Ask Dr. Mike Episode 3

What Were We Talking About?
First published March 24, 2006

Over the past few weeks we’ve introduced a new feature in this column, called “Ask Dr. Mike,” in which we tackle difficult real(ish) problems from genuine(ish) readers, with all the wisdom and insight that comes from years of writing hilarious(ish) jokes.

I should mention that my doctorate is actually a PhD (Phony Doctorate) in Bartending from the University of Tim On Line. Good old UTOL is a fine institution of higher education, and they’ll be back to offering a full catalog of diplomas ($25 each, three for $60) in the fall once Tim completes his fifty hours of community service.

By incredible coincidence, our first letter addresses this very subject:

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.

Exactly how does a PhD from the University of Tim qualify you to solve peoples’ problems? You never show the professionalism of Dr. Laura or Dr. Phil by viciously attacking people’s feelings, beliefs or life choices. What are you, some kind of a wimp? How dare you condone people doing what they believe, instead of what I believe!

I was also wondering how I could have known about that University of Tim thing without reading the first two paragraphs of this column?

You commie fag junkie.

Your biggest fan,

A Pretty Implausible Reader

Gosh Pretty, thanks for writing me with those great questions.

First off, the exact title printed on the degree isn’t everything. As I’ve pointed out before, Dr. Laura’s PhD is in something like the Mechanics of Croquet which, now that I think of it, sort of explains why she isn’t always completely in line with modern psychological theory.

Dr. Phil actually has a degree in psychology, so I’m not sure what his excuse is.

Anyway, I just answer these questions as a regular guy, an average Joe – some might even say, a big palooka. This means that If I come up with an answer that is in any way useful or meaningful, it will either be a complete accident or a minor miracle.

As to your second question… I forgot what you asked. Sorry.

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to stump your arm off and rip you with the bloody beat.

As a wife and mother, I was wondering what might be going on in the mind of a man when he is yelling at sports on television. Does he really think the players, the coaches or the refs can hear him?

Also, I think Pretty Implausible Reader was really mean to you, calling you a wimp. You can’t help it if you’re a kind and gentle person (a wimp). Instead, we should commend you for your tender good nature and sensitivity.

You scum-sucking pig

Sincerely,

Almost As Implausible

Gosh Almost, you bring up a good point when you ask what might be going on in the mind of a man. As a man myself I have to say that odds are, not really all that much.

You see, we men are simple creatures. We respond to basic stimuli in a straightforward cycle of action and reaction, much like an amoeba pulling away from an electric shock, or a chemical industry lobbyist voting Republican.

When we men shout at the television, we are responding to primeval stimuli that urge us respond in specific ways to the situation. It all goes back to one caveman watching another caveman fight a saber-tooth tiger. If the caveman who was watching was smart, he would watch from a distance. If he was really smart, he would watch from far enough away that he couldn’t be heard if he shouted – and he would shout just to make sure. Of these two cavemen, guess which one was around long enough to pass his genes down to our generation?

So when modern man sits in his living room and screams at a 285 pound linebacker on television, he is simply trying to keep from being eaten by a giant man-eating cat.

Well that’s it for this column. Be sure to send your important questions to drmike@learnedsofar.com or go to http://www.drfunnyguy.com and post them there. I won’t promise you helpful answers, but I will always make up something that sounds convincing. Sort of.

Copyright © 2006 Michael Ball

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Ask Dr. Mike – Relationships Episode 2

The Empress Strikes Back
First published March 17, 2006

Last week we introduced a new advice column feature in which we tackled the issue of relationships. By an astonishing coincidence, all the fake readers who wrote in were men asking for relationship advice, providing us with a sort of “premise” or “theme” for the piece.

This week, the women get to have their say.

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.

I was deeply offended by your last column, in which you said that a woman could develop a relationship with a bowl of Häagen-Dazs.

What a terrible generalization! Not this woman! I couldn’t form a serious relationship with anything less than a full quart of Häagen-Dazs, and then it would have to be Rum Raisin.

Ok, maybe Butter Pecan.

Anyway, before we were married my husband bought me flowers, gave me nice gifts, and took me out to nice restaurants. These days his idea of a thoughtful romantic evening is trimming his toenails over a newspaper before the hockey game starts, so we can concentrate on whether the girl who sings the Star Spangled Banner is showing any cleavage. How do I get the old magic back?

Also, what kind of doctor are you?

You Saracen Pig.

