Strugr

Dear Zack,

Howdy from Kentucky! Lately I've been seeing this guy who sneezes every time we kiss. Should I change my lipstick brand (Wild Thing's Mustang Red) for a man I barely know to secure a relationship that just began yesterday evening at the bowling alley?

Distressfully yours, Pouty in Paduka

Dear Pouty, with a noncommittal attitude like this (you seem to disparage the fact that you met him just yesterday), you can hardly expect any relationship with any hobo you pick up in any alley to mature. Do you want a man or a tube of lipstick in your declining years? Since you seem an unintelligent, indecisive sort I expect you don't know. This is the root of your dilemma. You need to somehow or other decide if a shade of cosmetics is more important than a human being. I suggest you toss a coin.

Yesterday I decorated two cucumbers as people--one as a man and one as a woman. The man has a mustache, and the woman has lips. They both have crossed eyes. I named them Mr. and Mrs. Cucilumber. They're sitting on my desk now, and I plan to eat one of them today. Why do I feel guilty about it? And who do I eat first? Cucumber Cannibal

Dear Cannibal, There seem to be two issues here: the gender distinctions you impose on the cucumbers and your desire to consume them as befits their gender. I would just point out that with the genetic differences between our hair follicles and those of the cucumber it is conceivable that the cucumber with the mustache is actually a woman. This being the case, there is simply no way to consume them in a gender appropriate manner. I would suggest choosing some other, less indeterminate factor. Which has bigger eyes? Then, toss a coin.

Guilt is a function of the imagination, which is the product of chemical changes in the brain, which is directly controlled by diet. Morality arises from food. Your guilt is an indicator that you lack the brain chemicals to perceive that the cucumbers are just as chemically determined as yourself, and therefore, just as valueless. In reality you probably need to eat the cucumbers to gain this perspective, but in your chemical anxiety you seek to assign a value to the cucumbers that you imagine yourself possessing because you experience guilt. In reality the guilt is chemical, you are chemical, the cucumber is chemical, the morality arising from the cucumber is chemical. Stop thinking of the cucumbers as people. Think of yourself as a giant summer squash. In this universe without values, size and strength are all that matters. And they don't. Eat or die, basically. It doesn't matter which: both are chemically determined. I suggest you toss a coin. It's your only chance at randomness, and randomness is the only chance at meaning.

Dear Zack,

I shall be serving 7 consecutive prison terms for murdering 7 consecutive husbands. My first question is, would you take care of my cat while I serve this time? And my second question is, to which of these dolts shall I be hitched in heaven?

Yours truly,

Hethsdotter

Dear Dotter,

I am, as I stated above, an atheist and can hardly address questions regarding the afterlife. However, sensing the delicate, troubled nature of your spiritual question, I have consulted a Muslim imam on your behalf. He writes:

"Hethsdotter, I honor you. You have killed seven of the infidel. You will dwell in the seventh paradise, with seven times seven dolts. Your earthly husbands, having not slain anyone but only being slain themselves, are not fit to dwell in paradise."

I like this system. It has a lot in common with my own beliefs if we take 'paradise' to be a projected nature parable. He also mentioned that technically, the word often translated 'dolt' is the word for 'raisins'. Your reward for killing the infidel appears to be a pound or so of dried fruit. Again, my own beliefs are not so dissimilar. As for your cat, I hear that Noriega is looking for a pet to lavish himself upon when his sentence is up. You might ask there.

Also, a question I answered previously in the comments:

I've recently switched to a new line of hair care products. The line includes mousse, hairspray, scented shampoo and conditioner, and gravity defying gel. Should I pay with cash or debit?

Wondering at Work

Dear Wondering: for gravity defying use debit. You'll need your cash in space. Contrary to popular opinion, visa is not 'everywhere you want to be'.

Labels: cucumber related issues, haircare, Muslim consultant, Noriega, relationship advice

Dear “Anonymous”,

Since you obviously don't know the difference between a declarative and interrogative statement -whether from inadequate education, inbreeding, or cocaine use I can't determine without more details - I'll rephrase your remark. You ask, [Is] Remonstrans ... the only true blog, and Dissidens .... its prophet[?].

The answer is “No.” Remonstans is, as I hinted last night, a cover up operation for Dissidens' shower cap smuggling operations. He supplied disposable shower caps and trial size shampoos to PDF officers under Noriega in the '80s, and ran circles around the Central Intelligence of Hotel Amenities (CIHA) as an idealistic young entrepreneur, running small sewing kits into Cuba in the '60s and '70s. Castro's regime would have fallen apart by its dislocated buttons if Dissidens had not supplied each and every officer with a personal pocket size matchbook containing a small needle and eight different colors of thread. Also useful to spear gnats and roast them over slow burning cigarette lighters, a favorite pastime of elite paramilitary forces on guard duty. In short, the communists would have given up in tatters and boredom a few years into their oppressive takeover if it weren't for the so called 'prophet'.

I met Dissidens at a seedy hotel in Colón in 2002. He was wearing a pinstripe suit under a hotel issue bathrobe, and a large white, hotel insignia bathtowel on his head. He preserved his anonymity with a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, eyebrows, and nose. He waved a Cuban cigar. He spoke contemptuously of the works of John Philip Sousa. “The man has passed his music through the fire to Molech” he spat out, spitting a stream of Cuban tobacco across the lounge and hitting a small, stray dog that tagged after him under the impression that he was Clint Eastwood. I coughed politely. He was actually eating the cigar. That was basically it.

The only reason he's allowed to continue his so called 'blogging activities' under the current administration is because he cuts the national budget in half by keeping the White House in individually wrapped hand soap (the staff are often up in the night doing the Lady Macbeth routine) and Folgers-filled coffee filters.

Stay tuned. I will deal with “Pouty from Paducah” next time. Hang in there Pouty.

Labels: Castro, CIHA, Dissidens, Noriega