Unlike other holidays, Thanksgiving doesn't require presents, decorations, or alcohol. Nope. All you need is family togetherness and a turkey dinner.
What a rip off.
At some point we all got played into believing the stupid sob story of some stupid Puritans who were so damn annoying they got kicked out of their home country, sailed across the ocean to land they couldn't farm, but miraculously survived because of some friendly Natives (whom they later slaughtered). It is an irritating tale that proves Natural Selection is wrong, because these inbred morons who wore belt buckles on every damn garment passed their prudish seeds on to most Americans.
Which brings us to the modern Thanksgiving, a day we all sit down with our families and pretend to like each other.
Allow me to share what this often looks like for my family:
Thanksgiving 1996:
DAD:
And let us all give thanks to your mother for cooking this wonderful turkey dinner. Every year you out-do yourself, sweetheart.
MOM:
Oh, Arthur, that's so nice of you to say.
GRANDPA BORRIS:
Are we done holding with hands? I'd like to gum some food before I need diaper change.
Thanksgiving 1999:
DARLENE:
Mom! Joey kicked me!
MOM:
Oh for Chrissakes! Then kick him back!
JOEY:
Dad! Mom's telling Darlene to kick me!
DAD:
She sure did.
AUNT CAROL:
Arthur, your father keeps pinching my ass.
DAD:
Ha, yeah. I gave him Viagra instead of his heart meds.
Thanksgiving 2001:
MOM:
I'm just so thankful to have all my children under one roof today. Though we're all getting older it still means a lot to me.
DAD:
Aww, that's so sweet. Not at all contrived... Isaac, it's your turn. What are you thankful for?
ME:
You guys ever hear of a thing called Valium...?
Thanksgiving 2002:
DARLENE:
And I pray that somewhere up in heaven Grandpa Borris is looking down on us and enjoying a Thanksgiving meal with God and Jesus. Amen.
JOEY:
You think he has his teeth back?
DAD:
No, he left his teeth in a jar down here. It's over the fireplace.
Thanksgiving 2003:
MOM:
All I wanted was to have a nice meal with my children! But you had to ruin that, didn't you, Arthur?! It always has to be about you! Never about me! What about my needs?!
DAD:
Wah wah wah! There she goes again! Am I right, kids?! She never stops whining! And you kids wonder why I left!
MOM:
Don't you talk to them about me like that! You tell them the truth! Tell them about that young tramp you're living with now! Tell them about the baby she had while you were still with me!
DAD:
Can you kids believe this?! Do you really believe the lies she's--
DARLENE:
I'm pregnant!
(Silence)
Thanksgiving 2005:
MOM:
And, and, and I gotta say, I just got to say I'm thankful my new man, my new boyfriend Steve, yes you sugar baby, for coming to celebrate with my, my children this year... ain't that right, Stevey?
STEVE:
Aw thanks, sugar cans. You know I'd do anything for you--
BABY BILLY:
Waaaaaah! Waaaaahhaaaaaaawwwh!
MOM:
Darlene, god damnit! Shut up that stupid bastard up!
DARLENE:
You shut up, you drunk! Billy's just a baby!
MOM:
We should a made you get the abortion!
Thanksgiving 2006:
JOEY:
Dude... I... I feel really good... do you really feel really good...?
ME:
Yeah man... I do feel good, it's 'cause... it's 'cause I tricked Mom into cooking the turkey with pot butter...
JOEY:
Oh man... oh that's... that's just awesome...
Thanksgiving 2007:
DAD:
You kids know what I'm thankful for? I'm thankful your damn whore mother let me have Thanksgiving dinner with my own children for the first time in three years.
JOEY:
I'm thankful to be eating on card tables.
DARLENE:
I'm thankful Billy's had his tetanus shot.
Thanksgiving 2008:
MOM:
Oh it's just so nice for us all to be back together. I'm just so--mmmmm yes-- I'm so thankful--oh-ho! Arthur!
DAD:
Uh-huh, that's right sugar honey, daddy's back!
MOM:
Arthur! Please, control yourself--mmmm, that's nice...
DARLENE:
I'm thankful for therapy.
JOEY:
Does yours do bulk rates?
