Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride

from September 16, 2006

Once again, I’m going to swipe some questions from real advice columns and give better advice than the pros. 

First up, some tool from the Daily News who calls himself “B.F.F.” whatever that means.

Dear BFF: My neighbor has been having parties on his roof-deck most weekends this summer. He’s very considerate about noise, and we have lived side by side without incident for years. Except he tends to end his parties by having sex with some floozy on the roof, which we can both see and hear. Does New York etiquette require us to simply ignore it?

Next Door in Nolita

First of all, may I have your address? I’ll be over around nine. Well Next Door, you have asked an interesting question. New York etiquette. Obviously you are new here. You have many options about what you can do, following the rules of New York etiquette. First, you can videotape them. There is a strong market for amateur pornography. Voyeurism is your ticket to cash. Secondly, why not finagle an invitation? I’m sure there’s more than one floozy at the bash and I’m sure you could score with a drunk scud. Thirdly, is your neighbor married? In a committed relationship? In a position of authority? I think that you may be in a position to turn this to your advantage. Black mail is only wrong when it is against you.

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And now, Mr. Lotto. (I can barely type that without laughing.) “Mr. Lotto.” How about “Mr. I Have No Balls”?  If you know so much about the lottery, why haven’t you hit the Mega Millions and retired to Jamaica instead of writing this column?

“There’s nothing more frustrating than winning, and not being able to collect.

And yet it still happens regularly; witness this e-mail from Audrey K., who wrote: “I received a Winner Take All scratchoff ticket a few days ago as a gift.

“When I took it to a dealer to claim the ($5) prize, I was told that the ticket was no longer valid.

“Can you please tell me if this ticket has expired, and if it has, if there is any way I can still collect the prize money? Thanks for your help.”

You idiot. You need my help for this? You’re asking me a question about an expired $5 lottery ticket? Are you that poor that you need $5 for your dinner? Is it Alpo or Friskies tonight? How long have you forgotten that thing- what if it was a $500 winner? You don’t deserve that money. If you wanted that money you would have turned in the ticket long ago. And talk about common sense! Any normal person who functions above the approximate level of a howler monkey would have figured out this one long ago. Screw off. I’m not going to help you. Work this out on your own.

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Old friend Harriette Cole checks in again, with a ridiculously easy one.

Dear Harriette:

I go to lunch with a business friend every month or so, and we always swap who pays. The next lunch will be my turn, but I’m really tight on cash right now. I’m not sure what to do. On the one hand, I feel awkward admitting I can’t afford to pay for lunch, even though we do have a friendly professional relationship. On the other, it feels weird to cancel lunch. How should I handle this?

Laurianne, Denver, Colo.

 Blow job, Laurianne. Blow job.

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I will end this with a pair of letters from Miss Manners, whom I am increasingly certain lives on Mars.

 DEAR MISS MANNERS — My wife, a high school English teacher who taught advanced composition courses to seniors before retiring, had a pet peeve about one very common usage by prominent speakers in every field and also highly respected authors. It is starting a sentence with “I don’t think….” She insisted that her students use “I think” instead of “I don’t think.”

Her rationale was obvious. The latter implies that the writer doesn’t think. I would like to have your opinion on this subject.

Well, speaking as an English teacher, the “I don’t think” implies a negative in the opening of you thesis and- hey!  sakldjfoiperjgjipop———- SHUT UP ENGLISH TEACHER!

You know that most students don’t think. Well, your wife knows it too. Obviously, she is much brighter than you. If I were you, troll, I’d better make dinner and then breakfast in bed before she starts to think about divorcing your ass.

DEAR MISS MANNERS — As half of a same-sex couple, I am a little puzzled about bread-and-butter notes. When my partner and I lived in separate communities and had dinner in the home of a couple who lived in between, I agreed that it was proper for both of us to write. But now that we are living together, it seems a little odd for the same couple to be getting two separate notes from the same household. I think one note over two signatures would suffice. Perhaps we might alternate writing them.

Here’s the proof that I am 100% straight. What the fuck is a bread-and-butter note? On second thought, I don’t want to know. Frankly, anytime a gay man asks me a question with the word “butt” in it I get nervous.

But- er, However, to answer your question, I say this: Don’t bother. I have long felt that friends are a burden. Unless these are people whom you can bend toward your own purposes, don’t worry for a second. People are a liability in life. Friends doubly so. I say forget all this nonsense.

 That’s all for this installment. Join me next time when I make a young child cry.

Tags: advice, bad advice, Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride