Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Thumb pulling so it seems like you tore your thumb off but you really don't
My uncle Jim pulled this one on me for years, and it wasn't until recently I realized his secret: He had his thumb blown off in 'Nam. You should do that to. I really don't know any other way to go about it.
If you are a magician and you meet someone, it is important to hide most facets of your life. By making your sadness vanish into thin air, you can give the illusion that you have a life that is worth living. You can say you are anything else but a magician and get along fine, but you must make sure you are a convincing liar. Also, do not use magic tricks to impress onlookers, despite how much you like your chances, your tricks will always fail to impress. Your tricks are best put to use at parties and bar scenes. Word of wise: if you're doing a trick at a bar or party make sure it employs the use of a glass of water. It'll make swallowing your pride easier.
Appearing to be content with life at a child's birthday party
You really need this money. That newspaper ad will finally pay itself off with this performance, and you'll be back in the black, financially speaking. But now you're getting back on your feet and sticking to your guns in the first time in forever. Man, Beth wouldn't know what to think. That is, if she even bothered to pick up the phone or drop off the kids herself and not send Rick to do it. God, how did things get like this? It seemed like a week ago you were getting married, and now it's... it's nothing. Just whatever you do, don't cry during your show. You really need this money.
Also, wear shin gaurds. Kids kick.
Monday, July 28, 2008
So the question remains: as a writer, should you use mythical creatures in your work? Simply put, the answer consists of two words: “fuck” and “yes.”
Oh, and before you get any ideas, don’t even think about writing in a hydra sex scene. Or any mythical creature sex scene, for that matter. That shit is a Mr. Jones trademark and I ain’t got no love for imitators.
The word unicorn is made up of the smaller words uni (which means one) and corn (which is horn spelled wrong). Usually pure white and surrounded by sparkles, I’m not sure if they actually eat anything. If they do, they probably shit hope. Or optimism.
When to use: A unicorn is best suited for the final pages of your novel. When everything’s wrapping up and the happy ending is becoming clearer and clearer, a paragraph or two about the main character watching a unicorn run into the ruins of a bombed hospital where his mother was killed is a good way to give the reader closure.
Depending on the writer, each head might have a special ability. Usually when I write a chimera into my story, I like to have it so every time the goat head opens its mouth music plays. I then usually pick a song that coincides with the piece’s theme.
When to use: Not to be a dick, but if you have a character in your story that is scared of lions, dragons, and goats, a chimera should be a no-brainer.
A creature that has been supposedly spotted in forested areas of New Jersey. It was widely regarded as real for a time until people realized some people in Jersey just look like that.
When to use: The Jersey Devil is great comic relief. Maybe after a really serious scene you could have a Jersey Devil come in and knock over some garbage cans. That seems funny.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
And even that is manageable... until you see someone riding one.
It's the pinnacle of personal transportation, but yet no manufacturer has found a way to make the moped look drivable whilst keeping your dignity. I have scrounged up some strategies in order to salvage your shriveled manhood.
While you might think that scarves would only further the stereotype that you have been dealt a shit hand in life, scarves actually make you come off as the adventurous type. This is something that young women will take note of while you lock your scooter up on the bike racks alongside other people who also think your scooter looks cool. Chances are, these people are mostly 12 year-olds. Even though the opinions of 12 year-olds shouldn't matter to you, eventually the 12-year olds will grow up to be 18 year-olds who can buy cigarettes. Think about it.
As Aerosmith once told me during one of our many coke parties last week, music is a weapon, and there is no reason you shouldn't use it against your naysayers while you are crusin'. Use your scooter's speakers, or, better yet, attach a boom box to your scooter using the latest in bungee cords and soldering technology. Then, blast music that no one can misconstrue as lame. Make sure the bass is especially high at red lights, so when people look around to see what car the cool guy is driving, they only see your scooter. Minds will be blown.