Have you ever been this far from sober? If so, you're in the right place. We got some stories to share.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Bad Advice: Free-Loading Children
Written to Suey Chow of the Willamette Week:
My 22-year-old daughter is threatening to marry her 23-year-old boyfriend. Since graduating from college, they've been living in our basement rent-free; neither has a career plan to speak of. They talk about holding a potluck at their wedding reception and traveling around the country in a van for their honeymoon. Frankly, I think they're too immature to handle the rigors of marriage. I tried talking to them about living together; I've considered cutting off relations with the lovebirds, letting them find their own apartment at least, but my wife won't hear of it. How can I talk the kids out of this mess?
Sir, there are so many things you could do wrong in this situation I won't even bother giving you options. I'm pretty positive that no matter what you do, at least two-thirds of the parties involved will hate you and maybe try to poison you by sprinkling rat poison in your cereal. Therefore, I will recommend the most outlandish and permanently detrimental thing I can think of:
Drug your daughter's husband to be (chloroform is still on sale at Walgreens) and put it up his pooper.
You'll come off looking like a monster, your daughter will hate both you and her boyfriend, her boyfriend will be traumatically afraid of you, and your wife will probably leave you.
Another option would be to also drug your wife and turn the entire thing into three-way. Video tape it and sell it in Central and Eastern Europe. This option will likely result in the same thing, but as an added bonus you might make some dough from the porno.
My 22-year-old daughter is threatening to marry her 23-year-old boyfriend. Since graduating from college, they've been living in our basement rent-free; neither has a career plan to speak of. They talk about holding a potluck at their wedding reception and traveling around the country in a van for their honeymoon. Frankly, I think they're too immature to handle the rigors of marriage. I tried talking to them about living together; I've considered cutting off relations with the lovebirds, letting them find their own apartment at least, but my wife won't hear of it. How can I talk the kids out of this mess?
Sir, there are so many things you could do wrong in this situation I won't even bother giving you options. I'm pretty positive that no matter what you do, at least two-thirds of the parties involved will hate you and maybe try to poison you by sprinkling rat poison in your cereal. Therefore, I will recommend the most outlandish and permanently detrimental thing I can think of:
Drug your daughter's husband to be (chloroform is still on sale at Walgreens) and put it up his pooper.
You'll come off looking like a monster, your daughter will hate both you and her boyfriend, her boyfriend will be traumatically afraid of you, and your wife will probably leave you.
Another option would be to also drug your wife and turn the entire thing into three-way. Video tape it and sell it in Central and Eastern Europe. This option will likely result in the same thing, but as an added bonus you might make some dough from the porno.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
LA Police Bag a Whale
From Trey Simmons in LA, all the ways back in July (yeah that's right, I haven't checked my email since then. What the fuck you want?):
Last night as I stepped onto the balcony of my 3rd story Hollywood apartment to poison my lungs, I watch series of events occur on the street below. The events strung together in such an amazing way, and yet despite having witnessed it all directly with my own eyes, I do not fully understand what I saw.
Street traffic and foot traffic seemed to be moving at their normal 10:00pm on a Wednesday night speed. I stand on my balcony and ignite my small carginogen laden stick and watch the cars and people moving towards various destinations in this mecca of entertainment. Suddenly I see an LAPD vehicle stop in the bus lane on Vine Street just before the construction site at Selma. The two officers step out of their car and walk briefly along the sidewalk. They then stop a teenaged Hispanic kid riding an old blue bicycle as he pedals by them. They pulls the kid off the bike and toss him against a near-by chainlink fence, intended at keeping people out of a parking lot.
Moments later, a bald photographer rushes across the Vine Street traffic and stands in front of the police cruiser. He begins taking photos of the officers and the teen. The police officers do not seem to notice the photographer, as they are too engaged in whatever they are discussing with the teen. The cops then handcuff the child and pat him down.
As if this wasn't interesting enough for me to watch while enjoying my smoke, from out of nowhere a fat drunk woman appears. She starts yelling at the photographer. I cannot exactly make out what her drunken obese cougar cries are trying to tell the photographer. I do pick out a few words through her drunken slobberings.
"Faggot," "Get out of the street," "Beat you," "Mexican" and "Drugs" clearly echo between the buildings and to my ear, but the other 70% of her words were lost to the sounds of traffic and the couple living below me, whom were also on the balcony watching and yelling in Spanish.
