After this week’s issue of Washington City Paper, I hurried to the men’s massage party that your crack journalist, John Cloud, felt compelled to attend and write about (“The Naked City,” 5/9). People who were there when I arrived spoke to me between degrading acts of creative massage. They recalled seeing on the evening in question a beady-eyed weasel with a spiral notebook in the corner.

Nobody knew who he was, nor cared, since they are not as engaged in spoil-sportism as your reporter. The ones who were there on that night averaged about age 35-40 (I’m only making a Cloudlike guesstimate here), and some of their other daily activities include going to work, attending the theater, spiritual values, watching movies, volunteerism, creating works of art, etc. The general consensus seemed to be that any or all of the men could be persuaded to help Cloud remove that nasty hair from his butt.

P.S. So that your readers don’t get the mistaken impression that I attend such parties on a regular basis, please be assured that I only went there that night because I was looking for a good reason to write a letter to City Paper. Similar, I suppose, to Cloud, who merely went to write his article. Yeah, right.

Dupont Circle

via the Internet