Sincerely,

At Least He Uses A Newspaper

Well At, I’ll answer the last question first. My degree is actually an honorary PhD bestowed on me by my college fraternity brothers. I’m fairly certain the PhD stands for “Phony Doctor,” because there’s a José Cuérvo label taped to the diploma. Hey, Dr. Laura’s degree is in something like the History of Dry Cleaning, so that makes me at least as qualified as she is to write this crap.

Now, before we delve into a deeply sensitive solution to your original problem, I need to ask you a question: Does the girl who sings the Star Spangled Banner before the hockey games really show cleavage sometimes? Wow, I’ll have to check that out! I’m usually out making popcorn when she sings. Think of those high notes…

As for the “old magic,” it’s not really gone. It has just evolved from the enchanted blazing passion of young romance into the dying embers of two lives quietly slipping downward into a hopeless oblivion of broken dreams. And toenail clippings.

God, that’s awful!

One thing you could try that might add a little fuel to the fire would be to slip away during the last two minutes of that hockey game and come back as the horn blows, wearing nothing but a Steve Yserman jersey and a coy smile.

Who knows – you just might get a game misconduct.

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to whatever your whatever off and whatever you with the bloody whatever.

My boyfriend wears enough cologne to teargas a medium-sized sectarian riot. Whenever he picks me up for a date he smells like an Old Spice truck crashed into the Aramis factory. What gives?

You running-dog capitalist swine.

Signed,

Getting Woozy With The Car Windows Closed

Well Woozy, I’m sorry to tell you that your boyfriend is what is clinically known as a “colognaholic.“

I suspect that at some point in his life he splashed on a little after shave and then, as we say, “got lucky” – by which I (probably) mean that he found a quarter, made three stop lights in a row and won $7 on the lotto.

In his protozoan (male) mind he would naturally draw a parallel between the “scent” and the “luck,” then come to the conclusion that the more of that stuff he slathered on, the luckier he’d get.

Of course most experts who have studied the colognaholic male relate the phenomenon to a deep-seated electrochemical imbalance common to the olfactory neural receptors of all men. In other words, every guy’s sniffer is screwed up. This is why men can happily swap body odors and other mystery smells that would prove dangerous or lethal to most women.

If it makes you feel any better, Woozy, just look at the satisfied, even beatific look you see on your colognaholic’s face when he is in “full-Brut.” Most observers agree that it’s identical to the ecstatic look a dog gets when he’s been rolling in raccoon poop.

My advice to you is to relax and leave the car windows open. And just to be safe, keep your boyfriend away from places where raccoons have been hanging out.

You can send your relationship questions (or answers) to drmike@learnedsofar.com.

Copyright © 2006 Michael Ball

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Ask Dr. Mike – Relationships

First published March 10, 2006

In this week’s column we’re introducing a new feature, “Ask Dr. Mike,” in which we explore topics relevant to life in today’s complex society through genuine questions from genuine readers, none of which I made up – other than the readers’ names, the questions, and the existence of the readers themselves. Ok, here goes:

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.

I’d like to know the meaning of relationships and why I can’t seem to get me any of ’em. All I really need in my life is a good woman to meet me at the door with my newspaper when I get home from a hard day at the office, stand by me no matter what my mood may be, and honor me with unconditional love and devotion. Is that too much to ask?

You dirty commie.

Signed,

Plenty Of Love To Give

Well Plenty, it seems like what you’re really looking for there is a cocker spaniel – although you might get some women to go as far as that paper-at-the-door thing if you rub their bellies. All in all, for you I’d recommend a trip to the animal shelter.

As to the meaning of relationships, this is something about which men have always wondered and women have always been angry. You see, we men have a hard time “relating” to another person, sharing thoughts and feelings, and forming deep emotional bonds.

A woman can develop a relationship with a bowl of Häagen-Dazs.

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to rip your arm off and blah, blah, blah.

I’m an almost unbelievably good-looking, intelligent guy with a great job, lots of money, and I drive a ‘Vette. Why can’t I seem to get any of the ignorant babes I meet to hook up with me in a long-term relationship?

You dirty blah, blah.

Signed,

Too-Good For The Chicks, But Willing To Give Them A Break

Gosh Too-Good, I can’t imagine why you would be having this problem. Maybe it’s your haircut.

A long-term relationship between a man and a woman is a complicated thing. It can end up in marriage, or it can lead to a situation that experts like Dr. Laura might call “living in sin,” which sounds like it would be a lot more interesting than marriage, but usually isn’t. In either case, there are a few important relationship rules you should try to keep in mind.

First, let’s consider the always-tricky issue of money. Just remember, her money is hers. She earned it, and she can damn well do anything she wants to with it.