The drunk woman continues to yell and runs closer to the photographer. Meanwhile, the remove the cuffs from the kid and gesture for him to leave. The photographer runs back across the street, rejoins his friends and disappears from my line of sight. The drunk woman continues to run, now seemingly following where the photographer went. The police officers sit in their car for a few minutes, as the child starts to pedal up Vine Street towards Hollywood Boulevard. The car engine starts on the police cruiser, they turn on their lights to avoid having to wait 5 minutes at the stop light for Vine Street and Selma. The officer's hit the gas and drive about twenty-five feet before plowing directly into the screaming drunk woman.
I watch as her large over-weight mass flies feet through the air and bounces on the pavement as her jiggling mass reconnects with the Earth. The police officers stop their car. They climb out of the car and notice people staring at them from all directions. People walking the sidewalks have stopped to watch the officers. Molly's Hamburger shop and the coffee shop next to it come to pauses as their patrons eyball the police. The people in their cars are watching those who are meant to serve and protect. My apartment building has atleast two units of observers.
These two officers, now on the spot, walk out onto the street. They do not say a word to the woman they have hit. They simply lift her up, with difficulty, and then toss her into the back seat of the cruiser. They get back into their car and speed away. As one last bit of madness, the teenage kid throws something at the police vehicle when it passes him. The police do not bother to stop the kid again.
By this time I had just finished my cigarette, meaning that in about eight minutes the street below came to life with these events and then returned to its quiet self. Eight minutes of lives intersecting and I witnessed it all. But as I said, I still do not fully understand what I saw, there are so many questions. Then again, what is there to understand, this is Hollywood, weird shit like this happens all the time.
Last night as I stepped onto the balcony of my 3rd story Hollywood apartment to poison my lungs, I watch series of events occur on the street below. The events strung together in such an amazing way, and yet despite having witnessed it all directly with my own eyes, I do not fully understand what I saw.
Street traffic and foot traffic seemed to be moving at their normal 10:00pm on a Wednesday night speed. I stand on my balcony and ignite my small carginogen laden stick and watch the cars and people moving towards various destinations in this mecca of entertainment. Suddenly I see an LAPD vehicle stop in the bus lane on Vine Street just before the construction site at Selma. The two officers step out of their car and walk briefly along the sidewalk. They then stop a teenaged Hispanic kid riding an old blue bicycle as he pedals by them. They pulls the kid off the bike and toss him against a near-by chainlink fence, intended at keeping people out of a parking lot.
Moments later, a bald photographer rushes across the Vine Street traffic and stands in front of the police cruiser. He begins taking photos of the officers and the teen. The police officers do not seem to notice the photographer, as they are too engaged in whatever they are discussing with the teen. The cops then handcuff the child and pat him down.
As if this wasn't interesting enough for me to watch while enjoying my smoke, from out of nowhere a fat drunk woman appears. She starts yelling at the photographer. I cannot exactly make out what her drunken obese cougar cries are trying to tell the photographer. I do pick out a few words through her drunken slobberings.
"Faggot," "Get out of the street," "Beat you," "Mexican" and "Drugs" clearly echo between the buildings and to my ear, but the other 70% of her words were lost to the sounds of traffic and the couple living below me, whom were also on the balcony watching and yelling in Spanish.
The drunk woman continues to yell and runs closer to the photographer. Meanwhile, the remove the cuffs from the kid and gesture for him to leave. The photographer runs back across the street, rejoins his friends and disappears from my line of sight. The drunk woman continues to run, now seemingly following where the photographer went. The police officers sit in their car for a few minutes, as the child starts to pedal up Vine Street towards Hollywood Boulevard. The car engine starts on the police cruiser, they turn on their lights to avoid having to wait 5 minutes at the stop light for Vine Street and Selma. The officer's hit the gas and drive about twenty-five feet before plowing directly into the screaming drunk woman.
I watch as her large over-weight mass flies feet through the air and bounces on the pavement as her jiggling mass reconnects with the Earth. The police officers stop their car. They climb out of the car and notice people staring at them from all directions. People walking the sidewalks have stopped to watch the officers. Molly's Hamburger shop and the coffee shop next to it come to pauses as their patrons eyball the police. The people in their cars are watching those who are meant to serve and protect. My apartment building has atleast two units of observers.
