Monthly Archives: January 2004

The Adviceicist

Dear Worker #3116,I’ve been seeing this guy for about a year. Things were going great until about two months ago. Then he started coming home late or not coming home at all, and he won’t return my calls. Our sex life has really gone down hill from being wildly awesome to terrifically okay, and I fear he is seeing someone else. My reason for writing you is I was hoping you could answer what might seem like an obvious question: is it possible to drink so much water at such a rate that you would need to pee constantly, like the water was just running right through you?

Lonely Lover

Dear Lonely Lover,

That would be a lot of water! Good luck!

Worker #3116

Dear Worker #3116,My mother is an alcoholic. My brother and I have tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to go to treatment on numerous occasions. I think it’s only making things worse, because after every intervention she stops talking to us and goes on a month-long bender. When we were just little kids my dad left us, and I don’t think she’s ever recovered. Do you think that it’s kind of ridiculous that saffron costs more per ounce than gold, I mean, it’s just a spice, right?

Hopeless Child of an Alcoholic and a Dead Beat Dad

Dear Hopeless,

I’ve never heard of saffron. Good luck!

Worker #3116

Please send all correspondence to “The Adviceicist” c/o Worker #3116, Cubicle D-489, 5th floor, Bldg. 1.


I didn’t think I was going to write anything today, but look, here I am!!!!!!


Living at your PARENTS’ HOUSE is awesome. A lot of people don’t know this, because they think they are “adults” and “independent”, but I am here to tell you that there is nothing better than living at your PARENTS’ HOUSE. Why, if my PARENTS weren’t getting ready to kick me out, I would live there FOREVER!

Every morning, when I am leaving my PARENTS’ HOUSE, I talk to the dogs. There are two dogs at my PARENTS’ HOUSE, they live there too, although my PARENTS are not threatening to kick them out. This is because they love these dogs more than their own child. These dogs will never be forced into “making something of their lives” and “finding their passion.” No PARENT will ever say to these dogs “why don’t you ever invite us over to your apartment?” or, even worse, “when are you going to get an apartment?”

So, like I was saying, every morning I talk to the two dogs who are living at my PARENTS’ HOUSE. My PARENTS trained the dogs, back when they were little dogs, with the phrase “guard the house.” This is what you say to the dogs when you are leaving, and this lets them know that you are NOT leaving FOREVER. Without a phrase like this the dogs will think you have given them the house as a present, and they will poop on all your things and then eat them. Of course, you could still leave FOREVER if you wanted, and you could tell them “guard the house,” and if their training was successful they would spend the rest of their dogs’ lives not pooping on your things and eating them, just waiting and expecting you to come home at any moment. In an effort to lead a more honest life, I would recommend saying nothing if you are planning to leave your PARENTS’ HOUSE FOREVER, this way the dogs who live there will know that they are on their own, that you are NEVER COMING BACK.

So, like I was saying, every morning as I am getting ready to leave my PARENTS’ HOUSE, WHERE I LIVE, I talk to the two dogs who live there, too, and try to say something nice to them that they will understand. For example, this weekend my PARENTS went to Atlanta, GA, the Second Worst City in the Union. They got back yesterday. So, yesterday, when I was leaving my PARENTS’ HOUSE, I told the dogs: “you guys don’t realize this, but you’re going to have a really big surprise today, and I’m really excited for you!” They did not understand this phrase quite as well as the phrase “guard the house”, but I’m sure it all came together when they saw my PARENTS had returned. When that happened these two dogs were thinking to themselves “this must be the ‘surprise’ he mentioned this morning. Boy, he wasn’t kidding, this is BIG!”

This morning, I was the last one to leave my PARENTS’ HOUSE, and so it was my responsibility to say “guard the house,” to let the dogs know that although they might feel alone in the universe, someday, probably later today, we would return and pet them. “You have to guard the house,” I said to them. “Are you up to it? This is a lot of responsibility for you because there’s no one else here to do it. If you’re not up to it let me know right now, because I’ll have to find other dogs. It will be hard since it’s the absolute last minute (note: I was going to be late for the bus), but I WILL do it.” The dogs seemed ready to guard the house, and so then I spoke in My Movie Preview Voice Over Voice: “Two dogs were chosen to guard a house, but they couldn’t know the evil that lurked within its ancient walls.” In this case “evil” is a metaphor for “my PARENTS” and “ancient walls” is a metaphor for “ugly 60s modern”.



I use the King’s English.

You know this.

So stop acting all surprised when I say things like “the skinny one amuses me,” “do my bidding, knave,” and “thy neck shall kiss the blade of the Guillotine on the morrow.”


There is a lot of circulating gossip on who would be whose running mate when the primaries are said and done. “Oooh, a Dean-Clark ticket would be good.” “Oooh, a Kerry-Edwards ticket would be good.” “Oooh, a Kucinich-Sharpton, or better yet, Sharpton-Kucinich ticket, now that would send a message!” are the types of things that people are saying.