While you are on the scooter, just pretend like you are having the most fun of your life. This may include drinking, and while I feel strange for encouraging such wreckless behavior, go for it. Become the life of your own party. The fact of the matter is that people get hit by cars all the time. If you were to ever hit someone on your scooter while partying, I imagine your vehicular manslaughter sentence would be shortened significantly, due to the judge and jury's awed silence.
By riding a scooter, you share an overlap with all the baddest bikers through the Venn diagram of two-wheeled motor transport. Use this to your advantage by going leather clad. Jackets, vests, chaps, you name it. All of them will set you apart from not looking like your typical scooter rider. If you complete your look, the desired results should look like this:
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Let’s be honest here, the difference between an honest-to-God heart-wrenching final note to your loved ones and some poorly chosen last words (possibly even written on graph paper, for shame!) is the difference between the best prank ever and another lame April Fools’.
Last year, I planted a fake suicide note on my Leon Firestone’s desk as a gag. You should have seen the look on his face! He was in such awe of such a practical joke that Leon even tried to get me back with the same damn gag! I could not have been happier. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Edit by Leon Firestone: That note wasn’t fake. I was going to do it. I was going to fucking do it, you unfeeling prick.
Good times, good times.
Anyway, here was the note:
To Whom It May Concern (But definitely not Leon Firestone):
Ever since New Year’s I have been troubled. I was at a party and we were about a half hour into the New Year. At this point, I was pretty drunk but the fact of the matter is a drunken tongue speaks a sober mind. Anyway, I went up to Leon (who we established in the header of this letter that he does not care) and I said “I love working with you man,” and then I gave him a hug. But the thing is, he only like, half hugged me back. He just kind of put his shoulder into my chest. Granted, he did put his arms around me but there was no squeeze. You know where I’m coming from, right? It feels weird when you’re the only guy squeezing in a hug.
From that point on, I became incredibly depressed and I wrote this song:
Everybody's working for the weekend
Everybody wants a little romance
Everybody's goin' off the deep end
Everybody needs a second chance, oh
You want a piece of my heart
You better start from start
You wanna be in the show
Come on baby lets go
Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl, tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Times Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true
You want a piece of my heart
You better start from start
You wanna be in the show
Come on baby lets go
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me
Someone could have stopped this (but not Leon, because he has a tiny heart and has no love to share),
It should be noted that the letter was written in blood (Ram’s blood; I’m not a freak) and placed in an envelop with “Suicide Note!” written on the front.
I think that about answers the question.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Wear Vertical Stripes
Wearing vertical stripes will make you appear taller and thinner. This is the opposite of horizontal stripes, which make you appear shorter and bitchier. This logic also applies to obnoxiously large belts, as the horizontal lines fools the eye into thinking you're more unattractive. I mean, seriously, they're so kitch. But maybe I should save that for "How do I not look like a big ol' bitch?"
While you will have to supply your own femurs, any respectable back alley doctor should be willing to give you leg extensions. While it will take a month or so of rehab in order to get the hang of walking with two knees joints, it will be all worth it when you act as a living monolith over those who were once towering over you. You're now that tower. That very wobbly tower.
Choose from either steampunk or anime styles.
We all know your shortness has driven you to extremes. Why else would you be reading this entry? God made you short, so why should you have to change how you look? Everyone else deserves to be shrunk down to size. Hell, they're begging for it. Also, you can make them fight ants!
Friday, July 18, 2008
I work in a small office with shared workspaces. One of my co-workers has a sniffling problem that I think may be just a habit. He makes extremely loud sniffing noises all day long. There are no tissues on his desk, and once I asked him if he needed sinus medication. He said no, but the sniffling stopped momentarily.
Abby, the sound makes me sick to my stomach. What should I do? -- SNIFFLED OUT IN INDIANA
Dear ANAL-RETENTIVE OFFICE DRONE,
What your coworker has is probably just a social tic. Although seemingly strange, social tics can be great fun. My associate, Leon Firestone, has a similar problem. Instead of sniffling noises, he randomly channels the wayward spirits of the dead.