These two officers, now on the spot, walk out onto the street. They do not say a word to the woman they have hit. They simply lift her up, with difficulty, and then toss her into the back seat of the cruiser. They get back into their car and speed away. As one last bit of madness, the teenage kid throws something at the police vehicle when it passes him. The police do not bother to stop the kid again.
By this time I had just finished my cigarette, meaning that in about eight minutes the street below came to life with these events and then returned to its quiet self. Eight minutes of lives intersecting and I witnessed it all. But as I said, I still do not fully understand what I saw, there are so many questions. Then again, what is there to understand, this is Hollywood, weird shit like this happens all the time.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Bad Advice: Taking it to the Streets
Went to a street fair today. Taped a sign to my chest that read "BAD ADVICE (FREE)." Sure enough, some folks in desperate need of horrible advice flocked to me. Here's the field report:
"My back hurts."
Turn around, I'm going to kick you in the spine. (AND HE LET ME!)
"I have a co-worker who thinks everyone is against her because she's black, but she never shows up on time and is a bad employee. Should I recommend that she be fired?"
No. Actually start conspiring against her with your co-workers. Leave "secret" notes that badmouth her for her to find around her workspace. Email her fake memos telling her the workday has shifted by five hours. Photoshop her into incriminating photos and make speech bubbles that show her saying slanderous things. Email these photos around the office. When she says "THAT'S NOT ME, I NEVER SAID THAT!" be like, "But I can see you saying it right there!" Drive her crazy as such until she quits or sues.
"My girlfriend is really nice."
Ask her to do elaborate errands for you that take up her entire evening, and while she does that go out partying with other friends and random strangers. Be sure to send her text messages and photos of you having a good time and making out with other people. Stress the fact that you're having so much fun, but still thank her for taking care of that errand for you.
"My roommate pissed on my wall. What should I do to him?"
Puke on his wall. (Then to his roommate standing right there) And then shit on his wall.
"I broke my modem, but I don't want to pay to fix it."
Call up your provider, tell them its not working. When a service repair person shows up, make it look okay, but when he touches it it will break. Then yell at him for breaking your modem, though it will be obvious you were setting him up. It will be reported, they will stop your service, and have a collection agency come after you.
"What should I do tonight?"
Down the street there's a corner store with lots of cheap malt liquor. Drink at least two gallons of the stuff. Your digestive system will be wrecked, and you will do horrible things to people you love but not remember it the next day.
"Should I date the guy I like?"
Yes. Then cheat on him with his best friend.
"Should I move to this city?"
Yes. But move into a house with a bunch of sketchy strangers who always have large amounts of cash, pay rent with money orders, sleep during the day, smoke in the house, borrow all your stuff, leave the bathtub filled with blood, always have visiting "friends" who don't talk very much, and vote.
"What should I invest in?"
Worldcom. Enron. Washington Mutual. Bank of America. Open bank accounts everywhere. Take out at least five credit cards, then give the credit card numbers away on the internet. Don't pay the bills, and shred the cards. When the collection agency calls you, put the phone up to your butt and fart. Mail them fake checks you made out of construction paper.
And the best one of them all....
"I just graduated from Bible college and want to break up with my girlfriend."
Tell her your real girlfriend is having a baby tomorrow, and you don't want her showing up to the hospital. And that all her insecurities are justified. Then hang up. When she calls you back, tell her you're in Rio De Janeiro surrounded by naked Brazilian women, and hang up again. Then stop taking her calls. Then, find a friend or relative with a newborn baby. Take the baby to her house and introduce her to your "child." Tell her you hope there's no hard feelings. (AND THEN HE FUCKING DID IT! HE CALLED HER RIGHT THERE AND SAID ALL THAT STUFF! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!).
"How will you help him undo all the damage he's just done?" (from a friend of the previous dude)
I'm here to provide people with a moral compass, in the opposite direction. Not my fault if you're stupid enough to follow my advice.
"My back hurts."
Turn around, I'm going to kick you in the spine. (AND HE LET ME!)
"I have a co-worker who thinks everyone is against her because she's black, but she never shows up on time and is a bad employee. Should I recommend that she be fired?"
