You’ve been known to take a drug or two on occasion, and I feel like you’re someone whose behaviours are not lightly criticised by sensible persons. So perhaps you can clear this question up for me.

I wouldn’t buy ivory, eat a whale or wear conflict diamonds, so why am I ok with buying cocaine? Ought one apply the same logic of ethical consumption to drugs? Does one have to take the hard road of total abstinence to get the proverbial blood off one’s hands?

There is no washing the blood off your hands, you pretentious hippie fuck.

The simple act of paying taxes in any first world country makes you complicit in an unholy global raping of such magnitude that no amount of dolphin safe tuna or fair trade coffee could ever restore the cosmic balance.

You’re guilty of original sin just for living on the grid, so quit pretending you’re ethically superior because you get your politics off a Starbucks cup.

Besides, ivory is tacky, whale blubber tastes like shit, and diamonds are a sucker’s bet. Do you have any idea how smug you sound by acting like there’s some noble sacrifice in avoiding products that you wouldn’t have consumed in the first place?

Go ahead, boycott cocaine on ethical grounds. That’ll teach the Sinaloa Cartel a lesson. You idiot.

Ethical consumption is a marketing ploy. It should be ironically transparent, but weak-minded consumers are so desperate to assuage their hippie flavored white guilt that they’re willing to believe a holier-than-thou consumer identity actually has a positive net effect on the world’s political and environmental atrocities.

Seriously, don’t let them fool you. When they tell you that “every dollar you spend is a vote for how you want the world to be,” it’s just because they want your fucking dollar.

You’re being programmed to think that your consumer choices are the equivalent of moral acts, but they’re not. You’re just buying shit like the rest of us.

You post a lot of music on your personal tumblr. As a popular account, how do you deal with the copyright issue? Or do you just get permission from artists since it’s free promotion?

It’s all perfectly legal, because I track down each artist and give them head before posting their music to my personal blog.

It’s a little known codicil of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act that if you provide sexual favors to an underlying rightsholder, you are legally entitled to reproduce their work on the internet.

It’s an often misunderstood but very useful extension of the fair use doctrine known as the DMCA OVA standard, which stands for Oral, Vaginal, or Anal. The British work under a slightly different version known as the HOVA standard, but remember kids, here in America hand-jobs don’t count.

Once you meet the OVA standard with a given artist, you can do anything you want with that artist’s music short of re-releasing your own greatest hits album.

Oh, and you’ll be happy to know that the OVA standard is retroactive. For instance, If the RIAA files a DMCA lawsuit against you for downloading music illegally, you can make a settlement offer that literally includes you taking it up the ass.

They don’t like to mention it in the news, but that’s what most RIAA lawsuits are actually about. Hell, Metallica doesn’t really care about people pirating their music, it’s just that Lars Ulrich wanted to insure a steady stream of college girls would legally owe him blowjobs well into the next decade.

Would you believe in the idea of an afterlife, or a greater meaning, if it was concurrent with everyone losing their individuality with death?

Would that fit in with your worldview?  So in a sense there would be “nothing” in the great beyond, because in dying we’d lose our individuality and our entire sense of being.

Your advice is so constructive and empathetic, much more so than almost every religious person I’ve encountered, so I’m wondering if you’d be down with the idea of an afterlife if it was the more Eastern take – we get united with a greater whole, instead of our cute little souls going up to high-five Baby Jesus.

You’ve rejected the angry gods. You’ve rolled your eyes at the silly myths. You’ve said no thank you to the bizarre rituals. Good for you. You’re off to an excellent start, but you have to be brave enough to go all the way.

I understand why it makes you feel better to believe in some nebulous metaphysical afterlife, but at the end of the day, if you’re claiming to have revealed knowledge about a consciousness beyond death, you’re still just making shit up.

Nobody knows what happens after death. Odds are, not a fucking thing. It’s probably just a vast sea of nothingness stretching out to an eternity that we were never meant to comprehend in the first place.

I know. It’s scary. You’re born pink and helpless into an infinite universe. You experience a narrow, self-centered consciousness still very much tethered to its lowly reptilian origins. If you’re lucky, the grey meat behind your eyes keeps warm long enough for you to experience about forty million minutes of self-awareness. That’s it. That’s all.

When the blood stops flowing to your skull, your consciousness will simply cease to exist. Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.

Seriously, though. Stop being so afraid of it. Let go of your fear. Not to belittle the impending abyss, but it’s really no big deal.

The vast sea of nothingness after your death is no different than the vast sea of nothingness before your birth, and yet you’re not the least bit terrified of what happens before you are born. Why, then, are you so terrified of what happens after you die?

It’s only because you have a limited perception of the arrow of time and an ego that relentlessly insists upon itself. Otherwise, your psyche wouldn’t demand some ridiculous sequel to its existence.

