You're A Horrible Person, But I Like You Part 4

Thanks for your help.

Jason S.

Owensboro, KY Dear Jason: Join the Republican party. Do what they tell you.

Janeane ...

Dear Janeane: I went to a swap meet where I cut my leg on some rusty sc.r.a.p metal. I don't remember the last time I had a teta.n.u.s shot. It hurts and there is blood. Should I buy the mannequin arm or the Marky Mark coffee mug?

Maggie Faris St. Paul, MN Dear Maggie: The three-foot Mr. Peanut icon is a better buy. After you leave the swap meet, put the oversize peanut in the car. Drive to the nearest apothecary. Squeeze a dollop of Neosporin from the tube onto your leg. (You don't need to buy the salve.) Exit the pharmacy. Drive home. Install the large peanut in your bedroom. Throw damp laundry over it.

Janeane ...

Dear Janeane: My dad, whom I haven't seen in almost two decades, suddenly turned up on my doorstep the other day. He wants to make up for lost time and have the father-daughter relationship he denied me as a girl. Is there a nice way to tell him, "You're my dad, I love you, but buying a My Pretty Pony for a twenty-eight-year-old woman isn't sweet, it's just kinda creepy and sad"?

Regards, Anonymous Dear Anonymous: You now have the perfect opportunity to utter, "Father, don't darken my doorstep again!" I envy you. Most people don't even have a doorstep.

Janeane

Daniel Handler Dear Daniel: Now that we have a black president, is it okay to be a racist again?

Terry R.

Eureka, CA Dear Terry: No.

Love, Daniel Handler ...

Dear Daniel: My grandpa was just laid off from a major car manufacturer. Do you have any suggestions for work for the elderly? I don't want him lazing around the house, driving my grandma crazy. He is a grouch lazing around the house, driving my grandma crazy. He is a grouch.

Peter Austin, TX Dear Peter: Dog walker.

Love, Daniel Handler ...

Dear Daniel: Do you have any tips on getting rid of a gopher infestation?

A.C.

A part of Indiana you wouldn't know Dear A.C.: Move.

Love, Daniel Handler ...

Dear Daniel: I can't enjoy cream soups anymore without thinking of that nasty Asian fetish. You know. Rhymes with "your latke" or "Milwaukee." Are there any tricks to eating a delicious cream of broccoli soup without being totally grossed out?

Rocky Gaithersburg, MD Dear "Rocky": Tabasco.

Love, Daniel Handler ...

Dear Daniel: Are there any good reasons to be proud of my Norwegian heritage, besides that John Lennon song?

A Man Without a Country Dear Man Without a Country, Kristin Lavransdatter.

Love, Daniel Handler ...

Dear Daniel: My boyfriend wants us to move into a geodesic dome. I understand that the real estate market is unpredictable and scary these days, but I still don't think that justifies living in a huge soccer ball. What do you think?

Call me "Nancy"

Winnipeg, MB, Canada Dear "Nancy": "Cool."

Love, Daniel Handler Dear Daniel: I've been walking around in hundred-degree-plus heat and I can't find my car. It's a dark green '97 Camry, and the parking lot outside Ross is frickin' huge. Plus there's strawberry ice cream in the trunk.

Mario M.

Gillette, WY Dear Mario: Huh.

Love, Daniel Handler ...

Dear Daniel: How can you break up with your boyfriend in a way that tells him, "I don't want to sleep with you on a regular basis anymore, but please be available for late-night booty calls if I run out of options"?

Lily Charlotte, NC Dear Lily: The story's so old you can't tell it anymore without everyone groaning, even your oldest friends with the last of their drinks shivering around the ice in their dirty gla.s.ses. The music playing is the alb.u.m everyone has. Those shoes, everybody has those same shoes on. It looked a little like rain so one person brought an umbrella, useless now in the starstruck cloudless sky, forgotten on the way home, which is how the umbrella ended up in her place anyway. Everyone gets older on nights like this.

And still it's a fresh slap in the face of everything you had going, that precarious shelf in the shallow closet that will certainly, certainly fall someday. Photographs slipping into a crack to be found by the next tenant, that one squinter third from the left laughing at something your roommate said, the coaster from that place in the city you used to live in, gone now. A letter that seemed important for reasons you can't remember, throw it out, the entry in the address book you won't erase but won't keep when you get a new phone, let it pa.s.s and don't worry about it. You don't think about them; "I haven't thought about them in forever," you would say if anybody brought it up, and n.o.body does.

You think about them all the time.

Close the book but forget to turn off the light, just sit staring in bed until you blink and you're out of it, some noise on the other side of the wall reminding you you're still here. That's it, that's everything. There's no statue in the town square with an inscription with words to live by. The actor got slapped this morning by someone she loved, slapped right across the face, but there's no trace of it on any channel no matter how late you watch. How many people-really, count them up-know where you are? How many will look after you when you don't show up? The churches and train stations are creaky and the street signs, the menus, the writing on the wall, it all feels like the wrong language. n.o.body, n.o.body knows what you're thinking of when you lean your head against the wall.

