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Today's Nasty Little Snot
Hint: If you're going to ask me for advice, which I provide free of charge, and you're also going to ask other advice columnists, at least have the decency to write us separate e-mails. If I see, in the very same e-mail you're sending me, that you apparently have help from other quarters, I'm going to bow out and answer another letter from my pile. It's not like I lack for people to advise.

That's what I told a girl in the U.K. who writes me too frequently with rather silly questions. (I'll give advice to a person more than once, but hey, figure a few things out yourself. I'm not your daily genie in a bottle.) Anyway, the girl wrote back like so, which I found rather amusing:

Excuse me, but you are supposed to give me advice, not insult me. Now give me advice, before i report you to the council.

My response:

You can report me to whomever the fuck you want. The council? I'm in America, dear, dispensing free advice. What are they going to do, reach through my computer and give me a spanking?!

Posted by aalkon at January 18, 2007 9:45 AM


If your readers could reach you through their computers, Amykins, a spanking is not the first thing that comes to mind. In a good way, yarrrrrrr.

'The Council?' That has a kind of late-70's, English-TV-circa-'The Prisoner' vibe to it. You'll be gassed unconscious through your keyhole, then whisked away to The Island where reported advice columnists are sent (think Dear Abby's really dead? Ha!)
You'd look pretty spiff in one of those black blazers with white trim.

Posted by: Cat brother at January 18, 2007 1:02 PM

Her response is hilarious! Intentionally or unintentionally. Probably the latter, given that she writes multiple advice columnists on a regular basis (no diss on your work, Amy, or that of your colleagues, but as you note - people do need to figure stuff out on their own)... most funny people have confidence.

Posted by: justin case at January 18, 2007 2:46 PM

Well I do live in the UK and I'd like to invite this young idiot to go fuck herself. Now feel free to report me to the Council, deary, I'm in the London phone book.

And just so you know what The Council means...this is like threatening to report you to the Peoria City Government, who of course have no power to regulate the internet even in the town they control, let alone overseas... 'the Council' is sort of like saying 'The Mayor's Office', i.e. the people who hire dog-catchers and garbage men and fix the traffic lights. Terrifying, eh?

Posted by: Perry de Havilland at January 18, 2007 5:03 PM

Oh, Cat Brother... 'the Prisoner' was mid-sixties (1967-68). Completely bonkers TV in an insanely great way.

Posted by: Perry de Havilland at January 18, 2007 5:08 PM

As much as I liked Patrick McGoohan, The Prisoner was really short on scenery and cast.
As for the snotty supplicant, there was likely precocious activity going on.

Posted by: opit at January 18, 2007 6:24 PM

But 'The Prisoner' was all about dialogue and situation.

Posted by: Perry de Havilland at January 18, 2007 7:57 PM

Hello. I don't think that you lack for words, but in case the clueless strumpet whines at you again, why, don't waste time with one pitiful ad hominem!


Your opinion means less to me than it does to approximately one billion Chinese.

You weren't aborted because your parents were too stupid to recognize what was going on. Doctors were puzzled, there being a notable reluctance on the part of barnyard animals to be alone with your sire or dame, and let you develop to see whether a protuberent, suppurating pustule could simulate life when it popped all over the inside of the '74 Nova your parents live in.

Your mind is so empty George Bush feels sorry for you, and Bill Clinton counts on you to forget about Hillary's past and get her out of the house.

The Department of Homeland Security wants you to stay indoors and use the Internet, no matter who you think invented it, as your appearance in public causes panic.

Is that clue repellent you're wearing?
Some people don't know nuthin'. You don't even suspect nuthin'.

When Hillary talked about the "village" raising kids, she didn't mean you. That's because she didn't want you leaking on the other kids, and it's unfair to the village to appoint their idiot for them.

Michael Jackson wore a glove for some time to hide the scars of infection transferred by one touch of your adoring fingers. "Neverland" refers obliquely to when it will be possible for you to see Michael again. Sorry.

You type with one hand and eat Cheetos with the other, and you think this is a skill. Your crotch is orange. Your "screen saver" is a sheet of cling-wrap to catch spittle and other bodily fluids.

Your cats think your bathroom is nasty. Your dog doesn't think anything on the property is worth marking.

Scientists yearn to study you because your body has never rejected an organ - particularly those of said scientists.

Your mother engages in multi-vendor processes without synergy. (Thanks, Scott Adams!)

Your mother made James Brown yell, "Heh!". Result: you! Now, if only she could count out the other members of the band, the bus driver, two hitchhikers and the dog, you'd have it made!

