by The Believer
Harold
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Dear Harold:
Is there any part of the body that shouldn’t, under any circumstances, be pierced?
Jewel C.
Greensboro, NC
Dear Jewel:
I’m a firm believer that no part of my body should be pierced, but if you insist on having it done, the one part I’d advise against piercing is the brain.
Harold
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Dear Harold:
Last night while I was entertaining friends in another room, a stray cat scaled the side of my apartment, climbed in through my living room window, and did it with my seven-month-old cat. True story. My question is, am I going to be a bad father?
Stephen T.
Dayton, OH
Dear Steve:
You’re not going to be the father; the stray cat is. Humans can’t procreate with cats or indeed any other mammals.
Harold
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Dear Harold:
Is pigweed poisonous? And, coincidentally, does it exist?
Anonymous
Cleveland, OH
Dear Anonymous:
I believe I smoked some pigweed at Woodstock. I don’t think it was poisonous but I freaked out and woke up in the woods with about a pound and a half of truffles beside me and lots of mud on my nose. Janis Joplin was lying next to me with no pants on and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in her hand. David Crosby was lying on the other side of me wearing two pairs of pants. Janis immediately wanted to do more “pig” but I convinced her to just stick to booze, acid, pot, PCP, STP, DMT, MDA, mandrax, desoxyn, meth, Ritalin, coke, heroin, and ludes. That bitch could party! Anyway, when we got back to the tent, Hendrix wouldn’t leave us alone. “Where you guys goin’? What’s happening? Can I come? Got any pigweed?” So desperate, so sad. By the time we left Woodstock, I just felt totally burned out and haven’t touched the “pig” since. Now, forty years later, it’s all about pigweed at colleges and high schools, even in some progressive Montessori, Steiner, and Waldorf schools. But I tell the kids, “Stay off the pig.” It killed Janis and Jimi and Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper and Kurt Cobain and Sid Vicious and now they’re dead and can’t party anymore, let alone make records. Or CDs, I guess. Bummer.
Harold
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Dear Harold:
Is it wrong to use a fake ID to make a hot waitress think you’re younger than you actually are? I just like the way “age: 25” looks on a license, and it makes me feel flirty. So sue me.
J.D.
Chicago, IL
Dear J.D.:
It’s not wrong; it’s just pathetic. If you look young enough to pass for twenty-five, who gives a shit how old you actually are? I’m currently buying movie tickets at the “senior citizen” price and feeling good when they ask to see my ID, so fuck you. But I know what you mean. I feel so much more flirty when people think I’m only sixty-two. And surprise! I just filed a lawsuit against you in the Cook County Circuit Court.
Harold
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Dear Harold:
What happens after you die?
Trevor Chartman, age 9
Little Rock, AR
Dear Trevor:
It all depends. If you’re a Christian, it might be Heaven or Hell. If you’re Jewish, you get a brass plaque on a bench in the synagogue if your kids aren’t too cheap to make a nice contribution. If you’re a Hindu, you’ll come back in a karmically appropriate incarnation. If you’re a Buddhist, it doesn’t matter. And if you’re an atheist, your body just rots in a hole in the ground or gets toasted to ashes in a very hot oven. And that’s it.
The better question is, “What happens before you die?” That’s where we run into most of the problems.
Harold
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Dear Harold:
I am a recent college graduate (thanks!), and my dad says I should go into plastics. What can you tell me about the advantages of this industry in comparison to the advantages of youthful rebellion?
Jonas Baker
Alpena, MI
Dear Jonas:
The advantages of youthful rebellion are overrated. Yes, you could topple the capitalist system, oust the Pope, end the use of drift nets in the tuna fishing industry, or install Sharia law and a Taliban-style government, but so what? What plastics has to offer is the possibility of replacing organic life with a material that won’t shrink, fade, or biodegrade, available in all colors, shapes, and sizes, and resistant to global warming, environmental degradation, and nuclear winter.
