You're a Horrible Person, But I Like You: The Believer Book of Advice (5 page)

My teacher says that the human body is 65 percent water. I don’t think I believe him. If that’s true, then why can’t we breathe underwater? If we’re half water, why does water kill us?

Scott, age 8
San Antonio, TX

Dear Scott:

You can’t breathe underwater? Consult your physician immediately. You may be made of sand.

Andy

…

Dear Andy:

My doctor says I have hippocampal sclerosis, but I don’t know. It sounds like a fake disease. Is it for real?

Jennifer Bowden
Jackson, MI

Dear Jennifer:

According to Wikipedia, hippocampal sclerosis is a disease whose symptoms include “segmental loss of pyramidal neurons, granule cell dispersion and reactive gliosis.” But I wouldn’t be concerned if I were you—like most things on Wikipedia, it’s probably all made up.

Andy

…

Dear Andy:

Do you remember those comics, Classics Illustrated? Why did they stop making them? Because of CI, I can hold my head up high and say I’ve read
The Iliad
and
Les Misérables.
But what about modern classics like … well, I don’t know. Without comics, I’m lost
.

Eric Johnson
Brooklyn, NY

Dear Eric:

The demise of Classics Illustrated was indeed a negative development, and not just for posers like you. Since CI stopped publishing, the incidence of anal fissures in the United States has shot up 300 percent.

Andy

…

Dear Andy:

What’s another word for “gyneolatry”? I looked it up in the thesaurus and couldn’t find something that really captures the essence of it
.

Tongue-tied in San Diego

Dear Tongue-tied:

“Insnatchuation.”

Andy

Michael Cera

Dear Michael:

Do you think turtles tell jokes? It seems like they could be really funny
.

Rilo
Akron, OH

Dear Rilo:

I think that turtles definitely do not tell jokes. They could still be funny, I think, but it would be purely based on their appearance and the way that they move really slowly. But if we scrutinize further, we find that the humor ends there, and the sadness of the turtle’s existence washes away all the jokes, culminating as the ultimate truth of the animal.

Michael

…

Dear Michael:

I am beginning to think the word “cobbler” can mean anything you want it to. Person who mends shoes, deep-dish fruit dessert, rejected fabric, or mummichog. Are we moving toward a new world where the only word is “cobbler” and our only clues are inflection? How can I prepare?

Anonymous
Sedona, AR

Dear Anonymous:

It’s an interesting point to bring up. Being a purist, I’ve always referred to my mummichog as “mummichog,” and “mummichog” alone. I also tend to refer to people who mend shoes as “feet-housers,” and rejected fabric as “self.” I think we should be civilized and leave “cobbler” to the deep-dish fruit dessert, as it’s such a delicious, deep, fruity word to say and hear and cobble.

Michael

…

Dear Michael:

In middle school my science teacher told me talking to plants helps them grow. What do you think?

Sincerely
,
I’d Rather Not Say

Dear I’d Rather Not Say:

I think there’s a very good chance that your middle school science teacher was a bonehead and was trying to impress you by dangling a whole bunch of worthless knowledge in your face.

Michael

…

Dear Michael:

Why is it that educated people are such assholes? I mean, they just looove to flaunt their trivial knowledge. It’s like they want to impress everybody or something
.

Jason P
.
Warren, MI

Dear Jason:

Did you know talking to plants helps them grow?

Michael

…

Dear Michael:

I think my landlady/downstairs neighbor may be selling crack out of her apartment. She also yells very loudly at her boyfriend around midnight every night, like clockwork, and makes the house shake with her incoherent, catlike rants. Also, her phone rings a lot. What do I do?

J.J
.
Boulder, CO

Dear J.J.:

This one is simple. Befriend the boyfriend. B-friend the B-friend. Be a friend. Wait outside the place. When he leaves one day, be casually walking by. Say, “Hey, you live below me, right?” (He says yes) and you say, “Coffee?” (He says yes) and you go to a café and say, “What’s your name anyhow?” (He tells you) and you say, “So, _______, how’s life treating you?” (He says fine) and you say, “Fine is fine with me. Heck, fine is almost as good as good.” (He laughs and smiles) and you say, “I really like making you laugh; we should hang out again soon.” (He says for sure) and you say, “Can I come by and maybe borrow some crack, you think?” (He says sure, you can take some, me and my girlfriend sell crack out of our apartment but we only have a little bit left but you can totally take it) and you say, “That’d be really great; I’d really appreciate that.” (He says what’s mine is yours) and now you have a new friend and an unbelievably convenient crack hookup, and next time you see him it wouldn’t be weird or out of the blue for you to say, “Hey, I heard you guys arguing last night at midnight. Trouble in paradise?” and get the scoop on the yelling situation.

Michael

…

Dear Michael:

I’m not sure what to do this weekend. Got any ideas?

Bored in San Antonio, TX

Dear Bored:

Here’s what I think you should do: Go to the garden center and purchase some tree seeds (anything from an arroyo sweetwood to a western soapberry will do), and plant the seeds in your front yard. Wait patiently for the seeds to blossom into a beautiful baby tree (approximately two to three hours), and then talk to it. This will help the tree grow, as well as make it less lonely/bored.

Michael

…

Dear Michael:

How is it that every time I go to the grocery store, I forget to get the milk?

Isadora
Modesto, CA

Dear Isadora:

You’ve just got way too much on your mind. You need to clear your head, girl. Spend a weekend in San Antonio; there’s a ton of fun stuff to do there.

