Tuesday October 9, 2001

Grade:

E

Steven Ryniak was that kid in class who never paid enough attention to answer when the professor called on him. He was too busy daydreaming and writing his silly little book.

Maryland's Towson University bored him out of his mind, so as an outlet, he made up twisted submissions to an imaginary advice columnist he called Alice. Ryniak gives the impression, though, that they are real, never-printed letters written by society's freakiest freaks.

"Dear Alice · Rejected Letters to Advice Columns from Completely Insane Idiots," is · aptly titled.

The very beginning of the book makes a reader wonder how the hell Ryniak got the thing published in the first place. It's too bizarre to be funny. Too out there and far too stupid.

But then, somewhere in the first 20 pages, the strangely creative problems suddenly become funnier. Readers grow totally addicted to the book. They share "Dear Alice ·" with their friends, who at first don't think it's funny, either. But soon they too are addicted. It's an amazing phenomenon.

An example of one of the strangest fake submissions (if it's possible to choose just one) is the fake collector of twigs from Providence, R.I. "Dear Alice," the submission reads, "Sometimes one of my friends will give me a stick or a branch that they found in their yard or somewhere, but I tell them, 'No. I don't collect sticks or branches. I collect twigs.' My friends aren't very smart. They don't understand the twig."

And then there's the fake guy who has an extremely unhealthy fascination with obviously fake elves and a fictitious inmate who thinks "being forced into a hardcore gay male prostitution ring against your will is something that has remained on the fringes of serious investigative journalism for far too long."

Ryniak's sense of humor proves a wee bit twisted, and (hopefully) very, very inventive.

The only problem is, Alice doesn't answer the letters. That would be funnier. There's a columnist/author in Oregon, Uncle Mike, who runs a real guidance operation. His advice is hilarious. If only Ryniak went the distance and wrote imaginary responses to his imaginary letters, the tiny perverse paperback would be worth its obscene $8.95 cover price.

Still, the book is worth reading if you need company in your addiction to kicking people in the groin, or if you can't get dates (but don't know it's because you're a fulltime roofie dealer) or have any other problem conceivable.