By Wyatt Earp | October 17, 2005
Much like Britney Spears’ acceptance of Kevin “Joe Dirt” Federline’s demon seed, Friday’s self-invitation inside your psyche may have been a terrible mistake. I’m in over my head. It took far too long, but (in my son’s best Noo Yawk accent) I got yer answers right here! Good mental health; my gift to you.
Pandy asks, “Dear Earpy, I am completely normal, and everyone I know is totally nuts, even my infant son. I am worried that it could be catching. Can I get the crazies from other people?“
Pandy, unlike the clap, “the crazies” are not contagious. That being said, the tattoos, shaved head, and sometimes irritable disposition probably keep insanity at bay.
Peakah asks, “Doctah Earpy-poo, I get into stare downs with Tha Wease when I confront him with going pee on the potty. He braces himself for battle each and every time I try and get him to pee in the toilet. Am I better off locking him outside naked where he can just let ‘er fly, or should I continue to force him in the bathroom when he has to . . . go?“
Peak, have you tried rubbing his nose in it? If that doesn’t do the trick, bribery will. The wife and I gave Kyle (our four-year old) a present every time he used the potty – Matchbox cars!
Jimmy B asks, “Dear Wyatt, am I normal if I know archaic Pink Floyd releases and relate them to blog posts?“
Jimmy, I’m sorry, the operator just broke in and told me there was a collect call for Mr. Floyd from Mrs. Floyd, and to be honest, I don’t want to accept the charges. Click!
Dr. Phat Tony asks, “I’m the standard for normality, so wouldn’t that mean that everyone who is not like me is abnormal?“
Doc, you are the standard for normality like Paris Hilton is the standard for abstinence. On the other hand, a recent sidebar audit revealed that most of my blog friends are a tad “askew.” Why do you think I haven’t suggested a blogger get-together?
Steve asks, “Hi, Dr. Earpy! Those ink spot pictures sure look like dead hippies to me. Is that normal, and what should I do with that?“
Steve, you are dead on. In fact, those are not ink spots, but the scattered, THC-contaminated brain matter of world renowned hippies Jane and Peter Fonda. Now stop obsessing, and shine on, you crazy diamond. You’re hung up on some clown from the Sixties, man! (Oh man, I got the munchies!)
Insolublog asks, “Dr. Earpy, what do you do with a bimodal bulimic when they are: a) manic binging, b) manic purging, c)depressive binging, and d) depressive purging?“
Insol, a) keep your hands away from their mouths, b) keep your hands away from their toilet, c) tell them they are very special and keep your hands away from their mouth, and d) tell them they are very special and keep your hands away from their toilet.
Indigoview (eventually) asks, “What are you wearing right now?“
Indigo, the usual: shirtless, with a powder blue mesh Speedo, and stiletto heels.
Cowboy Blob asks, “What piece do you pack on duty, and what would you pack if they let you carry anything you wanted to?” He adds, “Is your duty weapon an extension of your phallus, and why do you hate your mother?“
Cowboy, when I’m on duty (heh, heh, “duty”) I carry the city-issued 9mm Glock 17. If given the choice, I would probably carry a Desert Eagle with the following accessories: silencer, loudener, laser sight, and bayonet. You can never be too prepared. My duty weapon is an extension of my phallus, since even on warm days; I have considerable “shrinkage.” Damned Irish curse! As for Mommy Dearest, my partner Doris could probably explain that one better than I.
Pandy (again) asks, “Dear Earpy, not to trouble you again, but Mr. Blob’s question makes me worry that I could have penis envy, because I miss my MK-19 so much. I must have caught someone’s crazy – it’s going around like the bird flu. (I never kiss birds for this reason.)“
Pandy, penis envy is the biggest myth this side of a sober Irishman. However, if you are truly worried, I will mail you the “packages” of the Philadelphia Eagles, since they obviously have no use for them anymore.
Tyler D asks, “Why are bloggers crazy?“
Ty, it’s because some in the mainstream media think we have the power supreme, when in reality, we are just dateless nerds who spend way too much time in our basements. Sure, we average over 200 hits a day, but what are we doing on Friday nights? Sitting home alone and recreating classic scenes with our Star Wars action figures. Or, so I’ve heard.
Uber asks, “Dear Earpy, is it abnormal at all to have a deep-seated desire to meddle in other’s affairs? How about just an ordinary interest in watching others?“
Uber, Human nature dictates that our curiosity needs to be constantly fed . . . like Camryn Manheim. And I needed an idea for a blog post. As far as ordinary interest in watching others, count me in. Damn the restraining order, I’m leaving the blogosphere in favor of my new career: watching Jessica Biel.
Insolublog (again) asks, “Should I feed a dog Milk Bones if it has a potentially fatal case of lactose intolerance? Should I call 911 if I do?“
Insol, Milk Bones are okay, because they are made from breast milk, which is all natural. It’s the titanium residue from the logo stamping that is fatal. If you forget this tidbit and Spot takes a trip to the big Dog Pound in the sky, do not call 911. That number is for emergencies only. The non-emergency number is 912. Good luck!
D. Maria asks, “Dear Earpy, where were you back in June when I needed help getting over the fact that just about my ENTIRE family moved as far away from Philadelphia (brotha’s and sista’s runnin’ it) as possible?”
D. Maria, I was packing, what else? For those not in the know, a few years ago our asinine mayor (who is African-American) proclaimed that “the brothas and sistas are running the city!” Since then, the crime rate has skyrocketed, most of the tax base has left town, and many of the mayor’s inner circle have been indicted for corruption.
Nightcrawler asks, “What do you get when you cross a hippy with a bar of soap?“
Nightcrawler, a) confusion, b) soap scum, or c) hopefully, a brutal beating similar to the one Private Pyle received in Full Metal Jacket.