Dear Thumper

The Doctor Is (Back) In

 Dear Thumper,

My probelm isn't my sexualitty. I honsetly believe that I should be grateful that whoever you believe in made me. I do no necessarliy believe in what most would call GOD as this ih not something in or waste my time on.

I don't need to explain myself to anyone

Hope you can explain

Love
O DOGG

 

Dear O Dogg,

 If there really IS a God, I doubt he cares if you're sodomizing anyone. God would have a very busy itinerary, and you'd probably rank pretty far behind genocide, poverty, and stuff like that to really generate that much Wrath.

Even factoring in omnipotence... there's only so much time in one day.

Likewise, an omnipotent God would most likely know that you are grateful for your creation, and a benevolent God would understand your dissatisfaction with modern religion.

I'd go out today, do something Nice for somebody.... and, after generating some positive karma, I'd go out somewhere else and make a serious effort to have some enjoyable sex. Remember... God wouldn't have given you a libido if He didn't want you to use it copiously.

I should add that "I don't have to explain myself to anyone" is an attitude best choked back when dealing with someone you want personal advice from. It all works easier if you explain certain relative, personal points.

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If they have the moral high ground... tunnel under it

Dear Thumper,

I started a blog. It's a great blog, and it does a valuable public service. According to my friend Anastasia, no blog on Cape Cod captures the news faster than mine does. Hell... that bus crash last week? I beat James Sokolove to it.

Those who study these kind of things tell me that it is not unusual at all for me to beat the Cape Cod Times online paper to just about every police-fire-ambulance story that happens here, and I'm not owned by some huge media conglomerate. My work is quite simply By The People, For The People. I can think of few higher callings.

Anyhow, I write well, I work cheap, and I think that I improve the community. There's just one problem... the comments.

Most people are nice, and I've even been able to forward some comments to investigators in certain cases. People express outrage and sympathy for those who suffer, and they offer insight and advice to the author (me) that comes in handy at times.

Then, there's this one lady.... Monponsett. I don't know what to make of her. While I'm working from memory here, these are her last few comments in my blog:

"Thank God it was a head-on accident.... I'd hate to be rear-ended in Provincetown!"

"I bet a Great White Shark ate the 90 year old missing swimmer. Old people=osteoperosis=brittle bones=CRUNCHIER. I'd do the same thing if I were a big White."

"I don't judge a man by his skin color. I judge him by his religion."

"The best thing about crack cocaine is that Peckham can get a prostitute for like five dollars now."

Now, I'm a funny guy. I've paid to see Adam Sandler films, and I rarely miss a Seinfeld rerun. But there's a difference between Funny and Mean, and that woman simply doesn't get it. I can honestly see one of my own stories one day leading off with "Bourne woman killed by anti-Hate activist."

I don't know if I'm asking for help with her or with myself, and I'd appreciate any insight you have on the matter at hand.

- XXX (Name withheld to protect the innocent)

 --------------------------------

Dear XXX (Name withheld to protect the innocent),

First of all, you need to lighten up a bit. Here's an exercise you can try that will guarantee mirth.

For a week or so, whenever anyone speaks to you, start to twitch and say "Timmyyyyyyyyy." Say nothing else, and act like you're really not paying attention to them afterwards. I'd recommend not carrying this practice over to the workplace.

Maybe 5% of the people you meet will have seen the South Park "Timmy" episode, and will get what you are doing. The rest will look at you like you're insane. When you finally come to enjoy that look, you'll be better suited to understand some of things that motivate Monponsett.

Get back to me in a week.

1234567.....

Now... don't you feel better?

5 rich guys on Madison Avenue 

This here Intranetty is a wonderful thing. No longer is the media controlled by like 5 rich guys in a Madison Avenue office. Anyone can start a blog to speak their mind on whatever they please. We're all basically equal, too. That's a great thing, because life isn't always fair and equal.

If Ted Kennedy started a blog on CapeCodToday.com, he'd be just another one of us... his place in the Recent Blog Entries roll would only be as high as his most recent work. In fact, he'd be below "Henry Beston's Outermost House," "Harwich Is No Place For Hate," and "Cheap Eats" in the Blogs A-Z listings.

The bad part of the fact that anyone can start/comment on a blog is that anyone can start or comment on a blog. For every article that will go over well in a whitebread/buzzcut atmosphere like a police station... there will be an article that people will nod their head appreciatively to as they roll a blunt.

Now, the blunt smoker may be a Criminal, and perhaps should be locked in a cell.... but until that happens, he/she gets to play the Free Speech game, too.

