Q. Books are weird and old and almost nobody buys them anymore. Why bother writing one? What're you trying to pull?

A. Books may be weird and old, but when the terrorists launch their EMF War against us (electro-magnetic frequency) and all electronic data is erased, isn't it comforting to know that you'll still be able to curl up with a book containing an essay entitled "How to Approach the Sensitive Question - Anal?"

Q. And the people who still buy books are ladies, mostly, and they mostly only buy books written by ladies with a photo of pretty feet and/or shoes on the cover. How are you gonna leap this hurdle?

A. I have an advantage with the female book-buying population in that I am a very attractive man. Women go gaga over my pronounced jaw line, high cheekbones, and full, supple lips. So I'm trying to emphasize those qualities to the book-buying population. How am I doing this? In every interview, I make sure to discuss my jaw line, high cheekbones, and full, supple lips. Also, I smell like chocolate.

Q. David Sedaris makes me angry and mumbly, but I'm not really sure why. Meanwhile, his sister, Amy Sedaris, makes me want to marry her every time she says or does anything at all. Why does she rule and he kind of makes me want to hang myself in the shower like that guy in An Officer and a Gentleman, or at least fling feces at him like the monkeys at the zoo?

A. This is a question that has bedeviled me for, literally, years! How can one family produce, on one hand, an American icon (Amy) and a virulent anti-American crusader (David)? It just doesn't make sense. I think you can learn a lot by looking at their individual books: David writes poignant, often painful essays about dysfunctionality (a word I think I just made up), while Amy writes recipes for cupcakes. That pretty much tells you all you need to know.

Q. Speaking of monkeys... Some monkeys are dangerous and terrible, while some monkeys are adorable and probably know the Secrets of the Universe. In your estimation, what is the most horrible kind of monkey, and what is the most wonderful kind of monkey? (Warning: I already know the answer, so I will correct you if you get this wrong.)

A. Obviously, the most wonderful kind of monkey is the baby chimpanzee. Michael Jackson proved that to us with Bubbles. Once they get much older than three, though, they get too grabby and should probably be euthanized. As for the most dangerous and terrible kind of monkey, that's easy—flying monkeys.

(The correct answer is that drunk monkeys are the most adorable and the worst monkeys are the terrible, terrible spider monkeys!)

Q. What is the greatest sandwich of all time? And why?

A. You can't beat a good reuben. The reuben is maybe the perfect combination of terrlble-for-you-meat, terrible-for-you-cheese, and terrible-for-you salad dressing, all mushed together on fried bread. It is truly fantastic. Better even than the Big Mac, which is also among the greatest sandwiches of all time, and which also includes salad dressing.

Q. I can't write my own stuff for more than three hours at time, excluding editing. Do you have a process? If so, what is it?

A. Sure. I use the QWERTZ method. I find that it's the most efficient process for writing ever invented. Also, when I write, I tend to try to think as much as I and and then just transcribe my thoughts as fast as I can. Thinking is easier than writing, so I just try to think instead of write.

Q. I actually love every single version of "I Love The..." on VH1. Even that weird 90s one! Is there another in the making?

A. I assume they will continue to make them until time itself comes to an end.

Q. We do our own "I Love The..." for the 80s and the 70s every weekend here. We call it "One More Thing." A theme is presented, and then everyone posts their fave clips and comments and comments and comments. Why won't you help? How hard is that? Just sign in and post a YouTube clip. Geez!

A. The only reason I won't help is because I never read this site. Otherwise, I would be all over that shit.

Q. Has Sedaris or any of his feverish followers contacted you yet? I kind of have to think that they have. Because they would.

A. There have been some Sedaris fans who have taken up his banner for him and defended him, which is at should be. One woman told me I wasn't witty enough to carry his shoes, which I thought was a strange thing to say, because honestly, how witty do you need to be to carry somebody's shoes? Carrying shoes requires no wit at all, which I suppose was her point, but even the completely witless, even those with negative wit, could carry his shoes, particularly because he has such small feet.

Q. Do you have Amazon Fever yet? You know, where you check your book's stats every few hours? And have they coupled your book to someone you can't stand yet? Because they love to do that.

A. They have coupled my book with my comedy album, entitled "I am a Wonderful Man," so to answer your question, yes. Because I am self-loathing. And yes, I do check my Amazon stats all the time because I really don't want to fail in this endeavor as I have in so many others.

Q. Bonus Question: What is the best thing to come out of the 80s? And what is the worst?

A. Best thing to come out of the 80's: the video for Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." Worst: The phrase, "Hey, did you see the Space Shuttle blow up?"