Gotta love that.
Harold
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Dear Harold:
If Jews and Muslims were born of the same tribes of Jacob or Isaac or Ronny or whoever killed Jesus, then why are they still fighting today? Also, I can’t get my potato latkes to come out tender on the inside and crispy on the outside like my mother can. Is it something I’m doing wrong with the flour?
Ben Siegel
Williamsville, NY
Oy, Benny, Benny, Benny,
It’s not the flour. The oil has to be very, very hot to quickly caramelize the outside of the latke without overcooking the inside. Try heating the oil to about 1,200 degrees (it should be hot enough to melt an aluminum spatula), but be careful when you drop the batter into the pan. You could be badly burned. To be safe, let one of your gentile friends or a schwarzer drop the batter in.
Now, as to why Jews and Muslims are still fighting when we have a common ancestor in Abraham. Go figure. It can’t just be about the British giving Palestine to the Jews without consulting the indigenous people who occupied the land continuously for the last nine hundred years after the diaspora. I think they just hate us because we’re superior. Or is it because we’re inferior? I can’t remember which. Either way, why can’t they just get over it already?
Harold
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Dear Harold:
Do you ever hang out with other advice columnists? If so, what sorts of things do you do together? What do you talk about?
Joanna
San Francisco, CA
Dear Joanna:
Sometimes we do just hang out together, but the best is the annual conference of advice-givers held once a year in Las Vegas. What a blast! You might see Dan Savage of “Savage Love” talking to the guy from Wine Spectator about what Cabernet to drink with anal beads. Or Martha Stewart with the Playboy Advisor arguing about the best way to get cum stains out of a linen tablecloth. Or Suze Orman with Dr. Phil debating the wisdom of investing in anxiety futures. Or the gang from Queer Eye talking boxers vs. briefs with the What Not to Wear crew. After a few days you start to realize there’s only so much advice you can take. What’s that old saying? “Advice is like opinions. Everyone’s an asshole.”
Harold
Amy Sedaris
Dear Amy:
How should somebody go about bathing themselves? There are people on the street who smell horrible but you know they must shower. Is there some special inside thing we get that they don’t?
Courtney Ivo
Chicago, IL
Dear Courtney:
Take a visit to your local animal shelter and pick up any random cat. Now take a deep whiff. Pretty sweet, right? It’s called a tongue bath, and it’s not just for felines anymore. In this fast-paced world, you’d be surprised at how many people are taking advantage of this superior and convenient form of bathing. But from the self-righteous tone of your letter, I can only assume that you aren’t one of them. For shame, Courtney. Why are you so afraid of your own tongue?
Amy
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Dear Amy:
I want to be a fireman someday. I already have a fireman’s uniform and it’s super cool. Also, I’ve been practicing with a garden hose. But my parents don’t think it’s a good idea because of my asthma. Should I listen to them?
Kevin, age 8
Ann Arbor, MI
Dear Kevin:
Why don’t you practice by settin
g a few rather large fires in your neighborhood? Find an abandoned warehouse and set it ablaze. Or better yet, burn down a coach house. Not only is it fun, but you can practice putting out the fires with the equipment you’ve started collecting. If you manage to save the buildings, then you’re probably cut out to be a fireman. If you go into an asthmatic fit and have to be hospitalized, or get covered in third-degree burns and end up spending the rest of your life being fed by a tube, then maybe your parents were right after all. But you’ll never know until you try.
Good luck and happy burning!
Amy
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Dear Amy:
I’ve been single for about a year now, after a long-term relationship fizzled. All of a sudden, I’m starting to get those codependency urges again. Should I suppress these unwanted feelings without the use of pills or alcohol?
Sincerely,
Looking for an Out Without Slipping In
Dear Slippy:
What’s wrong with pills and alcohol? Are you judging me? Whatever helps me through the hard times is a-okay with me. It kills the pain. I hate it when people start spewing out bullshit like, “You’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later.” Well, not really, because by the time “later” comes, my problem will be over because of the booze and pills. I’m not stupid. You codependent people are all the same!