Leon has his good days and his bad days. He can go weeks without a single channeling, but sometimes there will be the days where I have to listen Leon yell the tortured cries of an entire family that was killed in a bus accident.
How do I cope? I turn it into a little drinking game. Every time he channels a soul, I take a shot. If drinking every time you hear that sniffling doesn’t sound like a good idea, try the opposite of alcohol: online poker.
Edit by Leon Firestone: I can’t actually channel spirits. One day I just did it as a joke and Mr. Jones starting drinking when I did it. On days when I’m especially bored, I like to see how much I can get him to drink. One day, after finishing a pint of bourbon, he actually drank rubbing alcohol. Oddly enough, that day was one of the most productive.
I am a 27-year-old stay-at-home mom with three kids. Two are my fiance "Sean's"; the littlest is ours together. Sean and I have been together almost seven years.
I need help. I am a very depressed person and have been for many years. I shop excessively and spend way too much -- sometimes all of our money -- and I don't know how to stop. Shopping makes me feel happy, and when I'm depressed (which is often), I go out shopping for stuff I don't even need. I have even started shopping online for stuff. I feel horrible about this. Sean and I have tried separate bank accounts, but when I'd run low I would just tap right into his. Please help me. I don't know what to do. -SPEND-A-HOLIC IN VENTURA, CALIF.
Dear VERY EMPTY WOMAN,
A friend once suggested I freeze my credit cards in a block of ice to curb my spending. Normally, that would work, but knowing your hopeless situation (and lack of will power) you would just end up putting the frozen cards in your purse and then your purse would get all wet and you’d look even more empty than before because before you were the lady that can’t stop spending money but now you’re the lady that can’t stop spending money and that is inexplicably dripping water everywhere.
What I’m trying to say is don’t freeze your credit cards. Hope that helps!
I love your column. Unfortunately, it appears on the same page as the comics and Sudoku puzzle in our newspaper. Every morning my boyfriend drinks a cup of coffee and then disappears into the bathroom for a good 15 minutes -- even longer on weekends -- with your section of the paper. Half the time I never get it back, and if I do it's never in fresh, crisp condition.
Dear WOMAN I HOPE TO GOD I NEVER MEET IN PERSON,
Thanks for telling us that not only is the average time it takes for your boyfriend to take a dump is 15 minutes, but also thank you for telling us it takes him longer to dump on weekends.
Were you even asking for help? I can't tell. There was no question and you didn't even leave a stupid pseudonym like "spend-a-holic in Ventura, Calif." I don't want to seem like a dick, but I'm pretty sure you don't know how this works.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Mr. Jones and I have scoured the most renown and most common restaurants across America and purposely asked for items not seen on the menu. When ordering these meals, we made sure to lean in and shift our eyes from side to side to make sure they knew we were in on the secret menu scandal. When we completely hit a hidden menu item, the clerk immediately knew what we were talking about and proceeded to make the best meals imaginable. The following are restaurants that feature menu items you never knew existed.
Chefs will make whatever you request as long as they have the proper ingredients. Also, since the customer is always right, they have no choice but to follow your order. Do want your meat all hot and cooked? Just order him to take it from the freezer. Want your lettuce to be marinated in Taco Bell's exclusive Mountain Dew Baha Blast? They'll take it straight from the syrup. Want your quesdilla to be filled money from that water-filled donation cylinder? Those orphans rely too much on polio vaccines, anyway. It's Taco Bell. Think outside the reasonable.
If asked, male cashiers are trained to dip their balls in your specialty fruit drinks upon request. This dates back to when Sonic first opened in 1910, where they were the first restaurant to offer the influential and often imitated nutshake.
If you ask for a E. Coli Burger, it is store policy for the Jack-in-the-Box mascot, Jack, to punch you in the nards for being a smartass. If he is not available, the manager takes over nard-punching duties, as detailed in computer training lesson 3.6, "E. Coli: Who fucking said it?"
It is corporate policy for KFC to liquefy any item on the menu per customer request. Limit 5 liquid items per order.