I used to be a teacher and a counselor. I taught in an urban atmosphere, and my students were fresh out of jail or expulsion meetings. Most of them had Impulse Control problems, and exhibited outrageous violent/sexual behavior.

The first time someone ran at me with his joint in his hand, I thought my head was going to blow up. "This kid is insane, I shouldn't be in this environment." My boss was sympathetic, and she let on that many teachers left her school in October, saying that they simply weren't cut out for it.

Sure, my day would have been easier if the students were all sitting with their hands folded in absolute silence... but Universal Education means that everyone gets in, and the system has to bend to accomodate them. I stayed at the school, became good at what I did, and provided education for every kid who came to me... even the crazy ones.

Free Speech works like that. Even the crazy people get a say. Once you start setting limits on which particular people can do which particular things, you end up with Serfs and Lords... and most of us will be Serfs, my man.

The biggest kid in the Free Speech family

The media is simply the biggest kid in the Free Speech family. For most of Media's life, no one got a say. To an extent, it still is that way. Try applying at CNN without a serious In. Write to CBS News, and see if Katie Couric actually answers. You'll get shot down like a rogue 747 on 9/12/01.

Now... this doesn't mean that the Crazy and Mean people are out of media. For every insightful Katie Couric news story, there's someone shoving a microphone into a widow's face at a house fire. I wasn't there personally when Mel Gibson got DUI'd and started loudly hating Jews... I know about it because some creep in a newsroom thought it would sell advertising better than a "fireman rescues lost kitten" story. I know people who would be a lot angrier at the guy snapping pictures at his daughter's murder scene than they would be at someone commenting in a blog over details of the crime.

Mass media was a fairly exclusive environment until just recently. Then, blogging came about... now the average Joe/Jo gets a forum. This is a good thing. The news is read by everyone and is about everyone, not just white GOP males. The viewpoint of the Underclass has lacked a forum for about 2000 years since Christ walked this Earth.... and remember, the people in authority at the time put Christ to death in the most painful way they could think of, mostly because his ideas seemed threatening to them. They especially didn't want him expressing his views to the public.

The Kind get to read news... so do the Brave, the Intelligent, and the Nice. So do the Cruel, the Twisted, and the Heartless. While it sucks that people like that are out there, it sucks more to pretend that they don't exist. If you try to ban their right to comment on the world as they see it... well, that sucks so badly that people all over Cape Cod would be physically drawn to you by the force of it.

If you wish to get into media, I'm sure your job will eventually provide you interaction with people who are far more difficult to deal with than some French housewife who comments on blogs. The sooner you learn to deal with her, the better it will be for the people you encounter through work.

I personally think that a Monponsett/straight-newsman teaming provides a sort of Quivers/Stern aspect to the daily news discussion that is sorely missing from most Cape Cod mainstream media, but I'm sort of partial to the Smurf.

2 comments »

The Cleveland Browns be tryin' to starve our client!

Dear Thumper,

I'm a fairly wealthy woman who just accepted a marriage proposal from a man of considerably less financial standing than I. While I have no reason to think he's after my money (he's never mentioned my money in all the time we've dated, and he pays for everything when we go out), I'd be a fool to get into this without protecting my financial assets.

Still, it's a pretty touchy subject. Love should be all out, and a prenup is sort of like telling a pilot that he has your complete faith and trust... while you're putting on a parachute.

I suppose that what I need from you is advice on how to negotiate the prenup. I'm not really sure what tone I should take, or how strongly I should hold the line. I'd appreciate any advice you can give me.

- Christina

Dear Christina,

I could give you some lengthy and expensive psychobabble, or I can just turn you over to the Poston Brothers.

Carl and Kevin Poston are sports agents known for their tenacity and staying power. If you want every nickel you can get out of an NFL owner, you can do a lot worse than hiring a Poston Brother to represent your interests. Notice how Ty Law isn't a Patriot any more? His agent is Carl Poston.

Carl also has Kellen Winslow Jr. as a client. Kellen has made about $10 million from the Cleveland Browns, despite the fact that he has never played a game for them in two seasons. This video clip was taken with a series of secret cameras, and shows how the Postons handled the Winslow negotiations. Carl basically takes the Browns for a Bang!

While you're talking about a prenup and the Postons are working out a football contract, the basic truths are the same in any form of negotiation.

- Within 30 seconds, one of the sides will establish themselves as the dominant party.

- Ask for a lot more than you deserve, and make them bargain down to regular more than you deserve levels.

- Seize the moral high ground, even if you have to crawl like a snake to it.

- Never be afraid to walk out.

- While violence is rarely the answer, it can also be the question that your opponent can't answer.

- A man's happy ending is a woman's face full of gack.

