the death of the beloved dictator, speculation abounds as to the cause of the death, with most stories settling on the vague "heart attack" as if the 69 year old strong man, ruler for life, son of the Eternal President,  champion of the Korean dynasty, greatest lover of the world and  9 time winner of Soldier of Fortune's "Dictator of the Year" award could be felled by something as simple as a heart attack. The Supreme Leader survived half a century of constant American aggression. Clearly there is more to the story. Consider:

 - No trace of Diet Coke was found in his bloodstream or stomach.
 - Nowhere in the vicinity of his body did authorities find one can of Diet Coke.
 - In all  the known photographs or drawings or fan films, the Kim Jong-il is never depicted holding or drinking from a can of delicious Diet Coke.
 - Kim Jong-il never ordered an attack on the US Mainland to seize our supplies of life-saving Diet Coke.
 - In all the news reports following his death, there has been no mention of a link between the dictator's passing and a Diet Coke deficiency.

Now we can't come out and say that failure to drink six to eight cans of Diet Coke a day caused the premature death of the most beloved leader in the world - mostly because our lawyers are the jittery, easy-panicked type - but one fact remains:

Kim Jong-il did not drink Diet Coke, and now he is dead.

We can only hope his son learns from his mistake.

Q: What is an island off of New York?

A: There are a few islands which lie off of New York, but there is none greater than the island where I live. My island is home to the finest artists, writers, actors, directors, scholars, philosophers, singers, crime-fighters, dancers, grifters and comedians in the world.

The people of my island, the creative ones I mentioned above, and the people beneath them, the models and clerks and managers and supervisors and electricians and cab-drivers and baristas and salesmen, and the people beneath them, the thugs and trainers and lawyers and street people and cannibals and mad scientists, are the most handsome people in the world. They say it has something to do with the water. You can't throw a rock on my island without hitting someone extremely attractive. You should not throw that rock; despite appearances, the people of my island can fight. And they will. And only to the death.

There is never a dull conversation among the people of my island, never a misspoken word or an ill-advised or poorly timed joke, or even an awkward pause. Everyone here is remarkably charming. Our candidates for office don't make speeches; that would be tacky, and everyone knows what they stand for anyway, as every citizen of my island stands for the same things: Truth. Honor. Naps.

Naps are mandatory on my island, both before and after lunch, and on Mondays and Thursdays, during. Naps may be received as gifts - they are the only gifts allowed by law - but it is illegal to give a nap as a gift. Christmas has become the most dangerous day on island, and fewer survive it each year.

The mortality rate on my island is high, very near one hundred percent. According to the last census, conducted this morning, I am the sole living person. It didn't always used to be this way. Originally, there were two of us, but after we rowed far enough out to sea and finished securing the shoreline, I killed Chet. He made fun of me for talking to the pretty corpses. For the record, I wasn't talking to them; I'm not crazy. I was making them talk to each other. It's exhausting work - there's so many of them - requiring frequent naps.

My island is made of corpses. Entirely so. You probably guessed from the smell. Despite the smell and the bloating and the carrion, my island is lovely. That's why I call Lovely Island. Feel free to dock here and come ashore.

And you can't hear me.

Maybe the next boat will be closer. I hope so. I'm very lonely. And I could use some help with the female voices.