No. Actually start conspiring against her with your co-workers. Leave "secret" notes that badmouth her for her to find around her workspace. Email her fake memos telling her the workday has shifted by five hours. Photoshop her into incriminating photos and make speech bubbles that show her saying slanderous things. Email these photos around the office. When she says "THAT'S NOT ME, I NEVER SAID THAT!" be like, "But I can see you saying it right there!" Drive her crazy as such until she quits or sues.
"My girlfriend is really nice."
Ask her to do elaborate errands for you that take up her entire evening, and while she does that go out partying with other friends and random strangers. Be sure to send her text messages and photos of you having a good time and making out with other people. Stress the fact that you're having so much fun, but still thank her for taking care of that errand for you.
"My roommate pissed on my wall. What should I do to him?"
Puke on his wall. (Then to his roommate standing right there) And then shit on his wall.
"I broke my modem, but I don't want to pay to fix it."
Call up your provider, tell them its not working. When a service repair person shows up, make it look okay, but when he touches it it will break. Then yell at him for breaking your modem, though it will be obvious you were setting him up. It will be reported, they will stop your service, and have a collection agency come after you.
"What should I do tonight?"
Down the street there's a corner store with lots of cheap malt liquor. Drink at least two gallons of the stuff. Your digestive system will be wrecked, and you will do horrible things to people you love but not remember it the next day.
"Should I date the guy I like?"
Yes. Then cheat on him with his best friend.
"Should I move to this city?"
Yes. But move into a house with a bunch of sketchy strangers who always have large amounts of cash, pay rent with money orders, sleep during the day, smoke in the house, borrow all your stuff, leave the bathtub filled with blood, always have visiting "friends" who don't talk very much, and vote.
"What should I invest in?"
Worldcom. Enron. Washington Mutual. Bank of America. Open bank accounts everywhere. Take out at least five credit cards, then give the credit card numbers away on the internet. Don't pay the bills, and shred the cards. When the collection agency calls you, put the phone up to your butt and fart. Mail them fake checks you made out of construction paper.
And the best one of them all....
"I just graduated from Bible college and want to break up with my girlfriend."
Tell her your real girlfriend is having a baby tomorrow, and you don't want her showing up to the hospital. And that all her insecurities are justified. Then hang up. When she calls you back, tell her you're in Rio De Janeiro surrounded by naked Brazilian women, and hang up again. Then stop taking her calls. Then, find a friend or relative with a newborn baby. Take the baby to her house and introduce her to your "child." Tell her you hope there's no hard feelings. (AND THEN HE FUCKING DID IT! HE CALLED HER RIGHT THERE AND SAID ALL THAT STUFF! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!).
"How will you help him undo all the damage he's just done?" (from a friend of the previous dude)
I'm here to provide people with a moral compass, in the opposite direction. Not my fault if you're stupid enough to follow my advice.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Bad Advice: Famous Friends
This was written to Dear Mrs. Web:
My best friend wants to be a singer and she is really good. I 'm afraid that when we grow up, she might become famous and not remember me. What do I do?
For starters, odds are your friend will never become famous. Ever. No matter how good she is at singing now, by the time she goes through puberty, loses her virginity, becomes a manic-depressive slut with an eating disorder, and barely squeaks her way through high school because of some "favors" to the principal, she'll have the self-confidence of a raisin. And raisins have almost no self-confidence. They're all shrivelly. Yuck.
On the off-chance your friend does overcome the constant inner-humiliation that is her life (hey, Britney Spears did it!) and becomes a singing sensation and captures the heart of America (heart, penis, whatever), then you need to make sure that either a) she never, ever forgets you, or b) all the fame and success she achieves comes crumbling down and you're the only one left. Let's discuss both individually.
Option A: There are many methods that can ensure your friend will never forget you. Perhaps get her drunk and tattoo your name backwards on her forehead, so whenever she looks into the mirror she'll see your name. Or maybe an "accidental" injury that leaves a permanent scar. Those are easy, methods though. Then of course there is electro-shock treatment where you can condition her to grow physically ill and fear your abuse anytime she sees a fire hydrant (those things are fucking everywhere!). My personal recommendation, though, is to found a celebrity gossip syndicate that obsesses over her every waking moment. You know, like that E! network.