CYA. Cover your assets. Men come and go, but poverty can last a lifetime. I've been rich and I've been poor... it's better being rich. Remember... if he really loves you, he should have suggested it himself.

Got a problem? Ask Thumper... help from her is like going to a psychologist who's been getting high all morning! Send any questions to "Dear Thumper" c/o wb@ecape.com

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Sometimes, you just KNOW you're in trouble

Dear Thumper,

I was in the shower yesterday, completely soaped up. My wife comes in to use the sink... and to trap me in a situation where there was literally no escape. Then came the Whammy:

"Which of my friends would you like to sleep with the most?"

How does one answer that?

- Justin

Dear Justin,

Wives like to do stuff like that, as it keeps hubber on his toes. Once hub is too comfortable, problems will ensue- we could cover it here, but we're working on a more specific aspect of the problem.

So every now and then, we like to drop the hammer. "Which of my friends would you like to sleep with the most?" is just a more intense cousin of "Do I look fat in this dress?" or "Do you miss your last girlfriend?" There's no correct answer- the questions are designed to be that way.

As for Justin, there's only one thing a man can do.... suddenly "slip" in the shower, and crack his temple open on the spigot or the side of the tub, if need be. Don't even bother trying if you can't draw a SUBSTANTIAL amount of blood- she'll be watching you closely, waiting for her answer.... and even if you fell for real, she'll think you faked it to avoid answering the question. You may be asked it again when you wake up in a hospital, too heavily medicated to escape/think fast/ keep silent.

Sometimes, you're just doomed to a few days of misery. Take it like a man, and bring her some flowers or something. She'll get horny eventually, and- with any luck- you'll be the one to benefit from some heated and primordial make-up sex.

Dear Thumper,

I think my boyfriend likes one of my friends. It upsets me, and I need to confront him. Any suggestions?

- Taylor

Dear Taylor,

See above. Don't buy the falling bit unless he is bleeding heavily or has one of those Rocky I  swollen-shut eyes... and resume the questioning the moment he awakens in the hospital.

This works well for two reasons. The BF either suffers your wrath or will feel compelled to bash his head open on the shower door.  Either incident serves a psychological purpose. They reinforce the thought of banging one of your friends with either mental cruelty or a Kennedy-esque head wound. It's sort of like Pavlov's dog, just with "pain" taking the place of "food." Works for me.

 It's win-win.

Got a problem? Ask Thumper... help from her is usually better than killing your spouse! Send any questions to "Dear Thumper" c/o wb@ecape.com

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No Means No

Dear Thumper,

My daughter Krissy is going off to school this September, and it's her first time leaving home. She's very intelligent and mature, but it's natural for a parent to worry. She's taken an off-campus apartment in Boston, and the neighborhood she's in looks pretty rough.

I know that this is one of those stages in the parent/child relationship where I have to let her leave the nest, and I've resigned myself into letting her sink or swim on her own. The house will always be open to her, and she knows that she can call us for any thing, any time. We'll be less than an hour away.

Still, I don't want her waking up in the middle of the night as some big Mafia hood kicks down her door and carries her off to a child slavery ring operator, who will have her locked in a cage in Thailand somewhere, only letting her out to entertain groups of sailors for $4.54 American a day and a lunch of lukewarm rice that she'll be too sore to eat. A mother worries about stuff like that. 

With that in mind, I'd still like to start her off on her own with as great an advantage as I can give her. What sort of things are simply Must-Have for a teenager out on her own for the first time? I'd like to cover the whole gauntlet, from simple things like "properly filling spice racks" to more complicated things like "repelling the intruder/rapist."

- Heidi

 

Dear Heidi,

I'm sort of spoiled, so most of the punch bowl/silverware/curtain recommendations I make would be frivolous spending for an 18 year old. There's no need to buy her a set of highball glasses that she and her friends are only going to fill with beer and bounce quarters at.

Martha Stewart most likely has a site where you can find out what sort of salt-n-pepper shakers you should get her, and my kitchen isn't stylish enough for me to differ with Marty's opinions on interior design in a public forum.

Martha's show very rarely deals with matters of home security, which is sort of surprising for an ex-con. It's a big void, and one that must be filled to keep her show interesting to a modern audience. I can see it now... "Today we're knitting some nice security-camera covers that look like little ducks!"

While not wanting  your daughter to be forcibly sodomized by some big Dominican burglar is universal, there is a very unexploited niche market in the realm of home security for teenage daughters out on their own.

 

- First off, you need to secure the door. Most city apartment doors are designed to be kicked in easily, so that a landlord and two detectives can get in quickly if need be. Your daughter will want a decorative door with a nice etched-glass window, but you know the world better than she does. She may as well open a McRapeme franchise with only a glass door between her and that guy from Saw II.