Q. Another bonus Question! Why is David Sedaris?

A. Because he can.

From an interview in Windy City Times:

Sedaris: The Internet is so new to me. I didn't realize you could just go on and lie about people. I can get on a computer right now and write "Michelle Obama said to me she hates Jews." Somebody called me the other day: "Oh, there's that thing on Gawker that you try to pick guys up during your readings." I've never done that. Ever, ever, ever. I will have gifts for teenage girls when I go on tour because I'm always honored when they come and it's fun to make a big deal out of a teenager. I take the shampoo and conditioners from my room, and yesterday I went to the museum and got a bunch of cheap bracelets. I'll often talk about how pretty she is, like, "It must be so good to be you, and you're what guys in prison dream about." But a guy? I won't talk like that to a teenage boy because I don't want it to be weird or uncomfortable. Early on I saw somebody on a book tour try to pick someone up from the audience. They respect you and are in awe of you so it would be weird to put any move on them. Plus, I'm involved with somebody. So I was appalled because I've never done a thing like that.

At a cocktail party, a bottle of lousy champagne is uncorked. You take a swig, grimace, and say, "Send this swill back to France where David Sedaris is undoubtedly enjoying a baguette." (I admit this probably doesn't seem like much of a put down on paper, but if you say the word "baguette" with a sneer, trust me, this will be devastating.)

Another idea: you're knitting with some gal pals. Somebody drops a stitch. You respond by saying, "Speaking of stitches, that's what David Sedaris wishes he had me in when I read his last book."

Perhaps you are simply riding the subway. Somebody across from you is reading "Me Talk Pretty One Day," or another Sedaris gem. You lean over to that person and say, "I read that book, too..." Wait a beat, then unleash the punchline: "When I was in a coma!" (This one doesn't make that much sense, but if you say it fast enough they will probably ignore the glaring logic problem of trying to read something while in a coma.)

You've just been arrested for aggravated assault. The processing officer instructs you to make your one phone call. You dial seven random digits and say to whoever answers the phone, "Call David Sedaris and tell him I've just been arrested. If he pretends he has no idea who idea who I am, then you will know all you need to know about 'The Great' David Sedaris."

When referring to him, put a "p" after the "S" in "Sedaris," so that what you're saying is "Spedaris." This isn't a put down exactly; it's actually just a mispronunciation of his name, but if enough people start doing it, I have no doubt it will drive him fucking crazy. [Michael's Webpage]

A couple of years ago he did a reading here in LA. Most of the audience was composed of the liberal, NPR types, women you volunteer for pledge drives, and the gays. He was asking for this blond twink's number who was legal but definitely under twenty-one. Sedaris wouldn't take no for an answer. So my friend and I get to the head of the line. He asks if our relationship is open. We say we're only friends. Sedaris asks if we "play" together. I thought he was kidding. He was creepy.

Also... there was a time where "This American Life" I believed taped at UCLA's Royce Hall. Again, it was a few years ago. I wasn't there but my friend was hit on by him. Sedaris came up with a line saying who was the biggest celebrity to hit on him. Then, the author said who was the most recent. He then gave my friend the name of his hotel and room number.

Camels were for procrastinators, those who wrote bad poetry, and those who put off writing bad poetry. Merits were for sex addicts, Salems for alcoholics, and Mores for people who considered themselves to be outrageous but really weren't. One should never lend money to a Marlboro-menthol smoker, though you could usually count on a regular-Marlboro person to pay you back. The eventual subclasses of milds, lights, and ultra-lights not only threw a wrench in the works but made it nearly impossible for anyone to keep your brand straight. All that, however, came later, along with warning labels and American Spirits.

It gives a writer all the indemnification he needs against charges that he's fabricated. Made-up dialogue? It's an exaggeration. A made-up scene? It's just an embellishment. An altered setting? Hyperbole!

All true, and a fair point. Because when you're reading a humorist—even one of Sedaris' "easy-listening for self-satisfied liberals" caliber—you expect everything to be completely above board, right? If Jack really has an issue with this (and he must have, to ratchet up the dudgeon to 11 on one of the least interesting scandals of the age), a better place to take it up is with the editors and the sales departments at the publishing houses who decide, from the very beginning, where a book will end up being shelved. Their mission isn't to ascertain truth—that would require editors who edit. Instead it's to figure out where people will most likely be looking for the book. In "Fiction"? Who goes back there? Old cat ladies and goths, mostly.

In an ideal world Barnes & Noble would have a huge section in the front labeled "Bullshit," but as we are so often reminded, we do not live in an ideal world. We live in a world where David Sedaris is considered a first-tier humorist. —balk

David Sedaris and His Defenders [Slate]

Daniel Radosh brings up the Rodney Rothman case as a counter-point, and it does raise some interesting questions about the New Yorker's standards. (Rothman offers his own thoughts in the comments.) Our feeling is that Rothman took the hard fall because his name was mostly unfamiliar to readers, who did not have the same expectations that some elements of his story might be the kind of bullshit for which anyone with any common sense knows he or she should arrive at a David Sedaris piece fully prepared.

This American Lie [TNR]