Advice From The Underworld

Time once again for a monthly installment of advice, and I have to admit it folks, but anyone who's got nerve enough to actually TAKE my advice...well then, cheers to you mate. I personally wouldn't trust my advice further than I can throw a 50 pound sack of shit, but if you keep asking your questions, I'll keep answering them. Sit down on my pleather couch of psychoanalysis, because the Doctor is in.

Dear Johnny,
30 years, Johnny. 30 years old I am and already the doctors tell me that I need to quit drinking. Something about liver failure or some bullshit like that. I ask you, is it wrong for a man to enjoy the sight of a full bottle of Jim Beam than the sight of naked woman? After reading some of your articles, I can tell that you sir are a man of fine libationary tastes. Maybe I AM an alcoholic, Johnny, but goddamn he who be the one that tells me that I have a problem. I refuse to just take my doctor's advice lying down. So I come to you and ask...
...should I stop drinking?
-Drunk In Spokane


The Doctor's Advice:

Dear Drunk In Spokane,

Hmmmmmm. Should you stop drinking? Let's weigh the issue, shall we? Forget about all that nonsense the doctor fed you about liver failure and cirrhosis, all that medical mumbo-jumbo is just inconsequential to the real issues at hand you have to ponder. Becoming a tee-totaler has it's benefits, albeit not very many. By giving up drinking, you leave behind those blistering headaches just behind your eyes when you wake up after a long night of conquering the Mescal worm. You leave behind those strange and phantom injuries you discover on your body while taking that next day shower, wondering how in the hell you managed to break three toes and lose a thumbnail when all you did was go for happy hour at TGI-Fridays the day before. You leave behind a laundry list of enemies and broken hearts, all made in the process of stumbling around town drunk in various bars searching for that perfect pint of ale. Not only that, but you'll notice your wallet becoming significantly girthier, due to a sudden influx of unspent funds.

But fuck all that. My right ass cheek is never uncomfortable due to MY slim pickins' wallet. Those bruises and injuries? I consider them to be battle scars; prized war trophies forever reminding me that yes indeed, I survived another night. I drink alot, I admit it. In fact, lately, I drink waaaaaaaay too much. But who says that's a bad thing? Sober is no way to go through life, boring and dull with no passion to fuel you save for remembrance of the times when you were intoxicated. Some of the greatest writers and artists were complete slaves to the Devil's Piss, and I have yet to be enthralled by the works of some "straight-edge" visionary. Drinking breeds chaos, chaos breeds art, and art is beauty no matter what the cost. So while cirrhosis is no laughing matter, one fact remains in this cold brutal world we live in: We all have to die sometime. Might as well go out smiling and numb.

So live life like I do, fellow sick fuck drunkard. Your liver is the enemy, and at any moment, that slimy bastard is going crawl out of it's trench and charge your position with guns ablazing hellfire. Are you going to sit there in your foxhole, pissing your pants every time you hear its war-cry? FUCK NO! Get out there and slaughter that sum'bitch with 2000 rounds of 90 proof belt-fed fermented rye and distilled full metal jacket spirits! Do it for Johnny!

Walker, that is.


Dear Johnny,
I've been in love with my boyfriend for three years now, ever since High School. I graduated last year and even took a year off so he could graduate and we could go to the same college together. But he didn't get accepted to the one school that I really want to go to, and now he's going to take a year off and work before he tries again. Should I wait another year, and hope he gets accepted? Or do I go follow MY dreams and hope we don't fall out of touch? Please help me.
-Love Sick
The Doctor's Advice:


Dear Love Sick,
You're barking up the wrong tree, honey. My only advice for you is to give me your number, so I can BANG your feelings for your boyfriend out of that smart little head of yours. With my penis. But since that will probably never happen (and please, email me back if it WILL), I guess I'll try my hand at advice in the vein of romance. You're what? 19? 20 at the most? Add in one stupid boyfriend who can't even get accepted into the local community college, and you have an equation that only adds up to one of two things:

A broken heart or a well used vagina.

Because if you actually DO stick around another year to wait for this waterhead to "make some money", that relationship just isn't going to last. It can't. Eventually you'll get sick of waiting for this guy to get his act together, he'll probably just wind up banging another chick on the side, and eventually you both will part ways with you wondering why the fuck you wasted two years of your young adult life letting this douchebag spill his seed in that velvety slick womb of yours. No, I suggest you take the second option. Go to college this year in September, and start over. A long distance relationship just doesn't cut the mustard, but if you MUST, I guess you can try to keep in touch with that lazy no good boyfriend of yours. He'll move on, so I suggest you do the same. College is a special time in a young woman's life. There you will discover the joys of rampant alcoholism, sex with strangers, and the inevitable exhilarating shock of waking up to your first bladder infection which may or may not be gonorrhea. You will grow as a person, that much I assure you. And isn't that what you really want to go college for, to grow? Sticking around in your hometown just leads to stagnation, and eventually...kids. Oh the horror.

Well, that's it for this installment of advice. I'd answer more of you degenerate bastard's questions, but quite frankly, my liver is gathering outside of my stronghold. My only recourse? Drown that bastard in Stolichnya. Pray for me, folks, and send me your questions, and I might be sober enough to answer them,