Which brings me to the good people at the Lasco International Group. The motto on their "armoured doors and window page" is "You need a door that can stop attacks ranging from sledgehammer blows to AK-47 blasts." These are the people I want protecting my daughter. http://www.lascointl.com/

A nice etched glass door- your daughter's side coated with Lasco's patented transparent glass/polycarbonate laminate that someone can stand 5 feet from and blaze away at with a .44 and not get through- puts a stylish-yet-functional accent on her first apartment. Your daughter's safety should be worth a lot more than $108/sq. foot, especially when that money will ward off close-range fire from an M-1 carbine.

Lasco also makes windows, and Dad will love their Handyman special for an armoured car that would make 50 Cent nod his head appreciatively. Lasco Intl Group - Do-it-Yourself Armoring Kits

You don't want to go too crazy at this store, because it's eventually cheaper to just pay the guy at the bank to let her sleep in the vault every night.

 

- She's gonna have to walk down the street at some point, and Lasco, to my knowledge, doesn't make a big, mobile safe. Still, there's no need to make it easy for some cult to snatch her off the street, brainwash her, and have her robbing banks to finance the Iraqi Resistance. That stuff makes the whole family look bad, and the people around town will be forever whispering critiques about your parenting skills behind your back.

There's no need for that, because Krissy can nip it all in the bud herself- while you watch Law And Order in blissful ignorance- if Daddy should only love her enough to spend a little paper at http://www.selfdefenseproducts.com/index.html.

Girls are smaller than men, and therefore more susceptible to a physical assault. We make up for it by being smarter, but there are many situations where brains matter very little. I can take all the karate I want... I'm 5 feet tall, and I'll be knocked onto my back in all but the most carefully choreographed circumstances in which I collide with a fully-grown man.

Self Defense Products help us equalize all that, and- if properly utilized- get your daughter home having tea with only a slight delay. You'd be surprised at how easily one can obtain military-level weaponry if you have the foresight to get yourself a post office box in New Hampshire.

Most people recommend pepper spray as a non-lethal sidearm weapon, and they aren't wrong to do so. Pepper spray is made from a concentrated mixture of the cayenne pepper hot sauce that Americans are so fond of wrecking their dinners with. It's a bad thing to get in the face, and will cool all but the most PCP-induced lustful advances.

I myself prefer their GuardAlaska bear repellent, which is an "invincible" mixture that has been tested for 6 years in America's own Great White North. Also composed of a cayenne pepper concentrate, this stuff shames the Mace products that only have 10% chemical by volume. Bear repellent packs a satisfying 20% whallop that will probably melt the face of the guy who attacks your daughter to the point where he'll have to go find an opera to haunt.

Now, there are some moral gymnastics that must be performed when using a pretty dangerous chemical- one only meant to repel a 9 foot grizzly bear- on a human being. Your daughter will inflict a cruel attack on her assailant that will most definitely scar him for what little life he has left. The way I look at it... once she's unraped, any leftovers are someone else's problem.

A very reasonable $27.95, and it comes in a fancy carrying case that could fit easily on a belt or purse. It's about the size of an I-Pod.

If your daughter is more into wet work, there are many knives out there that a young lady can carry without looking like a Crip. A street-legal pen knife will take out an eye, and can be hers for only $12.95. Even cooler is J & L, Knives, Lipstick Knives.

No means No, although it can also mean Noooooooooo if your daughter manages to discharge a taser shot into her attacker's testicles with J&L's Z Force stun-gun. The $19.95 model is designed to fit into even the smallest of hands, and the 100,oo volt payoff will make a rhino stop in mid-stride and start twitching like Joe Cocker.

If you really love your daughter, you'll go with the $30 model that deals out 300,000 volts of righteous empowerment. They only require a 1.5 volt battery, and you'll need the New Hampster mailing address.

 

- If you have a lot of money to spend on accessories, why not hire a bodyguard for her? Trained to be unobtrusive, they are much sought after among today's teens as a status symbol. While a Secret Service-type might be a bit costly, you can hire from a bevy of paramilitary types for fees that are more than reasonable when viewed in light of someone maybe eviscerating your daughter.

You can go many different ways with a bodyguard. Ex-military guys are polite, know how to kill with their hands, and can get your daughter out of all but the most colossal foul-ups that teen girls get into. They also cost more than hanging around the neighborhood you live in, finding out who runs the local organized crime racket, and paying him to make sure she's taken care of.

Unless her neighborhood is under the stewardship of a mere thug, the local boss will strike an honorable bargain that will have someone from the "family" in her doorway with a cocked pistol about 15 seconds after she raises her voice about anything.

