My dear readers,
I’ve had a great run here at the THE ANNUAL—over ten years filled with some incredible memories. To think that when I started working here my family and friends told me, “There’s no fun in working for a funny magazine.” But they were wrong. Dead wrong.
I still remember the exact moment I realized this was the perfect place for me. The day was September 12th, 2001. I had just returned from a three-week vision quest in the deserts of New Mexico to find the office completely empty. I called around to find out where everyone was, that’s when I discovered that our writers were so organized that they all had the exact same excuse. I don’t remember the specifics, but it had something to do with “plane crash,” saying it was “national tragedy.” Not only did they have the same joke but the same tone of hopelessness in their voices. It was such a great prank that they continued to write material about it for years. I don’t know how many of our readers got it, but it was so funny I had to keep publishing it! Most of those writers have moved on to bigger things, but I couldn’t thank them enough for making me feel welcome.
Then there was the night of 2004 election. We were all sick of doing political humor but you’ve got to celebrate somehow. So, that night we set up an interoffice LAN-line game of Halo: Combat Evolved. Red team represented Bush, and Blue team represented Kerry. Believe it or not, over the course of that 13-hour team deathmatch we correctly predicted the outcome of the election. Even more impressive, only two writers’ hearts exploded as a result of our Mountain Dew-infused beer bong.
I could spend this whole entry cataloging the memories I have working at The Annual. I could waste my time and yours avoiding the subject at hand. But the honest truth is that I feel the time has come to resign. I want to be clear: It’s not because I feel that 57 is too old to run a rambunctious humor magazine. The truth is, on the December 21st I found myself in the midst of a heated love affair. I mean, the world was ending—what was I supposed to do?
I remember every steamy detail. The time was 4:56 in the afternoon and I was making a final withdrawal of all funds (both business and personal) from the local Citibank. Again, the world was ending. Well I just happened to glance over to my left to find the most beautiful woman I had ever seen committing armed robbery at the next window. Deep in my bones I knew this was my last chance at happiness, so rather than pocketing the money I had just withdrawn I got down one knee, held it out to her, and said the words every woman wants to hear:
“Ma’am, I know you’re just a woman with a gun to the head of a local bank teller, and I’m just an innocent witness to one of the last crimes ever committed. But never in my life have I seen such beauty…Will you…fuck me in the courtesy lounge?”
I suppose Quetzalcoatl was smiling down on me that day because she said yes! And there in the courtesy lounge of Citibank I enjoyed the most passionate lovemaking session of my life. She didn’t even take the money. We exchanged information just in case the world didn’t burst into flames in the coming hours. After all, my marriage vows were already broken, and the apocalyptic odds were in my favor, so what harm could exchanging numbers do?
Well, that night, amidst the looting and chaos that went on outside I lay in bed with my wife for what we both expected to be the last time, and in that moment I truly loved her, and I knew what it was to be loved. But then Quetzalcoatl chose to smile down upon all of humanity (the tricky bastard) and humanity was allowed to live on, unharmed.
At 12:01am December 22nd I got the text that would turn my world upside down.
“Guess it’s not over. U up?”
It was the woman from Citibank. I was up, and in more ways than one. I quickly through together a paper mache model of myself, fashioned out of the money I withdrew earlier in the day, and snuck out from beneath my wife’s arms. I have been doing so every night since.
It’s for these reasons that I feel the time has come to resign as Editor-in-Chief of The Annual. It’s hard work hiding an affair. And I don’t feel I can properly devote as much time to this magazine as it deserves, while supporting two women (one very publicly, and the other when she’s in mood for it).
There’s no reason to worry over what will become of The Annual. I am leaving it in the hands Kevin Cole.He’s a real piece of shit, but I mean that in the Yiddish sense, meaning that he’s a real piece of shit.
To those of you hiding your own affairs I wish you the best of luck and to those of you just trying to get into one, Godspeed!
Gerald Steinberg IV
A Letter from The NEW Editor
Dear Ms. Streisand,
At least I hope it’s still “MS. Streisand!” Only kidding, Babs. I was just listening to your Christmas album and thought I’d write you to let you know how much I truly admire your work. Do you still consider yourself to be a funny girl as you once did in your film Funny Girl? And if so, why were you left out of Judd Apatow’s Funny People? I don’t want you to think me rude, but these questions keep me up at night. That and “Papa, can you hear me?”
All the best,