Are you selling any pills?
Amy
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Dear Amy:
They say that the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. More specifically, what do you think is the best meal to serve my man to make sure he’ll never, ever leave me?
Dani Kando-Kaiser
Sacramento, CA
Dear Dani:
First of all, I’m a bit of an amateur coroner. Let’s just say I like to poke around. The fastest way to a man’s heart is definitely through the chest cavity. Yeah, it’s a bit of a bother sawing through all that bone, but trust me, it’s a straight shot.
To answer your question about serving a dish that will keep your man happy, I suggest a Honey Baked west vagina ham, or turkey cordon blow him. Or how about chicken snatchatori?
Amy
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Dear Amy:
I have a lot of white friends. Is it okay for white people to celebrate Kwanzaa with me?
Shaka Freeman
Oakland, CA
Dear Shaka:
A lot of white friends? Are you counting coworkers? Because technically, these people are not your friends. It’s good politics to be friendly toward the people we work with. Remember that the next time you’re gathered around the watercooler exchanging wacky weekend anecdotes. Why is this person being nice to me? What are they after? I’m sure excluding coworkers significantly whittles down your list of white “friends.” But what about the white “friends” who are not coworkers? What’s their deal? Well, they may maintain this relationship with you just so they can claim, “I’ve got a lot of black friends.”
So you see, Shaka, you don’t have a lot of white friends. I hope this solves your problem.
Amy
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Dear Amy:
I hope you might be able to settle a bet. One of my friends insists that his Border collie (Henry) is smarter than my German shepherd (Fuzz Head). In my opinion, Henry happens to be pretty dumb. He eats his own poo and pees uncontrollably when someone new enters the house. Is there some kind of reliable dog IQ test that we can administer to get to the bottom of this?
James Shoemaker
San Francisco, CA
Dear James:
First of all, if we judged intelligence solely on how much bodily waste one ingested, then I must be an idiot. It’s called urine therapy. I drink all the urine I can get my hands on. Holy men in India have been doing it for thousands of years. Urine enhances beauty and cleanses the bowels. Mostly I drink the midstream of my morning pee. Occasionally I’ll drink it steaming hot but usually I mix it with juice or enjoy it over fruit parfait. Although there is zero scientific evidence that drinking urine is beneficial to one’s health, I choose to believe the opposite based on an uninformed whim. So now how stupid am I?
Getting back to your dog situation. Intelligence can be measured by problem-solving abilities; e.g., taking a regular swig of home brew to cure a malady. Create a problem for the dogs and see which one can solve it. Start a shed on fire, and then get inside and see which dog drags you to freedom. There is always the possibility that neither dog will come to your aid, but at least the world will be free of one more narrow-minded skeptic misjudging my prodigious intake of the precious salty nectar distilling between my loins.
Amy
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Dear Amy:
I just lost $3,000 at an illegal cockfighting ring in Chiapas, Mexico. I want my money back, so naturally I’m going back in March. Are there any telltale signs of superior, aggressive, and more violent cocks?
Allan H.
Amarillo, TX
Dear Allan:
Ah, the sawdust, the flying feathers, the spraying blood. I imagine those are the precious memories I’d cherish about cockfighting, if I had indeed spent the bulk of the eighties cheering on my feisty squad of slashing gamecocks in the sweaty, dank basement of a Filipino named Sabong. But I am a lady, and I was probably doing something else.
Look, Allan, I don’t know anything about the illegal and brutal sport of cockfighting, but I can tell you this: if you want to be a pit master when you return to Mexico, first gain some experience by attending the World Slasher Cup, an eight-cock derby held in a garage in Queens that any cocker worth his salt will be attending. Bet on the brood cocks because they are real glashers, often outfitted with Malaysian razor-sharp spurs or the Pakpak Langaw blade. They’re sure to make an under hack out of any Manok. I’ll see you there! Or rather, I won’t.
