Back by popular demand, it's the Wednesday Advice Smackdown!
(And by "popular demand" I mean Lee asked for it. Three times. It could have been a comment malfunction but I'm choosing to believe he really and truly wanted an advice column today more than anything else on earth. And I deliver!)
But y'all are slacking on the questions. I can only ask myself questions so many times before I start looking kind of crazy. I mean, more kind of crazy. So here's the thing: Moments ago, I opened up a brand-new email account. A Google Gmail account, which is so, so cool because you have to be INVITED to open one. Or something. But that's totally elitist enough for me. So I'm asking y'all to help me christen and sully my beautiful virgin account. Send questions to amalah @ gmail . com. Bonus points to the first question I receive.
(Disclaimer: Bonus points have no cash value and cannot be redeemed for anything at all.)
And now! To the advice! Hurry!
My younger brother, he's ten, has been trying to convince me to show him how to make a potato(e?) gun. As I am twelve years his senior, I feel it may be my duty as a brother to teach him the ways of low power ballistics in the backyard. But, in a world where it seems that the last thing we need is another person with a working knowledge of explosives, is it right that I teach him to make a portable spud shooting cannon?
Dude, my brother makes those! I went to visit him once? And he was all, "POTATO CANNON!" And proceeded to shoot about three dozen potatoes at various targets in his backyard. Then I think we ran out of potatoes and started loading in other random things in the cannon. Apples, yams, and many, many beer cans. It always comes back to the beer cans in my family.
Anyway, that thing was cool. My brother's son, who is surprisingly also my nephew, was about six months old at the time. So really, your little brother is way, way behind. What kind of brother are you? If you're a good one, you'll build him that potato cannon and maybe move on to making trebuchets with which to launch watermelons or more hardcore produce before his next birthday. You know, be
that gateway weapon.
Hi! My name is Stheth, I am stheventeen yearth old, and ath you can probably thee, I have a listhp. The listhp really isthn't my problem (I come from a long line of listhperths). The problem ith my job.
I work for a well known fasth food chain. My sthpethialty ith working the drive-thru window. My problem ith that every time I take an order my bosth tellth me that I have to ask if the cuthtomer wantth it "Sthuper-Sthized", even it it'th already the biggethed combinathion pothible. Often, people asthk me to repeat mysthelf and thnicker at me. Their cruel jesths are an annoyanth, but I try not to let it bother me.
Altho, my both requireth me to addreth him by "Mithter Sthilversthein" when everyone elth juthst
callth him bosth. I feel that I am being treated unfairly. When I brought thith to Mithter Sthilverstein's attenthion, he juthst thaid that thinth I have been working in the window that thalesth have increathed by 300 perthent!
Amalah, sthould I sthtick it out and contiunue to work at thith plath without the resthpect that I detherve? I really need the money tho that I can buy tith Ford Pinto that my couthin Tham ith fikthing up for me. Then I want to move to Sthan Franthithco with my sithter Thethelia after I graduate nexth year (Thethela thays that my listhp will barely be notithable there).
I live in a thmall town and there jutht aren't that many jobth available. What do you thuggestht?
A few frieth sthort of a Happy Meal
My head is all hurty now.
First of all, Sethie, that's all sad about your lisp and all, but you lisp when you TYPE? What?
I cannot help such an idiot. Because usually? My advice would be to get a blog and reinvent yourself with an online persona. Because normal people DON'T LISP ONLINE. So it really would be perfect advice for you if you weren't so thilly.
You would not believe the real-life problems some of the blogging elite have, and how they use the sweet, sweet Internet to hide from the world. For example:
is morbidly obese.
has 17 toes.
has a mullet.
is deathly afraid of the color burnt sienna.
all the damn time.
was the marketing genius behind New Coke.
makes her child wear a mask out in public like Michael Jackson.
doesn't use deodorant for religious reasons.
suffers from OCD and must ask all questions in triplicate.
Go ahead, name a blogger, any blogger, and I'll tell you what's really wrong with them. And you know I'm right, because I read InTouch Weekly.