Wednesday Advice Smackdown
July 14, 2004
LET THE SMACKING DOWN COMMENCE.
Oh, people. This week. And I mean people, this week. I was stuck at work until 8 p.m. last night and still, apparently, expected to come in again this morning. The hell? Bitch. Es.
Also a bitch: insomnia. I hate insomnia. Please send insomnia nasty hate mail at: firstname.lastname@example.org. Thank you.
But! It is not all horrible suckage! For it is Wednesday! Which means advice day! And y'all sent in really, really awesome questions this week. Not Blair Warner Autographed Birthday Gifts Awesome, but few things in life really are.
But what with this pesky "work" thing, I cannot devote my full attention to all the questions in all their glorious awesomeness all at once. So in true Smackdown format, I'll be answering questions one at a time, throughout the whole damn day. (Wow! It'll almost be like a blog or something!)
So this way, everybody wins! You'll get quality advice other than me saying things like: "HOW THE FUCK DO I KNOW? ALSO, GET THAT RASH CHECKED OUT."
Oh, and I'll get more hits from y'all obsessively checking in all day to see if I've posted another question. Because you will! I know it! YOU LOVE ME AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO EVERY DAMN WORD I HAVE TO SAY.
Well, what about if I promise to lay off the CAPS lock?
Question One, 12:36 pm
Some fucktard plagiarized my online journal (http://keepergirl.diaryland.com). As Queen of Everything, what sort of smackdown do you recommend, besides the pussy "plagiarism sucks" entry I already wrote?
Pissed Off, but Really, What Kind of Idiot Plagiarizes You Then Adds You as a "Favorite"?
HOLY FUCK ALMIGHTY IN THE MORNING.
So when you said “plagiarized” (and mad props and loave for spelling it properly), I sort of expected to read about someone vaguely perpetratin' on your phraseology or something, much like I just plagiarized that from Coleen.
Or maybe read about one of those annoying RSS feed sites that tend to republish my entries under the category of “International Outsourcing Blogs” or “Today In Horticulture.” I hate those things.
But no. No! You have been plagiarized by The Crazy. The Crazy of all The Crazy. Five of your posts, lifted word-for-every-blooming-word, all in One Post of Mad Schizophrenic The Crazy.
Baby, I'm going to become a lawyer just so I can sue her ass and be all COPYRIGHT VIOLATIONS, bitch! Have fun in Federal Pound-Me-In-The-Ass Prison!
And then yes, you were added as a "Favorite Journal." It don’t get much The Crazier than that. I’m a little frightened for you. Hold me.
So. In terms of revenge. I think this column is a good start. I would link directly to The Crazy so she could see the smackdown she’s getting laid down wit’ at over here, but I am a chicken. Who is frightened of being seen anywhere need that whackjob’s referral logs. (I mean, I’ve already tempted the holy fury of Blaire Warner, child beauty pageants and The Crazy Who’s the Boss Fanart People.)
She would also probably plagiarize me, and I would cry. Perhaps she’d use this entry to talk about me being The Crazy. Maybe she lives in some parallel universe where this entry HAS ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN, BY HER, and it’s ME who is plagiarizing. Oh my god.
Question Two, 12:59 pm
I think my boyfriend may be cheating on me. With a motorcycle. Do I need to get all scrappy and scratch up her paint? Whatever can I do?
The girl without chrome pipes
I don’t know how to tell you this, but he’s definitely cheating on you. (Actually, I guess that’s how I would tell you that.)
You know how I know? Because the Haiku Smackdown told me. Just look at this picture we uncovered a couple weeks ago…
I’m very sorry about this. Especially since I’m going to have to go ahead and seriously insult your choice of décor. That bedspread is NASTY and that wallpaper border is a sin. And iridescent pink curtains? Are you on crack?
Unless this is a motel room, and then I’m just going to seriously insult your boyfriend. That bike deserved to be taken someplace nicer.
Question Three, 1:23 pm
I have a stench problem. Not me personally, but the new (old) house the husband and I moved into two weeks ago.
When we first walked the property, there was a faint odor of dog. When we signed the lease papers and went back to see the property again, they had just finished cleaning the carpets. The faint odor of dog was transformed into faint odor of wet dog.
I figured that I could get it out of the carpet with Febreeze© and this miracle solution that you can get at PetCo©. Alas, I have been Febreeze©-ing the shit out of this large house. I have left candles going for neigh on 10 days. I have sprayed that Miracle stuff until the bottle was empty. I have vacuumed and begged and pleaded with the odor gods to leave the carpet that they inhabit.
Please help me. That Heloise bitch didn't help me with my problem at all. Helpful hints, my ass. She just complimented me on my new gray streak and laughed at my general malaise.
