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Advice Column #1 Good evening to you, sirs and madams. I am Sir Gentleman Brock LaBorde, Esquire, and I shall be dispensing advice to those of you whom are in need of it, which is very likely all of you. The way this works is that you write all of your trifling problems onto a piece of parchment paper, transfer that paper's contents onto an email (or attach it to an email), and then send that email to me (Care of: myself) at brock@studio8.net. I will then read your petty letters at my leisure and if I find its debacle worthy of my mental energies, I will reply to it on this website. Now that you are aware of my impeccable self-designed advice-distributing system, I shall commence with this week's batch of troubled and hopeless letters.
I think the pastor at my church knows that I am a virgin and I also think that he might be my dad. But that's not my problem, nor is it my question to you. As a matter of fact, I wish I had left it out of this letter, since it has nothing to do with my real problem. My real problem is this: I get sexually aroused every time I see my sister’s bra in the laundry basket. What does this mean? - Hot for My Sister
Dear Mr. Sister, At the risk of embarrassing myself, I must admit that long ago I was in a similar situation to yours. I do not wish to bore you or other readers with the sordid details, but just imagine yourself as me when I was twelve and your sister’s silky unmentionables as my grandfather’s dentures in a glass of tepid antiseptic fluid. As I blush at the thought of that night, my painfully ecstatic memories reinforce the statement that a gentleman never discusses his past, gives advice to others, or makes general statements about what it takes to be considered a gentleman. I will leave you with that small piece of advice, along with the above unutterable tidbit from my past, in hopes that you will soon learn how to become more of a gentleman, though I doubt you can learn anything at all. Dear Gentleman Brock, I spilled a gallon of water on my crotch while on a date with a girl who I really like. I don’t want her to notice. What should I do? Please hurry and answer this letter before she sees it. - Wet Crotch
Dear Mr. Crotch, Sorry I took so long to answer your letter. I was at a Gentleman’s Convention in Atlanta for the past week and I am also presently tied up babysitting an acquaintance’s pet rock collection. Add to that a moist sprinkling of mild diarrhea and you can guess that I am currently quite the busy gentleman. As for your inquiry, I’m must regretfully inform everyone that, aside from knowing how to sew the occasional loosened button or self-inflicted stab wound that is required knowledge for any gentleman, Gentleman Brock has no other household-like remedial skills. I can, however, recommend some wonderful arts and crafts projects for you and your date to undertake while you wait for your pants to dry. Unfortunately, both in my large intestines and in this column, I have run out of space and will have to touch upon those projects at a later date. Dear Gentleman Brock, Deez Nuts! - Phil Deez
Dear Mr. Deez, I’m not quite sure what your question concerns, but I will tell you everything I know about nuts and the manner in which all refined gentlemen should handle them. If a gentleman is offered a tasty nut, he refrains from giggling, opting instead to merely pinch the left testicle of he who offered the nut. While it can be argued that philberts and cashews have rather silly names, once you taste a philbert or cashew, you will quickly change your mind. If you are like me and spend a significant amount of time in the produce section of local grocery stores peering suspiciously through the fruit at female customers, you may come across a wide variety of nuts. Also, do not be surprised if security guards (oddly enough) refer to you as a nut when they forcibly remove you from their stores. Once upon a time, a rather forceful and unpleasant grocery guard accused me of kicking him in the nuts, though I had no idea he housed them so closely to his crotch, if you can believe that! The judge and jury sure didn't! Hopefully the above letters have satiated your lusty greed for tidbits of wisdom from yours truly. If not, you may purchase my forthcoming book for a nominal fee or you may gaze wistfully at a picture of me and imagine that I am your boyfriend. Most of my fans and acquaintances partake of both such activities on a daily basis. I would be a fool to deny that I do the same. Again, if you have some ridiculous quandaries of your own, you may feel free to bother me with them by emailing me at brock@studio8.net. I promise that I shall answer every query hurled at me whenever I feel like it. Are you thoroughly satisfied with this advice? Talk about it in the Studio 8 Forums right now! |
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