This is absolutely ludicrous. Coke isn’t just a safe petty play drug and you essentially telling people that it’s “OK” to do is ridiculous. Cocaine just isn’t a drug to fuck around with, you’re playing with fire and while you may think you’re in control chances are you can lose control REAL fast. I’m not usually a crusader for shit like this, but seriously?

No, you’re right. I totally forgot to put a warning label on that last post, because that’s what our culture needs, more bullshit disclaimers written by cowards on behalf of retards that state the blatantly obvious.

Hey kids, listen up! Cocaine is dangerous, coffee is hot, and cigarettes are bad for you. There, now the world is a safer place.

Fucking pussy.

How do you manage to exercise so much self-control when it comes to cocaine? Is there a regime you follow or something? I’m not trying to make it sound like a cocaine diet or anything, I just want to know what you do in order to keep the coke in control? Not use it a few days in a row, or what? Gimme some pointers. I’m new to the world of cocaine but I really want to be a part of it; I’m just unsure how to go about it, so it would be great if you could lay some wisdom on me.

Is there a regime I follow? A cocaine diet? You want me to get alltips-and-tricks up in this bitch? Hilarious. I guess I should just embrace the fact that I’ve become the Marie Claire for deviants. Here are some fucking pointers:

1. Never party with it by yourself.
2. Never party with it on the job.
3. Never party with it on camera.
4. Never party with it around people you don’t trust.
5. Never party with it for more than three days in a row.
6. Never party with it on more than three occasions per month.

Also, as a general rule, whenever you’re in a party environment, give yourself a regular hip check by asking the following question: “If the drugs weren’t here right now, would I still want to be in this room?”

The second you find yourself answering no, get the fuck out.

I’m a seventeen year old girl and I’m considering fucking one of my high school teachers. He was my teacher last year and he started showing some extracurricular interest in me during the spring. At first it just really pissed me off, especially because his wife is also a teacher and she started shooting me daggers with her eyes after he made his interest all too obvious by openly staring at me on a regular basis. Ignoring him wasn’t helping the attention so I started fucking with his head a little bit out of boredom before I left for summer (nothing too serious, just flirting a little one minute and acting innocent and confused the next, you know) but my overactive moral compass prevented me from going any further.

I’m returning for my senior year in a week, and I think I’m just going to go for it and jump his bones. I’d feel bad about this but both he and his wife are small-minded and a little stupid and I’m tired of being treated like a sex object without at least getting a little fun out of it. He’s in his late twenties and he’s pretty fucking hot which is probably why he has the audacity to think any high school girl would die to fuck him. Now that I’ve sufficiently bruised his ego, I’m willing to fuck, and I know he would not be very difficult to seduce. Should I let him bend me over his desk after class or just keep the whole jailbait cock tease act going?

Overactive moral compass? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. From what I can tell, you barely have a conscience.

How can you be so casual about destroying a woman’s marriage and a man’s career with one selfish act of meaningless sex? I get that you’re bored, but that’s no reason to use your teenage pussy as a wrecking ball.

I don’t care if they’re a small minded couple. They are your high school teachers, and they’re married. Don’t fuck them, in any sense of the word.

By the way, you’re the one treating yourself like a sex object, not them. Even from your side of the story, it’s easy to see that they’re reacting to your behavior, not the other way around.

Oh, and fair warning, kiddo. If you don’t take a long hot minute and temper your arrogance with some respect for your fellow man, in a few years the real world is gonna bitch slap you with consequences so brutal that your pretty little head isn’t even ready to imagine them.

I need money. Badly. 100% of my paychecks go towards my tuition, and it’s not nearly enough. A couple days ago, a guy offered me $50 for a blowjob, $80 for sex, and double that if I could find a friend to join in the fun. He’s got a great dick, and we would use protection. It seems like an easy enough way to make some money, but I want to know what you think.

You want my permission to sell your pussy at crackhead prices? Fuck no.

Don’t ever have sex with friends or acquaintances for money. Ever. If you’re confused as to whom that includes, it means anyone who knows your real name.

Also, fifty bucks? What the fuck? Are you writing from the University of Tijuana? Are you missing teeth? Fifty isn’t even a down payment on a blowjob, and oh my god, eighty for sex? Did he really throw in an extra thirty bucks for your vagina like he was splurging on a deluxe car wash? Un-fucking-believable.

I know it’s too much to ask that you respect yourself, but if you’re gonna engage in prostitution, the least you could do is respect both the profession and the product by not treating your pussy like it’s in the clearance bin at TJ Maxx.