Put a sweater on when you get cold. Remind yourself, this is the night, because it is. You're free to sing what you want as you walk there, the trees rustling spookily and certainly and quietly and inimitably. Whatever shoes you want, f.u.c.k it, you're comfortable. Don't trust anyone's directions. Write what you might forget on the back of your hand, and slam down the cheap stuff and never mind the bad music from the window three floors up or what the boys shouted from the car nine years ago that keeps rattling in your head, because you're here, you are, for the warmth of someone's wrists where the sleeve stops and the glove doesn't quite begin, and the slant of the voice on the punch line of the joke and the reflection of the moon in the water on the street as you stand still for a moment and gather your courage and take a breath before stealing away through the door. Look at it there. Take a good look. It looks like rain.

Love, Daniel Handler

Todd Hanson Dear Todd: We generally refer to tissues as Kleenex and gelatin as Jell-O. I know there's a name for this. Is it synecdoche?

An English professor with too much time on his hands New Haven, CT Dear English professor with too much time on his hands: What a fascinating question! As a matter of fact, the-hey, wait a minute ... I just put two and two together here and am beginning to smell a great big rat! If you are (as you claim) an English professor, that means you are one of that rarefied strata of the intelligentsia who have access to buildings called "libraries," containing books known as "dictionaries." If so, you would have easily been able to sneak in and look up the definition of "synecdoche" yourself during the ample free time you claim to have on your hands.

If not, however, then you obviously don't (as, again, you claim) actually have too much time on your hands after all! Either way, you are revealed as a liar, right here in front of the entire readership of The Believer The Believer, all of whom, ironically, are now filled with disbelief disbelief.

By the way, that part of the second sentence? Where I likened the solution of a math problem to the detection of an odor? That's called a mixed metaphor. Look it up, Socrates!

Todd ...

Dear Todd: I don't care about politics. I really just care about everyone shutting the h.e.l.l up. Does that make me a douche?

Hallie San Francisco, CA Dear Hallie: Considering that a healthy democracy depends on an informed and involved populace, yes, technically, that does make you a douche. But G.o.d bless you for being an honest douche!

Considering all the not-shutting-the-h.e.l.l-up involved in the last presidential election-which began more than two and a half years before the election itself, and of which only approximately 2 percent was remotely relevant to said election (the parts that happened in the last two weeks or so before November 4)-I think the sentiment of wanting everybody to shut the h.e.l.l up is something anybody, including me, can relate to in a big way.

So let me doff my hat to you, Hallie! You are the only one with the courage to say what we all are feeling!

But again, yes, technically you're a douche.

Todd ...

Dear Todd: I've been thinking it over a lot. Astronauts have become much less popular in recent years, and I'm guessing they figured this would happen from the get-go, because, in hindsight, how could you not? Anyways, a.s.suming they've probably pulled the wool over our eyes out of spite, what should we believe about the moon and outer s.p.a.ce?

Graciously, Simon Koppler Lexington-Fayette, KY Dear Simon: You are needlessly overcomplicating things. Ask yourself this one simple question: Does the Bible say anything about the moon and outer s.p.a.ce? The answer is yes-about three sentences' worth. It mentions something vague about a firmament and then something about a light in said firmament to shine during the night. And that's all it says. And therefore, that's all we need to know about it. As the Upright Citizens Brigade has been saying for more than ten years now, astronauts can go f.u.c.k themselves. Take that, science!

Todd ...

Dear Todd: I always thought I was emo, but according to my friends, I'm more goth. Why could this be? Is it the mascara? Aren't emo kids allowed to wear makeup occasionally?

Brad Evanston, IL Dear Brad: I'm really glad you asked that question, because I myself have been struggling with the distinction between emo and goth for years now. From what I can tell in my old age, the emotions expressed are essentially the same, except goth sounds delicate and fey, like the farts of winged fairies, and emo is raw and loud, like two trucks f.u.c.king. Both seem to involve a mascara option, so I can't help you there. But let me ask you this: Do you have forearm tattoos? That could put you over the fence to emo right there. And if, conversely, you have a parasol made of black lace that you carry on sunny days, you're probably goth. Sorry I couldn't be of more help there, Brad. In either case, you should seriously consider dropping the name "Brad."

Todd ...

Dear Todd: Obviously, hooking up with your cousin is a bad idea, as in your first cousin. But what about your second cousin? That's allowed, right?

J.J. in Carson City, NV Dear J.J.: Again we're gonna have to go with the Bible on this one. Considering that all humans descended from one original Adam and Eve pairing, it would appear that all forms of incest are perfectly acceptable. Hook up with your cousins all you want!

Todd

Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim Dear Tim and/or Eric: I really want to fight a bear. How can I make this happen?

