brutal type

I don’t fucking know, man.  I don’t fucking know.  Most things seem pretty fucked, yeah?  Like, what the fuck is this bullshit. 

Dear Anonymous,

fuck.

This isn’t in answer to your question, it’s a reflection of the fuckedness of the question, because now we’re talking about advice.  This situation blows.  This situation is frustrating.  This situation is fucking real. 

First of all, we’re all too tired to fuck sometimes.  But what you have to do now is recognize there are two possible bits of bullshit at play in this fucking thing:

1. You’re too fucking tired to fuck your hot boyfriend because you’ve been at work or whatever too fucking long and whatever the fuck it is you’ve been up to has drained you of your VITAL ESSENCES (gross) but you’ll be okay soon and ready to get back in the saddle to bone the unholy fuck out your hot piece.  This happens. Especially as you get older, and don’t fucking look at me like that, you know it’s the goddamned truth. 

Point being, sometimes we are all legitimately too tired to fuck.  Your partner, if he’s cool, should know this and retaliate with a fucking foot massage (or a whatever massage if he thinks feet are weird and I’m not one to fucking judge.) If you’re really worried that because this occasionally happens your boyfriend won’t think you think he’s fucking hot, well, that sounds like you’re worried you don’t think your boyfriend’s fucking hot. Which brings us to FUCKING FUCKED POSSIBILITY #2:

2. You’re always going to have a reason for being too fucking tired.  Or too fucking stressed (which seems counterintuitive, but we’ve all been there, oh sweet Gesù, we have) or too fucking something or other.  Because you think he’s fucking hot, yeah, but is he hot enough to want to fuck?  I’m going with the interpretation that you’re a smart person. Are you too smart to want to fuck him?  Not because you’re smarter than him brain-wise, but because you’re so acclimated to being ahead of the game that you’ve discounted the possibility due to the fuckery of your own bullshit interpretation of yourself and what you’re worthy of. Think about this, because it’s a fucking horrible thing to do to someone else, even if you’re doing the best you goddamned can.  Maybe it’s not right.  Maybe searching for the next non-fucking excuse will become the thing that takes up most of your precious time together because your time together isn’t precious, in the way you’re seeing it.

The other element is maybe it’s not right.  Maybe this isn’t the person who froths your loins into a frenzy or whatever horrible fucking mental image I’ve got going on right now.  Maybe you’re trying to make yourself the Big Bad in this situation because you don’t know what else to do. I can respect that. I’ve been that, and I’ve been the other side of that. I can respect it, mind, but it’s bullshit on either end.  I’ll lay it out for you and say it is FUCKING WORSE if you’re the one who is getting shafted (not shafted) by your partner because they don’t want you and don’t know how to say so. YES it sucks a solid gross of donkey dicks to learn you’re not someone’s everything in the way they’re yours, but you have to fix it now if that’s the problem, because you can’t fix it then, and time keeps on slipping, man, whether we want it to or fucking not.*

Or maybe you should take a goddamned nap and then bone yourself breathless and then get a solid fucking night’s sleep, for fuck’s sake.

There is not a fucking question in this goddamned world I hate more than this one. When the time comes to have this conversation I’m filled with the kind of rage that makes me want to rip the balls off anyone in the room, whether they’ve got them or not. I hate this question more than I hate the sound of a baby wailing its fucking guts out for no motherfucking reason. I hate this question with THE FIRE OF TEN THOUSAND FUCKING SUNS.

I don’t care about what you eat. And when it comes down to this fucking shit, obviously you don’t either. Throw some fucking peanut butter on a goddamned cracker, there’s no right answer to this cocking question.

Dear Anonymous,

For fuck’s sake, it’s not like anyone cares who you are. It’s not like you’re on the cover of fucking People Magazine telling everyone your opinion on fucking summer fashions, and even if you were you can rest assured I still would not give even half of one single fuck. I know it’s easy to think you’re hot shit, but as this fucking post right here will prove, DON’T NOBODY GIVE A DAMN.

I’ve got a rash. It itches and is spreading. What do I do?

Get some motherfucking salve for that shit. Don’t fuck around with a rash, man, get your ass (or wherever) checked out if you’ve got the fucking insurance (or cheddar). Otherwise, take a goddamned oatmeal bath and put some topical cream on it, jesus.

First question: what the fuck are you so angry about? Second question: fuck it. FUCK IT. Be fucking angry. Own that shit. I’m angry about 30% of the time, and sometimes the only answer is to let it fucking burn out, man. If you’re mad at a thing, tell that thing to go fuck itself. Then leave that shit behind, it’s not good enough for you. FOR FUCK’S SAKE, YOU ARE A GOLDEN GOD. You don’t have time for this shit.

Some good techniques:

1. SWEAR AS LOUD AS YOU CAN. Repeat after me: MOTHERFUCKER, I AIN’T INTERESTED IN YOUR BULLSHIT.

2. Listen to Sabotage by the Beastie Boys at top volume, loud enough to piss off your neighbors. Pick a screaming fight. They want you to turn that shit down? TOO FUCKING BAD. That way you can all get the poison out. Everybody’s angry all the goddamned time because everything is FUCKING FUCKED.

3. Get all your ugly-ass dishes and put them in a fucking shoebox and tape that shit up and then kick it all the hell over. Or get some nice dishes, who gives a damn. SMASH SOMETHING PRETTY. FUCK IT.

4. Take a goddamned time out. YEAH like a bratty kid throwing a tantrum. Just because Joe Government says you’re old enough to be responsible for your own shit doesn’t mean you’re a fucking adult all the time. And YEAH we’re all fucking mad about some bullshit sometimes, but sometimes you just gotta stew on that shit because nobody else fucking cares, and why should they, unless it’s their fault? And if it is their fucking fault, FUCK THEM, but being mad at them (to them) won’t do dick, because they’re an asshole right now, and so are you. Go find some fucking cave or closet or stranger’s car and sit in there all alone and scream your ass off. But don’t let anyone try to judge that shit, or they deserve what they get.

I can't find my fucking bra. What the hell do I do?

DEAR ALLUSIA:

First of all, MOTHER FUCK A BRA.  But since it's a torture device used by you in the pursuit of being the hottest bitch who ever set fire to a children's hospital, my advice is this:

TAKE SOMEONE ELSE'S.  BURN IT.  SAY "THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE THINGS I DON'T HAVE." 

Then slap that trick across the face and tape your shit together with some gaff (duct tape stings like a GOT DAMNED DEVIL DICK) and call it punk or glam or some fucking thing. If you're feeling fancy as fuck you could braid it together but who's got the fucking time. Anybody disagrees with you, use one of your second-string stilettos to puncture their junk.  Don't use the good ones because they might be sequestered as evidence if you do the dumb thing and forget to wash the blood off.  But you're smart.  You've got this shit.  Taped down.

I got more fucking problems than I know what the fuck to do with, so I figure instead of dealing with my own endless bullshit I'll deal with yours.  You want some fucking advice on some douchebag shit? You got people crawling up your ass over some motherfucking drama? HIT ME UP, I'LL SWEAR THE SHIT OUT OF IT AND WE'LL ALL FUCKING FEEL BETTER FOR TEN FUCKING MINUTES OUT OF OUR PATHETIC LIVES, CHRIST.