Tell you what, since you’re probably gonna do something stupid here, promise me you’ll at least start off in the grey area. Try finding a sugar daddy first.

Also, promise me you’ll stay away from this guy who’s offering you his lunch money for sex. Trust me, he’s bad fucking news.

Why do you think you get along so well, and are so attracted to, Leos?

Oh dear, no. When I point out that I have a thing for Leos, it’s an observation based on evidence, not a preference based on superstition.

It just happens to be the case that a large cluster of my inner-circle was born in mid-August. They’re Leos. I have no problem calling them that for poetic effect, but beyond the silly harmlessness of a little mythical characterization, I draw the line at taking any of that zodiac nonsense seriously.

Astrology is total bullshit. You guys all know that, right?

There is no causal link between our individual personalities and the relative position of celestial bodies, nor are there any rational conclusions to be drawn about interpersonal compatibility based on astrological birth signs.

If you read your horoscope for a laugh, fine, but if you consult a star chart before making life decisions, then you’re straight up fucking retarded.

If you’re having even the slightest urge to argue with me about this, please google cognitive bias, and spend a few minutes filling your brain with something other than dumb.

I met a girl when I was in law school (she was a “townie”) and had a fun but short relationship with her.  I broke up with her because I was stressed and overwhelmed with law school and there were some law school hootchies sniffing around.  She’s an awesome girl but I admit that I didn’t think she was a long-term prospect at the time.  I think I really hurt her because she wanted it to turn into something serious.  I almost immediately regretted the decision to break up with her. Since then we’ve been “friends”. We live in different cities but we text and hang out when I’m in Chicago.  I think she’s over it all but I want to tell her how bad I screwed up by killing the relationship.  My instinct is to just tell her.  But my instinct was to break up with her, too.  Christ, was there a question in there?

Nope, and you spelled hoochies wrong. That’s probably a word you should learn now that you’re a lawyer.

Listen, you thought pretty highly of yourself back in the Chicago days. That’s all well and good, but if you’re being honest you’ll admit that this chick wasn’t really up to your superficial standards at the time. She was a good woman, but you had some douchebaggery to get out of your system, so ultimately the timing was off. Fine. Whatever. Shit happens and life goes on.

Cut to today. A few extra pounds, a little less hair, and that suit you wear to work is starting to itch a little. Every morning when you pull tight that half windsor knot, it makes a sound like your mother asking when you’re finally gonna meet a nice girl and settle down.

So you wonder. Did you fuck it up with the townie in law school? Was she the one and you missed it? It plagues you a little bit, because when you fantasize about the wife and kids that will eventually cry at your funeral, it’s her face that you see filled with tears.

That’s what you’re trying to ask me here, dude. You want to know if she was the one. Thing is, that shit sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, so you can’t quite bring yourself to ask a stranger on the internet to magic eight-ball your girl that got away.

Well, she wasn’t the one.

Quit romanticizing old relationships. You’re too young for that kind of sentimental nonsense. Feel free to tell her that you screwed up, but don’t expect her to go all Lifetime mini-series weepy on you. She might appreciate it. She might not care. Either way, the past is still the past, and she ain’t your future wife.

Don’t you find it a little idiotic that you suggested someone avoid the carefree fun of iCarly, where most episodes revolve around poking fun of the latest cultural obsessions (iphones, etc) — albeit not particularly well, but it IS done for kids. Meanwhile, your first suggestion is for the casual viewer to move on to Glee, a show ridden with idiotic dramatics, hoping to encourage everyone to get upset and bitch about EVERYTHING for no reason?

Actually, I find it idiotic how defensive you girls got when I talked shit about Hannah Montana and iCarly. Dozens of letters. Literally dozens. You’d think I raped your childhood with a crimping iron.

To all of you who wrote in, let me be clear, it’s just television.

I don’t care what you watch, nor do I care why any of you think Glee, Weeds, or Mad Men suck. Your opinions were pretty much invalidated the moment they came in defense of The Disney Channel.

You and I aren’t fighting over the remote. This is an advice column, not an FCC regulatory committee. I have absolutely no say over what’s on your screen, so chill the fuck out.

Ugh. The greatest irony of this entire experiment is that I write ridiculous shit on the internet knowing full well that my opinion doesn’t matter, not one little bit. I shouldn’t have to remind people of that.

Quit giving a fuck what others think, especially assholes like me, okay?

Please and thank you.