Michael

Vernon Chatman and John Lee

Dear Vernon and/or John:

Does electrolysis really work? I’m not so sure
.

Angie Kritenbrink
Federal Way, WA

Dear Angie:

First off, what is Federal Way? That sounds like some sort of lie. There is no “way” for our federation. Like the Death Star or Rome, we are hurtling toward an abysmal destination that only the worthless history books and withered poets can encapsulate, word-wise. As for your question about electrolysis, try covering your hirsutitude with a hat, preferably worn faux-haphazardly askew, as is the style these days.

Vernon and John

…

Dear Vernon and/or John:

My nine-month-old pug named Fang has recently taken a liking to eating his own poop. When I get the chance to actually spend an entire day with him, I feel like he teaches me a thing or two. My question is, should I try eating his poop?

Chris Funk
guitarist for the Decemberists
Portland, OR

Dear Chris:

Well, yours is an arrestingly unique conundrum, Mr. Funk. And, in fact, you very well may be joking, as is your human right. But we still intend to answer this question for the benefit of those for whom the nightmare of Spastic Fecal Ingestion is very real. SFI has only recently been acknowledged by the U.S. Medicalry Institute, an organization that itself has yet to be recognized by anyone anywhere. It just so happens that our great-aunt Lillia “suffered” your plight, but she was a fighter to the last who could beat anything, and she “passed” her homeliest of home remedies on to us. Use it wisely: take a quarter-pinch of raw talcum powder and hold it between your two ring toes; douse your back hair in a blend of rainwater, cran-apple cocktail, and Dramamine; pop the ticks on your left arm with a wooden matchstick, and, as they burst, kiss a jar of our grandmarm’s famous hand-marmed marmalade between each of the crisp crackles, take a deep breath, hold it, and then immediately eat as much of the dog’s rectal output as you can stomach. You should awake the next morning to find your hair has more bounce, more luster, and more sheen than you could have possibly foreseen!

Vernon and John

…

Dear Vernon and/or John:

Since arriving in New York about a year ago, I haven’t been motivated to cook. I haven’t had sex, either, and I’m beginning to think the two are somehow related. My friends have suggested the “pity lay,” but I feel that’s cheating—sort of the equivalent of a microwave dinner. Any suggestions for turning these two worrying trends around?

Lauren Marks
New York, NY

Dear Lauren:

Manners! Never, ever,
ever
turn down a “pity lay.” It is also considered bad form to reject the offering of a courtesy cuddle, a grievance grope, sorrow sex, a hunger hump, a shame shag, an ennui shower, a gloat scroting, a phantom-limb handjob, an anosognosian booty call (with one’s own booty, no doubt), a gymnophobes dry hump, a rusty-trombone marrow transplant, a free falafel (shoved up your ass), or a sincere, sensual session of meaningful lovemaking.

As for your question, what you feel is natural. Food and sex fit together like a penis made of olives fits into a snug vagina knit from hen cutlets. Our advice is, be careful out there. Don’t want those olives to spoil. Always keep them in chilled brine before serving (penetration).

Vernon and John

…

Dear Vernon and/or John:

Why is it that every time my family sits down for a Sunday dinner I simultaneously feel the urge to massacre each one of them with my bare hands, ripping every fiber of their being into obliteration and leaving no shred of evidence except for their as-yet-untouched plates of barbecued chicken and mashed potatoes, which I will surely eat
once I wash my hands of the evidence, and want to hug them until they bleed?

Ben Siegel
Williamsville, NY

Dear Ben:

You’ll be happy to know that this is not your fault. The only thing to blame here is that dastardly rascal known as “your emotions.” This horrible fiend has revealed the thin double-edged sword between love and hate. Again, not your fault. And fear not; we have a solution to your woes. But to ensure that our advice isn’t bogged down in crass feelings, we have printed it in binary code: 101101001 10101 1010110110, 111 0010 101 0111. 1010 10101 10 01010101 1010 Coca-Cola 1010111 10101 1011 01 0101010 10101 … 0101 01.

Vernon and John

…

Dear Vernon and/or John:

I am a forty-eight-year-old who has been enjoying the occasional use of cannabis since puberty. Because this is an illegal substance controlled by a mafia of seventeen-year-olds, I find that it has become difficult (if not impossible) for a middle-aged suburbanite to hook up with “the man.” Should I just grow up and go cold turkey, or go back to high school and hope to hang with a cool crowd? Please advise
.

Theodore W. Oestendiek
A rural part of Arizona

Dear Theodore:

It is well-known that Rodney Dangerfield went back to school for the same reasons you are thinking, and now he’s dead. Or, let’s put it this way: It’s like my beloved Aunt Clorvis always used to say. “Let me make this very clear. We are not related. Kindly remove your withered bodyclaw from my ladybags.” In other words, follow your heart. But whatever you do, do it au gratin. And just in case you still missed it, let me dumb it down for you a notch: make like a fig and fuck off, stoner.

Vernon and John

Rob Corddry

Dear Rob:

I’m seriously considering buying a houseboat. I already know about all the bad reasons to do this—my friends and family have been very helpful in that department—but nobody has bothered to tell me why this would be insanely cool and bad-ass. What do you think?

Chad Lewis
Waukesha, WI

Dear Chad:

Just curious: What are the
bad
reasons to buy a houseboat? A deep, penetrating sleep cycle? Iconoclastic neighbors? Too much pussy? Unless you hate Halloween, I can’t think of one single reason not to buy a sleek, modern houseboat. By the way, I’m cc’ing my houseboat salesman on this.