By simply asking for the glaze cup, you receive a travel-style coffee cup of Krispy Kreme's patented glaze for your consumption. This can either be drank from the cup, or you can pour it over any other food during your day. For larger sizes, customers have to sign waivers to not sue in case of heart explosion or artery fires.
Jamba Juice is most well-known for it's health drinks and boosters, so some menu items are hidden to keep up with their concentration on drinks that are good for you. However, your juice batista will know what you need when you ask for such drink flavors like Chocolate, Bacon, and Chocobacon.
Ask for the Nugget Burger, and you will receive a standard Whopper, but with all the ground beef replaced with chicken fries. If they disagree, just order a Whopper and an order of chicken fries. It might be messy, but it's so worth it. Also, hamburger patties make an unidentifiable sound when they are thrown in protest against the brick BK walls.
Ask your waitress for the non-diarrhea inducing wings.
With their mission statement of putting cheese in places most unfathomable, you can ask for any menu item to be filled with mozzarella cheese. This include drinks, in which the rim of your glass is filled with pipping hot cheese, accompanied with shots of marinara.
A former imitator of Sonic's drinks, Frostys can be turned into nutshakes at a reasonable price with a nutatoe for only 50 cents more.
Monday, July 14, 2008
As I lay in bed, I noticed a most awful sound oozing through the walls like some infernal oil yawned from the depths of hell. My blood did not run cold, but it certainly wanted to run. It wanted to push through my pores and run as far as it could from that awful noise. By sheer willpower, I managed to keep myself from transforming into a frightening, bloodless husk of a human being. I should thank God that I did not descend into hysterics but a world where that awful sound exists is certainly a Godless one.
But the sound! Any and all descriptions fall short! Perhaps centuries down the line when such terror at the hands of this noise is more familiar to the human populous a word (or words, for that matter) will be created to aptly describe the sheer gut-wrenchitude. But for now, I am alone both in the literal sense and my ability to recount this occurrence if I survive.
Just as terror can get the best of a man, so can bravery. I left my bedroom and noticed the sound appeared to be projecting from my parent’s quarters. This damnable sound! Is it not content with injecting me with pure fear, or does it also have dark aspirations that leave me orphaned from parents that have died soundlessly in their bed from its terror?
The door was opened a crack, and I pushed forward. What I saw through the modest lighting the moonlight provided was this: a creature most foul with four arms and four legs rhythmically rocking back and forth.
That sound that filled the woodworks of my simple home did not simply come from the beast’s mouth; for it had two mouths… each of them equally responsible for the sound!
During his primary education, Lovecraft was picked on constantly for his habit of trying to relate everything to giant, underwater cities. Eventually, his theory on sunken cities and the pent-up aggression from repressed memories of bullying manifested itself into the story The Call of Cthulhu, arguably his most chilling tale.
Before he devoted his life to writing, Lovecraft had much trouble holding onto steady employment. He worked many jobs, including a drug store clerk, a stock boy, and a baker’s assistant. The reason these jobs were short lived were all the same: he would not stop making spooky ghost noises.
Ironically enough, when he met his wife, Sonia Greene, at an amateur journalism convention, the reason she fell for him was the fact he would not stop making spooky ghost noises.
Friday, July 11, 2008
This is the hardest part of the gift card purchase. While you must make sure you are not going over budget, you must also put a monetary value on love you share with the receiver. 25 bucks should do it. 25 bucks always does it. Always.
Decide the store
This is the hardest part of the gift card purchase. People love gold. No matter what it is encasing, they will be impressed. If you do not have the money for this expensive endeavor, ask someone for a gift card to a place that would do this. If they had any brains, they would take the hint and give you a gift card to the alternative clothes/discount lion safari shop.
Encase it in an animal
This is the hardest part of the gift card purchase. People love gold, but not as much as they love animals. However, both of these are different loves. One is for companionship, and one is for wealth. Marry these two loves by feeding an adorable, preferably living animal your gold encased gift card. I suggest something that is bigger than the gold card itself, as to avoid emotional scarring of onlooking children.
