I consider myself a smart guy. No, well, not that smart. Never mind. I don't know the capital of Paraguay or how many acres are in a square mile or who should win this season of American Idol. What I meant is that I consider myself a Wise guy. And not wise guy as in the short lived Ken Wahl-starring TV drama. More like wise man. Someone you should trust. Someone you should turn to in times of need. I will help you when no one else will.
So, I've decided to become an advice columnist. You, my lovely reader-muffins, will write to me, and I will solve your problems. You, my sweet chick-peas, will choose an appropriate alias, like "Confused in New York," and I will post your letter here and my witty, insightful, and WISE response, so that rest of my 2958729357 blog readers who happen to have a similar problem can receive guidance in their own lives as well.
I see, my tender cutlets, that you are skeptical. You doubt my ability as an advice columnist. Fair enough, so far you haven't seen me in action. So, to prove my skill, I will write responses to a few advice-seeking letters. I swiped them from Dear Abby, Savage Love, and two of them I made up myself, but I'm not telling which one is which.
DEAR ******: I'm at my wit's end with my daughter, "Fran." She excelled in school and had a chance to go to college, but she chose to be married instead. Fran is now 35 and on her fourth marriage. I have seen my daughter through one violent marriage, amphetamine addiction, and one episode where she overdosed on medication and I had to rush her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped.
Fran can't hold a job because she has trouble getting along with others. My deepest concern is that she will commit suicide. She has been verbally abusive to me, but I can't just write her off. Fran is my daughter, and there are grandchildren to consider.
She refuses counseling. She says all they do is talk, and they can't do anything. She also thinks she is smarter than the counselors are. The children's father is no help. He's an alcoholic. Can you help me? -- WALKING ON EGGSHELLS IN THE MIDWEST
Dear WOEITM, Wow, your daughter sure is in a pickle. I wonder where she learned such self-destructive behavior? Could it be from her MOTHER!!? I'm guessing the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in this case. No wonder she's verbally abusive. But, seriously, I wouldn't worry too much. Fran treats marriage casually than most, like, say, a long-term relationship. And 4 LTRs in 17 years isn't that crazy. And I wish you would have told me what kind of amphetamines she was taking, and how she got them. Me, personally, haven't gone done that path much, save for occasionally drinking red bull or expresso in excess, or the one time on Halloween '01 when I took some ritalin pills and was up til 5 am. That was a great night. Good times....
I'm a 21-year-old hetero, two weeks from finishing my tour in Afghanistan, and I have a question about strip clubs. I live in St. Louis and enjoy the pleasures of East St. Louis as often as I can. One of the first things I'm going to do when I get home is get drunk and blow a bunch of money at one of the fine strip clubs there. I have no problem with a hot stripper sucking money from my wallet, but what do I do about strippers who aren't my type? If a less-than-attractive-to-me stripper gets on my lap, what is the best way to get rid of her without her telling all the other girls I'm an asshole?
Soldier Coming Home
God bless America and God bless our troops! You, sir, are a true American hero. But, seriously, strip club etiquette is a fine art, one that I've studied for years. Strippers, by nature, aren't very smart, so the key to subtly getting rid of them is simple: give them something to think about. Like a story problem. When I a too-old too-fake fake-blond saddles up to you and asks that age-old question "Are you having a good time," simply nod and say something like "A train leaves Boston at 2 pm travelling west at a constant speed of 45 mph. Meanwhile, at 3 pm (eastern time) a train leaves chicago travelling towards Boston at a constant speed of 55 mph. At what exact time will the two trains meet?" Don't say anything until she gives you an answer, and if she says anything but the obviously correct answer you shall say "incorrect" in your least asshole-ish tone. She should leave you alone shortly, making room for the sweet 22 year old victim of abuse in the catholic schoolgirl outfit to grind her sweet yodel-patch on the crotch of your dockers.
Who is your favorite French film director?
Bypassing the usual suspects of Renoir, Godard, Melville, Tati, Truffaut, and Varda, and God help me if I meet another girl in her twenties who loves Amelie, my favorite is most certainly M. Robert Bresson. Since my first exposure to him in film class, he showed me that actors are essentially inessential; that with the well-placed use of editing, voice-over, cinematogrophy, and sound design everything that motivates and moves a character can easily be revealed without paying anyone 25 million dollars per film. Pickpocket and A Man Escaped are two perfect pieces of cinema, and it's too bad that they don't have adequate DVD presentations. Granted, his earlier films are a little less brilliant, but still, if I had to give one reason for majoring in film instead of computer science or business I'd simply say "Robert Bresson" in the best French accent I could muster.
What did you do today?
Well, today I went to work as usual. It was okay, though friday afternoons are always super boring. After work I went downstairs to a psuedo-bar located in the lobby of my building, and watched the mighty Brewers of Milwaukee beat the Chicago Cubs in 12 innings. I always root for the Brew-Crew until they are assured of a losing record, but I was a bit conflicted due to the fact that if the cubs won I would be able to buy beers for a dollar apiece. As it was, I had three brews, hung out with my youthful and possibly all republican coworkers for a good hour and a half, played some cards, and had a nice time before taking the train home. The three beers kind of ruined my plan of ultimate production (laundry, return movies, clean house) that I had planned for my girlfriendless friday night, and inevitable led to more drinking. But i did return that dvd.
So, anyway, as you can see I am awesome at giving advice or answering ridiculous open-ended questions. If you, my succulant reader, have any questions to ask, please write to clownpenis@email.com and I promise to help you out. And, yes, I am aware that the email address seems a bit ridiculous, but every other email address was taken, so sorry about that.
Once again, please email clownpenis@email.com for any questions and/or personal problems, and I will fix your sorry life right here on this bloggity blog.
