And really, you’ve reached the end of your road if this is the place ye seek solace, comfort, understanding, and sage-like imperatives…but it is my charge to fend off your impending suicide, at least long enough to stimulate our sagging economy for one more day (buying things makes you feel better, so sayeth the Lord)…and I take it seriously. Just because nobody will love you, have sex with you, give you drugs, or clean up after themselves at your latest poorly-attended dinner party doesn’t mean there aren’t options. To wit:
Terry in California writes…
Dear How Unlike You,
You seem smart, and I’ll go out on a limb and assume you’re a pretty handsome guy…strong jawline…so tell me what I should do. I am the graveyard shift security guard at the model airplane factory just south of Bakersfield…it’s a good job-I get paid hourly, so I don’t have to worry about the hassle of having a salary, they let me bring my dog to hunt raccoons on slow nights, they don’t say anything when I show up drunk…it’s pretty cool…no dental, though…Anyway, my girlfriend works at the local maternity fashion depot, but has the day shift…so we never get to spend any quality time together. But she keeps the apartment really clean…I mean, at least once a week I see a Roger’s Carpet Cleaner van when I drive by on my lunch hour at 3 A.M., so she seems dedicated to making it a nice place to live…seriously, you should see how spotless our baby blue shag is. I love her, man, I just don’t know how to make it work…what would you do?
A question, Terry. How did you get my email address? Seriously, I’m shocked that you were able to conjur the internet on your “learnin’ t.v.” Proof that resourcefulness trumps a GED, I’d contend. Not to be cruel, but there are a couple of reasons why I think you’re incredibly stupid. Um, the dream is to have a woman who is never around…and cleans the pizza stains you left on the white love seat…and scrubs the bottom of your ‘coon blood-stained tub…seriously, you should not be complaining about this…mission accomplished, Terry. Any contact with a woman should be considered ancillary and unnecessary. But here’s one for you…Roger isn’t cleaning any BLUE carpets, my Associate’s Degree-phobic friend. Wait, let me be less abstract…Roger is trying really hard to put a baby inside of your girlfriend’s stomach…with his naughty part…and while I am a stated opponent of suicide, I didn’t say anything about murder…Deuteronomy 4:24-Thou shalt proveth thine love with murder, Terry…see, even God is pretty cool with it, considering he addressed you directly…so, the next time you see that local proprietor sniffing around your place in the wee hours of the morning, teach him a valuable lesson (which he will be unable to apply, ironically…you know, because of his shocking death), let your lady know you mean business (love business), and become a local celebrity…all with one flourish of your medieval mace. Make it happen, Terry. Will you mention me in your first “behind bars” interview? Wait, wait…or you could just ask her about Roger and make an informed, adult decision about whether or not you’re willing to overlook her transgression…and look into getting a job which lets you see her more often…there’s no law saying you have to be a security guard. Haha, I’m kidding…murder Roger.
Tags: advice, comedy, humor, life, random, ribcage, romance, sex