I swear, I keep flashing back to that skit in Kentucky Fried Movie where those three women come to that lady's door and say:
Lady one: [sniffs the air] "Fish for dinner last night?"
Lady two: [sniffs the air] "Is Harold still smoking those cigars?"
Lady three: [sniffs the air] "Did a cow shit in here?"
Oh, and I have that song by the Black Eyed Peas, "Hey Mama" stuck in my head. Please help! La, la la la laaa.
DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU.
I totally had advice for you. I was all, "Oh! She needs to do X and use Y and then Z will totally fix the problem."
But now all I can think of to tell you are several variations on booty-shakin’, mama. I’m a beat masta blastin’ up the jamma, although maybe if you rent a steamcleaner from the grocery store and use some PetFresh© carpet powder, all the while shakin’ your bambamma, that might help the smell a little.
Question Four, 2:22 pm
Aqua Teen Hunger Force...what the hell?
What? What’s not to get about a cartoon about the wacky animated adventures of a fast food value meal trio who apparently sometimes save the universe from evil but usually spend most of their time slacking around their house in the ghetto and getting on their next-door neighbor’s nerves?
Like this one time? Master Shake (he’s the milkshake) left food or whatever sitting out too long? So this benevolent blob of mold (Ol’ Drippy, they call him) comes alive and becomes Meatwad’s (he’s the hunk of hamburger) best friend until Shake eats him. (The mold, not Meatwad.)
Oh and they tend to get Carl, the next-door neighbor, hurt a lot. One time they blew off his foot and reattached it to his head. And one time Frylock (the box of French fries) made an experimental toilet prototype that blew Carl up. Except for his head, so he was okay.
Sometimes they get involved with intergalactic-type space scuffles with these pixel-ly little guys called the Mooninites and these other two-weird looking aliens who once lost their keys in a woodchipper.
But mostly they just sit around and learn no lessons whatsoever. It’s awesome.
(And don’t even get me started on Sealab 2021. “My eye! What did you do to my eye! That was my last good eye!” Haaaaaaaa.)
In other words, you totally need to be high to watch these shows. I wish I was watching them right now.
Question Five, 4:34 pm
Why do I care about my fiance's ex-fiancee's wedding? Actually I probably know the answer to that one since I'm curious and competitive, both in large quantities. But still, it is advice smackdown day and the fact that I want to know about her still bugs me.
You want to know about her because you need to know what that bitch is UP TO. Mmm-hmmm. I mean, do you KNOW what she said about you? Do you even KNOW?
No? Oh, yeah, me neither. (I am tapped, people.)
But seriously, I was the same way about my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. I wanted to know about everything. I mean, he wasn’t supposed to move on! I destroyed him! He was of no use to anyone, ever again! Who the FUCK is Sharon? Is she fat? Why does she not EXIST, at least according to Google?
But then one I time I Googled the ex and hit. The. Jackpot. Picture, autobiography, home address, etc. He’s a youth minister now. For his parents’ church (who haaaaaaated me). A Baptist church. He’s fat with bad hair and a butt-ugly dog. He signed his bio with "Peace & Love in Jesus." For real.
He gives his testimony, which is boring and does NOT involve him hitting bottom in a hotel room after a cocaine-and-hooker binge as he sought to fill the Amy-shaped hole in his heart. It involves vacation Bible school at the age of five and praying with his mom. For real.
Anyway, I bet your fiancé feels pretty much the same way about his ex, which is to say, “OH THANK YOU LORD FOR NOT LETTING THAT BE MY LIFE.” Perhaps one day you’ll Google her and laugh hysterically at her ugly wedding dress and her Website where she sells custom embroidered tissue-box covers. Blessings!
Question Six, 4:45 pm
Can anyone give me information on Cicadas in Arizona? I am from San Diego (living in Arizona for the summer), and we don't have Cicadas. My research has shown that they appear to come out only once every 17 years in certain parts of the country. Here, however, i think they are yearly. I know they aren't dangerous, but I am still afraid of them. Any info would help, please email me at who_the-eff_do_I_think_Im_kidding@aol.com
Phil the Spambot or Just a Stupid Person
1) There is nothing to be afraid of, except for the killer cicadas, which I hear are crossing the Mexican border as we speak and headed toward Arizona. They will probably be in your area by…tomorrow-ish. Did you ever see “28 Days Later?” It’ll be something like that.
B) Congrats for being an intuitive little spambot that actually posted this comment to an entry about cicadas. You’ve come a long way since you left me the one about tranny porn on the post about my dad’s cancer, so thanks.
7) Also congrats on your “research.” Did you research the Cicadas on the Interweb? Using your very own computing thingamajig?
Egg) HOW THE FUCK DO I KNOW? ALSO, GET THAT RASH CHECKED OUT.