In reference to your recent ‘advice‘ (If that’s what you’d want to call it), I’d just like to say that nobody can really have a definite answer to the big God-existence-question. Not me, not you, not anybody. It’s not your place to tell somebody they’re wrong when they have just about as much credibility as the next person’s belief on the supernatural and spiritual. That’s all. I’m not offended or trying to be offensive, I’m simply stating that you’re being ignorant. : )

Ignorant? You don’t know the meaning of the word.

For instance, it’s ignorant to suggest that everyone’s supernatural and spiritual beliefs deserve some measure of credibility. Once you suspend rational thought in favor of superstitious nonsense, you give up your credibility.

It’s also ignorant to suggest that not having the answers to life’s mysteries is somehow a defense for making them up. It may never be within the scope of the human experience to comprehend the fundamental nature of the universe, but that’s no excuse for organized religion to pretend it has a fucking clue.

Finally, it’s ignorant to suggest that it’s not my place to tell people they’re wrong. You know what I do here, bitch. This is my advice column. It’s literally my place to tell people they’re wrong.

Speaking of which, it’s time for your spanking. Listen up, kiddo, because you’re angry in all the wrong places. There aren’t enough smiley face emoticons in the world to hide the fact that you are a seething, passive-aggressive little cunt just like your mom.

If you want to live a happier life, you really need to let some of that poison out of your heart. I know you’re far too repressed to write actual hate mail, but for your own sake you might want to try and send me some.

Whatever it takes not to waste one more second of your life wagging your finger in other people’s faces.

Trust me, it’s the one thing about you that your friends can’t stand.

I am a beautiful, intelligent, confident, and capable 18 year old girl (or woman… fuck if I know). I have beautiful eyes and lips but my huge-as-fuck nose throws it all off. It isn’t RIDICULOUSLY huge, but having a straight and petite nose would lead me to resemble the spawn of Brangelina. I’m risking sounding like a vain douchebag so you know that I’m not a whiny and insecure bimbo looking to feel better about herself. I know I’m beautiful. I’ve been raised to believe that getting plastic surgery would be disrespectful to God. The act of getting a nose job would basically tell God, “You didn’t do a good job”. I’m on the fence between respecting God and flipping him off while on the surgeon’s table. I’m considering alternative ideologies and ways of thinking apart from the ubiquitous mythology of creation/hero/deity/whatever, that is the Bible. You are enlightened in areas that my mid-western, “aw shucks” self is not. My question is, nose job or not? Would it be worth it?

Sweetheart, there is no god. Get a fucking nose job if you want one.

I know you’re just a kid, but I really can’t abide the kind of thick skulled arrogance it takes to believe that the creator of the universe would give a flying fuck whether you snip off the tip of your nose, especially considering this is the same sadistic creator from the retarded mythology where all the men are required to snip off the tips of their dicks.

Normally I’d give you a bucket of shit for all your self-indulgent god talk, but I get the sense that you’re about to start exercising your rational mind in the face of your irrational belief system for the very first time in your life, so I say again, there is no god.

That’s right. There is no invisible man in the sky with a moral objection to your vanity, which means you can’t disrespect what doesn’t exist.

Don’t worry. It’s really no big deal. Right is still right. Wrong is still wrong. You still know the difference, which is why it’s perfectly acceptable — and yes, a little bit vain — to get a nose job.

Now go be a good person, and try not to be so fucking superficial.

A few weeks ago I recognized a guy sitting by himself at the bar who is kind of a local celebrity.  I was a few drinks in, so I went over and said “hey aren’t you____?”  He invited me to sit down and we talked for hours, he bought me a drink, and it was a lot of fun.  I don’t really ever deliberately flirt with anyone, and I didn’t think I was flirting with him very much, so I was surprised when he walked me home at the end of the night and he went in for a kiss. Cool!  I ran into him a week later and the same thing happened again (super chill, great conversation) except later that night he took me to a place where he’s a regular, and I met some of his acquaintances/friends.  So after another good night I texted him that I wanted to see him again.  He agreed enthusiastically, and we found a day that we’re both free.  He’s also 10-15 years older than me.

Now things get hairy. I heard a few days ago that he’s not single.  Hmm…  A little internet hunting (I know this is really stupid/weird and I shouldn’t do it, for my own sanity) and I find he’s claiming to be single, but there are definitely a lot of fishy things that lead me to believe he could have a (younger) wife or girlfriend-but he doesn’t acknowledge it publicly because of his popularity.  I think it would be fun to see him again, but I don’t want to look like one of Tiger Wood’s special friends.  How do I figure this out without seeming mad paranoid/insecure?