 

- She's never really out of your sight if you can somehow hold her down long enough to surgically install a radio frequency tracking device into her shoulder. While she'll put up quite a struggle, she'll eventually come to appreciate that it is much less cumbersome than the ankle bracelet/dog collar radio tracking device.

 

- telephone voice changers are a lot of fun. Many pervs use the phone book as a sort of shopping list, calling any female name in the book until he hears a bubbly teenage voice on the answering machine saying the Wrong Things, a la "Hi, I'm not home alone right now, although I'll be helpless later this evening in my ground-level flat with the broken slider."

With this toy, she hits a switch, and can leave a message in Mr. T's voice. "Hey... I can't come to the phone right now... the pitbulls and I are out practicing with the assault rifle."

This strategy goes well when paired with the bodyguard, and will put off all but the most obsessed callers.

Got a problem? Ask Thumper... help from her is like letting someone have sex with your brain! Send any questions to "Dear Thumper" c/o wb@ecape.com

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"My husband doesn't even notice me anymore"

Dear Thumper,
 
     I feel so old.
 
    It's like my husband doesn't even notice me anymore. He comes home from work, eats, watches TV, goes to bed... it's like I'm only there to cook and clean. While he was never overly romantic, it's gotten to the point where I'm just another piece of furniture that he passes on his way to the TV- sort of like a coat rack that occasionally speaks.
 
    How do I get him to be with me more?
 
    - Heather
 
 Dear Heather,
 
    I used to know a guy in Halifax named Earl. Earl was a roofer, a big black guy, maybe 50 years old when I knew him... very country, as they say in those parts.
 
    Earl had one prized possession- his new pickup truck. I'm not good with trucks, but it's one of those ones with the Hemi. Even though it was his work truck, Earl kept it spotless. You could usually find Earl just by looking for the truck.
 
    It is said that no human rides in the front seat with Earl. The only one allowed in the front with Earl is his 120 pound Rottweiler, "Pooh Bear."

   This stipulation is broken for no one... not even Earl's wife. "She stopped asking to go down to Hosea's with me not long after I introduced this policy," said old balls-of-steel Earl.
 
    While I'm sure that the argument at Earl's house over this decision was tremendous, Pooh Bear makes a terrific anti-theft system for the truck while Earl- his wife nowhere to be seen- discusses the affairs of the day with the other locals at the tavern.
 
    Men are like that, Heather. They revel in being heartless beasts... but you can't have sex with chocolate, so we need to work a little mojo here.
 
    Marriage goes against the basics of nature. Few carnivore males of any species stick around after the kids are born, and most are raising up off the cot minutes after copulation. The feeling is usually mutual... females of species that can hunt effectively on their own- like the praying mantis- often kill the male after the sex act.
 
    Depending on how good you look, you may need to introduce a few tricks into the day-to-day affairs of your marriage. Dress sexier.... women didn't end up being the ones in skirts due to some male conspiracy theory or something. We have better legs. Use them for something other than what God intended them... unless God is a lot cooler than I'm giving Him credit for.
 
    Try growing your hair longer. A recent study said that 99% of males are suckers for long hair. History is full of people who gained empowerment through hair: Rapunzel, Samson, Jennifer Aniston, Ben Wallace... and two billion Chinese simply can't be wrong about Michelle Yeoh.
 
    You could try seducing one of the local teens (18 and over only, please), but it sounds like you're pretty happy with the other 19 hours of the day when the husband is either at work or asleep. A horny teen has a way of screwing up the Happy Home, anyhow. I'd stick with trying to add some spice to the relationship you're already in.
 
    I can only tell you what works for me. I used to jump on my husband the moment he came in the door. I suppose the best visual I could give you would be how Dino reacts when Fred comes home, only more sexual. I'd only do it now and then, so it was impossible to predict when the Pounce would occur... but I'd hit him from every angle I could think of. I even came out of the loft at him, once.
 
    The goal was to force him to the floor, but he always managed to catch or somehow deflect me. I was simply too small to physically overpower him. The point I'm making is that I always kept him guessing, so he was never completely at ease if he couldn't see me. It eventually made it into the bedroom, which is what I was shooting for anyhow... but there would have been more right-to-sleep bedding if I hadn't gone that extra mile earlier in the day.
 
    Shake things up, while scouting out a nice Plan B teenager to lure into the house to bust up a chiffarobe. Do all that, and you should be alright.
    
    - Thumper
 
Got a problem? Ask Thumper... help from her is like being smashed in the face with a bottle of Atavan. Send any questions to "Dear Thumper" c/o wb@ecape.com

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