Of course you should understand that your money is also hers. If you should happen to get some money, your best bet would be to hand it over to her immediately so she can give you some back as an allowance. If you’re good.

Second, never criticize her friends or family, no matter what. This is particularly important when she’s telling you how awful they are. Just nod understandingly, or wrinkle your brow and shake your head, whichever seems appropriate.

By the same token, keep in mind that your friends are fundamentally no good. You’re better off if you never talk to them or about them when she’s around, and you should only see them when she’s otherwise entertained. If you want to play some golf with the guys, buy her a DVD player and the first three seasons of Sex In The City.

Third, if she asks you for your opinion about anything pertaining to her, don’t answer. I just can’t stress this strongly enough. DON’T ANSWER! For instance, if she asks, “Do I look like I’ve gained weight?” just grab your jacket and leave. If you foolishly remain in the line of fire and say, “No Honey, of course not,” she’ll kick off the inevitable verbal death-spiral with something like, “So, you mean I’ve always been fat?”

If you find yourself cut off from an exit in this situation, you’ll find that seizures, compound fractures, or strokes make nice alternatives.

Finally, when it comes to gifts, you can pretty much always assume that she means the opposite of what she says. If she tells you, “Oh, don’t bother buying me anything for Sweetest Day,” just smile, grab a credit card, and head for the mall.

Next week, we hear from the women.

You can send your relationship questions (or answers) to drmike@learnedsofar.com.


Copyright © 2006 Michael Ball

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The BONEHED Theory Of Devolution

First published March 3, 2006

Over the past year this column has become a rallying point for people interested in bringing our English language into the twenty-first century. We founded the very first chapter of the Bureau Of Nearly Everybody Hacking English Down, or BONEHED. Since then we have recruited BONEHEDs from throughout the English-bashing world.

As our first order of business, we’ve documented how text messaging has made enormous improvements in our language. In days gone by, a couple would have to end a romantic relationship with a speech like:

“Clyde, I just think we should see other people. Lots of people. In fact we should probably see everybody in the world except each other.”

Now, modern communications technology has made it possible to accomplish this with a simple text message:

“I H8 U.”

As every BONEHED knows, these marvelous changes haven’t come overnight. There has been a long linguistic evolution that has brought us to this pinnacle of communication. For example, consider this comment from a guy about 300 years ago, hiding in the bushes outside a young girl’s window:

Romeo: But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon

Who is already sick and pale with grief…

And it goes on and on like that. Don’t you just want to grab this guy, shake him, and tell him to spit it out? By the time I was in high school, communication was much improved. The guy in the bushes would say:

Romeo: Whoa! Look at the hot chick on that balcony!

Officer Flannigan: All right, Peeping Tom, you have a right to remain silent…

Isn’t that better? Of course, today Romeo could just hold up his cell phone, take a quick picture, and disappear into the night.

Looking back, though, you have to admit that there have been some useful additions to the language over the past few years. Face it, there are a lot of words that just plain did not exist back when I was in high school.

Of course, my son would be quick to point out that “fire” and “the wheel” didn’t exist either back when I was in high school, but that would be a gross exaggeration. I had wheels on my chariot.

Anyway, it wasn’t that long ago that we never said things like “Internet” or “E-mail.” And if you mentioned any sort of “World Wide Web” your mom would have gone scrambling for a big broom and a can of Raid.

Back then we never heard of a PC, a CD, a VCR, a DVD, or a GPS. We would have thought that a ”blog” was a big wet field where you planted cranberries.

Before October of 2001, if you said, “iPod,” your wife would say, “Well, I hope you put the seat down.”

And the meaning of words has evolved as well. At one time, a “pyramid” was something put together by the ancient Egyptians, not by your sister-in-law the Amway lady. Do you remember when a “thong” was a leather lace you bought for your hunting boot?

Being a die-hard Olympics junkie, I’ve also noticed significant changes in the language of sports. Just a few years ago there was no such thing as a “snowboard,” and a “half pipe” was what you had after your friend “Badger” showed up at the party and sat on the “bong.”

Finally, we should consider the effect of current culture on modern English. For example, one of the Olympic snowboarders finished his run in the half pipe with something called a “Switch Alley Oop Backside Rodeo.” I didn’t actually see the trick, but I just really, really hope it had nothing to do with Brokeback Mountain.

So there you have it, fellow BONEHEDs. Now it’s up to you. Send your examples of the devolution of the English language to me at bonehed@learnedsofar.com.

Copyright © 2006 Michael Ball

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