Option B: Once she becomes famous and forgets all about you (which, by now, I'm thinking is probably justified since you sound like a snoozer) you should leak embarrassing stories from her childhood and adolescence (specifically the ones about her eating disorders and whore-like lust for daddy's approval) to some obsessive celebrity gossip syndicate that has nothing better to do than obsess over her every waking moment thus creating a viscous cycle that makes celebrities seem more important than they really are. You know, like that E! network. When no one likes her anymore because they found out from a reliable source that she spread like butter on toast for her high school principal (he had hairplugs too!), then she'll have no choice but to go back to you, the dear old friend who ruined it all for her. Or she'll birth a couple of neglected rednecks, shave her hair, and beat your head in with a baseball bat. Hmmm. After writing all that out, it really seems like Option A is the winner.
Whichever option you choose, the bottom line of my Bad Advice is: you should never let fame come between you and a friend. That's what drugs, alcohol, and hookers are for.
My best friend wants to be a singer and she is really good. I 'm afraid that when we grow up, she might become famous and not remember me. What do I do?
For starters, odds are your friend will never become famous. Ever. No matter how good she is at singing now, by the time she goes through puberty, loses her virginity, becomes a manic-depressive slut with an eating disorder, and barely squeaks her way through high school because of some "favors" to the principal, she'll have the self-confidence of a raisin. And raisins have almost no self-confidence. They're all shrivelly. Yuck.
On the off-chance your friend does overcome the constant inner-humiliation that is her life (hey, Britney Spears did it!) and becomes a singing sensation and captures the heart of America (heart, penis, whatever), then you need to make sure that either a) she never, ever forgets you, or b) all the fame and success she achieves comes crumbling down and you're the only one left. Let's discuss both individually.
Option A: There are many methods that can ensure your friend will never forget you. Perhaps get her drunk and tattoo your name backwards on her forehead, so whenever she looks into the mirror she'll see your name. Or maybe an "accidental" injury that leaves a permanent scar. Those are easy, methods though. Then of course there is electro-shock treatment where you can condition her to grow physically ill and fear your abuse anytime she sees a fire hydrant (those things are fucking everywhere!). My personal recommendation, though, is to found a celebrity gossip syndicate that obsesses over her every waking moment. You know, like that E! network.
Option B: Once she becomes famous and forgets all about you (which, by now, I'm thinking is probably justified since you sound like a snoozer) you should leak embarrassing stories from her childhood and adolescence (specifically the ones about her eating disorders and whore-like lust for daddy's approval) to some obsessive celebrity gossip syndicate that has nothing better to do than obsess over her every waking moment thus creating a viscous cycle that makes celebrities seem more important than they really are. You know, like that E! network. When no one likes her anymore because they found out from a reliable source that she spread like butter on toast for her high school principal (he had hairplugs too!), then she'll have no choice but to go back to you, the dear old friend who ruined it all for her. Or she'll birth a couple of neglected rednecks, shave her hair, and beat your head in with a baseball bat. Hmmm. After writing all that out, it really seems like Option A is the winner.
Whichever option you choose, the bottom line of my Bad Advice is: you should never let fame come between you and a friend. That's what drugs, alcohol, and hookers are for.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Bad Advice: Just Friends
This was written to Dear Bette's Advice Blog:
I've been best friends with a guy almost a year now, and i feel like our friendship has gotten closer than ever. He is always on my mind and always has been for a whole year. I told him how much I liked him but how i didn't want that to effect our friendship if he didn't feel the same way, and it has not. Me and him use to go to school together but this year he had to switch schools, we don't see each other everyday but we hang out on some weekends so he told me he loves me but he doesn't our relationship to mean nothing sense were so young. Im still best friends with him and now he has a girlfriend. My friend says for me to stay friends with him for a year or two and see how things go because things would probably mean alot more then. I feel like either way in this situation im going to get hurt. What should i do?
Hmmmm. This one's a toughy. And that's not just because you write as well as a orangutan on Riddlin, but because you are a fucking tease. And guys, we hate girls that are teases. Teases make us suffer a rather unpleasant disorder that makes our lower intestines feel like they're being sucked out by a vacuum. Ever heard of "blue balls"?