Encase it in a box made of gift cards
This is the hardest part of the gift card purchase. Using a whole lot of glue and tape, make a rudimentary gift box out of gift cards. This is very straight forward, as long as you've read the rest of this entry and realize all of these gift cards must be encased in gold, which then must be encased by a preferably living animal. All your hard work will be worth it when they come back from their alternative clothes/wild animal safari shop with a purchase that totaled no greater than $25.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
However, I do have a computer and an Internet connection. There are countless online services that allow me to trace my family’s history as far back as I deem necessary. Although my father remained as elusive as ever, one service in particular helped me track down a journal written by my grandfather.
At first glance, a journal of my grandfather’s (whom I have never met) seems to offer little in the way establishing some universal method of connecting with one’s dad, but, lo and behold, the journal contains information about my father! Unfortunately, the journal is in bad shape and much of it unreadable. Even still though, this surely will allow me to finally put an end to this mystery.
Let's read on:
February 4th, 1954
My son has taken his first steps today! What a glorious occasion! Although his steps were shaky and without confidence (after all, children are many things but especially stupid), I see it only as a manner of time before his ability to walk solidifies and I will be able to affix a harness to my beautiful son and have him drag a cart around the house. What will I place in the cart? I do not know! The possibilities of fatherhood are endless!
March 29th, 1954
My wife feels the cart idea is ill conceived. Although I respect her opinion and realize that it is my husbandly duties to appreciate her input, she, regrettably, does not see the goldmine we are sitting on. But no matter! I just pray she does not find the secret lever by the bookcase.
June 18th, 1960
My son told me he wants to be a professional baseball player. Whether or not he means in the near future or when he grows up was not said. His current stature, like most kids his age, is not one of a professional athlete.
September 15th 1962
A new family has moved in the across the street, a newly wed couple with their first child due any time now. The husband has shown much interest in my baby-cart-harness. I may be able to trust this one.
January 19th 1965
It is buried in the yard.
May 20th, 1971
My son has graduated today. A wave of accomplishment washed over me as he walked across that stage. With that being said, I noticed his gradation gown was not terribly unlike a dress. This worries me.
Jesus. I can safely say I know no more about my father than I did ten years ago. In fact, this journal may have caused me to unlearn things. And I’m not talking about on the subject of my father, either. I don’t think I know how to ride a bike anymore.
I don't think you understand how terrible this feels. It's like getting blue-balled for your entire life. But instead of sex, it's knowing who the fuck your dad is.
Christ, I don’t fucking know. Try:
Golfing with your dad
I saw that TV once. Probably works.
Going on a walk with him
Kinda lame, but whatever.
Just don’t wear matching sweaters.
That shit is retarded.
Goddamn. I don't want to even care anymore.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Use the News Feed
The News Feed allows you to keep tabs on all your friends and their goings-on, and will prove to be the most important tool in your new life on Facebook. While being able to look at comments that friends write for each other and and reading someone's updated favorite quotes seems completely indispensable (and believe me, it is), the real meat is that it allows you to spot Relationship Status updates.
Ever think that Craig guy was wrong for Becky? Keep your eyes on the feed and wait for the Beckyhammer to fall. Those few hours after the information hits Facebook is a critical period for you to make your move. It may seem sleazy, but rest assured that little broken heart icon next to the status change is like a green flag from God telling you to go for the throat.
Mr. Jones edit: I cannot tell if you Leon's use of the phrase "go for the throat" is literal or not. On one hand, he may be trying to communicate a sense of aggressiveness when pursuing a potential lady, but, on the other hand, he has been spending a lot of time bonding with these two Doberman that guard the junkyard by our office. On several occasions he has chased me out of the office trying to bite me and my only means of escape has come from scaling a chain link fence.
Also, stay the fuck away from Becky.