Quit letting your mind play tricks on you. Speculation about an afterlife is intellectually and spiritually dishonest, even with the best of intentions.

Take a deep breath and look around. This is it, kids.

Enjoy it, because one day it’s gonna end.

I wear a ring to be faithful to god, and not have sex till marriage. im 18, and i’ve been in situations where its hard NOT to want to fuck the guy. Would it be wrong to have sex, and just say im still a virgin?

Silly little girl, there is no god. No one cares about your virginity except for your parents and whatever boy is currently trying to fuck you.

Your moral dilemma is a fabrication. It doesn’t exist. There is no divine inspiration behind biblical laws of virginity. It’s all just a primitive form of institutional slavery designed to protect your value as a piece of property.

If you had half a brain, you’d pawn that ridiculous piece of jewelry and use the money to buy condoms.

I don’t know what the shit to do with my life. I feel like all along since childhood I’ve been bred and pressured into conventional views of success: I graduated from one of the top high schools in the nation, then from an Ivy League institution with a degree in Biology. Since then I’ve managed to earn my freedom from my overbearing parents and am paying for all my bills myself. But now that this freedom has all come at once (along with adult obligation), I’m at a sudden loss at what to do with my life. I want to pursue my dreams, but they’re so vague since it seems that side of me has become retarded from lack of nurturing as I forced myself to take classes in subjects I didn’t enjoy. After many, many intense arguments I’ve finally been told I can do what I like. But now I feel like I’ve spent so much time rebelling that I no longer have a cause. What the fuck should I do with myself?

Congratulations on your first existential crisis.

I’m guessing that you’re single with no kids, otherwise you’d be too busy to bother with this kind of thing so early. I’m also guessing that you’ve spent your life surrounded by hollow institutions.

You were raised in a church, but you have no religion. You knew your place in respectable society, but you have no sense of community. You’ve been a typical consumer who’s never really needed anything. Yeah, that shit never helps.

So now what? Have a dream? Find a cause? As you said, all you know about are goals. Hell, you don’t even know where to start shopping for the stuff you need.

Now you’re asking me for directions, like I’m some blue vested Walmart greeter who’ll point you down aisle nine and tell you the dreams and causes are between the sporting goods and the kitchen appliances, right next to the American Idol Karaoke Machines.

Sorry, dude. We’re fresh out of dreams, and we sold our last cause to a bunch of mouth-breathing fundamentalists who didn’t see that it was well past its expiration date. You’re on your own. It’s likely that you’ll run out the clock on your remaining half century and never know what it’s like to belong to something greater than yourself.

That’s not a bad thing, really. You can still enjoy yourself without any canned causes, and life will definitely be less ordinary without any cheap, storebought dreams.

Just be your own person. All you need to do is figure yourself out. Pull focus on that hazy homemade shit. Sharpen those dreams up. You know, the ones that feed your soul when nodody’s looking. Chase after ‘em for a little while, even if there’s no hope of supporting yourself financially in the process.

Don’t worry. This is usually what passes for a period of self-exploration in our generation. Go for it now, while your still young. If you’re lucky, you’ll stumble onto a greater purpose.

Be careful, though. Our generation has no attention span and very little discipline, so a period of self-exploration can often degrade into a period of self-indulgence. Unless you’ve got a trust fund, I don’t recommend periods of self-indulgence.

Oh, and one more thing. This is important, too. What’s all this about being told you can do what you like? As if finally, someone gave you permission to be yourself. That’s bullshit. I’m happy for you and all, but you need to change up the way you see your circumstances. You don’t need anyone’s permission to do what you want. You never did.

Until you have kids you are beholden to no one, not even your overbearing parents. Remember, if you allow someone to grant you your freedom, you’re not really free.

Internalize that. Until you believe that shit at a core level, you’ll never feel right going after your dreams.

Good luck with the existential crisis. I hope you figure it all out.

i am currently dating a few guys, and have been proposed to by two (one, i think because the other one did). guy#1 is my best friend, but he is a little small in the undies department. he has never left me unsatisfied… HE is the one who has a problem with it… and trust me, he knows how to use it.  he is even willing to let me have other “friends” to make up for his inadequacies.

guy#2-makes more money, is adequately sized (although he claims he is “bigger than average” which he is NOT). He and I have been friends for a long time, and I am not sure if he only asked me because he feels that is what i want because the other guy proposed first.

what do i do? you will tell me straight.

I think you should finish getting your Ph.D. in astrophysics from Caltech.

Really, I don’t know what the guys at the Jet Propulsion Lab would do without you if you decided to give up your budding career as a rocket scientist just to marry a man with a slightly less than average penis.