I could rant on and on about the obvious gender wars that go one because of situations like these. I love him! But I don't want to ruin the friendship! Blah blah blah. I think that's bullshit, but I'm not here to tell you how full of crap I think you are (I'll save that for another time), I'm here to tell you how to make your situation worse.
First of all, you're too worried about getting hurt. If you do nothing and just wait things out, make a vulnerable and desperate move down the road, or watch him fall head over heals for this other girl and forget about you, yeah, you will get hurt. Follow my bad advice, and you won't get hurt. Instead, you'll hurt other people. Which is a lot of fun. Believe me, I know from experience.
Here's what you do: jump him. Jump his bones to glory. Don't be friendly. Don't be passionate. Don't be intimate. Be an Amazon woman on a mission to pillage and leave nothing behind but a trail of charred and shriveled wreckage. Just show up at his house, let him open the door and say hi, and then tear into the conniving jackass. He will be so bewildered and exhausted by the end of it he won't know what happened, or who you are. Then, leave.
Let him call. Let him appear at your house. Let him send you letters and roses and all that crap. Ignore all of it. Never look him in the eye again. He'll go to pieces. He'll be a mess. Let him make a fool of himself, make a show of it all, so that the rumors spread. Eventually his girlfriend will approach you to ask what you think is going on with him. You're supposed to be one of his closest friends after all. Tell her everything, and watch her dissolve into sobs.
Oh but it doesn't end there, no sirreee you little tramp. Because you've started on a road that you can't exit from. Now that you've had a taste of causing pain for others, you can't revert to any other previous state, otherwise who knows, you could still get hurt yourself some day. So you embrace it: the cold, horny, gluttonous moan from between your legs. Sleep with anything that walks, just one time each, then leave them for the cold, for the urge, for the desperation and self-loathing.
And at some point you'll find yourself a withered husk of a human being, having caused so much pain and suffering. And you'll probably have a number of sexually transmitted infections. But hey, at least you never got hurt.
I've been best friends with a guy almost a year now, and i feel like our friendship has gotten closer than ever. He is always on my mind and always has been for a whole year. I told him how much I liked him but how i didn't want that to effect our friendship if he didn't feel the same way, and it has not. Me and him use to go to school together but this year he had to switch schools, we don't see each other everyday but we hang out on some weekends so he told me he loves me but he doesn't our relationship to mean nothing sense were so young. Im still best friends with him and now he has a girlfriend. My friend says for me to stay friends with him for a year or two and see how things go because things would probably mean alot more then. I feel like either way in this situation im going to get hurt. What should i do?
Hmmmm. This one's a toughy. And that's not just because you write as well as a orangutan on Riddlin, but because you are a fucking tease. And guys, we hate girls that are teases. Teases make us suffer a rather unpleasant disorder that makes our lower intestines feel like they're being sucked out by a vacuum. Ever heard of "blue balls"?
I could rant on and on about the obvious gender wars that go one because of situations like these. I love him! But I don't want to ruin the friendship! Blah blah blah. I think that's bullshit, but I'm not here to tell you how full of crap I think you are (I'll save that for another time), I'm here to tell you how to make your situation worse.
First of all, you're too worried about getting hurt. If you do nothing and just wait things out, make a vulnerable and desperate move down the road, or watch him fall head over heals for this other girl and forget about you, yeah, you will get hurt. Follow my bad advice, and you won't get hurt. Instead, you'll hurt other people. Which is a lot of fun. Believe me, I know from experience.
Here's what you do: jump him. Jump his bones to glory. Don't be friendly. Don't be passionate. Don't be intimate. Be an Amazon woman on a mission to pillage and leave nothing behind but a trail of charred and shriveled wreckage. Just show up at his house, let him open the door and say hi, and then tear into the conniving jackass. He will be so bewildered and exhausted by the end of it he won't know what happened, or who you are. Then, leave.
Let him call. Let him appear at your house. Let him send you letters and roses and all that crap. Ignore all of it. Never look him in the eye again. He'll go to pieces. He'll be a mess. Let him make a fool of himself, make a show of it all, so that the rumors spread. Eventually his girlfriend will approach you to ask what you think is going on with him. You're supposed to be one of his closest friends after all. Tell her everything, and watch her dissolve into sobs.