What if there was a way to know everything you needed to know about someone long before you even dream of waiting outside their house with a burlap sack and a tire iron? Now you can with Facebook's interests section! Their favorite music, movies, TV shows, and books are divided for easily digested reading. Take note of these and know what hip band to name drop during AIM conversations/dates/her feeding time. You might think this is dishonest, but after looking at hundreds of teen and preteen Facebook pages, this section is always the same.
Below these listings is a section called "About Me." This section is completely ignorable because everything you need to know is organized from the top down. Let me walk you through:
1. Contact Info - How else are you going to find out her address?
2. Music - This will immediately tell you how she dresses/how easy she is.
3. TV shows - Only go with people who like American Idol. That makes sure they are predictable.
4. Movies - Is she smart and appreciative of art? If so, you probably want to pass. I use the following rhyme when determining if a girl is smart by her favorite movies: Taxi Driver? Non-Survivor! One Missed Call? Fun for all (all = you)!
5. Books - This reaffirms the point made in 4. If they have anything listed, be hesitant.
6. Favorite quote - Make sure it's about being a slut.
7. About me - No matter what page you are on, this is what you will read:
"I'm your regular girl who likes to hang out with friends and make out with cute boys. Other things I like include ribbons, bows, glitter (both the pretty thing and the movie), freedom, kittens and CRAZY LOCKER MONSTER (lulz BBF Ashlee). If you are over 45, please stop messaging me."
Don't go by the thumbnail. The thumbnail can turn the trashiest of hambeasts into lookers. For example, here is a picture of a girl I was wooing once on Facebook.
I was overjoyed when she invited me over to her house, because it usually takes me two weeks of flirty text messages to figure out her parent's work schedule. Things took quite a turn when I showed up at her door and saw her as she really was:
At first I thought "Aw fuck, it's Krang," but it turns out that she's just Krang's cousin. I wanted to run away in fear, but I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her way of life. I stayed around and made small talk. I asked her how Krang was, and he's doing pretty good for himself, actually. He's moved on to better things since Shredder. He's now selling old baseball cards online, currently standing as the most successful baseball card seller in the Midwest! We chatted more over coffee about our shared favorite movies and books. Her rapier wit shone through as we shared embarrassing awkward moments like we've known each other for years. I was there for hours until I finally had to get going to pick up Mr. Jones from the airport, but at least I won't make the same mistake of meeting up with some fatass-brainstomach-motherfuck like her again.
Those with the Facebooks?
Join the revolution. Become a fan. Be somebody.
Friday, July 4, 2008
I myself have had my fair amount of managerial experience, some good, some bad. During college (where I earned minors in both Jewish studies and Gay and studies) I was a RA for a dry dorm. I found myself at a moral crossroads. On one hand, I had to enforce the rules (as was in my job description) and on the other, I didn’t want to come across as a total tool shed. As would be expected, I inevitably had to inspect a noise complaint and found two roommates boisterously enjoying beverages of the spirituous nature.
Normally, I’m supposed to make them dump out their alcohol and write them up. Instead, I used my out-of-the-box thinking and let the gentlemen keep their alcohol and continue drinking on the condition one roommate assaulted the other with piano wire while I recorded a video for prosperity’s sake. Needless to say, the gentlemen kept their liquor and I found myself on the road to effectively employing the use of my authority. I think we all grew up a little that day.
I have since applied what I learned to an office setting, and the following two tactics should prove useful when seeking the line between friend and feared that all managers so desire:
Don’t bother with names.
Remembering names is hard, especially when you subconsciously refer to your subordinates as things like “sweaty stack of a pancakes” or “woman that clearly has nothing going for her.” As a manager, it would be career suicide to let any of these labels slip out during speech. Luckily, there are ways to combat this. After all, it hardly seems fair that your job is constantly on the line because a man with glandular problem is forcing you to be unable to use your favorite word to describe people: gelatinous.
Instead assign numbers. Numbers don’t offend anyone, because numeric values are, by nature, objective and without bias.
And don’t think this means you can’t have fun with your subordinate’s new number-names! For example, you can assign numbers based on people’s ages or, even better, their weight.
That’ll show that fat fuck.