I know, at the moment nothing seems more important than choosing your life partner based on the size of his genitalia, but have you considered what a blow this will be to the scientific community? A mind like yours, wasted on a man who is “a little small in the undies department.”

Please, I’m begging you, for the sake of humanity, don’t allow yourself to be distracted by suitors of middling girth like some common shallow whore.

A genius of your caliber deserves nothing less than to marry a man with a truly massive cock. We’re talking two coke cans stacked end-to-end. Flaccid. Your research is too important to mankind for you to settle for anything less.

I’ve been reading your blog now for a month or so and I can’t help thinking to myself you’re actually a normal human.  What I mean by this is that you merely use this as an opportunity to be someone you’re not in everyday life.  I would bet that you are no where near as brash and politically un-correct.  I don’t think it is possible to actually live the life you portray here.  Or am I wrong?

You’re not wrong. You’re not right either.

I am actually a normal human being. Beyond that, I can’t quite bring myself to accept your premise that a normal human being can’t think and act the way I do.

I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, but bitches like me are a dime a dozen out here. I’ve just decided to write some shit down, is all. Is it really that hard to believe?

Maybe you’re imagining things to be far more fabulous than they appear. Sure, I have my share of fun, but if you bumped into me in a hotel lobby, you wouldn’t be magically transported into a Terry Rogers painting.

Shit man, this is LA. It doesn’t matter what side of the velvet rope you’re on at night. Come morning, we’re all stuck in traffic wishing we spoke more Spanish.

YOU CALLED FEMINISM A ‘NARROW-MINDED BELIEF SYSTEM’? Haha.

It’s funny that you think you’re being ‘open-minded’ by watching porn. Wow, what a free spirit! Succumbing to the objectification of women, the assigning of gender roles and misogyny!

WELL FUCKING DONE.

You idiot.

Capital letters and sarcasm? Wow. I almost didn’t notice that you completely misquoted me. I didn’t call feminism a narrow-minded belief system, although for your angry brand of the stuff, I might be willing to make an exception.

Do me a favor and don’t talk to me about words you don’t understand. I know sex workers with more feminism in their clit rings than you’ve got in your entire gender studies department. Free spirits, indeed.

Here’s a thought exercise: if a camera crew filmed me pulling the stick out of your ass, would that be considered porn?

The correct answer: only if you enjoyed it.

(Oh, and you know how you got all offended just now instead of laughing? Yeah. That’s why nobody likes you.)

Why LA over New York or San Francisco? Of those three fab cities, LA would be my last pick. What do you love about it?

Ah, yes. New York. Los Angeles. San Francisco. The three most fashionable tribes, each with their own unique rituals, mythologies, and standards of beauty.

We are tribal creatures, after all. It’s not the most evolved part of the human condition, but you can’t deny the anthropology of it. No matter how worldly and well traveled we may be, in the end we can each only belong to one.

I am of the Los Angeles tribe.

I love everything about New York. I spend as much time as possible in San Francisco. They are indeed fabulous, but neither one vibrates at the frequency of my soul. Only Los Angeles gets the harmonics right.

Being drawn to LA is a mysterious thing. It’s palpable, but totally indescribable. Steve Martin tried to explain it once, and he ended up making a delightful little movie. Still, it’s only something you can hint at without sounding like a lunatic.

Ultimately, there are no words. No list of most-treasured LA moments could ever get to the root of why I belong here. I just do, and I always have.

Not that I want to sound sentimental, because all the negative shit is true too.

Los Angeles is filthy and far too casual and filled with cruel and superficial customs. If you show weakness or disrespect this town will eat you alive, but fuck it. I don’t care.

I’m hopelessly in love with Los Angeles. It still makes me weak in the knees.

How much is a decent price for an engagement ring? I make about $85,000 a year. Thanks.

You’re asking the wrong girl. I’m one of the few who thinks this tradition is grotesque and vulgar.

The diamond engagement ring is a sucker’s bet. You’ve been convinced of its romantic necessity by some bullshit advertising agency and sold a pack of lies about its inherent value by a brutal and manipulative mining cartel.

The sheisty pricks at DeBeers want you to spend three months salary on that shit. For you, that’s well over twenty thousand dollars. Really? Fuck that.

Instead, celebrate your engagement with something that might actually enrich your lives. Travel the world together. Start a college fund for your future kids. Hell, join a country club if you’re white. Who fucking cares? Whatever you do, please don’t waste all that hard-earned cash on a useless little rock.

If your girlfriend absolutely insists on a sparkling whore trophy, then at the very most you should spend three days salary on a high-end “diamond alternative.” Stick that shit in a Tiffany box and nobody can tell the difference.

She’ll still be able to impress her friends with that cracker jack prize, and if you want the god’s honest truth that’s all she ever really wanted it for anyways.

Seriously, the whole tradition is one big lie. Why be the sucker who pays more?