There’s nothing to figure out. You’re not gonna marry this guy. You’re not even gonna make girlfriend status. You’re gonna see him a few times, earn your starfucking merit badge, and then move on.

That’s cool. Nothing wrong with having some fun. Just don’t kid yourself into thinking that you’re signing up for any kind of relationship.

He’s got age, a little celebrity, and a reputation that obviously precedes him. Single or not, this guy is a walking red flag collection. You are not the only girl he’ll be bending over hotel room furniture, and if you can’t handle that, it’s probably best you don’t go all googly eyed.

What’s the best approach to get my wife to lose weight? I’ve done all the obvious tactics, such as offering to work out together, buying a gym club membership, suggesting she try a personal trainer. And I’ve done this is as low-key manner as possible, as casually as possible and as nicely as possible because I like her and because I know this whole thing can backfire. Now, she knows she’s overweight, too, and she’s not happy about it, either. I should say, too, I’m not looking for some kind of gristly Rene Zellwiger silhouette, just to have my wife be within 20 pounds or so of when I met her. So, that’s the surface stuff. The subtext is more gnarly, because, frankly, I don’t like having sex with a seriously overweight woman. My pride is offended, and maybe that’s trivial to other people, but not to me. It counts. But I honestly want to be positive about this because I’d like to get off on having sex with her and hang with her without feeling like yet another loser dude stuck with a hefty chick. I do work out, by the way, and I am within the BMI for my height, but not, you know, Ryan Reynolds buff. So you with the sore abs, what should I do?

Grossed out by sex with your fat wife? Sucks to be you, bro.

For the record, you’re a bit of a superficial douchebag. Everything you wrote about is the surface stuff, and you don’t have the slightest clue how gnarly the subtext really is. That’s okay, though. For the sake of your wife’s health, I’ll throw you a bone.

Let me break you two down quick and dirty. College sweethearts, both former athletes. You got married after graduation. You both wanted to wait to have kids, but she ended up accidentally pregnant within a year or so. Over the course of nine months she ballooned a solid eighty pounds, but after having the baby, somehow the weight just never came off.

It’s scary how I know this shit, right? Wait, it gets worse.

Your wife was in a sorority, and somewhere there’s a box or a photo album with a formal party pic from the Bush administration with you in a tux and her in a gown both grinning like idiots. Go find that picture. Seriously, go get it right now.

Are you looking at it? Good. See how hot your wife looked back then? Yeah well, guess what? She puked her fucking guts out about an hour before that picture was taken. Betcha didn’t know that.

That’s right. Your wife has been struggling with eating disorders her whole life, and this is probably the first moment it has ever occurred to you. Good times.

So, what does this all mean for you? Well, now that she’s married and let herself go, it’s gonna take a lot more than subtle hints and low-key gym memberships to get her back down to crazy weight. You’re not just battling the pounds she added during pregnancy. You’re battling years of self loathing and secret shame.

Obviously, she needs to get her ass to the gym, but beyond that I’d start with couples therapy. No joke. You two have a lot to talk about, and quite frankly, you’re a bit too dense to handle this on your own.

Trust me, you want to be in a safe place before you tell your wife that she’s too fat to fuck, and when the dam finally breaks on her inner turmoil, you’ll be thanking me that there was a professional in the room.

Good luck.

I have a long distance friend who I’m currently fucking. This past weekend, I screwed a different guy, and don’t know what to do, they’re both continuing to talk to me. When did guys actually start wanting to talk to the girls they’re casually fucking?

Right around the time girls realized it was perfectly acceptable to be fucking more than one guy at a time.

Relax, kiddo. You can keep them both, especially if one is casual and the other is a long distance friend. Neither of those come with expectations of monogamy, and until the day that things get more serious with either one, you don’t need to worry about anything other than having fun.

How can you tell a dear close friend that your not interested in listening their man drama without sounding like total cunt?

Look her in the eye and say, “Sweetheart, I love you, but we’re not going to talk about that right now.”

Be firm and polite, then promptly change the subject. She’s the one bringing bad vibes, and you’re just trying to keep the room positive.

If you come at her from a happy place, you’ll never sound like a cunt.