Present the idea that the office is a family and family always comes first.
A sense of comradery is a must for any organization and there is no better sensation of comradery than a family.
Naturally, this means the family of each and every one of your employees just made your shit list. You cannot have them going home and sharing social bonds that are greater than the ones they feel at the office; to allow that to happen is synonymous with failure as a manager.
The easiest way to fix this problem en mass is to throw a company picnic which has a potato sack race. Offer to help your employees’ loved ones into their potato sacks in a secluded spot (a nearby heavily forested area, for example). Take this opportunity to do what has to be done. Although I will not explicitly state what that consists of, I will provide the helpful hint that it should end with them waking up in a river in a potato sack. As a manager, you should use your decision-making skills as to which river is best to dump someone that is trapped in a potato sack. Let’s face it, you didn’t get your job not knowing how to hide a body.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Anyhow, here are some people who did not ask for our advice, but will most definently be saved by it.
I'm now a junior in high school and participate in numerous varsity sports. Even though I am a competitive athlete, I am still insecure about my body. I constantly worry about my size -- that I am too fat or too small. I am never content about my body. How can I build my self-confidence? -- LAS VEGAS TEEN
Dear LAS VEGAS PIG,
Maybe you are insecure about your body weight because everyone else on the team is in better shape than you? You can try to work and strain yourself further in order to catch up and be normal, OR you can get them to start slacking by replacing their water with motor oil. Not only is it not as nourishing as water, but it really adds the pounds, followed by vomiting more pounds up.
Also, they have schools in Vegas? Do they teach you hookers and blow and how to get mauled by a tiger?
Last year my brother's daughter married a horrible man I'll call "Willard." Willard is rude, vulgar and makes constant sexual innuendos. The rest of the family have decided to have nothing to do with my brother's family because of it. We're afraid to invite them to gatherings and holidays for fear that Willard will come with the rest.
We have talked about it with my brother and his wife. They feel that because Willard has become part of their family, he should be accepted whether we like him or not. Another problem: My brother thinks Willard is "wonderful" and says nothing when he's out of line. Is it time for us to also cut them off, or do you have any other ideas? -- TORN IN TUCSON
Dear RIP TORN,
Maybe you should give him a second shot. He seems like a fun guy to hang out with. Sexual innuendos are always funny, especially when they are about your family members. Your brother has the right idea by calling him "wonderful." You were always the wet blanket of the family. Your brothers and sisters, they were always out having fun and scraping their knees. Not you. You were the tall awkward girl who fucking loved reading Redwall. Maybe you should hang out with Willard some more and learn how to not be a big ol' douche about everything? No wonder why Mom and Dad always liked your brother the most.
Does a house "burn up" or "burn down"? -- HOT TOPIC IN ASHEBORO, N.C.
Dear HOT POCKET
If we are talking about houses, then the answer is simple: the house can only burn down. Anything else would defy some of the greatest physicists of our time, the Talking Heads.
I dress my Siamese cat, "Belle," in clothes and pajamas. (Yes, they make apparel for cats.) I also push her around in a stroller. My friends think I'm crazy, but I consider Belle to be my daughter.
One time, a teenager came up to me as I was pushing Belle in her stroller and asked, "Where's the baby?" I told her that Belle was like my baby.
Is it nuts to treat a cat like a child? -- MOM OF A FUR KID IN N.Y.
You might be an embodiment of everything I hate. You know that people who dress up their pets are humiliating animals across the world, right? (We know they make clothes for cats, parentheticals make you look like a smartass.) And you also know that crazy cat ladies and crazy cat gentlemen use cats to fill a void that is gaping left from a lack of intimacy? Well, you got a bullseye and a hole-in-one by epically failing at two aspects of life at the same time.
Do you consider Belle your daughter because you pushed her small cat body through your vaginal canal? No? Then why is she your daughter? Because she understands you? And you understand her? And you know all she wants is more cat clothes?
Maybe you should try to tone it back a little. Don't use a carriage. That's just creepy. Instead, try a baby coffin.