Cerebral meningitis may be the only chance at developing living cells in that skull of yours.

The best evidence that your deity doesn't exist is that he hasn't struck you dead for the crap you make up about him.

The only person on Earth who agrees with you has removed his teeth and hairpiece, is coated with Vaseline from head to toe, and is waiting for you, eager to show you the new appliance you have - which arrived today in a brown paper bag.

The way you hold that mouth open, you're liable to get something in it.

You are not in protective custody because you are so unimportant. Your dog, however, has been given a new home in an undisclosed location while he heals from the emotional and physical scars you inflicted.

Flies won't land on you because you disgust them.

The airline stew's routine about the seat cushion being a flotation device is not meant for you. The aircrew can tell you're a floater.

I was going to meet you but I caught the flu. Hey, I had the chance.

Charles Manson agrees with you totally. So does Ted Kascynski. And Pee Wee Herman wants you to hang out with him.

You're only mad about "adult" novelties because you can't figure out where they go.

You're the reason some companies call toilet paper "facial tissue".

In your case, being safe from AIDS is simply due to the fact that nothing recently alive will have sex with you.

The last time you expressed yourself, the cat hurried to bury it. Pity the poor overworked mammal and shut up!

When you walk into a pet store, all the gerbils hide. Those caught in the open die of fright.

I don't know anything about you. Dad was a mechanic, not a proctologist!

When you come to mind - and after I suppress the urge to heave my lungs out - I think of new words to describe you and your opinion. "Seepage" is a fun one. You know - the kind around the toilet floor gasket at that nasty gas station restroom you write your phone number in?

Lie - n. - any sound you make or symbol you present in attempts to communicate.
Communicate - v. - the process by which you spread lies.

The National Man-Boy Love Association - they of the slogan, "Sex by age 8 or it's too late!" has rejected your membership application because of your low moral standards. Sorry!

If we are what we eat, I suppose nothing in your house flushes...

If you won't listen to me, listen to Will Rogers: "Never miss a good chance to shut up."

You know from personal experience that the "Pet" milk in the store is definitely NOT dog or cat.

Your IQ is an imaginary number. You imagine it's positive.

If a dog threw you up, he'd let you lie there and run away. Possum parts are good the second time, though.

Your dog is a better companion than you are. Ask your dad. Try not to notice the red face - or the dog hanging his head in shame.

The sewage plant is not permitted to release you or your opinion without extensive treatment.

You enjoy having the "clap" because of the memories it brings - like the kneeling and begging.

Call the college back. You got cheated. Maybe they'll give your money back or give you a break on cosmetology school. You can bring your own binoculars and save on lab fees. (Get it?)

I bet you got a great big belt buckle and a little bitty --- androgen imbalance.

We can't seem to communicate, and it's obviously my fault. I've tried to babble, and I just can't do it.

Lemmings run for the sea in such numbers because they heard about your gerbil.

WWJD? What would Jesus do? Why, slap you, for being you!


This post has been carefully purged of content. Contains less than 1%BHT for freshness.

Posted by: Radwaste at January 18, 2007 8:00 PM

Perry, what a total pleasure. Now if only you'd get back here to Lost Angeles one of these days!

Posted by: Amy Alkon at January 18, 2007 8:37 PM

"Now give me advice, before i report you to the council."

That was really kind of hot. Queen Victoria wants service, and she wants it NOW. Next thing you know, she'll be telling you to lick her royal pussy. I like her.

Posted by: Lena at January 18, 2007 10:10 PM

The Goddess writes:

What are they going to do, reach through my computer and give me a spanking?!


Posted by: Patrick at January 19, 2007 1:47 AM

I agree, Prisoner was dialog and situation. That episode where they brainwashed and regressed him? Was like Kabuki theater (sorry, Perry, 'theatre'). McGoohan almost took the ironic smirking thing too far, but had one of the great voices in drama, period.
Thank God that Van Damme movie takeoff sank without a trace.

Posted by: Cat brother at January 19, 2007 4:20 AM

Hmm- Are you sure our advice-seeking British friend is not Sasha cohen in RL (or somebody else wanting to do a Borat..)

Posted by: rocman at January 19, 2007 5:56 AM

"Perry, what a total pleasure. Now if only you'd get back here to Lost Angeles one of these days!"

Be careful what you ask for Amy, I may return to L.A. with instructions from The Council to administer a firm spanking...

Posted by: Perry de Havilland at January 19, 2007 7:21 AM

I'd like that!

I mean, uh, hope to see you soon!

Posted by: Amy Alkon at January 19, 2007 9:13 AM

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