Monday, April 23, 2007
Friday, April 6, 2007
In my esteemed and uncontroversial tenure as co-head editor of this fine publication that somewhat resembles a newspaper, my columns have become known as an authoritative source on topics such as culture, sensitivity, and things getting raped by other things. Seriously, if it wasn’t for forced sex acts between unlikely companions, I would’ve run out of material about a week and a half into my freshman year. In that sense, I am to the newspaper business like bear semen is to the human rectum: totally unwanted but too deeply embedded to get rid of easily. That analogy is horribly inappropriate for a college newspaper, but it worked just fine as a mission statement on my last batch of graduate school applications. With credentials like these, I’ve more or less assumed the right to interject my opinion anywhere I see fit, much like a bear interjects his… well, you get the idea. Despite my unrestricted powers of opinion on topics for which I have no qualifications, people don’t write to me asking for advice. That could be because this isn’t an advice column, or it could be because all of my answers would involve analogies about bear semen. It’s hard to say, really. Fortunately, not being asked about my opinion has never stopped me from giving it anyway. Here are some real questions I’ve seen come up in professional advice columns over the years along with the right answers the question-askers should have been given in the first place.
Dear Answer Guy: Our child sleeps in our bed, and my wife has stopped having sex with me because of it. I’ve asked the kid to sleep in his own bed, but my wife wants him in bed with us. What should I do? Sincerely, Horny Enough to be Turned on by an Analogy about Bear Semen
Dear Horny: Some people will tell you to seek marital counseling. Others will tell you to file for divorce. I have a solution that far less traumatic than either of those options: Throw your kid down a well. Nothing turns on a woman like the unexplained disappearance of a child. Her hormones will go ballistic telling her to replace the kid as quickly as possible. Of course, once you have child number two, you’re going to have the same problem as before. That’s why you’re going to need a really deep well: It’s going to be pretty full of children by the end of this process. If that doesn’t work, try smacking your wife around. The only thing that turns on a woman more than the death of a child is domestic abuse. Trust me on this one.
Dear Advice-o-holic: I work sixty hours a week, and I feel unfulfilled. My family says I’m obsessed with money. I say they’re just afraid of my success. What do you think? Sincerely, Unhappy but Rich
Dear Unhappy: The first step you need to take is to make a list of your priorities in life. Here’s what my list looks like: 1) God 2) family 3) school. Actually, that’s the list of things I’ve been blowing off for most of my college career. Here’s my current list of priorities: 1) petty revenge 2) Pringles. As you can see, I lead a rich and fulfilling life. Money, however, didn’t make my list. Don’t get me wrong, I love profit. I just have a moral aversion to working for it. I plan to use my career solely for prestige purposes before resorting to piracy on the high seas to support my high-maintenance lifestyle. If you’re unhappy and rich, keep up the good work. Most people only get to be unhappy and poor, which I suppose can’t be all that bad since poor people don’t have feelings or souls. By being rich, you’ve earned the right to experience whatever emotions you choose. If your family can’t understand that, then you have a moral obligation to throw them down a well. Good luck finding one that’s not already full of children.
Dear All-Knowing Sex Machine: My wife and I have been friends with the couple next door for decades. That couple recently celebrated its 50th anniversary. My wife and I thought our neighbors would want to spend the day with just each other, but we recently found out that they’re offended because we didn’t take them out to eat. Should we have taken them out for a night on the town, or were we right to think that a long-married husband and wife might want to spend their special night with just each other? Sincerely, Confused and Old-Smelling
Dear Confused: Women, like cars, are meant to be traded in for a newer model every four or five years. The fact that your friend has been with one model for five decades shows that he has a poor understanding of asset depreciation. There’s no sense in helping him celebrate his failure. In fact, if I were you, I’d get as far away from him as possible. I once heard of a man who drove the same car for fifty years. Then someone he knew died from AIDS. Coincidence? I think not.
Dear Master of All Information in the Universe: I love my girlfriend, but her parents think I’m a loser. What can I do to change their mind? Sincerely, I Smoke Pot for a Living
Dear Underachiever with a Heart of Gold: The key to winning over her parents is through your girlfriend’s mother. Impress the matriarch of the family by inviting your girlfriend’s mother out to a fancy restaurant. When your girlfriend’s mother arrives, break the ice with something light and harmless, like making wild accusations about her sexual orientation. Her icy stares are sure signs that you’re the type of man she wants dating her daughter. To keep the meal moving along, limit your lesbianism accusation session to no more than forty-five minutes. When your girlfriend’s mother continues to deny being a lesbian, try touching her leg. If she resists, you’ll have your proof, and if she doesn’t, well, you’re going to a special level of hell reserved for people who make analogies about bear semen. As for your girlfriend’s father, men are physical creatures. Try impressing him with blunt force trauma to his head. If that doesn’t work, tell him the story of how you scored with his wife despite the notable handicap of her being a lesbian. You’ll go from boyfriend to son-in-law in no time.
Dear Master of the of the Observer, Slayer of Dragons, Maker of the Kessel Run in Less than Twelve Parsecs, and Bearer of Breath that is Perpetually Minty Fresh: Ten years ago, my mom was killed by a drunk driver on her way to my dance recital. If I hadn’t been taking lessons, she’d still be alive. Should I still feel guilty after all of this time? Sincerely, Sad but Hopeful
Dear Sad: Somebody has to feel guilty about it, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me. While it’s true that I was traveling the wrong way down the interstate and that I had enough heroin in my system to kill at least six elephants, it’s also true that women have no business being on the road in the first place. This is in no way an admission that I slammed into your mother’s car while going more than 180 miles per hour and then hid in a trench filled with cow manure until the police left the scene. What this is an admission of is that if you hadn’t been selfishly taking dance lessons, your mother would still be alive. I hope you’re proud of yourself.
My ability to console and guide those in need is truly amazing. I should have been a child psychologist, or maybe just a serial killer. Either way, a lot of people would have ended up dead. Sadly enough, I actually have seen all of these questions come up in various advice columns. It saddens me even more that most columnists answer these questions by calling for calm, measured actions and respect for the feelings of all parties involved. Never once have I seen Ann Landers recommend that a male reader take a garden trowel and stab his neighbor in the eye with it. This is especially shocking given the number of my-neighbor-is-giving-me-a-dirty-look situations to which it’s applicable. The truth of the matter is that there are some conflicts that can’t be resolved by sitting down and talking about it. Even Ann Landers spent most of her lifetime feuding with her sister. If she had taken my advice, she could have could have settled the whole dispute in an afternoon. All she needed was a garden trowel.