Thomas Saginaw, MI Dear Thomas: Is you what? This has to be a joke question. Why would you want to fight a bear? You could get hurt! Is not so smart, Thomas. (Check out my Twitter account for more!) (Check out my Twitter account for more!) Tim ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: What's the etiquette on telling someone that they are going to make the biggest mistake of their lives by getting married?

Jessica Saint George, UT Dear Jessica: Make sure you get a prenup.

Eric ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: "Rainbow Connection" begins with the phrase "Why are there so many songs about rainbows ..." but the only song about rainbows I can think of is "Rainbow Connection." Is this supposed to be irony or did the frog not do enough research when writing the song?

Liam MacNeil Waterloo, IA Dear Liam: Me know not about it. Henson is songwriters. Might be with him. Frog is just puppet for him. (I'm on the Net if you want to search for me!) on the Net if you want to search for me!) Tim ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: I think I might be unconsciously racist. An example: when I walk down the street and two-plus Mexicans and/or African Americans are walking toward me, I cross to the other side of the street. Or if they come into my store, I keep an extra-keen eye on them vs. my nonethnic customers. How do I stop being unconsciously racist? they come into my store, I keep an extra-keen eye on them vs. my nonethnic customers. How do I stop being unconsciously racist?

Tom from Queens Dear Tom: Embrace it. Get an ironic RACIST RACIST T-shirt. T-shirt.

Eric ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: Sometimes people say "vague-n" instead of "vegan" to be funny and I wonder, is that really funny? Or do you think vegans actually are vague?

D. Gonzalez Los Angeles, CA Dear D.: I don't play in those circles. That sound like a scene from a star trick show! Who's pulling my legs with these silly question? (I have some tracks on iTunes! Surch for me by names!) (I have some tracks on iTunes! Surch for me by names!) Tim ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: Left or right?

Todd Oak Park, IL Dear Todd: Right. Or as we like to call it, "Reginald."

Eric ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: I'm ready to pick a new religion. Which do you recommend?

Harold Dagis New York, NY Dear Harold: I was baptized a Catholic. It has a wonderful American heritage and has a Pope who guides us in our decisions. There is also a liturgy. Thanks for the serious question. (Chat live with my pastor! I'll give you his screen name!) (Chat live with my pastor! I'll give you his screen name!) Tim ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: Do you think the accordion is poised for a comeback?

Abigail Vallejo, CA Dear Abigail: It never left. Check out Weird Al.

Eric ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: A burrito is a delicious food item that breaks down all social barriers and leads to temporary spiritual enlightenment. But it is also the Spanish word for "young donkey." Usually there is some kind of resemblance or shared essence among items that share the same name. Do you think young donkeys remind people of stuffed tortillas? resemblance or shared essence among items that share the same name. Do you think young donkeys remind people of stuffed tortillas?

Just "Frank"

Wichita, KS Dear "Frank": This is another silly questions! What the heck? All this burrito talk is making me hungry though. Not too hot. I don't like spicy foods. (Check me out on (Check me out on cla.s.smates.com!) Tim ...

Dear Tim and/or Eric: It has come to our attention that some of our readers may not "get" your sense of humor. Even we have to admit that, after reading your last few responses, it appears that Tim was either stoned or drunk, and Eric wasn't trying at all. Is this some kind of hipster, postmodern, funny-'cause-it's-not-in-any-way-funny type of thing? Thank you for your time.

The Believer magazine magazine San Francisco, CA Dear The Believer: The Believer: Emanuel, my personal a.s.sistant, answered these stimulating questions. He's new to the English language, so there's a language barrier we all have to deal with at the office. Please enjoy.

Dictated but not read.

Eric Wareheim

Ed Helms Dear Ed: My life partner recently told me that Santa Claus is a h.o.m.ophobe. Is he right? Santa doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd be purposefully exclusionary. And that suit, with all the bells and fur trim, seems a little queeny to me. Maybe my boyfriend just isn't into fatties?

Callahan N.

Richmond, VA Dear Callahan: Your life partner's observation would seem to corroborate my long-standing a.s.sertion that Santa Claus is in fact Rush Limbaugh. A brief review of the evidence is both overwhelming and disturbing. For starters, they both like to chortle. Coincidence? I think not. Second, they both live in an imaginary universe in which they can say and do positively ridiculous things with the support and adulation of millions. And finally, they are both undeniably jolly! I'm sorry, Callahan, but it's time you knew the truth about Santa Claus.

Ed ...

Dear Ed: Sometimes I forget to start with the little fork and go straight to the big fork. Is this a problem?

Name withheld Rockford, IL Dear Name: This is a really good question and I hear it all the time. The answer is very simple. If you're genuinely confused about which fork to use, as you clearly are, then you should take the little fork and stab yourself in the left eye. Then take the larger fork and stab yourself in the right eye. At this point you will be in a phenomenal amount of agony and you will be wondering if you will ever see another sunset again. Only then will you truly be free from the tyranny of fork-size equivocation.

Ed ...

Dear Ed: I can't seem to have a restful night's sleep these days, no matter how much booze I drink. What am I doing wrong?!