Oh but it doesn't end there, no sirreee you little tramp. Because you've started on a road that you can't exit from. Now that you've had a taste of causing pain for others, you can't revert to any other previous state, otherwise who knows, you could still get hurt yourself some day. So you embrace it: the cold, horny, gluttonous moan from between your legs. Sleep with anything that walks, just one time each, then leave them for the cold, for the urge, for the desperation and self-loathing.
And at some point you'll find yourself a withered husk of a human being, having caused so much pain and suffering. And you'll probably have a number of sexually transmitted infections. But hey, at least you never got hurt.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Bad Advice from Isaac Sparrer
(this is the first installment of a new feature I'd like to call, "Bad Advice from Isaac Sparrer." Basically, I will seek out letters written to advice columnists and write my own thoughts on how to make the situation worse. Please feel free to write in, email me at isaac.sparrer@gmail.com)
This was written to the advice blogger known as GirlShrink:
I am divorced and have a live-in boyfriend. My 16 year old son has been disrespectful to my boyfriend. He hasn't spoken to him in a month and a half. Now they got into a physical altercation when my boyfriend tried to stop him from turning on the air conditionerl What do I do?
Well, here's some Bad Advice:
Think of things from your son's perspective. He's still young, his mommy and daddy are divorced, and now there's this new man in his life (your boyfriend) who is trying to replace his real daddy. Your son is obviously trying to provoke your boyfriend in order to challenge his authority. Your little boy is growing up and he doesn't want a new father-figure in his life.
In other words, he's being a little bitch and should be put in his place. Your boyfriend is right for stopping him from turning on the air conditioner. Those things make the electric bill go way the fuck up. Just open a damn window, you whiny little shit. And he's probably doing the silent treatment thing to try and make things as unbearably awkward for your boyfriend is possible. Your son probably thinks that if your boyfriend can't stand to live with him, then you both will break up and there might be a chance that you get back together with your husband.
Getting divorced and starting over is hard enough without some stupid brat trying to cock-block you. This is a key time in you and your son's life when you need to show him that getting your vajajay pounded is more important to you than making him feel like a normal kid. He's 16, after all. He shouldn't be depending on mommy and daddy for emotional support anymore, which he can replace with underage drinking and exploitative sex with his peers.
Here's the bottom line of my advice: let your boyfriend and your son get into another physical altercation, and make sure that your boyfriend doesn't hold back. And while your little baby boy is getting the snot kicked out of him, be sure to watch and eat popcorn. And then when he's left lying on the floor, bleeding and dazed from multiple concussions, have sex with your boyfriend right there in front of your son. I think things will work themselves out from there.
This was written to the advice blogger known as GirlShrink:
I am divorced and have a live-in boyfriend. My 16 year old son has been disrespectful to my boyfriend. He hasn't spoken to him in a month and a half. Now they got into a physical altercation when my boyfriend tried to stop him from turning on the air conditionerl What do I do?
Well, here's some Bad Advice:
Think of things from your son's perspective. He's still young, his mommy and daddy are divorced, and now there's this new man in his life (your boyfriend) who is trying to replace his real daddy. Your son is obviously trying to provoke your boyfriend in order to challenge his authority. Your little boy is growing up and he doesn't want a new father-figure in his life.
In other words, he's being a little bitch and should be put in his place. Your boyfriend is right for stopping him from turning on the air conditioner. Those things make the electric bill go way the fuck up. Just open a damn window, you whiny little shit. And he's probably doing the silent treatment thing to try and make things as unbearably awkward for your boyfriend is possible. Your son probably thinks that if your boyfriend can't stand to live with him, then you both will break up and there might be a chance that you get back together with your husband.
Getting divorced and starting over is hard enough without some stupid brat trying to cock-block you. This is a key time in you and your son's life when you need to show him that getting your vajajay pounded is more important to you than making him feel like a normal kid. He's 16, after all. He shouldn't be depending on mommy and daddy for emotional support anymore, which he can replace with underage drinking and exploitative sex with his peers.
Here's the bottom line of my advice: let your boyfriend and your son get into another physical altercation, and make sure that your boyfriend doesn't hold back. And while your little baby boy is getting the snot kicked out of him, be sure to watch and eat popcorn. And then when he's left lying on the floor, bleeding and dazed from multiple concussions, have sex with your boyfriend right there in front of your son. I think things will work themselves out from there.
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