And yet, since all we are doing is voicing our IDEAL candidate pairings, how come no one, not one single person, has yet mentioned the totally perfect Alien-Predator ballot? Strong on defense, focused on family values, with balanced foreign policy experience, and a stranglehold on the small but powerful rastafarian constituency.

I’ve also got the perfect lawn poster:

Alien-Predator in 2004
“We will either eat George W. Bush. or kill him when we self-destruct our thermal-nuclear device.”

Imagine the debate! Shortest presidential debate ever!

George W. Bush: I believe this country needs a strong lea–
Alien: Raar!
Tim Russert: It appears Alien has impaled you with his seventeenth row of teeth, Mr. President. How do you explain that to voters?

Imagine the debate! Shortest vice-presidential debate ever!

Jim Lehrer: Mr. Cheney, this next question is for you, since it appears The Predator is running late. An exit poll in the Ohio primaries showed that sixty percent of Americans did not think you had clarified your role in the Enron scandal of 2002. Would you please elaborate?
Cheney: My position is clear. The office of the Vice President maintains its right to seek advice from anonymous sources in an effort to-
(At this point a red laser beam shoots, apparently out of thin air, from the democratic vice-presidential nominee’s podium. Something glimmers like water for a moment and then is gone. Dick Cheney falls, Jim Lehrer coughs into his hand.)

Dare to dream people. A vote for Alien-Predator is a vote for America.


Christine Hauser reported in the New York Times this morning that Gen. Wesley Clark and John Edwards “tied for third” with 12 percent of NH primary votes each.

But then there’s a graphic that shows that Gen. Wesley Clark earned 27, 254 votes, while John Edwards earned 26, 415 votes. Um, where’s the tie? I thought a tie was when two competing parties get the exact same thing.

Here’s a thought: why doesn’t the New York Times, long held as the “Paper of Record” for the United States of America, the Greatest Country on Earth, put up the twenty dollars it would cost to buy Ms. Hauser a new solar-powered calculator and pocket dictionary. That way she can stop pulling facts and figures out of her bleeding ass!

Also, I am happy to report that Gollum Lieberman did not even break double digits. I believe he is running out of Lambas bread and will have to drop out of the race for the ring of power soon.

Hello, Cubicle Wall. You Are My Best Friend

This morning I left my house at 7:29:31, which is significant in that yesterday I left my house at 7:28:02 and caught the bus forty-five seconds after arriving at the stop. i.e. when I was leaving my house this morning I was destined to miss the bus by forty-six seconds. So, I walked as fast as I could through the snow, wearing size 120,000 DDD ogre-bearing boots. I walked so fast that I had to wait at the bus stop for minutes, literally minutes, and was convinced that I had still missed it. During this time I had this conversation with myself. One is a lower Appalachian accent, Two is a higher, almost girlish, Appalachian accent.

One: Ah walked so hard, Ah walked like a bloodhound.
Two: Yeah.
One: Ah walked so hard, Ah thought my feets was gonna’ fall off.
Two: You’re a bloodhound!

When the bus finally did arrive, after minutes, literally minutes of waiting, I realized that I had walked so fast time had stopped. This is the only way to explain being so early for the bus after leaving the house so late. I’ve done some calculations and come to the conclusion that between the second and fourth blocks of my walk I was travelling at 1.87 times the speed of light.

Last night I was having a Burger Feast with my brother and The The came on the stereo at the Burger Store. When was the last time you heard The The in a public place? If your answer was either “never” or “Feb. 2, 1990,” you are correct.

Last night I watched the Tracy Morgan Show. I like shows about black families because the parents always make fun of the kids to the point of crippling psychological and emotional abuse. My guess is that there is a fair amount of crippling psychological and emotional abuse involved in real life when you are raised by Tracy Morgan, Bernie Mack, or Bill Cosby. They’re always like, “Hey son, I’m going to use this in my new act, here check this: My son is so fucking stupid and ugly, he couldn’t get a date to the prom and then had to lie about it to his friends claiming he was sick. What do you think? See how it’s funny, because art is all imitatin’ life n’ shit. Because you couldn’t get a date to the prom, right! RIGHT!?! And you wasn’t sick, was you, B!?!”

Finally, in a Patty Potty Patrol update, this morning she unleashed a whole new offensive strategy. She was not sitting at her desk when I came in to work, but had rather taken up a chair in the office common area where she had a perfect view of both the men’s bathroom door, AND the door to the stairwell by which I can usually make my way in private to the downstairs bathroom when I need to avoid her ever-watchful evil-eye-of-Sauron gaze. She is a genius. I will kill her before the rising of the new moon!