Amy
Sarah Silverman
Dear Sarah:
I came out to my family as a gay man nearly nine years ago. While they’ve become more accepting of me, they still hold out hope that I’ll meet “the right woman.” I’ve never seen a woman naked, let alone dated one. How can I avoid the “don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it” argument and convince my family that I’m just not into girls?
Nathan Yergler
Fort Wayne, IN
Dear Nathan:
First of all, did they not knock homosexuality before they tried it? Exactly. They’re asking you to be open-minded so they don’t have to. You can always lie and say, “Mom, I had sex with a woman and it was awful! Vaginas are gross! I’m glad I tried it but I’m gonna stick with penis. What’s for dinner?” Another idea is to adopt a baby. Once there’s a baby in the picture, they don’t care who you’re fucking. They just want to squeeze that little tushy!
Sarah
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Dear Sarah:
I think saffron looks so attractive in its tiny plastic cage at the supermarket, but I really have no idea what one might do with it. Any ideas?
Sammy Chafos
New York, NY
Dear Sammy:
I had some saffron rice this very morning, and it looked so yellow and so yummy, but it tasted like a doodie flower. I kept eating it because after each bite, my eyes would glance back at the plate and I’d get seduced all over again. My advice is to enjoy it in the market. Awe in its pure yellow intensity the way you may take in a painting or a gossip rag at the checkout stand. Then walk away.
Sarah
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Dear Sarah:
My mom always gives me a hard time for having the day off from school on Labor Day. She tells me, “I’m the one who went into labor to have you, and I don’t have the day off!” What would be a good comeback that I could say to her next year?
Jimmy Whealdon
Irvine, CA
Dear Jimmy:
Don’t say anything. Just kick her in the vagina. Then, as she keels over, point to her vagina and start to laugh, but then freeze, like you’re in the en
d credits of Bob Newhart or CHiPs or Barney Miller. If she doesn’t “get it,” then she’s not worth your time anyway.
Sarah
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Dear Sarah:
I’m a happily married man, but lately one of my golfing buddies, Jerome (not his real name), has been acting a bit peculiar around me: holding the door open for me, picking up the bar tab, and looking at me in, well, a way that makes me feel kind of weird. Jerome isn’t married and hasn’t had a girlfriend since I can remember. I can tell sometimes that Jerome has something he wants to tell me. My question is, when Jerome and I have secret sex at the hourly motel, who should pay for the room?
Jim (not my real name)
Sonoma, CA
Dear Jim:
You are so lucky that I went to gay charm school. The top pays for the motel.
Sarah
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Dear Sarah:
I’ve recently moved to New York City from California. Everything is great but I’m having trouble adjusting to my new habitat. I feel as if I’m an animal on display but without a handful of feces to protect myself. What should I do?
Jordan Farray
New York, NY
Dear Jordan:
This is a tough one. I love New York, but you get more space in L.A., so it can be a pleasant experience just to hang in and be home. In New York, unless you’re rich, you live in a very small space, so your instinct is to get out until you have to come home to sleep. Try to nest. Make your apartment as homey and comfortable as possible—a little haven. Or just shit in your hand.
Sarah
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Dear Sarah:
I’m a chronically depressed shut-in who doesn’t bathe much. My lifestyle has caused a testicular fragrance of vast proportions. What should I do?
Chris Heffernan
Long Island, NY
Dear Chris:
You may think you’re a shut-in and that therefore you don’t wash your balls. But I’m here to tell you that you are a shut-in because you don’t wash your balls. If you wake up and jump in the shower—or better yet, laze in a tub—by the time you get out and towel off, you are much more apt to feel like going out into the world. This is not a chicken-and-egg scenario. Trust me: balls first, and your life will follow.
Sarah
